Hoist the Jolly Lucas, Page 3

  I mentioned to Wolf that we might be able to determine what kind of weaponry was installed at Prudhoe by studying what weaponry existed before oil disappeared. I figured Prudhoe wouldn't have anything as advanced as that – perhaps not even close to it. So that prompted the idea of visiting the Smithsonian Museum in Denver and we both thought it would be a good idea. I told Wolf that I'd ask Izzy about going down. Wolf said that I should tell Izzy that I was going to Denver. I was already kind of irked at Izzy, and she's been very cranky lately, so I did. Tell her that is. Then I met up with Wolf and left. We played sky-tag all the way down. Wolf won. Easily.

  Wolf and I spent two days walking around the Smithsonian's military exhibits with our jaws on the ground. I figure that thing that shot down TG's copter in Operation Dead Man Walking was a short-range missile. It was like the tiny rockets that I used to carry the firework pellets into the sky for Izzy. Only way more powerful. Their missile would have had a longer range and a larger amount of explosive material in the rocket's nose. Same concept though. I could certainly rig something up like that quickly if I had a metal body to put everything into.

  Missile guidance would be a different matter. I didn't care where my fireworks rockets ended up in the sky, so I just pointed them in the general direction that I wanted them to fly. However missiles have to hit something – perhaps a sitting target like a building or a moving target like a copter. Once the rocket has been launched into the air, that could be difficult to do if the target moved unexpectedly. The Smithsonian had an entire room dedicated to explaining how missile targets could be acquired – laser sightings, for example. Then a little computer in the rocket would lock onto the target and direct the rocket right to wherever the target went. Or there could be a little camera in the rocket that would allow a remote technician to steer the rocket until it hit its target. The old societies used to have drones that operated that way. Drones were unmanned airplanes that were difficult to see because they were small. I could totally create a bunch of those.

  The museum also had a room about detecting military threats with things called radar and sonar. War ships in the past used to have giant wire dish-shaped sensors that would be able to detect ships or missiles that were coming towards them. Submarines had the same capability but from a slightly different technology. Izzy had seen these sorts of dishes when she and Yollie had visited Prudhoe the first time. This meant that the soldiers at Prudhoe were using old military technology, not the kind of electronic technology I had used with the Wilizy's long-range sensors. That discovery made me feel better.

  # # # # # # # #

  Something else on the trip made me feel better. Wolf said that I shouldn't care so much what Izzy liked or didn't like if I wanted to do something. We had long talks about girls while we were in Denver. I found out that he's not a great fan of Izzy. I guess I was worrying about him stealing her from me unnecessarily. Wolf thinks that she's too bossy. That she just tells me what to do and doesn't give me a say at all.

  I thought about that some. It's probably true. Hockey games are a good example. Izzy told me on the weekend that we had to cut back on our hockey games. She said that the more games we played, the higher was the risk of her becoming pregnant. I could have said that the relationship was obvious, but she was on a roll and wasn't going to let me say a word. She said that we'd cut back to one game a day and not before bedtime. Cutting back didn't bother me, so I agreed. But what Wolf said was true. Izzy and I didn't actually discuss this; she just told me. Had we discussed it, I could have reassured Izzy that I wouldn't get her pregnant. She didn't want that to happen, so I wasn't going to let it happen. I'm kind of an important part of the baby creation process, after all. But I guess she figured that I was a mindless baby-making machine that couldn't control itself.

  So I was already irked with Izzy when Wolf and I talked about bossy girl friends. He has had some girl friends like that and gets away from them as fast as he can. I got the impression that he could have as many girl friends as he wanted. Izzy is probably the only girl that would put up with me. It's not like I can be all friendly and chatty, and I've noticed that chatting is something that girls like doing a lot. Wolf said that I'd be wrong about attracting only one girl friend. But he admitted that he's not a girl so what does he know.

