Steve Martini - Guardian of Lies

Though Nitikin didn’t know it, Afundi had already installed the cordite and set the timer for five o’clock, maximum effect. The Russian had been in the jungle for so long that he didn’t know about the high-tech gadgets the world had invented in his absence. This included the tiny pencil-lens camera Alim had installed inside the wooden crate, through which he watched as Yakov pulled the safety device, arming the bomb. Alim now no longer needed him. He could have killed the Russian at any time, but he was saving that pleasure for later.

The haze of the exhaust hadn’t even settled inside the building before Liquida centered the red dot on the first of the two men left behind in the building. As he squeezed the trigger, a crimson halo exploded around the first man’s head as the mercury-tipped bullet did its job.

The second man never saw or heard a thing. With his back turned, he was smiling. He pointed toward the open tunnel and turned to share the wonder of the thing with his friend just as the next round transited the top of his head. The exploding bullet blew out a sizable hunk of skull bone, now bouncing off the concrete floor behind him.

In seconds Liquida was down the ladder. He retrieved the sheet of paper Afundi had left for his men. It was a printed map of San Diego, with a route traced along the freeways. It had a dark pen mark at one location. Liquida didn’t need the map. He knew the location well. He had been there only a few months earlier. But as he looked at the detail at the north end, near the end of the route, he had to wonder what the hell was going on.

He thought about his rental car half a mile away and decided Avis could probably find the vehicle by itself. The man whose wallet, credit card, and driver’s license Liquida had stolen on his flight from Houston would probably get a whopping surprise on his credit card bill. He fished through the dead men’s pockets until he found the keys to the small blue sedan. He jumped in the car and two seconds later disappeared down Alice’s rabbit hole to see where it went.

We have no idea where we are. Herman is flat on his belly on the bed of the truck, trying to release the catch on the lock outside with a pocketknife. He is using the light from the screen on my worthless encrypted cell phone to guide his probing with the blade under the crack of the door.

For the first several minutes the vehicle seems to bounce all over the place, first a steep decline and then back up. For ten minutes a lot of stop and go and then finally the constant hum and steady movement of a highway.

Herman finally gives up with the knife.

“No use,” he says. “Blade’s too short. But the good news is, you were right about your father.” He is looking at Maricela in earnest as he says it. “He’s gotta be acting under duress. The way he closed the gate and protected us, kept his mouth shut. Otherwise, I don’t know about you, but Paul and I would be dead right now.”

Maricela seemed stunned and still in shock after the sudden appearance of her father at the back of the truck. The only one more surprised was Nitikin himself. From the look on his face when he saw her, I thought he would die. One thing is certain, we now have his attention, though none of us has a clue as to where we are or where the truck is headed.

“They picked up a signal from Madriani’s cell phone,” said Thorpe. He came rushing into the command center.

“Where?” said Rhytag.

“San Diego.”

“What?”

“Intelligence picked it up two minutes ago. They’re not sure, but it looks as if the signal’s coming from somewhere along I-5, just south of San Diego.”

“How the hell did he get there?”

“We don’t know.”

“He can’t be with Nitikin,” said Rhytag.

Thorpe shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Rhytag thought for a moment. “Pull the tactical squads back from the border,” he said.

“Should we open up the border crossings?”

“No. Just get the SWAT teams, some highway patrol if you can, the NEST team, and the snipers you got from Delta. Alert the hostage-rescue team and tell them we may need them on short notice. Get a precise location on the signal. Give the highway patrol the description of the cargo container and partial plate off the truck and tell them to put out an all-points on it. If they find it, tell them to track it from a distance, but not to stop it. To monitor its location and call it in.”

From the middle of the bench seat in the U-Haul truck, Nitikin kept seeing signs as they passed them, Chula Vista, National City. He had never seen so much traffic. His mind raced with thoughts of how to free Maricela from the back of the truck, and who the two men were who were with her. But he was trapped in the middle, between the translator who was driving and Alim.

His brain was so occupied with these thoughts that he didn’t even notice when the rental truck slipped into the right lane of the freeway. When he looked up he suddenly realized that they were driving at high speed on some kind of long off-ramp paralleling the freeway but separated from it by a low retaining wall. The cargo truck with the container on the back was still out on the highway, going straight ahead.

Yakov nudged the interpreter.

“Don’t worry about it,” said the interpreter.

“You’re going to trust the two men on the truck to arm the bomb?” said Nitikin.

The interpreter said something in Farsi. Alim responded, and the interpreter told Yakov, “The cordite charge is already loaded and the timer is set.”

Nitikin was stunned. “The safety device is still on,” he told them.

“Do yourself a favor and save your lies,” said the interpreter. “We saw you remove it.”

Yakov knew this was not possible. He knew they could not possibly have seen inside the crate tucked away in the dark container when he pulled the wire.

“Where is the truck going? What is the target?” said Nitikin.

The interpreter said something to Alim, who smiled and said nothing.

The off-ramp suddenly veered to the left and passed over the top of the freeway. Yakov looked out the right window and watched as the cargo container, surrounded by traffic, streamed down the freeway. Soon it was out of sight.

Nitikin now knew that Alim no longer needed him. Yakov was running out of time. If Afundi found Maricela in the back of the truck, he would kill her in a heartbeat. Yakov was her only hope. Desperate to free his daughter, he knew he would have to do it before he took his last breath.

By now Thorpe and Rhytag were taking their orders from a higher authority. The director of Homeland Security, now at the command center, watched the screen on the computer as well as the streaming video, on the huge monitor, being fed to them by a military helicopter. The chopper was flying at four thousand feet, high above the cargo container on the freeway below.

The highway patrol had picked up the truck just north of San Diego and tracked it from a distance for more than twenty miles, until the interstate entered the area of Camp Pendleton, the sprawling marine base on the Pacific Coast. There tens of thousands of acres of barren hillsides replaced the endless housing tracts and subdivisions of Southern California.

CHP units had slowed traffic several miles out in front where they could not be seen by Alim’s two men in the container truck. Over the course of several miles, driving a pattern of long, slow S curves, they finally brought the traffic to a halt. Other units cut off traffic in a southerly direction as two Delta Force sniper teams were deployed from helicopters on each side of the highway, three hundred yards out from the truck.

Alim’s men were frustrated by the stalled traffic. Busy talking to each other they never saw a thing before the glass on the truck’s side windows shattered. A separate.308 round nailed each of them in the head at the same instant as their bloodied bodies piled up in the center of the seat.