“I have no orders concerning you, Mr. Kleinschmidt,” Jones said flatly.
“What?” John almost snapped, sitting suddenly forward in his chair. “What are you talking about? What else am I here for? And why are you wasting my time?”
“He goes with me,” White said, cutting in.
Jones’s gaze snapped to take in the older man, his face darkening in a well-masked puzzlement. White returned the gaze silently, and in a few moments, Jones gave a small nod.
“Fine,” John said, “Where are we going?”
“We have a possible location for an associate of Dr. Montgomery,” White said. “We have to go check it out.”
John stared at him.
“That’s it?”
“It’s possible,” White said, “That through this associate we can reach Montgomery. Disrupt the plan before it gets executed.”
John nodded sharply, leaning back.
“That’s more like it,” he said, almost smugly.
He turned to Roger, his lips curling into a grin.
“So,” he said, “You’re going to Russia. How about that?”
Roger grunted, still consumed with his thoughts.
“And I,” John continued, “Am going to….”
He turned back to White.
“Where are we going?”
“Montana,” White responded.
John stared at him, his expression turning sour.
“Montana? Shit.”
Dan stood back from the car, his hand resting on the butt of his gun while Jim bent down to talk to the driver. Another idiot who had pulled to the far right at a stoplight, as if to make a turn, then did a jack rabbit to try and slip around the car to his left that occupied the actual right lane. But apparently whoever that other guy was he had gunned it, blocking this fool and forcing him to slam right into the tail of the car parked not too far back from the opposite corner.
The ambulance was on its way, and Jim was doing his best to keep the guy calm and not moving until he could be checked out.
Dan scanned the area, giving a vague wave to the traffic that crawled slowly by him, everyone taking a good long look at the crumpled mess that had been the hood of the moron’s car.
People, he thought, sourly. Why did he even bother?
His cell phone jangled harshly in his shirt pocket and he dug it out, punching the button and holding it up to his ear.
“Sinski,” he said.
“Dan? It’s Roger.”
Instantly Dan felt his mood lighten.
“Hey, Roger. What’s going on? How are the tests?”
“No more tests,” Roger responded.
“They all done? What’d they say?”
“Dan,” Roger said, “I’m going on a mission.”
Dan was momentarily taken aback.
“A what? What do you mean, mission? For who?”
“I can’t tell you,” Roger responded. “It’s secret.”
Dan considered this, absorbing it.
“You’re going on a secret mission?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, son of a bitch. You okay with it?”
“I think so,” Roger responded, thoughtfully. “We’ll see. I just wanted to let you know, I’ll be away for a while. I don’t know how long. But I wanted to thank you.”
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did,” Roger said quietly. “You did a lot, actually. So… thank you.”
Dan was puzzled, and gave an absent shrug to no one in particular.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” he responded. “So, you’ll get in touch when you get back?”
“Count on it,” Roger replied.
“Well… take care of yourself,” Dan said, suddenly realizing how silly it was to say that to this man.
“You too… officer.”
The connection broke.
Dan slowly lowered the phone and looked at it.
Roger was going on a mission. A secret mission. Just like in…
He smiled.
How about that.
Roger handed the phone back to Jones, who slipped it back into his jacket even as he turned the long, black car around the end of the large hanger building.
Roger couldn’t help but lean forward as he spotted the strange aircraft sitting just outside it.
So that is a stealth bomber, he thought. It was considerably bigger than he pictured it, and it looked more like a fat, black boomerang than an aircraft.
“We need to get you fitted for a flight suit,” Jones said. “And communications gear.”
“And we’re going from here to London?”
“You are. An air force base outside London. You’ll stage from there. As soon as we get intel on where the site is, you’ll take off and make the penetration.”
“And I get out of that thing, how?”
“You’ll lay in the bomb bay, on the doors. They just open them and you drop out.”
Roger shook his head, considering this, as Jones turned the car into the open end of the hanger where a dozen men in military camouflage stood at various stations, or moved to complete various tasks.
“How long before we get there? To London?”
“A few hours,” Jones said. “Then you just wait.”
Roger nodded.
“I’m getting pretty good at that lately,” he said flatly.
The car rolled to a stop and Jones turned to regard him.
“Thank you for doing this,” he said, simply.
Roger regarded him a long moment, then shrugged.
“What the Hell,” he said, and reached for the door handle.
The squat tanker truck rumbled up the narrow lane toward the closed, heavy steel gate, its brakes already hissing as it slowed.
Beyond the tall fence were the grounds of the facility: nicely maintained, open fields of lush grass with a single lane leading to the wide, squat, ugly building. Not many outsiders knew that beneath that unattractive, concrete structure were secure scientific facilities for the most advanced research in the world. The specialized equipment it contained was worth billions all by itself. But that was nothing compared to the priceless wealth of knowledge in the realms of medicine, chemistry and physics it might someday produce.
