Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [56]
At fifty, Luddie was the oldest livery driver in the AUegheny-Lehigh Valley Medical Alliance.
Today he hauled a kidney from Allegheny County Hospital to Easton Medical Center. He hadn't a clue where the organ came from, or who the lucky recipient would be. But that was par for the course. Luddie was only a driver. It was none of his business. He'd delivered the organ to Easton General on time, earned his three hundred bucks plus gas, and now he was on his way back to his dinky apartment on Pittsburgh's South Side, home since the wife divorced him two years ago.
Lud balled up the empty bag of Bon Ton pork rinds and tossed it into the trash bag on the floor. With a contented sigh, he released his seatbelt and shoulder strap, pulled his Pittsburgh Pirates cap over his eyes, and settled back. In seconds he was snoring...
The loud bang of a metal door shocked him back to consciousness.
Startled, Lud bolted upright, momentarily disoriented. He glanced at his watch and realized he'd been sleeping for about twenty minutes. Then he looked around for the source of the sound.
It was the vehicle from Dreizehn Trucking. The double cargo doors were wide open, and several men were crawling around inside.
"What the hell are yo'uns doing?" he muttered suspiciously.
For a moment, Lud thought he was witnessing a robbery in progress. But when he discerned the deadly nature of the hauler's cargo, he realized the truth was even more nefarious.
In the dim light of the trailer's cavernous interior, Lud saw a wall lined with fully stocked weapon racks — machine guns, assault rifles, shotguns, boxes of grenades — the kind of stuff Luddie Kuzma had handled in Vietnam.
There was more. A black youth aboard the truck started handing down bricks of plastic explosives wired to timers.
Lud ducked lower in his seat, scanned the parking area around him. Fifty yards away, he spied another man on his knees, using duct tape to connect one of the bombs to a tanker truck full of gasoline.
Heart racing, Lud pondered his next move. If he started his engine, or even made a move, they would spot him — and he realized with mounting panic that all the men were wearing sidearms, too.
Before he could decide on a course of action, Lud saw a figure loom in his rearview mirror, heard the click of a bullet sliding into its chamber.
He turned, looked up...
* * *
7:48:37 P.M. EDT
Carlisle, Pennsylvania
Vernon Greene strode across the parking lot, toward the cargo bay of the Dreizehn truck, the gunmetal-gray USP Tactical still smoking in his right hand.
"I found some cracker sleeping inside that van. Didn't you scope the place first?" he demanded.
The man in the truck shrugged, handed down another bomb to a youth, who clutched it to his chest as he raced away.
"My boys clipped two guys sleeping in their trucks and some bitch in a Caddy. So what if they missed that one. You got him, right?"
Greene unscrewed the silencer and tossed it inside the trailer.
"Tell your boys to step it up. We're leaving in five minutes."
Three minutes later, the last of the men returned to the truck and piled inside. Vernon Greene closed the door behind them, then hopped into the cab.
"You ready to hit the big target?" he asked.
The driver nodded, nervous sweat beading his leathery skin. "I can get us to the U.S. Tactical Training School in twenty minutes."
"Go," Greene commanded. "Let's get scarce before this place blows sky-high."
The diesel engine roared, belching smoke. One minute later, the Dreizehn truck rumbled down the exit ramp and away from the sprawling truck stop. The driver ignored a red light and swung onto the main road. In the process he clipped a Pennsylvania State Police car and turned the vehicle completely around.
The trooper behind the wheel couldn't give chase — the front of his car was shattered, and he had an injured partner to deal with — but he immediately used the