by Cindy Gerard
Thoughtful, he shook his head. “While it’s unusual to go into a job without being prepped, it isn’t unheard of. And the hush-hush nature of this reassignment tells me it’s something big.”
“What exactly did Nate say when he called?”
“Just that there’d been a change of plans. Something with higher priority had come up, and Utah was off the agenda. He said that at this point, information would be available on a need-to-know basis. Guess he feels we don’t need to know yet.”
He felt the g-force as the jet reached liftoff speed, and then they were airborne.
He glanced at Rhonda, who was gnawing on her lower lip but looking a little badass in spite of it. For a change, she actually looked the part of a commando. Well, sort of. She’d topped black boots and pants with a black sweater—another vintage angora—and a black wool scarf that she’d tucked into a black leather jacket. She could almost be his clone—except her sweater had much nicer bumps than his black T-shirt.
He had to quit thinking about how hot she was and about the ride she’d taken him on last night.
He got his head back in the game. “Look, Nate’s not sending you on any mission you’re not qualified to handle. We’re not going to be in any danger.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” she said. “I just don’t like going into an assignment unprepared. What if this is some kind of, I don’t know, baptism by fire? What if he’s setting me up to fail?”
“You’ve got a bit of a problem with paranoia, you know that?”
“Just exploring all the possibilities.”
“In the first place, Nate doesn’t operate that way. In the second, you’re an ace at what you do. This is no baptism by fire. This is not about you. So relax.”
“Right. I’ll just sit here and stare at the black window and think happy thoughts.”
He grinned. “Might be a better use of your time if you’d try to catch a few winks. We didn’t exactly sleep much last night.”
Her gaze shot to the cockpit door before she glared at him.
“They can’t hear us.” He grinned again.
“They can if the cabin’s bugged.”
“P. A. R. A. N. O.—”
“Stop it. I’m cautious. And I don’t like being kept in the dark. Surely you’ve got some idea about what’s going on.”
He shrugged. “If I were to hazard a guess, somebody—NSA, Homeland Security, whoever—picked up something out of the ordinary that concerns security at one of our top secret bases. So we’ve been rerouted to check it out.”
She mulled that over. “Okay. I can see that.”
“That’s just a best guess; I may be way off. So we should try to get some sleep.”
Then he closed his eyes and hoped she’d do the same.
• • •
Rhonda couldn’t sleep; she was too wired. When they touched down less than two hours later, she was the first one out of the jet. Cooper followed right behind her.
The sun burned bright, and a cold wind stung her face as she took in their surroundings. She’d never been to the proverbial middle of nowhere before, but this just might be it. The airstrip appeared to be at the bottom of a shallow crater or an empty lake bed.
She bundled her jacket tighter around her and squinted at the cold, barren landscape resembling the moon’s surface.
A handful of armed guards were positioned around the landing strip, and as she looked farther out, she spotted more uniformed men standing guard above them on the lip of the crater—or whatever it was they were in. Floodlights and air horns hung suspended from tall poles. And everywhere she looked, they were surrounded by tall, heavy-gauge chain-link and barbed-wire fencing.
“Holy crap,” Cooper muttered. “No wonder Nate wanted this hush-hush.”
She spun to face him. “You know where we are?”
“Indeed I do.” He turned in a slow circle, taking everything in. “It’s frickin’ Area Fifty-One.”
She stared at him for a long, doubtful moment before realizing that he was dead serious. “Area Fifty-One? As in flying saucers? Aliens? Roswell?”
“Add supersecret weapons and an aircraft research and testing facility, and you’ve got yourself a bingo.”
“Holy crap is right.”
While legends abounded regarding the alleged flying-saucer crash here in 1947 and the highly speculative government cover-up of the incident, the Area 51 military and research facility in Nevada was very real. Few people, however, ever got to see it up close and personal.
“Tell me what you think you know about the Groom Lake facility,” Cooper said.
It took her several moments to collect herself, then sift through the stockpile of intelligence she’d gathered during her years at the NSA. “It’s covered by approximately fifty square miles of restricted airspace, for starters. Originally, it was an extension of Edwards Air Force Base, and it shares a border with the Yucca Flat region of the Nevada Nuclear Test Site.”
“And,” he prompted.
“Well, it’s a salt flat that’s been used for runways for the Nellis Bombing Range Test Site. It was also a CIA test facility for several unsuccessful projects, and the government didn’t admit it even existed until the last decade. Supposedly, they only ’fessed up then because any top secret operation or developmental projects had been shut down. Oh, and when aircraft talk to the tower at the air base, the controllers ID themselves only as Dreamland. And once upon a time, the base housed the Air Force’s super-top-secret aeronautical facility,” she finished. “They invented much of our new avionics technology here.”
“Yup. There’s all kinds of technology that our enemies would kill to get their hands on.”
“If it were still developed here,” she said.
