by John O'Brien
“I feel like I’m on a never-ending field trip,” Gonzalez comments.
“I keep expecting to bump into a crazy man forever stuck in time,” Greg adds.
“Looked in a mirror lately?” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t quite hear that,” Greg says.
“That’s because I mumbled it,” I reply.
“Care to share that a little louder?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
We reboard the 130 with the aircrews joining us. That surprises me a little, as I expected them to remain with the aircraft. Honestly, I’m not sure how the Organization is able to keep themselves so secret. Yes, top secret shit happens all of the time on bases, some more than others, but people do talk. Maybe that’s why they select bases centered around secrecy, so control towers and such just think that it’s NSA or CIA ops being conducted. I suppose that’s it: They hide behind the fact that a lot of other secret ops are being conducted by those agencies and no one looks beyond the obvious. It’s then that I wonder if I haven’t already seen Organization ops myself, thinking they were something else.
The large props begin to turn, the engines started in sequence. Each one adds to the vibration inside the metal cylinder. Before long, we’re taxing across the ramp and, with the engines taking on a deep, throaty roar, we start down the runway and lift off into an afternoon sky of pale blue.
The land below is varying shades of brown, sharp ridgelines of rock rising above slopes of soil eroded from the mountains. The slopes are smooth like castles built of sand, etched with ravines from runoff. At the bottom of the ridgelines, valleys of sand form in dry lake beds. Some of the ridges are striated in reds, which add a little variety to the all-encompassing brown. Very little green appears, and that only at the top of some of the higher ridges, the sparse vegetation and trees creating a color more like an aging bruise. When viewed as a whole, the terrain looks as if someone wadded a sheet of paper into a ball and then threw it on the floor.
There’s very little conversation on the ride north. Shouting every sentence just isn’t a lot of fun. We could use our implants for communicating without having to yell, but honestly, no one is in the mood. After a couple of hours, we begin a descent into Salt Lake City. To the east, towering peaks, topped year-round in white, rise abruptly and majestically from the dense urban sprawl.
On final, we’re passed by airliners flying approaches to the main runways of the international airport. Although we aren’t packed in like cattle, I envy those passengers their beverage service and relative quiet. Shit, they even get a selection of inflight movies. The only movie I get is watching the expressions crossing Greg’s face and trying to guess his thoughts. So far I’ve come up with that he doesn’t like anchovies on his pizza and is a big fan of ice cream trucks. Oh, and he likes to watch subtitled films. At least, those are the thoughts that pop up when I notice a new expression. Bored much? Of course, it could just be him chewing on the bagged lunch we were given. While amusing at times, even those products of my imagination get old.
We thump down on the runway serving both the civilian flight centers and guard base. I’m really hoping this is our last stop. I’m with Gonzalez—tired of moving around. As we taxi past several KC-135 tankers belonging to the guard unit, my hopes of remaining on the ground are dashed at the sight of three civilian helicopters parked on the end of the ramp.
“Are those for us?” I ask, pointing through the window.
“I’m afraid so,” Lynn asks.
“I suppose this nationwide tour is going to end at some point, right?”
“Last flight, I promise. And you won’t be disappointed,” Lynn answers.
“A massage parlor?”
“No, better,” Lynn responds.
“Hang on, let me go get my penicillin,” I say, having turned on the VOX capability of our comm systems.
“Besides, I’m not sure they’ve found a cure for Greg’s, well, you know,” I continue, pointing at my crotch. “So, he may have to sit this one out.”
Several chuckles resound across the audio as Greg describes in detail where his foot is going to go. I have to say that I’m not a fan of his choice of boot placement or how it’s going to become wedged.
“I’m not sure that’s even possible,” I comment after he finishes his very detailed, precise description.
“You’re about to find out just how possible it is,” Greg replies. “Although I’d hate to ruin a good pair of boots.”
“I think I’m good.”
