The Siren Project (40 page)

“No, he wasn't.”  

“Do you believe him?” Gunter asked.

Mitch settled back in his seat
thoughtfully. “If he’s trying to keep us out of there, he’s making a hell of a
profit doing it, but I’ve known more elaborate cover stories.”

Through the rising dust cloud billowing up
from behind the tow truck, Mitch watched the silhouette of Ackerman through the
pickup’s rear window. Once he thought he caught a glimpse of the old timer holding
something close to his ear, possibly a two way radio. Mitch wondered if he was
reporting to the people inside the fence, or just letting cousin Floyd know he
was bringing in more fish to be skinned. When they reached the sealed road, the
dust clouds ended, although the tow truck continued on at the same leisurely
pace.

“G, do you think what Ackerman said makes
sense,” Mitch asked. “Could lead be a shielding to whatever knocked out our
electrical system?”

Gunter shrugged. “I suppose it is possible.
Lead is an effective shielding against radiation.”

“Only one way to find out.” He turned to
Christa. “When we reach Cousin Floyd’s auto shop, you and Mouse go with
Ackerman to pay him, keep him distracted as long as possible. G and I will stay
with the car.”

“I should be able to keep the old boy’s
attention for a few minutes,” Christa replied with a scheming twinkle in her
eye.

Mitch looked surprised. “Don’t get him too
excited, he may have a weak heart.”

Over the next hour, as the peak of
Eagletail Mountain fell behind them, they searched unsuccessfully for any sign
of the base. When they eventually reached the I-8, Ackerman finally picked up
speed for the run into the small desert community of Gila Bend. He took them
straight to Cousin Floyd’s auto shop at the edge of town. It was a small greasy
gas station with a workshop and a concrete apron where a dozen cars in various
stages of decay awaited Floyd’s mechanical attention. Ackerman guided their
four wheel drive into a vacant spot, then after he'd removed the towing tackle,
Christa held up her credit card.

“Where do we do it?” she asked with a
provocative smile.

Ackerman grinned. “Behind closed doors
missy, at least if I were thirty years younger, that’s what I’d say. Follow me.”

He turned and led them into Cousin Floyd’s
office. As soon as they were out of sight, Mitch and Gunter released the
mechanical latch, and lifted the old pickup's hood. Mitch whistled softly when
he saw the engine. It was a shiny new, turbo charged, eight cylinder beast. The
electrical systems were encased in thick metallic insulation, that disappeared
into the pickup’s cab.

“This is no thirty year old pickup truck,” Gunter
declared.

“Ackerman is no pirate out for a fast buck,
that's for sure. This pickup might look like it’s about to fall apart, but I
bet it's faster than most cars. I don’t suppose you know what that stuff is?” Mitch
asked, motioning toward the metallic insulation.

Gunter bent close, tapped the material,
testing both flexibility and sound. “It is an exotic material. It sounds dense
like lead, but has a degree of flexibility. It has metallic and polymer
qualities.”

“Grab a piece. From some place Ackerman
won’t see without a close look.”

Gunter used his car keys to scrape under
the housing that insulated the spark plugs, obtaining a tiny sliver of the
material no bigger than an iron filing. “It is not as strong as steel, but it
is harder than a polymer composite,” Gunter said as he placed the filing in a
one dollar note, which he carefully folded and slid into his wallet to ensure
it could not be lost.

Mitch locked the hood shut, then opened the
pickup’s driver side door and looked inside. Hidden behind the driver’s seat
was a well oiled assault rifle and a powerful hand held radio encased in the
same exotic substance that insulated the engine.

“Looks like old Ackerman isn’t as friendly
as he makes out,” Mitch said as he shut the pickup’s door.

He checked they hadn't been seen as he moved
around the side of the workshop to where he could catch Christa's eye. He
nodded to her, then she ceased chatting and signed the credit card voucher. When
Christa and Mouse strolled out of the office, Ackerman and cousin Floyd, a
rangy grease monkey in his forties, came with them.

