It Aint Paranoia If Pt 02 Ch 05

Just a few reminders before you decide whether to read on. There is no sex between people under 18; this is the fifth chapter of part two of a fantasy/action/adventure series, so beginning here will only confuse you. Likewise, if you prefer realism over fantasy, this is not for you; suspend reality if you read on. No pathos in this chapter either, my friends.

I edit my own work, so, even though I go through it twice after I finish, I probably missed a few pronoun/antecedent agreements, misspellings and homonyms, tense changes, left in/out a word, and didn't correct one or more grammatical errors. Try to look past them if you can.

I appreciate constructive criticism and other comments, but I will delete comments by and block trolls.

Here's a couple of thoughts, Anonymous: it's a free amateur site, and you get what you pay for; or publish a few of your own so we can learn to do it right.

From the end of the previous part, 2.4 -

With a mightily perplexed look on his face, Tom finally spoke up. "It's dangerous, it's unlikely, it's crazy! But right now, I don't have a better plan. Claude, Clay, can we keep from leaving DNA traces on things we have to load? On and in the trucks?"

"We have the gloves they were wearing, we have forklifts, we have hazmat suits we can use... maybe? But we can't move too fast and pull it off, and who knows who else is on the way? There are millions upon millions of dollars in sophisticated weaponry here, even ignoring the SAMs. Someone else is coming to get that shit when these clowns don't show up at the rendezvous point.

"My guess is we have until sometime tonight, given that they didn't seem to be in a real hurry."

****

Clay and Rudy had been dispatched to get the hazmat suits, and the sheriff, chief deputy, and Tom were getting ready to leave before we began breaking too many federal and state laws to enumerate. 'Plausible deniability' wasn't going to cut it regardless, but not having high-ranking government officials and certificated lawmen here just felt better.

The three men strode to the door, stopped, stepped aside, and let Clay and Rudy walk back in. They were followed by two men in fatigues carrying M16A4 rifles that were loosely aimed at their backs. Behind them was a swarthy man in a light blue shirt and khaki pants. He wasn't brandishing the pistol he was holding, but his swarthy looks, fitness, and the Beretta Model 70 he was carrying screamed "Mossad!"

Or at least that's what the Israelis I had encountered overseas looked like and always seemed to carry. The Model 70 fires a .22 long rifle hollow point, but it's deadly in the right hands, and those I knew had such hands. In spite of the tension, I smiled.

One of the men in fatigues called out, "The rifles are only meant to buy us enough time to talk, so don't get trigger happy! Mr. Secretary, if you would be so kind, please come over here, pull my credentials from my jacket pocket, examine them, and tell everyone who we are."

Tom smiled as he walked toward him. "I wondered if you guys were somehow involved. I've forgotten your name, Operations Officer...?"

"Howard, Sir, Randy Howard. It's good to see you again, Sir. This is case officer Julian Estes, and that gentleman is... from another service."

It was my turn to smile. "Shalom Aleichem, Agent Schoor. It's good to see you again."

He looked away from the Secretary and toward me with a surprised look that transitioned into a tight smile. "Ahh - Aleichem Shalom, Mr. MacGregor. It is good to see you as well, although I'm sure you have questions about my presence."

The CIA officers had lowered their rifles once they and Schoor were identified and accepted. Officer Estes looked around the building, pointed at a glass-enclosed room that appeared to be an office, and suggested we move in there. We did, and learned it was architecturally shielded from eavesdropping technology. Clay checked for devices, video, and such, but found nothing; the room appeared secure.

"I know I'd enjoy bullshitting with you guys, but time is short. We've been watching this cache being built up for several months. Just so you know, Mr. MacGregor, the man you are buying the property from really is the owner, but he's got masters and the contents of these buildings belong to them. I'm not going to disclose his masters because I'm not allowed to, but as soon as we remove the weapons we will ensure they are apprised that the weapons are gone.

"After all, we don't want them coming back here, do we?

"We're also not going to disclose the purported buyers for the weapons, but will tell you that they are domestic and have big plans. You will learn much more about that at the proper time, but for now we need you keep a low profile and go about your business normally."