“It’s nothing like that. But, I do understand how you’d think it was…you know, having to pay being the only way you can attract a woman,” Lynn comments.
And, the ante is upped, I think, hearing the laughs, the “oh mys” and “that’s so trues”
“Touché,” I say, bowing and doffing a pretend cap. “So, no massages. Care to enlighten us where we’re going on our next merry adventure?”
“I know you’re a fan of surprises, so one last time, I’m going to keep it that way,” Lynn replies.
“No, no I’m not,” I say.
“Too bad,” Lynn says with a shrug.
The sun is low on the western horizon, long shadows stretching across the tarmac. Across the field, glints of light appear in the sky for brief moments from arriving and departing airliners. There’s a continual background of noise, punctuated at regular intervals by the roar of jet engines hurtling aircraft at higher speeds down the runways or from the reverse thrust of those slowing.
In a way, it’s like looking through a window to another reality, one that we are far removed from and becoming even more so with each leg of our journey. I feel a melancholy sweep over me that I’ll never be able to live a life like those sitting in the crowded seats. I won’t come home after a day to a warm dinner and laughing at a favorite sitcom, knowing with a degree of certainty what tomorrow will hold. I’ve chosen a different path. I don’t regret the one I’ve picked, but I still feel a certain sadness that I won’t be able to mix with normality.
“It gets to you sometimes, doesn’t it,” I hear Gonzalez say next to me.
“Huh, what’s that?”
“Those other lives…ones that you’ll never be able to live,” she answers.
I say nothing in return, just stare at the aircraft filling the late afternoon sky.
“We’re soldiers and have chosen to live our lives so that they can do that freely,” Gonzalez adds. “We live apart, and most will never truly understand what we do for them. They think we’re just undereducated kids who were forced to do what we do because we had no other choice. Or that some judge forced us to. But, we don’t need that validation. The brothers and sisters at our side are validation enough.”
“No truer words have ever been spoken,” I reply. “There are times when I wish for a life where the only danger is if I’ll make it in time for the game.”
“Kids?”
“Three…two girls and a boy…all teens,” I answer.
“So, this is your vacation, then?”
“You have no idea. But, they’re good kids. And a fuck ton smarter than me,” I state.
“You do know you left that wide open. Good thing Greg isn’t around,” Gonzalez says.
“Yeah, he’d have a field day with that one. So, what’s your story? Why aren’t you over there living a different life?” I ask, pointing toward the travelers.
“Long story. Streets full of gangs and violence. I lost one brother to it and decided I needed to get out of there before I got dragged into it. At first, it was an easy way to save money in order to get my parents and sister out of that shit hole. That’s still a thing, but the Army became so much more—my second family. Then, well, that shit happened and here I am,” Gonzalez tells.
“It looks like the others are ready. Are you coming?” Gonzalez adds.
“Yeah,” I absently respond, still staring at the airport.
I still feel that sadness; there
won’t be a normal for me. When I’m old, I plan on doing a lot of normal. Actually, I don’t plan on doing much at all. Again, I don’t regret my choices, and a deeper part of myself knows that the lives I’m staring at aren’t for me…that I wouldn’t feel satisfaction in such a role. I’ve had a very fortunate life. Turning, I jog over to where the helicopters have started up, ducking my head under the spinning blur of rotors.
The jet engines overhead spool up, the airframe vibrating as the blades outside pick up speed. Lifting us off the tarmac, the rotors beat the air into submission as we gain altitude and turn to the southeast.
As we gain additional altitude, the thick forested mountains rise steeply, sharp ridge lines projecting out from the more central ones. Deep ravines are covered in shadow by the lowering sun, the white on the taller peaks glowing in oranges and reds. Behind, the vast expanse of Salt Lake shimmers in the late day’s rays. The flats of salt surrounding it also shine so that it’s difficult to tell land from water. In the east, over the tops of the peaks of the Continental Divide, the sky is darkening, the first of the stars appearing through the deepening blue. The sun dips below the horizon with a last flare of light, the ice of the mountain peaks glowing as if lit from within; red glowing through a field of blue. The wrinkled landscape as it’s lost to the diminishing light is nothing but majestic, holding a deep power much like what I felt from the gunships in the hangar.
