GHOST TRAIL

by Brian Tyree

  Night fell by the time the 1992 Chevy pickup pulled into the bowling alley parking lot. Hal dropped the bowling ball in the back of the truck in a thud, then got in the truck. Shotgun. “Uncle Hank! It’s good to see you! Thank you for the ride!” Hal said in his faux drunken voice.

  “It’s okay. Just don’t get sick—”

  “—Is that Trace Adkins?” Hal asked, slapping the dashboard in excitement. “I like this one. Turn that shit up!” He reached the dial himself and cranked it up, blasting the country music.

  “Alright…” Henry reached for the dial. Hal gently stopped his arm, and motioned him to be quiet. Henry realized he was completely sober. Hal spoke in a low voice that Henry could hear under the loud music…

  “Your truck may be bugged. I snuck off the base…” Hal proceeded to tell Henry all the events of the day on their drive back to Holloman. He held back nothing—telling him about meeting Jennifer and her involvement in Project Cloudcroft—being attacked by MSS agents—and how he was a pawn in some kind of experimental sleepwalking mind control. Hal told Henry there was still a lot unanswered and asked his help in getting to the bottom of it. Uncle Hank was only happy to oblige.

  The old truck reached the main gate on First Street at Holloman. Hal continued the drunk routine, fumbling his Air Force ID when he handed it to the gate guard. The guard gave the truck a once-over with a flashlight, briefly pausing on the bowling ball in the back. The guard thanked Henry for taking care of his drunk buddy, and bid the two airmen a good night, opening the gate for them.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Baldo leaned toward the bank of monitors, his eyes jumping from screen to screen. Frantically studying each one—feeling the weight of having lost the defense department’s new toy and one of its most powerful weapons. The phone rang and Baldo snatched up the receiver. He heard the gate guard’s voice on the other end.

  “You told me to call if Airman Sheridan entered or left the base.”

  “Yes, sir. And?”

  “He just came back. Drunk as a skunk. His friend gave him a ride, in from town I assume.” Baldo searched the base cameras. He put the feed of Hal’s driveway onto the main screen.

  “Who was his friend?”

  “Specialist Henry A. Banks, sir.” Baldo searched his name in the Holloman database. His image, title and address immediately popped up. “Is that all, sir?” The guard asked. Baldo had forgotten the guard was still there.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me know.”

  Baldo hung up and saw the main monitor bloom bright white from headlights in a driveway. A truck pulled up and the camera iris adjusted, revealing Henry’s truck in Hal’s driveway. Hal got out. Grabbed his ball from the back and walked rubbery legged around the truck, giving a woozy wave to Uncle Hank.

  Baldo switched monitors, putting Hal’s living room on the big screen. Hal’s keys scratching at the lock on the front door until he got it right and entered. He made a wavering path to the nearest bathroom. Turned on the light, then backtracked a few steps to the hall, opened a closet door and tossed the bowling ball in with no regard for the smashing sound inside. Baldo picked up his phone. “Sheridan’s back.”

  “Where?” Trest’s voice sounded on the other line.

  “Home. Safe and sound. Well, a little drunk, but he’s back.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Seems he went bowling in town.”

  “By himself?”

  “Negative. He was with Specialist Henry A. Banks.”

  “Hank?!”

  “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know the specialist.”

  “Well, add him to the surveil. I’ll arrange eyes and ears.”

  “Yes, sir,” Baldo said, hoping that would be the end of it. He wasn’t so lucky.

  “How did Sheridan slip past your watch?”

  “I don’t know, sir. We lost him traveling between cameras, from his office to the front corridor. And then he never returned after lunch. His truck never left the lot either, sir. We just missed him.”

  “We didn’t miss him.”

  “Yes, sir. I missed him, sir. I apologize. It won’t happen again.” Baldo cautiously inquired, “One more thing, sir. If he meant to dodge the cameras, do you think he’s on to us?”

