The Dig: A Taskforce Story

by Brad Taylor

  She scrambled on top and disappeared. I waited, the silence both good and bad. Good, in that she hadn’t said she was under attack from the inside. Bad, in that I automatically assumed our damn radios weren’t working. And that she was getting her ass kicked.

  One minute later, the door opened, Jennifer on the inside looking like she’d just figured out the final level to Candy Crush. I gave her a fist bump and ran right to the office where I’d hammered the scientists earlier.

  I pointed at the computer on the desk, then drew my pistol, covering the open hangar bay. Jennifer powered it down, then inserted a thumb drive designed to bypass whatever security was on the hard drive. She powered it back up, then glanced at me, nodding. She inserted another thumb drive, this one a WiFi dongle tethered to her phone.

  I needed Creed to be able to go rooting around the computer remotely, which meant I needed to establish an Internet connection with him. Since this place was so top secret, I knew their computers would be air-gapped from the World Wide Web, which meant I needed to build a bridge. Using a 3G connection from Jennifer’s smartphone, the WiFi dongle would hopefully do just that.

  I dialed Creed, getting him on the first ring, his voice sounding high-pitched in my earpiece. He said, “You ready?”

  “Think so. What now?”

  He gave me a website and I relayed it to Jennifer. She pulled up a Linux web browser from the first thumb drive and typed the address. She said, “I got an ‘enter’ button.”

  I told Creed and he said, “Click on it.”

  Five seconds later, he said, “I’m in.”

  The initial euphoria gave way to boredom. Waiting for Creed to dig around the multitude of files was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Jennifer came around the desk, holding her Glock.

  “How long will this take?”

  “I have no idea. I figured he had some kind of software search engine, but maybe he’s just clicking on random documents and reading them. Why don’t you go back to the front door? Keep an eye out.”

  She nodded and I heard Creed say, “No, I’m not just randomly clicking on shit. That’s what you operators would do.”

  I had forgotten that my earpiece was still live.

  He continued, “I’ve found a lot of smoke, but no fire. There are quite a few documents relating to testing, but they’re all just single-page cross-reference sheets for filing purposes. I think what you want is in hard copy only. Is there a file cabinet in the office?”

  I glanced around, saying, “No. Just a locker for lab coats.”

  He said, “Okay. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to find it on this computer. Let me go through their e-mail.”

  “E-mail? I thought this was air-gapped?”

  “It is from the World Wide Web, but they have their own local area network. It’s secure from external attacks.” He sniggered at that last statement.

  A second later he said, “Hey, what’s the name of the guy’s badge you took?”

  I looked at it, saying, “Nathaniel Broadmoor. Why?”

  “Just ran across a security list that shows the clearances of everyone.” I heard nothing for a second, then, “And here he is. Yep. With a big black X next to his name. They haven’t gotten him a new badge yet.”

  “That’s really interesting. Can you get back to the task at hand? I don’t want to be here when the sun comes up.”

  “I have a search program running. Geez. I can do more than one thing at a time.”

  I said nothing. Three minutes later he said, “Okay, I got the smoking gun. An e-mail from someone named Wynn Deveron to the entire R-and-D staff stating that all ‘Class C’ tests were to be expunged from digital media and stored in his office. I don’t know what that means, but it’s probably what you want.”

  “Who is he?”

  Instead of an answer, I heard, “Whoa, Pike, their security board just went haywire. A bunch of red-letter messages.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I heard footsteps returning, and from the door Jennifer hissed to get my attention. “I have flashlights coming our way. Four of them from the bunker building.”

  Shit. Somewhere along the way we’d tripped a wire. They might have found the fence hole, or maybe it was Jennifer coming in through the upstairs windows, or just opening the door downstairs. All irrelevant.

  I ripped out the thumb drives and heard Creed say—in a voice way too calm—“Deveron’s the program manager for the whole project. He’s the head guy.”

  I realized he had no idea what was going on, being a thousand miles away. I said, “Jennifer, we’re going back out the way you came. Lead the way.”

  She took off running, dodging around the crash-site UAV and running up the metal stairs. I hit the bottom rung just as the door opened. I made it to the top before anyone focused in our direction. Jennifer was waiting outside the door where I’d found her and Sweetwater, the access panel blinking red.

  I said, “Creed, we have some issues here, can you turn on Dr. Broadmoor’s access card?”

  “Well, yeah, but I need to be in their system.”

  Damn it. I forgot that I’d broken the connection when I’d yanked out the thumb drives.

  Edging along the balcony, watching the flashlights searching below, I whispered, “Find a computer.”

  The room where I’d rescued Jennifer was obviously a no-go with its access pad, but not everything was locked down, as we’d found out from the office below. We skulked along the balcony, stopping whenever a light looked like it was coming our way. Jennifer tried the fourth door, and it opened. On the inside was a fairly new Dell throwing a soft glow from the monitor.

  I powered it down, then went through the process of getting the two thumb drives up and operational. I whispered, “Phone.” She tossed it to me. I tethered it to the WiFi dongle, then brought up the website. I clicked “enter” and said, “I’m back on line.”

