That shut Sasha up.
“I transferred a few credits to your account,” Raven said. “If you want, you can give some to your co-worker.”
Fork poised midair, Glenda said, “That good a haul?”
“Nineteen from Ray’s. Another dozen from stragglers we came upon on our way back in.”
Tran said, “No Glowers?”
Raven shook her head. “Not a one. Sign on the gate said it’s been a week since they’ve seen one arrive. Seems to me that the diversionary barriers are keeping them from entering the hot zone.”
“A step in the right direction,” Glenda replied. “However, I’m reserving judgement until we see a string of hot weather. That seems to get them moving about.”
Finally taking his seat at the head of the table, Tran looked to Glenda. “Where’s Duncan?”
“Today wore him out,” she said. “Then there’s the sprained back. I rubbed some Ben Gay on it. On top of that, I gave him a couple of melatonin and a mild muscle relaxant. He’s out like a light.”
Addressing Raven, Tran said, “Where’s Daymon?”
“No idea. He dropped us off here and drove off.”
“It’s that new ginger flame of his,” said Sasha. “Gotta strike while the iron is hot.”
Peter said, “Strike what?”
“Never you mind,” Glenda ordered. “Just eat your meat.”
Expecting more fireworks, Raven started shoveling her food in her mouth. She had almost cleaned her plate when the main door to the Founders Suite swing inward. For a long five-count, nobody was there.
Finally, encumbered with an overstuffed pack, some new exotic-looking weapon slung on his back, and a Pelican case in each hand, her dad waddled across the threshold.
Heading the question off at the pass, Cade found Wilson and said, “Your truck rides like a dream. Whipper filled her tank and checked the fluids. Thank you for letting me use her. And I’m truly sorry I left it at the base overnight. It was kind of out of my hands.”
Mouth full, Wilson nodded and motioned with his fork. “You can use it any time you need to.”
“I was right,” crowed Sasha.
Cade said, “If the call comes, I’ll take you up on that. And I’ll bring her back with a full tank.”
Still chewing his food, Wilson simply nodded and smiled.
The second Cade had said call, Raven realized that he was wearing brand new MultiCams. Affixed to them in all the appropriate locations were distressed versions of Old Glory, captain’s bars, a name tape reading Grayson, and the Pale Riders patch. Feeling her heart skip, she said, “What’s with the new gear and uniform?”
Standing there, all weighted down, a smile wide as the room, Cade said, “I’m back in the fold.”
“Bravo,” Tran said, raising his glass. “It’s only Gatorade, but I think a toast is in order.”
Cade waved him off. “Not necessary.”
“To Cade,” Tran said. “May his shadow darken the doorstep of all our foes, and his blade drink of their blood.”
Color spread to Cade’s clean-shaven cheeks. Though he wanted to thank each and every one of them personally, he simply bowed his head.
Glasses clinked and dinner resumed.
Meeting Raven’s gaze, Cade said, “Get me a plate, please. Then meet me in my room.”
***
Raven was sitting on her dad’s smartly made bed, eating a cherry Pop Tart and watching him inventory the contents of the pair of black, hard-side cases.
“When’s your next mission?”
Looking up from his task, speaking in fluent Mandarin, Cade said, “As soon as I get my kit straightened out. Probably early tomorrow morning.”
Hands on hips, a half-smile forming, Raven said, “In English, por favor.”
Cade repeated himself, only this time he did so in fluent Spanish.
Raven stared daggers.
After flashing an impish smile, in English, he said, “You look so much like your mom when you do that.” As he repeated the answer to her question, he was removing his wedding band. Still talking, he unclasped Raven’s necklace and threaded one end through his band. Reversing the process with the clasps, he said, “Keep it safe for me.”
Dropping the pair of rings into the front of her shirt, she said, “I haven’t forgotten Mom’s rituals.”
“I know you haven’t,” he said, tousling her hair. “Doubt we ever will.” Pulling her close, he whispered some instructions into her ear.
