THE NIWOT FILE

By MARK RUSZCZYCKY

Eddy Mucha, lifelong scientist, stood before this creature straight out of mythology and had to admit not only that it existed but that he needed it to find the nuclear weapons lost in the vast Oregon forests.

58,088 words

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: MARK RUSZCZYCKY
• Release date: Jun 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781492115274

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I was in my front yard when the black Lincoln drove up. The suit stepped out and came over. He was government issue.

Hi, Eddy, he said.

Hi. I knew him. But the deal was I never called him by name.

Grass looks great.

It's artificial turf.

Does it stay green like that for long?

It's been like that for three years and it's got an eight year guarantee.

He nodded. You with anyone? He glanced at the house.

Just the one I love. I pointed to my chest.

General wants to talk to you. He nodded again, this time to the Lincoln.

Give me a minute. I went in the house and changed into a clean shirt and a fresh pair of jeans and got in the car. The suit drove. The general was a two star. Air Force. He did not say anything until we were out of town. In Fernley that takes about three minutes.

Here, said the general. The suit pulled over. The general got out. I followed. Must be important, I thought, because the general was getting dust all over his spit polished shoes. Maybe the general didn't shine his own shoes?  We walked a ways from the Lincoln. The suit followed with two canvas chairs. The general stopped. The suit fixed the chairs and went back to the car. The general sat down in one chair and waited for me to climb in the other one.

I hear you're good, he said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

I'm not much to look at. I just shrugged. If he didn't have troubles, he wouldn't be here. We could discuss me later.

He needed time to get started. He scanned the landscape. There wasn't anything for miles. This is Nevada. I gave him time.

It took several more minutes before he spoke again. We lost two war heads. He choked out the words. He was young, a two star, and not familiar with failure.

Nukes? It was a rhetorical question. Air Force generals don't come to Fernley begging for lost conventional weapons. He gave a quick nod.

What's the yield? I said.

Enough.

Okay, so he didn't want to be specific. Didn't really matter, I thought. He'd shave the numbers, anyway. But it's the nuclear in the equation that would freak out the civilians, no matter what the yield. I gave him more time. He sighed. He seemed less tense.

Dropped from a plane somewhere over western Oregon. Defused. Still, a potential public relations disaster... if it gets out. He was clipping his words. Anal retentive type. Maybe, just with civilians. He hesitated, like he wasn't sure he should tell me more.

Why me? I helped him out.

We already lost two of our agents looking for the weapons, and you're low profile. That's why.

I'm short. I ignored the low profile crack. I concentrated on what he had told me. Not that I'm a numerologist or anything, but  there was  a rhyme and rhythm to it. Two missiles lost. Two agents too. Two silver stars on Air Force blue. And, now, two high brass gonads in a bubbling stew.

Where were the agents last seen?

Brookfield Landing, at a motel called The Wind Rose.

I know the town. Central coast of Oregon. Beautiful country. Lots of forest.

Twenty thousand square miles of forest, he said.

There was that number two again. Now it had four zeros after it.

You asking me to find the warheads or the weapons?

Both. He bared a perfect set of dazzling white teeth, in that fashionably tanned, manly face of his. He was done with me. He stood up. We walked back to the car. The suit folded the chairs, put them in the trunk of the Lincoln, drove us back, and walked me to my front door.

Why are you still working, Eddy?

Helps my self esteem.

Will you take this job? said the suit. This general left the negotiations to his subordinates.

Sure.

Oregon's going to be nicer than here, this summer.

California's even nicer, I said.

Tell me, Eddy, he looked at the artificial turf, if you like California so much, why'd you decide to live here?

I bought this house for eighty seven grand and for that they put the cabinets and countertops so I could reach them.

Are you hurting?

Nah. I don't even spend all of my Social.

"Then why live like that?

Us old guys always worry if the money's going to last.

He looked puzzled. He wouldn't understand until he was on a fixed income and contemplating his mortality. Can you start right away?

Sure.

The general's going to be happy to hear that.

The man needs some joy in his life.

Contact us same way as before.

Soon as I have some news.

You take care, Eddy, said the suit.

CHAPTER 2

I'm looking forward to getting out of Fernley for a while. I shouldn't knock Fernley. Evenings can be pleasant. I know the house and everything inside it will still be there when I get back. There's a Wal-Mart and a Lowe's. The neighbors all watch out for each other. It's a cheap place to live. And it's a good twenty miles from Reno.

I hate Reno. I hate the people that live there. I hold my proverbial breath when I drive past it on the interstate. I don't want to breathe the same air they breathe. I know it's crazy, but that's how I feel about it.

