by Doug Beason
He tapped his fingers together. “Alpha Base. I’ve read about it in Aviation Week and Space Technology, but it’s nice to get confirmation from a credible source.”
Vikki snorted. “Some source—a nineteen-year-old militarist.”
“He’s just like any other nineteen-year-old in the world: lonely, and horny as hell. Which means we’ll have to be careful, since he probably memorized your face. We don’t want to bring any more attention to ourselves than we have to.” Harding looked thoughtful. “That gives me an idea on how we can penetrate this base.”
“I thought you wanted to create a diversion and get the nukes when they were unloading them.”
Harding grinned and patted Vikki on the leg. Her thigh was firm, without an ounce of fat. “I’ve got another idea. I think we can get into this base without raising any suspicions. And if I’m right, they’ll be thanking you for coming on base.”
They followed a mile behind the convoy, slowly moving along the winding road. A line of cars followed them, no one anxious to risk passing the armed convoy along the way.
Vikki made careful notes of the terrain as they drove. After the arroyo, clumps of pinon pine and cactus pocked the desert landscape. A golf course lay off to the right, its green fairways contrasting with the barren desert. A trail paralleled the main road, furrowed with the marks of off-road vehicles.
And as they approached Alpha Base, her thoughts drifted back through the years to East Avenue, birthplace of the nukes….
Livermore, CA
The crowd surged along the avenue, pushing, laughing. They marched arm in arm, past vineyards that sweltered in the mid-August sun, holding up traffic and keeping the scientists from going to work. Sixty thousand people joined the carnival-like protest outside of Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, the first demonstration this size in years.
Rows of wire fences funneled the protestors down the street, toward the nuclear weapons laboratory’s main gate. A rock band on a flatbed, one hundred yards behind the crowd, belted out “Face the Fire,” Dan Fogelberg’s quintessential protest song.
Vikki Osborrn threw her long blond hair back and closed her eyes, laughing, and allowed the crowd to carry her along. Northern California, summertime, the drugs, the movement: it seemed so, so... perfect, so right to participate in the most wonderful, the most down-to-earth, the most necessary and critical activity that she could ever have imagined. She felt one with the crowd, and just knew that they would succeed, bring the nation’s death factories to their knees.
A hand squeezed her shoulder, a separate sensation from the jostling that permeated the crowd. Opening her eyes, Vikki saw Dr. Anthony Harding. She smiled as a torrid memory of last night raced through her mind. The reminiscence was fogged in a marijuana haze, but the excitement and enthusiasm still shined through.
She turned her shoulder and slipped an arm around Harding. Her hand ran under his backpack and down his side, feeling hard, firm muscles. It had been his mind, his intellectual prowess, that had first drawn her to him; but that seemed nothing now compared with his physique, strong and protective. She had never been happier.
He had been elusive earlier that morning, teasing her about something special that was to happen. She was swept up in the protest now, eager just to experience whatever it was that he had promised.
Harding’s arm enveloped her. He drew her close and spoke into her ear, over the crowd noise. “What do you think?”
“Perfect.”
Harding took her by the shoulders; his eyes seemed to shine. His voice sounded a little loud, cocky, even over the crowd. “It’s about time we started getting serious again, trying to stop the nuke factories. Even after the freeze movement petered out, glasnost and the peace dividend should have closed this place decades ago.” He shook his head. “What a waste. All these bright minds in one place, the opportunity to work on something really worthwhile, and what do they do? Spend their lives chasing after new ways to refine their weapons. And all they have to show for it is the Lawrence Award.”
East Avenue continued to fill with people, a dancing mob surging without constraint. The sweet smell of hashish drifted across the crowd, mixing in with wine and beer. A chant started to ripple across the crowd.
“N-U-F-A … Nuke Free America today! N-U-F-A … Nuke Free America today!”
Vikki brought her hands up and started clapping. She screamed at the top of her lungs, joining in.
