thirty

Ruth and Vaslik were back in the Cruxys office poring over the maps, while Walter Reiks was explaining to an agency temp her duties, which included answering the phone, taking messages, and holding the fort until a full-time administrator was appointed.

Chadwick’s original map was the main focus and was pinned onto a corkboard on the wall. Ruth had put sticky notes close to the areas Chadwick had circled and another alongside the word freedom, which had been underlined.

“This has to mean something,” she murmured, tapping the map with a pen. “Why would he write it down and underline it? That’s pretty specific.”

Vaslik went over to the computer on the desk and punched a few keys. “If we concentrate on those three states, I’ve got Freedom in Nebraska, described as an unincorporated community in Frontier County.”

“What does that mean—‘unincorporated’?”

“It means it doesn’t have its own governing municipality, but is run by a local township or county.” He punched another key. “There’s a map but not much in the way of a town. If you want to mark it, it’s in the bottom left of Nebraska, close to the county line with Kansas.”

Ruth put a cross where he said and asked, “Is Nebraska flat?”

“You could say that. Why?”

“Airfields. Chadwick was looking for abandoned airfields.”

“Doesn’t mean the area has to be flat; just big enough to put in a runway, same as roads.”

“True. What else do you have?”

“There are two Freedoms in Kansas; one in Bourbon County, population at the last census, five hundred and five. The other is in Ellis County, population one hundred and twenty-five.” He punched more keys and said, “Wait. It says there are more communities named Freedom in Kansas. This could take a while.”

“What about Oklahoma?”

“There’s one in Woods County, population two hundred and eighty-nine.” He sat back and puffed his cheeks. “Checking out these places could take forever; it’s a lot of territory to cover and we could be chasing shadows.” He stood up and walked over to the map and studied it. “There must be dozens of abandoned airfields out there. We can’t get round to them all, and Google Maps can only show us so much. And why would Chadwick be looking for an abandoned one, anyway?”

“It probably wasn’t down to him. If it was this Paul guy, and he’s planning what we think he’s planning and wants Chadwick to teach him how to fly drones, he’d want somewhere quiet where he wouldn’t have officials or cops breathing down his neck.” She shrugged. “Other than that, who the hell can read the intentions of terrorists?”

Vaslik nodded. “That’s true enough. But why this remote? I mean, Kansas, Nebraska, and Oklahoma are all a long way out from the main cities like New York, Washington, or Chicago.”

“You’re assuming they plan to hit a big city. What if they have somewhere else in mind?”

“Okay, like what? Sporting events, conference venues, government facilities, military bases … the list is endless.” He raised a hand. “Sorry—I don’t mean to be negative, but this is huge. There’s got to be a clue somewhere to narrow it down or we could be going in circles forever.”

Ruth nodded. He was right. Without a specific target even the FBI, with all the data-crunching facilities at their disposal, would have a hard time convincing anybody that any kind of threat was actually out there. She considered another approach. If you were looking for a target to aim at, did it have to be a fixed one? “What would be the biggest propaganda target a terrorist attack could hit in this area? Forget the remoteness or the distance from the big cities.”

He pursed his lips. “I’d go for one of the military bases.”

“Why? Why not a university or college campus, shopping mall or a sports arena? That would get headlines.”

“It would. But they’re soft targets. Hitting them would be nothing like making a successful strike at the US military.” He went back to the keyboard. “And there are … five military bases in Oklahoma alone, one of them an ammunitions plant.”

“Ouch. And the others?”

“Let’s see … there are three in Kansas, one of which is Fort Riley with over twenty-five thousand personnel. Nebraska has just one.” He looked up. “Take your pick—they’re all sitting there, all roughly in the same area.”

She shook her head. Vaslik wasn’t passing off responsibility to her to come up with an answer; he was bouncing it off her to get them both thinking, the way any good team should. Logic told her that a stationary target was just that—a target. But would that really attract the attention of extremists hell-bent on creating world-wide headlines? Most military bases were huge, some like cities. But they didn’t usually give out maps to the public showing where the specific locations of personnel or top-level facilities were gathered, which is what most terrorist planners would be looking for. And a strike—even if successful—on a bunch of warehouses or nearly deserted training areas would do nothing to gain them the news value they desired, yet the risk involved would be the same.