“I’ll have it over to you in a few hours,” Cousin
Floyd drawled amiably. “Good as new.”

“I don’t suppose you folks will be going
back out to the dump again?” Ackerman asked with a sly piratical grin. “I could
sure use the money, towing you folks back in.”

Mitch shook his head. “Once is enough,
thanks. We can’t afford your prices. We might just look around town for a day
or two.”

“There’s the painted rock reserve, that
ain't far,” Cousin Floyd suggested. “No nuclear dumps over there.”

“Painted rocks, huh?” Mouse said, clearly
uninterested.

They shook hands, then started walking the
few blocks to the local accommodation. Ackerman and Cousin Floyd watched them
go with friendly smiles on their faces.

“They’re not what they seem,” Christa said
after they'd passed out of earshot. “I sensed deception, well hidden, but
unmistakable.”

“He’s got a M16 in his pickup,” Mitch said.
“And high tech shielding around the engine and electrical systems. This whole
tow truck scam is a cover. If he catches us snooping around the fence again,
the only place he’ll be towing us to is the cemetery.”

* * * *

They had dinner at a local Mexican
place. The food was laden with chili and oil, which Mouse devoured in inhuman
quantities and Mitch found barely edible. While Christa watched Mouse swallow
the last taco, almost whole, Gunter drained his beer.

“So how do we get close to the radiation
dump?” Mitch asked.

“Steal his truck.” Mouse mumbled through a
taco filled mouth.

“Ackerman would warn them we were coming as
soon as it was gone,” Mitch said.

Gunter placed his empty beer glass on the
table. “Eliminate Ackerman.”

“They would miss him,” Mitch said. “He
probably checks in regularly.”

Gunter wiped his lips with a napkin and sat
back. “We can forget using anything with an electrical system. Which leaves . .
.” He threw a casual look toward the western decor.

Mouse, attempting to stuff an enchilada
into his mouth in one movement looked around uncertainly, not seeing anything
meaningful. “What?”

“Right,” Mitch said, looking at the leather
work, bull whips, saddles. “Cowboy country. We ride in on horseback.”

“No way!” Mouse spluttered as he raced to
swallow. “No one's getting me on any kind of animal.”

“Don’t worry Mouse, we’ll get you one
that’s old, lame and docile,” Christa said with a smile.

Mouse shook his head emphatically. “I only
ride in things that have air conditioning, power steering and a stereo.”

“We'll go in at night, when it’s cooler and
there’s less chance of being seen,” Mitch said.

“Hey guys,” Mouse said, finally clearing
his mouth of food. “You’re not listening. I don’t go near anything that eats
more than I do.”

Christa patted his hand comfortingly. “Then
you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“We’re going to need equipment,” Mitch said.
“And something with more hitting power than these hand guns, judging by
Ackerman’s M16.”

“Don’t forget the lasso, spurs and a ten
gallon hat!” Mouse said. “Guys! We can’t just ride up like John Wayne with a
six gun in the middle of the night. We don’t even know the layout of the place.
How many guards? What security system? How far from the fence the buildings are?”

Mitch drank deeply from his glass of water,
but couldn't kill the burning chili sensation in his mouth. “We'll do
reconnaissance first, from a distance.”

Mouse straightened, vindicated. “Now you’re
thinking straight.”

“Which is why, tomorrow, you and Gunter
will go get the equipment we need.”

“Including a new computer for me,” Mouse
said, still smarting over the destruction of his notebook.

“And new watches for all of us,” Christa
said holding up her wrist, showing her dead watch.

“Gunter, I want you to send the shaving of
that material we took from Ackerman’s truck to Lamar. Maybe the FBI lab can
figure out what it is. We certainly can't analyze it ourselves. While you’re
doing that, Christa and I will take a look at what’s beyond the fence.”

Mouse looked puzzled. “How are you going to
do that?”

