Blood & Tacos #4 by Brad Mengel & Bart Lessard & Nick Slosser & Thomas Pluck & Oren Brimer

Author:Brad Mengel & Bart Lessard & Nick Slosser & Thomas Pluck & Oren Brimer [Mengel, Brad]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Creative Guy Publishing
Published: 2013-04-01T04:30:00+00:00

The janitor glanced at the site manager slouching in his desk chair, a half-inch diameter hole punched between his eyes. A crater in the back of his head sloshed blood and brains into a lumpy goulash on the floor. The janitor realized he was missing lunch.

“Mind if I borrow your phone?” he asked the corpse.

He found a phonebook and a flask of vodka and punched the number for the FBI switchboard in Baltimore. Vodka: the official liquor of Soviet Russia. He tilted the flask and grimaced. No wonder Soviets were so bass-ackwards, drinking rotgut like this. To win a war, even a cold one, men need something worth coming home to—a good woman, good TV, and good liquor. Fermented potatoes didn’t qualify.

Baltimore answered, and he told the operator he had information on the Tutelo situation. She patched him directly into the situation room.

A man’s voice answered: “To whom am I speaking?”

“Me,” the janitor said, taking another swig. “Who are you?”

“The United States government.”

“Which United States government?”

“Which government?—I’m SDIO.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization.”

The janitor snorted. “We’re expecting an attack from outer space, then? Where’s the FBI?”

“They’re here. But any breach in our nuclear program warrants SDIO attention.”

The janitor chewed on that. The Agency might want him for betraying their own, subverting Operation Cyclone, and personally diverting one-hundred-and-fifty U.S. Stinger missiles away from the Afghan mujahideen, but the FBI and CIA were famous for not playing well together. He could talk to the FBI without fear of exposure.

But SDIO was new to the sandbox. Who did they play with? The janitor proceeded with caution.

“Still there?” the SDIO man asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Consider me deputy director of this situation.”

The janitor chuckled. “Not from here, you’re not.”

“Yeah, well, China syndromes aren’t known for their delicate beauty, so let’s cut the crap. Where’s the woman?”

So the woman is in charge, he thought. “Don’t know. But I have killed a few of her men.”

“What’s a few?”

“Five down. But the situation out here is not what you think. The Tutelo Nuclear Power Facility is not—I repeat, not—undergoing catastrophic meltdown.”

“Say what?”

“Listen, Mr. Deputy Director, if you can’t keep up, give me someone who can. My schedule’s packed here.”

Behind him a man stepped into the doorway, crouching, his gun aimed at the back of the janitor’s head.

“The whole thing’s a fake. The computers were tricked into reading a bogus meltdown. The core is stable.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Now what are you going to do about it?”

The janitor drew his toilet plunger from a belt loop and twirled it like a baton. On open ground the mop offered greater reach and versatility, but for close-quarter combat the janitor preferred the plunger’s maneuverability.

“Hold on,” the man said. The janitor heard muffled voices. “The NRC’s already begun evacuating a twenty-mile radius.” The area included all of D.C.

“Evacuate the northern hemisphere for all I care. What you need to do is square it with the Pentagon. Powwow with Moscow and keep the Joint Chiefs from going on the warpath.” He swung the plunger, still twirling, in a hypnotic figure-eight.

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