Brad slept the rest of the trip, bothered by Asher only
upon arriving at the truckstop. He looked at his watch and
found they were an hour early, as he had told Baker to meet
them at one. Asher seemed unconcerned at their early
arrival and insisted upon Brad buying them lunch. A
truckstop was not exactly Brad's concept of lunch. It
wasn't a question of nutrition as much as it was a question
of cleanliness: Brad felt that for something to be truly
sterile, it must be packed in styrofoam or sealed in a pizza
delivery satchel.
Asher ordered a salad with Ranch dressing, turkey and
dressing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes with gravy, green
beans, corn, two rolls with butter, ice tea, and, of course,
he drank his glass of water. Brad wondered for a moment if
he was suppose to order also, or just eat Asher's leftovers.
He asked for a BLT on toast, which he gobbled-up so quickly,
he embarrassed himself. The waitress laughed when he asked
for a second, but was happy to oblige. Brad didn't feel
like a complete pig when Asher ordered a piece of cherry pie
(with ice cream) and coffee for dessert.
One o'clock came and went, and Brad was totally
miserable. Not only was he in the company of a lowly
mercenary, sore from head to toe, tired beyond words, but he
had eaten so much he was about to pop. Asher suggested Brad
pay the bill and they wait for Baker outside, as he was
obviously late. With great effort, Brad pushed himself to
the cash register and charged the lunch and the tip on his
credit card.
No sooner had they reached the car than Baker's
Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. Baker parked the car,
tucked a newspaper under his arm, and started to the door of
the restaurant. Brad stepped out of the old Ford and caught
his attention before he entered.
"Dartmouth, good to hear from you," he said with a
smile, offering his hand.
"Asher's got a plan, he's over hear in the green Ford.
We found the compound the Sergeant told me about, but
there's one thing you've got to know before I introduce you
to the mercenary."
"I don't like your tone of voice, Dartmouth."
"Yeah, yeah. Look, I haven't told Asher that Roger is
an alien."
"You shit! Didn't he explain the understanding between
a mercenary and his employer?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's purely acedemic-- all he wants is
his money. I'm paying him, so he ought to do the job
regardless."
"No, Dartmouth. I'm paying him. If you don't tell
this guy before the rescue, he's going to be very angry."
"I'll take care of him... Just keep cool about the
alien stuff, alright?"
"Alright, but it's your ass when this thing goes down."
Brad lead the way to the car, and slid into the back seat.
He introduced the men, then fell silent, and looked at
Asher.
Asher took his time pulling a piece of tracing paper
from his shirt pocket, and locating the map he'd used on the
recon. "Gentlemen, the situation is this: the enemy is
holding a prisoner at a compound about twenty miles inside
the boundaries of the Nellis Air Force Base Bomb Range.
Their force is most likely twelve to fifteen strong. I
estimate four armed guards, two on duty, two off, working
six hour shifts, patrolling inside the perimeter," he
explained, tracing a path inside the barbed wire with his
finger.
"This area is a helipad, with one helicopter always on
station-- no other vehicles present. This means a pilot and
copilot. This building is a communications shack with a
satellite dish, so they probably have two radiomen. The
camp will need a cook and an admin clerk, making a minimum
compliment of ten men plus two to five support personnel."
"Our mission, of course, is to rescue the prisoner. I
propose we execute the mission in the form of a midnight
raid. A four-man detail could approach on foot, breech the
wire covertly, locate the prisoner, and sneak out. I
believe it possible to do this without bloodshed."
"Why four men?" asked Baker.
"The actual operation will require six, the detail will
only require four. We'll need one man to cover each of the
two guards, one to locate the prisoner, and one to watch the
third's ass. It would be better if we could slip in and out
unnoticed, but if we can't, we'll have to neutralize the
guards, chopper and the radio shack."
"I see," said Baker. "And the other two?"
"One will wait outside the range with a getaway car,
the other... well, that's the main reason I want to talk to
you."
"Uh-oh," said Brad.
Baker flashed him a dirty look. "You need a helicopter
and pilot, right?"
"Very good, sir," stated Asher in authentic respect.
His tone offended Brad, since he had never heard it from
him. "The distance from the entry point to the exit point
is too far for us to travel under the cover of darkness.
Also we don't know what shape the prisoner will be in. If
all goes well, we can carry him to an LZ on the other side
of this hill and helo the detail to a getaway truck."
"What if all doesn't go well?" asked Brad.
"We proceed to an emergency LZ four hundred meters east
of the compound and helo out from there."
"That's dumb," commented Brad. "It would be easier if
the helicopter landed at the hill, we walked one mile,
rescued the prisoner, and went back to the helicopter and it
flew out."
"Dartmouth, this bomb range is Air Force property. The
airspace is covered by radar. If we flew in, they'd know it
in minutes," stated Asher.
"If that chopper sets down any more than sixty
seconds," explained Baker, "Nellis will have an interceptor
on the way to shoot it down the minute it lifts off."
"Okay, fine," argued Brad. "But the helicopter could
land on the helipad when it picks us up."
"Dartmouth, you've got a lot to learn about airmobile
operations," interjected Baker. "Never set your bird down
in the wire: it increases the chances of being caught in a
crossfire. You're just asking for trouble."
"Damn, are you sure you two are partners," jabbed
Asher. "You're as different as night and day."
"That's right and left," commented Baker, causing the
two to laugh. Brad didn't think it was funny. It just
proved that executives and soldiers were in cohorts to
subvert and destroy truth and reason. "What's the chopper
going to cost me?"
"I know a man in Palm Springs who runs an executive
shuttle service. Of course, that's a cover for his real
business. He'll probably do it for ten thousand, that would
include the bird."
