Close Up the Sky (6 page)

“Stop
immediately!” commanded the voice over the loudspeaker. The driver ignored the
warning and jerked the steering wheel to the left. The maneuver caused the lead
chopper to lose its position. The pilot of Leahy’s ship responded instantly to
the sudden turn. He dropped the nose of the helicopter and rolled hard to the
side, maintaining their position at the rear of the vehicle. The other ship
recovered and pulled back alongside. Both helicopters were now on opposite
sides of the vehicle, doorways facing each other. Leahy watched the Marine in
the other ship train his gun on the vehicle.
Stop, you damn
fools
!
he
wanted to scream at them, knowing it
was already too late. Yellow fire erupted from the muzzle of the minigun as
hundreds of rounds rained down in front of the vehicle. Sand and pulverized
brush flew into the air where the bullets struck. The girl grabbed the driver
by the shirt and began pounding him on the shoulder. Leahy did not need to hear
her voice to know she was screaming. The driver twisted the wheel over and the
vehicle spun halfway around. When he straightened, they were heading back the
way they had come. The choppers banked simultaneously, flanking the little car.
The male passenger grabbed the roll bar and stood up. He looked up at the
choppers and began waving his free arm, but this time it was not a taunt. He
was indicating that they were leaving as instructed. When no more gunfire came,
he dropped back into the seat and shouted something at the driver, who nodded
vigorously and reduced speed.

The speaker
blasted one last instruction for them to proceed to the reservation perimeter
where police would be waiting for them. The voice warned them not to stop or
divert from their direction of travel. The driver signaled that he understood
and would comply. Having succeeded in turning the vehicle in the direction they
wanted it to go, both helicopters pulled away and gained altitude. The Marine
gunners waved to each other and gave thumbs-up.

The entire episode
had lasted less than three minutes, but to Leahy it seemed much longer. The sun
was now completely below the horizon, and the other chopper turned on its
searchlight. A twenty-foot circle of brilliant white light illuminated the dune
buggy. The guard in their ship moved his gun back to its original position and
closed the door. The torrent of wind stopped, but Leahy felt cold in spite of
it. He became aware that he had been clenching his teeth almost to the point of
pain.

“We’re returning to
our course now, Miss Griffin,” the Marine said. “The other chopper will handle
it from here. Sorry about the delay.”

Leahy, having been
totally absorbed in the chase, glanced at Taylor for the first time since it
began. Her hair, which had been so neatly arranged, had been blown into a
haystack. Her cheeks were tinged red, but whether from the cold or just plain
fury, he could not tell. He started to laugh, but the ill-tempered look on her
face discouraged any attempt at levity. She brushed a strand of hair away from
her face and glared at the Marine.

“How much longer
to the base?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“About ten
minutes, Ma'am,” he responded. He got up and started toward the cockpit.

Leahy called out
to him, “What about the dune buggy? What happens to those young idiots now?”

The Marine
shrugged and said, “The other ship will follow them back to the highway. The
local police have been notified and will be waiting to pick them up. After
that, the FBI will probably question them about why they were on the
reservation in the first place. If there’s no security problem, I imagine
they’ll let them go with a warning. It’s routine.” He said it as though such
incidents occurred on a daily basis.

“Thank you,
Corporal,” said Leahy. The Marine nodded and moved away, resuming his position
behind the two pilots.

Leahy’s thoughts
drifted back to his conversation with Feldon and Summerhour. They had said the
facility was heavily guarded, but the action he had just witnessed seemed
extreme even for the military. He had no doubt that if the people in the dune
buggy had not turned away after the warning barrage of gunfire, the Marines
would not have hesitated to shoot them. Apache Point was going to be protected,
no matter the consequences.

He turned back to
Taylor, who was in the process of regaining control of her appearance and
humor. She shoved her comb back into her purse and smiled mischievously. “Nothing
like a little fight to start the evening off right,” she said.

