BlackStar, page 33
He had been caught up in his own thoughts about the launch. Gimbel was always rambling on about nothing important.
“The people at Trinity. Oppenheimer. It wasn’t him that became the destroyer of worlds. It is us. We have become death, the destroyer of worlds. The atomic bomb is nothing in comparison to the BlackStar,” Gimbel said.
“Perhaps you are right. I prefer to think of it as we have become the protector of our world. Screw the rest of those little green bastards. They come poking around here without permission and we will annihilate those pint size piss-ants,” the general declared smashing his fist into his palm.
How typical, thought Gimbel, the man really was a prima donna.
~~
- ANGIE BECK’S HOUSE –
Angie got up and went into the kitchen. She fumbled around in the kitchen drawer and fished out a piece of paper. She started reliving the conversation over in her head. She wrote; two fingers, zero tolerance, two thirty-five, four, no, six pills, back to work at three now five. She stared at the numbers:
202-354-635. Something was not right. A number was missing. ‘Too me?’ Maybe it was supposed to be 202-352-4635. That had to be it. She grabbed the phone book and looked up the area code for 202. Washington D.C. Lynn was telling her the number for someone in Washington D.C. She looked at the kitchen clock. It was 3:18 a.m. It would only be five or six in Washington. Too early to try and call. At least she could find out who it was.
She started to dial then slammed the phone back down. She would have to get dressed and make the call from someplace else. If the general had her line tapped, he would know in an instant what she was up to.
She quickly dressed, started the car while it was still in the garage with the door down. When she was ready, she backed out of the garage and headed to the Walgreen’s Drug Store. When she got there she pulled up next to the pay phone. Using her calling card she dialed 202-345-2635. The phone rang several times before a grumpy man answered.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Uh. I’m not sure I have the right number. Who am I speaking to?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m calling from Nevada. I was given this number. It concerns Raymond Eller.”
“Who? I don’t know any Raymond Eller. You got the wrong number.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I made a mistake,” she said, trying to apologize.
“You sure the hell did,” he said and hung up.
Now what, Angie thought? She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what Lynn had said. Each time she kept coming up with the same sequence of numbers. Something was missing, but what? Wait a minute, she suddenly thought.
I ate all the pills you gave me. That didn’t make any sense. Lynn wouldn’t talk like that. She wrote the number again: 202-358-4635. That had to be it. Angie quickly dialed the new number hoping she wasn’t about to wake someone else.
“You have reached the Department of Homeland Security. Please listen carefully to the following options,” the annoying voice said. “If you know the parties extension you are trying to reach you can dial it at….”
That was it. Lynn had mentioned that he was from Washington and connected with some agency. This had to be the place. She listened as the directions droned on.
“For further instructions or an emergency please hold for the operator.”
If it was an emergency? Hell, she would be dead by the time they got around to answering her, she thought.
“Department of Homeland Security, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes. I have an emergency. I need to speak to someone from Homeland Security immediately.”
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Nature? I think something terrible is happening at Groom Lake,” she said.
“I’m sorry. Did you say Groom Lake?”
“Yes. Area-51, Groom Lake. In Nevada.”
“Nevada? You will need to contact the local office. If you will hold, I can give you that number,” the operator said.
“No,” Angie yelled but it was too late. She hated these damn systems. Right at this moment she wanted to shoot the dumb bastard that invented it. She redialed and had to wait while it babbled on until the operator came back on the line.
“Department of Homeland Security, how may I direct your call?”
“Look. I just called there. I have an emergency situation. I need to talk to some there in the Washington office. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What is…”
“Goddamn it. Listen to me. This is an emergency. Don’t you get it? That means I don’t have time to be jerked around. I need help right now,” she said, her voice rising higher and higher.
“You don’t have to be rude. If you will just hold I’ll switch you to the duty desk,” the operator said.
“Homeland Security, Duty Officer.”
“Yes. I need help. This is an emergency of the highest nature. Do you know who Raymond Eller is?”
“Mr. Eller? Is this a joke? Mr. Eller was the Director of the agency. He passed away yesterday,” he replied.
“That’s what I am calling about. I know where he is. He is not dead. I need someone that will listen to me,” she said, fighting to keep under control.
“Where are you calling from?”
“What? What does…Nevada, Okay? I work at the government facility at Groom Lake. Mr. Eller is here. Someone has kidnapped him and is holding him. Please. I need to get this to someone that will listen,” she pleaded.
“You’re saying that Mr. Eller is alive and being held in Nevada at some government facility?”
“Yes. Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”
“I see. Why don’t you give me your number and I will have someone contact you,” he said.
“Look you little shit. I’ve had it with you and your system. You get me to your superior or I swear to God, when I am done with you, you will have your shorts in such a knot that you will talk in a high voice for the rest of your life. This is Raymond Eller I talking about,” she yelled into the phone.