"Ten thousand is too high for carfare. Offer him three
up front with another five for hazardous duty pay if things
get hot. If he won't take it, I can find someone."
"Sounds fair," offered Asher.
"That leaves us short two men," stated Baker.
Asher's eyebrows dipped slightly. "Dartmouth's got a
contact in Vegas. I think she'll do for the getaway
driver."
"She?" asked Baker.
"Oh no, Asher," interrupted Brad, "Melanie's not
involved in this!"
"Too late, boy. She became involved when she dropped
and recovered us from the recon. Besides, she won't be in
any danger: all she has to do is have a car waiting for us.
Just like the recon."
"She?" asked Baker again.
"She's a psychic in town who's been helping me, but I
don't think she should go along," explained Brad.
"Then she already knows about Roger?" inquired Baker.
"Yes."
Baker looked at Asher. "That leaves one."
"Two," responded Asher, tersely.
"What's wrong with taking Dartmouth?" asked Baker. "He
can't be that much trouble."
"Dartmouth is going: I need him to ID the hostage.
You're the one who isn't going," offered Asher.
Baker stared at Asher for several silent seconds.
"Asher. I guarantee you I can handle myself better than
half the men you'd recommend for the job."
"Yes, sir, I have no doubt of that. But I'm not taking
my paycheck with me on this operation. If you got wasted,
I'd have to count on numbnuts here, to come up with the rest
of my money. You are not going."
For a fleeting moment, Brad sensed that his dream of
success would crumble before his eyes. All the effort, the
humiliation before his boss, Asher's continued insults, the
march through the desert... all gone because two hardheaded
bastards were arguing over money. Typical, since both were
whores: anything for a dollar.
"I can make arrangements with my attorney to see that
you get your money."
"All attorneys should be killed at birth."
"Asher-- Let me put it to you like this: No me, no
money. Got it? You tell me what arrangements you want, and
I'll make them."
Asher thought silently. "My five thousand, plus the
pilot's bonus, in cash, in separate lockers, at Las Vegas
Airport. We keep the keys."
"Wrong," stated Baker. "Dartmouth keeps the keys."
Dartmouth and Asher exchanged a surprised glance, for
different reasons. "He's gonna catch the first round
fired... I keep my key."
"If you've got the key," interrupted Brad, "You and the
pilot might kill us both and take the money without going
through with the operation." Brad looked at Baker with a
'hey, I'm not as dumb as you think' look.
"Besides," added Baker, "It's incentive for you to keep
Dartmouth alive. He'll need all the help he can get."
Asher contemplated the situation with earnest, then
agreed. "That leaves one man. You got someone in mind
Baker, or do you need me to hire someone." Baker didn't
answer.
A light bulb appeared over Brad's head. "Ralston."
Baker considered the suggestion. "Are you sure we can
count on him?"
"He and the Air Force didn't part on the best of
terms," pointed out Dartmouth. "He knows the area and could
give Asher some inside tips."
"Who's Ralston?"
"A mutual acquaintance," explained Baker, "If he'll do
it, he'd make a good addition to the team. Have you got his
number, Dartmouth."
"Yeah, I'll call him."
"Alright then: Dartmouth and I will meet the pilot in
Palm Springs and call Ralston. You return to LA. You and
Ralston fly into Vegas Saturday afternoon. Have a ticket
waiting for Ralston at the airport counter. Bring the
pilot's front money. We'll meet at the girl's place for a
briefing, hike in, and hit the camp Sunday about midnight.
Questions?"
Silence.
"Good. A pleasure doing business with you, Baker."
The men shook hands again, and Baker moved to get out of the
car.
"Hey, I almost forgot," he said. "I brought this paper
for you. Page three." Baker handed a copy of the Herald's
Friday edition to Brad.
On page three was a circled article. "Fugitive Foils
Fed's," started Brad, "This must be one of Kelley's pieces--
he's into catchy headlines. 'Late Thursday evening,
officers of the FBI and Los Angeles police raided a hotel
room they believed to be occupied by a member of a western
White Supremacist group. The man, whose name was not
released, is wanted on several federal charges including
trespassing on a military reservation, destruction of
federal property, using an assumed identity, forgery, and
credit card fraud."
"Though the assailant was not in his hotel room at the
Eastview Inn, 4894 Mendenhall, the FBI was able to seize his
car. The Pontiac Firebird was reported to have been damaged
in a previous attempt to elude authorities." Brad's gaze
shifted to Baker.
"Keep reading," suggested the man.
"A spokesman for police explained that they had found
the fugitive by tracking the stolen credit card he had used
to pay for his room.' Oh shit!" exclaimed Brad.
"Yeah, that's pretty wild," offered Baker.
"No... I used my credit car to pay for our lunch."
"I would say," interrupted Asher, "that you need to
throw that card away before it gets you in any more
trouble."
"What amazes me, is why the FBI thought you were in the
room to start out with. They should have been able to tell
you weren't there."
"That's my fault," admitted Asher. "We stopped at a
hardware store and I bought several of those timers you put
on appliances. I plugged them to the lamps and television,
and rigged one to flush the toilet every few hours. I've
done it before."
"Like I said: pretty wild." Dartmouth handed Baker his
American Express card, which Baker tossed into a trash can
several miles down the road.
Brad fell asleep within a few minutes of their
departure, thus missing the scenery of the Napa Valley. It
was probably best, as he had not yet fully recovered from
the hike to the compound. The thought hadn't completely
sunk in yet, but he was going to need all the rest he could
get. He was going to have to make the hike again.
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