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."
8
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 a
bout dinner."
She eyed him for a moment and then understood.
"You lived on the coast?"
"No, but my mother came from a town near the South Carolina border. She brought the low country with her, as long as she could find good seafood. Charleston rice, catfish stew, and if it got cold she made a baked macaroni that would warm you from the inside out. Of course, every New Year's Day she served Hoppin' John. For good luck, you understand."
Despite the flood of memories, Gant worried this might be another of her psychological tests, just as she had purposely tried to annoy him when they first met. However, she offered a short smile in appreciation for his culinary history and that smile made him feel that her interest was genuine. In fact, there was something in her demeanor that made him feel more at ease this time. He tried to figure out what it was.
"You might want her to cook some up, because I think we're going to need some luck."
One of the rusty wheels on her chair squeaked as Liz bent over to retrieve a stack of folders and envelopes from the floor. He helped move aside the lunch containers to make room on the desktop.
"The information is all here," she said and stole another bite from her burger.
He eyed the pile of folders. Some appeared rather new, others ancient, judging by their torn and bent edges.
"That is a dreary looking pile of file folders."
"Dreary is the perfect word for this place," she responded after swallowing.
Her guard dropped for a moment and a bout of exhaustion swept over her face. He noticed her eyes appeared a little red, with bags underneath.
"I will venture a guess that you were up all night researching these folders. I would have been more than willing to lend a hand."
"General Borman had these files delivered to me, but only to me. He said that as the commander of this base I'm entitled to them, but no one else except on a need-to-know basis. So letting you go through all the files with me would have been against the general's orders. But now I can pick and choose select nuggets of information that I think are important for you to be aware of. All a part of you helping me keep a close eye on your men and in the interest of security at this facility."
"So it is acceptable for you to relay this information to me, but it would not have been acceptable for me to look over your shoulder while you went through the files the first time."
"Now you’ve got it, soldier."
His head tilted, a grin tugged at the edges of his mouth, and he said, "Colonel, I appreciate your approach."
Liz referred to notes written on a yellow tablet as she rummaged through the files. Gant chowed down on his sandwich while listening.
"Work started on November 15, 1969, on the Red Rock Mountain Command and Control Center. They billed it as a new army storage depot but that wasn’t the intent. Red Rock was to be a state-of-the-art bunker designed to keep our top brass safe and secure if the Cold War got hot. It seems this place is far enough away from the big cities to be out of the blast zone but close enough to get to in a hurry. In any case, construction wasn’t completed until four years later, with the complex officially opening on July 2, 1973. But hold the phone—two months before they turned on the lights the purpose of the facility was changed. In May of ’73, the Red Rock Command and Control Center became the Red Rock Mountain Research Facility. I guess they didn’t think Pennsylvania was a nice place to spend a nuclear winter."
"Not enough skiing, I suppose," Gant said sarcastically as he recalled passing dozens of ski resort billboards during the drive in.
"In November of 1973 they set about a complete reconstruction of sublevel 8 to turn it into a high-tech ‘Red Lab’ facility." She paused and cocked her head. "I admit that the first time I heard that term was here. I believe I mentioned that to you yesterday when we first spoke."
He told her, "As you can probably guess, a Red Lab is an area that is liable for one hundred percent containment if an experiment goes bad or a dangerous specimen breaks loose. Basically, there is a big door that slams shut and locks everything inside. To work in one you receive a thorough orientation on the idea that you may end up stuck inside and left to rot. Or, maybe, subjected to poison gas, fire, flooding, radiation, or whatever the guys on the outside think it will take to eliminate the problem. The researcher, or scientist, or security guard is expendable."
The lieutenant colonel replied, "I have been in similar settings but I don't recall the term 'Red Lab.'"
"I believe it originates with The Tall Company. Over the years it has spread out from them."
Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him in reaction to the tone in his voice, forcing him to explain, "I am not a big fan of that outfit."
"Well, that's in keeping with what happened here. Or, at least it explains that big vault door. Like I told you yesterday, a researcher by the name of Briggs conducted an experiment on June 22, 1992. That experiment began at 8:20 a.m. in the Red Lab on sublevel 8. At 8:35 a.m. containment procedures were activated via a voice command from Briggs himself. The choke point for expanded containment happened to be several floors up, however, on sublevel 5—just about where our vault door is today. As far as I can tell, that was the last communication from inside the quarantined zone."
