Killer Waves (32 page)

"He's missing. The museum's closed up and he's not home."

Gus looked over at Clem as if seeking reassurance. “It sounds like the Libyans are here and are definitely playing for keeps.”

I said, "Look, shouldn't we saddle up and get going? The nature preserve is all of a ten-minute drive away."

Gus slowly slid the book back to me. "Procedurally, we shouldn't. We should wait for Laura to get back, to get more reinforcements along the way. We should have a meeting, design our options, our game plan, and draw a map so that everybody knows what they're doing."

I stared at Gus's tired eyes. "So what are you telling me?"

He grinned. "Fuck procedures. Let's get the hell out there."

Clem and I went out first, and as we walked down the hallway to the elevator, Gus called out after us, saying, "One more call. I'll meet you at the car."

Inside the elevator I looked over at Clem, who was standing as if he were all alone, hands clasped in front of him, eyes looking straight ahead. I said, "Clem, have I ticked you off lately, or in some previous life?"

"What do you mean?" he said, thereby doubling the number of words he had ever said to me.

"You don't talk, you don't smile, you don't do much of anything when I'm around," I said. "I'm just curious what's going on."

He didn't move. "I do lots of things. I spotted that you were carrying the moment you came in the room. I heard every word you and Gus Turner said. I also kept watch on the door. That's what I do. It's my job. Besides... "

Now he looked over at me, and his face seemed to soften.

"It's just a job, all right? I'm tired of being cooped up here all day and all week long... I miss my wife and kids and grandkids. I'm retired Marine Corps, put my thirty in, and I still can't make it with my pension. So here I am. I'm doing my job, and in a year or two, when we've socked away enough money, it's back home to Pensacola and I'll never go anywhere again. You satisfied now?"

             
“Luckily, by then the elevator had stopped and we were out in the lobby of the Lafayette House.  “Not a question of being satisfied.  Just wanting to know.”

“Well, all what I want to know is when I can get home again.”

"Soon," I said. "If what I think is going to happen is going to happen, it'll be soon."

As promised, Gus caught up with us in the parking lot, as we made our way to a dark blue Ford LTD, parked in the area behind the hotel usually reserved for employees. He had on a dark leather coat that looked warm enough for the cooling weather that was heading our way.

"Okay, procedures or not, I made another call," he said, tossing a set of car keys to Clem. "We've got a crew of FBI agents coming down from Porter. They should get there about five minutes after we do. Just in case our friendly Libyans are having a cookout in the parking lot, I don't want to be outnumbered."

"Sounds good," I said, climbing into the backseat of the LTD. Gus sat up forward and Clem got behind the wheel of the car, and in a matter of seconds we were heading north.

Along the way Gus tossed some more questions back at me, and I did my best to answer them. "Samson Point started off as government property back in the eighteen hundreds. They had a Lifeboat Rescue Station there, which served ships coming in and out of Porter Harbor. Lots of sinkings took place out there over the years. Then, during the Spanish-American War, the government got concerned that the big naval yard at Porter and the harbor were vulnerable to attack. So they started building the coastal artillery base here, and at other places up the coast and in Maine, to guard the harbor and its approaches."

"So, did the Spanish ever get here?"

"Only as POWs," I said. "War was over by the time the first concrete was poured. But the place expanded during World War One and World War Two. They had some of the largest guns in the world emplaced up there. Story is, whenever they test-fired the cannon, windows would shatter in houses up and down the seacoast."

"What happened after the war?" Gus asked, as Clem kept on heading us north. The clouds were thicker, making the sky look as if it were ten minutes away from dusk . Clem put the wipers on intermittent to clear the windshield as we got closer to the park entrance. To our left marshland stretched out to a line of woods in the west, and to our right the ocean view was mostly blocked by a berm of rocks and earth.

"Eventually the military decided that threats weren't going to come from raiding warships, but from aircraft. The cannons were taken away and the place was turned into an early-warning radar station, looking for Soviet bombers. But when ICBMs started getting deployed in the sixties, the place was finally closed down, and then eventually was turned over to the state as a park. The cannons and barracks are gone, but there are still heavy concrete emplacements, and the underground service rooms and tunnels to service them."

Gus turned in the seat, admiration in his voice. "Man, you do know this place. I know Laura has mentioned having you join us as a consultant when this gig is up. You interested?"

I folded my arms. "Not today, thank you."

Gus laughed and flipped through the small book I had brought over. "What do you think happened, then, that the uranium ended up there?"

''The war was over in Europe," I said. "People around here, they had worked long hours and weekends turning out submarines and other weapons to fight the Germans. Then it seemed like peace was at hand. I read that when those four U-boats were brought in here after they surrendered, the yard workers stripped every imaginable souvenir item from them, anything that could be unbolted and taken off. Sure, there was tight security, but you had thousands of workers there, most of whom knew that they'd be out of a job once Japan surrendered. Things might have gotten loose. Who knows. The uranium itself disappeared and the government, to cover up such an embarrassment, did just that. How it got resurrected all these years later... who knows."

Clem slowed the LTD down and made a right into the park entrance.  A large wooden beam that served as a gate was across the entrance.  WINTER HOURS.  PARK OPEN FROM 9 A.M. TO 4 P.M.  I checked my watch.  It was four-oh-five. Gus said in disbelief, "Winter hours? Hell, it's spring!"

"State parks around here have just two seasons. Summer and winter."

"Maybe so," Gus said, "but the federal government has its own idea on timekeeping. Clem, think you can work some magic?"

Clem eased his large bulk out of the car. "Back in a minute."

The ex-Marine went up to the gate and pulled a small leather case from his coat pocket and went to work on the lock and chain holding the gate closed. Gus said admiringly, "That guy hardly ever talks about what he's done and where he's gone, but I can tell you one thing. I'm sure as hell glad he's on our side."