  Wolf said that if you let a girlfriend boss you around now, she'd run your life forever. I thought he might be talking about his mom who has tight control on her family. Wolf said that she did, but it was necessary, especially with his younger brothers. But I was wrong about his mom being the boss. He said that his parents discuss everything at night when they're alone. When he was a little kid, he snuck up and listened to them talk one night when they were cleaning the weapons; he was totally frightened that he'd be caught. He wasn't, but he didn't do it again. His dad is the real disciplinarian in the family. One of his looks is all that it takes to stop one of the kids dead in his tracks. Even now.

  I said that I didn't think that I could be scary. Izzy would be the disciplinarian when we had kids. Wolf shrugged. He said that I had been one scary-looking dude when I was standing over the gunslingers with a loaded gun in my hand. He said that I should stand up for myself more. I have to think about that some.

  There's a girl that Wolf likes a lot, I believe. He wouldn't say what her name was or anything else about her. He said he only met her briefly, and them being together wouldn't work anyway. He didn't say why. I think that he was unhappy about that.

  I like Wolf. I like his dad too. One minute, Hank's a quiet guy; then suddenly, he's demolishing the nose of a man holding a gun to his head. I saw him in action from my sling when I was approaching Oliver. I didn't arrive in time to see the beginning of the battle, but the end was impressive. Wolf said that he had never seen that violent side of his dad before. I wondered if I could be like that. I'd have the quiet part nailed at least.

  Back to the Table of Contents

  Chapter 7

 

  From Izzy's journals: Tuesday, September 6.

  Wolf and Will were down in Denver researching armaments. Will was being snarky so I was glad to see him go. Yollie is getting on my nerves too – gushing about what a nice little girl Liset is and how TG is so good with her. She's not rubbing my nose into the fact that she's having sex and I'm not, but she might as well be. They must be really going at it; both Yollie and TG look exhausted. We need to know where the new brain-bands are manufactured, but TG doesn't have the time to look into it. Yollie's being kind of selfish, I thought, wearing him out like that.

  Everybody suddenly had something else to do when I dropped by, so I had time on my hands. After our debriefing, Stu had wanted to discuss an idea with me for a new WZBN program, but he didn't want to do that right then. So I thought I'd go down to Surrey, meet with Stu, and pass on Hank's envelope to Franklin Franklin. I wanted to ask B.C. what they knew about Prudhoe too.

  # # # # # # # #

  I understood why Stu wanted a private chat; it was about Doc. At our debriefing, Doc had admitted in a sad sort of way to Stu that he had nothing of any value to do. Granny had her child-rearing lessons and that was keeping her busy travelling to Surrey and back every other day. Doc had accompanied her twice, but couldn't do anything to help her, so he stayed home after that.

  Now I knew what had been bugging me about my visit with Doc and Granny. Doc had been sitting in his chair with his whittling knife, but he had been all slumped back into his chair, eyes half closed when I came in. He had enjoyed himself on our trip to Prudhoe, and I thought he was interested in looking around. He had a good suggestion for surveillance but he became quiet on the way home; said he was going to sweep the floors when I asked him what he'd be doing the next day. I thought he was kidding but his face didn't look like he was kidding.

  Stu had suggested to Doc that he could do some medical training courses on the WZBN but Doc had said that it wouldn't be possible. I understood why Doc had turned down Stu's suggestion. If Zzyk learned t
hat Doc was alive, and realized that Doc was a member of the Wilizy, he might re-examine that whole story about Doc dying from skydiving out of a helicopter. There could be lots of unanswered questions. We didn't want to give Zzyk any unanswered questions.

  Stu changed the subject. Asked if I realized that his assistant was working directly on Wilizy business, and in the process, she was accumulating a lot of knowledge about us. Nothing about our scientific secrets, but still, she knew what we were doing and why.

  "Sure," I said. "Hard to keep everything a secret." Yolanda had screened all of Stu's staff before they joined us, so I wasn't concerned.

  "MacAndrew, my programming manager, has an idea how Doc could do the medical programs without revealing himself. She didn't know if she was allowed to talk directly to you or not."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "If she doesn't know anything about you and has never even met you, she can't spill any beans."