Nodding slowly, Raven pinched away the forming tears. Then, fixing her dad with a stony gaze, she said, “I’ll make sure I do.”
Diving both hands into the Pelican case nearest him, Cade said, “Want to help me change out all these batteries?”
Eager to learn all she could about the exotic-looking gear in the box, she plopped down on the bed between the open cases.
Chapter 46
Friday, March 16, 2012
“Early tomorrow morning” hadn’t held true. When dealing with the United States Army, “Hurry up and wait” was the norm. And that was just fine with Cade. The extra couple of days had allowed him time at the outdoor shooting range located near Spring’s south entrance. There he had put a few dozen rounds through the weapons he’d be taking with him on the secret mission he was to be briefed on later in the day.
The first three nights of the delay—all under scattered clouds and a waning moon—he had used the cloak of darkness to fully acquaint himself with the cutting-edge full-color NVGs the new Delta commander had procured for the Pale Riders. Sure, he had drawn funny looks from the small number of people he’d encountered during the late-night forays into the core of the darkened city. Who wouldn’t gawk at a guy dressed in all black and wearing a low-rise tactical helmet with the newest generation four-tube NVGs sprouting from his face? He got it. He had studied his own reflection in the Antlers’ windows that first night out and thought the new gear made him look like he’d just arrived from outer space.
After putting the NVGs through the paces, and swapping batteries three times, he knew their strengths and limitations and had a firm grasp of how long he should expect the batteries to last. Which wasn’t long. The new goggles sucked batteries dry in about half the time as the white-phosphor devices he wore during the raid on Adrian’s Bear Lake compound.
Now, in his room and dressed in the black fatigues he would wear for the coming mission, he stood by the window, looking down on Antlers Park as the first light of day began its steady creep over the single canopy below.
Deep in thought, he strapped his newly repossessed Gerber to his left leg, snugged his trusty Glock 19 into the drop-leg holster riding on his right side, then turned and began the arduous task of muscling the single full-size Pelican case to the door, all while being careful to be quiet and not wake Raven.
Nothing doing.
No sooner had he moved the case to where he wanted it than the door to his daughter’s room opened and she materialized from the blue-black gloom.
She wore two-piece pajamas in a bright pink Tartan no respectful Scottish clan would dare claim. She yawned and stretched in the doorway. Finished, she said, “Stealing away in the early morning hours, eh?”
“Busted,” he said. “Guilty as charged.”
“So the call came?”
He nodded. “An hour ago.”
“You weren’t going to give me a goodbye kiss?”
“I did. When you didn’t wake up, I decided you needed the sleep more than you needed to hear me tell you what you already know. Besides, I was thinking about your mom and feeling a little maudlin.”
“Maudlin?”
“It means to get emotional. Usually when drinking. It’s the only word I can think of to describe how I get to feeling when I let my guard down.”
“First off,” Raven said. “I can’t remember ever seeing you drink. Secondly, a rock shows more emotion than you do.”
Cade grimaced. “Ouch, that hurt.” After a brief pause, he said, “Truth is �
�� I didn’t want to be around when you found out your park got hit again.”
“It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Did you see the preparations they’re making for the President’s ceremony?”
“The Jersey barriers?”
“Yep. They tagged some of those. Same weird symbols as before.”
“The statues?”
He shook his head. “They left them alone.”
Good, she thought. The McGregor brothers were already pissed she had put on hold her plan to stake out the house where Daymon had procured his paint. If their work on the monument suffered another setback, no telling how much pressure they’d put on her to reveal its true location. They were still traumatized from the very event their work was to memorialize. That and a handful of other good reasons marked them as the last two people on earth she wanted to be caught with inside the Exclusion Zone.
Cade said, “If it’s any consolation, I did record a video message for you on your iPhone.”
“What’s it say?”
“Pretty much that I’ll be back when I get back.” He went quiet for a spell.
“And?”
“And … while I’m away, do not do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She smiled. Then she yawned again and strode off towards her own room, which had a better vantage of her park.
