He said, “I appreciate this, Mr. Larrimore.”
“Agent Puller. If you’re really going in that place, keep a few things in mind. Wear a hazmat suit with the most powerful filter you can find. Bring a flashlight because you’ll have no light. The plutonium and uranium cakes are in lead-lined barrels. The plutonium cakes are marked in red with the skull-and-crossbones insignia. The uranium cakes are blue with the same skull and crossbones. We were working in a brand-new field and used our own marking system.”
“So they’re cakes?”
“Right. The ‘fuel’ term is sort of misleading. The uranium and plutonium look like round cakes. They’re both radioactive at the highly enriched level. But plutonium is super-radioactive. The plant workers handled the stuff using robotic arms behind protective shields. Even your hazmat suit probably won’t protect you completely against direct exposure. And one more thing, Agent Puller.”
“Yeah?”
“I wish you luck, son. You’re sure as hell going to need it.”
CHAPTER
86
Puller stood in front of the cracked mirror in his bathroom at Annie’s Motel. He had on his combat uniform and his face was streaked black and green. Forward and rear M11s were in their holsters, rounds in chambers. The MP5 was fully loaded and the discharge set on two-round bursts. He had four extra clips in the cargo slots in his pants. He had to bend forward some to get his full image into the silver-backed glass.
In the Middle East, mirrors had been hard to come by out in the field. Puller had used a jerry-rigged contraption he’d made from a scrap of glass with some goop coated on the rear side to capture the light and thus his reflection. Some of his men thought him more than a little weird for looking at himself in a mirror before going out to fight. Puller didn’t care what they thought. He did this for one reason and one reason only.
If he was going to die, he wanted his last image to be of a man in a uniform going off to fight for something worth fighting for. In Iraq and Afghanistan the motivation had been easy. It had mostly come from the guy next to him. Fighting to keep that guy alive. It had also come from representing the pack he was part of, the United States Army in general, with the Ranger as a specialty. In third place had come his country. A civilian would have thought that unusual, that the priorities had somehow gotten reversed. But Puller knew better. His priorities were right in line with most who wore the uniform and were routinely catapulted into harm’s way.
His ritual completed, he turned out the light, locked the door of his room for perhaps the final time, and headed to his car. He checked his gear and made sure every item he was going to need was in there. That included a few things that Cole had gotten for him. As he drove off, he thought about when he’d arrived in Drake. It had been days, but those days felt like months. It had been oppressively hot, just as it was now. He could feel the heat and sweat collect inside his combat fiber.
He looked at the motel office, thought of the little room where the tiny woman had sat for God only knew how many years. From poodle skirts, big hair, and probably dreams beyond Drake, West Virginia, to death by worn-out body six decades later. He had met the woman all of two times, didn’t even know her last name. But for some reason he didn’t think he would ever forget Louisa, if only because he had failed to save her. He hoped he had better luck saving the rest of the people who lived in Drake.
He had been on the phone for several hours and had spoken with several different people up the chain of command. What he had requested was unusual. And there was always resistance from the military when you requested the unusual. But Puller had insisted and the military got its back up even more.
And then Puller had demanded. And added to that demand was the perfectly logical fact that if people died because the military had refused to take proper steps, careers would be lost. And not just his.
That had gotten the right people’s attention and Puller’s plan was now in place.
He drove right at the speed limit, his gaze dead center on the road. Many switchbacks later he stopped at the rendezvous spot and waited for Cole’s headlights to cut the dark. His watch clicked to twenty minutes past eleven and he wondered if she’d had second thoughts, when her pale blue pickup slid in next to his. She got out, leaned into her truck bed, hauled out a large coil of phone cable on a plastic reel, and tapped on Puller’s trunk. He popped it and she put the cable inside. She got into the passenger seat of the Malibu.
She had on her leather jacket, a black T-shirt, dark jeans, and boots. He saw the Cobra in its holster. He looked down and saw the bulge of her backup weapon in an ankle holster.
“Caliber?” he asked.
“Thirty-eight shortnose chambering Silvertips.” She opened her jacket slightly and he saw the gutting knife inside a leather carrier. “And this for true emergencies.”
He nodded approvingly.
She glanced over at him. “You look ready to fight.”
“I am ready to fight.”
“You really think someone will be there?”
“I don’t play the odds. I prepare for all contingencies.”
“I can’t believe my brother told Dickie Strauss about that mineshaft and that’s what started this whole thing.”
“And that’s the reason we have to get into the Bunker a different way.”
“Otherwise we might get ambushed.”
“Right.”
They reached the spot, a quarter of a mile away from the east side of the Bunker.
Puller slipped his rucksack over his shoulder. It was loaded down with a bunch of gear. He looped the phone cable reel over the other shoulder and then lifted out the body armor.
“Put this on. You’ll have to crank down the straps to make it fit you. It’ll still be big on you, but it’s a lot better than naked flesh and bone getting hit by whatever they might be chambering.”
“Is it heavy?”
“Not nearly as heavy as me hauling your dead body back.”
“Thanks, I get the point. What about you?”
“Already armored up.”
He helped her on with it, and after inspecting her from all angles and making a few minor adjustments, they hit the woods.
Cole followed Puller, who moved confidently through the thick trees, finding paths and trails that seemed invisible to Cole until he advanced down them.
She whispered, “I’ve lived here my whole life and I’d be lost in here in ten seconds.”
Puller skirted the hide of the Bunker, walked north till he reached the end of the concrete, and then headed west again. He checked his luminous watch. He was two minutes ahead of schedule. Sometimes on the battlefield being early was just as bad as being late. He slowed his pace just a bit.
When they finally reached the edge of the woods, Puller squatted on his haunches and Cole did the same, coming to a stop on his right.
Dead ahead was the firehouse.
Puller pointed to the right of the structure. “Phone line comes in to that spot. There’s a jack in the office on the second floor.”
Cole had a thought. “The passageway from the firehouse to the Bunker wasn’t on those plans.”
“That’s right,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
“But why not?”
“For a very good reason. Back door in they didn’t want to publicize.” He rose. “You ready? Because it’s time to do this.”
Cole rose. Her legs wobbled a bit, but then regained their steadiness. She swallowed a lump the size of a fist and said, “Let’s roll.”
CHAPTER
87
The first part of the mission went exceptionally smoothly. They entered the firehouse through a back door. Puller noiselessly attacked the lock and the wood swung back shortly thereafter.