Chapter 31: A Raw Deal
Ludovac Stoltza a former Army Officer, left his half empty pint of beer in Nuriye’s Bar on Holstein Avenue and went outside to light up a cigarette. No sooner had he taken the first puff from the cigarette, than a familiar face appeared in the dark of night.
At this time of night the temperature was quite cold. Despite his wife’s best wishes Ludovac did not like wearing heavy coats to keep himself warm. He would rather shiver than bow to sensibility.
The town itself was quite small, with barely a thousand inhabitants. Almost half the businesses on the main street were closed and boarded up. On a Tuesday night the bar had few customers and the town itself was extremely quiet. The former army Sargent liked it that way.
“Ludovac, my old friend. How are you?” Captain Steinham asked in a warm manner. Or at least, warm by his standards.
“I’ve been better,” the former military officer replied in a slightly downbeat tone. “That massacre at the army base has drawn a lot of heat. You won’t have many friends to count on soon, including me.”
Ludovac knew exactly who he was talking to and part of him regretted being so honest. He was aware that Captain Steinham was not a man one would readily make an enemy of. Ludovac was also aware that he himself could spend the rest of his life behind bars for feeding information to one of America’s most wanted terrorists.
“With you it’s purely business,” the terrorist leader responded as he lit a cigarette of his own. “I pay you good money for good information. You shouldn’t forget that.”
“Your currency is in freefall,” the former army Sargent replied. If he did not have a wife and child to support, Ludovac would never have associated himself with the ex-CIA terrorist.
“Tell me. Have you any news for me?”
“They’re transporting more of those hi-tech robots to the army base. The next shipment is Wednesday in the morning. The expected time of arrival is 10:30. Word on the street is that they’ll be more heavily guarded. They won’t be taking any risks after last time.”
“Just the one shipment?” the terrorist asked as he scrutinised every movement in the informant’s face.
“It’s supposed to be a big one. It’s coming from Storhampton,” the former Army Sargent divulged, as he continued to make firm eye contact after every drag from his cigarette.
“Anything else?” Steinham asked with a stern expression on his face. It seemed to be as much of a threat as a question.
“Don’t you think you should retire, Roger?” Ludovac responded, as if it was the best thing for both of them. “Quit while you’re still a free man. The Government is milking your last terrorist incident for all that it is worth. Public opinion is against you. This is a war you cannot win. You are adopting the wrong tactics. No good will come of your violent actions.”
“And why then do you give me information?” the terrorist replied with a hint of a smile as he moved a few inches closer to the informant. It was almost as if he was taunting Ludovac while conveying that he was bigger, stronger and more resilient.
“Because it pays,” Ludovac said as he averted his eyes downwards. “I have to feed my gambling habit and my three children somehow.”
“Three children, Ludovac? You wouldn’t want to loose any of them now, would you?” the terrorist suggested with a hint of menace.
Steinham handed Stoltza a brown paper envelope. “I’ll be seeing you Ludovac.”
Ludovac threw his cigarette on the ground and turned to the former CIA operative. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said in a sombre tone as the terrorist turned to walk away. The army Sargent then returned to the public house. The donkey he had backed in the bookies would have crossed the finishing line by now he thought to himself. Ludovac, sometimes hated to watch the actual result of a horse race, particularly if he was on a losing streak. Instead he would go outside, chat up a young woman half his age or enjoy a cigarette in peace.
On his return the warmth of the pub was particularly noticeable. “How did I do?” he asked Cliff, his drinking partner. Cliff was six stone overweight and rarely moved from the bar stool except for toilet breaks. Cliff had a passing interest in horses but was clever enough not to back any. His drinking habit was a bad enough vice without making the situation worse.
“Fourth,” Cliff replied before noticing something sticking out of his pocket. “What’s in the bag? You seem to produce one of them brown paper bags nearly every time you go out there. If you kept away from the gee gees you’d be loaded.”
It was rare that Cliff embarrassed him, but this time he succeeded. In one day the Army Sargent had managed to gamble away a weeks wages. Part of him wanted to use some of the money in the bag. There were three races left after all. Another part of him told him to cut his losses. It seemed as if he had a conflict in his own mind to resolve. What should I do, he asked himself as he pounded the bar counter. “Go home,” Cliff suggested. “You’ve done enough damage in one day and give that to your wife. She deserves it.”
Ludovac knew that Cliff was right. He just didn’t know if he’d have the moral courage to obey his advice.
Lieutenant Haskell turned the steering will of the Hasersmith 85 truck. Beside him was Captain Roger Steinham. The trailer concealed thirteen heavily armed men. They had a long journey ahead of them. They were bound for Hedmonton, eighty-five miles away. Their plan was to get there by 9:45am to intercept a convoy destined for the Florentine army base from Storhampton.
Almost half an hour into their journey Lieutenant Haskell decided to get a conversation going. “Did you ever want to take a break from it all Captain?”
The question struck Captain Steinham as an odd question coming from his trusted Lieutenant. They had spent several years defying their former employers, the United States Government and up to this point in time Haskell had been a loyal and dedicated comrade in arms. They had spent years away from whatever friends and family they had left, evading capture. The truth was that all of them were united because they had lost friends and family at the hands of the Government.