She had reached the end. All of the pressure and tension of the last few days came boiling out.
“I’m sorry but the President announced Mr. Eller’s death last evening. I don’t think the President would get something like that wrong. What did you say your name was?”
She sighed, trying to think what to do next. She glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a white Jeep Cherokee come around the back of the drugstore.
“Look. They are coming to get me. Maybe even kill me for what I know. You tell someone that you got this call and you may just end up being a hero. If not, then you are just as much a part of Raymond Eller’s death as they are. He is being held at a place called Beacon, at the south end of the Nellis Gunnery Range complex in Nevada. Do you unde…”
He could hear a noise that sounded like a pop and then the phone drop. The horn of a car was blaring and suddenly it stopped.
“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?”
“Who is this?” a man’s voice said.
“Who is this?”
“Look, whoever you are, this lady escaped from a sanitarium earlier today. We have been looking for her. Whatever wild story she told you, it was just that, a wild story. Sorry for bothering you,” the man said and hung up.
“Hold…” but the line was dead.
Now what the hell? He looked at his watch. He only had twenty-five more minutes on this shift and then he could take off for the weekend. If he said anything he would get sucked into staying longer and filling out an incident report. Crap. The last thing he wanted to do was hang around Washington filling out some paperwork about some nutcase that called in about the dead director. Besides, they would think he was as crazy as she was for writing it up. Still...
~~
- BASE SECURITY AT BECK’S HOUSE –
The two men had lost Angie when she bolted out of the house and took off. Both had just nodded off when her car raced down the street and around the corner.
“Shit. Wake up. Beck just took off,” he passenger yelled, slapping the driver on the shoulder.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Get going. She just turned the corner,” he yelled, pointing down the street. The driver started the car and jammed it into drive and shot off down the street. He skidded around the corner but they couldn’t see her car.
“You were supposed to be watching the damn house,” the driver snapped.
“Up yours. I just nodded off for a second.”
“If we don’t find her, you explain it to the general,” he said turning down a side street.
“Where the hell could she have gone?”
“Head for the main road,” the passenger ordered.
The driver slid around another corner and gunned the engine. He ran a red light and accelerated as fast as the Cherokee could go. They exited the on ramp and sped down the main highway, trying to look in all directions at the same time.
“I don’t see anyone up ahead. Damn it. Where the hell is she?” he said banging his palms against the steering wheel.
“There. At the Walgreen’s,” the passenger said, pointing.
The driver jammed on the breaks and skidded to a grinding halt. He did a U-turn across the median and bounced up on the road heading back toward town. He took the exit and almost hit an oncoming truck as the Jeep fishtailed, the rear end fighting for grip.
“It would be better if you didn’t kill us before we get there,” the passenger said calmly.
The driver ignored the remark. He slowed down when they got to the drugstore, turned off the lights and let the car idle around the corner. They could see she was animated through the back window. The cord of the pay phone was threaded through the window.
The driver of the Jeep gently put on the breaks and the two men got out, ducked down and started toward the car. They were close enough to see her when she looked in the mirror and then turn to look behind the car.
“Run, she saw us.”
They both took off running. The driver could see her yelling into the phone as he raced up to the window. He aimed his gun at her head and pulled the trigger. The side window shattered and blood splattered across the windshield and dash. Her head snapped to the side and she fell forward. The blaring horn shattered the morning air. He reached in, shoved her over and picked up the phone.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
- STRIKE-1 HQ -
The commander walked down the hall to Number One’s quarters and knocked on the door. Miller opened the door and was surprised to see him standing there. The commander had never been to his quarters before. It was usually the other way around. He was usually the one summoned to the commander’s quarters.
“Sorry to barge in on you but I need to talk to you and this is off the record,” he said.
“Sure. Come on in.”
The commander entered and sat down on the ottoman in front of a recliner.
“Can I get you anything? I have Diet Coke and Root Beer.”
The commander laughed, “I could have guessed.”
“What?”
“Nothing. What I am about to ask you goes no further than this room for now. Agreed?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. As you are aware we are asked to take on missions that either the government wants to keep secret or disavow if something goes wrong. We get the jobs that everyone else is smart enough to pass on. What is unusual is that I have been asked to personally direct this next mission. I would never step on someone’s toes without first explaining the situation.”
“I see. So if I read this right, I would not be Number One.”
“Essentially, that is correct. I would fill the number one slot and you would be second in command. I don’t like it especially, but this is what I was asked to do.”
Miller shrugged, “What can I say? I don’t really have a choice do I?”
“Not really. Not this time,” the commander replied.
