From the Pulpit, Chapter 38

Chapter 38
 
Picktown Ohio
9:55 pm

Billy Z pulled the white Chevy Impala into a quiet area of Sycamore Creek Park in the city of Picktown.  He followed the dirt road  that led around the baseball diamonds to the back of the park where it ended next to the railroad tracks.

He stopped the car, turned off the engine, got out and stood there in the quiet for a few minutes.

Trying to make sense of things he inhaled deeply, the fresh autumn air.  This spot was actually very relaxing.  The sight of the red, yellow and brown leaves on the trees, and the fresh taste of the crisp autumn morning air invigorated him.  This was his favorite season, one that he had missed for eight years while serving his country in the perpetually hot steamy jungles of Central America.

Before he could do much thinking though, the sound of tires crunching on gravel pulled his attention to the road he had come in on.  Trying to look as gangster as he could he waited, not knowing whether the vehicle was the contact or Martin and the SWAT team.

A single vehicle, a burgundy colored Ford Crown Victoria, pulled into view. The glare of the sun on the windshield made it impossible for him to see the drivers face or to tell how many may be in the car.

The car came to a stop a few yards behind him.  The door opened out came the driver.

“Martin?”   Billy said, “You came alone?” 

“Yeah.”

“Where’s SWAT?” 

“Right behind me.”

Martin extended his arm and before Billy realized what was happening the police officer fired three shots into the undercover agents chest. 

Billy quaked from the force of each shot, stumbled backwards, a confused look on his face, then slowly tipped over like a small tree being felled, landing hard on his side in the dirt.  His eyes gradually closed as the blood ran out of his body, slowly spreading across the cold ground.

Detective Danny Martin of the Columbus Police Department, was feeling good for the first time in many, many years. 

Finally, he thought to himself, I get to be myself real self and do what I was trained for.

Detective Martin’s real name was Ulrich Heider von Blost.  His parents, a humble cobbler family, had immigrated to the US in 1973 under the auspices of political asylum, as their home country of East Germany had issued warrants for their arrests for passing state secrets to the Americans.

The CIA helped them escape and expedited their name change from von Blost to Martin by the time Danny was about five years old.  The reality of the situation was not fully understood by the CIA handlers who had charge of their case, because Werner von Blost the shoemaker was in truth, a double agent.

The Easter German Stasi, in cooperation with the Soviet GRU contrived the whole story in order to plant the Martins in America as sleeper agents.  Little Danny had no clue that his parents were actually spies until he was sixteen years old.

His father had given him a carefully worded lecture about the glories of the old world and how socialism would one day fully take root in America.  All they had to do was get rid of that anti-communist , fascist president of theirs Ronald Reagan and put a good socialist in his place.

Danny had been enthralled by his father’s lecture until as it drew near its end Werner abruptly stopped talking and stared deeply into his son’s eyes.

“Danny.  Do you know who I am?”

“Of course!  You are my father.”

“Do you know what I do?”

“You are a custom shoe maker.”

“What would you say if I told you there was more to me and your mother than you ever knew?”

That day Danny discovered why they had really come to this country, and that his loyalties belonged to East Germany and the Soviet Union. 

He relished the idea of being a spy.  He had never been good at making friends in school and often found the other kids to be quite boring, even tedious to associate with.  He had especially despised the fact that most of the families in their town in Illinois went to church and looked down on anyone who didn’t.  His parents of course were atheists, and Danny could not understand how anyone in their right mind could be anything different.

When his father asked him to join the struggle for socialism, he bit into it full force.  By the time he was twenty one years old he had been through several schools of espionage training, right under the nose of the American intelligence agencies.  The whole reason he became a cop was that he felt it was a perfect cover that could allow him terrific levels of access once he reached positions of authority.

And now, after twenty five years of waiting, he had been called into action and it was big.  The Stasi was defunct but the GRU, in spite of the supposed fall of the Soviet Union, was still in full operation.  When they sent him the message that he was to be activated to perform a mission of world wide implications he felt almost giddy with excitement, like a six year old on Christmas Eve.