The look he gave her sent a chill down her spine. “Tell me something,” he said thoughtfully. “Where’s the best place to hide something?”
She immediately saw where he was going. “In plain sight.”
He nodded again.
“So . . . no matter what Uncle tells the world, you’re thinking . . .”
“Exactly what you’re thinking. That the basic mission here is still to support the development, testing, and training phases for new aircraft weapons systems or research projects, after they’ve been approved by the Pentagon.”
“But if that’s the case, why are we here? Why would they risk anyone outside their tightly vetted teams finding out that the facility is still in operation?”
His eyes met hers, leaving no doubt in her mind that he thought he had the answer.
Before he could share his thoughts, Ramsey joined them and handed them their luggage. Then he reached into a pocket in his flight suit, produced a small sealed envelope, and handed it to Cooper. “You’ll find your answers inside. Good luck.” Without another word of explanation, he climbed back up the air stairs and pulled them closed behind him.
“Why do I get the feeling something big is about to happen?” Rhonda asked as they watched the jet streak down the runway, then lift off.
Coop opened the envelope, then tipped it upside down. A zip drive fell into his cupped palm, followed by a sealed envelope addressed to the head of security.
And as a Humvee raced down the tarmac toward them, Rhonda said, “I’m starting to feel like I’m in a Tom Clancy novel.”
27
A somber young MP with the lean, carved look of a hardened military cop pulled up beside Coop, stepped out of the vehicle, and asked to see their credentials. Coop gave him credit; the guy managed to check his double take when he saw the Bombshell. She had that effect on men even when she wasn’t decked out in heels and a short, tight skirt.
When the MP was satisfied that they were legit, he loaded their bags into the shotgun seat, and indicated that they should sit in the rear. Without another word, he climbed behind the wheel,
shifted into gear, and gunned the motor.
“Mr. Personality he’s not,” Coop whispered close to Rhonda’s ear, hoping to ease some of her tension as they raced down the tarmac.
Apparently, Rhonda was too cold to appreciate his efforts. The side curtains were up in deference to the winter weather, but at six thousand feet, the air was brittle. And considering the light skiff of white on the runway, a snowfall wasn’t out of the question, either.
Beside him, she huddled inside her jacket as the Humvee roared up out of the lake bed and onto a well-traveled road. Dead ahead, a large, low structure sat alone, like a big solitary rock in the middle of a sand beach.
Though it looked like a run-of-the-mill warehouse, Coop knew better.
Beneath that tin roof was a fortress. The exterior security reinforced that conclusion. No-fly zone. Both marked and unmarked security teams. Barbed-wire fencing, air horns, floodlights—and he’d spotted a couple of discreetly placed surveillance cameras. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they had parabolic microphones hidden in the scant foliage on the desert floor.
So much for Groom Lake being decommissioned as a top secret R&D facility.
More proof that he was right came when the MP pulled up in front of the building and didn’t have to announce their arrival. A heavy metal door instantly opened, and another MP stepped outside.
He also asked to see their creds and handed them back when he was satisfied.
Overkill. More confirmation that something hinky was going on.
He said, “Follow me, please.”
“Wait.” Rhonda looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “What about our bags?”
“You’ll find them in your quarters.”
“Our quarters?” Rhonda mouthed to Coop, looking wary.
That they were expected to stay here was a surprise to him, too. He gave her a subtle head shake as they followed the MP inside.
The first level of interior security was what Coop expected in a high-value target facility, more corroboration that more was going on here than the world had been led to believe by Uncle Sam.
Access was via a two-factor authentication. They were asked to press their index fingers against a biometric reader mounted on the wall, and then a middle-aged woman, as drab and austere as the gray-on-gray interior, took their photos and walked back behind her desk.
“Spooky,” Rhonda said. Even though she was no stranger to covert security measures and knowing that arrangements had to have been made in advance for their fingerprints to be available to the biometric reader, it was clear she was still rattled.
“That’s spooks for ya,” Coop said, and actually got a little smile.
He handed the sealed envelope to the clerk. “This is for your security chief.”
She took it, looked it over, and noting the DOD seal on the corner of the envelope, disappeared through a door at the rear of her small cubicle.
“Another friendly soul,” Rhonda whispered with an eye roll.
Less than five minutes later, the clerk returned. “Lieutenant Dodd will be with you in a moment.”
She didn’t invite them to sit. Coffee from the pot on a small utility cart beside her desk wasn’t offered, either.
Coop was about to ask for a cup when the cubicle door opened.
A tall, slim man with laser-sharp eyes and an Air Force uniform, so crisply pressed you could have cut paper on the crease, honed in on Coop, then on Rhonda. He didn’t say a word to either of them.
“Full-access cards,” he told the clerk. He handed the letter back to Coop with a look that smacked of disdain and then disappeared through the door.
Rhonda looked at him questioningly.