Clem undid the chain and swung open the gate, and Gus slid over to the driver's side and moved the car in a few yards. The gate swung shut and I noted how Clem just looped the chain around it and didn't relock it. Good stuff, leaving the place unlocked for the backup FBI crew, which was heading south from Porter.

Back into the car Clem came, Gus slid back to his side of the car and we went past the closed gatehouse and into the empty parking lot. I shivered for a moment, remembering how empty the place had looked just a few days ago, when I had walked over here and came across the crime scene. I wondered how the North Tyler cops who had been here were doing, and if they ever whispered to each other on a night shift about the strange things that had happened here.

Gus said, "Clem, why don't you pull over to the left, as close as you can get. From the map in this book, it looks like this is where the emplacements are located."

Clem did just that and we pulled into the farthest spot to the left and switched off the engine. Seagulls were overhead, looking as if they were seeking shelter from the approaching storm. There was a grumble of thunder. To the right was the large empty lot, and then a field with picnic tables scattered around, and near the edge of the ocean was the park visitors’ center.  Before it was an artificial hill, built by Army engineers decades ago. Up top was a concrete cube marking a spotting station for artillery observers, and before us, set in a concrete revetment, a metal door that looked as if it had been welded shut. Small saplings and grass covered the hill, and to the left of the hill was a gravel path leading farther into the park, where there were similar hills and structures.

Gus said, "Place is pretty overgrown. Can't imagine it was this green back when the Army was here."

"If anything," I said, "it was even more overgrown. The brush and the trees served as camouflage for any approaching ships or aircraft. If the place looked peaceful enough, they hoped the warships would get close enough to get sunk."

"Really?" Gus asked. "And do you think that would've worked?"

"This place was built in the middle of a resort area in New England. You can pretty much guess that a lot of tourists that came through here during the nineteen thirties were working for the Germans, the French, the English and the Russians. Hard to keep such a thing a secret, but the government does what it can."

"Ain't that the truth," Gus said, glancing at his watch. "Tell you what, let's get out and get some of the gear out of the trunk. I want to be ready to roll the minute the FBI shows up."

We all got out of the car, and it felt good stepping out to the cool air of the ocean. The salt tang seemed sharper than ever, and Gus motioned to Clem and me. "Hey, can you guys give me a hand? Some of this gear is pretty heavy."

I nodded and we joined Gus at the rear of the LTD. Off to the west I caught a flash of light, as lightning jagged its way through the thick clouds. Gus stood behind Clem, as Clem took a key and opened the trunk. I was on the other side of Clem, and when the trunk lid popped open, I thought Gus was a mighty weak guy, for there were only two small black cases in there.

I was going to say something about that to Gus, when he pulled a pistol from underneath his coat and shot Clem in the head.

Chapter Eighteen

The sound of the report was quite loud, and Clem jackknifed forward, falling to his knees, his upper torso dropping into the open trunk. I backed up just a step and stopped, my legs quaking with horror, feeling as if I was going to throw up and scream all at once. Gus spun on his heels and pointed the pistol at me, the damn thing looking about the size of a semi trailer.

"You move, you shout, you do anything right now except nod your head, then you're a fucking dead man," Gus said, staring right at me. "Understood?"

I nodded.

"Good." He sighed loudly. "Jesus, working with all these feds, it's refreshing just to get a yes or no response. Here's the deal. You reach in there, and get those two cases. Get 'em out and put them on the pavement. And move slow. All right?"

I nodded again and gingerly reached in to do as I was told.

There was blood spray on the underside of the trunk lid and some blood and tissue matter on the bottom of the trunk, but I was blessed, just for a moment, that both cases were clean. They were fairly heavy and made of thick black plastic with metal clasps. I set them both on the ground and stood up, trying not to look at Clem’s body or the back of his head. But that reprise lasted just a second, for Gus waved his pistol at me and said, "Good job. Now, grab this poor slob's legs and shove him into the trunk. Can't have him getting wet out here, can we?"

I found that my mouth was now working. "I was going to call you a bastard, Gus, but words fail me."

Another wave of the gun. "Oh, I'm sure you'll figure out something eventually. Now, get a move on. Get him into the trunk."

I knelt down and grabbed Clem's legs. I closed my eyes and grunted and huffed as I raised him up, this former Marine from Pensacola who was just here doing a job, trying to provide for his family by being in service to his country. If I had my wits about me I would have offered a quick prayer, but the only prayer coming out of my consciousness began and ended with "Oh, God." I had a hard time of it getting his legs to fit in, and tears were rolling down my face by the time I was done. I backed away again and Gus nodded in satisfaction.

"Good," he said. "You're now two for two. God, I would have loved it had you been my boss instead of that witch Reeves. Bitch, bitch, bitch, all the fucking day long."

"If I had been your boss, you'd be in prison now."

"Well, we all have our dreams," he said. "Now. I know you're carrying. Poor Clem here told me earlier, and you know what? I had nothing against Clem. He even played Cribbage with me, late at night, waiting for Reeves to come back with more orders, more directives. But he was in the way, that's all. In the way of getting things done. So that's why he had to go, and that's why you're going to remove your pistol with your left hand, and toss it in the trunk. All right?"

Sure. I slowly and awkwardly reached up with my left hand and pulled my Beretta free. It made a desolate
thunk
as it landed inside the trunk, and Gus nodded again. "Well done. Close the trunk, will you?'

I slammed the trunk down with both hands, probably harder than I had too.  The wind was now whipping up gravel and sand on the parking lot, making Gus’s red hair flutter.  Another motion with his hand.  “Okay.  Your job now is to make me happy, Lewis, and right now, it would make me terribly happy if you would pick up those two cases. All right?"