The Blackhawks descended on the west side of Cheyenne Mountain, the opposite side from the well-known entrance to the underground complex that used to be called NORAD and now housed Space Command. Lieutenant Jackson watched as sheer rock walls-spurs from the mountain’s side-slid by on either side of the helicopter.
An infrared strobe light flickered below, the intermittent glow visible in the pilot’s night vision goggles. A thirty-meter-wide expanse of smooth rock was nestled between the two spurs. Gently they touched down the sling load, punched the release, and then moved over and landed the chopper. Jackson slid the door open and hopped out. The landing zone was just big enough to handle the load and the helicopter, surrounded on two sides with rock. The open side led to a precipitous drop, as they were about a third of the way up the slope of Cheyenne Mountain. On the fourth, mountain, side, a pair of large doors were swung wide open.
“We need to go back for the sergeant major.” Barnes had hold of Jackson ’s elbow and was pointing back toward the chopper.
Jackson had thought about it on the forty-minute ride here. “We have to get the iso-tubes stabilized first.”
The first Blackhawk was lifting, leaving room for the second one to deposit its load. Jackson waited until the man with the strobe light succeeded in guiding the helicopter to the correct spot and it lifted off, before going over to him.
The stranger was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket over a T-shirt. He clicked off the strobe and stuck it in his pocket before extending his hand in greeting. “You must be Lieutenant Jackson.”
“Yes. And you are?”
The man appeared to be in his mid-forties, with thinning dark hair. His face was thin and he looked tired. “You can call me Mentor.”
He looked past her at the two sling loads. “We need to get those inside. One of the Blackhawks is going back to Fort Carson. The other will land here as soon as we clear the LZ.” He turned toward a flatbed electric truck. “You can load that and we’ll take it in.”
They quickly loaded four of the iso-tubes and gear on the bed, working in silence and as quickly as safety allowed.
“Get on,” Mentor told them. With just a slight hum the truck headed for the dark opening. “Welcome to the Ranch.”
“ ‘The Ranch?” Jackson asked.
“No time for explanations now. All in due time.”
They entered the tunnel and he stopped. The doors swung shut on large hydraulic arms. Only then did red lights come, illuminating the interior without destroying their night vision. Mentor drove them down the tunnel.
McFairn’s desk was covered with paper. Reports from the Pentagon, intercepted messages, analysis summaries-all the result of what had happened so far.
There was good news and there was bad news, which seemed to be the way it always was. The hostages were all dead, but the rescue team from the Roosevelt had not suffered the same fate and had wiped out the cartel members guarding the villa. Communication with Bright Gate had been lost. The Ring was capable of retransmitting an Aura burst via satellite, but the satellite had been destroyed.
She reached for The Art of War, to search for a passage to give her soul peace, when her secure private line rang.
“Yes?”
“I need the unlock code for the MILSTAR retransmitters.”
McFairn rubbed her hand across her eyes as she listened to Boreas’s words. Nothing about the death of the hostages, the loss of the Bright Gate team, or the loss of Sybyl and the isolation tubes. Or the Nexus murders.
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
“ ‘Won’t’ is simply an unwise decision,” Boreas said. “ ‘Can’t’ indicates a lack of effort.”
“Eichen had Space Command place that code in the Defcon Four package,” McFairn explained. “That means the only way it can be accessed is if the President alerts the military to Defcon Four, which is our highest alert standing. That has only happened twice before in the entire history of our country.”
“I’m not asking you to get the President to go to Defcon Four,” Boreas said. “I just want the code. You’re in charge of the most powerful intelligence-gathering machine in the world. Surely you can get a code tucked away in a computer somewhere.”
“You don’t understand,” McFairn said. “Space Command’s computers are the most secure in the world, because they control both the communications nodes and authorizations for the use of nuclear weapons. It’s an entirely separate system that the NSA helped establish.”
“Then you can get into it.”
“No, I can’t. When we set it up, we made it tamper-proof even from us. After all,” she added, “we never saw that there would be a need for the NSA to break into Space Command’s computer.”
“I’m very disappointed in your attitude,” Boreas said. “I recommend you spend this evening thinking of a way to get the code. You don’t have much time. I don’t think I need to tell you that the results will be most dire if you don’t comply.”
Dalton had never been so grateful to see the stars. Hammond and he were on a small ledge, about two thirds of the way up the side of the Mount of the Holy Cross. He was missing his eyebrows, which had been singed off by the explosion, but he was otherwise unhurt. He pulled the SATPhone out and flipped it open, punching in one.
After the third buzz, it was answered.
“Yes?”
“ Mentor?”
“Of course. Where are you? I have some people here who are most concerned about your welfare.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Right. I can feel it.”
“There’s no time for this. Where are you?”
Dalton gave Mentor his location.
“We’ll be wheels up in five minutes,” Mentor said, closing out the conversation.
Hammond, meanwhile, was sitting with her back to the mountain. Her eyes had the “thousand-yard stare” Dalton had seen before, a precursor to going into shock. The diesel fumes combined with the surprise of the sudden assault and the subsequent explosion had taken its toll. He knelt down next to her and took her hands. They were ice-cold.
“You’ve got to hang in there,” Dalton said. “The helicopter will be on its way soon.”
“They just killed my people,” Hammond said. “Gunned them down like animals. Then they destroyed it.”
“I know,” Dalton said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He took off his fatigue shirt and draped it over her shoulders. He started talking, telling her about some of the places he’d been, trying to draw her mind away from what she had just experienced.
19
Captain Lonsky turned on the light above his bunk and squinted, trying to make sense of the message Zenata had just woken him to read. He could feel the vibration of the Gagarins engines through the floor plates.
“Your glasses,” Zenata reminded him.
He groped on the small shelf next to his bunk and retrieved his reading glasses, slipping them on.
“I have received a set of instructions,” Zenata said.
“Reference?”
“Changing the antenna dish arrays. Modifying them. I’ve already got my people working on it.”
“What kind of modifications?”
“Rather interesting,” Zenata said. “Adapting the two main dishes to transmit on different bandwidths at very high power.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” Lonsky yawned. “There is no one listening on those bandwidths.”