Once I'm past Reno, I'm in California and I start to calm down. This stretch of highway is in such sorry shape it almost knocks the fillings out of my teeth but it takes my mind off Reno. The state is constantly fixing it for nine months out of the year and the trucks beat the crap out of it in winter, with their chains. But it's a pretty drive. After Donner Pass, I put the Honda on cruise. It's ten hours from Fernley to Brookfield Landing. It gives me time to think about the lost missiles and the two agents.

Airborne armament can be just about any size. The Walleye is eight feet long and a foot in diameter. Big when you are next to it. But we're talking relative size. Even a Polaris will disappear in twenty thousand square miles of lodge poles and redwoods ... if it doesn't go off. Then there's the problem of the agents. One agent gone, anything could have happened. Both agents missing, that's more than coincidence. I try to work the angles. My mind's not on it. I switch to music, mostly Italian, Russian, Ukrainian chorals. I don't understand any of the languages, but they're the human voice at its most melodic. Time passes. A pit stop along the way and I'm in Brookfield Landing that evening.

The town straddles Highway 101. The Wind Rose Motel is on the south side. The NO VACANCY  sign is lit. I go in anyway. The blonde at the desk looks up. She's  gorgeous.

Good evening, I said.

Can I help you? She peered over the counter.

Any chance the sign is wrong?

Before she had time to turn me away, her twin walked through the side door. This thing about recurring twos was getting eerie.

We just had a cancellation. The twin had a thick accent. I tried to place it.

Russian? I asked.

Ukrainian.

That was my second guess, I said. Are you sisters?

She looked at me. She smiled. That's when I saw the fine lines in her face. You never go wrong guessing low.  I'm her mother.

Did you want the room? asked the daughter.

Yes.

For one night?

Longer, if possible.

The two women exchanged glances.

We can arrange longer lodging if you don't mind changing rooms, said the daughter.

I don't mind, I said. I filled out the form and gave her the credit card with the black X. She picked out a key.

Edgarr Mucha, said the mother. Do you speak Hungarian?

No, I said. I felt defensive. I'm second generation American. The mother lost interest in me.

The daughter walked me to my cottage.

Are you related to Alphonse Mucha? she asked. I could hear the surf pound somewhere in the dark, smell the scent of a pine forest, feel the dampness that rolls over the coast at night.

No, I said, no relation. My cottage was a ways.

He was a famous artist and illustrator, she said. He was one of my husband's favorite artists. I didn't have time to comment because she stopped at the next to the last cottage. It was a triplex A frame, just like the others, two units on the ground floor, one upstairs. She unlocked the downstairs cabin that wasn't lit and flicked on the light.

Enjoy your stay, she said. She started back to the office.

Goodnight, I said.

Goodnight, I heard her say. It was a most melodious sound.

CHAPTER 3

I slept till mid morning. Must have been the ocean air. I gave the room a second look. Dark stained, pine paneled walls, old fixtures, the place had seen better days. The view out the window made up for it. White water ocean front, it was spectacular. It was the view that kept the occupancy rate high.

I drove into town for breakfast. There were two places that looked open. I picked the one that had more cars in the parking lot. The sign promised cooking that would remind you of home. I ordered breakfast. The sign was right. It reminded me of  Fernley.

Next on the agenda was a stop at the Coast County sheriff's office, to pay my respects. It was on Highway 101. No big surprise. Everything was on Highway 101. I introduced myself to an officer in a Stetson.

I'm Edgarr Mucha, I said. I showed him my defense contractor's ID.

Hey, Boss, the officer called over his shoulder, we got us a government mouse in the house.

A tall man appeared. He took a look at me, grabbed the other man's Stetson, and gave him a back and forth swipe with it.

Sensitivity training, said the tall man, country style. He stuck out a huge hand. I'm Sheriff JD Waters. And this politically incorrect meathead is my deputy, Larry Taylor.

I'm Edgarr Mucha.

The sheriff took my ID from the deputy. What brings you here, Mr. Mucha?

Government business, Sheriff. I stopped by to introduce myself.

Come into my office, he said. I followed the man. Have a seat. He pointed to a chair. I looked around. He'd been reelected several times. The room was cluttered with mementos. I've been expecting you, he said.

How's that? I climbed up in a chair. He took his seat behind his desk.

Let me put it this way. About a month ago two government fellas checked into the Wind Rose, paid their room weeks in advance, and disappeared soon after and left a bunch of their gear still in their room. A week later the  place buzzed with aircraft and helicopters. They're gone. Now you show up.

Did you search for the two men?

No, Sir. Did you want to file a missing persons?

No, Sir. We looked at each.

Well, then. He stopped pressing. Let's just have some coffee while we get acquainted.

