Apparently satisfied that nobody was in sight behind them, Berg glanced at the road ahead for a few seconds before turning onto a tightly packed dirt road barely wide enough to accommodate their vehicle. They passed two unmistakably visible signs marking the road as private, each immediately followed by a generous turnaround point burrowed into the forest. Berg had placed a call with his smartphone roughly an hour out of Burlington, as the last vestiges of civilization streamed past their car. He wondered if the entrance to this road had been camouflaged prior to that phone call.
Their car continued down the dark, claustrophobic forest growth until the silver glint of a vehicle caught his eye. He instinctively placed a hand on Berg’s right arm, reaching for the passenger door handle with his other hand.
“No worries. This is our ride to the compound,” Berg said, navigating his car into a tree-covered clearing.
The clearing held a single Yukon SUV, with tinted rear compartment windows. The tinting didn’t allow any light to penetrate the back seats, giving Petrovich an uneasy feeling. He could see two men in the front seats. Berg parked the BMW next to the SUV, and they took a few minutes to organize the material that Petrovich had continued to study in an attempt to avoid conversation with Berg.
“Shall we?” Berg said, opening his car door.
The two men in the SUV joined them in front of Berg’s BMW, exchanging a few words. Berg seemed to know the procedure, handing his keys, phone and GPS unit over to one of the men, who pulled a chip out of the GPS unit and placed it in his front coat pocket. The other items were stuffed in a small black bag, which was placed on the hood of the SUV.
Petrovich studied each man, quickly concluding that they were paramilitary. They moved with a purpose, studying Berg and Petrovich in the careful, detached trademark manner of an ex-special forces operator. Each carried a concealed pistol on their right belt line, tucked just behind the hip and loosely covered by their waist-level windbreakers. By the way their clothing fit, he could tell they were in optimal shape. The only variable Daniel couldn’t determine was their experience level, and in his line of work, this was often the most important variable. He wondered if they were running through the same mental drill, sizing him up and calculating their odds of surviving an encounter.
Daniel’s mind constantly assessed these odds, regardless of the environment. He never stopped identifying potential threats around him. Escape routes appeared to him automatically, and possible courses of action were analyzed like a computer. Even life’s simplest tasks were processed this way. This mindset had been drilled into him by Sanderson’s training program and honed to perfection as an operative in Serbia, where his daily survival often depended on the speed and efficacy of basic decision-making. Experience sharpened this skill to a razor. Without this experience, you were just another fitness buff with weapons and martial arts training. He couldn’t tell if the men in front of him had spent most of their professional careers at Planet Fitness or in Afghanistan. They looked authentic, but looks could be deceiving.
Both men brushed past them and started to search the car. He figured they were looking for any additional GPS units or cell phones that could be used to determine their final destination. Satisfied that the car was clean, the two men returned and asked them to step inside the vehicle.
Daniel opened the door and saw that the window was opaque. A black panel ran from the ceiling to floor and separated the rear compartment from the front seats, completely blocking their view of the front compartment windows. He leaned his head in and confirmed that the rest of the windows were opaque, forming a visionless box to keep the final destination a secret. Karl Berg opened the door on the other side and stepped up on the running board, preparing to enter the SUV.
“Fuck this. I’m not riding in a coffin,” Daniel said.
“It’s non-negotiable, Daniel. If the director came out to visit, he’d be required to follow the same procedure,” Berg said.
“Somehow I really doubt that,” he said, considering his options.
“It is what it is. You either take it or leave it,” Berg said, nestling himself into the far seat.
Daniel looked past the opaque window and caught a glimpse of one of their escorts. He stood with his arms folded at the front of the SUV, staring at Daniel impassively.
“They won’t get in until both of the back doors are closed and locked. They’ll stand around all day,” Berg said.
Daniel hopped into his seat and shut the door, which automatically activated the interior lights. Before either of the front compartment doors opened, he heard his door lock. He shared a look with Berg.
“This facility is our securest for three reasons. Isolation, secrecy and physical security. The detachment assigned to Mountain Glen takes each aspect very seriously. Follow directions, and don’t fuck around up there,” Berg said.
The vehicle jolted forward, pushing Daniel into his seat.
“What makes you think I won’t take this seriously?” Petrovich said, securing his seatbelt.
“I have it on good authority.”
Sixty-four minutes later, the SUV stopped for several seconds and continued. Perimeter fence, Daniel thought. A few minutes after that, the vehicle turned and suddenly halted. The engine stopped running, and the door unlocked.
“We may proceed,” Berg said.
“So much for two hours,” Petrovich said.
“Sanderson told me to shave an hour off the advertised time.”
“Uhhh…I think we stopped in the wrong place,” he called out, opening the door and stepping down onto the packed gravel. He walked briskly past their escorts, who no longer appeared interested in them. “This looks more like a mountain retreat than a maximum security prison for the worst dregs of society.”
“It gets a little complicated when you rank this high on our list of enemies,” Berg said, catching up with him.
Petrovich surveyed the grounds. They had parked in front of a two-story colonial-style home that bristled with antennas and featured a satellite communications dome at the apex of the roof. The house stood in the center of a round clearing the size of three football fields. A natural stream ran through the northern edge of the clearing, visible among the jagged rocks along the water’s edge. A massive post-and-beam lodge dominated the western edge of the clearing, complete with a wide covered porch and Adirondack deck chairs.
Fifty meters to the left of the lodge sat a white, one-story building that looked more utilitarian than luxurious. The squat structure featured two garage bay doors and a crushed gravel driveway leading toward the dirt road they had arrived on. He saw several ATV-sized trails leading in multiple directions from the center of the clearing, but no motorized equipment beyond the SUV that had transported them to the compound.
He raised his view above the tree line to admire the rocky face of a mountain several miles away. Faint traces of snow could still be seen in some of the sheltered crags. Anatoly Reznikov had been delivered to paradise for causing the death of thousands in Russia and selling his designer virus to Al Qaeda. Unbelievable.
Daniel’s gaze returned to the house just as the front door opened. Berg filled him in as they walked over to meet the camp commandant, or whoever had decided to greet them.