The Librarian Pt. 01

The truck got even closer.

I rammed the two interior legs of the tower and it started to crumble. I roared out the gate to the sounds of small explosions and crashing timbers.

I roared down the road, slowed a little and looked at the gauges. Gas gauge said about three-quarters full. Electric seemed to be charging. Temp was coming up. Maybe a little high, but at least the A/C wasn't turned on. (Chuckle, chuckle.) I appeared to be heading deeper into the jungle (GREAT) but at least I was moving away from the small camp.

God must have figured that was enough of a boost, as the road curved to the right and I slammed into a small tree across the right of way. We bounced over it and careened side ways into a standing tree. I had braced myself on the steering wheel, so I was just shook up a bit. That and the muscle bruises in my shoulders. I backed up and thanked my lucky stars that this truck was more tank than car. I got back on the road and proceeded a little more slowly along till I came to a 'T' intersection. A sign on the other side of the crossroad said "Caracas" with a crooked arrow pointing to the left.

I turned the wheel and started off down the road. After a few miles, the jungle started to thin out. Off to the right, the trees and brush thinned and broke occasionally, and then fell away to reveal the water. The Caribbean Sea, in all it's splendor.

I drove for about an hour and the road curved to the right, following the coast, and I started to run into huts, then houses and buildings. I knew where I was. I accelerated and took a turn to the right, looking for a more modern road. I found it. I cranked the wheel to the left and got onto a two lane blacktop that firmed up and leveled out. I knew what was up ahead; it would widen to a two lane divided road running past an oil storage farm, then accessing the main highway to Caracas.

I was soon moving into the outskirts of the city. I was looking for the right exit-THERE IT WAS! I made the left hand turnoff and glanced at the gas gauge. Almost empty. I pulled over and grabbed the two jerry cans. I popped the cap and emptied the cans into the tank. I threw them onto the shoulder and ran to check the tank. Almost a half tank. These dam 'full-sized' trucks have 'full-sized' gas tanks, too. Oh, well. It will have to do.

I got back in and started out again. I was searching for the street sign for El Corredo street. There it was. I took the right turn and drove on, looking for Cinco del Toro road. As I came up on it, I slowed and looked down the street. There it was: the Chinese Consulate. I slowed as I came down the street and manged to get a spot about twenty feet from the gates. I pulled in and parked, leaving enough room to pull out if I needed to.

I waited. I thought maybe there would be a reaction to my 'activities' out in the jungle. I didn't know how everything was tied together but I felt confident that the Consulate and the Chinese intelligence service were implicated. I sat there and my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten in at least two days. Or had any water.

As I was looking for some water bottles or something else to drink, a late model car, a Mercedes Benz, pulled up to the curb in front of the Consulate. My thirst was forgotten as I started the truck and checked my weapons and the two remaining hand grenades. My luck took a turn for the better as the Assistant Cultural Attache came out the from door, jabbering on a field radio. He was hustling to the car.

Windows were all rolled up, except for the driver's window. The guy's arm was hanging out the window with a cigarette in his hand. I slipped the truck in gear and eased out into the street., pulling up towards the car. The Attache got into the car and closed the back door.

The driver flipped the cigarette into the street and the window was just starting to go up as I pulled up to the side of the car. I had pulled the pin out of the grenade and as I flipped the spoon off the detonator, I tossed it into the closing window.

I accelerated away and three seconds later the car erupted in flames and shrapnel. I roared down the street and made the second left turn, cutting off traffic. I slowed and took a deep breath. I knew the Assistant Cultural Attache was the cover for the head of Chinese intelligence in Venezuela. Not anymore. Now we were almost even.

I drove calmly towards Maiquetia, looking for the Harbor Police docks. I finally found them. I shut off the truck and grabbed my 'belongings' and moved towards the dock.

There were two thirty-five foot boats, old Coast Guard style. But they were in really good shape. The one on the right was just sitting there, bobbing on the swell. No one around. The one one the left had lights on, and the auxiliary power plant humming. I could see two men on the deck. The cabin appeared deserted and there was no below deck to speak of. So that was the one. The other one will have to be put out of commission. I watched for about ten minutes but all remained the same. One last look around and I came out from the corner and quickly walked across to the boat.