Cade loaded his gear onto one of the Antlers’ trolleys and chanced a ride on the elevator. In the garage, he loaded his stuff into the Tahoe, then drove to the East Gate, where his new military ID got him through with zero waiting and even less scrutiny.
During the short drive from Springs to Peterson, Cade counted a total of ten Zs. Most he’d spotted at a distance, ambling down an arterial or side street. Especially amusing was the trio of first turns just outside of No-Man’s-Land. They were paying all their attention to a fifty-foot-long string of vinyl flags beating the air over a used car lot. So enthralled were they—like infants under the spell of a noisy rattle—that they were totally oblivious to the Tahoe until it was well past them.
Arriving at Peterson’s West Gate, Cade was greeted by a pair of airmen clad in crisp ABUs.
“Identification, please,” said the twenty-something female sergeant whose name tape read Moon. In one of her hands, she held a clipboard with a half-inch-thick stack of papers trapped under the shiny metal clip.
Cade was ready, handing the airman his ID and letting her know his business in the most general of terms.
After a few seconds of scrutiny, during which the athletically built woman cross-referenced his name against what he guessed was a list clipped to her clipboard, his ID was returned.
“We need to inspect your vehicle prior to you entering the base.”
No arguments from Cade. He sat silently in his seat as she walked the four corners of the SUV, now and again bending over to pass a boxy device over the tires and running boards.
As Sergeant Moon did her thing, a baby-faced airman trailed her with a disc-shaped mirror-on-wheels, using it to give the undercarriage a very thorough looking over.
As Cade waited for the two to finish with the formalities, he took in his surroundings. On the front of the brick guard shack was a sign shaped like a shield. Peterson Air Force Base - Home of the 21st SPACE WING was written across the middle of the shield in navy-blue lettering. The station bristled with antennas. Hanging from the eaves were a pair of the ubiquitous black domes. They were positioned so the closed-circuit cameras within could see everything coming and going.
Parked next to the guard station was a dark blue Humvee. It was surrounded on three sides by blast-proof HESCO barriers. A third airman in the Humvee’s roof-mounted turret was visible behind the Browning heavy machine gun.
Behind razor-wire-topped hurricane fencing was a secondary barrier made up of joined cement freeway noise barriers. The dirt at the base of the cement slabs was uneven in spots, suggesting they were added after the exterior fence.
The gate itself was wide enough to allow even the largest of military vehicles. It was wheeled and constructed of the same material as the hurricane fence. Welded horizontally to the outside of the gate were inch-thick metal rods. The rods were so close together that Cade doubted a Z could thread its fingers through to find purchase.
Finished checking the Tahoe’s exterior for radiation, Moon gave the interior a cursory inspection.
Apparently uninterested in seeing what was inside the console and glovebox, checking the contents of his kit bag, or learning what the Pelican case held, she said, “You’re good to go, Captain Grayson. Have a pleasant day.” As she did so, she flashed him a crisp salute.
Captain Grayson, thought Cade as he returned the salute. Another affirmation this was all real, that he wasn’t still in a coma and having a whopper of a dream.
The gate slid away silently, and he drove onto the base.
Chapter 47
Peterson Air Force Base
Entering the base for the first time via the West Gate, it took Cade a moment to find the road that would see him to the gargantuan hangar being used exclusively by Delta and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. The spartan living quarters sat tucked away in the rear of the hangar. Access to it was through a set of double doors facing a fenced-in parking lot. Capable of accommodating thirty or so vehicles, the lined lot presently had just two Ram pickups and a Toyota Land Cruiser taking up spaces.
Cade negotiated the sharp bend in the drive, drove onto the lot, then nosed the Tahoe in next to the white Land Cruiser.
Leaving the gear in the truck for the time being, Cade approached the door with empty hands and a nagging suspicion that he was going to have to use the Iridium sat-phone to call someone to let him in.
