The Dig: A Taskforce Story (5 page)

I crawled into the lowest terrain I could find, scrambling under a patch of scrub and held up fast, knowing that movement would expose me quicker than anything else. The helicopter lifted off from the other side of the bunker, a Bell 407, and came screaming across the terrain, skimming much faster than was necessary before it reached a good flight altitude. Apparently, it was going somewhere in a hurry.

The rotor wash passed over me, and I was glad for my choice of attire. Jennifer always complained that I dressed like I was going to get shot at on a daily basis, but today it had paid off. Had I been wearing some fashionable spandex jeans and a froo-froo shirt, I’d have been caught dead to rights. I would have to remember to tell her that.

When I saw her.

I waited a bit, then began crawling forward again. It was slow going. A sniper stalk. When most people think of a sniper mission, they think of the shot. The single commando on a patch of rock pulling the trigger on some general from a mile away. That was true, but that wasn’t the heroic part. Getting to the patch of rock was what separated the men from the boys. Anyone with a modicum of skill could take the shot. Very few could get in position.

I snaked forward, moving about a meter every minute, getting closer and closer to the bunker building. I saw men outside, milling about and smoking. Apparently, Aegis followed federal rules on tobacco. I waited until they went back inside and continued.

When the bunker building was fifty meters away, I studied it. Mostly concrete, it had no windows that I could see, and had ramps leading down as if most of the building was underground. The primary entrance was composed of utilitarian metal doors with a new, state-of-the-art access badge panel. When nothing interesting happened, I veered toward the hangar, doing my little lizard crawl through the brush.

I got close enough to see the rust on the old sliding hangar doors, like castle gates. Giant things, they gave off a sense of history that could have been Cold War majestic, but now were resigned to hiding some research project I wanted to see. The hangar was big enough for a blimp, but I doubted that’s what Aegis was involved in. Just above the rust was a balcony with a string of windows. I saw a man exit a door, walking on the corrugated metal and talking on a phone. He was agitated, waving his arms in the air.

I waited, seeing what he would do.

He punched the rail, shouted into the phone again, then hung up. He put both hands on the balcony and stared into the sky.

I heard the blades coming back.

I was now within fifty feet of the old alert tarmac and had nothing to hide me from the air but dirt. I was hidden from observation on the ground—and even the balcony, as I had some scrub in front of me—but I’d be easily seen by anyone looking down from the helicopter. I began clawing away from the hangar as fast as I could, snaking my way backwards and desperately trying to find a bit of cover. I saw a snarl of some sort of agave plant and curled around it just as the blades broke over me. I willed myself invisible.

The helicopter landed right in front of the hangar, the rotor wash bathing me in dirt. I closed my eyes and let it settle, praying I hadn’t been seen. I heard the pilot cut power and the blades wind down. I snuck a peek, expecting to see a squad of men running toward me. What I saw was A.J. Sweetwater exit the helicopter.

Followed by Jennifer.

At first, I didn’t believe my eyes, but it was true. Jennifer and Sweetwater were being led into the hangar by a guy with a gun. Definitely not guests.

What in the world?

I watched them enter a door on the right of the hangar and disappear. I sat in the heat, thinking. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Call Kurt? Call the police? Call the A team?

One thing was for sure: I couldn’t do anything from here. I needed to get outside the threat. Needed to come up with a plan. I was almost positive the gunslingers weren’t going to bring any harm to Jennifer or Sweetwater inside the facility. If they had wanted to hurt them, they could have done it at any time, landing the helicopter in the middle of the desert. The fact that they’d brought them here meant they weren’t going to kill them.

Unless the pilot didn’t have the authority to do anything.

Maybe he chickened out and punted to higher command. Maybe they’re going to kill them right now, then order the pilot to dump the bodies.

My back-crawl had made it within striking distance of the front gate when my indecisiveness was cut short by an SUV coming down the fence line on patrol. It circled the far side of the alert tarmac and headed my way. Not a big threat, as I could tuck into the earth and let it roll right by. Or I could use it to get me into the base, Indiana Jones–style.

Fucking crazy.

But not stupid.

I let the vehicle get within fifty meters and made my decision. I stood up.

The SUV swerved, then hit the gas, driving straight at me. I acted disoriented. It slammed on the brakes and a man stormed out, screaming, “This is private property!”