  Jennifer heard something, and peeked out the door. She whipped back inside and said, “We’re out of time. They’re coming to the stairs.”

  I said, “Creed, can you access the card? Turn it on?”

  He said, “Yeah, hang on, I’m working it.”

  “Pike, we don’t leave now, they’ll catch us. We still have to get through the window, and that thing was small.”

  I said, “Where are they?”

  “Halfway up.”

  “Creed?”

  “Almost there. It’s got some sort of CAPTCHA code I have to input.”

  “Well, for fuck’s sake, hurry.”

  Jennifer said, “They’re at the top. They’re going to catch us before we can get through the window.”

  She knelt down behind a desk, the Glock out over the top. Getting ready to fight.

  Creed said, “Got it. You have access to the entire compound now.”

  I grinned and said, “Don’t worry about the window. We’re going out the door.”

  I grabbed her hand and hoisted her to her feet. I saw the bounce of a flashlight and said, “Ready?”

  She nodded. I handed her the access badge, ripped out the thumb drives, and said, “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 14

  She peered out the office, then took off running, me right behind. The men heard the clatter of our footsteps and shone lights our way, shouting at us to halt. I heard them break into a run just as we reached the balcony door. Jennifer swiped the badge and I held my breath.

  It went green, and she ran through, out onto the metal grate. I followed right behind. She ran to the end, then leapt over the side without even pausing, making me think she’d just jumped to her death. I looked over the railing and saw her scampering like a monkey down the electrical conduit pipe we’d used to get her up.

  I heard the door bang open and went over the side myself. I scrambled as low as I could before I heard the men reac
h the railing above me. I let go, falling fifteen feet and hitting the dirt hard. I rolled to my knees and saw Jennifer in a crouch, her Glock aimed at the railing.

  For the first time, one of the men took a shot at us and Jennifer returned fire, causing them all to duck. We both leapt up, running toward our hole in the fence. I saw four muzzle flashes to my front and hit the dirt, Jennifer collapsing right beside me.

  I said, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, but we got them to the front and back now.”

  They were still firing, but the rounds were nowhere close, so I knew they’d lost sight of us. I saw the bunker building to the right and said, “Come on. Let’s get inside some cover.”

  We ran in a crouch, getting to the front door in time to hear one of the men yell. A light splayed across us and I hissed, “Badge, get the badge out.”

  She did and I yanked the door open just as they started shooting again, this time knowing where we were. I ran down the main corridor, then slid to a stop, Jennifer plowing into me. She said, “Wha—” and heard the footfalls coming our way.

  I saw a heavy metal door to our left, an access pad next to it. I said, “Open that damn thing.”

  She did and we entered just as the men turned the corner. I slammed the door closed, and they badged it open, hammering their shoulders into it. I pressed against it with all of my might, saying into my earpiece, “Creed! I need you to stop all access for every card on the entire base. Code them all out.”

  He said, “Pike, I need access to their LAN.”

  Shit!

  “Jennifer, get the thumb drives from my butt pack. Find a computer and get online.”

  She rummaged around at my back and the door hammered an inch open. I put my shoulder into it and slammed it closed, saying, “Jesus, hurry. I can’t hold them forever.”

  She ran around behind an ornate wooden desk and jammed in the drives, powering up a desktop computer. The door hammered four inches open and a man slid his foot through the gap. I slapped it closed again, but it stopped short, bouncing off the sole of his shoe.

  They pushed again, and inexorably, I began to lose the battle. I said, “Jennifer, this is it. Get ready to fight.”

  I pulled out my Glock, aimed at the man’s shoe, and fired. I heard him wail, and the leg disappeared. The action gave me some breathing room and I slammed the door shut again, saying, “Creed, what’s the damn status?”

  “Working it.”

  Nothing happened on the other side of the door, and I began to wonder what they were up to. I heard four rapid gunshots, and felt the rounds punch into the metal at chest level. They failed to penetrate, but they almost gave me a heart attack.

  I heard a frustrated scream from outside, then the magic words from Creed in my earpiece: “Access denied.” They plowed into the door again, but this time it was the locks holding them back instead of my shoulder. I slid my hands onto my knees, gulping air.

  Jennifer said, “What are we going to do now? Call the police?”

  I said, “Creed, they’re going to try to fix what you did, so be on your toes. Someone goes green, turn them red.”

  He said, “Roger that. I’ll bet you operators never thought you’d have your ass saved by me, huh?”

  I said, “Definitely worth a case of beer.” I stood up and flicked on the lights, surveying. We were in some bigwig’s office, with a huge oak desk, pictures all over the walls from various NASA-type events, a floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelf complete with ladder, and an expensive looking mini-bar. But no windows. Which really made me want to take a slug of the scotch.

  Jennifer said, “Pike?”

  “Yeah, I heard you. The problem with calling the police is that we broke in here. We’re the ones trespassing. I’m the one that shot that guy’s foot. They can lie about all this, then claim they had to use lethal force as self-defense. We’ll be the ones going to jail.”

