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The rain seemed to have stopped or was at least inaudible. Steven looked over at the corner of the room where a couple of computers, screens dark, were just visible. He was about to reach for the watch on the nightstand when one of the screens illiminated, displaying the time. 0433. That settles that he thought. He had awakened two or three times during the night and the rain was still coming down, hard most of the time. Gonna be wet out there Unless an earthquake or something shook the building and moved the mouse the computer wouldn't have woke up. The other reason was that one of the two or three - he usually couldn't remember - people who could get through the network to contact that computer and wake it up. Another reason - one he didn't like - was that someone not authorized had gotten in. Sam or Max, I'm guessing Max. He sat up and swung his feet off the bed onto the floor, walked over to the computer. Wiggled the mouse to killl the screensaver and saw the chat window open. Sapphire channel, someone at Citadel. That's the HQ for Mesa Victor. Max. He clicked the button to open the message. 'LEVEL 3 MESSAGE - PLEASE AUTHENTICATE' He sat down and carefully typed the passphrase, waited for the prompt and tapped a key on the modified keypad attached to the modified keyboard to generate the 21-character password. The passphrase was easy enough - the password he wasn't going to try. In any case an intruder would need to know what the keypad was for and which keys to press. 'CONFERENCE AT 1100 B7 R21. CONFIRM AVAILABILITY' That damned robot. What's the code.... 'Let me speak to the Dragonmaster,' he typed. 'SAY AGAIN' 'You wanna talk? Get me a Homo sapiens' 'STAND BY' He thought about going to get a cup of coffee just because but.... 'Max here. Stop being difficult for once.' 'Have an intelligent machine call me next time," Steven replied. 'It's a bit crazy around here just now,' Max replied. 'We put you on autodial until you woke up. I can send a plane for you - can you be at the airstrip in an hour?' 'It's been raining all night, better send a chopper.' 'Can do.' 'And make it two hours' A long pause, Max isn't happy. Neither am I so... 'Roger.' He closed the window before Max could think of something else. Two hours, fifteen minutes to the pickup point makes it less. He buzzed Julie, probably still asleep in a room over in the west wing. "Yes m'lord," a sleepy voice said. "Your lord must undertake a journey," he replied. "I have to be gone in just over an hour. I'll advise Mike on the way out, he'll take care of you. I'll call you when I know more." He peeled off his T-shirt as he walked across the hall to the bath, threw it and his pajama pants into a bin, the socks and undies followed. Quickly brush teeth and a touch-up of the unbearded area with a razor, into the shower. At just over ten minutes he was out and back in the bedroom dressing. The usual khaki military shirt over Wrangler jeans and a pair of Timberland boat shoes he had had the foresight to buy a half dozen pairs of years earlier. One pair had already been lost on an a mission and a second had gotten singed and blackened a bit as he ran out of a burning building carrying a terrified young woman, exiting just before something inside exploded and his hair got singed. That was the pair he chose now. He put on his double shoulder rig with the Hamilton Linebaugh long-slide .45s. The handbuilt 1911s with seven-inch barrels used Springfield double-stack magazines and were equipped with laser grips. Everything else could go in the bag, except for a Cold Steel kobun in a belt sheath. A Victorinox camper and a Bic lighter went in the right pocket of the Wranglers - one never knew when it would be necessary to open a bottle of wine. Or two. The right pocket got a small lock-blade and a keyring with six keys to doors in certain places. Julie came in as he was about finished, still in pajamas and hugged him without saying anything. He held her for a while, waited until she let go. "Is it serious?" she asked. "Like it wouldn't be...." "The one thing you can always be sure of," he replied, "is that it's serious or someone thinks it is. With any luck it will be what someone thinks." "Be safe," she said. "I will," he said. "Mike is in charge will take care of things here. It's an hour flight, I'll call you as soon as I know something." He had long ago stopped analyzing their relationship and let it be whatever it was day by day. Not that it had changed much in two years but... Mike was in one of the the Vietnam-era Jeeps used for security work around the estate. Steven got in and Mike backed out into the drive that led to the fild behind the house. A wide drive of crushed rock led to the highway that ran along the back - it was a few miles to the gravel road that led to the landing zone. The chopper was there when they arrived. "I'll call as soon as I know something," Steven told him. "If I'm gonna be gone for a while I'll have Max put a squad in here, maybe a half dozen on the estate and a dozen or so over in Caldwell. They'll be about ten minutes away." "Gotcha," Mike said. "Be safe." He hauled his B4 bag out and ran to the chopper, a restored Vietnam-era Huey, and climbed aboard. One of the guys closed the door and the pilot lifted off. He flew low and the sensation of speed was always greater down low and Steven didn't like helicopters much anyway - he was glad when they set down in the square at Mesa Victor. The square was an area about two hundred yards on a side - the pilot set them down on a marked area in the