Billy Z, William Coffee, lay in a slick of red mud next to the Impala.  Martin went over to him and rolled him on his back, then rifled through the pockets of jacket until he found the car keys.  He pressed the button on the remote to open the trunk and the large lid slowly yawned open at the rear of the car, exposing to his view the suitcase.

Martin reached in and drew it from the vehicle.  The case was indeed heavy and it took both of his hands to get it out. He carried it over next to the railroad tracks where he rolled the numbers on three separate combination locks until the latches all came open with a hiss as the thick anti-radiation seals released. 

The contents of the case looked amazingly simple.  It was mostly filled with radiation shielding that kept the chaotic nuclear material out of prying eyes.  In the center of the shielding, in a padded indentation was a metallic globe about the size of a baseball.  An electronic device was attached to it with wires leading to a timer device nearby.

Martin would not be using the timer, instead he would be arming the bomb and placing the leads onto the train tracks so that when the train rolled over them, it would detonate the bomb.  That detonation would in turn set off the one hundred and fifty megatons of military grade fissile material, basically vaporizing most of central Ohio.

In order to get it done and survive himself he would have to move quickly as the train would be arriving in the area in about one hour.  Once it was armed and set he would cross to the other side of the park where a small plane awaited him.  If it all goes as planned he would be safely out of the blast radius, and hopefully out of the radiation zone with out a problem.  He would not have to worry about anyone turning him in later, because any and all potential witnesses would be dead.

He ran back to his car to get the folding shovel he had brought with him and dug into the side of the railroad bed beneath the rail ties.  Once the small cave was large enough he opened the suitcase back up armed the device by putting the two keys that were taped inside the case into their respective keyholes on the detonation device and the timer. 

When he turned them both simultaneously the lights on the timer came to life and a part on the detonator came to life and snapped loudly against the ball of explosive making him jump at the sound.

Once it was armed he pulled two wires from the timer and ran them out the side of the case, then he set the timer to 0 minutes and closed the lid.  Martin slid the case into the cave he had dug and shoveled dirt and gravel back into the hole until it was completely covered. 

He pulled a foot long strap of half-inch thick rubber out of his jacket pocket.  He also took out two two inch by two inch square copper plates and a bottle of fast drying rubber cement.  Martin stripped a little less than two inches of sheathing off the end of a wire and laid it on one end of the rubber strap.  He then poured some of the glue onto the rubber on either side of the wire, smeared it a little his finger and pressed one of the copper plates firmly over the wire holding it for several seconds until the cement was dry and the wire was tightly held against the strap and the copper.

He repeated the same action on the opposite end of the strap with the other wire and copper plate. 

Once that was done Martin dug out a small area just beneath one of the railroad ties.  He then folded the rubber strap in half keeping the copper contacts apart with another thin piece of rubber as he buried the contraption snugly beneath the railroad tie. 

He slowly pulled the thin insulating rubber out from between the copper plates which stayed separated by less than a quarter of an inch, which would be easily compressed as the train rolled over the spot, thereby detonating the bomb.

He buried the trigger mechanism with a thin layer of gravel, being careful not to let anything get between the copper plates.

It was an incredibly simple, basic booby trap with the power to kill three million or more people.

“Done.” He said aloud, smiling to himself as he rose from the work.  He picked up the shovel and started back towards his car.  He still had about forty minutes to get into the plane and take off.  Thirty minutes after being airborne he would be almost to the border of Kentucky.

As he passed the Impala he was startled by a sudden, quiet click.  Turning he saw Paul Hogan rising slowly from beside Billy Z’s body, his gun pointing at Martin.

“I don’t know what all is going on here Danny boy, but I do know that I have never liked you.”  Hogan said. “Now put the shovel down and assume the position against the Impala, keeping your hands above your head.”

“Paul, are you crazy?”  protested Martin, “I’m on your side.”

“No, I don’t think so.”  Replied Hogan. “Andy intercepted the informants call to you an hour ago. Now get your stinking hands in the air or I will shoot you where you stand.”

“Screw you, Hogan. Go ahead and shoot me, at least I am dying for a cause.”

“Oh?”  asked Hogan, “And what cause is that?”

“Truth!”

