So when Mike landed, he wasn’t expecting a tour and he didn’t get one.
The G-V jet, with window shades covered, rolled to a stop inside a hangar before the door opened and a polite but definite Air Force SP led him across the hangar, down a windowless corridor and up to a security station by an elevator.
“Mr. Jenkins, your badge,” the SP sergeant manning the desk said, nodding. “Please place your hand on the scanner and your eye up to the cup.”
Mike hadn’t used a retinal scanner before but it was pretty straightforward.
“You don’t have a retinal scan,” Mike pointed out as a badge with his picture on it was handed across the desk.
“We do now,” the SP sergeant said. “And your fingerprints. We normally match them, but we didn’t have a comparison set.”
“Don’t let them get out,” Mike said, frowning. “Where?”
“The elevator,” the SP said, waving. “Wait for it, swipe your badge through the reader. It will take you to your floor. Have a nice day, sir.”
Mike got on the elevator unaccompanied and swiped his card. There wasn’t even a readout so he had no idea how many floors he was descending but it was pretty far.
“Deep here,” Pierson said, greeting him with a smile when the elevator door opened.
“And cold, too,” Mike added; the air conditioning had to be set to about sixty.
“It’s for the computers,” Pierson said, waving him into the government-green corridor directly in front of the elevator, which was at junction. There were doors down all the corridors, but they all had electronic locks on them. It looked like something from a nightmare and Mike wondered how many of the workers down here had cracked over the years. “I’m told there are more Crays in this facility than any single facility in the world.”
“I thought NSA had a lock on them,” Mike said, frowning.
“And do you really think they’re in D.C.?”
“You guys look like you’ve been working hard,” Mike said when he entered the conference room. Vanner, Carlson-Smith and Greznya were sitting at the table just about surrounded by paper.
“We have,” Vanner said, crossly. “I thought thirty-six hour days had ended when I got out of the Corps.”
“If you’ve actually been going that long, you need to crap out,” Mike said seriously. “Judgement really starts slipping after thirty or so.”
“We’re about done here,” Vanner said, shrugging. “There are seven Brits in the files, twenty-three Americans of various political grades and the rest are other lads. We’ve broken them down by country and created a special DVD for each country indexed to the files along with a… prospectus of their actions in Rozaje.”
“The big winner numerically appears to be the Nips,” Carlson-Smith said. “No real surprise. But the prime minister is going to be very surprised what his under minister for external security has been getting up to.”
“That’s the guy who more or less runs the JDF, right?” Mike asked, shaking his head. “Okay, if our people are willing to cut you loose, we’ll borrow a secure vault and fly you out to Vegas for a short R and R. Pierson?”
“They need to wait a bit,” the colonel said, frowning. “And I’d suggest a shower and a shave. We’re having some VIP visitors in about a half an hour.”
“Christ,” Vanner said, standing up and stretching his back. “We don’t exactly have a brief set up.”
“Just get cleaned up, Patrick,” Mike said. “And you too, Grenzya. Your clothes are here, right?”
“And your plane,” Pierson pointed out. “And its pilots.”
“I’ll need to keep it here until this stuff is ready to go,” Mike said, shrugging. “Can do?”
“Can do,” Pierson said. “Where’s the index?”
“Here,” Vanner said, sliding it across the table to him. “Tabulated by country, then by name. Each of them has a short synopsis of who they are in the real world and what they did at Rozaje. There’s a pack of DVDs, too…”
“I’ve got it,” Mike said, sitting down. “Colonel, could you find someone to scrounge up the showers and whatnot for these three?”
“There’s a security issue with the Brit data,” Carlson-Smith said, uneasily.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mike said, opening up the thick file folder. “Ah, England, let’s start there…”
“Mr. Carlson-Smith, if you’ll come with me,” Pierson said, smiling. “He does that to get on your nerves, you know,” he added as they entered the corridor.
“And it works,” the MI-6 agent admitted. “I could wish we’d never let that stuff leave jolly old England.”
“The DVDs are in Albania,” Vanner pointed out.
“So you’ve said,” Carlson-Smith replied. “Repeatedly. And how are we going to get our hands on those I’d like to know. Lunari’s a place angels fear to tread.”
“We won’t send angels,” Pierson said, opening up one of the doors with his passcard. “Gentlemen, showers and clean clothes await. Miss, if you’ll accompany me. By the way, the door locks when I close it. Just hit the buzzer when you’re ready to head back. You have about twenty-three minutes.”
Mike looked up as a man in a suit stepped through the door unannounced.
“Who the hell are you?” Mike asked, then stopped and nodded as the President followed the secret service agent into the room. “I must be getting tired, Mr. President.”
“I can understand that, Mike,” the President said, walking over to shake his hand. “I was told some of your intel people, and a Brit, were going to be here.”
“They’ve been on straight ops for the last couple of days, Mr. President,” Mike replied as the President was followed in the room by the national security advisor, the secretary of Defense and a man Mike didn’t recognize.
“Step outside,” the President said to the three secret service agents that had come in the room. “You’re not in on this one.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” the lead agent said, nodding to the other two.
“I thought they were supposed to argue about that sort of thing,” Mike said, smiling and standing up. “And I’m at the head of the table.”
“Sit, Mike,” the President said, collapsing in one of the seats. “We have an hour to do this. I’m on my way to California for a meeting with the governor and to look over the latest damage from an earthquake. Which was fortuitous since it meant I could clear my schedule for this meeting.” He looked up as Colonel Pierson came in trailed by Vanner, Carlson-Smith and Greznya.
“Mr. President,” Mike said, waving at the three. “MI-6 Agent John Carlson-Smith, Patrick Vanner, formerly of the U.S. Marines and NSA, and Greznya Kulcyanov of the Keldara.”
“A pleasure to meet you all,” the President said, standing up to shake their hands. “Mr. Carlson-Smith, I want to assure you that I’ve spoken with the Prime Minister and he and I are in agreement on the way to implementize this situation.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” the MI-6 agent said uneasily.
“I’m John Parais,” the unnamed man said, extending a hand. “undersecretary of defense for intelligence gathering and analysis. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll get you on a secure line to Lord Arnold so he can clear up any questions.”
“Yes, sir,” the MI-6 agent said, apparently relieved that there was another professional in the room.