Stella Hawk observed the woman’s bizarre behavior, shook her head sadly. “Man, that chick’s got a lot of issues.”
3:13:54 A.M. PDT Hangar Five, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base
Cold water dashed Tony’s face. He tried to open his eyes, blinked against the harsh fluorescent light.
“Come on, Alvarez, wake up. We need to talk.”
A hand slapped Tony’s cheek. He winced, opened his eyes. Tony realized he was sitting up, but when he tried to stand he found he’d been strapped to a metal chair.
“Sorry, pal,” Sable said with a smirk. “You’ve got to stay put while I arrange a little industrial accident.”
The left side of Tony’s face throbbed and he shook his head to clear it.
“Sorry about the beat down, buddy. You look pretty good, all things considered. I wrapped the wrench with cloth. Didn’t want to leave too many marks. Might look suspicious.”
“You want my death to look like an accident.” Tony said, his voice hoarse.
Sable tossed one end of a long length of electrical cable on the floor, then hooked the other end to a large generator. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Tony twisted his head to look around. He wasn’t in the dorm anymore. Sable had brought him to Hangar Five, just a few dozen feet away from the Blackfoot helicopter prototype.
Sable touched the frayed end of the cable to the tip of a power meter, grinned in satisfaction.
“Smooth move, the way you swiped my phone, then put it back,” Sable said. “I wouldn’t have known, except I added my own feature to the software — a download log that I check every time I use the phone.”
Tony groaned, pulled on the electric cables binding his hands and feet.
Steve Sable slipped an insulated glove over his hand.
“Now we’re going to have a little talk, Tony… If
that’s your name—”
“Go to hell.”
“What are you? Air Force Intelligence? DEA? The Swiss Guard?”
Tony refused to answer, so Sable touched his knee with the frayed end of the electrical cable. A blue flash, and Tony cried out. The smell of scorched flesh wafted into his nostrils.
“What do you know?” Sable asked. He held the electrified cable in the gloved hand, twirled it like a lasso. Then he whipped it across Tony’s chest. Another flash, more acrid smoke rose. The tendons stood out on Tony’s neck and arms.
“It’s what do we know, Sable,” Tony replied, sweat streaming down his naked torso. “We know you’ve been selling advanced technology to criminal gangs through Hugo Bix. We know you sold a stealth device to the Rojas Cartel. We know enough to put you away for life, no matter what you do to me.”
“What I’ll do to you will look like an accident—”
“You won’t fool anyone,” Tony cried.
“I will, just long enough to board the six AM flight out of here. By the time they find your corpse, I’ll be heading South.”
Tony stared at the man.
“Oh, yeah, Tony. Don’t act so surprised.” Sable smirk was reason enough to kill him. Tony strained at his bonds.
“You’re looking at a man with a plan. I made Bix a pair of military style jamming systems like none before. I also made another stealth device — this one my 2.0 model. Very much improved. Delivered them last week. In return, Bix promised me a ticket out of the U.S. of A. and a comfy job with the cartels.”
Sable laughed. “I did a little vocational research and guess what? Technical advisors working for drug cartels have a much better lifestyle than slobs who work for the federal government. We’re talking seaside villas. A mistress or three. Fancy cars and a hefty bank account. I don’t know about you, but to me a seaside villa sounds a whole lot better than some trailer park in Pahrump—”
Sable’s rant was interrupted by the a burst of machine gun fire and a woman’s scream.
3:42:31 A.M. PDT Groom Lake Air Force Base
The strike had been decisive and Jong Lee had reason to rejoice. Stepping over the machine-gunned woman sprawled on the tarmac — a civilian worker reporting early for the next flight home — Jong’s face remained impassive, even as he reviewed his successes.
The late Dr. Chang had paved the way for their undetected landing. The communications jamming device supplied to the Colombians through Hugo Bix was working perfectly. The scarred man, Roland Arrias, was inside the Boeing 737, monitoring the device to ensure that all communications in and out of Groom Lake were cut off.