He had a pistol on his hip, but hadn’t drawn it. I said, “Private property? This is a US Air Force Base. I’m allowed here. I’m a US citizen.”

He took a look at my disheveled appearance, dirt on my clothes, and relaxed, glancing at his partner. He said, “You can’t be here.”

I said, “Why not? I’m looking for UFOs. And you bastards are hiding them.”

He snickered and said, “There aren’t any UFOs here. Get in the truck old man.”

Which hurt more than he could know. The asshole was maybe twenty-five, and it wasn’t like I was using a walker. Something I’d be glad to show him in the next thirty seconds.

I got in the back, behind the driver, seeing a Blackhorse Tactical sticker on the window. I said, “Can you guys take me back to Roswell?”

The driver said, “We’ll take you back to the front gate, but first you’re going to tell us how you got in here.”

The other man closed my door and began circling to the passenger seat, going the long way around the bed of the truck. Leaving me alone, in the back seat behind the driver, free to do what I wanted.

Some security.

I snaked my arm around his head and cinched it into his neck, choking him out while the other man was still walking around to the passenger door. By the time he had opened it, I had the driver’s pistol out. I said, “On your knees.”

His eyes as wide as dinner plates, his hands in the air, he dropped, squeaking out, “You’ll regret this.”

I thought,
That’s the best you can come up with? You need to watch more Clint Eastwood.

I tapped him in the temple with the butt of the pistol, just hard enough to knock him out. He screamed and hit the ground, rolling around and holding his head.

Damn it.

I jumped on his back and pummeled him with the barrel until he was unconscious. Probably doing more damage than I wanted.

Clint never had that trouble.

They were both wearing a cheap security uniform with a Blackhorse logo on the breast. I stripped the driver, who was the bigger guy, and rolled him into the dirt next to his partner. I put on the jacket, forgoing the pants. I was betting that as a subcontractor the Blackhorse guys would know each other, but the prime contractor Aegis wouldn’t. You’d think that was a stupid bet, but having worked in the security world, it had an even chance of being true.

And I had nothing else.

I turned the truck around and headed straight toward the hangar, my adrenaline growing with each passing meter. My inner voice was telling me to run to the front gate. To get out and call in the calvary. That was the safe play, but all I could think about was the chance—no matter how small—that something bad was going to happen to Jennifer in the next few minutes. I might look like a jackass in the city jail in the next hour, but that would be worth it if the alternative of doing nothing meant Jennifer getting harmed. I knew if that happened it would be like putting a gun to my head.

And pulling the trigger.

I put the vehicle in park next to the hangar doors, seeing nobody. I killed the engine and waited a second. Nothing happened. I exited, holstering the pistol I’d taken from the driver. I stood outside the vehicle, waiting yet again. Nobody came out.

I walked to the side entry, dwarfed by the giant sliding hangar doors looming over me like something from a medieval castle. The human-sized door was an old metal thing; it looked like it had been there since the bombers were staged to fly to Moscow. Grafted to it was a modern card reader and keypad. Above the frame was a camera.

I knocked, the metal giving a hollow gong sound. I turned and looked up at the camera, making sure whoever was inside could see the Blackhorse logo. I heard footsteps and put my hand on the butt of the Glock. If it was another Blackhorse guy, I’d need to be quicker than him on the draw. It swung open, revealing a small, balding man wearing a lab coat.

He said, “What do you want? You guys aren’t allowed in here. You know that.”

I visibly relaxed, stepped forward out of camera range and drew the Glock. I pushed it into his gut and raised a finger to my lips.

I shoved him back, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. I saw two large objects about the size of those short school buses, both covered with tarps. The nylon tried to hide exactly what they were, but the outline showed wings. Behind them was some weird-looking aircraft thing all wired together, black carbon-fiber pieces held in place like a giant jigsaw puzzle, reminding me of a safety board reconstruction of a crashed airplane. Two other men were talking in an office on the right.

“They found the last piece. We should be cleared for continued testing now.”

“So what? It won’t do any good. We need to go back to square one.”

“No fucking way. The cost overruns are out of control. Congress is looking now. All we need is a partially successful test. Something to show progress.”

