Burn the Night

by Jonathan Yanez

  B.U.T.T.S. stood for Ballistics United Tactical and Tech Systems. His employer was a technology and weapons manufacturer that primarily sold to the United States government. The company, founded by two Marines who had served in Desert Shield and were originally backed by some smart investors, had earned the leading name in the business of everything from body armor that could stop a high-caliber bullet at point-blank range, to the latest and greatest in gauss powered rifles. Not to mention, they developed and launched items most people have only heard of in futuristic and sci-fi cinemas. They credited part of their continued success to employing Marines who had been in the field, who knew their stuff, and who knew how to execute orders.

  A quick flight, and Frank found himself in Nevada. An armed escort picked him up from McCarran airport. Frank wasn’t given details on who the buyer was, but when the soldier approached him, he was pretty sure he knew.

  “Frank Wolffe?” asked an attractive, middle-aged woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and clad in military fatigues. “Are you Frank Wolffe?”

  “You already know the answer to that.” Frank smiled with a wince. The act had brought on a stinging sensation to the corner of his lip, which was still recovering from the previous night. “I heard you needed some … goods.”

  The woman’s astute gaze darted around the small airport to see whether anyone had overheard Frank’s remarks. “Yes, we can discuss the details later. The products have arrived ahead of you and are waiting for us. Follow me.”

  She wasted no time on pleasantries. Simply completing an about-face, she walked away.

  Frank was used to the military type. He had served his own obligation as soon as he could enlist. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been contracted with the United States Marine Corps. As soon as he had completed his stint, he had been hired by B.U.T.T.S. During his decade or so with the weapons manufacturer, he had worked his way up the ranks to be a salesman of sorts for the company. His amiable personality and ability to magnify the effectiveness of their product made him a perfect fit for the job.

  “I’m Major Lucy Lopez,” the woman said, still walking briskly to exit the airport terminal. She extended a hand while she walked, making the handshake awkward.

  Frank took it anyway. “Glad to meet you.”

  That was it. Frank and the woman strode to the terminal exit, where a desert Humvee awaited, with two more Marines riding in front.

  Major Lopez opened the door for Frank, and the two ducked into the back of the Humvee.

  A pile of paperwork sat in a bulky, foliage-green seat. The familiar B.U.T.T.S. logo stamped on the envelope was enough to tell Frank the paperwork was for him.

  “This came for you a few hours ago with the rest of the equipment,” Major Lopez said, taking a seat opposite Frank and slamming the heavy door shut behind her.

  The chill morning air of the Nevada desert was just cold enough to create light puffs of mist from Frank’s breath. He pulled his wool peacoat tighter around him, wishing he had worn long underwear or something other than denim jeans. Though the arid desert climate didn’t cut to the bone like the winds of Chicago, it penetrated clothing layers with a slow, still creep.

  “Not used to the cold?” Major Lopez looked amused as the Humvee jerked into motion. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

  “I’m great, take your time,” Frank said, grabbing the manila envelope resting on the seat beside him. Embossed at the top of the otherwise nondescript enclosure was the logo of his employer—a pyramid with the back of a bullet in the center filled the triangle-shaped emblem. A circle surrounded the pyramid.

  Frank took the next few minutes to peruse the itemization of equipment and weaponry he would be unpacking and presenting to the United States Marine Corps. The list was extensive; beyond extensive. Frank saw items on the inventory he had previously thought were still in the conceptual stages of development. This order would have totaled in the billions of dollars.

  “You all right?” Major Lopez asked across from Frank as the Humvee barreled out of Sin City and into the vast Mojave desert’s rocky red-browns with patches of cactus and grasses. “You look like you’re surprised.”

  “What? Oh.” Frank kept his head tilted down, but moved his eyes up to meet the Major’s gaze. “What are you jarheads doing out here in the Mojave? I’ve never seen an order like this before.”

  “You know the rules: don’t ask, don’t tell,” Major Lopez said with a twitch of her own eyebrows. It was clear she was aware of her flawless skin and attractive disposition. “Eyes only.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Frank said, shaking his head from side to side as he finished pouring over the manifest. “I’m breaking my own rule. The less I know, the better. I’m going to introduce you and your CO to the goodies then I’ll be off.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Major Lopez said.

  But the truth was Frank couldn’t shake curiosity that easily. “But seriously, like it’s aliens or something, right?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean out here in the desert, you found aliens. Like Area 51. Don’t try to lie to me about that one. I’ve been there.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.” Major Lopez actually smiled.

  Frank leaned back with a sigh. “You’ve told me everything already.”

  “I’ve told you nothing.” Major Lopez rolled her eyes.

  “Exactly,” Frank said, putting his hands into the pockets of his peacoat. “That’s my point.”

  “You’re a nut.”

  “Oh, I’m a lot more than that,” Frank said as his mind ran over the vast inventory once more. The Marines had spared no expense. Everything on the list would equip a small army. The only thing missing was the large hyper-beam weapons Frank had seen in development at B.U.T.T.S. headquarters. He wouldn’t doubt that it was only on backorder.