Meanwhile Captain Hsu’s strike team had stormed the puny garrison and slaughtered the security staff.
While the Cubans searched the hangars for fugitive Air Force personnel or cowering researchers, Jong Lee issued new orders to Captain Hsu.
“Go to Dormitory B. It is the only one that is occupied,” Jong said. “I want you to capture all the scientists and researchers staying there, bring them back here. I will decide who is useful, and we will take them with us. The others will be executed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to place two guards around the airplane, and have it refueled. We will depart within the hour. With the stealth device the Cubans installed, the 737 will be invisible to American radar. We will cross the border and land at our base in Mexico three hours from now.”
Hsu nodded.
“And after you’ve brought the prisoners here, you must make preparations for your solo flight in the Blackfoot, Captain Hsu.”
17. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4 A.M. AND 5 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
4:08:05 A.M. PDT Hangar Five, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base
Face tense, eyes wide, Steve Sable peered through a gap in the hangar door. Another gunshot echoed in the night.
“Son of a — they shot somebody else,” Sable cried. “A mechanic, I think. Guys in black BDUs pulled him out of the big hangar… shot him in the back of the head, execution-style.”
Tony, still bound, twisted his head to face his captor.
“They’re after the technology in Hangar 18. Lots of equipment there. They got a taste for high-tech from the stuff you peddled. Now they’re here for the rest.”
Tony paused to listen as another burst was unleashed.
“They’re getting close, Sable. They’re going to be here soon. What do you think they’re going to do to you?”
Sable heard cries outside, backed away from the door.
“Listen,” Tony said. “You were right. I’m an agent for the Counter Terrorist Unit. Cut me loose and I can deal with these guys. Send an SOS—”
“You can’t send shit!” Sable cried. He slammed his cell phone down on the workbench. “Everything is jammed. The cell phone is worthless.”
“I have weapons,” Tony said. “Stashed in Hangar Six. Cut me loose and I can protect you.”
Eyes shifting like a frightened animal, Sable hovered over Tony.
“Yeah, how can I trust you?” he asked.
“You have no choice,” Tony replied, staring straight ahead.
Tony felt cold steel against his wrists. “You’ve got to understand this was nothing personal, Tony. What I did to you I did to survive. Now we’re on the same side, right?”
While Sable babbled, he cut away the cables until Tony was free. Groaning, the CTU agent reached down and rubbed his legs where the wires chafed him. Then he reached for something lying on the floor.
“You’re free, Tony. Buddies again, right? Don’t forget to tell the feds how I helped you. After this is over, I want to cut some kind of a deal.”
“Sure,” Tony replied. “Let’s shake on it.”
Sable extended his arm, and Tony thrust the live wire into his open hand. Sable jerked as if struck, reeled against the workbench. He wagged his arm to free his hand, but the circuit would not be broken. Like a poisonous serpent that sank its fangs deep into flesh, the cable pumped thousands of volts through Steve Sable’s twitching body. Tony crossed to the
generator and turned up the juice.
He waited until Sable was on his back, and smoke was coming out of the man’s ears, eyes and nostrils before he cut the power.
“Yeah, there’s your deal, old buddy,” snarled Tony.
Legs numb, Tony stumbled to the hangar door, peered through the crack. He saw the Boeing 737 squatting on the tarmac, two men guarding it, both armed with assault rifles. A third man was pumping jet fuel into the aircraft. It was clear the enemy — whoever they were — was planning to escape in the same aircraft that brought them.
Tony grinned mirthlessly. Not if I can help it.
Shirtless, Tony was clad in light gray sweat pants and white sneakers that practically glowed in the dark — no match for the black camouflaged BDUs the bad guys were wearing. After he stashed Dr. Sable’s still smoldering corpse in a storage bin, Tony raced to the grease pit behind the helicopter.
Dipping his hand in the muck, Tony smeared the brackish tar all over his pants, his shoes, then his hard-muscled arms and torso. Finally, he streaked oil across his forehead, his cheeks, under his eyes.