center. Steven got out and walked towards a small group on one side. He recognized a couple of them but most were unfamiliar. Neil Fallis and Jerry Fowler were the two he knew. "Long time no see," Neil said. "It's a while until lunch - want to grab a drink and a smoke?" "Stop twisting my arm already," Steven said. "Where can I stash my gear?" "This way," Neil replied. The headquarters building was big three-story sheet-metal affair with few windows and could have been any industrial or agricultural structure. The entrance was the usual double glass door as would be found on most commercial buildings. The B & H Associates was stenciled on the glass and several people were standing around, apparently casually chatting. Steven knew they were discreetly armed and were monitoring traffic. As Neil and Jerry had just come out the doors they got no scrutiny but Steven took out his Mike Charlie medal to show them - one looked familiar and seemed to recognize Steven but he examined the medal, flipping it over to examine the back. "Good to see you again," he said. "Neil and Jerry will show you where to bunk." "We're in the west wing," said Jerry. "Third floor." "If the elevators aren't working again I'm gonna be unhappy," Steven said. "No problem," Jerry said. "That was unfortunate but how it is staying under the radar. Took a couple of weeks to get it fixed." "They could have some first floor rooms for us geezers," said Steven. "You're getting around pretty good for what is it, sixty-five?" Neil said. "Sixty eight and you know it," Steven said. "You don't know what faking it costs me." "The young guys look up to you and Sam and the other old ones," said Jerry. "Tell you the truth getting old would scare me more if not for you guys." "War does keep you in shape," Steven said. "Let's do it." They had crossed the lobby as they talked and Neil punched the elevator button. Shortly the doors opened and they waited as a man about Steven's age exited, flanked by two young women. He was in tan BDUs and the women - probaably twenties or early thirties - were in snug T-shirts and parachute pants. The man nodded and looked at Steven. "Steven, Curtis Sullivan. Curt, Steven Andersen," Neil said. "Care to join us for a drink?" "Don't mind if I do," Curtis replied. "We we were on our way to seek refreshment but..." "Come along," Jerry said. Curtis and the two women re-entered the elevator. Exiting on the third floor they went to a suite near the end of the corridor. "I'll have someone get your gear," Neil said. "Come on in." It was a two-bedroom suite with a large living area. The bar was well-stocked if a bit crowded. Steven dropped his bag and sat down on one of the small sofas. Jerry took out a phone-sized Commlink and pressed a button. "Billeting, Sergeant Jackson." "Sarge, can you get Mr. Andersen's luggage to his quarters? They're in my suite - three-eleven." "Got it. We'll have someone there right away. Anything else?" "Not unless someone has come in and helped theirself to the liquor," Jerry replied. "I'll let you know." If the liquor had been molested the damage wasn't severe - the small wet bar appeared well-stocked, various bottles of whiskey mostly and a the twenty or so spaces in the wine cooler were occupied. And Curtis and the two women were headed that way. "Might as well get started," Jerry said and Steven accompanied him to the bar. The Curtis was pouring wine for the women, who went to the pit and sat down. Curtis poured Maker's Mark into a glass with three ice cubes and a splash of water and Jerry opened a bottle of Evan Williams Small Batch and held it up, Steven nodded. "Three and three," Steven said. "Vanilla Coke if you have it." "Small fridge," Jerry said, "if they have any." Steven opened the countertop refrigerator beside the wine cooler and look. No vanilla - he pulled a bottle of regular and poured three fingers over the three of Evan. He added three ice cubes, sipped to make room for a fourth. Accompanied Jerry to the pit and selected a chair. Curtis introduced the two women - Steven suspected they had some official status to be there. "Miranda Davis and Vanessa Lewis," Curtis announced. "They work in Section Four. Miranda and Vanessa, you know Curt and Neil. Steven doesn't get up here often and when he does it's usually quietly. Knowing his name is probably more than you need to know." Miranda and Vanessa smiled and nodded. Both were late twenties to early thirties and while Miranda was startlingly beautiful Vanessa had the girl next door look. The girl every boy wanted to be next door. Both were casually dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Both were smoking cigarettes with the gold band above the filter betraying a cannabis mix. Steven sipped his drink and took out a pack of Al Capone minis and lit one. "If we're all cleared," Steven said, "any of you guys know what this is about? Max acted like it was important." "Rumor is something big related to that operation in Colorado," Neil said. "Vertex is... the command center is at Vertex. Seems something turned up there, something that shouldn't have been there." "Harry Billings?" Steven asked. "He's the boss there." "The same," Neil replied. "Word is that operation uncovered something... unsettling." "What am I supposed to do," asked Steven. "Apparently they're bringing in hotshots like us," Neil said, "to run some of the teams." "Sleeper cells?" Steven asked. "Or did they find some nukes or chemicals?" "Probably some good guesses in there," said Neil. "Presumably we'll know soon enough."
Leonard Parrish -- |
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