“No,” the terrorist leader replied.
“I always have,” Haskell replied in a calm tone as he glanced over at the man in the passenger seat and then returned his focus to the road in front of him. “Have you ever been to Hamilton, Utah, Captain?” he asked.
Captain Steinham had heard of the place. He had been involved in a terrorist incident there six years earlier.
“Can’t say I have,” he replied.
“My deceased wife, wanted to go there on holiday, before she died. It didn’t excite me at the time. She said they had great amenities for kids and some breath-taking scenery. I told you about my wife Captain and how she died, didn’t I?”
“I’ve asked you the question many times Haskell. Every time you told me she was killed by an army officer. One day, you said, you would like to exact revenge on him.”
“Yesterday, I got some news about his whereabouts and today I hope to get my revenge.”
Steinham wondered about this as he thought that he had taken precautions about the group communicating with the outside world. He thought he would know everything there was to know about any messages going in or out.
As they rounded the corner, a road block came into view. There were dozens of army officers blocking the road, behind two trucks.
“Have you ever been to Hamilton, Utah, Captain?” the Lieutenant asked again as he produced a revolver and pointed it at the terrorist leader.
Suddenly Captain Steinham came to realise that his trusted Lieutenant was probably not who he believed him to be. The paranoid terrorist leader had been betrayed by his closest friend or an enemy in the guise of his most trusted colleague.
Steinham felt as if he had been thrown into deep water and he was drowning and he was helpless to do anything about it. As he looked at the road block ahead and the dozens of armed police and army men behind it he felt as though his fate was sealed.
“Do you remember killing a young woman and her two children. The woman’s name was Meredith Easter. Her children were Denis and Sue Ellen. We’ve known each other a long time, but not as long as you think. I’ve been part of the group for the last three years. You’ve known Haskell for eight years. I knew him myself. We served in the army together. He was a nasty piece of work just like you. You were paranoid about who was responsible for gradually dismantling your terrorist organisation. The one man you trusted most was the one man you least suspected. My real name is Easter by the way, Orwell Easter.”
The truck came to a halt, three metres from the road block. As soon as Easter put the handbrake on, Steinham lunged for the gun. The gun went off but Steinham managed to divert it away from him. After a brief struggle, Steinham proved too strong for the traitor. As they fought some army officers tried to enter the cabin, but Easter had locked both doors. Steinham shot Easter several times and moved his victim out of the driver seat. As he did so, soldiers started to shoot at him, but he managed to start the truck, despite being wounded.
The terrorist was not going to go quietly. Instead he had always been determined to go down fighting. The only thing he was afraid of was a long and slow stay, rotting in a prison cell. If he could do anything to avoid that he would.
Captain Steinham attempted to bulldoze his way through the roadblock. The trailer became unhinged from the truck as he did so and he caused considerable damage to the army vehicles in front of him. The truck that Steinham was driving was so badly damaged that it managed to only travel thirty yards past the roadblock before grinding to a halt on the side of the road. Steinham remained in the driver’s seat, in great pain and with blood draining out of him. Army officers surrounded him, but he no longer had the energy to fight. The first thought that went through his head was that he had failed in his goal to bring down the Government. He had only proved to be a minor irritant and had lost the support of many members of the public. Even now he didn’t want to think too much. It’s finally over he thought to himself. In a matter of seconds he was dead.
President Westwood picked up the phone. Major Underwood was on the other end of the line.
“We have him,” the Major said finding it hard not to smile, “Steinham is dead. This is a great day Mr President. You’re going to have a boost in the polls after this one.”
The Major was beaming. For him it was a massive coup that he hoped would be rewarded with a promotion or a magazine cover. Fame was something he had dreamed about ever since he was a child. Now he would be famous for being the man who brought down America’s number one most wanted terrorist.
“It’s good news Major Underwood,” President Westwood, responded solemnly, “but Roger Steinham is worth more to me alive than dead. He was undermining the success of all those who stand against me. Of all the rebels, he was the most psychotic and unpopular. With him gone we’re left with all the do-gooders. Steinham is very much alive Major, don’t you see, he has to be.”
Underwood’s balloon was burst. It was as if his wife had told him that he’d won a prize in the lottery but then revealed that it was only five bucks. He looked forward to being the centre of attention but now he would have to remain silent on the subject. He envisaged friends in five or six years time, asking the question: what ever happened to Roger Steinham. He would be jumping up and down on the inside, wanting to reveal the truth but instead, he knew he would have to remain silent on the subject.
“Major,” Sargent Thomson addressed him after he had ended the conversation with the President, “there are some journalists here already. What should I tell them?”
“Tell them that a lorry driver who had not paid his insurance tried to ram a road block and was shot dead at the scene,” the high ranking army officer responded in a downbeat manner. “The road block was set up to capture a terrorist but he evaded capture.”
Initially, Sargent Thomson was surprised. He himself knew that Steinham was dead and was taken aback as to why his superior would not want to take credit for it. However like the loyal soldier that he was he did as instructed and answered the journalists many questions in as dull and disinterested a tone as he possibly could.