The dispatcher broke in. Sheriff. There's a fender bender north of town on Two Devils  Road. Another two, I thought. The sheriff did not seem too concerned.

You want me to go? said the sheriff.

Just letting you know Larry went out there.

The sheriff grunted. Let me know if he needs help.

We sat and sipped our coffee.

Where you from? said the sheriff.

Fernley. I paused. It's twenty miles east of Reno.

Uh huh. He didn't sound impressed. Nobody ever did. Are you staying in town?

Yes, at the Wind Rose.

That's a surprise. He gave me a wry smile.

A real treat, for me, to stay out by the ocean.

And the owners aren't too bad to look at, either, said the sheriff.

Prettiest ladies I've seen in a long time, I said.

Larry goes over there any chance he gets.

The daughter mentioned a husband.

Nadia?  She married Sam Goldstein, the town banker. His second, her first. He passed away about a year ago. Left her a nice chunk of change. She used it to buy the Wind Rose.

And her mother?

Talia?  She's got a husband. But they're not living together.

You married, Sheriff?

Yes. Forty some years. How about you, Edgarr?

I'm a widower. There was the usual awkward pause.

Sheriff. The dispatcher broke in again. Deputy Taylor needs to talk to you.

Put him on.

Boss, said Larry's voice, I'm going to need some help.

Anybody hurt?

Don't know yet.

I'm coming. JD Waters grabbed his gear. Meathead, he muttered.

Mind if I tag along? I asked.

Help yourself, he said. He charged out the door.

CHAPTER 4

The squad car was faster on the straight-a-ways, but the Honda caught up on the curves. And there were plenty of them once we got off the main highway. The sides of the road were thick with forest growth, conifers, ferns, shrubs, bushes. You name it, it probably grew there. At the speeds we were going it was a blur of green, except when we slowed down to make the turns. Save for the occasional cabin, there was hardly a sign of anyone living here, and I wondered how two vehicles could ever find each other on this lonely stretch of road, much less collide.

The sheriff braked when he saw the flares. I went to the shoulder to keep from hitting him. The deputy waved us in. A late model baby blue Jag sat cockeyed on the side of the road, its left side damaged and the driver's door gone. An old pickup was on the other side in a ditch. There were no occupants in either vehicle. The deputy's squad car and an old Mercury were parked along side the damaged Jag. JD Waters got out to survey the scene.

Did you look for injured? JD asked the deputy.

Yep. No sign of either driver.

I noticed something else odd. So did the sheriff.

No skid marks, he said.

Talia, the older blonde from the motel, jumped out of the Mercury and ran to the sheriff.

That's my daughter's car. She pointed to the Jag.

Yes Ma'am, said the sheriff. He turned to Larry. Run the pickup plates, will you. He turned back to Talia. Why don't you get inside so we can talk. He opened the door to his squad car. Talia started to get in. She stopped and turned when she heard the sound. We all did. Someone or something was tearing through the forest. It was coming toward us. The crashing and snapping sounds got louder until a woman burst out of the trees and into the road. It was Nadia. She had cuts and bloody scratches on her face and body. Her clothes were in shreds, what was left of them. She'd been running for her life and she intended to keep running.

Talia screamed.

JD Waters grabbed a blanket and blocked her way. She ran right into him. He wrapped her in the blanket and hugged her. It took a while for her to calm down. He helped her to the back seat of his car. Talia barged past him to get to her daughter. They jabbered away in Ukrainian. I stood back and watched. All women can be attractive at one time or another. But a truly remarkable woman never loses her beauty, even when she's de shabille, or in trouble, or first thing in the morning. Nadia was beautiful even now. Mornings would be no different. I was sure of that. Waters gave the two women time to be together. At last they calmed down.

Can you tell me what happened? asked the sheriff.

Nadia looked up at the sheriff. She had a classic profile.

I had car trouble, she said. Her voice quavered. I pulled to the side of the road. I couldn't get a signal on my cell phone. I opened the car door to see if I could get better service. I saw that pickup. She pointed to the small truck on the other side of the road. A woman was driving it. I started to wave her down. She slowed, like she was making up her mind whether to stop or not, but then she gunned her engine and came right at me.

Did she try to brake or honk her horn? asked the sheriff.

No, said Nadia.

Did she try to swerve away?

No. She just ran right into the Jag.

She hit your car on purpose?

Yes.

Lucky she missed you.

She would have hit me if I hadn't jumped back into the car.

Go on.

After she slammed into my car, she swerved into the ditch on the other side of the road. I got showered with safety glass but I seemed okay. I got out of the Jag. She wasn't getting out of the truck. I started walking to her to see if she was all right. When I got close she rolled down her window and pointed a gun at me... Nadia paused