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If only that were true.

Although it also wasn’t totally false. The opening of the first Rift at Area 51 in 1948 and the “invasion” of Fireflies had caused great concern throughout the highest echelons of the government. Scientists, working on the cutting edge of physics combined with the new field of nuclear power, had opened a Rift, best speculated as a tear in our universe. Fireflies came through, beings of pure energy that took over animate and inanimate objects. Since 1948 there had been twenty-seven recorded openings of Rifts. Each had been shut, and the Fireflies annihilated (along with whatever they possessed), but it was a threat that no one knew the full scope or nature of.

Majestic-12 were the most powerful men in the United States intelligence and military communities. Truman gave them the mandate to bridge the gap between domestic and international security (and into whatever space a Rift consumed), in essence covering what the FBI and CIA couldn’t quite grasp and protecting the world from threats that might be, well, not human. Like Fireflies. Overall, Majestic-12 operations were meant to transcend petty bureaucratic infighting, and even national enmity, and look to the greater good. While the Nightstalkers focused on scientific mishaps, the Cellar was on top of all Majestic-12 groups, because any elite operative or organization can be a double-edged sword.

The secret cops for the secret agencies.

The ones who tracked down and took care of transgressions by highly trained operatives that no normal police force could capture. The specialists who could never see the inside of a courtroom because of the secrets they knew — thus producing stars on the wall at CIA headquarters, those who were now serving in eternal silence.

The Cellar operated outside of most laws because it had been formed directly by presidential decree, which made it legal for the operation to do the illegal.

Wrapping one’s brain around that was difficult, so Hannah Masterson believed in working with a light touch.

Until a sledgehammer was needed.

She had a feeling hammer time was approaching.

Hannah’s phone buzzed. She hit the speaker. “Yes?”

“Ms. Jones for you, ma’am,” said Lois Smith, the ancient secretary who had served Nero for decades and now served Hannah. Smith was no Miss Moneypenny. She was the type of old woman with a graying bun and functional clothes you’d walk by on the street and not give a second thought to. She was efficient and, most importantly, could keep secrets.

“I’m not running a whorehouse, so don’t call me ma’am.”

“That would be madam,” Smith corrected her. It was a game they played every so often, a very subtle way, after years of interaction, of judging the forecast. Today it was stormy, with a chance of a tropical storm blowing in, if not a hurricane.

“Connect me, please,” Hannah said. There was a click, then the secure line was open to the Ranch. “What can I do for you, Ms. Jones?”

“My people just did an operation in Nebraska. A Bent Spear.”

“Summarize, please.”

Ms. Jones did so in three minutes, even more succinct than Moms had been in her office upon returning to the Ranch during debrief.

“And your concerns?” Hannah asked when Ms. Jones came to an end.

“Naturally, my first priority is that a nuclear missile under the control of SAC was targeted at Area 51.”

“That is troubling,” Hannah murmured.

“I have not been able to ascertain what Pinnacle refers to,” Ms. Jones said. “I am also concerned about the weapon being reported as destroyed. Forgotten or lost is one thing. But someone deliberately covered this up.”

“Someone quite a while ago,” Hannah said.

“This incident happened this week. Over the years I have had concerns about the handling of nuclear warheads. There have been too many incidents. Perhaps there are more warheads that are believed dismantled that were never taken to depot?”

Hannah leaned back in her chair and considered that as she hedged on answering. “The impending treaty has everyone on edge.”

“Do you know what Pinnacle is?” Ms. Jones asked.

Hannah closed her eyes. It had just been a matter of time before the Nightstalkers crossed paths with Pinnacle.

“The Cellar has lost four agents investigating Pinnacle over the years,” Hannah replied. “Mr. Nero advised me to leave it alone, but perhaps times have changed.”

There was just the slight hiss of static on the phone as Ms. Jones waited for clarification.

Finally Hannah spoke again. “Pinnacle is a program the military started in the very beginning. Our very beginning, right after World War II. When that first Rift opened and Majestic had to deal with it, and other problems. Some of the men on that committee were military and while they were handpicked by Truman, they still owed allegiance to their services.”

Ms. Jones was quick to the mark. “They didn’t trust we could handle a Rift. So they targeted Area 51 with a nuke.”

“No one knew what a Rift or Firefly was,” Hannah said. “We still don’t. And the unknown frightens people. And frightened people act in irrational ways.”

“The question I have,” Ms. Jones said, “is that the only nuke in Pinnacle?”

“No.”

“How many are targeted at Area 51?”

“We don’t know.”

“And how many more are targeted elsewhere?”

“We don’t know. But Pinnacle is concerned with more than just Area 51. Treaties such as SALT, START, RAD, and others always bothered many in uniform.”

“That is troubling,” Ms. Jones said. “How can my team help?”

“I’ll contact you when needed. Until then, call off your Acmes checking on Pinnacle, please.”

Hannah cut the connection and leaned back in her seat. She felt the buzz. Misanthropes might call it woman’s intuition, but Nero had described it to her and it was not gender specific. It was a sixth sense of information beginning to coalesce into intelligence. The world was full of information; the Internet boiled over with more than any human could ever dream to process even in a thousand lifetimes.

Intelligence was useful information. Hannah had the ability to process large amounts of information from sources, both deliberate and random, and distill out of that quagmire threads to be pursued. Sometimes they led nowhere. But sometimes they led to great unravelings. The fact that Ms. Jones had seen fit to call about this was part of it. But there were rumblings in DC and Hannah paid attention to that.

Hannah knew from Neeley’s report of the package being compromised that someone in the CIA wanted that family dead. They never planned on paying out 25 million to some Pakistani garbageman and, more importantly, they wanted to keep their Zero-Dark-Thirty glory. That was very apparent. It was why she had co-opted the extraction mission rather than let the CIA send in a merk team to be massacred with the resulting bad press. She knew she’d made more enemies over at Langley by doing so, but it was better to know one’s enemies and accept there were no friends.

Hannah had already made some slight nudges, some pebbles thrown into the dark, scummy surface that covered covert operations.

It was going to be interesting to see which of the ripples brought the desired results.

Chapter 6

The scientist held the case containing the hypodermic needle with the same care believers would hold a chalice containing the blood of their Lord. Of course, it was all an act, setting the stage for the big “reveal.” He waited with the impatience of knowledge watching ignorance in action as the contractor poured water into the towel draped over the detainee’s face.

Enhanced interrogation.

The CIA contract thugs had no idea what enhanced was.