She replied, "They didn’t bring in some IRS agent to handle that investigation. Thom, I’ve worked with a lot of programs with PsyOps. You would be … you would be surprised at what the brass likes to tinker around with."
She let that sink in as they moved to a counter where a coffee machine idled. They each filled a cup with dark black liquid. As they worked to season their java with cream and sugar, Thom spied Roberts walking into the hall. The soldier with the boyish face marched straight for one of the vending machines.
Thom watched in near-disbelief as Roberts pounded coin after coin into the machine, receiving one Twinkie after another in return. The kid practically emptied the machine and left with an armful of the treats.
"Let's sit over there," Liz said, leading him to a remote table on the far end of the room.
"So the Defense Department messes around with mental telepathy and ESP stuff? I suppose you are right; I should not be surprised."
"If you find that a little crazy, wait until you hear what came next."
She glanced around to ensure no one lurked within earshot and then went on, "Get this: they called in a medium to try and contact whatever intelligence was in the quarantine zone. I read the reports — she was some hippie-chick a few years out of college who had made a reputation for herself helping the Philadelphia police and the FBI track down missing kids, buried bodies, stuff like that."
Liz took a sip of coffee, considered, and then managed a much longer drink. Thom waited for her to continue. To him the coffee was more a prop than anything else. He drank it, sure, but out of habit, not desire.
For her part, Liz appeared to struggle with finding the right words and so drank as a stalling tactic. Finally she mustered some resolve and told him, "She came to the base and they took her to the vault door. She spent a few minutes there, then claimed that she could get nothing — no reaction whatsoever. But she requested permission to spend a night on base and they granted her that." Thunder hesitated.
"What is it? What happened?"
She breathed deeply, then plunged on, "The reports are somewhat sketchy and vague. There’s a certain amount of propriety that goes into report writing, you know that. Well our very own Harold Borman was doing all the writing and it seems as if he didn’t want to be too crude about the whole matter, but—"
"Getting shy on me, Colonel? What happened?"
"At first they thought she was just some sort of nympho. Borman caught an entire squad lined up outside her guest quarters waiting their turn. He went ballistic and chased them off. Apparently she came on to Borman, who nearly had her thrown out in the middle of the night. Instead he confined her to quarters. When they came to get her in the morning they found she had broken out. They followed the trail of exhausted soldiers and eventually they found her …"
She took a long drink and swallowed hard.
"Eventually they found her alone in the armory, naked and bleeding — bleeding bad. But she was still going at it — crying while she … crying while she was mutilating herself with a KA-BAR knife. Sexually mutilating herself."
They sat silent while he absorbed the gruesome story. Liz’s hand holding the coffee cup trembled.
He stated the obvious: "Something got in her head."
"Yes. Up until then these influences had just attempted to break quarantine. But in this case they got downright malicious."
"What happened next?"
"We’ll have to go back to my office for the rest of the specifics, but I do know this: I don't think the general gave me all the files. Most of the reports have a sort of rhythm in how they are dated, even the mundane ones. If I were to arrange them like a time line, there'd be at least one folder for every month since the initial incident. Not necessarily gruesome stuff, but at least routine follow-ups, maintenance reports, VIP logs, that type of thing. But I've noticed there are stretches without any information whatsoever. For instance, there were almost daily reports from the containment initiation through July, but then nothing from August."
"You think Borman is holding back on you?"
"That girl — the medium — came on site in late July of '92. The next group of records starts in November, when all the science research teams were transferred out of Red Rock. There is also reference to what must have been a construction project of some sort, down on the lower levels. I don't know what. At that point Borman had been promoted to colonel."
"Talk about rising fast through the ranks," Gant said.
She lightened a little. A smile peeked from the corners of her lips, then was hidden by one last long drink of coffee.
Thom still didn't understand the base, but he began to understand Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder. He realized that she was here, on this assignment, all on her own. She did not know the men of the base, and she was as much in the dark about the why and how of the place as he was. She was also very unsure about something, probably her ability to get a handle on things here.
In short, it seemed to him that she was reaching out for a friend. No, wait, friend would be too strong a word. More like an ally or confidant. Thom had come to know that in the world of black ops, weird science, and the occasional extraterrestrial it paid to have at least one person you could count on. For him, that person was Twiste. Campion too, in a sense, but in more of a "get the mission done" way.
It seemed that Colonel Thunder was alone in the Hell Hole, and given the nature of the place, it appeared she desired a lifeline of some kind.
She said, "I know that Borman had to shoot and kill his second in command as the guy tried to break into the quarantine zone. That incident was followed by a three-month inquiry into the happenings at the base by a special congressional committee. I know that in early 1993 he suggested a plan to put a plane on standby armed with a tactical nuke as a final containment measure."
Gant nearly gasped. "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"His proposal was denied, but if he had had his way there would be a jet fighter sitting on alert with a tac-nuke under its wing with our name on it if the base failed to check in at predetermined intervals."
"Sweet Jesus, are you serious? What the hell is going on here?"
"I don’t know, but you could ask the two visiting scientists who in 1997 made a dash to open the vault door without showing any signs of influence beforehand. Then in 2000 something started banging on the inside of the door, but the knocks did not conform to any prearranged signals, so that door stayed shut nice and tight as per General Borman."
Gant said, "So at some point this changed from trying to figure out what happened in that lab into not letting that door get opened. Sounds to me like someone has a theory about what is down there and they want it to stay down there."
"About twelve years ago, control of the base was handed over to the Energy Department, at least as far as the paperwork goes. I doubt anyone from Energy has ever been here. Hell, they probably don't even know it exists."
Gant said, "Probably had something to do with the budget. The same way we're an opposing force as far as the books are concerned."
"The stories just keep going on and on. Oh yes, I almost forgot, there were seismic readings in ’93 that indicated the operation of underground generators and equipment; then there was the time in 1998 when a squad of soldiers tried to open the door. Borman ended that one by activating nerve gas inside the vestibule, killing four guys, including two who were trying to stop the others."
"He’s got ice in his veins, doesn’t he?" Gant said.
Thunder was on a roll, but her tone remained light — almost joking — despite the fact that her eyes belied a trauma suffered by having read so many tales of horror.