by Alton Gansky
Perry scanned the passenger and saw that he carried a shotgun. Perry tensed but moved toward the two. “We meet again, Deputy. Is he with you?”
She glanced to her right. “Yes. He’s my partner—off duty—you’re the guy I talked to on the road. The cell phone guy.” She looked at the Hummer. “I remember the vehicle.”
“That’s me, the cell phone guy. My name is Perry Sachs, but most people call me Perry.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sachs. I’m Deputy Janet Novak, and this is Deputy Carl Subick.” They shook hands. “How did you . . . I mean . . .” She motioned to the men who had held her captive.
Perry turned. “We weren’t that far behind you, and when you turned up the same road we planned to travel, I got curious. When you turned on your emergency lights, I thought you might need some help. After all, you were alone.”
“Alone and a woman.” Janet’s words were tainted with defensiveness.
Perry frowned. “Don’t pin that on me. I’ve known some pretty tough women. My days of male chauvinism are over. It wasn’t your gender; it was your number. One cop all alone in the mountains.” He turned and started toward the others. Janet and Carl followed. “We stopped where you see the Hummer. I walked on ahead. By the time I crested the rise, I could see you were in trouble. I came back for help.”
“And the man who appeared, then ran away?” Carl asked.
“My friend Gleason Lane. He can run faster than Jack and I can.”
“Jack?” Janet said.
“The big guy entertaining one of our guests.”
“But . . . how?” Janet pressed.
“Jack and I hid in the woods. Since they had you on the ground, I guessed that they would send two, maybe three of the four after Gleason. I was hoping for two. Gleason led them into the woods where we were waiting. We came to an agreement.”
“You waylaid them,” Janet said.
Perry smiled. “Jack can be very convincing. Do you mind if I ask what all this is about?”
“We had a run-in with these guys yesterday,” Carl said. Perry could hear the bitterness in his voice. “Hey, Janet, let me have one of your cuffs.” She did, and Carl handed the shotgun to her, then walked to the man on the ground. A few moments later, the man was cuffed, and Jack was on his feet.
“Well, if it isn’t Colonel Lloyd,” Carl said with a sneer. “We meet again. And isn’t this funny? This time you’re the one in stainless steel jewelry. I think I like it this way better.”
“This guy is a colonel?” Perry asked.
“When I pressed him for a name yesterday, he said it was Colonel Lloyd. I’m pretty sure that’s a fake.”
“Because the reservoir is called Lake Lloyd.”
“How did you know that?” Carl said. “It hasn’t been called that in a long time.”
“I read a lot,” Perry explained.
“Let’s cuff the rest of them,” Carl said.
Janet returned to the police vehicle, stowed the shotgun, and then returned with a leather case. She removed several bright yellow nylon bands.
Carl pulled his pistol from its holster and pointed it at one of the men seated on the ground. “You, on your stomach, hands behind your back. Do it now.” The man complied. “You want the honors?” Carl asked Janet.
“Oh, yeah.”
They followed the routine until all the men were cuffed.
Gleason seemed glad to hand over the M16 to Carl. “I hate guns.”
“You looked comfortable enough to me,” Carl said.
“I’m a great actor.”
Carl and Janet searched the men. None carried identification. They asked each one for a name. None responded.
“What do you plan to do next?” Perry asked.
“He plans to release them to me,” a stern voice commanded.
Perry turned to see a man with short, red brown hair walking down the path. He wore a desert-tone BDU.
Janet snapped her handgun from its holster, but the man didn’t pause. He carried no weapon. Neither did his companions. “Put that away, Deputy, you’re in enough trouble.”
“I was thinking you were the one in trouble. Stop where you are.”
The man did as Carl asked, but he also reached to his back pocket. Perry saw Carl raise his weapon. The man removed a small leather case that he let flop open. “My name is Finn MacCumhail, Homeland Security, and you’re interfering with an operation of national security. You will release my men and arrest those who attacked them.”
“I don’t like to split hairs, but they attacked us after attacking a uniformed officer.” Perry took an immediate dislike to the man. He had met his kind before, men who hid behind the power of a title.
“They were just doing their job.”
“And I’m doing mine,” Carl said. “These men are under arrest for assaulting an officer, brandishing weapons, interfering with an officer in the course of duty—”
“No, they’re not, Deputy Subick. My department has superior jurisdiction. Push me any further, and I’ll have you in a military stockade before nightfall.”
“How do you know my name?” Carl asked.
“Never mind what I know or how I know. Your captain gave specific instruction for you to stay away. You should have listened to him.”
“So you’re the one who got to him.” Carl’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s a patriot. He doesn’t need someone to get to him.”
“Oh, brother,” Jack said.
“Who are you?” Finn demanded.
“Jack Dyson, Sachs Engineering, and think twice before you imply I’m not a patriot.”
“You in charge of these other men?”
“I am,” Perry said. “Your men got less than what they deserve. They acted as criminals; they were treated as criminals.”
“What’s your name?” Finn asked.
Perry told him.
“All right, then, Mr. Sachs, let me explain it this way. You have attacked and injured agents of the United States government. For that you could spend a great deal of time behind electric fences with barbed wire.”