The crowd stopped in front of the main gate, squeezing up against the fences.
Harding removed his backpack and held it tightly against his chest. Uniformed Department of Energy guards stood quietly just inside the gate and watched the throng of people. Remote-control TV cameras set on top of buildings panned across the crowd.
Vikki jumped up and down, her blond hair flying from side to side. Young, dedicated, and filled with a lust for life. She couldn’t ask for anything more. And not even the sight of Dr. Anthony Harding, coolly watching the guards on the other side of the fence, could shake her from the feeling.
She turned to Harding and brushed back her hair. “Anthony—”
“Hold this.” Harding shoved the backpack at her. He held what appeared to be three black balls. The crowd around them surged toward the main gate.
Vikki frowned. Since she was high, it took some effort to understand what Harding was doing. She held the backpack to her breasts. “Anthony, what are you doing?”
Harding grinned, the sun shining off his premature bald spot. “Get ready to run like hell.” He knelt down and rapidly pulled pins from each of the three balls.
Vikki pushed back against the crowd. “Anthony?”
Harding stood, scanned the area, then drew back and threw one of the balls as hard as he could. He let go of the remaining two just as quickly. The balls flew high into the air, tumbling in an arc. “Come on!” He grabbed her elbow and started pushing through the crowd.
“Ooof!” Vikki was hit in the side of her face by an elbow; she kicked out and held on to Harding’s hand. The crowd continued to jump up and down, unmindful of their flight.
Brrooooooom! Brroooooom, brrooooooom.
Screams—the three explosions set the crowd scurrying backward. People fell, were trampled as the horde panicked.
Sirens, bells, the smell of smoke. Vikki and Harding were halfway through the crowd, keeping up their momentum. Most of the people moved in random directions, unmindful of any obstacles in their path. The wire fences channeled back along East Avenue, away from the golden brown hills surrounding the valley.
Harding continued to drag her along. It seemed like a nightmare, the screaming and cries for help pounding into her ears.
Harding stopped when they reached the vineyards, just outside of the Livermore complex. They turned and watched the people stream past. Smoke billowed up from a building just inside the nuclear weapons laboratory. Alarm bells and sirens ran up the scale as a fire truck inside the fence attempted to quell the blaze.
As they watched, Vikki felt a sudden sense of accomplishment.
Something swelled inside her. She clasped hands with Harding and watched. Guards openly brandished weapons now, shoving people away from the laboratory, beating them over the head. Garbled orders emanated from bullhorns.
They had brought the death factory to its knees. The feeling overwhelmed her, the sense of power … of, of righteousness. To think that Dr. Anthony Harding had fought, had won!
And she knew that her life was forever changed.
She finally had a purpose….
Wendover AFB, Nevada
Harding pointed to Alpha Base. “They’re stopping traffic again while they open the gate.”
The guards dispersed from the armored personnel carriers and lined the main gate to Alpha Base. The Bronco led the two flatbed trucks onto the complex, moving past four barbed-wire fences. Men trotted into the area and formed up in a block. Once inside, the gates swung shut and traffic began to move. The flatbeds seemed to disappear into the
ground.
Harding squinted at a sign near the entrance. “Turn left. The picnic area is down that way.” Approaching Alpha Base, they climbed to the lip of the crater.
Vikki crept passed the main gate complex while Harding took copious notes. “It looks like one of the fences is electrified. And from the signs they’ve got posted, they probably have the place overflowing with sensors.”
Vikki pulled into a grassy area fifty yards from the fences. A sign read, alpha base picnic area p-1. Other cars followed them.
A group of youngsters spilled from the automobiles. The kids wore colored stockings, matching shirts and shorts. A few of the children carried soccer balls. A beleaguered adult yelled shrilly and tried to get the kids to gather around him.
Vikki slumped back in her seat. “Well, what do you think?”