  “We’ll know tomorrow,” Trest said. “If he comes in for training and obeys commands like usual, he’s not onto us.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Several nights later, Jennifer arrived home, pulling into the garage. The automatic door closed and she went around to the trunk. Hoisting out two armfuls of groceries. Then struggling to unlock the door to the house. She got it open and darted toward the dining room. She rounded the corner to the kitchen, reached for the light switch on the wall and felt a warm hand on it. She screamed. Nearly dropping the groceries. Moonlight from the window raked across Hal’s face in her kitchen. He gestured to be quiet and helped her with the groceries, setting them on the counter. Hal made the talking-on-a-phone gesture, and mouthed, Give me your phone. She handed it over and she expected him to tear the battery out again, but he promptly put in the microwave, shutting the door. “It blocks the signal.” He said.

  “You scared the shit outta’ me!!”

  “Sorry. I can’t see you in broad daylight, and it’s likely they are watching your house.”

  “What’s that?” She asked. Nodding to the backpack at his feet. “Planning to move in too?”

  He smiled. “Did you find your credit cards?”

  “Two of ‘em. It’s okay. I have too many anyway. You just motivated me to get rid of one. So, what’s in the bag?”

  “I have a favor to ask. I want you to watch me for a few nights.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Couldn’t find a sitter?”

  Hal smiled. “Watch me while I sleep… From outside my house. I have a neighbor, good guy, across the street. Blue house. 409 Mesquite Road. I’m at 407. He’s on tour now and won’t be back for a while. Park in his driveway and watch me with these…” Hal dug a pair of Luna Optics binoculars from the backpack. Handing them to her. “They have night vision optics, so you can see me wherever I go. I’ll be sleepwalking, so you can’t wake me— as I’m sure you know. Watch all my mannerisms. Everything I do. The way I walk. The way I run. Let me know if I talk to anyone. I believe I will only be on foot, but if I drive, stay back a few hundred feet. Make sure nobody follows you. If you see a suspicious car, don’t follow me. Call it a night and go home.”

  She nodded. “When?”

  “Starting tonight, if you can. It’ll be boring. You’ll just be waiting and watching. I’d say bring a book, but you can’t have any light in your car. And you’ll have to duck down so your car looks empty. I don’t know – bring music with headphones or an audio book. I should leave sometime around 11 p.m. If I haven’t left by 1, go home.”

  “Okay. And then what do I do?”

  “Just follow me. Find out where I go and what I do.”

  “They’re probably taking you to Hangar 302. That’s where I go to run tests and observe.”

  “Good to know. 302. Stay in your car, out of view of the hangar guards. Wait for a half hour or so and see what kind of aircraft leaves the hangar. The missions can’t go over six or seven hours, enough time for me to make it back home get some sleep before work the next morning. If you can wait for the aircraft to return, do, and then follow me home. If you get too tired, go home. Don’t sweat it. You can try another night.”

  “No problem. I’m a night owl.”

  “Take this. Just in case.” He gave her a service Beretta M9 sidearm. “Do you know how to use it?”

  She nodded and then added, “I try not to.”

  Hal thanked her for her help and he was about to leave when she asked, “Are you— going to rebel or something?”

  “No. Not this time. That’s why I need your help—to study everything and prepare.”

  “And then?” She asked.

  “And then— I’ll need your help too.” He retreated a
cross the kitchen to the back door he left opened a crack. He stopped, gave her a quick look of gratitude and disappeared into the night.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Later that night, a Chevy Impala crept through a residential neighborhood on base. Jennifer behind the wheel of the rental. She slowed to read a street sign. Don’t go so slow, she thought to herself. Act like you’ve been here before. She took a left on Mesquite. Searching for addresses. She spotted one, 393. She was close. She nervously looked all around for other cars or people. It was a calm and quiet night. She saw Hal’s house on the right first. 407. Imagining where hidden cameras might be placed watching him. She almost drove past 409, her eyes fixated on Hal’s house. She stopped just past the blue house at 409 Mesquite, then tried to make it look natural as she backed up into the driveway, giving herself a clear view of Hal’s house. She looked to the rear view and her eyes flicked back and forth—from the garage door she was reversing toward—to Hal’s front door. She heard a metal clang. “Crap!” she said, looking back at the garage door.