Tony moved to the rear of the hanger. On the way he grabbed Sable’s cell phone and tucked it into his sweats.
Who knows, I might get to use it yet, he thought.
Cautiously, Tony slipped out the back door and vanished in the fast fading night.
4:49:14 A.M. PDT Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base
Jong Lee’s commandos had corralled their hostages in Hangar Six. The doors were open and the massive interior of the hangar blazed with light.
The hostages, mostly scientists, engineers and researchers, had been rousted out of their beds and marched to this place. Many still wore robes, pajamas, sweats or underwear, and walked in bare feet or slippers. The few airmen and officers spared immediate execution were in uniform or work clothes. Now everyone was huddled on the concrete floor, hands on their heads, and their armed captors silently watched over them.
Captain Hsu’s men had stormed the dormitory and captured its occupants in an efficient and methodical manner. But the prisoners soon learned that their captors were prone to casual violence if their authority was challenged in the smallest way.
As they were herded out of the dorm at the start of their march, Dr. Megan Reed — ridiculously clad in a pink Meow, Meow Kitty teddy and little else — refused to obey one of the soldier’s commands quickly enough, and was knocked to the ground by the butt of his rifle. Corporal Stratowski moved to defend the woman and was executed on the spot, in front of everyone.
After that, the hostages were cowed, though Dr. Bascomb had to be restrained by Alvin Toth, or the middle-aged, pony-tailed scientist would have been murdered, too.
Gunfire could be heard all over the base. While Captain Hsu grabbed the prisoners, the bulk of the raiders descended on the hangars, stripping them of everything of value.
When the hostages were led past a 737 parked on the runway near Hangar 18, they saw men in black BDUs packing the cargo bays with everything from computers to prototypes of advanced weapons systems, test missiles, even bits of random machinery. Like technology-starved locusts, the raiders stripped advanced avionics systems out of the cockpit of experimental aircraft, looted file cabinets, ripped the hard drives out of every computer.
From her spot on the floor, Dr. Reed observed the activity swirling around the airplane. She also used her time to study their captors, listen to their words. Some of the men spoke Spanish, but most were Asians and spoke a dialect of Chinese. If Dr. Chang were here, she could translate. Megan wondered what had happened to her friend, Beverly. Perhaps she got away.
Dani Welles sidled a little closer to her boss. “How’s the jaw?” she whispered.
Megan Reed frowned. She’d done everything she could to forget the pain. It only reminded her of Corporal Stratowski’s sacrifice and filled her with guilt. She’d counted the hostages in the hangar — twentytwo. She busied her highly-trained brain a dozen different ways, yet nothing worked. The image of Corporal Stratowski’s final seconds would suddenly flood her mind. The memory was impossible to ignore.
“They just shot him,” she whispered. “Like he was a lab specimen or something.” Dani nodded. “All they need is an excuse. If they’re so eager to kill us, what are we doing here?”
That question was answered ten minutes later, when a tall Asian man strode into the hanger. A woman in a black jumpsuit followed him like a shadow. The man’s arrogant gaze swept over the hostages as he walked among them. Most of the prisoners averted their eyes. To her shame, Dr. Reed did, too. But not Dr. Bascomb, The doctor’s undisguised hostility only seemed to amuse their captor.
“My name is Jong Lee,” the stranger said at last. “You will each tell me your names, your fields of expertise, so that I may determine your value. If I am satisfied by your answers, you will board the airplane outside. If I am not…”
Lee paused, gestured to the woman at his side. “My assistant Yizi will deal with any unpleasantness.”
18. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 5 A.M. AND 6 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
5:02:51 A.M. PDT Runway 33R/15L Groom Lake Air Force Base
Tony’s plan was to sneak over to Hangar Six, where he’d stashed a Glock and a cache of ammunition inside an idle generator. But with daylight coming on fast, and the fuel truck parked on the dimly-lit tarmac, pumping hundreds of gallons of JET A–1 into the Boeing’s tanks, the 737 was a target of opportunity too tempting to ignore.
