"Not if it helps to stop these things," Giannini replied, standing up.
Colonel Hossey read the radio message from Riley one last time and then slowly put it down on the desktop. He looked up at Sergeant Major Powers. "Are you prepared to do this, Dan?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you get caught, it will cost you your career."
Powers shrugged. "Fuck it, sir. Can't always hide behind that pension."
Hossey nodded. "Looks like Dave is getting ready to step in some deep shit up in Chicago too. I'd hate to lose my two best soldiers."
"Don't worry about us, sir. We can handle it."
Hossey stood up and shook the sergeant major's hand. "Good luck. And Dan — for both our sakes — we never had this conversation."
"Roger that, sir. I was going to say the same thing." Powers spun on his heel and was out the door.
Hossey picked up his phone and dialed the number for the 2d Ranger Battalion headquarters at Hunter Army Airfield outside Savannah.
Chapter 23
Giannini watched in fascination as Riley poured the gooey mixture into the PVC pipe he held between his knees and waited until it settled a foot short of the end.
"Will that stuff explode?" she asked.
Riley nodded as he took a large wok and pressed it down into the center of the mixture, creating a concave depression. "Fifteen pounds of fertilizer to a half gallon of gas. Guaranteed to ruin your day. Before I became an officer and a gentleman, my specialty in Special Forces was engineering — or demolitions, depending on whether we were building something or tearing it down. You'd be amazed how relatively easy it is to make expedient demolitions if you know what you're doing and are willing to scavenge." He held the pan in place for a few minutes until the mixture kept its form. "The caps we stole from the construction site will set it off." He pulled out the pan and placed the pipe next to the seven others he'd already made. "They'll be hardened by the time we get to the target."
He glanced over at Merrit, who was standing at the window to the front of the abandoned warehouse, staring aimlessly out into the street. Riley met Giannini's gaze, and she lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. He'd told her about Merrit's actions in the lair and Giannini had agreed that the woman had crossed the line away from sanity. But she'd also had to agree with his realization that they could use Merrit's help since she was the only Synbat expert.
"Let's get moving," Giannini said. "We can put them in my car."
The two of them loaded the charges and then hustled Merrit into the backseat. Giannini started the engine and they headed out.
On the southern end of the main post of Fort Campbell is an area known as Old Clarksville Base. Surrounded by a one-lane tar road and a rusting fence, it presently contained the headquarters for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and, nestled in one corner, the post's ammunition storage facility.
Decades ago, though, Old Clarksville Base had served another purpose; it was a nuclear weapons storage facility. Massive bunkers were built into the sides of ridges throughout the area, along with numerous concrete pillboxes that had once held marine guards. Plant life now camouflaged the structures.
Sergeant Major Powers had the lights of his pickup truck pointed at the front of one of the abandoned bunkers. He worked swiftly, unlocking the massive padlock that secured the iron bar on the front of the bunker doors. The rusted metal protested as he slid back the bar. The large door swung open with a groan.
Powers pulled a mag light from his fatigue pocket and shone it around the interior. If Colonel Hossey found out about the existence of this cache, Powers knew that the old man wouldn't hesitate a moment before busting his ass to Leavenworth. Upon first arriving at Fort Campbell a year and a half ago, Powers had inherited the cache from a retiring sergeant major with whom he had served in Vietnam. It was knowledge he would have preferred to have been without, but now it was paying dividends.
Powers spotted what he needed. He tore open the crate of C-4 plastic explosive and took out the white packets. He rapidly retraced his steps and relocked the bunker, then hopped into his truck and drove away.
"How are we going to get all this to where it needs to go?" Giannini wanted to know as she peered through the windshield.
"Same way the Synbats moved what they wanted to move," Riley replied.
Giannini pointed to the police barriers blocking off the street and the large, darkened van sitting near the small tent that covered the entrance to the manhole. "How are we going to get it in there?"
"We're going to carry it," Riley replied with a smile.
"Aren't they going to see us?" Giannini asked.
"Who? Lewis's men? They got their asses so far up their computer screens, they aren't bothering to look outside. That would be like real work. No problem — we can do it."
"Why don't you just go to Lewis with this plan?" Giannini asked. "Seems like it's something they'd like — get rid of their problem in one fell swoop."
"I could," Riley admitted. "And they most likely would like it. But they also might dick around with it too long. We have to go tonight. Tomorrow's Monday and this place will be crawling with people, even at night. I can't take the chance of Lewis calling Trollers and having one of their damn conferences to discuss it. We have to end this now."
"What about the men watching the lair?" Merrit asked suddenly, surprising both of them.
"No problem. Doc Seay and the other six members of my team, and the three DIA men — they'll clear the tunnel by 0200 tomorrow morning." Riley looked at his watch in the glow of the streetlights. "That means we've got five hours to move all this stuff, get it set, and clear out before the shit hits the fan." Riley stepped out of the car. The two women opened their doors and got out.
"I'll help," Merrit said. "I'll go with you."
Riley pulled out the first charge. "Why don't you just stay up here and keep watch?"
"No," Merrit insisted. "I can help."
Riley shook his head. "I don't think you should — "
"Hey," Giannini growled, a charge on her shoulder. "Let's stop jawing and do it."
Riley grabbed a second charge and handed it to Merrit. "Follow me."
Sergeant Major Powers was whistling as the headlights of the pickup truck guided him through the Tennessee countryside. By the dim glow of the dashboard, he could see the miscellaneous pile of supplies on the passenger seat. He smiled. There were several large bags of incendiary mix that he had worked up prior to picking up the C-4. Three parts flour and one part aluminum shavings, the mixture sat next to the more lethal concoction of C-4 and blasting caps. It'd be an ugly scene if he had an accident right now.
It had been a long time since Powers had to work out a problem like this, and he was enjoying the challenge. The repercussions would come tomorrow. Tonight was action, and action was the fuel that Powers ran on.
As he turned up Route 139, Powers's time sense slowed down and he mentally prepared himself for the night's events. After thirty years in the army and Special Forces, it wasn't hard. His smile grew wider.
"How much farther?" Giannini asked as she pulled at the front end of the battered shopping cart.
"Another four hundred meters," Riley answered.
They'd turned the cart sideways and dropped it down from the sewer level to the freight tunnel level, then carefully lowered all eight pipes by rope before going down themselves. For more than an hour now they'd been moving due north. They had taped flashlights to the front of the cart, and the glow extended about twenty feet ahead. Giannini and Merrit were on either side of the lights, pulling, as Riley pushed from the rear. It was hard going, since the small wheels would get stuck in the mud or suddenly spin around, causing the cart to tip from side to side. Anxiety would rise as the cart threatened to tip over and spill its volatile contents.