The Red Cell André Gallo (essential reading .txt) 📖

himself the pleasure of looking back on the mile of grade he had conquered. When he turned back to look ahead, he was suddenly confronted with the sight of a pedestrian wearing an Oakland Raiders cap directly in front of him. It was too late to avert hitting the man. He did, and Gardiner fell off his bike, grateful for the law that required him to wear a helmet.

The man with the Raiders regained his balance quickly, and Gardiner stood almost as quickly to pick up his bike. “You know, motorcycles are not allowed on this sidewalk. It is only for pedestrians and bicycles,” he said, outraged at the motorcycle leaning against the waterside railing. Encouraged by the Raider’s baffled expression, he added, “If you can’t obey the rules, you should not be on this bridge. Will you look at this?” He tried to realign his front wheel with the handlebars.

The Raider drew a pistol and looked to his partner, and when the latter nodded, he shot the astonished Gardiner and pushed him to the side.

 0540

The Harley Davidson riders heard the explosions, as they rode out of the administration building’s parking lot to get on the bicycle/ pedestrian path on the western side of the bridge.

 0540

“The game is on, ladies and gentlemen,” Hunter said, picking up his HK417 from a desk under one of the CCTV screens.

“Yeah, we should have known better than try to repair the equipment,” McCabe said to the bridge guard, who had been puzzling over the seven blank screens for the past ten minutes. “Call Steve and tell him what’s going on. We’re going out for a recon.”

They hurried out of the room and down a corridor toward the door leading to the back parking lot. Hunter was about to push the door open when McCabe grabbed his arm. “Wait!” he almost shouted. “Not this way!”

When they ran back and went out through a side window, the early morning sky was lit up on their right. Peering around the corner of the building toward the parking lot, they saw the two cruisers on fire. Their bikes were on their sides, flames shooting from the gas tanks.

 0545

“Al,” Steve said, “Where the hell is your bird? There could be an army on the bridge now, and we wouldn’t know it.”

“It was blown off course by the wind. I’m now at three thousand feet altitude, and we’ll get a picture of the bridge in a few seconds. There, I’m getting lower.”

“Just a second,” Steve said. “I’m getting a call from the Dynamic Duo.” After a short discussion with McCabe, he reported, “They’ve had fireworks. All their transportation is knocked out. But the Quds guys didn’t attack the building itself. There’s no shooting, so we’re assuming that part of the attack party is on its way to the bridge.”

“So the bridge security guard should call in the cavalry,” Kella said.

“The landline has been knocked out,” Steve said. “I tried to give one of our transceivers to Spencer, in case we needed to communicate with JTTF, but he didn’t feel the need. The FBI thinks they got along without us before and they can get along without us now. Why do I sense turf rivalries rearing their ugly heads?”

“Looks like we’re the only cavalry in this theatre of operations,” Al said.

“Yeah, Hunter and McCabe are headed to the bridge, but they’re on foot. The bridge guard told them sometimes they patrol on bikes, so they’re looking for those bicycles.”

“Okay, the bird is over the bridge,” Al said. “I don’t see much activity except for commuters.”

“What about that over there?” Kella asked, pointing to the middle of the bridge on the west side.

“That’s too small for a car. Maybe it’s a motorcycle.”

“It’s stopped. Probably the guys we’re looking for.”

“One or two guys on a motorcycle? Can’t do much damage to a couple of thousand tons of steel.”

“What about that boat?” Kella asked. “It looks like the same one we saw before, and now it’s getting very close to the bridge.”

“We have a communications problem,” Steve said. “JTTF has a Coast Guard rep, but only JTTF people can communicate with him. And we can’t communicate with the JTTF. Kella, get in touch with the bridge guard and tell him to raise the Coast Guard by whatever means he can.”

“I doubt the general’s going to be on the bridge. Can we get a quick view of the overlook?”

“We’re on our way,” Al said. “But the bird’s still bucking the wind.”

 0550

Gardiner, bleeding and gasping from his chest wound, dragged himself against the railing into a sitting position. Frantically searching his mind for options, he recalled a war movie where John Wayne, as a Green Beret, found himself in a similar situation. Mimicking the memory, he removed his riding gloves and stuffed them under his shirt to try to control the bleeding and the air escaping from his lungs. He wondered why bridge security guards had not already appeared. He resolved to recall every detail of his encounter so he could write a letter of complaint to the authorities; maybe to the mayor of San Francisco or, better yet, to the newspapers. Growing almost giddy from shock and loss of blood, he looked at his watch and began fretting he wouldn’t make it to work on time.

Gardiner noticed the man who had shot him was still in view, about twenty yards away on the sidewalk. He was lighting a long match and placing it at the end of a cord. Then he hurried away. Now both of the men crouched down and covered their ears. The spark flashed along the cord and separated into six tongues of flame, each leading toward one of the metal posts holding up the fencing between the road and the sidewalk. Gardiner instinctively covered his face just as six simultaneous explosions almost