  I remembered Yolanda mentioning the MacAndrew name. She had joked about Stu only hiring Scots and so it had stuck in my memory – Stu's last name being McKenzie. I couldn't remember the girl's first name. Hopefully, it wasn't Mac. Mac MacAndrew would be a little strange. "What's her first name?" I asked.

  "We call her Mac," Stu said.

  "Really? Mac MacAndrew?" Perhaps I should introduce her to Franklin Franklin. Their kids could be named ... MacFranklin MacFranklin? B.C. people were a little weird with their naming conventions.

  "She has Scottish ancestry going back a long way," Stu said. "She likes the nickname. Her first name is Barbara, but she'll hiss at you if you call her that. Mac was my assistant before I took on the WZBN job full time. Will you meet with her?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  # # # # # # # #

  After my meeting with MacAndrew, I had some time to think about how I could convince Doc to try some pilot programs on Doctoring at Home. It would be good for him, I thought. Doc loves helping people and teaching them about medicine. Stu's assistant said that they could do the lessons with tight close-ups on the medical problem Doc would be explaining. She had subtle ways of changing his voice too. Plus make-up, and perhaps a surgeon's gown, and mask for long shots. It was worth a try, I thought. People in Alberta relied a lot on old wives' tales for curing illnesses and patching people up. A series on real doctoring could be a big attraction. Doc would enjoy doing it. Granny could help if she had the time. They could do a series together on doctoring young children, for example.

  MacAndrew herself was unremarkable and easily forgotten. A little shorter than me; brown hair tied in a tight bun. Serious looking face; light coloured eyebrows, narrow nose. Nothing particularly pretty about her face, but nothing bad either. I must say that her business clothes were not flattering. She was wearing a female version of a man's pinstriped business suit with a man's blue business shirt. Everything was too big for her and she had bulges in her pockets from some bulky objects she was carrying around. Perhaps an objection to carrying a purse? My overall first impression was of a short, dumpy, messy, unattractive teenager.

  Mac talked well, though. She made a good presentation including a mock up of the studio set and a list of topics that could be offered in the first three months of the program. She said that these were only ideas; Doc would be in charge of everything. I told her that I liked her ideas and would present them to Doc and encourage this kind of series.

  # # # # # # # #

  FF met with me in another windowless office hidden underground somewhere within a maze of hallways. An armed soldier took me to the office and stood guard outside while we met. I wasn't sure what he was guarding. FF from me? Old guys in gray suits who sit in corners don't have to worry about me attacking them.

  The B.C. military had searched their files for information on the group in Prudhoe Bay. Our information that they had close ties to Zzyk, and what those ties were, had come as a surprise. As far as they had known, they were a small group of wackos living on a commune in a deserted worn-out oilfield next to the Beaufort Sea. I told them what Doc and I had seen and that we'd be watching them; didn't say how. B.C. had no information on The Citadel.

  "Tell me if you need any help stopping Zzyk from installing the new brain-bands," FF said. "Finding where they're being manufactured is a good idea. I can tell you that we'd find it very surprising if they were manufactured in Alberta. We have a good idea what goes on inside every major building in Alberta. Depending on where the plant is outside of Alberta, we might have some assets that we could put in place."

  In FF-speak, assets meant people. "Do you mind if I call you FF," I asked on a whim.

  "Go ahead. Many of my friends do. Some extend it to Ffffft. Like the sound of air coming out of a balloon. Others claim that it's a different kind of escaping air. I'm being delicate here." And then he smiled.

  Franklin Franklin has friends? And a sense of humour? And a gap between his two front teeth that you could pass a drinking straw through. No wonder I've never seen him smile.

  # # # # # # # #

  FF put Hank's proposal down on the table and looked at me. His face was expressionless. A common feature for him, I thought. Big long face emphasized by his mostly bald head and big ears. "You've read this?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "Consider B.C. all in. We'll exert all the leverage that we have. And we've accumulated quite a lot. I'll handle it personally."

  "I'll tell Hank," I said. "He'll be pleased." I didn't know what else to say. I had been waiting for FF to ask us what we had been drinking when we dreamt up the plan. His enthusiastic response surprised me. An errant thought floated through my brain that this wouldn't be the only time that FF would surprise me.