Each door had a stout handle that looked to be fashioned from some kind of exotic alloy. Recessed in a tamperproof panel next to the left-side door jamb was a black ten-by-ten square of glass. A shroud of clear plastic protected the panel from the elements.
Biometric lock.
Which explained why he hadn’t been issued a key or supplied with a password.
Feeling a little better about his prospects for getting into the facility, he slipped his hand under the shroud and placed it palm-down on the glass.
Though his name didn’t show on the panel, there was a beep and an audible click.
Success.
He cracked a rare smile.
I’m back on the team.
Standing there all alone on the landing, flush with the knowledge he was being trusted by not only his peers, but also by Freda Nash and Cornelius Shrill and maybe even President Valerie Clay, Cade felt as if he’d just summited Mount Everest. Or at least his own personal version of that incredible feat of extreme mountaineering. Especially after being captured by the Chicoms then having the entire Pale Riders team, including Rangers and SOAR assets, risk their lives to rescue him.
His initial failure had him thinking his days of riding the razor’s edge were behind him.
Long gone.
Sayonara.
A rush of cool air hit him in the face as he opened the door.
Skylights on the ceiling and windows high on the walls let in just enough light so that he could see the contents of the hangar. What he saw was far from what he’d expected. Instead of a couple of C-130s or a single C-5 Galaxy filling up the space, shoehorned in with their maintainers’ equipment were nearly a dozen black helicopters.
Instantly recognizable in front of him were the bulky forms of the pair of twin-rotor CH-47 Chinook heavy-lift helicopters. Beyond the 47s, four MH-6 Little Birds sat side-by-side. Lined up near the “Killer Egg” recon helos was a trio of angular black stealth helicopters, one of which Cade recognized as Jedi One—the lone surviving Ghost Hawk in the Special Operations Aviation Regiment’s possession.
The other two helos were harder to place. He’d never seen anything like them in person. Best guess was they were single-seat Comanche attack helos, or perhaps a stealthy reincarnation of the ven
erable Bell AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter.
Lastly, taking up the front third of the hangar, near the massive rolling doors, their sharp-edged black fuselages and twin rotors glinting in the ambient light, was the pair of stealth Chinook helicopters Cade had seen in action on more than one occasion.
A hallway branching off to Cade’s right led to another gray door and yet another biometric scanner. Bunker was stenciled in red on the steel door.
Cade pressed his hand on the pad. The audible click of the door locks retracting was loud in the enclosed space.
The door swung out smoothly and he was hit by conditioned air a few degrees cooler than that in the hallway. He reached around the jamb and flicked the pair of light switches.
A soft hiss sounded, and the new environs were bathed in the stark light cast off by two dozen overhead fluorescent bulbs.
Entering the room, Cade found himself standing before a very large wooden table. Ornate carvings of skeletons and mythological creatures covered every square inch of the tabletop. All four of the table legs were wrapped by carved serpents. Someone had spent a lot of time carving the thing. He’d heard there was a long-running debate among the different teams as to who procured the table, and what conflict region they had brought it back from.
A dozen utilitarian-looking stackable chairs were positioned at equal distance around the table. On the table were briefing papers, Bic pens, thick manuals for communications gear he wasn’t familiar with, and a lone ashtray. In the ashtray was the chewed-on stunted corpse of a Cuban cigar. Seeing the stubbed-out nub brought back memories of running operations in Iraq as a newly minted Ranger. His first commander, Don “Smokey” Blake, was never seen without a cigar either protruding from a BDU pocket or clenched between his teeth. And since the West Point grad, now a four-star general, was back and helming United States Special Operations Command, Cade hadn’t seen him without at least three Cohibas in his possession.
Standing out amongst the papers scattered about the table was a yellow sheet bearing his name. Taped to the sheet was a key. Scribbled on the sheet in black Sharpie: Briefing 1300 hours … 21st Space Wing Tactical Operations Center. He turned the sheet over and found a map of the base with the TOC circled for him.
Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 14): Home Page 24