Harding pointed to the flatbed trucks inside the fence. From their vantage point, Alpha Base spread below them, the crater opening up in a giant yawn. The flatbeds stopped before one of the bunkers. A steel door swung slowly open, allowing access, and affording them a quick glimpse inside.
Harding whistled. “Those bunkers look impossible to break into.”
Vikki was silent for a moment as they watched the white canisters being moved from the flatbeds to the bunker. “Are you going back to your original plan of hijacking the convoy?”
“Not with all that security. They’ve got those nukes covered tight.”
“But you just said it’s impossible to break into the bunkers.”
Harding pointed inside the fence. “It is. But look at those security policemen.”
Vikki leaned over the steering wheel. “They’re pretty relaxed.”
“That’s right. Inside the fence, they’re in their own territory. They’re safe, and they know it. They don’t need to be as alert. And this picnic ground—if they let kids from military families up here, you know they think they’re safe.” He reached over and unfastened her seat belt. “Step outside.”
“Huh?”
“Go ahead, get out of the van.”
Vikki frowned, but stepped from the Chevy van and kept the door open. She held a hand up over her eyes and slowly scanned Alpha Base. She nodded to a group of airmen horsing around just inside the fences. Vikki called to Harding: “I wouldn’t think they would be so casual.”
“That’s what’s going to make our chances better. The way to rip off the nuclear weapons is to do it right under their noses. We break into Alpha Base when they least expect it and blow one of the bunkers.”
Vikki looked disgusted. “I’m sure you’re going to waltz up to the gate and ask, ‘Pretty please, can I have one of your nukes?’ Get real, Anthony. Are you going to call this thing off or not?”
Inside the fence one of the security policemen elbowed a buddy and waved at the van.
Harding urged Vikki, “Go ahead and wave back to him. I’ve got a plan how this whole thing will fall together. In fact, you’re the key to how we get onto Alpha Base.”
“I’m not sure if I like what you’re thinking,” Vikki said. “Look at those Neanderthals—slobbering over each other trying to get my attention.”
“Keep waving. After we leave, I’ll fill you in with all the details.”
Vikki forced an insincere smile for the men and waved once more before climbing back in the van. “Let’s get the hell out of here. If I’m sacrificing my body, I want to know how you plan to do it.”
She thought to herself that Harding was getting more difficult to live with; it wasn’t like the days when they were younger.
It had better be one hell of a plan.
Chapter 3
Wednesday, 1 June, 0845 local
Wendover AFB Command Post
Chief Zolley walked McGriffin to the exit. When they reached the corridor, Chief Zolley shooed the security policeman out, saying, “I’ll see Major McGriffin to the door.”
“Very well, Chief.” The man slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed into the command post area. He eyed Zolley. “Mind if I take a smoke break?”
Zolley waved him on. “Go ahead. This will take a few minutes—I’ve got to brief the major on some additional procedures.”
Once the door slammed and they were alone, Chief Zolley turned to McGriffin. “Anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“I don’t think so. It looks pretty quiet around here.”
“It is. Alpha Base is mostly automated, as far as security goes. It’s got so many gee-whiz bells and whistles it will make your head spin. The guards rely on sensors, electronics and autonomous systems to keep them apprised of what’s going on. As a result, we don’t do anything here except keep the Pentagon in the loop.”
McGriffin nodded. “Chief, I’m reporting for duty at 1800 tonight. I assume you’ll be here to help me learn the ropes?”
“Great, sir. I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s not the real Air Force, but then again, I don’t think you can find the real Air Force anywhere. I’ve assigned myself to your shift for the next month. I wanted to make sure I could help out if you needed me.”
“You already have.” McGriffin firmly shook Zolley’s hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you and your team.”
Chief Zolley cracked a smile. “The pleasure’s all yours, Major.”
McGriffin grasped the door leading to the outside and pressed on. He strode into the brilliant Nevada sunshine.