Perry stood firm. “FBI, ATF, and every other alphabet soup agency requires that their agents carry identification. Your men do not. Even the military requires their personnel to show ID.”
“This is a different world now, Mr. Sachs. Things aren’t like they used to be.” Finn held his hand out, and the woman to his right handed him a phone with a thick antenna. He tapped in a number. Perry recognized the satellite phone as being similar to those they had brought. A moment later he said, “This is Finn MacCumhail. I have your man here. I suggest you talk some sense into him.” He handed the phone to Carl.
Carl took it, giving Finn a cold stare. “This is Deputy Carl Sub—”
Perry stood several feet away, but he could hear the voice on the other end. The conversation lasted a mere thirty seconds. Carl handed the phone back to Finn.
Janet looked at him. “Captain Whitaker?”
Carl shook his head. “The sheriff himself. Release the men.”
Janet hesitated, then took a knife from her Sam Browne belt and cut the nylon straps of the three men while Carl removed the metal cuffs from Lloyd. Perry waited for trouble. Lloyd’s face had become a mask of stone; Carl refused to back away.
Finn turned to Perry. “Get off the mountain, Mr. Sachs. Get off now.”
Perry waited until Carl and Janet were in their SUV and his crew in the Hummer before taking the front passenger seat. He was furious and had no place to vent.
It didn’t help when Zeisler said from the backseat, “See, I told you not to come this way.”
Perry said nothing.
Zeisler spoke again. “They’re not following us.”
“So?” Jack said.
“So, my big friend. I know something they don’t.”
Chapter16
1974
Henry decided that there was no easy way to descend treads designed like these. He could think of no reason why
anyone would use such odd dimensions and spacing. Odd as the stairs were, the tunnel through which they ran was stranger still. They all agreed that it was granite, but the smooth surface, the unwavering direction hinted at a construction technique unknown to Henry and the others. The curved walls were not impossible to achieve but required much more time to create, and time was money. Why grind the surface smooth as glass unless it furthered some purpose? Perhaps it did serve a purpose, but Henry couldn’t see it.
Sanders led the group, Nash by his side. Bringing up the rear was the silent McDermott. Henry felt as if he were being herded. He knew it was a shared feeling when Zeisler began to hum “Get Along Little Doggie.” If Sanders or Nash picked up on it, they didn’t let on.
The light that came from nowhere remained without a flicker, but it did change. At one point, Henry stopped and glanced behind the crew. It was dark, the light tapering to black three or four yards behind McDermott. Looking ahead, Henry could see the light extended the same distance in front of them . . . as if they were in a spotlight.
“You noticed that too, eh?” Zeisler commented. “I wondered when someone else would pick up on it.”
“How is this possible?” Henry asked Zeisler. “It’s as if someone is watching us and giving us just the amount of light we need for the moment.”
“It’s not possible. My best guess is that the light doesn’t emanate from a source we’re used to seeing, but that the air itself releases energy. Don’t ask me how. I can give you a dozen reasons why that’s impossible. Still, here we are, bathed in illumination.”
“It’s following us.”
“Do you know how paranoid that sounds?” Zeisler quipped.
“Let me rephrase. It looks like it’s tracking our movement, glowing only where needed.”
“That’s ecologically sensitive,” Cynthia said. “It’s a great way to save energy.”
“That raises another issue,” Zeisler added. “What’s the power source?”
“Let’s do a little experiment,” Henry said. “Hey, Sanders, mind if I try something?”
Sanders and Nash stopped. “What?”
“I want to see how flexible this mysterious light is. Have McDermott stay put. The rest of us will spread out so there’s twenty feet between us. There are six of us, so that will leave five spaces of twenty feet each—a hundred feet.”
“Very well.” Sanders told McDermott to hold his position.
“Okay, everyone, let’s spread out,” Henry said. “Monte, come this way until you’re about seven paces from McDermott. Cynthia, you step off seven paces from Monte, then Zeisler, then Nash, and Sanders. I’ll take point.”
“Why do you get to take point?” Zeisler asked.
“Because it’s my idea, and I’m everyone’s favorite.” Henry gave Zeisler a slap on the arm.
The six spread out in a long chain, and as they did, the blanket of light stretched with them. “Somehow it senses our presence.” Henry thought for a moment. “Nash, let me see that flashlight again.”
“Why? We have plenty of light.”
“Humor me.”
Nash looked at Sanders, who gave a subtle nod. He handed the flashlight to Henry, who unscrewed the bottom and removed the size D batteries. “What are you doing?” Nash asked.
“You’ll see.”
The others gathered close to Henry, and as they did, the patch of light shrank. It gave Henry the chills. He leaned forward and rolled the battery down the stairs. It disappeared into the darkness.
“Amazing,” Zeisler said.
“Henry rolling a battery is amazing?” Cynthia said. “Seems pretty simple to me.”
“You’re missing the point,” Zeisler argued. “We’ve established that the light follows us, expanding and contracting to our position. Henry just proved that it doesn’t follow motion.”
“Which means, it follows what?” Cynthia asked.
