CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The BOLO alert that went out from the Northwest Homeland Security office was distributed, as ordered, to a variety of law-enforcement agencies that fell within the arc that showed how far the Freightliner tractor-trailer truck could have traveled after passing through the border checkpoint at Washington State.
At a South Dakota Highway Patrol substation off 1-90, the incoming alert from the Homeland Security office was faxed to the on-duty dispatcher, who was a replacement officer filling in for a dispatcher who had had to go home sick that evening. This particular dispatcher was a fresh graduate from the South Dakota Highway Patrol Academy in Pierre, and in the hours he was on duty, because he was busy with fielding calls and trying to refamiliarize himself with on-air radio protocol, he did not notice that the fax machine near his elbow was out of paper.
The fax machine would not get refilled with paper until the next shift, several hours later and well after a Highway Patrol cruiser from this particular substation had stopped a Freightliner truck that had a missing taillight and was heading east.
For the last dozen or so kilometers, Vladimir Zhukov had kept his hands clasped tightly together as they at last got closer to the Memphis airport. It was amazing, really, to see how this country had changed so much in the thousands of kilometers they had traveled east. From the Pacific Ocean through the Rocky Mountains, across the deserts and plains and now, in this large city, on paved highways and bridges and overpasses. The traffic seemed heavy and he had a longing, for a moment, for the simplicity and purity that he had known in the wild emptiness of the steppes, working for a cause, nearly alone in the small city that he had grown up in. Such emptiness in which to support the Motherland, the Party, and all the greatness it represented.
He glanced over at Imad, who was driving with what looked like a bored expression on his young face and he said, ‘Isn’t the traffic heavy?’
Imad shook his head. ‘This is nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Vladimir looked again at the streams of traffic, recalling how seeing even two or three trucks a day back in Russia was a noteworthy event.
‘Ah, nothing,’ Imad said confidently. ‘They may be unbelievers, they may be infidels, and millions of them deserve to die, but they know how to build roads and make them work. To drive — you should drive in Damascus, Russki, then you’d know what bad and heavy traffic is… ah, here we go.’
Then it was up ahead. A magical sign that they had been waiting for, all these days on the road.
Adrianna sat back on her heels on the floor, breathing hard. The cooling body of Darren Coover was on the floor next to her, starting to smell as the bladder and sphincter muscles let loose. Well, that was a fine way to start the morning, she thought. But what else could she have done? Short answer: nothing.
All right, she thought, getting up. Time to clean this mess up. She left her office, locked the door behind her. She made a quick reconnoiter of the other offices. Empty. Except for Stacy and a few support staff upstairs, she had the place — at least this level — to herself. She went down the hallway to the small kitchen, snooped around. There. The walk-in freezer. She undid the freezer door and looked in, suddenly shivering. Part of all that expensive planning to ensure that if they were stuck here for a week or so, at least they would have frozen peas and French fries to fall back on. She walked in, saw what she needed, and then went back to her office.
Unlocked the door, walked in. Darren Coover, staring sightlessly up at nothing. Poor American sodomite. Thought he was so very smart, and in a way he was. He was so very smart at sitting in a safe and secure room in a safe and secure city in a safe and secure country, pretending to be a warrior who was defending his nation against evil. Ah, but if evil is standing right in front of you, alive and breathing and ready to strike at you…then you are helpless. Just a helpless little boy.
She went around to her desk, brought out her office chair. Working quickly, she knelt down next to the body and undid his leather belt. She moved the chair closer to Darren’s body, and lifted the corpse by the armpits. She had to grunt with effort as she managed to get the body to sit in the chair. Then, working with the belt, she strapped him in.
Adrianna stopped, breathing hard. She got behind the chair, put her hands against its back and started pushing it out the door. It was hard going at first, but once she got momentum in her favor she was out of her office and into the hallway.
In the hallway, gaining speed, she made it about a couple of yards when the sound of a chime caused her to look behind her.
The elevator door was beginning to open.
They took the airfreight exit and Vladimir felt again a grudging admiration for the skillful way the boy drove the truck. Imad maneuvered the tractor-trailer truck and its cargo with ease as they got closer to the support buildings. There was a constant roar of jets taking off from the airport, up into the blue Memphis sky. Vladimir followed the trails of some of the jets, thinking to himself that Elvis, one of the few Americans he admired, had once looked up at this very same sky.
‘Where now?’ Imad asked.
Vladimir looked back to the sheaf of papers in his lap, part of the package sent to him anonymously in Macao all those months ago. To think of all the work that their unseen employers had done to bring them here…
‘Well?’ the driver demanded.
‘Up to the main gate,’ Vladimir said. ‘Once we get through the main gate, take your second left.’
‘All right.’
The truck slowed as the traffic grew heavier. All of the vehicles ahead of them seemed to be just like their very own: trucks bringing freight and packages to be shipped elsewhere. Something caught in Vladimir’s throat as he saw the busy traffic, the aircraft overhead, the quality of the roads and fencing and everything else. This was one of the smaller cities in this benighted nation, yet it seemed busier than Moscow had ever been. No wonder Russia had lost.
Imad braked and wiped at his brow. ‘You know what I’m going to do, once we get paid off?’
‘No, what?’ Vladimir asked.
‘I’m going to rent a hotel room and sleep for a day and a night. Take a long shower. Eat room-service food, good food, not that diner and McDonald’s shit we put up with these days. And then go hire two whores. Two whores to entertain me, all day and all night… And you?’
‘Almost the same. But a hotel in a small town. With good cable service, so I can watch all the news channels, when… when things begin.’
Imad said, ‘Then maybe I’ll do the whores first. Just in case.’
‘That’s a thought.’
Imad shifted into gear again. The truck moved forward. He said, ‘What kind of security will they have?’
‘We’ll see, won’t we?’
‘Yeah.’
Another jolting shift, and then a gatehouse. An overweight black woman, wearing a dark blue uniform, carrying a clipboard. Imad rolled down the window, passed over a sheet of paper provided by Vladimir. The woman barely glanced at the truck as she matched the shipping number on the dispatch sheet to the daily printout and then passed the paper back up to Imad. She made a quick flicking motion with her wrist, already looking to the truck behind them.
Imad glanced over, grinned as he shifted into gear again and gave the accelerator a jolt.
They were in.
Vladimir said, ‘Looks like security was great.’
‘Are you joking? The security was nothing!’
It was Vladimir’s turn to smile. ‘The security was great. For us. Up ahead, the second left, like I said.’