He looked at his watch. "In about twenty-one minutes, trucks will be arriving, so you need to get the Suburbans blocking the road moved. While our people are removing the crates of weapons, your people will dispose of the bodies at a site we previously identified. It's near a small spring, the ground there is clay and shale, and Julian will show your men how to bury them so GPR - ground penetrating radar - won't disclose their bodies.

"Please remove all your men from the premises except needed for the burials and those you feel are necessary to protect us if our intel is wrong and another attack is launched. Sheriff Goodson, that includes you, your deputy, and the Secretary. No offense, but I have to warn you, and everyone else here, that secrecy is not only mandated; keeping the secret might keep you alive and free."

"Again, for your own safety and welfare, once we're gone please return to your daily lives as much as possible and pretend this never happened. Your time is coming, but it is not here.

"Mr. Secretary, I know the moment you leave you are going to validate our mission. Here are three men you can call with knowledge of the mission. You know all three, and I'm confident you trust them. Please don't contact anyone else, because this is a delicate and fast moving operation.

"Any questions?"

We looked at one another and shrugged, but I did ask, "So, do I really own this land and the other ranch, or did I just spend a few millions on a bitter lesson?"

"No sir, you bought it from the legal owner. He's probably on his way to Ecuador or Zimbabwe by now, but he signed all the papers yesterday. You are the new owner.

"Now, it is in everyone's best interest to move on before the trucks arrive. I know I don't need to tell you to make sure everyone here knows this never happened, but I just did, in case it wasn't clear the first several times I said it."

We all stood, began shaking hands, and then Clay asked, "So, the helicopters?"

"Not part of the inventory; we don't want anything that isn't part of the inventory. But I'd transport them somewhere and make some modifications before I started using them - understand?"

Clay's eyes lit up; he nodded and then he looked at me. I winked and he chuckled.

Three men and a backhoe dug the mass grave according to Estes' specification, dumped the bodies in single file, head to toe, covered them, and diverted the runoff from the spring just enough to ensure the clay and shale around and over them remained moist.

Apparently, moist clay and shale are so dense ground-penetrating radar won't be able to 'see' more than a few feet down. Good to know, 'cause you never know when that might come in handy.

We sent everyone else back to the ranch before Clay, Claude, Felix, Rudy, and I took up posts on the ridge across the front of the ranch. We had radios communication, as did our man back at the Lair who was watching the 'bird' radar for planes or helicopters.

The truck convoy that soon arrived from three directions was impressive in size, and the removal of the armaments was impressive in efficiency. Well before dawn, the trucks were filing out and separating, and the lights within the first warehouse were turned off and on three times. We made our way back to the Suburban and thence to the warehouses; they were empty.

Claude's words echoed in the vacant building. "I'd have kinda liked to have kept some of the anti-tank missiles, a few RPGs, and a couple of the SAMs, just in case. Oh well!"

We all chuckled in appreciation and agreement, and I asked, "Anyone but me need coffee? This has been a very short night, but I know today will be a very long day."

Chaps' coffee and Maria's breakfast got us up and around. No one asked anything at all, which meant they knew whatever we were doing all night was 'classified' in some manner. Claude went down to the control room to try to get a handle on what had just happened without alerting anyone about it. Tom texted that he and the sheriff were going to nap at the jail and would see us for a late lunch. He added, "LEGIT", so I assume his contacts confirmed the mission.

Clay wanted to talk about the copters; I shrugged and told him to call Paul to find out what we needed to do to get them "cleaned up" and ready for our use. That was an interesting conversation, given that Clay couldn't come right out and ask for fear of tipping someone listening in. It ended with Paul saying he was heading our way for some R&R at the Old Crystal Bar in Alpine, but would stop by on the way to say heh, probably arriving somewhere around the noon hour.

Ron showed up in my office soon after Clay left to let me know the sales had gone through and the ranches were both mine. "Anything I oughta know about?" he inquired. "Best you don't," I replied. He nodded and turned to leave.

I stopped him by asking, "Could I interest you in a quick run over to the Crescent Moon. I've never been in either of the houses, and I'd like to get a look."

"I'll drive - you don't look too shiny." I didn't feel too shiny either.

