Kenworth, Macks, Ward La France and many others, there were trucks of all shapes and sizes, each one hooked up to a plain, unpainted trailer.
"No way this is all to store ammunition," Hunter said to himself. It was so hot inside the garage, he was perspiring. Knowing that was a relief. Even the dummies who ran The Circle knew better than to store ammo in such a humid space.
Yet what did the trailers contain?
To find out, he climbed up on the back of one rig and tried to open its rear loading door. He yanked, but the door wouldn't budge. He jiggled the lock and handle and gave it another yank. Still, it would not open. He played the flashlight along the sides of the door.
That's when he saw that the door was welded shut.
"Now what the hell does this mean?" he wondered.
He checked several other trucks and found that they too had their doors welded shut.
He moved along the two lines of trucks. There were many more of them down here than had shown up on
93
the imager's narrow beam. Easily 100 rigs or more.
But it was at the front of the garage that he saw the strangest vehicle of all
...
It was an APC that looked as if it had been stretched out half its size again.
It was painted gold, carried no guns or grenade launchers, only several long radio antennas. And although the custom-made vehicle had more than a dozen means of access, all but one of these was also welded shut.
The only hatchway not welded was the one over the driver's position and this was secured by a very sophisticated electronic lock. It defied 10 minutes of his expert lock-picking skills, his conclusion being that the device was laser activated.
He shook his head in frustration. The Circle was obviously hiding something in the trailers, something of such value to them that they welded everything shut. Yet, the treasure throve was mobile. He checked the fuel tanks on several of the trucks and noted that they were all filled to the top. And the fact that the garage was so close to the reconstructed bridges was, he knew, also no coincidence.
It all added up to only one thing: whatever was locked inside the containers, The Circle could move it out of the garage, and presumably out of the city at a moment's notice . . .
94
CHAPTER 17
Kara was relaxing, dressed only in a bikini, in the rear cabin of the luxurious river yacht when she heard the two jets pass high overhead.
"Goddamn airplanes again," .her customer, a Circle Army lieutenant colonel named Hoover, cursed as he opened a bottle of wine.
They both listened as the two jets screamed above the city. The pop-pop of antiaircraft fire started up at just about the same time as the air raid sirens began wailing.
"Sergeant!" Hoover called out to the man in charge of his personal security squad. "You'd better have that Stinger warmed up."
"It's ready if we need it, sir," the reply came back from above decks.
"Are we in any danger?" Kara asked, the whining of the jets and the booming of the AA guns growing in intensity.
"No, my dear," Hoover said. "Not out here. The 95
bastards always insist on bombing the center of the city, which is why I'm glad you suggested our little party should take place out here-on a peaceful cruise on the river. If they come anywhere near here, my boys will chase them away."
He sat down beside her, handed her a glass of wine and routinely began fondling her breasts.
"These air raids are getting more frequent," she said, ignoring his groping hands and sipping her wine. "And the bombings downtown. Everyone says the Westerners are going to attack the city soon."
Hoover gulped his wine nervously. "That's bullshit, honey," he said, putting on a brave front.
"They're just a bunch of cowboys trying to spook us
»
Just then, the yacht shuddered with the sound of two bombs crashing down in the downtown section of the city.
Kara shivered. "Well, they're doing a good job . . ." she said.
The air raid lasted 20 minutes, and finally the whine of the jets disappeared and the
"No way this is all to store ammunition," Hunter said to himself. It was so hot inside the garage, he was perspiring. Knowing that was a relief. Even the dummies who ran The Circle knew better than to store ammo in such a humid space.
Yet what did the trailers contain?
To find out, he climbed up on the back of one rig and tried to open its rear loading door. He yanked, but the door wouldn't budge. He jiggled the lock and handle and gave it another yank. Still, it would not open. He played the flashlight along the sides of the door.
That's when he saw that the door was welded shut.
"Now what the hell does this mean?" he wondered.
He checked several other trucks and found that they too had their doors welded shut.
He moved along the two lines of trucks. There were many more of them down here than had shown up on
93
the imager's narrow beam. Easily 100 rigs or more.
But it was at the front of the garage that he saw the strangest vehicle of all
...
It was an APC that looked as if it had been stretched out half its size again.
It was painted gold, carried no guns or grenade launchers, only several long radio antennas. And although the custom-made vehicle had more than a dozen means of access, all but one of these was also welded shut.
The only hatchway not welded was the one over the driver's position and this was secured by a very sophisticated electronic lock. It defied 10 minutes of his expert lock-picking skills, his conclusion being that the device was laser activated.
He shook his head in frustration. The Circle was obviously hiding something in the trailers, something of such value to them that they welded everything shut. Yet, the treasure throve was mobile. He checked the fuel tanks on several of the trucks and noted that they were all filled to the top. And the fact that the garage was so close to the reconstructed bridges was, he knew, also no coincidence.
It all added up to only one thing: whatever was locked inside the containers, The Circle could move it out of the garage, and presumably out of the city at a moment's notice . . .
94
CHAPTER 17
Kara was relaxing, dressed only in a bikini, in the rear cabin of the luxurious river yacht when she heard the two jets pass high overhead.
"Goddamn airplanes again," .her customer, a Circle Army lieutenant colonel named Hoover, cursed as he opened a bottle of wine.
They both listened as the two jets screamed above the city. The pop-pop of antiaircraft fire started up at just about the same time as the air raid sirens began wailing.
"Sergeant!" Hoover called out to the man in charge of his personal security squad. "You'd better have that Stinger warmed up."
"It's ready if we need it, sir," the reply came back from above decks.
"Are we in any danger?" Kara asked, the whining of the jets and the booming of the AA guns growing in intensity.
"No, my dear," Hoover said. "Not out here. The 95
bastards always insist on bombing the center of the city, which is why I'm glad you suggested our little party should take place out here-on a peaceful cruise on the river. If they come anywhere near here, my boys will chase them away."
He sat down beside her, handed her a glass of wine and routinely began fondling her breasts.
"These air raids are getting more frequent," she said, ignoring his groping hands and sipping her wine. "And the bombings downtown. Everyone says the Westerners are going to attack the city soon."
Hoover gulped his wine nervously. "That's bullshit, honey," he said, putting on a brave front.
"They're just a bunch of cowboys trying to spook us
»
Just then, the yacht shuddered with the sound of two bombs crashing down in the downtown section of the city.
Kara shivered. "Well, they're doing a good job . . ." she said.
The air raid lasted 20 minutes, and finally the whine of the jets disappeared and the
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