  Jennifer pulled forward slightly and turned the car off. She eased the seat back, lowered it to the furthest point that still enabled her to see Hal’s front door and sat in silence. Her car clock read 10:50 p.m. She clicked the night vision binoculars on and peered through. It was miraculous, she thought, as everything previously hidden in shadow— shrubs, windows, grass and features of his home now came to life in clear view. There was enough moonlight to see his front door without the binoculars, so she set them to standby and put them on the passenger seat.

  Jennifer got herself situated, turning the spout of a Starbucks Venti Soy Mocha toward her. A coffee so large it barely fit in the cup holder. She tore open the corner of a PowerBar, but didn’t permit herself to eat it. Yet. Jennifer removed a Kindle from the glove box and put her earbuds in. Smiling with glee as she navigated the touch screen to a book she had been eager to read. A thought occurred to her gave her an adrenaline rush… I’m on an actual stakeout. She felt like a real spy doing the type of espionage work she only dreamt about before joining the CIA.

  She hit play and listened to the tranquil music introduction and the warm, serene voice of the male actor who read, “Harper Audio presents Men Are from Mars Women Are from Venus by Doctor John Gray.” Jennifer studied the book cover image on the screen of her Kindle, so intrigued she forgot her true purpose for being there. She turned the Kindle light off and watched Hal’s door. She took a drink of soothing warm mocha as the audio book continued. “Imagine that men are from Mars and Women are from Venus…”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Charlie watched the satellite image from the YG-30 on his laptop in the bunkhouse loft. Peering down on the Holloman runways just west of the bunkhouse. Matt sat propped up against the wall on a bed, wincing from injuries sustained in the crash. He tightened a thick Ace bandage wrap around his chest and watched the computer screens from afar. He could see the faint Holloman runway lights out the window behind the laptop screens. Weng climbed up the loft stairs with three mugs of coffee. “Any activity?” Weng asked in Mandarin.

  “A pair of F-22s landed on runway thirty-four,” Charlie answered, “and a Reaper drone took off right after from runway twenty-five. Routine patrols and training missions.”

  Weng looked at the satellite image of the Holloman runways that formed a giant triangle spread out over the airport. Each runway was quiet and vacant. “And the YG feed is recording?”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  Weng leaned back in his seat in front of the other laptop. “Good.” He looked back to Matt, realizing he had nothing to do. Weng grabbed the TY-N10 night vision scope from the table next to a laptop. Extending the tripod legs and handing it to Matt. “Make yourself useful. Zoom in on the hangars and taxi-ways. Give us a heads-up before anything takes off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Jennifer tilted the Venti mocha. Angling it to the car ceiling while drinking. No sense letting the last three drops go to waste. The second chapter of her audio book ended and there was a silent pause. She looked down at the Kindle to make sure it was advancing to the next chapter, but when she looked back up across the street, Hal was standing in his doorway—looking right at her. She fought off the inclination to wave and crouched down in her seat so he wouldn’t notice her. He wore a full track suit that reminded her of her Ken doll from the 80s. Who wears a matching track suit? She thought. It gave Hal a nerdy look that appealed to her and made her feel a sorry for him at the same time.

  She grabbed the night vision binoculars from the seat and stared at him in close-up. He wasn’t looking at her after all. Or anything else. Just casting a blank stare across the street. His eye-line gazed absently over the house behind her. Then suddenly—he moved. Like a switch turning on—taking off down the concrete path leading from his front door to the sidewalk. Once reaching the sidewalk, he turned a sharp left. Jennifer thought it was an unnatural way of running, squaring the corner on a dime—like a jogging robot would—turning perfectly programmed right angles.

  Hal’s posture was stiff and awkward for a jogger. He’s Doctor Detroit! Jennifer thought, his running style reminding her of the power-walking oddball portrayed on the silver screen by Dan Akroyd. Hal took off in a brisk jog and his words echoed in Jennifer’s mind… Watch all my mannerisms. Everything I do. The way I walk. The way I run. He was well out of earshot of her car engine, so she set the binoculars down and fired it up. Pondering how she would be able to drive with the lights off while looking through the night vision binoculars at the same time. She tugged the earbuds out and put them and the Kindle back in the glove box. Jennifer secured her coffee in its cup-holder, grabbed the binoculars with her right hand while steering with the left. Maintaining a gap of a full block between she and Doctor Detroit.