At that word Martin tossed the shovel towards Hogan, diverting the FBI agents eyes for a split second.  It was long enough though for Martin to quickly draw his own pistol and fire.  Hogan had fired at the same time, both men hitting each other.  Hogan was hit in the right chest, and Martin in the left shoulder.

The two men tumbled backwards from the blast of the bullets, Hogan gasping for air through the wound in his pierced lung.  Martin got back to his feet, his left arm hanging limply at his side and walked over to where Hogan lay on the ground, William Coffee’s body between them.  He raised his pistol towards Hogan’s face.

Paul Hogan stared up into the barrel of the gun, then turned his eyes to Danny Martin’s.  The spy glared back at Paul and said, “Oh, this is going to be so sweet.  I too have always hated you, you little Irish shit.”

The sound of two shots rang out loudly.  Paul convulsed reactively but felt nothing hit him.  He opened his eyes and saw Danny Martin wavering on his feet.  Martin wobble slightly, then his eyes glazed over and he fell straight back, landing very hard on the gravelly dirt road. 

Sirens could be heard in the distance, coming their direction.

William Coffee lay flat on his back, his left hand holding the still smoking pistol he had managed to draw out, and with which he had shot the man who had deceived him.  It was the first time he had been required to shoot anyone since he became a cop. 

Seconds later five police cars and two ambulances roared to the scene.   When they approached Hogan he was barely conscious but managed to whisper “bomb on tracks”.

In the distance the air horn of a train sounded it’s warning that it was coming into town.

“Dear Jesus!”  shouted the paramedic nearest Hogan.  He called out to the officers nearby. “There’s a bomb on the railroad tracks!”

“What?”  one of the asked in response.

“This guy just said there’s a bomb on the railroad tracks!”

The train’s horn sounded again.  It was only about fifteen minutes away.

The officers all ran up to the tracks looking frantically for a bomb but not knowing what form it would take.

”I don’t see anything!” 

“Me neither!”

“Look for something buried!”  shouted one officer, “Like the insurgents used to do in Iraq.”

The train’s horn sounded again.  It was much closer than last time, maybe only ten minutes away.

“Over there!” called out one of the officers who started running towards an area of the rail bed. “The gravel here has been disturbed.”

“Careful, Manny, don’t set off any detonators.”  Said the police sergeant as he made his way towards the spot.

The officers there started gingerly moving the rocks out of the way.

“It’s here!  It’s here!”

“What does it look like?”

“A suitcase, a big metal suitcase.” Came the reply. “And there’s two wires coming out of it.”

“Alright, everybody get out of here.  Manny, can you take care of it?”

The train’s air horn sounded again, it was only a few minutes away.

“I hope so.” Manny replied.

“Do it.”

Office Manuel Juarez, former Army Ranger with two tours of duty in Iraq prayed a quick prayer and continued to gently remove the rocks that hid the wires, tracing their path four more feet.

The horn of the train echoed loudly from only about a mile away.  He had only seconds left.

Manny pulled the last rocks out of the way and saw the trigger device where it was wedged into the rocks under the heavy wooden railroad tie.

The ground started to vibrate around him.  He glanced up and could see the train coming his way about half a mile distant. 

A bead of sweat plopped heavily onto the rocks beneath his face.  He could see the copper plates separated by less than one fourth of an inch of space and he knew that if he even barely touched them together it would trigger the bomb.

The shadow of the train loomed large, it was only a quarter of a mile now.

Manny’s heart was beating so loudly he couldn’t tell if it or the train was louder. 

The massive vehicle was fifteen seconds away!  The engineer had seen the policeman on the side of the tracks and leaned on his horn hard and loud.

He had to do something. He quickly dug some of the gravel out from under the trigger allowing it to separate further.  Then he grasped each end of the rubber strap with the tips of his fingers and yanked.

The short train rolled by two seconds later and Manny lay there on the ground eyes tightly shut holding the copper plates of the strap apart as the world around him rumbled and shook.  Five seconds later and the train was out of site around a bend in the tracks.

The Bomb Squad arrived a few minutes later and relieved Juarez of the device.
 

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