Tucson Dreams

By Daniel Hitchcock

A story of industrial espionage set in 1980 in the Tucson, Arizona and Portland, Oregon areas.
Harrison American Laboratories is loosing valuable Intellectual Property out of its Tucson plant at an alarming rate. Can the Beaver stop the leaks? And who is the mysterious Colonel Pu?
Is this just industrial espionage or is a foreign government involved?

(Note: Some Adult Content)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Hitchcock
• Release date: May 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989467902

Book preview

Tucson Dreams

Daniel B. Hitchcock

Published by Daniel B. Hitchcock at Smashwords

Text Copyright 2013 Brian B. Conley

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This story is dedicated to my brother, Tom. He never learned that he, along with his questions and stories, got included.

Prologue: The Message

Ben heard the gunfire but couldn’t see where it was coming from. The jungle vegetation was just too thick. But it was obvious that there was at least one AK-47 firing. The heat and humidity were choking. And all these damned bugs.

But the message had to get through.

Ben moved carefully along the path. Slower than he wanted to, but noise was his real enemy now. Noise and fear. He saw a wire across the trail and followed it with his eyes to a can in a branch of a tree. He carefully pulled the grenade out of the can only far enough to put the safety pin back in. He reached into his pocket for one of the extra pins he always carried. Gingerly he slid the pin into the hole in the grenade, keeping the spoon in place to prevent the explosion. Then Ben pulled it out, removed the wire, and examined the device carefully. It was only a week or two old and still good enough to use. So he dropped it in his cargo pocket and continued down the trail.

They had told him the message had to get through to Colonel Pu. And he was the best man. He probably agreed that he was the best for the job, even if he might not be good enough. The message had to get through.

Ahead in the trail he saw the grisly evidence of an explosion. A boot with part of a leg still sticking out. Off to the right a helmet. He recognized it as Gunny Gorman’s helmet. This was not good. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. He had dodged many booby traps already; trip wires to grenades, hidden pits of shit-dipped punji stakes, sharpened bamboo dipped in excrement as a poison which killed by slow infection. The stress and heat and bugs and now the emotional impact was becoming nearly unbearable.

But the message had to get through. Ben continued on.

Two steps later he heard it. Just as he put his left foot down. The quiet click of the trigger of a mine. Under his boot. He reached into his pocket for a pin. Then he slowly lowered his body until his hand was below his boot...

Suddenly he was flying through the air, watching pieces of himself fly away in all directions.

NO-O-O!!!..

Ben sat up in the darkness, drenched in sweat. He slowly realized that it was a dream. His racing heart began to slow.

It was that dream.

Again.

Oh God. Please, have mercy on my soul.

He got up from bed. It was 3:30 by the clock radio. He wouldn’t get back to sleep before he had to get up anyway. So he dressed quietly and started his morning physical training regimen.

He shook his head in weary resignation. He had told Colonel Pu that this was his last mission. The colonel had agreed and given him part of the reward he asked for already. He only had to do two things now. First was to complete the mission. The second thing was to survive.

If that was possible.

Chapter 1: A Tale of Two Cities

Tucson - 0600 Mountain Standard Time Monday 04 August 1980

Days begin early in Tucson, especially in August. At 5:30 the sun is already clear of the Rincon Mountains and beating unmercifully onto the valley floor. Most people rise early, accomplishing things during the short period of cool in the early morning.

Jack Dixon was one of these people. The offices in the development lab of Harrison American Labs would be humming by 7:30, so Jack took advantage of the quiet of the early mornings. Especially Monday mornings. Jack enjoyed the peace and solitude. He had just finished the design of this circuit this morning. Now it was time to take it into the lab and try it out. He stood up from his desk and walked out of his office and down the hall carrying his notepad and coffee. He stopped at the locked door and slipped his photo badge into the security slot. He heard the click of the latch as the computer accepted the badge and granted him access to the most secure place in the company.

The lab at first seemed lifeless, nothing but the hum of the equipment and the emergency lights. As Jack walked in, he became aware of the hiss of static from a radio and staccato tapping on a keyboard. He walked past three bench bays and stopped at the farthest, darkest corner of the room. He looked down at the man hunched determinedly over the keyboard, typing furiously. Jack smiled and contemplated the ceiling.

Good morning, Simon.

Simon turned and smiled. His scraggly beard and bulbous nose made him look more like a troll than the computer wizard that he was. This was directly opposite Jack’s blond hair and blue eyes, which made him look like a movie star. Jack's physique was that of a runner, thin but strong. Women would like to pinch his butt if they dared.

Good morning, Jack. Ready for the meeting?

Sure, know what it’s about?

I haven’t the foggiest, but it must be big. Ben’s coming in for it.

"What?"

Yep, saw the travel plan Friday night. Pretty fast work, I’d say. We didn’t even get the notice until four p.m. on Friday.

"But Ben doesn’t come in on Mondays. Besides, the travel plans only go to Security. How did you get a copy?"

Simon smiled an enormous grin. "I was hired because I hacked into Ben’s account, remember? Security’s is trivial by comparison."

Jack was still shocked. So you have the route, the checkpoints, the radio frequencies?

Simon nodded toward the radio receiver, grinning. Yes, it should be quite a show.

Hills West of Sierra Vista

Fifty miles south and east of Tucson, Ben Baldridge was preparing for his drive to work. He laced up and tied his sand-colored canvas boots, then pulled the cuff of his coveralls down over the top of the boots. He stood up, picked up his helmet and walked through the door into the garage. Ben was about six feet tall, and even inside the coveralls he looked forbidding with broad powerful shoulders and narrow hips. His mousy brown hair, dyed black for the last six years, was braided for the trip and hung down his back. His bright green eyes were hidden behind the oversized lenses of gold-rimmed sunglasses.