Below, lights move along the mountain passes like a string of torches. Each light holds a set of dreams, goals, a life being lived. Behind each wheel is someone striving to either get ahead or stay there. Driving one vehicle is someone who is deeply saddened about something happening in their lives, another worried about what the future will hold. Others are momentarily joyous at good news or on their way to see loved ones. Yet more are away from their families, which either brings joy or sorrow depending on the circumstances. I’ve always been struck by how a passing car is in my life for only a few seconds, barely noticed if at all, yet each one holds a lifetime that I’m only a momentary blip in. To them, I don’t exist.
The earth continues its spin, the heavens above growing darker and the stars having that sharp twinkling quality only found in the mountains or desert far away from any light sources. Behind us, we leave the glowing metropolises of Salt Lake City and Provo. On the other side of the tall peaks and ridges that rise steeply above those cities is the glow from other towns and resorts. We fly between these, following valleys as we work our way south.
Not quite an hour later, we begin a circling spiral down into a mostly darkened valley where only a couple pinpricks of light show from what looks like a residence. The starlight casts just enough light to see the dark hulks of hillsides rising on all sides. The pilots are flying us in using NVGs; perhaps their landing zone is marked with IR lighting. We settle with a soft bounce of the wheels and wait until the engines and rotors spool down. In the dim lighting, I’m able to make out several SUVs parked nearby, which then take us to the residence I saw while we were coming in.
Exhausted from a long day, I take little note of the plush interior as Lynn shows us to our rooms. I wonder where in the hell we’ve been brought as I lie back on a soft bed. From the size of the place, it seems to be some kind of mountain resort, but I can’t hold onto my thoughts and I sink into a deep sleep.
* * * * * *
Coming to wakefulness after what feels like being in a deep coma, I roll over wanting only to drift back to sleep. The whirlwind tour was a little staggering, as was the amount of resources thrown at a single team. It makes me wonder how many teams the Organization fields. Watching dust motes slowly drift in a beam of sunlight pouring through a window, I’m again struck by how they manage to keep such a large operation hidden. The only way they could do that is to have a limited number of teams, which doesn’t bode well for having a lot of time off. That is, providing we’re called on a lot. I can’t imagine there are that many free-ranging monsters, but then again, with each of us having such different experiences, maybe there are.
Throwing off the down duvet, I sit on the side of the bed, rub the remaining sleep out of my eyes, and wonder what this day holds. I get that showing us instead of telling us what was in store was meant to evoke a sense of grandness—that we’re part of something large and special. Honestly, it felt a little like showing off, but on the other hand, I don’t get a sense that Cyrus or Lynn has the kind of ego that requires that. And again, the scary part of having all of these resources is imagining what is going to be expected of us.
Thinking this is a fancy waystation for us to rest, I shower in the private bathroom and get my pack ready, mentally preparing myself for another long day of surprises. I remember little of the place from when we arrived last night, but I’m a little surprised as I walk down a long hallway and descend the wide central staircase. I had thought it was plusher than it appears. Of course, I was so tired that an outhouse would have seemed like a fancy resort.
The large foyer is decorated nicely, but it’s not the opulence that is my first impression. Rooms extend past wide arches that remind me of the first mansion we visited on the hostage mission. I hear low murmuring voices deeper in the lodge. Carrying my carbine loosely in one hand, I head down a hall toward the sound.
Entering a room, I see the rest of the team and a couple of the aircraft crew sitting around a long table. They’re chatting between bites, which ceases upon my entry as all eyes turn in my direction. I’m standing just inside the doorway, packed and ready to go, and feeling a little foolish as they obviously aren’t.