The main house was well built, spacious, furnished in heavy Spanish classic pieces, and, other than its location, easy to defend. I didn't like it's location in a bowl with hills overlooking it, but well-placed devices on the surrounding hills would probably work well enough.

I could see the appeal to Claude; it had six bedrooms with baths, as well as a huge basement with a dozen bunk beds and a large, multiple toilet and shower bathroom. You can sleep a lot of men and women here. Three bedrooms were in one wing, including the master suite, which would fit his emerging relationship with Eva and her kids perfectly.

Not surprisingly, the basement also housed a separate room full of electronics, including an advanced security system, powerful computers, and communication devices. Our techies would need to check this out in case things had been corrupted, but wow!

I got a better deal than I thought I did, and I thought I stole it!

I hollered, "Thank you, Ron!" He grinned and sluffed it off with "De nada."

The smaller house was actually my favorite. It was well built, attractively furnished, and more than big enough for a family at 4 bedrooms and 4.5 baths. An oversized open area was divided into the kitchen, dining, and living room, and an expansive covered porch with a hot tub was located on the south side - very much like the setup at the Mountain Lair.

Ron talked me through every room of both houses with way TMI, but I let him ramble and kept walking when he lingered. After viewing the smaller house, I told him I wanted to check the warehouses again to decide what to do about the keypads. Ron said Claude had asked him confirm the house plans were correct, and that the big house was a usable site for Ultimate Solutions. I sent him back and walked over to the first warehouse.

When I looked at the keypad on the open door, I found a yellow sticky with six numbers and instructions on changing the code - how did I miss that last night? Or was it placed after we left? Maybe I'm still being watched? Is this a trap? Should I continue or just wander away?

Nothing risked, nothing gained; I shut the door, followed the instructions, and the keypad worked perfectly - the door buzzed and opened. Glad we didn't blow the pads like we planned.

I strolled around the warehouse, went into the office, and looked around at all it housed. There were two laptops, a server, a router, feed from the security cameras on three 42' monitors divided into quadrants, and a few things I didn't recognize and didn't think I should touch.

I looked around the warehouse, studied the security monitors, satisfied myself I was still alone, sat down in the executive chair, and checked the drawers of the desk.

The monitors still showed nothing but space and Ron wandering around the big house, so I took a deep breath, said, "Fuck it!" and pushed the hidden button under the desk that I discovered last night while I was sitting at the desk. I didn't know whether to expect a siren, a security alarm, an explosion, or what, but I was still shocked by what happened next.

The desk I was sitting at, the couch along the wall beside me, and everything in between began sinking! WTF?! Half the damn office was some kind of lift! As shocking as that was, the existence of another floor below the warehouse was more shocking, and what was stored there was most shocking!

I couldn't see much at first - it was dark, and the only light was filtering down from above. I noticed a shiny plate that looked like a light switch about 10 feet down the wall. I stepped off the lift, walked over to it, and flipped the switch. Lights came on, and the lift began rising back to the surface.

My moment of indecision meant I was staying below, and I better figure out how to get back out of here... after I have a look around.

This floor was only a third as big as the main floor, and I found another lift in the back corner. I tried to remember what was above, and thought it might be the freight scale, maybe. I decided I'd try it, after my heart slowed down and I finished my inventory.

I made my way down one wall, back up the first of two middle aisles, down the other aisle to the wall again, and then returned down the wall aisle to the lift in the corner. A quick glance showed there was a contraption with a big red button on the lift. I climbed aboard and punched it; the floor/scale above me lowered itself and slid down tracks to hang below the floor, and the lift rose up to fill the space.

I immediately sent Claude an encoded email marked urgent. "Come to the moon - want to talk about you officing here" "See ya in thirty," he immediately replied.

Ron was getting antsy about lunch plans, so I told him to head back and I'd catch a ride with Claude, who was on his way. He left, Claude and Clay arrived, and I waved them to the warehouse.

The Edwards brothers looked puzzled when I signaled them to come in via the freight doors, and more puzzled when I stopped them as soon as they were inside. When the floor smoothly descended, Clay asked, "What the hell?"