In spite of the
disarming comment, Leahy could tell she was still upset. The incident had
obviously disturbed her beyond what she was showing.

“Is that standard
procedure? I mean does this happen every time someone wanders inside the
security zone?” he asked.

“I don’t think
so.” She paused as though in thought, then said, “At least not most of the time
anyway. You have to keep in mind that Apache Point is a top-secret facility,
and the military has orders to use whatever means they think are necessary to
keep trespassers out. If those ‘young idiots,’ as you put it, had just done as
they were told, there wouldn’t have been any trouble.” She paused and looked at
him, her expression turning serious. “You’ll understand why the security is so
intense after we meet with Dr. Durant.”

They were silent
for a while, then the pilot called out over the speaker, “Apache Point ahead,
Miss Griffin.”

Leahy looked out
the window behind him, but the angle was too sharp to see anything except the
glow of distant lights. It was completely dark outside, so he was unable to
ascertain their altitude. He continued his vigilance, waiting to catch his
first glimpse of the mysterious research facility. “Excuse me, Matt,” said
Taylor. She rose and went to the cockpit, spoke briefly with the pilot, then
returned to her seat. The Marine who had manned the gun followed her back and
slid the door open. Since their speed had diminished significantly, there was
no burst of cold air, but it was still chilly.

The helicopter
banked gently to the right then leveled off. From outside, a pale radiance
crept into the cabin. As the angle between the aircraft and the facility
widened, a double row of amber lights became visible on the ground. They
stretched away toward the horizon, forming a wide curve. As they drew closer,
Leahy observed that the lights were mounted on posts attached to chain-link
fences about fifty feet apart and ten feet high. The fences formed an enormous
circle almost a quarter of a mile in diameter. In addition to the fence
lighting, mercury vapor lights sat on tall poles at intervals of about two
hundred feet along the entire perimeter of the complex. The bright lights
illuminated the area between the fences, where a patrol vehicle moved slowly
along. Spotlights mounted on the vehicle’s roof lit up the shadows that the
overhead lights failed to reach. As the chopper passed, Leahy noted that the
two men in the vehicle wore uniforms of some type. In spite of the helicopter’s
close proximity, neither of them looked up.

The pilot turned
off the chopper’s interior lights, increasing outside visibility. As they
continued their flight around the facility, a huge power plant came into view. Row
after row of heavy transformers were located inside a separately fenced area. A
two-story brick building that Leahy suspected was the control center for the
power plant stood near the transformers. A smaller building surrounded by
spherical fuel tanks, each about fifty feet in diameter, was located nearby. A
network of pipes and runways connected the tanks to the building. Light spilled
from several windows, indicating that even at this hour people were at work
monitoring the devices that controlled the plant. As they passed along the edge
of the complex he sensed tremendous electrical power being generated by unseen
turbines.

Several hundred feet
beyond the power plant were three rectangular cement-block buildings with
floodlights mounted on the corners of their roofs. Judging from the military
vehicles parked in front of them, Leahy guessed they were barracks. Taking into
consideration that some of the space would be used for administrative purposes
and a mess hall, there was still enough room to accommodate at least two
hundred men; a sizeable force for a research facility.

As the helicopter
slowly circumnavigated the complex, another group of eight buildings almost
identical to the barracks came into view. These formed a rough square, two
buildings to each side. In their dimly lit atrium he could see various types of
shrubs and trees planted along the perimeter. Directly in the middle of the atrium
was a large kidney-shaped swimming pool. Underwater lights illuminated its
green bottom, giving the complex a familiar motel-like appearance. He asked
Taylor for an explanation.

“That’s the
civilian living quarters,” she said. “There are over five hundred scientists,
technicians, and support personnel working here at any given time, not
including transient personnel. Since there are no roads into the main plant,
commuting between home and work isn’t feasible. The government tries to make
everyone as comfortable as possible during
their
tour
of duty, so we have almost everything anyone might need. That’s our commissary
over there,” she pointed to a large square structure with many windows about a
hundred feet from the other buildings.