“I’m going to charter a plane and fly over
it.”

“I thought we just agreed not to use
anything with an electrical system. They’re bound to have directed energy
weapons sweeping the sky. If you get close enough to fly over the base, they’ll
shoot you down.”

“Only if I fly a plane with an electrical
system.”

Even Gunter looked confused.

“You’re going to fly a horse over the base?”
Mouse asked incredulously.

“No, a glider. The stick and flap controls
are mechanical, not electrical. All I need is a magnetic compass and a few good
thermals and we’ll have a bird’s eye view of Sincom One.”

“Have you ever flown a glider before?” Christa
asked.

“No, just light planes.”

“Trainers,” Mouse said.

Mitch glanced at Christa. “After the
Marines, I started training to be an airline pilot. Didn't work out.”

“He flunked out,” Mouse said.

“I had no trouble flying. It was the landings
I never got the hang of.”

“So you think flying without an engine is
easier than flying with an engine?” Christa asked.

“No engine, less to worry about. Eagletail
Mountain will have plenty of updrafts. I'll keep us airborne as long as we need.
Christa, I want you to do the photoreconnaissance.” He turned to Gunter. “We'll
need a mechanical film camera, not a digital.”

“Is that your idea of a first date?” Christa
asked mischievously. “Doing photoreconnaissance of a secret base full of people
who want to kill me.”

Mitch smiled. “At least I know how to show
a girl a good time.”

“Last time you showed me a good time, New
York was almost incinerated, but I did get a good kiss on the way out.”

“Kiss?” Mouse demanded. “What kiss?”

* * * *

Mitch found Christa and Mouse standing
beside the four wheel drive next morning at eight AM, watching Gunter’s long
legs protruding from the front passenger door. Mitch went to speak, but Christa
raised a finger to her lips, indicating silence. Mitch stepped closer to see Gunter
lying on the floor of the vehicle with a screwdriver from the car’s tool kit,
working on something underneath the dash board. A moment later, his hand
emerged holding a small circular piece of metal with a thin wire protruding
from it. He clambered out of the car, walked over to the gravel drive, picked
up a large rock and smashed the device.

He turned and held up the tiny electronic
apparatus. “I have gone over our vehicle twice, thoroughly. Two bugs and a
homing device.” Gunter reached into his pocket and pulled out two more smashed
coin sized objects.

“Looks like Ackerman and Cousin Floyd do
more than fix cars,” Mitch said dryly.

They climbed into the four by four, then Gunter
drove them to the Gila Bend airport a few miles out of town. Mitch went into
the office of the local flying school, while the others waited in the car, watching
the near deserted airstrip. A local waste disposal truck rumbled in and lifted
a rectangular bin, depositing the rubbish in its masher. A few minutes later,
Mitch came back out.

“They have a training glider. We can hire
it and the tow plane this afternoon, but I have to do a safety check this
morning.”

Christa climbed out of the car, while Gunter
started the engine. “Good luck.”

“If we can find a camera,” Gunter said, “We'll
have it here by lunch time.”

Mitch and Christa walked back to the
office, while Gunter turned the car back onto the road for the forty mile trip
east to Maricopa. Behind them, the waste disposal truck dropped the bin on the
ground, and reversed, then slowly rumbled back to the road and headed east. The
road was long and straight, and for a while Gunter, ever alert to being tailed,
noticed the garbage truck behind them, but it slowly fell further and further back.

Mouse noticed Gunter’s regular glances at
the rear vision mirror. “Anything?”

Gunter grunted uncertainly. He watched the
distance between them and the truck widen, until he saw it only occasionally,
then not at all. Eventually he relaxed, satisfied they were not being followed
and the truck had been on the same stretch of road only because there were no
other roads. He kept the four wheel drive sitting on the speed limit all the
way into Maricopa, a much larger town than Gila Bend. The old woman running the
guest house where they stayed had told them they might get most of the
equipment they needed there.