“Going somewhere?” Lynn asks with a smile.
“Um…I guess not,” I reply.
Gonzalez laughs. “I did the exact same thing.”
Turning around, I see another pack and carbine leaning against the wall. Shrugging off my pack, I add it and my weapon next to hers.
“Grab yourself a plate. We’ll tour the grounds afterward,” Lynn says.
“Are we staying here for the day?” I ask.
“Unless you have somewhere else to go,” Lynn replies.
“No, I’m good.”
We chat while downing food meant to clog arteries until the sound of an arriving helicopter announces the end of breakfast. Journeying outside, we meet Cyrus stepping from a chopper like those we rode in on, along with several other people.
“Ready for your tour?” he announces, shaking our hands.
* * * * * *
The tour is an interesting one. What I took for a manor or resort is actually more of a fortress. The walls are inches-thick concrete, around which the exterior and interiors are built. Steel shutters, designed to look decorative, are at each window and can be closed and sealed from the inside. It is also possible to remove any of the individual slats, again only from the inside, to create firing slots. A second set are bolted on the inside walls of each window to create a second barrier.
A solar farm is located in a field along with a couple of wind turbines. Off to one side is a single runway with several hangars and small aircraft. It looks like a small private airfield with the exception of large and one medium sized hangars, along with a short row of civilian hangars. The larger one can easily fit a 130 while the medium-sized one is meant to store a few helicopters. The row is empty. Even though the runway can support it, we’re told that the 130 hangar will be empty most of the time, as military aircraft suddenly landing and taking off would draw attention to the place. There’s even a large underground fuel depot with piping into the hangars. The helicopters are explained with the rumor that a rich industrialist vacations here and allows family to come and go.
The exterior grounds have an assortment of security systems in place, all linked. High-definition security cameras cover the entire grounds—wide area surveillance thermal cameras coupled with long range thermal imagers, all with night vision capabilities. These provide crystal-clear imaging even in the darkest of nights. Sensors are scattered across the area—magnetic, motion, seismic, active an
d passive infrared, all linked to automated cameras that will move and focus on any triggered sensor. In addition, there is a short-range radar with camouflaged antennas on the surrounding hills. Along with the security features, there are also sectored mine fields that can be armed from a central control room. All of the connections are hard-shielded against EMP and from being cut. The outer fence is designed to look decorative but still perform as a secure buffer. If I was impressed before, I’m doubly so now.
However, the best part is the facility set up underneath the resort. There are conveniences like those topside, such as a large workout room complete with a steam room and sauna, an indoor pool, an entertainment room, a kitchen, sleeping quarters, and bathrooms. None of them are as decorative or as large as the upstairs facilities, but they are functional.
The interesting feature is the secondary command center that mimics the one in the house, an armory that has a variety of personal weaponry, a small ammunition manufacturing facility, and a tunnel leading to a large underground shooting range. All in all, this place is a fortress designed to withstand most attacks. The underground has the feel of an overly large missile launch control center, and I’d bet dollar to donuts that it rests on large springs.
The entire complex is set in a widened part of a long valley nestled between tall ridgelines on both sides. Forested ridges and ravines converge at sharp crests that run for nearly a hundred miles on both sides. A river runs through the middle of the valley, in places rushing over smoothed stones and in others floating gently in deeper pools lined with tall grass. Just south of the complex, the waterway empties into a medium-sized lake and continues flowing on the other side. A light breeze blowing down the valley carries the scent of pine and grassland, reminding me of my youth when I explored the forests of the Northwest.
Topside, the six of us sit down to lunch with Cyrus, the others who arrived with him setting up stations in the control room. Cyrus informs us that a small contingent of security personnel will be arriving within the next few days.
“Okay, this is all fine and I’m impressed, but what are we looking at here? Is this the headquarters for the Organization? I was under the impression that was under Cheyenne Mountain,” I say.
