Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (36 page)

“Lab?” Randy’s voice seemed to go up about three levels. “What lab?” Randy was a heavy-set black-haired man with slow speech and even slower movements.

“One of our teams will move into the science lab to take the material.”

Randy shuffled his feet in the back of the truck. “Ah, I don’t like none of that creepy science stuff.”

“I don’t either,” Sam replied. “We won’t go inside. Another team will do that. We’re simply to secure the perimeter.”

Randy snapped his fingers. “Out-fucking-standing.”

There was a chorus of chuckles from the truck. The men were putting up a good front, but Sam could sense they were nervous. He wondered just how many really knew what they were getting into. Would they still have volunteered?

“All right, men. This is what we’ve trained for. Remember what you learned, and you’ll be fine. Don’t forget your arm and hand signals. We don’t want a bunch of whooping and hollering.”

He closed the back window and climbed into the truck. The darkness surrounded him.

Bacher sat behind the wheel, eyes straight ahead, a handkerchief to his nose. He shifted the truck into drive and inched forward.

Showtime.

George Case sauntered along the sidewalk between the science building and the engineering building, blowing on his hands to keep warm during his security rounds. Why hadn’t he remembered to bring his gloves? It must be close to ten degrees outside, and here he was walking around these buildings where nothing ever happened. He wouldn’t need gloves down in Orlando enjoying Disney World. His wife kept playing cards with her buddies, warm and toasty, while he stood out here freezing his butt off.

He’d hurry and finish his rounds, then get back inside to the lounge where the security guys could drink coffee and warm up. The coffee was instant crap out of a machine, but at least it was hot.
Well,
he thought,
almost hot.
He wished the other guard would quit smoking. Guy made the room smell like the bottom of an ashtray.

George walked up to the front door of the science building and pulled on the double doors. All secure.

He was about to head back to the administrative building when he decided to walk around the science building to double check that some students weren’t making out in one of the classrooms. Why didn’t that ever happen to him? He was still good-looking. Maybe a little chunky, but he could suck in his gut.

George checked his watch—10:45. Damn, another hour until his relief arrived. He followed the sidewalk to the rear entrance, careful not to slip on the ice. He’d fallen on his ass last night. Damn back still hurt. When he’d told his wife, she’d laughed and told him to watch his step. So much for sympathy.

He got to the rear of the building and checked those doors. All secure. He looked across at the mall area between the buildings. No one out walking.
Well, no kidding. Who in their right mind would be outside on a night like this?
He walked back around to the front, down the steps, and toward the warmth of the administration building.

George turned up the front sidewalk of the administrative building. Something made him look back toward the street. A black Jeep drove along the street, barely moving. George prided himself on knowing most of the vehicles in town. He didn’t recognize this one.

The man in the passenger’s seat looked at him, but didn’t wave. That was unusual in this small town. Everyone waved when they drove by. The guy must have been from out of town. Seemed like a funny vehicle for one of the parents. Most of them drove those big geezer cars—Buicks or Cadillacs.

He shivered, then slipped his key into the lock and walked inside the administration building. Time for something hot to drink to ward off another dull night on the job.

Maybe his partner would give up smoking.
Yeah, right.

Sergeant Bacher drove Sam’s truck into town, following Oliver in a five-minute incremental pattern. He hadn’t spoken since the incident at the last stop.

Sam had never been to Sharpsburg, but it had the look of a typical small college town; just the opposite of the University of Minnesota, where he had attended school. Staten probably had around a thousand students registered, if that.

The University of Minnesota was a commuter campus. Most of the kids there lived at home and drove back and forth to school. The opposite was probably the case here. Most of these students probably lived on campus and might be wandering around late at night. These kids could get caught in the middle of this thing. Sam ran alternatives in his mind, trying to figure how to protect the kids.

As they drove uphill toward the main part of the campus, the wheels spun on patches of ice, forcing Sergeant Bacher to drop the transmission back into four-wheel drive.

The town had the typical college stores—a bike shop, a theater with the movie
“Chainsaw Massacre”
playing, three pizza parlors, a Laundromat, bookstores, and of course a number of taverns.

Sam directed Bacher to stop at the corner of Main Street and 2
^nd
Avenue. He jumped out of the front seat. The town stood quiet, the buildings like sentinels of stone. In spite of the cold, Sam wiped perspiration from his forehead.

He scanned the area with his binoculars. Two blocks down the hill, a half dozen students wandered toward the center of town, probably headed into a bar. He couldn’t help but think about his daughter. What if she went to Staten?

Sam waited until the last of the youngsters disappeared. He dropped the cargo door on the back of the truck and motioned with his hand. Marshall jumped out, followed by Randy then the two other men. They moved down the street in different directions.

