The Alpha Chronicles (23 page)

Forty-five minutes later, it was obvious the stolen food was indeed
heading directly for the boneyard.

Bishop rubbed his chin, “Let’s head back. We can radio the others on the way
, and they can rally the posse.”

Looking at his charts, Hugh commented, “It will take us 90 minutes to get back as the crow fl
ies.”

A scowl crossed Deke’s face,
“Ninety minutes by air? That means it will take a team from Alpha at least four hours to get here. That food could be long gone in four hours. We need to keep eyes on that cargo. Can we radio and stay up here?”

The pilot shook his head, “No, no way. I have 120 minutes of fuel left with a 10% reserve. We can stay up here maybe
another 35 before heading back, and that’s pressing it.”

Deke’s face brightened. “Can you land?”

Before Hugh could answer, Bishop interrupted. “What are you thinking, Deke?”

“If we can land a few miles away, I could run to their location and keep an eye on things until the cavalry arrives. That eliminates any chance of our food making another get away.”

“And what are you going to do if they try and move the food?”

“I’ll disable the truck and let them chase me around the desert for a while
- if they want. Don’t worry about me, Bishop. I’ve been chased before. I know how to discourage pursuit.”

Bishop’s mind went back to the time where he had fought Deke and his team in the desert. The episode sent a cold shiver down his spine.
I wouldn’t want to be in the junk business if it comes to a fight down there
, he thought.

“So, Hugh, can you land?”

While Bishop and Deke had been discussing the issue, Hugh had been studying his ever-present chart. “The closest I can get you is I-10. The junkyard is 3.1 nautical miles south of the interstate. Is that too far?”

“No problem,” stated Deke.

While Hugh angled the plane toward its new destination, Bishop and Deke scoured maps, radio frequencies, and signals. An alternative hook-up point was established.

“I’m going to do one fly-over the road to make sure there aren’t any cars in the way. Can you guys use those fancy doodads of yours to make sure we’re not going to run into anything?”

A few minutes later, Hugh touched the small plane down on the eastbound lane of an abandoned I-10. Deke hopped out of the plane, and Bishop extended his good hand. As the two men shook, Bishop confessed, “I wish I could go with you, dude. I’m barely hanging in as it is.”

Deke nodded, replying, “You took one hell of a hit, brother.
Even if you were only 50%, I’d welcome you on my team.” And then Deke was gone, trotting off into the night.

Bishop climbed back in the plane, nodding to Hugh. “Can you find your way home okay? I’m going to take a nap.”

Nick took the paper from Phil’s hand, the HAM operator excited over the message. “You’re sure of these coordinates?” The question carrying more negative tone than Nick had intended.

“Yes,” Phil snapped, “I’m 100% for sure. The pilot’s tra
nsmission was crystal clear. That whole Meraton wild goose chase wasn’t my fault, man.”

Waving off the man’s concerns, Nick
apologized. “I’m sorry, Phil. With resources limited the way they are, that kind of miscommunication was bound to happen. I know you’re doing your best.”

“It’s not easy being the telephone operator and emergency dispatcher for the whole territory
, you know,” Phil grumbled as he shuffled back home.

Turning to Diana and Terri, Nick
studied the message again before calmly stating, “Here we go again.”

Terri was worrie
d about Bishop. “Did the transmission mention anything about how he’s doing? He should be in bed resting, not flying all over the desert chasing blackmailers.”

“No, Ter
ri, but I’m sure he’s fine. The guys will be back at the airport in an hour. We need to gather up the men and meet them there. They’re requesting we shine some headlights on the runway to help them in.”

One hour later, Nick and four truckloads of his best men were parked alo
ng the runway at Alpha’s regional airport. Each vehicle was strategically parked to illuminate the landing strip for the incoming flight. Hugh brought the plane in perfectly, the single engine craft coasting to a stop outside the main hangar. Terri was there waiting for her husband.

“
Oh my gosh, Bishop. I can’t believe you went after those criminals in your condition. Are you okay?”

“Yes,
I’m fine hun. Tired, but fine.”

“
Remind me again now. Which arm hurts, Bishop?”

Not really understanding his wife’s question, Bishop pointed to his left arm.

“Good,” stated Terri before punching his right shoulder. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again while you’re still sick. Now, come on. I’m putting you to bed, and I’m going to hire Kevin to babysit your wayward ass - to make sure you don’t try and sneak out again and go play with your friends.” With that, Terri pivoted and strode with purpose back toward their waiting truck.