Tony had scouted around Hangar 18 a number of times. It was the largest structure on the base, capable of holding a pair of Boeing 737s. Tony knew experimental aircraft were being stored there, but because access was restricted he’d never been inside
He did know that welding tools and tanks were stored in a small cinder block maintenance shed next to the massive hangar. He’d been there a few days ago because that’s where civilian welders had assembled the microwave tower that was later erected at the test site.
Under the fast-brightening sky, Tony moved without detection across the desert terrain, well away from the illuminated runways and building lights. He observed a contingent of prisoners being herded into Hangar Five. He’d hoped the raiders would ignore the dormitory and stick to the technology labs and testing centers. But it seemed the enemy wanted more than just machines. Either they were gathering hostages to use as human shields, or kidnapping highly trained technicians. Either way, Tony would do his best to stop them.
It took a long time, but Tony finally reached the shed. The door was locked so Tony used a rock to smash the padlock. It took several minutes and plenty of scraped knuckles, but he finally slipped through the door and closed it behind him. In the glow of the overhead light Tony gathered up everything he would need to make a modern variation on the old-fashioned Molotov cocktail.
Five minutes later, Tony left the shed with two hand-held welding tanks strapped to his back, and a striker thrust in the elastic band of his sweatpants. As he circled the massive hangar, the building’s interior echoed with shouts and the sound of things breaking.
Cautiously, Tony approached the runway near the tail of the aircraft — and couldn’t believe his luck. Most of the activity around the airliner had ceased. The men had finished loading the cargo bays, and had once again fanned out across the base in a search for more loot. The Boeing was guarded by only three men now. Better yet, the fuel truck was parked less than twenty yards away from the spot where Tony lurked. The man who worked the hose was standing under the wing, facing two guards who had gathered at the bottom of the portable stairs.
This was going to be a whole lot easier than Tony first thought. He watched the man at the hose abondon his post and move closer to his comrades. Crouching, Tony sprinted across the tarmac, covering twenty yards in seconds. He dropped to the ground behind the fuel truck, slipped a welder off his back and touched the starter to the nozzle.
The gas hissed loudly as a blue jet of fir
e spewed from the nozzle. Tony feared the enemy would hear the sound, but the whine of the fuel pump masked the noise. Tony ignited the second welder, and wth a tank in each hand, he positioned them on the hose rack so the blue flame bored into the side of the fuel tank.
Then Tony ran, circling the hangar in the hope that the building would be enough to protect him from the explosion to come. He counted to ten, then to twenty. Tony was about to circle back to see what went wrong when an orange ball of fire shot up into the purpling sky. A powerful wave of debris and hot gasses rocked the hangar, shattering windows and blowing out the electricity. That same scorching wind washed over Tony a split second later, knocking him flat on his back, singeing his hair and blistering the skin across his torso.
The first blast was followed by a secondary explosion, then a third. Keeping his eyes closed, his hands over his face, Tony waited a full five minutes before he peeked out over the edge of the pit. A grim smile creased his battered face when he saw the remains of the Boeing 737 scattered all over the runway.
Playing a hunch, Tony checked the display on the late Steve Sable’s cell phone. His smile widened into a grin when he realized he must have destroyed the jamming system with the airplane, because now the cell phone had locked onto a powerful signal.
Tony knew there was only one man who could help him stop this invasion. By the wavering light of the burning debris, Tony dialed Jack Bauer’s cell phone.
5:39:26 A.M. PDT Groom Lake Secure Terminal McCarran Airport, Las Vegas
Jack burst through the glass doors, leading with his Glock. As soon as he entered the terminal, he smelled death. Back to the wall, Jack moved cautiously along the corridor, shifting his Glock with his gaze.
“Clear,” he called. Curtis came through next. Glock in hand, he moved to the opposite end of the hall, checked all four points of the compass before he called “clear.”
24 Declassified: Vanishing Point 2d-5 Page 20