Sam walked to the front steps of the science building. He looked up at the stately arches supported by granite pillars. Here he stood, waiting to steal nuclear materials from a university to make bombs.
Shit.
This made his stomach turn.

He climbed the stairs and paused, listening before moving up toward the door. Professor Kaminsky puffed up the stairs, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Are you ready?” Sam asked.

Kaminsky nodded and patted his coat. “I’ve got the radiation alert monitor strapped to my belt.”

The village clock struck eleven. Kaminsky pulled an identification badge from his pocket. When he slipped the badge inside the reader, it clicked. Kaminsky opened the door and hurried inside.

Where the hell was Alex?

Bob O’Brien stared at his monitor, then at the map. He called instructions into the mic. “Station police cars at either end of Market Street; then locate a car on the opposite side of the mall. Alert the swat teams to move in and surround the campus. Box them in.”

Patrick nodded. “We’ve got two extra cars to reinforce the roadblocks.”

O’Brien spoke again. “FBI, coordinate the placement of the state police and the swat teams when they arrive.”

“I contacted the chief of police, guy by the name of Thompson,” Patrick said. “He’s calling the Staten University president and asking that he initiate their emergency plan. Ever since that god-awful shooting at Virginia Tech, colleges are implementing a mass text messaging system that sends alerts to students’ cell phones. It’s faster than e-mail because kids don’t check their e-mails as often as they check their phones. Believe it or not, about 95 percent of college students have cell phones.”

“I believe it,” O’Brien said. “I swear my daughter spends half her life on that phone.”

Patrick nodded. “The text messaging system should keep kids hunkered down in their dorms as if a tornado were coming through.”

“I’m calling General Gerber.” O’Brien pressed in the general’s number.

“Gerber.”

“We’re in place. Oliver’s vehicles are in town. We’ve coordinated with the chief of police. The university president is initiating the text messaging plan to lock down the campus and keep the kids inside.”

“Roger. I’ll pass the word to the White House. Good luck.”

S
am hurried back to the truck. When he reached the cab, he blew two soft sounds on the whistle.

Marshall arrived first. Sam handed him a rifle. Marshall took the weapon, holding it down parallel to his leg, and walked up the sidewalk toward the science building. Sam did the same with the other three men. Marshall walked around to the back, Randy stayed in the front, and the other two took up positions on the corners of the building.

At exactly five minutes after eleven, another truck pulled up. Four men jumped out. They hurried up the sidewalk, two of them struggling with a metal box. The box had two handles and was top-latched in four places. Kaminsky reappeared and met them at the front door. After a short conference, the group moved inside.

Sam checked the positions of the others again. Alex had not been part of the team to go inside. Why?

Sam’s heart beat double time. He could see no evidence of O’Brien’s team. They were staying well hidden. Walking around to the back, he checked that Marshall was in place, watching for intruders from the mall side.

His team had instructions to not intercept anyone unless they walked directly up to the building. If that happened, they were to advise the individual that a security test was being conducted by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.

Hopefully, that would scare off anyone who might have only a passing interest. However, a problem would arise if anyone happened by from the college faculty. Sam didn’t want anyone hurt.

Sam looked at his watch. Seven minutes had passed since the insert team had moved inside. Kaminsky had assured Oliver that he would be able to get into the lab and knew what to do to get the material out of the grammator.

The cesium-137 was in a powdered form, according to Kaminsky. It should be easy and quick to move.

Sam rounded the front of the building. Oliver’s Jeep remained parked across the street, motor running. He walked over to the Jeep to check on Alex. When he leaned down, Oliver opened the window. Alex sat in the back seat’, saying nothing. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked out the back window.

Oliver kept his eyes glued to the building. He had a radio with an earpiece and talked to the professor in hushed tones.

“Guards are in place,” Sam whispered. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

As if on cue, things began to deteriorate. A heavy-set man in a uniform walked down the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

Sam whispered, “Security.”

The security officer turned up the walk toward the science building and stood about fifteen feet from the tree where Randy had stationed himself. Looking around, he stared at the Jeep.

Sam held his breath. He wanted to yell, “Christ, Randy, stay behind the tree!” The security guard looked up at the building, then over at their vehicle again. He lumbered across the street toward Sam, his partially open jacket covering a large belly.

“Good evening.” He held out his hand to Sam. “George Case. I coordinate security at the college. May I help you?”

Sam shook his hand. “I’m waiting for my daughter. She’s supposed to meet me here at eleven o’clock, but you know women.” That sounded weak, but it was the only thing Sam could think of on short notice. The NRC test gimmick wouldn’t work with security.