“Then I guess that is the way it has to be. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Has this anything to do with my performance? If it does, I would rather be left off the mission.”
“Absolutely not. You have to trust me on this. If it was performance related I would be the first to tell you right out. Have you ever seen me pull any punches when it comes to the efficiency of the team?”
“No. It’s just a bit of a letdown.”
“I understand. I would feel exactly the same way and have the same questions as you do. We aren’t very different. You will retain the position of Number One when this mission is over. The only thing different on this mission is that I would like you to be the one to pick the team members. Don’t draw numbers. You select who you want to go along.”
“I’ll take care of it. I can have it to you within the hour if you would like.”
“That would be excellent. We are on a short fuse and as soon as you have them selected, get them to the ready room,” the commander said.
“Will do. And don’t worry, I can handle it.”
“I never doubted it for a second.”
~~
- GROOM LAKE –
The general stood looking at the two security guards. They had just finished telling their story about Angie Beck.
“That was sloppy work and totally unprofessional. I pay you out of special funds, on top of your regular pay, so that you will be the best, and this is what I get? Hell, I could get some dumbass to handle it that way. What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could have seen you. Christ almighty,” he said flopping down on the edge of his desk.
“Sir, it all happened so fast and we couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t try to complete the call. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“Hell, cut the phone line you blockhead. Smash the window and jerk it out of her hand. I know, how about this, the lever to hang up was outside the car window. Why not just cut the connection?”
“We didn’t think of that. All we thought about was stopping her.”
“And you’re sure she never completed dialing?”
“Yes sir.”
“Is he right?” he asked the other guard.
“Yes sir.”
“Gentlemen I am very disappointed in your ability to handle this situation professionally. I want you to take her car over to range 64 and park it with the other cars they use for target practice. Take her body out and bury her in Tikaboo Valley, far away from home plate. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Yes sir, general,” the both said.
“Good. Get out of my sight. I want to know when you finish this task. Report directly back to me, understand?”
“Yes sir.”
The general had to smile. It really didn’t make all that much difference. He was going to have her eliminated when the BlackStar was in orbit and operational anyway so the timing made little difference. The two security men would be shaking in their boots, he thought, as a smile crossed his face. He tweaked a line from Apocalypse Now. God, I love the smell of power in the morning, it smells like victory.
He drove out to S-4 and took the elevator to Level-10. The BlackStar was sitting on a motorized dolly. He found Gimbel hunched over a laptop computer.
“I think we can start loading tomorrow. We will keep the same routine. I’ll have Level-1 cleared and we will take it up at 02:15. We will load it on a truck and take it directly to hanger 18. Only you and your team will be allowed in the hanger until it is loaded and the cargo bay doors are closed,” he told him.
“What if we need some help of some kind?”
“Send for me. I’ll determine the course of action,” the general said.
“Very well. We will finish covering it later this afternoon and have it ready to take to Level-1 at 2:15 a.m.,” Gimbel replied.
He used civilian time just to piss off the general. It was a small victory but gratifying nonetheless.
“Fine. I will see you then. I will be getting some shut-eye if you need me for anything,” Devin said.
Gimbel had been waiting until the last minute to upload the program that would make the BlackStar operational. It was his insurance policy in case the general slipped over the edge. He knew Devin was definitely insane, but having to work with someone like that was the price he was willing to pay for the fame he would soon have.
Like the general, he had a trump card up his sleeve as well. He had embedded a sub file code in the programming that would need a protected password to activate the firing sequence of the BlackStar. If the wrong password was entered, a worm would be released and erase the entire command control. The BlackStar would tumble out of orbit and crash into the earth's atmosphere. He wasn’t about to take a chance on the general’s sanity to keep him alive.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
- GROOM LAKE DESERT –
“I gotta’ go take a leak. You want me to bring you another beer? ”
“Sure. I hope you don’t mean that like it sounded,” he quipped, “And if we have anything to eat, bring that too.”
“I think we have some pretzels but I don’t know how stale they are. They were in the Jeep, open all night.”
“Well, it’s better than nothing. Bring them and I’ll munch on them,” he said, looking through the night vision glasses at Hammer Road.
It was the infamous road where the secret black mailbox was located. He stood leaning against the front of the Jeep. The pay was good but it was damn boring out here night after night with nothing to do but drink beer, watch a few planes land and take off, and sleep.
“Hey, did you fall in back there? How about a beer before I die of thirst,” he said lowering the glasses.
A hand slid up and around his face, yanking his head back as a knife slit his throat, severing his esophagus and vocal cords. He slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The six men emerged from the darkness. They were aware that the security patrols had night vision capabilities but they were the older fourth generation units. Strike-1 had the latest technology, far superior to the older versions. No one needed to say a word; they all knew exactly what to do next.