As I approached the end of the wharf, I casually slid my right hand, holding the gun, around the side of my hip. I raised my left with the wallet I had taken from the guard as if it were a badge.

"Hola! Como estas?" as I waved at the guys. They straightened up and stared at me as I approached closer. Then one of them said something to the other one. They stopped doing what they were doing and walked slowly towards me. I didn't want to kill them, or even shoot them, but if I had to, I would.

I got to the edge of the pier and lightly hopped down onto the deck. They didn't appear to be concerned, just curious. I was about twelve feet from them and was walking easily when they stopped. 'This is it,' I thought.

I dropped my left arm casually and raised the pistol. Their eyes widened and their arms came up.

"Bajar a la cubierta", I shouted. 'Get down on the deck', in English. They quickly complied. I grabbed a short rope they had been coiling up and tied their hands and feet. Then I made my way to the fore and aft mooring lines and cast them off. I went to the wheelhouse and studied the controls. Everything was in English (thank God- my Spanish wasn't that good) so I started the twin diesels and got them idling. I leaned out of the right window and pulled the pin on the last grenade. I flipped it onto the other ship, and turned and goosed the throttles. The 35 ft. boat surged forward and started out, then the grenade detonated and soon after, the other boat exploded. Not totally, but enough to set it on fire and burning nicely.

I pushed the throttles to about half and we moved out. While we were making headway, I searched the cabin. I found four life jackets and laid them against the back wall. Then I turned to the radios and lit them up. They all seemed to be state of the art. I left the frequencies as they were and checked the instrument panel for a tag for the call letters. Bingo. I listened, but the meager chatter in Spanish seemed to be calm and normal. I pushed the throttles up to the stops as the engines warmed and we surged to the harbor entrance.

I figured I would check on my to 'guests' and see if they were behaving. I figured I would clear the breakwater, put life jackets on them and throw them overboard. I engaged the autopilot, and went outside.

As I got to the back deck, I saw one of them standing with a knife in his hand, and in the process of freeing the other one. I slowly backed up to the wheelhouse and grabbed two life jackets. I returned with my pistol out. Again, I didn't want to kill them, but it was their call.

The one guy had finished freeing his buddy and was turning to come forward when I threw the jackets at their feet. Startled, they stopped and stared.

"VAMANOS!" I yelled. They looked at me, then at the life jackets. I motioned with the gun, over the side, and they got the message. Scrambling to comply, they grabbed the life jackets and put them on. I motioned over the side and they didn't hesitate, jumping into the water. I watched as we pulled away and then I went back to the wheelhouse. Checking the compass, I made for the breakwater and cleared the entrance and headed out to sea. Taking a heading of WNW, I headed it the general direction of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Soon, I would be at the mercy of the U.S. Navy.

The tanks were full, and if I remembered correctly, the boat had a range of approx. 850 miles. It was about 900 miles to Gitmo, so they are going to have come and get me.

About 3 hours later, I still had no radio chatter, and the tanks were a little below half. Time to call home.

I changed the radio frequency to the Naval guard frequency and keyed the mike.

"CQ, CQ. Mayday, Mayday. Calling any Navy ships in the area. Over"

I released the mike key and waited. I was just about to call again when the speakers crackled.

"Unidentified caller, identify yourself. Over"

"Not so fast. Who am I talking to? Over"

Again, silence. Then, "Unidentified caller, this is the U.S.S. Carney, DDG-64 out of Mayport, Florida, on detached service to Naval Base Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. You are in international waters and communicating on restricted naval radio frequencies. Identify yourself. We have your position plotted and are targeting you. Over"

God bless the U.S. Navy.

"U.S.S Carney, send this- Geronimo, this is Tonto. FRT 454R34. Repeat, FRT 454R34. Confirm, over."

It gave new meaning to the term 'radio silence'. The quiet dragged on for ten minutes, then fifteen. Then, "Tonto, respond- FDL 11765R. Repeat, FDL 11765R. Over."

I answered, "LL453T. Repeat, LL453T. Over."

The answer was almost instantaneous.

"Tonto, this is the Carney. Be advised our chopper is en-route. We are altering course to you. Prepare to be boarded and picked up. Maintain radio silence."

"Understand. Tonto clear."

Well, now we wait. I gathered my meager possessions and monitored the gauges. It was all in the hands of the U.S. Navy now.