  Thy made the rest of the journey in silence. Frank caught signs on the road to their destination outside the city of Las Vegas, and it was soon clear where the Humvee was headed. The Hoover Dam was getting closer and closer.

  Mile markers counting down the span to the man-made structure popped up every few minutes as they approached. Frank’s mind was working on overdrive. To his knowledge, there was no working military branch stationed at the Hoover Dam.

  A sixth sense Frank had grown to trust during his own time in the military tickled the back of his neck.

  Easy there, hombre, Frank thought. You’re not in the military anymore. This isn’t different than any other job. Get in, play Santa, give the kids their shiny new toys, and get out. Don’t ask any more questions or show more interest than you have to. This is just a job. Tonight, you’ll be back taking Lisa, or Deborah, or whatever her name was, out on a make-up date. Or if not her, someone else.

  Despite his own internal pep talk, Frank couldn’t help noticing when the Humvee pulled off the main road. Major Lopez produced a black hood from her back pocket and handed it to Frank.

  “Really?” Frank accepted the hood. “It’s not like I don’t know where we are. And the hood’s still warm from your butt cheek.”

  “Oh, I know you know where we are, but you don’t know how we get in.” Major Lopez pointed to the hood. “I’m going to have to insist. And I warmed it up for you on purpose. You looked cold.”

  “That’s borderline disgusting.” Frank sighed as he placed the hood over his head, covering his espresso brown hair down to his muscular neck, the end resting on his broad shoulders. The cloth was coarse and irritated the cut on his hairline where the steak knife had scratched him the night before. “I’m going to tack on hazard pay for this one.”

  Frank felt the Humvee lurch to life again and bounce down an unmarked road.

  “I’m going to have to ask you for your phone, smartwatch, and any other pieces of communication you have on your person,” Major Lopez said, her voice drifting past the hood. “It won’t work where we’re going anyway but just to be sure. They’ll be returned when y
ou’re done.”

  Frank had been expecting this new development, but he moved slowly anyway. “Rules, rules, rules. Makes me miss my time in the corps.”

  “I’m sure we could find you the right paperwork if you want to re-enlist,” the Major said, accepting Frank’s phone and watch. “Maybe even speed up the process for you and get you back in basic by week’s end.”

  “I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that.” Frank was going to say more, when the thundering of water—a lot of water—picked up the conversation for him.

  Frank resisted the urge to take off the hood and see for himself. It sounded like millions, maybe trillions, of gallons of water escaping somewhere around or below him.

  Chapter 3

  The urge to tear off the black hood that scratched at his fair face was nearly impossible to ignore. Frank had to remind himself to behave and keep his hands by his sides, instead of removing the hood that obscured his vision.

  For the time being, the roar made by the rush of escaping water drowned out anything he or the Major could say, and for what felt like a few minutes (but in reality, had to be seconds), all there was, was the sound of water being drained to—well, Frank wasn’t sure to where.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the sound of the rushing water receded, and the Humvee jerked to life. Frank felt the vehicle moving forward.

  “Either we’re entering the world’s largest toilet bowl, or I have a serious inner ear issue,” Frank said through the hood. “Hey, man, we can make this ride a lot smoother if you’ve got the funds.”

  Clearly, the major was not amused at his swipe at their older-model vehicle.

  “We’re almost there,” Major Lopez answered as the Humvee came to yet another stop.

  This time, instead of there being another rush of water, the electric hum of a slow moving elevator filled his ears. Frank felt the military-grade vehicle begin to sink as if being lowered on some kind of oversized lift. A stale, dank scent accosted Frank’s nose through the wool mask.

  “Just a few more seconds now, Mr. Wolffe,” Major Lopez coaxed. “You’re doing great.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” Frank leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m great over here, sitting blindfolded in a bag you pulled out from your back pocket. Hey, have you guys washed this thing since the last victim you brought down here?”

  The only reply he received was the vehicle jolting to a stop again. The hum of the lift silenced. For the last time, the Humvee rolled forward and came to a complete stop only a few seconds later.

  “All right you’re good to go,” Major Lopez said, reaching over and taking the hood off Frank. “Welcome to The Den.”

  Frank blinked, then blinked again, not believing his eyes. “Did you roofie me somehow, or something like that?”

  Frank looked through the window of the Humvee to a massive enclosed staging area loaded with vehicles and aircraft alike.

  The major didn’t answer Frank, but instead hopped off the Humvee, exchanging words with the two Marines who had been in the driver and commander seats. The two soldiers saluted and jogged down the vast warehouse.

  Frank’s synapses fired like Pop Rocks on cola as he took in the area around him, calculating the details to deduce their possible location. There were no windows in the warehouse; all four walls, floor, and ceiling were the same cement grey.

  The room itself was massive with rows of Humvees, JLTVs, and other four-wheeled vehicles on one side of the chamber. On the other side were lines of Apache helicopters, hovercrafts Frank had never seen, and some kind of spacecraft fighter that looked like a stealth bomber.

  Running, shouting, and working amongst all of these pieces of machinery were a handful of Marines. They carried large power tools, had vehicles up on lifts, and wore welding masks as they performed their duties. In the center of the room, a giant octagon lift rose to the ceiling, with a hydraulic system that raised and lowered the platform. The rail it rode on started on the ground and followed a diagonal line to the ceiling more than three stories above.

