Storming intrepid by Payne Harrison

Author:Payne Harrison [Harrison, Payne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Space shuttles, Strategic Defense Initiative
Publisher: New York : Ballantine Books
Published: 1990-11-02T23:00:00+00:00

Day 3, 1800 Hours Zulu, Noon Local CHICAGO

The cabbie pulled up to the U-Stow-It warehouse complex and parked. *'You want me to wait this time?"

She looked around. "No. This doesn't seem too threatening. I appreciated your staying at the other place, though. Those bikers gave me the shivers."

"Me, too," he agreed.

Strand counted out some bills for the fare, including a generous tip, then parted company with the taxi.

The U-Stow-It establishment looked like any self-storage warehouse that you could find across the country. When the household closets, attic, and garage overflowed, the mini-warehouses took up the slack—for a fee. This one had several rows of low corrugated-steel buildings with overhead doors and was surrounded by a ten-foot-high cyclone fence.

She walked over to the building with manager painted over the door and entered. The ofhcc had a counter, and a doorway that led into an unkempt living room. Obviously, the management lived on the premises.

The proprietor walked through the doorway. He had a beard and wore his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a generous and hairy beer belly. He was carrying a Coors in one hand, indicating he'd gotten an early start on the first of his three daily six-packs. Although surly-looking, he brightened up when he laid eyes on the major. "Morning, er, afternoon I guess it is, now. What can I do for you today, honey?" He was trying to be charming.

Inwardly Strand winced at the primitive come-on and quickly slipped into her sergeant-major mode, as she had with Tedesco, the FBI man. In a flintlike voice she said, "My name is Major Lydia Strand, United States Air Force." She opened her purse and laid out some documents on the counter. "I have a federal search warrant to inspect the contents of warehouse number P-thineen, leased to Julian Kapuscinski of Colorado Springs."

Upon hearing the words search warrant, the manager took a step backward, thinking of the hashish he had hidden in the medicine cabmet. Hed done time in Cook County jail once and didn't like it. He also didn't like that tone of voice in a woman. "Search warrant? Where does the Air Force get oft handin' out search warrants? You ain't no cop."

Strand kepK her posture erect. "I have special authorization from the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington to execute this warrant. If you wish, you may call the local FBI oftice. Ask for Agent Wilkerson. He will confirm what I've told you. He will also deploy additional agents if necessary. Now if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry."

Director of the FBI? Shit. He didn't want any part of this. "Okay, okay. Don't get excited." He picked up the warrant and looked at it. "P-thirteen?" he asked.

*'Correct."

He went to a lockbox full of keys and extracted one. Then he put on an overcoat and picked up a crowbar. ' 'Come on,'' he said.

They walked outside and down row P of the buildings, finally stopping at number 13. The manager fumbled with the keys and unfastened one of two padlocks.

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