Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [258]
“Gotta love cutthroat journalism,” Ding replied.
“We’re tuned in to all the channels here. As soon as it hits the airwaves, we’ll call you.”
Dominic hung up. To Chavez: “We hunting?”
“Damn straight we are. Need to make a stop first. I know a guy who knows a guy.”
“Who knows where to get his hands on some guns?”
“You got it.”
Frank Weaver woke up at five a.m., had two cups of coffee from the in-room brewer, then read the newspaper for twenty minutes before he showered and headed down to the lobby for the free continental breakfast. By seven-fifteen he was packed up and out the door.
His rig was exactly where he’d left it, as was the cask, but he knew they would be. The DOE had equipped his truck with an immobilizer. Start the engine without a key and the fuel system shuts down. Nice little feature. As for the cask, no one would run off with that thing. Maybe King Kong, who’d noticed he was missing one of his barbells, but no one else.
He did his usual inspection walk-around, checking the ratchets, padlocks, and chains, and, finding nothing out of order, he unlocked the driver’s door and climbed up into the cab. He was reaching his key toward the ignition when he stopped.
Something …
At first he couldn’t put his finger on it, but slowly it dawned on him: Someone had been in the truck. That couldn’t be, though. Like everything else with his rig, the door lock was beefed up. It’d take more than some crackhead thief to pick it. Weaver looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. He checked the glove box and center console for missing items. Everything was there. Same with the sleeping compartment. Everything was as he’d left it.
Gun.
He reached under his seat. The .38 revolver was still there, snug in its leather holster affixed to the seat frame.
Weaver sat in silence for half a minute before shrugging off the eerie feeling. Maybe the hotel coffee was stronger than he thought. Made him jumpy.
He powered up the dashboard GPS unit and waited for it to cycle through the self-diagnostic check, then punched up his route. Day three of four. An easy 310 miles to Saint George, Utah.
Tariq found the Emir in his bedroom, collecting what few possessions he’d brought along into a box. “After I’ve recorded my testament and left to meet Musa, burn these things.”
“I will. I have two pieces of news. Each of Nayoan’s four men have acknowledged their go-signals. The first will be Waterloo on Sunday morning.”
“Good.”
“Second, our man intercepted the truck without incident. We have the driver’s route, including rest and fuel stops. He’s due to arrive at the facility between two-thirty and three, the day after tomorrow.”
The Emir nodded and closed his eyes, mentally recalling the timeline. “That’s perfect, my friend. Musa will be in place at least four hours early. Go set up the camera. It’s time.”
78
BY THE TIME Clark and Jack got off the plane and found their rental car, it was seven a.m. and time for breakfast and a phone call back home. Armed with only the siblings’ names—Citra and Purnoma Salim—and the date of their arrival into Norfolk, Clark and Jack had no choice but to rely on The Campus to give them a starting point.
They found an IHOP about a mile south of the airport on Military Highway, took a booth, and ordered coffee, eggs, and pancakes. While they were waiting, Clark called Rick Bell.
“All we’ve got is the hotel the Salims listed on their entry form,” he told Clark. “If they didn’t check in, we’ll have to get creative. The Indonesian embassy in Washington keeps a list of citizens traveling on vacation to the U.S., but since they came in on a bogus passport, it’s a toss-up whether they’d be logged into the system.”
“We’ll start with the hotel,” Clark said. “They have to be sleeping somewhere.”
Bell gave him the name of the hotel and signed off.
“Econo Lodge in Little Creek,” Clark told Jack. “Stuff your face. We might be doing a lot of running today.”
They found the Econo Lodge about two miles from the Amphibious Base and a quarter-mile from the Little Creek