Nobody knew who they were or what they did. In fact, he had only even heard the phrase a handful of times. An odd expression, he thought, because some of them were women, but who was he going to ask?
C-17s came and went, and a few very pricey Gulfstreams regularly arrived and departed, but not once did he ever approach them. Not once did he ever smile at them, or wave, or even salute.
No, the men in the mountain were off-limits. His team joked about aliens, and they loved to rib the scientists and engineers about it, but the men in the mountain were far… scarier.
Some of them came via the daily buses, and they never smiled or said hello, or even acknowledged their presence.
For the thousandth time, he wondered about the men in the mountain. He was still thinking about them when his radio crackled to life, and a frantic voice said, “All personnel, all personnel, stand down and return to the CSC.”
“Return to the CSC?” He glanced up at the sky.
Janet flights were a daily occurrence, but what he saw made his jaw drop.
There was an unscheduled Janet flight touching down on the runway. The sight of the 737 wasn’t what spooked him. It was the line of 737s stretching to the horizon, stacked up in the sky like a string of shiny jewels.
Without even realizing it, he brought the Humvee to a stop and watched as the first 737 taxied off the runway, just in time for another to land.
“Oh my God,” he said to himself.
It wasn’t just any Janet flights. It was all of them. All the 737s, as far as he could tell, were landing at the base.
He gaped at the sight. There were more planes than he had realized, then he quickly rethought that. There were more Janet planes than he had ever seen.
“Airman Pendergast,” his radio squawked. “Stand down and return to the CSC.”
The men in the mountain must be having an awful day, and if that’s happening, then…
He punched the gas, and his Humvee took off, its speed belying its size, but one thought rattled around in his head.
A very, very awful day.
“This place is radical,” Dewey said. He stood in the middle of one of the conference rooms, a space forty feet on a side with a domed ceiling thirty feet above them. The walls were a bright ivory, the tables a soft eggshell. Even the chairs were white plastic and chrome. “Where’s my office?”
Eric smiled. After Dewey’s help in locating, and subsequently dismantling, the bombs, he was willing to give the strange man a free pass.
To a point.
Nathan Elliot sat at a table, looking lost. Eric turned to Karen and asked, “Where’s Nancy?”
Karen smiled. “She’s with her mother and Hobert Barnwell. They’re visiting Smith.”
“How is he?”
Karen pursed her lips. “He’s no longer speaking. The docs think he might have suffered a stroke. Or…”
“Or what?” Eric asked.
Karen shrugged. “Barnwell and Oshensker said a lot of mumbo-jumbo. It was basically a miracle that the drugs and brain implant kept him lucid as long as they did,” Karen said. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t anything more than a temporary fix.”
Eric sighed. “So many things have gone wrong.”
Karen frowned but remained silent.
“Nancy seems better,” Eric said.
It was Karen’s turn to sigh. “She’s glad to have her mother.”
“And?”
“She was pretty upset that you trusted John.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“It’s going to make things difficult between the two of you.”
“Dating advice?” Eric asked.
“Come on, Eric. I’ve seen you naked, remember?”
Eric smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. “It’s going to take us a few months to rebuild. Is the secondary medical facility ready?”
“A few more days,” Karen said.
“It can’t be soon enough,” Eric said. “If I have to watch Elliot moping around for another day, I’m going to go crazy.”
“Is the new StrikeForce tech that much of an improvement?”
“He claims it won’t cause the same problems as the nanotech,” Eric said.
“Do you have a candidate?”
Eric nodded. “I’m asking Deion.”
Karen made a choking noise. “Seriously? You think Valerie will allow that?”
“We won’t go forward until we’re sure there won’t be complications. Besides, Deion’s just turned the corner.”
“They knocked out the infections?”
“Yeah,” Eric said. As he spoke, Mark Kelly wheeled into the room and approached them, his wheelchair coming to a stop right in front of him.
“Redman and TM are preparing to leave,” Kelly said. “They’re itching to see Freeman.”
“You’re not going with them?” Eric asked.
“Nah,” Kelly said. “I’m going to go check out this biotech lab.”
The biotech lab, built to Nathan Elliot’s specifications under the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge, was reachable from their new base under the Denver National Airport via an electric tram through a six-mile-long tunnel bored from the bedrock.
“Take Elliot with you,” Eric said. “Maybe sorting out his new equipment while they finish putting the final touches on the place will lift his spirits.”
Kelly smiled and winked. “Roger that, Steeljaw.”
“Where’s Clark?” Eric asked.
“The last time I saw him, he was heading toward the War Room,” Kelly said, as he reversed the wheelchair and turned to Elliot.
Eric watched as they left together, the massive black man and the wheelchair-bound former Delta Operator, then he turned to Karen. “Can you start prepping Lila Cavanaugh?”
“She’s smart. She’ll be a good addition.”
“Just make sure that she stays away from Mr. Green. I’d hate for her to jack him in the jaw.”
“You think?” Karen said with a smile.
“She seems the type.”
“You might be right,” Karen agreed, then turned to collect Dewey.
Eric made his way to the new War Room. It was smaller than the one at Area 51, and it was only partially staffed, but it was operational. He found Clark sitting at the duty station, watching a big-screen monitor. “What’s the status, Todd?”
Clark pointed at the screen showing a live video feed of the now-empty War Room at Area 51. “It hasn’t been touched since we left. It looks like the Air Force isn’t going to investigate.”
“The Gang of Eight is holding up their end of the bargain,” Eric said. “Blow it.”
“Are you sure?” Clark asked. “We could always keep it as a backup.”
“Too risky,” Eric said. “Sooner or later, someone will decide to go poking about and enter the base. We’re not going to let that happen. Blow it.”
“You’re the boss,” Clark said. He punched at the keyboard, and a timer counted down from ten. When it reached zero, there was a flash of light, and then the camera went dark. “It would take them twenty years to dig the rubble out, and there’s a good chance it would collapse on them if they tried.”
Eric nodded at Clark. “Thanks, Todd. I have to leave for a few days and help clear up a few things. You have command of the OTM.”
Eric stood at the foot of Fulton Smith’s bed. With Barnwell’s help, they had moved Smith to the Central West Community assisted living facility. Smith stared at the ceiling without any sign of recognition of the people surrounding him.