The entire facility had a deserted look about it. Being a week-end, it was for the most part closed and locked while the researchers and staff enjoyed a day off. Only a single man was sure to be inside, working away on the research that was his passion.
The truck ground to a halt just before the wide, currently sealed gate, just beyond which jutted the huge, steel pillars that would pop out of the roadway in an emergency and stop any vehicle attempting to burst through the fence by sheer force.
From the small covered door in the small, concrete box to the left of the lane stepped a guard in military style BDU’s, a nasty-looking submachine gun slung over his shoulder, its business end pointing before him.
The blond driver of the truck turned and presented him with a wide smile.
In the passenger’s seat the other man remained unmoving, slumped deep down, snoring slightly.
The guard approached cautiously, his eyes flicking over the heavy, squat truck.
The Lieutenant turned to rummage on the seat beside him, already aware that the other guard must, by now, have taken up his own watchful station on the passenger’s side of the truck, his own weapon in hand, just in case.
The guard called out to the Lieutenant, who turned back nodding, the smile spreading.
Too bad I don’t speak that Czech gibberish all that well, the Lieutenant thought, then raised the silenced pistol and pumped a shot into the guard’s chest.
Shock exploded on the guard’s face even as he was pitched backwards by the force of the heavy bullet.
Beside him in the cab of the truck, the passenger grunted and wriggled toward the door, as if trying to get comfortable, but when his hand reached over the lip of the open window it, too, held a silenced gun
that spit a second bullet into the throat of the other guard, who dropped straight down, already a corpse.
The Lieutenant leaned to press the illuminated button on the dashboard.
At the rear of the squat, bulbous tank, there was a metallic noise and the entire back of the tank dropped open, clanging to the ground heavily.
Six men, all dressed identically to the dead guards, poured out of the vehicle down the incline of the tank’s backside, and split to either side of the truck, jogging quickly toward the fence.
The last man reached out to slap the door of the truck even as he changed direction and moved swiftly toward the small blockhouse set against the fence, disappearing inside.
The Lieutenant pushed the button again and heard the loud whine of the motors hauling the rear panel of the tank up and back into place.
Even as it clanged shut, he heard the dull hum and the gate began to rattle open, the thick, low, steel pillars beginning to retract into the roadway.
As soon as there was enough space to slip through, the Lieutenant slammed the truck into gear and rolled forward, through the opening and down the lane toward the building ahead. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he could see four of the men had fallen in behind the truck , using it to shield themselves from any eyes looking out of the building as they jogged behind, their own weapons in their hands. A flick of his gaze to the corner of the mirror revealed that the other two men were dragging the bodies of the actual guards toward the small clump of bushes off to the side of the opening, even as the gate began to slide closed once more, and the steel pillars began to rise.
So far, so good, the Lieutenant thought. Another minute and they would be around the side of the building where the loading dock was located, and nothing would look out of place to any casual eye.
Their target was located four levels down, in the very bowels of the cave-like structure. Although he didn’t have any of the codes that would open the four heavy doors that stood between the truck and the laboratory where they would collect the container, he had a marvelous little device, designed by some insane computer wizard somewhere, that would command those locks to open as if it had beaten them into submission.
He turned the truck into the small paved area outside the currently sealed loading dock doors, yanked on the brake and leapt out, leaving the engine running.
The passenger was already hopping down, moving to where a few cars were parked in the far corner of the open space. He would disable all but two, whose engines he would hot wire and have waiting when the rest of the squad emerged from the building in less than ten minutes.
The six men would divide between the two vehicles, the Lieutenant himself taking the container, and pull back to the gate where the other two would join them. They would then detonate the explosives, packed tightly into the walls of the bed of the tank, blowing open the loading dock doors and, with luck, flattening everything for a hundred yards around.
By the time anyone worked out that two cars were missing from the lot they would be long gone, and investigators would be puzzling over what caused the truck, full of a very volatile explosive gas, or so they would assume, to detonate.
The Lieutenant moved swiftly to the small man-sized door at the side of the loading dock and raised the small, square device, pressing it hard over the keypad for the lock. He touched a button and a low, sharp whine erupted from it, shooting up in both volume and pitch as the signal blasted through the entire spectrum of electromagnetic signals until it found the one that caused the lock to react, in spite of itself.
There was a dull popping sound and the door opened slightly.
A moment later the men were pouring through, into the loading dock.
Just inside the door the Lieutenant spotted two men in coveralls standing, chatting casually, their conversation interrupted by this unexpected intrusion. Before either could react further, he raised his pistol and dropped them both with a single shot each without breaking stride.
The men mounted the steps to the loading level and moved swiftly to the closed doors of the large freight elevator.