“Life,” Henry said. “At first I thought that we were tripping some kind of unseen motion sensors. That would be pretty straightforward. It seems to be more complex than that. Somehow the system—whatever that system is—knows that we are different from an inanimate battery.”
“Pretty impressive, I’d say,” Zeisler remarked. “Got any more bright ideas, Einstein?”
“Yup,” Henry said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Sanders demanded. “I want us to stay together.”
“At some point, chief, you’re going to need to start trusting me. Sit tight.”
“But—”
Henry sprinted into the darkness. He had two concerns. First, that McDermott would shoot him in the back . . . but he doubted the man would do anything so rash. At least Henry hoped so. Second, that he would get his pacing wrong and break an ankle on the oddly spaced treads. Henry’s goal was to plunge into the darkness. He never made it. The faster he moved, the faster the light advanced before him. When he stopped, the light stopped. He jogged back to the others.
“Well?” Sanders said.
“I don’t know how this is done, but I want one in my home.”
“Not likely. If you’re finished, we’ll continue on.” Sanders moved to the front, Nash on his heels.
“Some people just don’t appreciate mystery,” Zeisler said. “That was pretty creative thinking, Sachs.”
“I try to make my mom proud.”
The stairs ended, and Henry couldn’t have been happier. One of the things that kept him going and prevented any complaining was Sanders’s contention that the stairs ran for two miles. Henry couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Two miles later he had been convinced.
At the end of what Cynthia had dubbed “the grand staircase” was another room, identical to the one they had left at the top of the stairs.
“How deep are we?” Grant was breathing hard. “The air seems thick.”
“We’ve traveled just over two miles, but our depth is just over thirty-five hundred feet below the upper chamber.”
“That’s over half a mile,” Grant exclaimed.
“Feels ten times that,” Zeisler said. “My back is killing me.”
“Try not to think about the hike back up.” Cynthia sat on one of the stairs and began to rub her calves.
Henry eyed Sanders and Nash. Both men looked wearied. He turned his attention to McDermott, who seemed unfazed.
“Couldn’t you have just taken pictures and showed those to us?” Zeisler asked.
Sanders nodded. “I could, but you would have missed this.” Sanders turned and walked to the stone wall at the far end of the chamber—and walked through it.
Cynthia released a small scream and shot to her feet, Grant and Zeisler released some very untechnical language, and Henry took a step back.
Sanders’s head reappeared, a wide grin plastered to his face. A moment later, the rest of him materialized.
“You, um, you should go on the road with that trick,” Zeisler said.
“Anyone familiar with holography?” Sanders asked.
“A little,” Grant admitted. “That wall is a hologram?”
“Yes. Fully dimensional and in full, natural color.”
Grant shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’ve heard of holograms,” Cynthia said, “but I don’t know much about them.”
Zeisler cleared his throat. “Holography is a type of picture, but where all photos are two-dimensional, a holograph is three-dimensional. The word comes from the Greek holos, meaning ‘whole,’ and ‘gram’ from graphos, meaning ‘to write or to make a message.’ The theory was worked out by a British physicist named Dennis Gabor in 1947, but the first hologram was produced in the early sixties, so they’ve been around for a decade or so, but . . .”
“But what?” Grant asked.
“Holograms require a laser and film. It’s a way of rendering a three-dimensional image on film. There’s no film here, and the color, the impression of reality is nothing like what we’re looking at. Most experts don’t think t
here will be a full-color hologram until the eighties.”
“Yet,” Grant said, “there it is.”
“It’s a projection,” Sanders explained, “although we can’t find the projector. It seems to operate like the light source.”
Henry stepped to the wall that wasn’t there and studied it. It looked as solid as the walls of the corridor. He placed a finger to the image and felt nothing. No change in temperature, no sense of electricity, no . . . anything. The corridor was puzzling enough, the light was mind boggling, but this was beyond imagination.
“So,” Sanders said. “Are you ready for the really impressive stuff?”
Henry said he was, but he was becoming more uncertain with each minute.
He took a breath and did what his mind said was impossible—he walked through the wall.
For the first time in Henry’s life, he was speechless.
Three miles down the dirt road, the sheriff’s vehicle pulled to the side of the road. Perry watched as Carl Subick slipped from the car. Janet did the same. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”
Jack parked to the side and behind the SUV. “I wanna know what we’re up to. You haven’t uttered a peep since you got back in the car.”
“I was thinking,” Perry said. And trying to regain a little composure.
In the space between the front of the Hummer and the back of Ford, six people held an impromptu meeting.
“I want to thank you again,” Janet said. “I was beginning to lose hope.”
Perry nodded. “Glad to help.”
“I assume you’re headed back to town.” She smiled. “Carl and I would be happy to buy your dinner.”
“Thanks, but we’re not going back to town. We’re staying on the mountain.” Perry waited for the reaction.
“Me, too,” Carl chimed in. “I’m not done here.”
“Are you guys nuts?” Janet snapped. “These bozos don’t play around, and that guy was from Homeland Security. He’s a Fed.”
“Yeah, so he said,” Jack quipped. “I have my doubts.”