Gant considered. She saw the puzzled look on his face.
"Yes, very creepy, isn’t it?"
"That’s not what bothers me," he said. "You don’t understand. The guys who work in a Red Lab, the last thing they want to do is trip an alarm and seal themselves in. Most of the time when containment is initiated it comes from some remote viewing station. It is a lot easier to push that big red button when you are not going to be trapped inside. It would be like volunteering to be entombed."
"So what?"
"So it surprises me that Briggs would be the one calling for containment. Most guys would head for the exit, then shut the door behind them."
Thunder thought aloud: "So either what happened was so nasty that Briggs just reacted or he was some kind of hero for sacrificing himself to save the rest of the base."
"I suppose so, yes."
Thunder pushed aside several sheets of paper, searched through the mess, then scanned an official-looking document the edges of which had yellowed with age.
"The CO waited for about two hours. When he didn’t receive any communication from the lower levels he sent in a Hazmat team."
Liz put away that particular report, bent over, grunted, and then produced a box of additional folders.
She explained, "Each of these contains a general description of the team, equipment inventories, objectives, and more."
He asked, "Those are reports documenting entry teams? How many have gone in over the years?"
"Near as I can tell, several in the first few months after the incident, then that was it. I haven’t been able to go through all the details; there’s just too much paper here. But I did gather enough preliminary information to get the gist of things. The first cleanup crew went in blind. They had no idea about the nature of the accident. Radiation? Biological? Hazardous waste? The only thing they knew was that Briggs had called for expanded containment, and that was that."
"What did they find?"
"Dunno. They never came back."
Gant pressed, "Sure, okay, but what information did they relay?"
"Nothing."
"No radio communication?"
"None—and that’s one of the problems here. The walls, flooring, and bulkheads of this base were designed to shield electromagnetic radiation. The idea, I guess, was to keep the president and his Pentagon friends all snug when the nukes went off. Nasty electromagnetic pulses could have disrupted all of the fun. So when I told you that Briggs’s message was the last from the quarantine zone, I meant it. Internal communications to the contained area were severed, plus no radios, no phone calls, no UPS deliveries. Nothing."
He ignored her quip, his mind already thinking ahead, wondering if tactical headsets would work in that environment. Communicatio
n was the key to the success of any mission, that and intelligence. It appeared they were going to be sorely lacking in both areas.
Lieutenant Colonel Thunder dropped that folder and picked up another.
"At 4 p.m. on the day of the accident, after no word came from the Hazmat team, a security detachment went in. A full squad with light armaments. They, too, fell off the face of the planet. Again no word, again no communication. Nothing."
Liz opened another folder.
"On June 26 the brass mustered a heavily armed squad of special forces as well as a five-man biohazard containment unit. They opened the door, went in, closed the door behind them, and were never heard from again. Starting to get the picture?"
Thom dropped his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. Any hope he might have harbored that this was going to be just another mission disappeared as neatly as all those soldiers and scientists who had entered the Red Rock Mountain Research Facility’s lower levels.
"Some sort of virus or biological agent that immobilized the teams through their protective gear?"
"Nope," she answered. "They’ve been analyzing air samples from the quarantined section for years and there’s not a single molecule there that shouldn’t be."
"Unless it’s something our equipment can’t detect."
"Not likely. They filled rooms with air taken directly from the quarantined area via the ventilation system and it had no effect on test subjects. Besides, what happened next was a lot worse than some new bio weapon."
Thom altered his balance and leaned forward. He realized he had lost his appetite and apparently so had she; their sandwiches were shoved to the corners of the desk.
"I have a whole bunch of incident reports, and if you thought the stories about the entry teams were weird, well, you haven't seen anything yet. On June 29 a researcher attempted to break quarantine. He was restrained by the guards. The commanding officer described him as being under some kind of outside influence starting with a trance state at first, then all but stark-raving mad, as if he would die if he didn’t get that door open."
"Outside influence? What do you mean by that?"
Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle Page 7