Again the device emitted its shrill whistle, and again the keypad surrendered. The elevator doors rolled open. Two men remained in the loading dock, flanking the elevator, their attention already focused on keeping the path between it and the loading dock door clear. The remaining three men stepped into the elevator, where once again the device worked its electronic magic, and the Lieutenant stabbed the lowest button on the small panel. The doors slid closed and the box began to descend.
The two guards stood quietly, flanking the gate, their attention extended for any notable sight or sound that would require them to fulfill what they had been hired to do, which was prevent anyone from entering the facility’s grounds by whatever means was required.
The one on the left of the gate sensed it first, a distant itch tugging at his attention. It took a few seconds before he recognized it as a distant sound that didn’t seem to belong in this otherwise placid countryside of hills and forests.
But before it completely resolved itself, he caught sight of the two vehicles approaching at the far visible end of the narrow lane, several hundred yards distant. He snapped a glance at his companion, who nodded in acknowledgement and quickly checked the submachine gun slung over his shoulder, assuring himself it was loaded, a round already in the chamber, and the safety was off.
They watched impassively as the two dark, lumpy vehicles approached, one after the other. When they were only a dozen yards away the guard close to the small concrete blockhouse set against the fence stepped forward casually, raising his arm in a warding motion.
The first SUV began to slow, its darkened windows making it look like a slowly lumbering beast sniffing along a hunting trail.
It rolled to a stop, the matching vehicle behind it mirroring the pause, and the guard stepped toward the driver’s door. The window rolled down revealing a man in some kind of uniform that the guard couldn’t quite place, despite his long years of military experience. For a moment his sense of alarm cleared its throat, but he caught hold of it and leaned down with a smile.
“Can I assist you?” he said, his Czech letter perfect.
“Yes, that would be very nice,” the man said, his own words clumsy and distinctly foreign in the Slavic language. Not local, the guard instantly thought. Accent sounds…
American, he realized.
A cold chill shot up his spine and he straightened, momentarily unsure if he should continue the charade, hope to turn these intruders back or simply start firing.
The helicopter suddenly burst over the trees, no more than a hundred yards away, swooping in low, the sound of its rotors exploding suddenly around him.
The sound jerked his attention upwards, and in doing so, stole his life.
Even as he was snapping his gaze back to the window of the car, the shot from the passenger’s seat whizzed past the driver and punched deep into the guard’s chest, dropping him in a burst of blood and surprise.
On the opposite side of the vehicle the other guard was stepping swiftly back, the barrel of his own machine gun jerking up. He squeezed the trigger. A sharp, loud rattle of shots ripped through the air, but the bullets merely struck the closed passenger’s window and ricocheted off with a series of high pings.
His attention was too tightly focused on his own shock at the bulletproof nature of his target, his mind whirling, struggling to find some other action that might have a better effect. He never saw the passenger door of the following vehicle pop open, the figure lurch up, leveling the pistol and snapping off a single shot that blew through the side of his head, knocking his body sideways in a heap on the ground.
All the vehicle doors sprung open and the two quartets of men emerged, each bearing a silenced handgun.
They only paused a moment to watch the helicopter roar overhead and drop suddenly, slowing to settle on the plush, wide lawn inside the fence. They didn’t have to see the six men leaping from the already-op
en side door of the chopper and dashing toward the distant building.
A few moments later, the gate began to rumble open as the driver of the first vehicle punched in the code that triggered the motor driving it.
They poured through the opening gate into the grounds.
At his desk on the other side of the world, Crawford watched the live feed from the dashboard camera of the first vehicle. So far, so good, he thought.
For a brief instant he felt a pang of something uncomfortable, his eye flicking to the lower corner of the video frame where the guard had dropped. He vaguely hoped that the man and his companion had been two of the bad guys, not merely a couple of innocent working stiffs simply doing their job, but he quickly shook off the thought. It couldn’t have been helped in either case. And if they really were part of whatever force Montgomery had sent to retrieve the mysterious object Svag had been working on, then that might just be far worse, because it would mean that they were already there, though most likely not yet gone.
He watched the squad of men rush away, across the wide lawn, ducking to avoid the still- swirling rotor blades of the chopper as they circled around it and were masked from view.
Whatever was going to happen, he thought, would be over and done within a few minutes now. And God help us if it all goes to shit.
The elevator doors rolled open, revealing the long corridor leading straight to the heavy metal door of the underground laboratory. The Lieutenant took the lead in striding down the corridor, his silenced pistol in his hand at his side, the other two falling into step behind him, their own weapons hung ominously in their hands.
People had the wrong idea about conducting such operations, he considered. In the movies there were laser beams and man-traps and all manner of fantastic security. They seem to forget that such targets are, first and foremost, places where actual people had to work on a daily basis, and would be designed toward those purposes. Most security would have to be cobbled on top of whatever arrangements suited that primary function of the space. And in most cases a nice, heavy door of some form was thought to be sufficient, as was the case here.
Class Fives: Origins Page 29