One of the men exited the office. Carrying a clipboard and wearing another lab coat, he was still talking to whoever was inside. “We can’t fake a test, everyone will see right—”

The sight of me brought him up short. He regained his composure and said, “Hey, what are you doing? You’re not cleared for this area. I’m getting sick of telling you knuckle-draggers that.”

He stomped forward. “Did you hear me? Get out!”

I did nothing, letting him get inside our little world. He saw the gun and went pale. I pushed the first man toward him, saying, “Both of you get in the office.”

They did so, hands in the air. The third man was sitting behind a cheap metal desk with a computer, wearing a suit with the tie loosened around his thick neck. He saw the two marching forward like prisoners from a World War II movie and said, “What is this?”

I appeared from behind them, waving the pistol like it was cotton candy from the fair. I said, “Sorry. I’m looking for some friends of mine. They just came in on the helo out front.”

You would have thought I’d said I was looking for the Roswell alien spaceship. Lab coat dropped his clipboard, his mouth opening and closing with nothing coming out. His partner fell to his knees, moaning nonsense. The suit reached for a phone on his desk. I grabbed lab coat’s head by the hair and slammed his skull into the desk, letting him drop. I ignored the blubbering scientist on the floor and closed the distance to the suit, trapping his hand and causing the handset to drop. He actually swung a fist at my head, a girly little roundhouse. I took the blow without moving, then twisted his wrist, causing him to wail. I cut the noise short with three rapid strikes to his jaw and temple. He slumped back in his chair, unconscious, and I turned to the blubberer.

I said, “I don’t want to hurt you but, trust me, I will. Where are they?”

He looked at me like I was the devil and pointed outside the office, up in the air. I glanced back and saw a balcony circling the hangar. “Up there?”

He nodded.

I said, “I appreciate your honesty. Unfortunately, I can’t let you go.”

He said, “I’m a scientist! I didn’t do anything. I don’t deserve this!”

I heard the words and couldn’t believe he’d uttered them.

Perfect.

I said, “Deserving’s got nothing to do with it.” And punched him right above the nose. He collapsed in a heap and I got to marvel that I’d actually used one of my favorite movie lines.

Karma was in my court.

I ripped off his access badge and raced upstairs. I paused outside the first door I came to, listening. I heard a man inside questioning, then Jennifer shouting. I tried the knob, but it was locked. I heard a slap, and that was enough. I saw a keypad to the left and waved my stolen keycard. The light flashed red. The door remained locked. I put my back to it and mule-kicked, ready to explode inside and start the slaughter.

It didn’t budge.

Damn it.

The shouting stopped.

Time for Indiana Jones.

I knocked.

Nothing happened for a second. I heard a shuffle, then a muffled, “What?”

I said, “Boss wants to talk.”

I was betting that it would be beyond the guy’s imagination that anyone evil could be kicking the door in this secure location. I was right.

I heard the lock turn, and I moved to the left of the knob, the Glock at my side, out of sight. I hoped to bluff whoever was behind it long enough to get me in the room. When it swung wide, I saw that there would be no bluff.

He wore a Blackhorse jacket just like mine, and recognized immediately I wasn’t part of his crew. He was quick, I’ll give him that. No confusion, no wondering why I had a jacket like his, no suspicious questions about what I was doing. He went straight for the Glock on his hip, trying to get it into play and kill me. I drove my right fist into his throat, causing him to stagger backwards a few steps and collapse to his knees. He struggled with his damaged esophagus and I cleared the remaining space with my own Glock, finding no other threats. I skipped forward and speared my knee into his face, the noise sounding like I had thrown a pumpkin against the wall.

I turned into the room and saw Jennifer and Sweetwater on the floor, their hands tied behind their backs. Sweetwater was crying, a string of snot rolling out of his nose. Jennifer was beaming like she’d just found some old Indian relics. The sight made me grin. Until I saw her swollen eye.

The damage drove a spike of rage into me. I turned to the man on the ground and she shouted, “Pike!”

I looked at her and she said, “Don’t.”

I didn’t. Because that’s what she’d asked.

I untied her first, then went to work on Sweetwater. He was blubbering so hard I almost left him there. By the time I got him free Jennifer had the weapon from the guy on the ground and was at the door, peering out. I wanted to kiss her right there.

She pointed at my jacket and said, “What’s with the storm-trooper thing? You couldn’t figure out another way in?”

I said, “Truck’s right outside. And you have the wrong movie.”