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Coming Home

The Sea Hawk helicopter from the Carney arrived about one and a half hours later. The fuel tanks of the launch were almost empty. I throttled back and cut the engines. The launch rolled in slight swells, and I waited while the sling was lowered. Slipping into the harness I checked my little bag and threw the Glock onto the boat. The winch whirred and I was sucked into the helicopter's rotor wash.

Fifteen seconds later I was safely tucked in American hands, buckled into the canvas seat, and we pivoted to return to the Carney. Forty-five minutes later, we alighted on the fantail helipad. The deck crew secured the chopper, and the pilot shut her down. The cabin door slid open as the Carney swung back to head for Gitmo Bay. She was smooth and quick. In no time, we were up to thirty-one knots, and slicing through the waves. I deplaned and was met by the Senior Master Chief Petty Officer Manual Gonzalez. He greeted me and led me to the Forecastle and inside to the Secure Com's Room (SCR) and opened the door. Inside was the Captain, Lt. Cmdr. John Hagen, two Marines, and an Ensign.

"I assume you are Tonto," he said, extending his hand. We shook, and I thanked him for saving my ass. "Sorry, but I was instructed to ask, 'How's your wife, Janice?'"

I looked at him and answered, "Janice is fine, sir. Lorelei is soon to be my ex, sir."

That's when I noticed the two Marines standing by the hatchway moving their hands off their side arms. The skipper smiled and nodded to them. They snapped to attention, turned and left. That left only the skipper, myself, and the Communications Ensign in the room. The Skipper smiled.

"My pleasure, sir. It's nice to have the 'Company' owe us a favor. You have some really important friends, sir. I don't know who you are, probably because it's so far above my pay grade that I would get a nose bleed if I knew. But when your message came through, and we passed it on to Naval HQ, all sorts of things started happening. They said we should make our Comms available to you, if you need them. That's why we're here."

I smiled, probably for the first time in several days.

"Skipper, I need a secure link to Langley, with the ability to transmit some DVDs to them."

"Not a problem, Tonto. The Ensign will be glad to help you out. She is very knowledgeable. If you like, I can leave, or stay. Your call. Once you finish your calls, we'll get you a shower, some clean clothes, and some chow, and a quick helicopter ride to the base. As fine as my ship is, she's still not as quick as the bird."

Oh, I forgot to mention, the Ensign was a cute little redhead, who looked to be about 15 years old. Obviously, she wasn't, and the Captain assured me she could get the job done.

So we set up the link, she donned her noise canceling head sets and I waited to link up. The static cleared, and I was talking to Langley.

"Tonto, this is Geronimo. Tonto, this is Geronimo. Do you copy? Over."

"Geronimo, this is Tonto. I copy. Over."

"Tonto, this is a secure link. FDL 11765R. Repeat. FDL 11765R. Over."

"Geronimo, this is Tonto. LL453TR. Repeat LL453TR. Copy? Over."

"Tonto, Geronimo copies. Mike, what the fuck happened? Over."

"Geronimo, my cover is blown. I am sending you some DVD's. My wife is compromised. I need her and the fucking asshole who is screwing her arrested, for violating national security. Then I need you to get my daughter into protective custody. Her life is in danger. Hurry, please. I think Lorelei's lover is her tennis instructor. Over."

I had given the Ensign the DVDs and she scanned them and sent them. She turned to me and said she had not looked at them, but she was sorry for my situation.

It didn't take long. Geronimo came back on line.

"Mike, I'm sorry. We've got the FBI on it and they'll have the two of them soon. I sent three agents to get your daughter and we'll brink her back to Langley and she'll be safe. You know we can't legally operate in America, but two agents will be at your wife's arrest as observers. Again, Mike, I'm very sorry. We'll take care of everything here. Just get back safe. There will be a plane at Gitmo when you arrive. Geronimo out."

The Captain came and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Let's get you taken care of. O'Flynn, scrub everything. NO records. Copy??"

The Ensign had taken off her headset and was pushing buttons and flipping switches.

"Aye, Aye, Sir."

I smiled at her and said thank you. I rose and followed the Skipper to his stateroom, where Senior Master Chief Gonzalez met us with clean khakis, towels, soap, and a razor and toothbrush. The skipper ushered me into his small but cozy cabin and said to take my time.