  She jumped up on the desk, looking above her and saying, “But we’ll be alive.” Her movement kicked over an engraved marble slab, causing it to fall to the carpet below. It landed upright, and I read, “The buck stops here—Dr. Deveron.”

  Holy shit. We’re in the head guy’s office.

  Jennifer said, “Pike, if you can get me up high enough, I can get out through this skylight.”

  Ignoring her, I looked around the office, finding a large, upright metal safe with another access panel next to it. I said, “Jennifer, hand me the card.”

  She did so, and I magically opened the safe as Dr. Broadmoor, now authorized to do anything I wanted. Inside, the cavernous space was empty, with all the shelves vacant save for one. It had six file folders containing about ten pages each. I pulled them out and flipped the first one open. In big red letters it said, EYES ONLY. Below that, I saw the word FAIL. I shoved them down the front of my shirt, saying, “Okay, time to go. What have you figured out?”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “You want to go out through the skylight or call the cops?”

  I said, “Skylight.”

  She aimed her Glock straight up, drapped an arm over her head, and fired three times. The glass shattered, raining down on her. She shook the pieces free and said, “Get on up here. Time to play cheerleader again.”

  I climbed on the desk and she said, “Let me have your shirt.”

  “What for?”

  “I have to break out the rest of that glass, and I need to protect my hands.”

  “What about your shirt?”

  “Pike, really? I’m not stripping in front of you.”

  “But you’ll still have on a bra. I won’t have anything.”

  “Give me the damn shirt!”

  I did so, grumpily pulling out the files first and handing them to her. I then squatted down, letting her climb on my shoulders. She wrapped my shirt into her right hand and said, “Okay, up, Simba.”

  Just as I raised myself there was a huge boom on the other side of the door. I knew instantly what it was. Police battering ram.

  I said, “They’re going to get through in about five minutes. Get to work.”

  She said, “Duck your head,” then began smashing the remaining glass from the frame. I felt the pieces coming down and realized I had no protection for my upper body.

  Damn it. I should have kept my shirt.

  She said, “Okay, it’s clean.”

  “Give me my shirt back.”

  She dropped it to the desk, saying, “Here, grouchy.”

  She looked above her and said, “I’m going to stand up on your shoulders. From there, I can grab the frame and shimmy up.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  She put her hand on my head and started to rise, saying, “You’ll figure something out.”

  I said, “What?” And the weight left my shoulders. I looked up in time to see her legs disappear. I heard the door gong again from the battering ram and knew I was in trouble. Her head reappeared and she said, “Want me to call the police for you?”

  I jumped down from the desk, cursing under my breath. I grabbed the multifunction giant desk chair and locked in all variables—tilt, rock, wheels, everything. I hoisted it up on the desk, then stood precariously on the chair. It was still about a five-foot leap. Too much.

  I glanced around the room again, seeing the door beginning to buckle from the repeated blows of the battering ram. Across the way, I locked onto the library ladder. I jumped down and ran over to it, seeing it hooked over a rail that went the length of the bookshelf. I hoisted it off, ran back to the desk, and climbed on the chair.

  I stood up, saying, “Jennifer, hook this thing to the frame.”

  She did so, and I tested the hold. It swung around wildly. Jennifer said, “I can put a foot against each hook and it won’t go anywhere. It might feel like it, but it won’t.”

  I took one more look at the door and felt a s
pike of adrenaline. There was now a gap between the frame and the knob. It was giving out. I put my hands on the ladder and began to climb. As soon as my feet left the chair, the ladder swung under me, the hooks rotating precariously. Jennifer said, “Pike, it’s going over!”

  I kept climbing, watching the hooks. Each movement made them shift, getting closer and closer to the edge of the frame, Jennifer’s ankles going white with the pressure to prevent that from happening. She grunted, “Pike. I can’t . . .”

  The ladder slipped and I pushed backwards, turning in midair and catching the far side of the frame, one spear of glass puncturing my palm. I hung there for a minute, ignoring the pain, then heard the door shatter inward. I frantically pulled myself up, flopping out onto the roof.

  Jennifer said, “Well, it almost worked.”

  In a high-pitched voice I said, “It won’t go anywhere, I promise,” followed by “Pike! I can’t!”

  She backhanded my stomach, saying, “You didn’t have any ideas.”

  I heard the men below and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 15

  Jennifer came skipping through the office door, waving a letter in the air while tossing our usual pile of junk mail in the trash.

  “We got the check from Sweetwater! First profit for Grolier Recovery Services. We should cash it and frame a dollar bill.”

  I said, “I cannot believe you’re calling that debacle a profit for Grolier. Did you pay off the ground-penetrating radar?”

  She slit the envelope and said, “I told Sweetwater it was an expense.”

  “And he bought that bullshit?”

  She pulled out the check, grinning. “I may have mentioned that you considered it an expense, and that he should as well.”

  I laughed and said, “I’m surprised he lived long enough to sign the damn check.”

  * * *

  We’d managed to get out of the Aegis compound without getting caught, running through the desert like a couple of illegal immigrants crossing the Rio Grande. Our hole in the fence was still tied loosely together, surprising me. Clearly, that wasn’t how they’d discovered our entry.