“No! I’m done with this,” Emil replied. “When Alastair promised to cancel the debt I owe him, I never thought my help included accessory to murder. I’m drawing the line…you can’t keep killing people.”
Morris recognized that the diversion was his opportunity to act. He figured the shooter was focused briefly on his partner. If he acted swiftly, he might regain the upper hand. He rolled over to the opposite side of the truck from where Emil was standing.
He jumped up behind the shooter, leveling his weapon. “It’s over, mister,” he shouted. “You’re covered… drop the gun and put your hands behind your head. Don’t make this any worse.”
Unfortunately, Tom Starkovich chose not to go down without a fight. He moved surprisingly fast even though a bullet had torn through his left knee in the previous gun battle. Stark spun on his good leg, strafing automatic fire in a wide arc across his body. It was his last desperate act, unable to get turned far enough to bring the deadly fire upon his foe.
Morris was unflinching, prepared for the shooter to defend his position. He knew a shot to the chest was useless; the protective Kevlar vest was impenetrable. His only choice was a head shot. He squeezed off one shot, hitting Starkovich in the temple as he continued to turn, the impact force causing him to flip over backward onto the ground. He landed awkwardly, his neck snapping from his full weight falling forcefully on his head.
Morris now pointed his weapon at Emil, who stood with his hands high above his head. “Don’t move and keep your hands up,” he ordered, moving cautiously toward the slain man on the ground.
“Yes, sir,” Emil replied, holding his hands steady. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”
Morris moved warily toward the slain gunman, holding his weapon with both hands as he approached. He kicked aside the automatic weapon and reached down to unzip the Velcro patch on the vest holding his pistol. He glanced at the man’s face and could tell he was dead from the severe head wound. To be sure, he felt for the carotid pulse to confirm his impression. Nothing. The man was gone.
“Put both hands on your head,” Morris said, now focusing back on Emil. He advanced toward the man and handcuffed his left wrist, attaching the free cuff to the door handle of the truck. Only then did he re-holster his weapon to consider his next move.
“This is a sorry mess we have here, mister. I don’t know what your involvement’s been, but there’s going to be hell to pay.”
“I’m not part of this, Officer,” Emil tried to explain.
“Shut up. You have the right to remain silent,” he said irascibly, reciting the rest of his Miranda rights before adding, “I don’t want to hear another word.”
Morris dialed 911. “Dispatch, this is Lieutenant David Morris from the Palo Alto Police in California.” He listened patiently while the dispatch officer confirmed his statement. “That’s correct…I need immediate assistance. I’m on Route 13 just outside Fort Knox. I have a prisoner in custody, and another dead at the scene. We’ll need the coroner.”
When the call was over and help was on the way, Morris felt himself begin to relax for the first time since he’d arrived at the Louisville airport. His sense of relief was somewhat blunted by having missed arresting the men responsible for the theft at Stanford. He took comfort, however, that he had at least helped thwart the master plan-a plan that set him on this course four days before.
My God, has it only been that long? he thought. It seems like Quantum was an eternity ago. He hung his head, trying to make sense of it all. What some people will do for money…
SIXTY-EIGHT
Fort Knox
Agent Jason Henry and Emerson Palmer were holding steady a few hundred yards from where the Peterbilt tractor-trailer was positioned. They had front row seats when Conrad set his antigravity machine in motion, completely spellbound by the awesome manifestation of the new technology in action.
As they watched, Henry trained the night-scope on the trailer and for a moment he thought he’d lost his mind. He rubbed his eyes and took a second look at the man shadowing Conrad inside the Plexiglas control module. His first impulse of skepticism quickly turned to incredulity. No way. It couldn’t be, he thought. What the hell would he be doing here?
“Emerson, take a look at the guy standing next to Conrad. Who does he look like?” Henry asked, handing him the spotter’s scope. He couldn’t be certain given the distance, but the man in question resembled a fellow cleaner.
“Sweet Jesus! That’s Major Nuzam!” Palmer exclaimed. “What in tarnation is Rafie doing here?”
“Beats me,” Henry replied. “I thought he looked like Rafie. I’ll be damned…Freeman’s got a cleaner on the inside we didn’t know about.”
“You have got to be shittin’ me!” Emerson said, irked they were just now learning of vital operational information. “This setup stinks. It reminds me why I hate that son-of-a-bitch. We could’ve killed Rafie… and I’ll bet my last bullet he doesn’t know we’re out here, either.”
“Okay, ease down,” Henry coolly replied. While he agreed with Emerson’s sentiment about General Freeman, this was no time to rehash past misguided operations. “I agree this stinks, but as far as I’m concerned our job just got a lot easier knowing Rafie’s up front. I’ll bet anything his orders are to protect Conrad. That gives us way more latitude.”
“How so?” Palmer asked, peering through the scope, trying to determine Rafie’s role in the operation.
“If I’m right and Rafie’s there to protect Conrad, we can concentrate exclusively on the machine,” Henry replied. “Easy peezy, buddy.”
Henry started the car, preparing to advance their position. It was time to engage. “I’ve seen enough. To hell with Freeman…the machine works just fine. Let’s shut this down before someone gets hurt.”
Henry looked at Palmer with a Cheshire grin. “And I’ll tell you something else…I’ll stake you anything Morris has waylaid the Kenworth. These guys have no backup. We’ve got ’em… Rafie needs to know he’s got allies watching his back. He’s gonna be surprised to see us, too, pard’,” he said with delight.
As Henry was about to pull onto the roadway, a glance in his side mirror gave him a start and he slammed on the brake. Approaching at high speed was another vehicle. It was moving too fast to be the Kenworth. He figured base security was sending its first counterforce to investigate happenings at the depository. His speculation was short-lived, however, when the Lincoln Navigator came barreling by, making a beeline for the Peterbilt.
“What in the world?” Henry asked. “Who the hell would that be? Isn’t that one of the vehicles from the fish farm?”
“It is indeed,” Palmer replied. “Well, that’s some good news…it appears your Lieutenant Morris was as good as you claimed. But on the downside, it also looks like he’s lost control of one of the hostages,” he chuckled. “What’s your bet Marshall’s driving that car?”
Henry stomped on the gas and their vehicle spun gravel as he entered the roadway in fast pursuit of the Navigator. “Given Marshall’s unmanageability up to now, I wouldn’t dare take a bet against him. How he got past the MPs is a story worth hearing I’d wager, though. Christ…the guy never quits!”
Jarrod Conrad recognized from Kilmer’s body language that he’d just received unexpected news. He’d lost his swagger, and from the noticeable droop in his shoulders there was no doubt something had gone terribly wrong. It was time to make his move. It’s now or never.
“Mister, I don’t know what your game is,” Jarrod said, looking back toward Rafie, who was peering over his shoulder, “but I suggest you get as far away from this rig as possible.”
“Don’t, Professor,” Rafie yelled, lunging at Conrad, who was just entering some new command at the control consol. A red warning light began flashing and the antigravity machine shuddered.
Rafie’s admonition came too late. Jarrod had keyed his secret code to scram the machine. He called it the F-13 kill switch, an override that immediately shut down the machine in case of an unexpected malfunction. Jarrod had devised the code as a protective feature more than anything else. Because the machine used fissionable material in the generator’s core, the F-13 command could be used to bring it to an abrupt halt.
The problem with activating the scram switch was that it was another untested application of his technology; there was no research to support what would happen when the generator was immediately shut