  “Pretty cool, right?” Major Lopez said, prying Frank’s attention away from the scene in front of them. “Not everyday you see something like this.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, noticing the water that dripped from the ceiling where an octagon opening had closed since he had arrived. “I mean, the Russians have something like this, but I’m not going to talk about that.”

  Major Lopez’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Am I?” Frank said, deflecting his true emotions with humor. In all honesty, he was worried what he was getting himself into. He had delivered dozens of shipments of weapons, armor, and tech to the military, but never in a setting like this.

  “Follow me.” Major Lopez motioned to Frank. “The colonel doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Frank fell in line with the major, and the two made their way out of the colossal warehouse room, through a twisting maze of cement and steel.

  It didn’t surprise Frank there were no windows. He understood enough to deduce they were underneath the Hoover Dam in a hidden bunker. Why he was being allowed to see as much as he was, was the thing that bothered him the most. Did they plan to wipe his memory with drugs or something else? Worse, did they plan on killing him? No, then why the black hood at all?

  Hold onto your huevos rancheros, Frank thought. You’ve been in worse jams than this. Besides, no one has made an aggressive move or done anything to make you think they’re going to axe you at the end of this.

  Frank and the major passed a few white lab coated technicians and other Marines on patrol before they came to a stop near a steel door that stood open. The room was once again large, but not as big as the first chamber Frank had seen. This room seemed to be reserved for storage and staging. An enclosed shooting range stood at the far end. Still, the sporadic thud and crack of rifles and the whiz of a piece Frank hadn’t seen previously echoed throughout the chamber.

  In front of Frank were a series of familiar-looking crates stamped with the B.U.T.T.S. pyramid logo. Standing in front of the green crates was a dark-haired, middle-aged man who wore the same tan military fatigues as the major. He was running a hand over the B.U.T.T.S. emblem as if he thought the pyramid might come alive at any moment.

  “Doctor Agarwal.” Major Lopez walked into the room, startling the man so hard, he actually jumped. “I see you got the notice to assemble.”

  “What? Who—I mean, yes. I wasn’t unpacking the goods or anything.” The doctor examined Frank with wide, golden eyes. “Son of a biscuit, man. You’re him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m who?” Frank looked back and forth from the major to the doctor.

  Major Lopez just shrugged. “Better get your bearings on the gear you’ll be displaying. The Colonel is on the way with the rest of the unit, and he’ll be ready for a briefing.”

  “You’re the guy fitting us with the gear and leading us through the gateway,” Doctor Agarwal continued as he gawked at Frank. He extended an open hand. “Doctor Raj Agarwal. Just call me Raj.”

  “Hey, Raj.” Frank accepted the man’s hand and shook it firmly before moving to the crates of unopened B.U.T.T.S. supplies. “I think you’ve got your wires crossed. I’m not leading anyone. I’m just here to give a blow-by-blow with the ordered equipment, then I’m out. I have a date waiting for me, I think … I don’t know, the whole thing is kind of confusing actually.”

  Frank began hefting the boxes, stacking the crates filled with body armor in one pile, while the weapons went in another. The gauss rifles had their own stack, along with the electromagnetic gauss powered sidearms.

  Raj and Major Lopez talked to the side in low whispers. As far as Frank was concerned, he was happy to be left alone with a physical task in front of him.

  Lifting the crates and dividing the gear soon left him with a glisten of sweat on his brow. He removed his black peacoat and went back to work. The crates with
the weapons weighed over a hundred pounds, and the ones holding the armor even more than that. But all of this was okay with Frank. Throughout his whole life, he found a kind of sick, soothing comfort when it came to physical exercise.

  In a matter of minutes, he had divided the crates from B.U.T.T.S. into four piles, with the topmost crate open, displaying the contents. Each airtight, watertight case had been lined up, cupping its contents in a bed of egg-crate Polyethylene foam. In order from left to right, Frank had opened the crates holding: diamond steel armor, helmets, gauss assault rifles, and electromagnetic side arms.

  His display in the center of the warehouse looked out of place. All around him, the room opened up to neat aisles of the Marine Corps’ own weapons, before turning into the shooting range. Boxes of ammunition and supplies lined the walls in perfect order as though they were judging Frank’s impromptu display in the center of the room.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Frank turned as the sound of multiple pairs of booted feet struck the cement floor. A dark-skinned man with a square jaw and cold eyes entered the room, along with five wide-shouldered Marines and a petite woman who looked of Asian descent. She was the only one who smiled at Frank as they entered. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a low bun, allowing Frank to make out the thin tubes leading into her ears usually indicating hearing aids. It was both a gift and a curse for him to note each detail when assessing newcomers.

  “Mr. Wolffe.” The dark-skinned man came to a stop in front of Frank. He was a few inches taller, and just as muscular. He extended a hand. “I’m Colonel Solomon Breaker. Glad to have you. Shall we begin?”

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  A Note For You

  From Me to You

  Hey you. Here we are again, another book finished and another chance to get to tell you all the craziness going on in the Gateway Universe and my own life. Okay, Gateway news first.