Dale Brown: Act of War

A knock on his driver’s-side window startled him, but he quickly regained his composure and hit the switch to roll the window down. It was Tom. “You okay, Frank?” he asked.

“You guys expecting a war or something, Tom?” Kelly asked, ignoring the question. “Now you’re toting M-16s? I’m not even issued one anymore.” Tom made a quick glance around inside the cruiser but quickly returned his eyes to Kelly’s. “Is there a fucking problem here, Tom?” He reached over and snatched the cruiser’s microphone off its clip with an angry pull. “Okay, I didn’t read the memo, or if I did, I forgot about it. You want to bust my balls over it so you look good in front of all your new security cameras, fine. Should I call my supervisor, or did you already do it?”

“Relax, you big Mick chump, relax,” Tom said with a smile. He held up a piece of paper. “I just came out to give you a copy of the memo. We haven’t implemented most of the procedures on there, but the new guys are pretty gung-ho and they feel pretty tough with their assault rifles and Berettas.”

Kelly took the memo and glanced over it, trying like hell not to look too relieved. “New guardhouse, new weapons, cameras out the wazoo—what else you got in there?”

“Half the cameras aren’t hooked up, and I swear to God these kids haven’t a fucking clue—if I got a dime for every time I’ve told these jerk-offs to keep their damned fingers off the triggers of those M-16s, I’d be as rich as you troopers.”

“Har har.”

“I’m serious, dude—as soon as my application is accepted, I’m out of here and going to the Highway Patrol Academy,” Tom said. “Working for Kingman is like what it must have been like working for Napoleon, Hitler, or Clinton.”

“Bill or Hillary?”

“I thought they were one and the same—they both liked their power and their women,” Tom said. Kelly was pleased to note that his laugh sounded normal. Tom’s face turned serious as he went on: “Starting next week, we’ll be instituting an electronic identity verification program for both individuals and vehicles. We’ll be asking everyone to have biometric prints taken, and your cars will have to have coded transponders on them, like on airliners. Give everyone at the station a heads-up.”

“More fun and games, huh?”

“This antiterrorist shit is no fun and games, especially with Mr. Kingman,” Tom said. “We’ll soon have security in this place that’ll make Fort Knox look like a day at Disneyland.”

“I can’t wait.” Kelly noted with relief that the big outer steel gate was starting to open. “Why don’t you just have Kingman’s transportation guys transmit the vehicle logs over to headquarters rather than have us pick them up all the time?”

“I guess Mr. Kingman likes seeing troopers around.”

“Well, recommend that he make us feel a bit more welcome next time, or we’ll make him bring the logs to us rather than the other way around, the way it’s supposed to be.”

“With all the political muscle Kingman has, I’m surprised he doesn’t have the governor build a DPS substation here at the terminal—or better yet, have the President build an entire army base here,” Tom said. He slapped the door sill. “You take care, Frank. Sorry for the inconvenience. I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse, though.”

“No problem, buddy. Thanks for the heads-up. Later.” As Tom assumed a port-arms stance to guard the open gate area, Kelly pulled his cruiser inside the entrapment area when the green direction light came on. After he was inside, he waited until the outer gate closed, shut off the engine, popped open the hood and trunk, and then exited his vehicle to allow the security guards to search. They shined flashlights in the engine compartment, opened glove boxes and storage compartments, looked under the seats, flipped down sun visors, inspected under the spare tire, and rolled a mirror underneath the cruiser to inspect under the chassis.

Kelly then handed a guard a logbook marked FIELD KIT SECURITY LOG, and the guard compared the last number on the log to the number stamped onto a steel truck seal that secured a large metal case in the trunk. The trunk contained a shotgun, ammunition, a Taser gun to subdue unruly citizens, road flares, flashlights, strobes, ropes, and other safety and security devices carried by all DPS sergeants, but they were prohibited in TransGlobal’s complex unless they were sealed by TransGlobal security personnel. The numbers matched, and the security guard closed up the trunk, handed the logbook back to Kelly, and nodded at the guardhouse to allow him to pass.

Kelly got into his cruiser and started it up. Just when he was expecting the inner gate to open, he saw Tom enter the entrapment area. He rolled the window down again as he approached. “What’s up now, Tom?”

“Just a glitch.” He noted Tom had his M-16 rifle hanging in front of him this time with his hand on the grip, not over his shoulder like before.

“Need me to step out?”

Tom shook his head. “Shouldn’t take a minute.” Kelly could see Tom touch an earpiece in his left ear as he listened to radioed instructions. “Pop the trunk again for me, buddy. They want me to check something.”

Kelly hit the trunk release button. “Sure. Need the logbook?”

“Why don’t you let me see it? These new guys are starting to blabber. They’re driving me nuts. Let me straighten this out.” Kelly handed Tom the truck seal log, and Tom went around to the trunk, opened it, and started to work inside.

Kelly got out a moment later and casually strolled around to the back of the cruiser. He noticed three more guards outside the bunker, their M-16s also slung in front of their bodies but not upraised, watching him. Tom had his flashlight out and was inspecting the truck seal on the field kit box, the logbook open. “Problem, dude?”

By way of reply, Tom ran a gloved finger under the truck seal, feeling all around the underside of the steel strap. After probing the entire seal, he gave a light pull…and the seal came apart and clattered to the carpeted floor of the trunk.

“Why did you do that, Tom?” Kelly asked.

The security guard stood up and faced the DPS sergeant, a dark, blank expression on his face. “It shouldn’t have come off that easily, Frank,” he said. “And it looks like the band itself was cut right at the clasp to make it hard to detect the cut.”

“Probably just a bad seal,” Kelly said. “No big deal. I’ll pull out, and you can reinspect the field kit, reseal it, and sign the log again.”

“There’s another problem, Frank,” Tom said. “There’s a radiation alarm going off.”

“A what?”

“Radiation alarm. We installed radiation detectors here at the facility.”

“Yeah? That’s pretty cool. Well, the shotgun and my sidearm have tritium sights—your guns probably do too. That’ll set off a radiation alarm.”

“This alarm is going off the scale, Frank,” Tom said. He raised his M-16 and clicked off the safety. “Turn around, walk forward to the fence, then place your hands on the fence, lean forward, and spread your legs.”

Kelly did as he was told. “Jesus, Tom, put that thing down. It’s me, man, remember?”

“I’ve known you for a grand total of two weeks, Kelly—stop making like we’re brothers or something. Cover!” he shouted. Two of the security guards started to enter the entrapment area. Tom took Kelly’s pistol and Mace canister out of his holster and tossed it aside, then held his rifle aimed at Kelly until the other guards could cover him. “Okay, asshole, what’s in the case?”

“It’s my field kit, Tom. What do you think it is?”

“You can’t get away, so whatever that thing is will kill you along with everyone else if it goes off,” the security guard said. “Give it up. What’s in the fucking box?” No reply. “Answer me!”