  Jennifer knew the layout of the base well. She had been to Hangar 302 many times, but was typically limited to the clinic room where she monitored subjects. The bearing Hal jogged was the quickest path to the Holloman runways and Stealth Canyon.

  Jennifer saw headlights approaching and panicked, pulling into the driveway of a random house on the right. She turned her lights off and kept the engine running, pretending to exit her car until the vehicle passed. She spied the road for Hal with the binoculars, locating and bringing him into focus. She pulled out of the driveway and was back on his trail. Jennifer gave him a padding of about two blocks, which lowered her stress level, making her feel more comfortable.

  Hal turned up another street, approaching the hangars at Stealth Canyon. Jennifer remembered what he said—to not let any guards see her, so she maintained her distance, eyeing parking spaces ahead that would give her a view of the hangar’s side entrance and the runway in front of the hangar. Hal turned his jog toward Hangar 302, running out of her view as he greeted the guards and was promptly escorted in. Jennifer parked and turned the car off. Sitting quietly in the dark.

  Jennifer eyed her clock. 11:29 p.m. She figured it wouldn’t be a long wait until some kind of aircraft with Hal aboard took off, then the real waiting would begin. A few minutes had passed and she considered digging her book out. About the time she stared longingly at the glove box with her Kindle inside, a metal CLANG startled her. It was the sound of a hangar door opening. She hoisted the sleek black night vision binoculars up, watching the edge of the hangar. The taxi-way lights of the runway blooming like green spotlights through the hi-tech binoculars.

  After the door opened, the hangar went quiet. Jennifer struggled to see or hear anything, panning from one side of the hangar to the other. She turned the key of her ignition a notch. Enough to roll her window down. She could hear the soft purr of an engine far away that was eerily quiet. Jennifer looked up the street to see if it was a vehicle approaching. The Aurora’s impressive profile emerged from the hangar. Taxiing toward the runway. The engine sound intensifying once it cleared the hangar and was out in the open. Jennifer spied the majestic aircraft through the night visi
on binoculars. Not believing her eyes. The Aurora looked more like a spaceship than any kind of airplane she had ever seen. She noticed a jet-black, angular protrusion under the belly of the Aurora. Realizing it was another aircraft. Hal... Her gut told her he was inside the winged capsule with flat, black panels.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Do we have a link?” Weng asked Charlie, who studied a laptop screen on the long folding-table in the bunkhouse.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Weng peered down the runway through the night vision scope. The zoom feature giving him a better view than the other two. “There’s a bird on the runway. It’s not a fighter or B-21. I think it’s our guy. Encrypt and send the following message: Experimental stealth aircraft code-named Aurora preparing for take-off at 23:39. No escort or trailing aircraft in sight.” Charlie rattled on the laptop keys, typing Weng’s message in Mandarin.

  Matt rose from the bed, gingerly gripping his chest as he watched the Aurora stalk toward the runway. Weng glanced at the side panel on the night vision scope, making sure it was recording. Then panned with the Aurora as she rose above the runway in takeoff. “Also note that a drone appears to be attached to the bottom of the Aurora. Model unknown. Stealth design. Possibly Reaper class. Charlie and Matt both watched in awe. Having never seen anything like it.

  Charlie’s screen beeped with a message. He relayed it. “Both messages confirmed, sir. Incoming response: Tracking wingtip and nose-cone heat signatures in IR from YG-30. Sending imagery now.” Charlie opened the secure transmission link to the electro-optical sensor feeds from the YG-30. A red box outline appeared around the Aurora, picking up the minuscule heat signatures. “We got her! Locked on.”

  Matt leaned to the bunkhouse window. Eyes locked on the Aurora until the last instant when it disappeared into the night. “How fast is she?” he asked.

  “We’ll find out,” Weng said. “Data says Mach four plus. When we picked her up over Afghanistan she was going Mach two—slowing down. At that speed, she can be anywhere in the world in five hours.”