Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle (9 page)

Thunder went on, "You could say my work was to PsyOps what your work is to the infantry. I’m here because my training allows me to keep a clear head, to stay focused, to resist … outside influences. And to see those influences affecting others."

He waited for more of an answer. When it was not forthcoming he shook his head and said, "Wait a second—what? What are you saying? What influences?"

"Remember I told you we have four and one-half sublevels? I wasn’t kidding."

"I didn’t think you were. I’ve seen plenty of—"

"Yes," she interrupted, waving her hand nonchalantly. "Yes, you’ve been to your share of laboratories and research facilities where the genie gets out of the bottle and creates a mess. This one’s a little different."

"With all due respect, Colonel, that’s what they tell me every time. What was it this time? A bio weapon that went haywire? A new virus that broke out of its test tube?"

"To answer your question, we don’t know. But what we do know is that the containment doors slammed shut and everyone who’s gone in has never been heard from again."

She settled in her chair and let that sink in. Gant, however, was not impressed.

"You say you know my background. Then you also know I’ve heard that line a lot."

"Here’s the kicker, Major. Those containment doors slammed shut twenty years ago."

Gant sat still, his eyes a little wider than a moment before.

She explained, "There’s been a quarantine that starts on sublevel five since June 22, 1992. People have gone in, but nobody has come out. It’s as if everything beyond the containment door just vanished into some big hole. Around here they call it a Hell Hole."

The major said nothing.

"I mentioned that you were here because of your disciplined mind. Try this one on for size: the guy who had this job before me got shot dead trying to break that quarantine from the outside because something got in his head and made him believe his daughter was trapped on the other side."

"What do you mean, some
thing?"

"But that’s nothing compared to what happened in the past.Three weeks after the containment protocols took effect, nearly half the soldiers on base tried to forcibly break quarantine, making sublevel five an absolute war zone before they were stopped. In 1994 a couple of scientific observers went nuts and tried to bust in before they were shot dead. The week after 9/11 four more grunts were nerve gassed by the automatic security systems to keep them from opening the containment door. The list goes on."

Major Gant asked, "What? Why? What are these influences?"

"No one knows, Major. At least, no one is telling. But since 1992 there have been sporadic extrasensory influences on base personnel. Influences that are best resisted by a well-focused, disciplined mind. Before we go any further I have to tell you to watch your men for any unusual behavior. That’s why you were brought in first, so you could understand and prepare."

"What is the cause?"

"That’s something I wish I knew. I can tell you that it all started during an experiment. The head researcher called for an expanded Red Lab containment and that’s the last word ever heard from the quarantined zone."

Gant knew that a "Red Lab" was a designation used for the most dangerous and sensitive experiments; experiments that might need drastic containment measures in the event of an accident. When the researcher called for an "expanded" Red Lab containment that meant more than the containment of his area, as if whatever required containing had already escaped from ground zero.

Gant said, "Of course, it’s always a scientist and it’s always some half-assed experiment. What was it this time? A new chemical weapon? Was he looking for a way to build a better hydrogen bomb?"

Colonel Thunder answered, "Nothing so dramatic. That’s the puzzle. The researcher used the Red Lab because it was the only area available at the time. Apparently the experiment had to do with some subatomic particle research, sort of sifting through an atom."

"Sifting through an atom? What was he looking for?"

"God."

She paused and they looked at each other for a very long moment. They saw something familiar in each other’s eyes—the look of someone who does the dirty work for a master. The look of someone who had spent his life in the dark, only to be let loose—on a leash—to fetch a stick when it suited one of the guys with the stars on their shoulders.

Thunder broke the silence with a wry smile. "In all honesty, Major, I don’t think they’ve told me everything even though I’m supposed to be running the show here. But what I just told you is true. I’ve read the reports. Let me tell you that you’ll believe it, too, when
you
read the reports, and especially when
you
get clearance to go down and see that damned door for yourself."

"Sounds as if people have gone through a lot of trouble to keep one door closed. What are they afraid of?"

Before she could answer there came a rap on the office door. The visitor did not wait to be invited. General Borman walked in.

Both Gant and Thunder rose to their feet.

"At ease." Borman extended his arm to shake Gant’s hand. "Welcome, Major. I trust the colonel has been filling you in?"

Gant looked at Thunder, then answered, "Yes, little bits and pieces. It’s a puzzle."

"Yes, yes," Borman agreed. "It’s quite the puzzle."

"One thing I don’t understand, General," Gant said. "I get the feeling we’re here for glamorized guard duty. That's not exactly our specialty."

"Guard duty? No, not guard duty, Major. I wouldn’t waste your team’s talents on guard duty."

"Then sir," Colonel Thunder asked in a tone that suggested there could not be any other possible mission. "Why is Archangel here?"

"Major Gant and his unit are going to proceed into the quarantined area and end this standoff once and for all."

Gant was not surprised, but Colonel Thunder appeared shocked.

General Borman glanced at his watch, then looked at Gant and told him, "T-minus 72 hours, Major, and counting."
 

Gant slowed to a halt and bent over. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. After a moment he forced himself to stand straight again. A little morning jog was not going to get the best of him.

Sweat saturated his "Dr. Siegal Memorial Handball Tournament" sweatshirt—a leftover memento from the last time he had managed to play in a handball tourney. Ironically that tournament had been a few years ago in southern Pennsylvania, about two hours away from Red Rock, just outside of Reading. Gant had sneaked a side excursion to the tournament during a training mission to Indiantown Gap.