  "Classic Hank," he said, waving the one paragraph proposal. "I've missed working with him."

  "He worked with you?"

  "He didn't tell you? Wait. Of course he wouldn't have told you. Hank never says anything about his personal life that hasn't been extracted with a chisel and hammer first. Even with me. Yes, Hank and I worked together. I was his commanding officer when he joined the RCMP."

  I motioned him to continue.

  "Let's see. What can I tell you that isn't still classified? I wouldn't want to be arrested for leaking state secrets." FF glanced at me and winked before continuing. "Hank joined the RCMP a year or so before he was scheduled to graduate from high school. I believe it was about 2058. He lived in a small town in the B.C. interior but I don't know where. This was before the creation of the Aboriginal Nation. I put Hank immediately to work as an undercover officer. Frankly, he looked and acted like a hoodlum. At least that was the picture he presented for others to see. Rough looking, willing to settle things with his fists any time, any place. We created the image of a petty thief, put those charges on the police records, gave him the skills that he would need to prove that history, and then let him loose to hang out in the local bars."

  "You said undercover?"

  "Yes. We wanted him to get in tight with the major criminals and feed us whatever information he could learn. We were especially concerned with the rise of the biker gangs. They were roaming freely throughout the interior, terrorizing everyone and feeling it was their right to ambush and murder law enforcement people. Joining them would be out of the question. They were very tight knit; but they did like to brag when they were drunk. Hank had a disarming way of talking with people. After he bragged about some of his recent burglaries, he'd be in."

  "Really?"

  "Really. Hank performed well for us that first year. We were happy; he wasn't. Any gem of information he passed to us was a gem we wouldn't have dug up any other way. Hank said that he could do more. One day he showed up in my office with a little slip of a girl. She looked 15. I didn't ask her age. Hank said that she was a friend with a special talent. He and his girl friend had been going to some bars together – she would be dressed to look older, of course. She was the one who gave him the initial intelligence that allowed him to focus on the key criminals. I exp
ect you know the girl friend's name."

  "Yolanda?"

  "The one and only. She went by Yollie then. What a team they made! Hank's information increased in value tremendously. They'd report to me together – she'd sit, quiet as a mouse, holding Hank's hand. I don't believe I ever saw them in their first year together without her hand nestled inside his. Big brown eyes. Watching me all the time. They kept accepting more and more assignments – some of them with a risk."

  "Risk?" I felt like an idiot repeating single words that FF had said but with a question mark. I was finding all of this hard to believe.

  "Biker gangs were not friendly people, nor were the people they worked with. I started sending Hank and Yollie out to more distant locations where they wouldn't be recognized, but that meant weekend work. They'd check into a hotel – Hank with his hoodlum look, Yollie dressed to look like, you'll excuse the expression, a working girl. Hank would wink at the desk clerk, the clerk would leer at Yollie who by now was becoming a striking young woman, and nothing more would be said. Yollie would slip into the bar and spend some time with the men – doing what she did best, I assumed. At some point, she'd return to the hotel, passing her information to Hank on the way. Then he'd enter the bar, make conversation with the men she had targeted for him, and stay with them until the bar closed. They'd leave town the next day and report what they had heard to me."

  "One weekend, I sent them to a sleazy little bar that was selling exotic drugs in West Kelowna. We wanted to know who was supplying them. That trip led to a big escalation in violence. I'm not sure if she's ever gotten over what eventually happened. I can't check because she hasn't talked to me since. I myself was promoted back to Surrey and the government gave me a job where I would be safe. I became used to sitting in dark offices with no windows. Now I rather like it, even though the risk to me personally is now slight."

  "What happened in that bar?"

  "Still classified."

  # # # # # # # #

  FF and I chatted for a bit – he was just checking to see how Hank and Yolanda were doing. I felt awkward about revealing anything – seeing as how Yolanda wasn't talking to him and Hank was close-mouthed at the best of times. After expressing ignorance to a few probing questions, I had to say, "Sorry, I don't know what I can tell you."