A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [109]
“They were supposed to last three years!”
“Batteries can be funny,” Chin answered.
“Dawn, get me Yancey.”
“Colonel Hawke here.”
“This is Quinn. Did you get any photographs of the truck last night?”
“Just going to call you, Governor. There was a bitching thunderstorm around the state line. Neither the video nor still photographs are able to identify anything.”
“We’ve lost contact with the truck,” Quinn said.
“Oh, Jesus. What do you want to do? Call it off?”
“Let me think for a minute, let me think,” Quinn mumbled to himself, trying to retread a plan. “Here we go, Yancey. Hold your triangle. I still say West Coster will be the target area. I’ll leave it to you to contact Reb and make sure he keeps his people undercover at the stadium. I’ll get back to both of you soon as I can.”
“If it weren’t so tragic,” said Chin with a straight face, “it would be hilarious trying to find an unidentified semi truck and trailer in Denver.”
“Governor, let’s chuck it in. If we pull out of it right now, there won’t be any damage to you. None whatsoever,” Dawn pleaded.
“None whatsoever except a fucking AMERIGUN office in Denver telling us how to live our lives and three thousand more murder weapons on our streets.”
“Man, we tried,” she cried. “You’ve got to consider the careers of the people who have gone all the way with you.”
Quinn wound up as if to punch the monitor but only cursed it instead.
“We’ve got a long day coming up,” Quinn said at last, “at least four or five hours to run out every option.”
“We can’t keep it secret much longer,” Chin said. “It’s going to leak.”
“All right, give me two or three hours. I need you people here.”
They both nodded tentatively.
“Dr. Chin, find out for me who is the top man in the federal penitentiary system. Find out his military service, i.e., which branch he served in. Keep lowering the search by rank until you find me a Marine.”
“Highest-ranking Marine in the penal system.”
Quinn was about to punch in the number for Hoop Hooper’s attorney, A. Wayne White, but stopped. “I’ll go to him last, Dawn. Once we start dealing with lawyers, our security is compromised.”
In the interim, Dr. Dawn Mock had pulled herself together and organized the bureau’s regular day’s work with her assistant in the outer office.
Harry Chin returned in six minutes. “Highest-ranking penitentiary official is George Appleton, First Deputy Director, Marine Corps, 1978–1986, rank of major, Viet combat, decorated.”
“Am I speaking to the Governor Quinn O’Connell?” Deputy Director George Appleton said excitedly into the phone.
“Yes, sir,” Quinn answered.
“Gunner O’Connell?”
“Yes, sir,” Quinn repeated.
“I am honored! I was in rapid deployment on my hitch. Now, what can I do for you, Governor?”
“This conversation is Marine to Marine,” Quinn said.
“I understand,” Appleton said softly. “I think we’d better shoot a little verification.”
“Sure. There is my wife, Rita, in Denver and my secretary Marsha at the Capitol. You don’t have to tell them who you are, but that you need to speak to me about some cheese coming in from Wisconsin. Both of them will give you the same number. I am in Dr. Dawn Mock’s office at the Colorado Bureau of Investigation.”
“We will be Marine to Marine,” Appleton assured himself.
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll be back to you on a secure line.”
Second by second tension ensued. Not a word passed between Quinn and Dawn, but she could almost see smoke coming from his ears as he pumped his brain for direction.
“Governor O’Connell here.”
“Appleton.”
“Semper Fi time?” Quinn asked.
“Semper Fi time,” Appleton pledged. “What do you have in mind?”
“There is an AMERIGUN convention taking place in Denver.”
“Yes, I’m aware. A very angry one.”
“We have intercepted a plan to dump up to three thousand VEC–44’s and millions of rounds of 9mm ammunition. We lost contact with the delivery truck. You have a prisoner in the system who is our last hope of giving us the destination of the weapons.”
“I see…” Appleton’s voice