So here he now sat, back in the pipe, with a wounded McMichael, and he worried the enemy would recognize his ruse and come after them. All communications were down, but his visor displayed the time and temperature. Half the night was gone. They needed to get moving, but looking at McMichael, he realized they couldn’t go anywhere. Not yet.
Chapter Fourteen
MEETING AND MOTIVES
May 9, 00:25 (PDT)
Before passing through the main guard entrance leading into Basu Ranch, Secretary James woke the general. After checking credentials, the guard let them pass without trouble. They continued until they reached the farthest corner of the ranch, where they went through a secondary guard entrance and had their credentials re-confirmed. Next, they turned onto a road leading to the private estate of Mr. Vivek Basu.
The road turned into a driveway fronting a large building. General Story thought it looked more like a low-rise office building than a home. At a tall iron gate, the car stopped. James rolled down his window and placed a palm against a reader, whereupon the barrier retracted.
They drove through the gate and entered a two-story parking garage devoid of cars, save a few modest sedans, and parked in the lower level.
Reluctant to get out of the comfortable seat but glad they’d reached their destination, along with Secretary James, the general exited the vehicle.
James led the way and steered the general into a nearby elevator. Upon entering, the door slid closed, and James stood still, waiting. The general, shaking off the cobwebs from his quick nap, was about to ask which floor when the elevator descended on its own. Interested, the general noted there wasn’t a button for a lower level. With a wry smile, he glanced at James and raised his eyebrows to acknowledge the subterfuge. James smiled back.
A few seconds later, the elevator stopped and the door opened, leading into a small foyer. Still leading the way, James exited followed by the general.
Inside the small room, the general couldn’t tell where to head next as the area lacked any obvious exits. Amused, he asked the secretary, “Where to next, 007?”
James laughed, then turned to his right, strode up to a wall, and placed his hand on the wood paneling. “After I go through, wait a minute, then copy me and place your hand on this wall. When it opens, step through and wait.”
To the general’s amazement, a vertical seam appeared in the wall, widening far enough for the secretary to enter. The general watched as the secretary stepped through, the wall sealing shut behind him. Secret squirrel shit.
After a short wait, the general approached and did as instructed and placed his hand on the wall. Nothing happened. About to step back, the wall retracted as it had for the secretary.
Without waiting, the general stepped through, and the wall hissed closed behind him. Stuck, he found himself in a smaller foyer, trapped. Frustration rising, ready to place his hand on the opposite wall, it retracted.
To his surprise, standing across from him was a rather stern looking blonde woman with hair pulled in a tight bun wearing white pants and a blouse. She beckoned and greeted him. “General Story, I’m Ms. Grant. Glad to meet you, sir. Please come in.”
The general thought the woman looked rather stiff, plain of feature, but she appeared pleasant enough, and her tone was polished. He stepped through the threshold and recognized a high-security room.
Ms. Grant said, “Sir, before entering the SCIF, we need to do a quick inspection and make sure you haven’t any electronics or weapons. Merely a formality. I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Of course,” replied the general.
Ms. Grant produced a plastic tray and pushed it forward. “All metal and electronics, please place them here.”
From his jacket pocket, the general pulled out his cell pad. Out of habit he checked and saw no signal. He remembered James explaining the lack of computer networks on the ranch and sniggered as he placed the device inside the tray. Fishing in his pockets, he pulled out a penknife, along with a set of keys, and dropped those in as well. Then he asked, only half kidding, “What about my belt buckle and shoes?”
Ms. Grant answered, almost bowing, “No, sir, unnecessary.”
“Okay, that’s all I got.”
Ms. Grant smiled, placed the tray on a counter next to a booth behind her, and gestured towards the device. “Please step into the scanner and raise your hands above your head. When you hear a beep, drop your arms and exit the other side. Again, thank you for the patience and understanding.”
The general shook his head but did as instructed. Upon entering the scanner, he spotted a large glass mirror on the far wall. He assumed it was one-way security glass and that someone was observing from the other side. With hands raised, he detected a beep, dropped his arms, and exited. He waited as Ms. Grant, tray in hand, opened a cabinet and placed the general’s items inside.
“Your belongings are safe here and will be returned when you depart.”
The general nodded, ready to get on with it.
Appearing efficient, Ms. Grant walked up to a far wall and placed her hand against it, causing the barrier to slide open. “After you, sir.”
The general stepped through, entering a long hallway painted stark white. Several plush chairs lined both sides of the wall, and in the nearest one, Secretary James sat waiting. Looking up, the skinny man asked, “Good to go?”
General Story, tired, deflated by the day’s events, but determined to learn what lay ahead, gave a curt answer. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”
Ms. Grant replied, “Yes, sir. Please, follow me.”
Secretary James stood and let Ms. Grant pass. The general followed, and in a single file the trio headed down the hallway to meet SALI.
Fucked over and given security detail, Sergeant Raymond Flood stood over two dead bodies. Instead of lounging in bivouac with good company and beer rations in hand, he shivered in the cold, hovering over two stiffs.
“I found them this way. Other than checking for a pulse, I’ve touched nothing. Called for military police right away,” said Captain Eugene Longfellow. As the officer in charge of Mortuary Services, he was a middle-aged career bureaucrat. Soft around the middle, Longfellow continued, “These two bastards were no good. Both were on punishment detail, supposed to be tagging and bagging enemy dead. I sure as hell didn’t trust ’em, so I tried to keep abreast of their whereabouts. At first, I wasn’t too concerned when I tried raising them over the company net and they didn’t respond. Not unusual for those two. But I continued roaming, keeping an eye out, until I came across this. That’s when I called it in, only ten minutes ago.”
Flood bent over the bodies and inspected the grotesque scene. Too dark, he turned on his helmet lamp. It wasn’t pretty. Turning his head to offer different angles and avoid shadows, he determined both victims were facing each other with one body atop the other. The one on top had his throat slit and still clutched a knife in dead white knuckles. Beneath him, the other wore pants pulled down around his ankles. The stiff beneath was a mess as intestines protruded from an obvious knife attack along the left torso. In an outstretched hand, the bottom corpse also held a knife. From Flood’s perspective, it appeared the two guys had fought each other to the death.
Flood stood and turned to the squat mortuary officer. “Captain, sir, I’m not an investigator. The military police are busy dealing with the Mesquite civilian situation and lacked the resources to cover security over the battlefield. So my squad is it. But we lack any formal police training, and this looks like something the MPs should handle.”