I smiled at Clay. "You need to be careful what you ask for, Buddy! You might get it!"

When the lift stopped, I grandly gestured around the gym-sized room and said, "Ta Da!"

Had there been flies, they would have filled their open mouths.

Claude stammered, "Jeez, Rob! This isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"Well, if you think it's about one third of what was stored upstairs, then yes, it is!"

"What the fuck do we do now?" he asked in a bewildered tone. It was an appropriate, and very provocative, question.

****

Maria had the taco bar set up again, something she liked to do when we had an unusual number of guests, like today. It was as delicious as always, and we all overate - even before she brought out the

flan

.

After lunch I invited Tom down to the command center, told Chap and Coyote to show Paul around the place, and nodded for Clay and Claude to come with us. Tom was quite impressed by 'the bunker' and by all our electronic gear... and a bit surprised by our somber looks when we were all seated.

I laid out what we had found, and asked for his advice on next steps. He frowned in deep thought, then spoke to the ceiling. "The contact I checked with validated the operation, and then told me the inventory had been accounted for and moved. When Clay asked Howard about the choppers, Howard said they weren't in the inventory, so they stayed.

"I may be as full of shit as a Christmas turkey, but I don't believe their wording was unintentional."

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, and restated. "So... the CIA and Mossad know what's down there and are leaving the contents to us? That makes no sense! We could start a fucking revolution with that much firepower!"

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Or stop one..."

Oh, shit!

****

We didn't immediately come up with much of a plan; we were too sleepy and probably still a bit stunned. Clay managed to take Paul over to assess the helicopters. Starting them up seemed like a bad idea until we were sure they didn't have tracking devices when operated. They found a tow vehicle and attachable wheels for the skids inside the hanger, so they moved them into the hanger manually and began climbing all over to examine them.

Tom made a call to a second contact, and was told the same thing, almost word for word: "The inventory has been recovered and is accounted for." That caused Tom to decide to spend the night, so Gato issued him a bedroom and told his men they would be sleeping in the bunker with their Ultimate Solutions counterparts.

Claude called in our tech gurus from San Antonio to assess the electronics at the Crescent Moon, and I managed a decent conversation with the four kids before I crashed and burned in my bed. They could thank the Lord for Eva and uncles, or they would have had to go to bed really early tonight.

I slept like a log until about five am, and then awoke full of piss and vinegar - or maybe adrenaline, trepidation, and fear. Two cups of Chaps' potent coffee later, the trepidation and fear were converted into some sort of euphoric confusion. I was thrilled and amazed that we had apparently been 'given' all that equipment, but terrified at the implications. What were the reasons for their largesse, and what are their expectations?

We'd have to hire a hundred men to utilize all that's down in that hole!

Or, it came to me... involve The Brotherhood? Was that what this is about? We're to become some kind of paramilitary force out here in the Yucca? WHY?

I was pacing up and down the patio making myself crazy while Tom, Paul, the Edwards, and the uncles got coffee, took seats around the big table, and watched me.

There were streak on the eastern horizon, but it was still dark out. I turned, marched to Tom, and asked, "The Brotherhood?" He shrugged. "Makes sense, or at least as much sense as anything else."

"Do we start now, or is that going off half-cocked?" He looked far too composed as he nodded his head, "Times a wastin'."

"The sheriff?" "Not yet. Let's determine what we've got without him."

I expected incredulity at the turn of events, but simply got knowing nods from the others. I shook my head, looked up at the heavens in askance, and spread my arms, palms up. How do I have no clue about what the others seem to know and accept?

Doc cleared his throat. "Far be it for me to speculate without sufficient facts, but... This is a troubled country. There's talk of secession - hell, there are politicians from Texas and across the south espousing it, and more than one party platform seems to endorse it! There are threats of civil war, there are paramilitary groups arming themselves as we speak, and making plans for an uprising, or to defeat an uprising. We got chatter and activity from white supremacists, black supremacists, socialists, fascists, neo-Nazis, communalists, Chinese espionage agents, Russian spies and hackers... even the armed forces have cadres of 'true believers'... need I continue? We're hopelessly divided and ripe for the plucking."