He raised his hands above his head to help fill his lungs with oxygen. As he did, he felt a mist in the air, the beginnings of rain.

The grounds of the Red Rock Mountain Research Facility were crisscrossed with trails wrapped in brush and forest. Most led to different base structures, such as storage areas, old garages, and the like. Some were hiking paths that had long ago begun to grow over due to lack of use.

Thom had run in a big circle, having started on the front stoop of his cabin and now finished near the parking area. He caught his breath and thought about what came next.

The Archangel unit had arrived an hour ago. Most of the group were inside the complex, relaxing in the rec room on the upper level, the only level they could currently access. He planned to brief them later, after he had a chance to sit with Colonel Thunder and dive into the storied history of the facility, something she had suggested last night after Borman left the complex.

At this point, he knew only that the facility was partly quarantined, that it was a very weird situation, and that he and his boys were going to walk right into the whole mess.

But to do what?

With the exception of Lieutenant Colonel Thunder, everyone associated with Red Rock seemed scared, but not the usual type of fear. In his line of work he came into contact with people who unleashed all manner of monsters, some the size of a virus, others four-legged, rabid, and hungry. Those types of threats elicited a primal fear; a survival instinct. No one wanted to be eaten alive or stricken with a plague that would melt their internal organs to gelatin in minutes.

This fear, here, felt different, particularly from Borman, who had spent a lot of time speaking without saying much during their discussion in Thunder's office yesterday. The general talked in circles about security, secrecy, and how Gant's science officer—Brandon Twist—would join them soon. Any questions in regard to the nature of the quarantined threat or the mission objectives were brushed aside with assurances of full disclosure at a later time.

Gant felt an incredible amount of apprehension from Borman. The general seemed afraid of those locked lower levels, as if the danger beyond the containment door posed a threat greater than the question of living or dying. As if that danger was as much about an idea, one that posed a challenge to Borman's world—or perhaps the entire world.

Then again, Thom could not be sure. The whole place felt wrong, out of whack, a fact apparent in something as simple as his jog through the woods. No roaming sentries, no guard dogs, no worries here on the surface. Everything focused on that door, everything else inconsequential.

Captain Richard Campion approached on the path.

"Morning, sir."

Gant exhaled deeply as his breath slowly returned.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Beautiful country here, sir."

"Yes, yes it is."

Gant could tell that Campion was about as close to excited as he got. They were surrounded by forests and mountains filled with white-tail deer, coyote, and black bear. No doubt the captain harbored fantasies of hours in those woods with his two shepherds, searching for and tracking such beasts. Too bad the dogs were not included with the team for this mission.

"Is there a briefing scheduled?"

The rain increased.

Gant answered, "There will be a mission briefing, I just do not know when. In the meantime, relax and enjoy the scenery."

"Yes, sir." Campion glanced about as if the suggestion to enjoy the scenery meant doing so right now. After a moment he caught himself and said, "Sir, in case we have the time, I brought the game."

"Let me guess, you took pictures of the board and all our pieces before you left Darwin?"

"Of course. Why start over from scratch?"

"Because you were kicking my ass, that's why," Gant said and while he did not smile he made sure his voice carried enough levity to keep Campion from feeling unnerved; the man took every word a superior officer said as the Gospel. "I am sure I can find a few minutes to lead more of my toy soldiers to slaughter."

"Sounds good to me, sir."

"Yes, I suppose it would. But our little war will have to wait until later. I need to hit the shower and then I'm having an early lunch with Colonel Thunder."

Gant completed his thought to himself:
perhaps I can figure out what is going on around here.

—

Thom closed the office door, but it immediately popped off the latch.

"You have to shut it hard," Liz Thunder said as she sat at her desk pulling Styrofoam containers from a big paper bag. "Good thing the guy who made the lock on my door isn't the same guy who made the lock on the vault door."

He did as instructed, pulling the office door shut with more gusto. This time the lock held. Thom then sat at the desk across from her.

He noticed that Thunder's office resembled General Friez's at Darwin, in that there were no personal items to be found, no doubt a function more of her newness to the place than of a personality quirk.

Friez would prefer we see him as more a force of authority than a human being.

He did spy two dust-free patches on the wall, places where photos once hung, ghosts, no doubt, of her predecessor's personal effects.

"Let's see here," she mumbled and checked their lunches. "You ordered the roast beef melt thing, right?"

Gant accepted the container she handed his way while saying, "It comes with Corporal Sanchez's highest recommendation."

Liz opened another container and noted, "Bacon double cheeseburger. Okay, then, we're set."

Gant watched her attempt to handle the thick burger and the juice that squirted out as she chomped down.

"I know, I know. I'm supposed to have an egg salad sandwich or something. I'm just an all-American red meat type of girl. Been that way since I was a kid. I guess I'm blessed with a good metabolism. Well, so far. I'm sure I'll pay for this in the hips in a few years."

"Far be it for me to argue with a superior officer."

"What about you, Major?" She returned the large burger to its container and drank from a paper cup. "You're from Georgia, right? A nice southern fried steak more up your alley?"

Gant enjoyed the first bite of his lunch but her question sent him back through the years. He told her, "Not exactly. Given the choice I would begin with a bowl of she-crab soup. Nice, creamy, sort of a bisque. Or maybe a seafood boil if we are talking about dinner."