Wet didn’t seem to be an option in this case since destroying the pathogen meant wiping out everyone infected, from the president on down.
Ms. Jones continued. “The missile in Nebraska on your last mission. The ‘Clusterfuck in Nebraska’ as Mister Nada has so elegantly described it…” When Ms. Jones cursed, it didn’t sound like a profanity. Perhaps because English was her second language, perhaps because she didn’t put the proper emotional inflection in it. “It wasn’t a simple oversight that left it there. We believe it was deliberately left in that silo.”
Nada frowned at the we. Ms. Jones never talked in the plural, unless including the team.
“It also had two predetermined targets programmed in its guidance system back in 1962. Actually, it had a primary target before 1962, and then a secondary target was added that year.”
They all waited, then finally Ms. Jones continued.
“One, of course, was Cuba. That was the one added. The primary target was where you are standing.”
Roland looked down, a frown on his forehead. “The Snake?”
“Geez!” Mac exploded.
Roland poked a finger the size of a baton into the smaller man’s chest. “Got you.”
A flash of anger raced across Mac’s face at being suckered by Roland, but he got it under control quickly.
“Who would target Area 51?” Nada asked, shaking his head at the two.
“That does not make sense,” Doc added. “There are nuclear safeguards, a nice way of saying bombs, already in place here. A self-destruct sequence in case of a catastrophic event.”
“Like an uncontrolled Rift,” Kirk added, staring at Doc.
“Yes,” Ms. Jones said, as if they were discussing the weather rather than nuclear weapons. “But that self-destruct is under my control.”
“Fuck me to tears,” Nada said as he realized the implications and Eagle articulated them.
“D-O-D.” Eagle said each letter clearly and with absolute certainty.
“Very astute, Mister Eagle. We have known for a long time that there was an element in the Department of Defense that has been secretly stockpiling nuclear warheads. Whether taking ones slated to be destroyed or acquiring them by other means. The first known incident where we became suspicious was in 1950.”
“The first nuke that went missing in Canada,” Eagle said. “Off that B-36.”
“Correct. Your predecessors, on one of the early teams, jumped into Canada and investigated. They never found a trace of the bomb but they did suspect that someone got there before them. As if the entire thing were planned and someone was waiting for that bomb to be dumped and that plane to go down.”
“Ten more warheads have been lost since then,” Eagle said. “At least that’s the official count.”
“We believe they were not all lost,” Ms. Jones said.
“Are there other missiles in other silos aimed here?” Kirk asked.
“We don’t know,” Ms. Jones said. “We believe there is a central stockpile of most of these warheads.”
“It does not make sense,” Doc said. “That missile was sealed in. It couldn’t have fired.”
“We believe this program, code-named Pinnacle, has been so covered and compartmentalized that they’ve actually lost track of some of their own secrets over the years. Some secrets die with those who hold them tightest.”
That might have sounded crazy to a normal person, but to the Nightstalkers, so immersed in the covert world, it had the perfect ring of logic to it.
“‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead,’” Eagle quoted.
“Didn’t Moms say that?” Roland asked.
“Benjamin Franklin,” Eagle corrected.
Nada, once again, more familiar with Ms. Jones than any of the others, sensed uncertainty on her part. An unwillingness to cut to the chase. “If we’re not joining Moms in DC, and we’re not going to the DORKA facility, can I assume we’re going after this stockpile?”
“You assume correctly.”
“And where, exactly, is it?” Nada asked.
“I don’t know yet. But we’re working on it.”
We again, thought Nada. This was bigger than the Nightstalkers.
Chapter 11
The person who was supposed to find out that information was on board a Nighthawk helicopter, flying around Washington, DC, toward Pennsylvania. Neeley was seated in the back, peering at an iPad screen, scrolling through the scant amount of information Hannah had managed to forward her about Deep Six. An Asset was sitting next to Neeley, pointing at images, diagrams, and maps as they came up. He filled her in on what he knew about Raven Rock, having been stationed there for six years in the signal battalion that manned the main facility.
Where Hannah had found him on such short notice didn’t matter. It was what Hannah did. Hannah had also made sure a duffel bag full of gear was waiting on the floor of the chopper along with the iPad.
The Asset came to a halt as the scrolling did, when they were somewhere over Frederick, Maryland.
“You’ve never been inside Deep Six?” Neeley asked.
“No one I know has been inside their vault door other than the contractors. Those guys are crazy. No one messes with them.” He shook his head. “You’re never going to be able to breach the security at the Rock in the first place.”
“I’m not going to.”
The Asset pointed at the iPad. “I can show you where the ventilation shafts are. You might be able to—”
“Why would I want that information?” Neeley asked as she opened up the duffel bag, revealing all sorts of weapons and war gear.
“To get in. As I said, security is very tight. Lots of armed guards at all the entrances to Raven Rock.” The Asset had seen too many Mission: Impossible movies.
“I’m not worried about getting in the main facility,” Neeley said. “Raven Rock, the overall facility, is run by the Department of Defense, correct?”
The Asset nodded.
“Then I can get in,” Neeley said as she considered the various “covers” she had and which was best to deal with a DOD facility.
“They closed Fort Ritchie,” the Asset said, “which used to be the supervising post for Raven Rock.”
“Who is Deep Six’s higher command?” Neeley asked.
The Asset frowned. “I don’t think Deep Six has a higher command; they definitely didn’t fall under the military. I’m not even sure the CIA has a handle on those people. It’s all foreigners. They never mingled with us. We provided logistic support as required but no one I know ever went inside and I never saw anyone come from DOD or any government agency to check on it.”
Neeley had suspected as much. Deep Six was a top-secret facility inside of a secret facility, and to ensure deniability no one wanted command of it. After Abu Ghraib, no military officer in their right mind would want to be anywhere near this. And the CIA had Guantanamo, which allowed them to do as they pleased in Cuba. But here, on US soil, deniability ruled.
“Deep Six is in what used to be the old reservoir, right?” Neeley said.
The Asset nodded.
“Let me see those schematics again. It’s a prison. It’s designed to keep people from getting out, not getting in.”
Secure in his office, Colonel Johnston watched on screen what had gone from groping to a complete, naked orgy down in the lab.
It was not a pretty sight watching a bunch of scientists go at it with their deepest and darkest fantasies freed of inhibition.
Upton had joined in. Johnston shook his head in disgust. They all had nothing to lose down there. There was a good chance they might get wiped out when whoever was on the other end of the 666 line got here. It was why they all got paid the big bucks.