To call it a garage was an understatement. Three huge doors opened to the outside. A small ship could have been built in the cavernous interior. On Ben’s right was a two-and-a-half-ton military surplus truck, still in olive drab. To the left was a small Japanese pickup truck, shiny red with a black bed cap. The space between was empty, all the way to the door. Ben strode over to the pickup truck, walking behind it past the license plate that read C0CH1SE and turning to come up on the driver’s door. On the left front fender was a painted picture of an Apache warrior, with the word Cochise painted below it in three-inch-high letters. Further aft was written in inch-high black letters, Crew Chief – Gy. Sgt. P. Gorman. On the door was painted, again in inch-high black letters, Maj. E. E. Baldridge. Ben just sighed.

Good morning, Major.

Ya’ at eeh, Gunny. You did quite a work of art on the truck.

Gunnery Sergeant Paul Gorman was a former Marine. He would call it his White Warrior clan. In reality he was a 30-year-old Navajo, the Din’e people, of the Bitter Water clan. He was slightly shorter than Ben but broader in the shoulder and chest, with a quick smile and dark brown eyes to go with his black hair cut short as a white man would. He had seen Ben come back from his punishing physical training, called PT in the Corps. He also knew about the dream. He often wondered if his direct boss was perhaps too stressed by his work, and how much longer he could take the stress of both jobs.

It is not as good as my uncle’s, but a reasonable likeness, replied Paul Gorman. All of your gear is on board. And there is a Thermos of iced tea and a jug of ice water in the cab. Señora Ortiz even packed you a burrito and some salsa for the trip.

Speaking of that, you need to be careful of Señorita Ortiz.

Paul laughed. Señora Ortiz thinks she will marry Don Elijah.

I am old enough to be Teresa’s grandfather, laughed Ben, no matter what her mother has planned.

Her father, perhaps, but not her grandfather. They both laughed, but then Paul got serious. You drew your sidearm from the weapons locker?

Yes, said Ben as he removed the FN Browning pistol from his holster.

Then it's time to lock and load. The colonel would be much annoyed if you got greased because your sidearm was not loaded.

I suppose you’re right, sighed Ben as he pulled the slide back. "Wouldn’t do to upset the colonel. AND both you and I need to re-qualify. Would you call the range director at Fort Huachuca and make the appointment?"

Aye aye, sir. Should I set up for just sidearms, or for rifles as well?

Might as well do as much as we can on one trip. Does Teresa want to learn how to shoot?

She does, and I have given her some tutoring on handling weapons. Might as well have them trained, in case they need to use them.

That's fine. It would be nice to have another shooter if the smugglers decide to come back. So long as Señora Ortiz doesn't decide to shoot one of us. The colonel might complain about the extra paperwork, but it is a good idea. Now all I need to do is a radio check and to start the engine.

Ben put on his helmet, sat in the cab of the pickup and started the engine. Then he reached over, turned the radio on and picked up the microphone.

Harrison American Security, this is Unit Three Niner Cochise. How do you copy?

There was a short burst of static, then silence. Ben waited.

Cochise, this is Harrison Security. What is your situation?

Harrison, I am inbound to your location, at the first check point. Do you confirm this?

The silence was deafening.

Harrison, I repeat. Unit Three Niner is inbound to your location, at the first check point. Please confirm.

Unit Thirty Nine, we have no travel plan on file for you today. Please hold your position.

Harrison this is Three Niner. The proper travel plan was filed on Friday afternoon. I am inbound to your location. Over.

More silence, then a different voice spoke on the radio. Unit Three Nine, this is Harrison Security. Our apologies, your paperwork has been found and is in order. Proceed to the next check point. God speed, Ben.

Thank you, Ron. Unit Three Niner Cochise is clear and monitoring.

At Harrison American Labs security in Tucson, the discussion was only beginning. The new officer, Tom Blake, was trying to figure out what had just happened.

Ron, why does an employee need a travel plan and permission to come to work?

The primary reason is that this employee will arrive armed, which is not allowed on site. He also has some serious information about the work that is done here.

Armed? Even we aren't armed. Why does he carry a gun?

He has to travel a long way through some empty area. Sometimes he encounters smugglers. He was already attacked once on his way in. Fortunately, there happened to be an FBI agent in the area to help, but he also did a good job of fighting back.

So what happens when he gets here?

He unloads and clears his sidearm and hands it to me, along with his knife, and I lock it all into the safe over in the corner. Until he goes off-site.

What does that mean?

He will live mostly on-site for four or five days, sometimes up to ten hours at a time. He has a small place in town during the time he is here; you don't expect him to commute 100 miles a day every day, do you?

I sure wouldn't want to do that. But doesn't he have a family?

From what I understand, he has a ranch southeast of here. Some employees, but no wife and no children.

Sounds pretty lonely.

He seems a nice enough guy. I haven't asked too much, though.

Security at Harrison American Laboratories in Tucson was much like security at any other technology company. The security force was unarmed, mostly charged with keeping people out of places they didn't belong. With the proper escort you could go almost anywhere on the site. But your friendly escort would be assigned to make sure you didn't see or do anything inappropriate. Security made a nightly sweep to make sure all documents were put away and locked up. They controlled the badge-making process and the access keys for critical areas. The mission of security boiled down to keeping secrets and expensive equipment in and unauthorized people out of unauthorized places.

That didn't mean they were toothless lions. They had quick access to the county sheriff, the Arizona State Police, and