Bishop shook his head, and then made to follow his wife. While hustling to catch up, he couldn’t control himself and asked, “Are you going to tuck me in
and help me get to sleep? You know - the good way to make me sleepy?”

Terri turned her head and responded over her shoulder without breaking stride. “
Tell me again. Which arm hurts, Bishop?”

“They both do now.”

Deke decided to jog the three miles to the boneyard, taking an easy pace across the flat terrain. As his GPS indicated he was close to the target, he slowed and proceeded with more caution. The piles of scrap metal, discarded machinery, and random junk actually made his approach relatively easy. It appeared as though whoever had unloaded the scrap had taken the easy way out and avoided the few natural undulations that rippled the landscape.

Another factor that assisted him greatly was the aerial reconnaissance. Having a solid mental picture of the layout of the place allowed him to expedite his penetration without
sacrificing safety. He also had a clear mental map of his regress, should a retreat become necessary.

A
hefty, haphazard pile of what appeared to be discarded drainage pipe provided the perfect cover. The twenty-foot long sections were easily wide enough for a man to crawl through. Using his infrared flashlight and the FLIR scope, Deke checked to make sure he wouldn’t be disturbing any of the local wildlife before he entered, the thought of encountering a rattlesnake in such a restricted area unsettling.

His pipe-hide was less than 100 feet from the dump truck that
was parked in the middle of the main cluster of homes. There were few lights inside any of the residences, and it appeared as though everyone had turned in, given the late hour.

Deke double-checked his compass and watch. It was questionable whether the sun would be rising before the men from Alpha would arrive. The last thing he wanted was to
be trapped inside the tube, his position fully illuminated by the light of a new day. His compass indicated he was facing almost due south, so he would be neither exposed, nor blinded at sunrise. Still, he decided if the boys from Alpha didn’t show up 30 minutes before dawn, he’d back out of the pipe and seek a better position.

An hour later, flashing light in the distance drew Deke’s attention. It quickly became obvious that another vehicle w
as approaching and didn’t feel the need to be sneaky about it. Headlights illuminated the compound, the twin beams signaling the emergence of a large flatbed truck. The driver pulled in alongside the dump truck and honked his horn twice.

Three armed men jumped dow
n from the bed and milled around the back of the truck until movement and light from the main house acknowledged their arrival.

“
’Bout time you guys showed up,” came a greeting from inside. “We gave up and went to bed.”

“We’re here now;
let’s get this done. I’ve got to get this load back to Midland Station before dawn, or my ass is in a sling.”

“Hold yer horses. W
e’ll get it moved over. Do you have the fuel?”

“Of course we’ve got the fuel. Ten drums
of gasoline and five of diesel. Just like the agreement says.”

Deke’s heart raced as he watched a few
sluggish men from the surrounding trailers join the crew. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, yawning and complaining, the men began lifting full 50-gallon drums via a winch mounted at the back of the flatbed. Each barrel was rolled out of the way, the apparent storage place directly in front of Deke’s position. As soon as the last of the fuel was unloaded, the workers began transferring Alpha’s food from the dump truck to the level transport instead.

By the time the food was being unloaded
, a few women were awake, yawning, and chatting with one another. Two toddler-sized children left their mothers’ sides and wandered closer to see what their fathers were doing - one child receiving a harsh warning to stay back and out of the way.

Disgusted and cursing under his breath, there was absolutely nothing Deke could do.
The angle to shoot and disable the flatbed was blocked by hundreds of gallons of gasoline. He could back down the pipe and move for a clear shot, but with the flatbed’s headlights pointing almost directly at him, his movement would be noticed immediately. He might disable the truck, but the villains would shoot him down in the process.

The combination of the women, children
, and drums of MOGAS completely ruined Deke’s plan. Sighing, he watched helplessly as Alpha’s critical load of food drove off, Deke watching as the truck’s taillights became two small red specks in the distance.

The reside
nts of the boneyard opted for more sleep, the area becoming quiet again in a few minutes. Deke slowly backed out of the pipe and trotted off toward the highest ground between the junkyard and I-10. A small rise several hundred meters to the north would allow him to observe the compound and wait on the men from Alpha. He dreaded delivering the bad news.

Nick was of a foul temper when the Alpha convoy finally arrived. It had taken far too long for everyone to assemble
, and then one of the trucks suffered engine problems. By the time he and his troop had hooked up with Deke, the sun was well into the morning sky.