She studied Chadwick’s map again. Trying to decrypt the scribbles in the margins had been a major tease from the moment she’d first seen them. Logic again told her that a man like Chadwick was accustomed to dealing in numbers and letters and specific details, a man who had passed through Wall Street and London, then through the US Air Force Intelligence apparatus. All were environments where clear and concise thinking was paramount, and she was willing to bet that Chadwick would not have made these notes without some purpose. Maybe he’d heard them mentioned before he disappeared. They must have meant something at the time, something that had made the analytical side of his brain seek to retain them for consideration later.

She had an idea. She took the map down and carried it through to a photocopier in the outer office. She made three copies of the margins where the scribbled notes had been made and took them to Reiks and Vaslik.

“Photocopies sometimes make handwritten text clearer,” she told them. “See what you can make from these just by looking at the scribbled notes.”

They sat and stared at the words, or portions of words. For several minutes there was just the distant sound of traffic in the street below and a phone ringing in an adjacent part of the building. Reiks stood up and walked round the office a couple of times, then muttered something indistinguishable before going over to the corkboard where he pinned a sheet of plain paper. He wrote down several words, then stood back. “That’s what I see. How about you two?”

Ruth and Vaslik stared at what he’d written.

Alt … Van … FtSill … McA … Tin.

“Nothing,” said Ruth. “Sorry. Slik?” She turned and found Vaslik was grinning. “What?”

“I’ll leave it to Walter,” he said.

“Military bases,” said Reiks. “They’re all military bases in Oklahoma.” He nodded at Vaslik, who tapped the keyboard and waited, then nodded.

“He’s right. Oklahoma has five facilities: Altus, Vance, and Tinker are all USAF; Fort Sill is army; and McAlester is an army ammunitions base.”

Ruth studied the map again. They were right. It defied logic in one sense, but there could be only one reason why Chadwick had noted down five military facilities in the state of Oklahoma.

“It’s a list of targets,” she said softly.

Seconds later Vaslik had Tom Brasher on the phone with the conference button open.

“What’s happening at any of the military bases in Oklahoma in the next two or three weeks?” he asked.

“Huh? Why? I’m in the middle of something here—”

“Humour us.”

“Military, you say?”

“Yes.”

“I have no idea. Hold on a second.” He put the phone and they heard him speaking in the background. When he came back, his voice sounded constricted as if he’d chocked on something indigestible.

“Which base are you talking about?”

“Any of them.” Vaslik named them all.

“Jesus, I hope you’re not serious about this. Where did this list come from?”

Vaslik explained about the map and the scribbles. “Chadwick was researching some issues to do with abandoned airfields, but he also made notes of these places, although we have no idea why.”

“Well, I hope to hell he wasn’t serious,” Brasher muttered, “because the day after tomorrow, Air Force One will be landing at Altus Air Force base where the president is due to give an inspection and talk to the personnel.”

For several seconds nobody spoke; the implications were frightening. Finally Brasher broke the silence. “Perhaps you’d better tell me what it is you think you’ve discovered.”

Vaslik looked at Ruth and nodded. She said, “We think Paul and his friends are planning a strike of some kind on the base using the drones stolen from Memphis.”

“Drones? How?”

“We don’t know … but if you recall what Patric Paget told us about the modifications his techs made to the Moskitos for dispersing smoke, it won’t be explosives.”

There was a further stunned silence while Brasher digested the idea. Then another voice joined in somewhere in the background and Brasher muttered an obscenity. “Are you at Cruxys?”

“Yes.”

“Well, stay fucking put—I’m coming over.”

Somewhere in the building a phone rang, then stopped. Walter Reiks went off to check on the agency worker. When he came back he was looking puzzled and irritated.

“What’s up?” said Ruth.

“I’m not sure. Did you leave word with anybody about your movements?”

“No. The office in London, but that was all. Why?”

Walter stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “The agency temp just took a call from the London office asking if you’d arrived yet. She told them yes, but the caller hung up without leaving a message.”

Ruth exchanged a look with Vaslik, then picked up the phone and called London with a simple question.

“No, Ms. Gonzales,” was the answer. “Nobody called from here.”