"Feel free to take a 'Hollywood shower'. We don't have a limit on hot water. The chief will be right outside, if you need anything." He turned and left me, shutting the door.

I felt like a new man. Shit, shower, and shave, and clean clothes. Amazing. I think I drank as much of the shower water as I used to wash, and it felt good.

Meanwhile, back in Virginia

Jason Wilkes hung up the phone. His mind was racing. Lorelei's husband had escaped! They did not know where he was. Granted, he was last seen in Venezuela, but now they didn't know where he was. He ran to his car and drove to Lorelei's house. Running up to the front door, he burst in to his startled fuckbuddy and yelled, "He's escaped!!"

"Who?

"OHH, CHRIST, NO! Tell me you don't mean Mike! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!! He'll kill us both. You don't know him. What do we do?"

While they were arguing, the FBI SWAT/HRT team closed in on the Starne's home and on command burst in the front door, back door, and garage all at the same time. They found the two miscreants standing in the living room, screaming at each other. The look of shock on their faces was priceless. Almost as good as the look when they cuffed the two of them and mirandized them, charging them with espionage, false imprisonment, attempted murder, fraud, embezzlement (??) and a vast assortment of other crimes.

When the two CIA agents showed up at Samantha's apartment, they were met with the FBI, Metro police, a CSI unit, and the coroner.

They were too late.

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The Chief was waiting as I exited the skipper's cabin, and he led me to the Petty officer's mess.

"The skipper won't agree, but we think the chows better. And the guys here are more your kind of people. Too many college kids in officer's country."

I grinned. "Thanks, Chief. Does the captain know?"

He grinned back. "He suggested it."

He might be right. The food was great, and the coffee was probably 100 proof. I began to feel as human as I could, given the circumstances. The other non-coms gave us space and smiles of acknowledgment. Chief Gonzalez sat with me as we sipped coffee.

"The Skipper told me a little about what went down. Not enough to have to kill me, but enough to know you've been shit on." He chuckled, then turned serious.

"My first wife cheated on me, about 2 years after we got married. She was Hispanic, Catholic, and I thought the love of my life. Two out of three. I was on my first tour and came home to tell her my cruise had been canceled. Found her in bed with a dipshit water meter reader. I beat the shit out of him and threw him naked into the street. I called her father, told him what happened and to come get her. Then I left, went back to the Naval base, and turned myself in. The Chief of my watch came, found out what happened, and smoothed it out with the cops. Then he read me the riot act. JAG got involved, got my marriage annulled, and I did some time in the brig. I was allowed to re-up and I shipped out to the Philippines. I decided to make it a career and never looked back. The second best decision I ever made."

He looked at me like an older brother. Heck, he wasn't too much older than me.

"Then, about 8 years later, I was in church and a man, woman, and young lady came and sat in front of me. She was about my age, medium height, blonde, round but not heavy, with cute legs. When we turned to exchange the sign of peace, I swooned. She was gorgeous. Turns out she was the exact opposite of me. She was Irish, and living at home. She was a librarian. After mass, I followed them to the fellowship hall and struck up a conversation. She was smiling at me, her mother was giving me the once over, and if I had not been in uniform, I think her father would have killed me. Right there."

Again he chuckled and smiled.

"Turns out he was a former Marine. Had been in for twelve years before he was wounded and medically discharged with a whole alphabet of medals. She was the youngest of six.

"We dated for two years and made it through two cruises, before we got married. That was twenty four years ago. Twenty two years and four kids." His eyes misted a bit, and he smiled at me.

"I get out in a little more than a year, after thirty two years service. She has already retired, and we have an R/V. She said she wants to have sex in every state before we settle down. I hope I live long enough."

"The best decision I ever made."

He looked at me. "Well, enough about me. She's out there, Mike. They're not all sluts. Go find her, and give it another chance.

"Now, let's get you ready for your flight."

What the fuck was that about?? He was grinning like he knew everything in the world.

Maybe he did.

We made it out to the flight deck and I boarded the chopper. Two minutes later, we were airborne, and headed to Gitmo.

One and half hours later, we landed and I was met by a lawyer from the JAG office. He told me that the FBI had picked up the shit head and my soon to be ex-wife and that they were in custody.