Helicopters swung out from the base, practicing landings in the desert. Their chopping came as a low beat in the distance. From the front of the command post it seemed as if Wendover AFB were just another lazy western town. The absence of traffic and bustling people gave the base a feeling of mañana. Even Alpha Base’s presence a few miles away could not shake the sanguine atmosphere bubbling in the sunshine.
This might not be so bad, thought McGriffin. I might grow to enjoy this place. Even if I’m not flying.
Wednesday, 1 June, 1215 local
Wendover, Nevada
Dr. Anthony Harding wiped up his enchilada combination plate with a sopapilla. Yellow egg yolk spotted the plate, mixed in with shredded lettuce, refried beans, sour cream, green chile, and salsa. He drained his beer and wiped his mouth before speaking. “Where did you find the apartment?”
Vikki studied him before answering. She’d have to get on him about his table manners—he looked like a slob. And slobs bring attention to themselves. “Second and Main. It’s about thirty minutes from the base. I could have gotten closer, but most of the apartments were real sleaze bags. If I’m going to impress these GI Joes, I thought I should try to find something a little more upscale.”
“Don’t get anything too fancy. Remember, you’re supposed to be a secretary.” Harding belched. “I picked up some maps from the park service. There’s a wooded area in the mountains about two hours from here—around Matterhorn Peak in Humboldt National Forest. I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow. It just might do for the staging area.”
He patted his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped through the pages and accidentally knocked a fork off the table. “What places are you going to hit tonight?”
“Anthony, pay attention to what you’re doing. People are starting to stare.”
“Let them.”
Vikki swirled her margarita and looked away. A sign inside the small Mexican restaurant proudly exclaimed,
Honest-to-goodness New Mexican Mexican food: TexMex We Ain’t!
It was lunchtime, and the small restaurant was jam-packed with patrons.
Vikki ran her fingers over the tabletop, tracing out small swirls in the water left from her drink. “There’s a place called Shotgun Annie’s. From the looks of it, it should be a military hangout: rock band, no cover for women, and two-for-one beers until nine. I’ll straighten the apartment tonight and hit it tomorrow.”
Harding held his hand up for another beer. “That reminds me.” They grew quiet as a couple walked past. When the waitress arrived with the beer, he drained hal
f of it. “The security policemen: they’re the key to the whole operation.” He took a healthy sip and eyed Vikki over the salted rim. “It’s crucial you gain their confidence. Get one of the guards to trust you, and we’ll find a way into Alpha Base.”
Vikki drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I understand.” She looked up and wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle it. Just don’t you screw up.”
Harding grinned and held the glass up to his mouth. In the background the jukebox wailed a Mexican song. The waitress slid over and shoved the tab onto the table. The paper whirled between Vikki and Harding. Harding said, “Do whatever you have to do, Vikki.”
She stared through him, unblinking.
Do whatever you have to do, Vikki. The words came back to her.
They were younger then, and more idealistic. Anthony didn’t have his paunch, and as a post-doc at Berkeley, he had swept her off her feet the first time they met.
Vikki had lived in Berkeley since her undergraduate days, never wanting to relinquish the university crowd. It was safe, secure. One degree had led to another—Art, English, Food Sciences—and as the degrees piled up, so did the years.
It was as if she had never really found herself. She had always been looking for a cause, from her high school days in Colorado digging into the environmental issues, to the People’s Republic of Berkeley, leading the activist movement to bring socialism to the city.
But it wasn’t until the post-nuclear freeze movement, NUFA—Nuclear Free America—had caught her attention that she finally really felt part of something. She immersed herself in the activities, attended all the meetings, sat through all the inciting speakers, but still had never committed herself to anything more than just being a member.
Until she met Anthony Harding.
She fell for him, then discovered his Ph.D. from Cal Tech was in nuclear physics, and that abhorred her. She looked at him as an evil wizard, summoning up demons and unseen gargoyles. Nuclear was as inciting then as pig, the man, or the heat was in the sixties.
