Hal was about to turn into his office when a glimmer of sunlight off an approaching motorcade caught his eye. Shiny, black Cadillac Escalades entered the parking lot and pulled up to the red curb, parking in the fire lane. The vehicles each bore two flags on the front — Old Glory and a white flag with a fierce bald eagle gripping a bundle of arrows in one claw and an olive branch in the other. The white flag with the eagle told Hal it was the motorcade of the Vice President of the United States. Hal stopped in the corridor outside his office. Watching the Secret Service escort Vice President Marks to the front door.
Minutes later, Hal was busy at his computer when the VP entourage appeared at his office. Led by Holloman top brass: base Wing Commander Colonel Howell and Major Trest. The entire office stood at attention. The wing commander led the stern-faced Vice President in while Major Trest served as his tour guide. “This is the imagery department, sir, where we analyze reconnaissance and combat imagery from the field.” Vice President Marks looked around the room, nodding as he made eye contact with the imagery specialists. The group made their way to the back, where McCreary stood at attention beside his office. “This is First Lieutenant Warren McCreary,” Trest continued, “who leads the airmen and specialists of the imagery department.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” McCreary said. Shaking the stony hand of the Vice President.
“Please join us,” the Vice President said. “I have some questions about your department.”
“Yes, sir. I’m happy to help however I can.” McCreary and Trest exchanged a brief look. Hal caught it. From their reactions it was obvious this was an unscheduled visit. The entire visit seemed awkward and tense to Hal. Mainly from the anxious demeanor the VP exhibited, but also the way Trest was bending over backward to appease him. Trest didn’t hand-hold anyone.
McCreary gave the VP an informal brief of the various projects his department was currently working on. Ranging from aircraft footage from Afghanistan to reconnaissance and satellite footage of North Korean nuclear facilities. The entourage made a retreat from the far end of the office, back to the entrance. Passing Hal’s desk with Trest and McCreary trailing the group.
The entourage took a right at the corridor, continuing down the hall with the wing commander now guiding the tour. Pointing out the legacy aircraft in the yard like he was giving a tour at Disneyland.
Once out of sight, Hal got up from his desk and left the office. Inconspicuous. Turning the opposite direction down the corridor. On a beeline to the office of Henry Banks.
Uncle Hank’s charm went a long way on the base. His gentle soul brought him cache that could neither be bought nor earned by rank. Henry used it to gain entrance to the security station at Holloman, accompanied by Hal. The two passed rows of Security Force officers’ desks, entering a dark, windowless room. Inside were security monitors covering the entire base. Enough cameras to require two guards stationed around the clock. The disciplined sentries never looked up from their monitors when the visitors entered behind them. Hal and Henry scanned the monitors, looking for the pack of a dozen men and women in the Vice President’s entourage.
Henry gave a subtle nod to Hal. He spotted them on a monitor from a camera aimed at a hangar in Stealth Canyon. Hal read the label on the monitor they were watching — Hanger 302.
The group entered the hangar from the side door. Hal and Henry searched for the corresponding monitor that showed inside the hangar. There were a dozen other hangars, numerically arranged on the bank of monitors. There were interior views of hangars 299, 301 and 303. No Hangar 302. As the entourage disappeared into the hangar, all Hal and Henry could do was wait.
“And this is the base of operations for Project Cloudcroft?” the Vice President asked the wing commander.
“Yes, sir. But as I am not intimately involved in the project, I would direct your questions to Major Trest and First Lieutenant McCreary.”
“Thank you,” the VP said, then nodded to a couple men in dark suits in his entourage. They stepped forward. “These are special agent weapons inspectors. Do you have any objections to them inspecting the hangar?”
“No, sir,” Trest answered.
The two men went to work. One removed a Maglite with an high-intensity beam, scanning the MQ-10S and the floor around it. The other inspector used a flashlight to examine the perimeter, the metal walls of the hangar and the floor.
“Tell me how it works,” the VP said to Trest.
“Sir?”
“The operation. I see the carriage under the Aurora. I’m assuming it carries the stealth drone.”
“That’s right, sir,” Trest said. “The Aurora can maintain high altitude and air speed with the drone attached. To prevent the Aurora from lowering in altitude, which can further expose her, we release the MQ-10S to carry out recon missions.”
“And strike missions,” The VP said. “That’s why she’s dirty, right Major?” Dirty was the Air Force parlance for an aircraft carrying missiles or bombs under the wings. The term rubbed Trest wrong. Not the term itself, but civilian superiors using Air Force jargon. It seemed to give them a sense of false valor as if they were pretending to be airmen. Trest reluctantly replied to the Vice President. “Yes, sir. She does deliver ordinance when called upon.”
The hanger went dark. Freezing the VP in his steps. The crack of light from the hanger door made the Aurora and AOD even more eerie. “We’ll need the lights out for a few minutes,” An inspector’s voice boomed from the far corner of the hangar. They both continued their inspections using black lights. One inspector studied the contours of the Aurora and the surrounding cold concrete floor around it, while the other focused on an area off to the side, where the VR station once lived.
McCreary had an unsettled expression, watching the inspector wave the black light around the corner and over an area of the floor where the box was stationed.
The banks of fluorescent lights came on overhead, slowly brightening to full strength. Both inspectors approached the Vice President and Trest. One writing notes on a tablet device. The other shined a small flashlight on the ground near the feet of the men in the group. “What used to be here? See the difference in color?” The light beam drew out a rectangular path, illuminating a faint line in the concrete that separated a lighter area making up the shape of the box. “It’s about the size of a shipping crate or an RPA ground control station.”
Trest stepped forward to answer. “Yes, sir. There was a crate here for aircraft tools for the Aurora. Specialized tools and diagnostic equipment. We had it here for several months before she was ready for service.”
“Will you provide us with the requisition order and receipts for this diagnostic?” An inspector asked.
“Of course. It will take some time to find it, but I’ll have it sent to your office.”
“Another thing…” The inspector strode to the side of the hangar, where the VR training station used to live. “There appeared to have been some carpeting or mats here. What was it for? And how do you explain the indentations in the floor?” He directed the spotlight beam to divots in the concrete.
“That’s from the pilots,” McCreary spoke up. “They set up a small gym here. Free weights, exercise mats… They had dropped some weights on the concrete before using rubber matting.”