“Later,” he mouthed, and they waited for the clerk to do her thing.
Several minutes later, they both had personal photo ID badges and total-access key cards, making them officially legit. In addition, they each had an orientation packet that was no doubt standard operating procedure for anyone visiting the facility.
“Thank you, Helen,” Coop said politely, after reading the badge clipped to the breast pocket of her navy-blue uniform shirt.
Helen grunted and returned to work on her computer.
The MP materialized again out of nowhere. “This way, please.”
They followed him down a short, brightly lit gunmetal-gray hallway, the same gray as on the concrete floors and ceiling. At the end of the hall, a thick, heavy door was flanked by twin cameras suspended from the ceiling.
“Fingerprint and key card, please.”
Though it might seem like overkill, since they’d already been admitted inside the building, this additional measure was a fail-safe to ensure that both the outside access door and the interior access doors couldn’t be opened at the same time.
They followed the MP’s actions, standing in front of yet another camera for what Coop knew was a photo comparison. This final measure ensured that only the people who were supposed to be inside got inside, for the length of time they were supposed to be inside, based on what their business was. If a janitor showed up in a server farm or a secretary made an appearance in the logistics room, where neither would have any business being, you could bet that alarm bells would blast your eardrums, and the security guards would have the place locked down within seconds.
What Coop had seen so far was exactly the way he’d have set up this place. It made him itch to see the rest of the facility.
The MP opened a door to a small, sterile room, then stood back and waited for them to step inside. “This room has been made available to you for the duration of your stay. Should you need additional resources, make your needs known at the admissions desk. The commissary is on level five, as are your temporary living quarters.” Then he left and closed the door behind him.
“Suppose he’s got a lot of friends on Facebook?” Coop mulled as he walked over to the closed door and tested it, half-expecting it to be locked.
“Like you’ve got friends on Facebook?”
“I don’t need Facebook.” He grinned at her. “I’ve got charm.”
“Just hand me that zip drive.”
She’d sat down on one of two metal folding chairs at a bare-bones gray table, on which sat a state-of-the-art computer and a printer.
“Sure you want to end the suspense?”
She snorted and held out her hand. When he handed over the drive, she plugged it into a port. “So what’s the deal with all the hostility?” she asked while she waited for it to open up.
“Could have something to do with this letter.” He held out the letter that had been returned to him by the lieutenant.
“Just nutshell it for me,” she said.
“It’s from the secretary of defense. Sec Def issued the lieutenant orders to give us unrestricted access to his security plan, the facility, computers, network, and anything else we need.”
“Doesn’t explain why he’s so hostile.”
“Do you like someone checking on your work?”
She thought about that. “Not so much, no.”
“Well, there you go.”
When the file finally opened, Rhonda said, “It’s a Word document, encrypted with ITAP code.”
“Sweet. A letter from home.” And it was exactly that.
• • •
The letter was from Nate Black. After they read it, Cooper sat back and assessed her reaction.
Rhonda was pretty sure that he saw shock.
“So. We’re here to complete a level ten security analysis,” he said.
She blinked at him. “And according to Nate’s letter, we can’t know what, specifically, we’re to ensure is adequately secured or why there’s a reason for concern about security. Nothing like working with a blindfold and handcuffs.”
“Nicely put.” He sounded equally amused and frustrated.
>
“Is this kind of secrecy typical on a field test?”
“Yeah, if we’re tasked with poking holes in the security of a project that’s so hush-hush that only the president, key members at the Pentagon, the secretary of defense, and those directly involved with the development, testing, and delivery of the project are in the know.”
Unbelievable. “And this happens often?”
“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘once in a blue moon’?”
She had to let that settle. And gather herself. “So it’s never happened before?”
“Nope.”
She was as puzzled as she was shocked. “Why detour us here to do a security analysis for a project that’s cloaked in this much secrecy and not let us know what we’re supposed to protect? And why now?”
She must have sounded a little hysterical, because Cooper looked at her with a hint of a grin.
“This is not funny,” she said.
“It is if you’re expecting answers. I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
“But you’ve got some ideas. I know you do.”
Oh, yeah. And as he sat there, his brows pinched in thought, she knew he had a really good idea.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Just speculation, okay? But here’s what I think. The whole place is infested with private and military security, right? Some to verify IDs and others to look menacing. But since we were allowed to land, that means we’d already been cleared to be here. So why all the extra precautions?”
She didn’t like where this was going.
“Let’s say,” he continued, “that they’ve got this supersecret project in the works. Maybe they’ve just started it and want to get ahead of the game, security-wise, and they want a thorough analysis from someone outside the loop.”
“Is that what you think?”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know.”
“Give me another scenario.”
It didn’t take him long to come up with one. “Okay . . . maybe this ‘project’ is well into the completion phase, and they’re getting jumpy and want to make sure that there’s no possibility of a security breach.”
