The pressures from the past few weeks seemed to cascade around her. Britnell, Anthony, she thought. It seemed like they’d forgotten she could do anything but have sex. McGriffin had been the only one she could relax with, the only one who hadn’t threatened her.
And she didn’t even know him.
As she fell asleep, she felt she didn’t even know herself.
Chapter 13
“Hurry up. Climb inside.” Vikki pulled the moving van that she had rented up to her apartment. Harding waved the group into the back of the van. Ten of Renault’s men, dressed in black jump suits, climbed inside. Each carried a rifle wrapped in blankets. One flicked a cigarette out before pulling himself up. Hours before, they had driven to Vikki’s apartment in the Chevy van, leaving Renault and the rest of the men up in the mountains.
The men tried to find a place to make themselves comfortable as Harding began to close the door. “All right. Remember — no matter what happens, no one says anything. As soon as I lock you in, no talking until we open you up. Any questions?”
Harding was met by silence. Vikki and Harding struggled with two twin mattresses, positioning them upright at the rear of the moving van, blocking both entrance and exit. Satisfied that the mattresses would provide a credible cover if the back were inadvertently opened, they shut the door and locked it.
Harding wiped his hands on his jeans. “Ready?”
Vikki flipped him the keys. “If you have any trouble, leave the talking to me. The guards know me. And be careful starting out. First gear is tricky.”
Harding replied by stepping up into the moving van.
Vikki climbed into the smaller Chevy van. She waited until Harding familiarized himself with the rented moving van before pulling away from the apartment. She shielded her eyes from the sun; it would set in another hour.
The truck rumbled behind her. The gears crunched as Harding tried switching too fast.
Vikki adjusted the rearview mirror. That’s all we need, she thought. Calling off the assault because klutzo can’t drive a stick shift.
As they left Wendover, the boulevard to the base narrowed to a two-lane road. She purposely went slow, allowing cars to pass them. The usual twenty-minute trip expanded to forty minutes, giving her time to go over the plan in her head.
She had tried to think of everything, but there were too many ifs left unanswered:
If Britnell wasn’t late meeting her;
If Renault made the rendezvous on time;
If the helicopters showed up;
If Wendover AFB communications were totally cut;
If they could take out the barracks.
A sign announcing Wendover AFB jolted her thoughts. Constructed of brick and glass, the guard shack that defended Wendover AFB’s main gate had two lanes of pavement running on either side of it. A series of large, two-foot diameter metal cylinders were flush with the ground, and according to Britnell, could be quickly raised by a piston to act as a barricade to deny access to the base.
Vikki slowed and flashed her visitor’s pass. A young security policeman stepped from the shack.
Vikki’s heart froze. She didn’t recognize the airman. The guard waved the car in front of her on, then held up a hand when he failed to spot a base decal on Vikki’s van. Vikki unrolled her window and held out the pass. “How’s it going?”
The airman’s eyes widened at her smile. “Fine.” He barely looked at the pass and instead looked into her eyes. “Can I help you?”
Vikki pointed to the yellow pass on the windshield. “Is there a problem?”
The young man flushed. “No, ma’am. Just didn’t see the pass. Go ahead.”
Vikki started to roll away. “Thanks. And see you around.”
“Sure. No problem.” He straightened his ascot and waved her van on past. She was inside the base when he turned to the moving van behind her. Vikki pulled off the side of the road, just past the guard shack, and waited for Harding. The young airman read a sheaf of papers that Harding had thrust at him. After shuffling through the papers, the airman shook his head and pointed back outside the gate.
“Shit.” Vikki’s breath quickened. The airman and Harding started arguing. She flung open the door. Brushing back her hair, she stepped toward the guard shack. Harding was giving the airman his best rap.
“I tell you, man, I’m supposed to deliver this shipment to the airman’s barracks. Open your eyes and read: ‘Airman First Class Britnell, 1977th Security Police Squadron, Wendover Air Force Base: partial shipment.’ It can’t get any clearer than that.”
“This does not have the transportation officer’s stamp on it, sir. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you on base.”
Vikki stepped up to the guard. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but—” he stopped as he turned to her. His voice softened. “Excuse me, miss. What do you have to do with this?”
“Airman Britnell is my boyfriend. This partial shipment is some new furniture he stashed at my place before I moved out here.” She clamped her mouth, hoping she wouldn’t get tripped up in a lie. She looked around. “Come on, ask your partner. He knows me.” She hoped that his partner wasn’t a new security guard as well.
The airman shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t allow this truck on base.” A car honked, impatiently waiting to be saluted onto Wendover. “Excuse me.” The security policemen waved a half-dozen cars past.
“There must be something you can do.” Another car honked.
He spoke over his shoulder. “Sorry—”
“What’s going on, Saunders?” A tech sergeant stepped from the shack, wiping his hands of a sandwich he placed down.
The young airman turned, still waving cars into the base. “This van wants to get on base, Sergeant. The papers don’t—”
“Well, hello, Vikki,” interrupted the sergeant. He broke into a smile. “Are you causing this traffic tie-up?”
Vikki brushed back her hair. Her heart slowed. “Oh, Fred. Am I glad you’re here.” She motioned toward the moving van. “A partial shipment arrived for Britnell — I’m trying to help out. It’s some furniture he bought and I wanted to surprise him.”
The sergeant shook his head. “No problem. With the way that boy’s straightened up, I’d let you bring a fleet of trucks on base. You’ve been good for him.” He waved Harding on through. “Get going. You’re holding up traffic.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Take care, Vikki.” The sergeant turned to the young airman. “Carry on, Saunders. This isn’t a mickey mouse Air Training Command base — use a little judgment next time.” He stomped into the guard shack to his sandwich.
Harding pulled behind Vikki’s van and waited for her to move out. Once the van was on the road, Vikki’s leg started shaking. She drew in a deep breath. “Settle down,” she said to herself, “This is just the beginning.”
She followed the road to a tee. A sign at the intersection pointed to the right and listed:
BASE HEADQUARTERS, CBPO/CPO, OFFICERS’ CLUB,
BX, COMMISSARY, RV PARKING
The sign pointing left listed both the airmen’s barracks and Alpha Base.
Vikki wet her lips and made a sudden decision. Turning right, she headed for the RV parking. Harding hesitated at the intersection, then followed her.
The lot was half filled with Winnebagos, land cruisers, thirty-foot trailers, and an assortment of campers. The gate was open. Vikki pulled in and found a spot between two Winnebagos.
Harding maneuvered the moving van, squeezing into an open slot. Vikki hopped from the Chevy van. He met her, his face gray. “What the hell are you doing? We’re supposed to park by the barracks and use Britnell as our cover story.”