“How long is a
tour of duty?” he inquired.

“It depends on the
job classification. Most are for a minimum of six months, but some last several
years.”

“What’s my job
classification?”

She ignored the
question and said, “That’s my apartment over there on the corner. The one with
the yellow curtains.”

He barely got a
look at the place before they passed beyond the buildings. The pilot rotated
the ship counterclockwise and dropped the nose a few degrees. The blackness of
the desert appeared in the doorway, faintly lit by the glow of the fence
lights. As the aircraft straightened again, a large two-story structure
resembling an office building came into view. Two smaller buildings, one on
each side, were connected to the main structure by lighted walkways. A dozen
communications antennas topped with blinking red signals sprouted from the roof
of the larger building. Light spilled from many of the windows, indicating the
presence of night workers. A one-story structure about twenty
feet square
surrounded by additional antennas was located
directly behind the office building. A tall shaft resembling a metal telephone
pole stood a few yards away. From its top, a bright green light emitted a
pulsing glow. A mass of thick cables ran from the pole to a huge satellite dish
at its base. As they descended toward the front of the building Leahy observed
several helicopters tied down on a tarmac near the entrance. As soon as they
settled to the ground the Marine came back and stood by the door.

“Welcome to Apache
Point, sir,” he said as he stepped out onto the concrete.

Leahy ducked under
the rotor blades as he exited, then helped Taylor out. When she was safely on
the ground she took his hand and they entered the building. Inside was an
expansive lobby with expensive-looking furniture. A profusion of greenery in
decorative pots sat at intervals along the walls. To the left of the entrance
was a closed door marked SECURITY OFFICER. The wall directly ahead was made of
marble, and had a glass cubicle about five feet square in its center. The
cubicle was equipped with front and rear doors, with an empty hallway
stretching off into the distance behind it. Two stony-faced Marines with
automatic weapons stood on each side of the cubicle. Anyone wishing to gain
entry to the hallway would have to pass by the guards, then through the
cubicle. Leahy saw their eyes examining every square inch of his body. To their
right, another Marine sat behind a security desk equipped with an array of
video monitors.

Taylor ushered
Leahy over to the desk and spoke to the guard. “Good evening, Sergeant.” She
fished a small plastic card with an alligator clip on the back out of her purse
and handed it to him. It looked like a driver’s license, complete with
photograph.

“Good evening,
Miss Griffin,” the guard replied in a cheerful tone. He inserted the card into
a slot in the top of the desk. Something inside made a clicking noise. A color
picture of Taylor appeared on one of the monitors. Beneath her image appeared
the words GRIFFIN, TAYLOR L. 032217-A. The sergeant removed the card and handed
it back to her.

“This is Mr.
Matthew Leahy,” she introduced Matt. “His identification should have been
forwarded to you earlier today.”

He glanced at
Leahy and nodded. “Good evening, sir,” he said.

Leahy acknowledged
the greeting as the sergeant unlocked a drawer and removed a brown envelope
with an embossed seal on the flap. He tore it open and took out what appeared
to be a duplicate of Taylor’s card. Leahy watched as he put it into the slot. He
was amazed to see his photo appear on the monitor with LEAHY, MATTHEW D.
287114-A printed underneath. He recognized the image as a copy of the picture
taken for renewal of his police ID a year ago.

The sergeant
looked up at Leahy. “This is your computer recognition card, sir. Please keep
it with you at all times.”

Leahy took the
card and examined it.
ChronSecCom
was
printed in bold black letters along the top just above his photo. On the back,
near one corner, was a small black square containing encrypted data. When
clipped to a coat pocket or lapel, the card served as an ID badge; however,
authorization for entry into restricted areas required computer recognition of
the data inside the square.

“The badge is worn
on the left side of the outer clothing, sir,” the guard continued. “It must
always be in plain view.” Leahy clipped it to the pocket of his suit coat and
looked at Taylor. She had already fastened her card to her jacket.