As the rotors slowed the rear doors opened and two men disembarked. The first was a man most likely in his early fifties wearing a loose-fitting light blue sport jacket over a white dress shirt. While he was fairly tall, his shoulder slouched sloppily, giving his clothes the appearance of being one or two sizes too big. He had a thin, drawn face and rough black hair. A cigarette dangled from the edge of his lower lip, seemingly staying in place only by defying the law of gravity, and the man walked with a lazy gait that nearly made Campion question his sobriety.
This first man approached and spoke to the captain with a choppy, Eastern European accent: "Soldier there, go get the case from the helicopter and send them to my quarters inside."
And then he was by, continuing on toward the main facility, apparently regarding Campion as something akin to a doorman.
Fortunately, the second man who emerged from the Sikorsky was Captain — Doctor — Brandon Twiste, wearing his usual green BDUs. He came over to Campion, shook his hand, and said, "Don't let that asshole bother you. That's Vincent Vsalov of Tall Sciences and he is one arrogant prick."
Despite sharing the same rank, Campion addressed Twiste as if he were a superior officer, out of some kind of instinctual respect for an elder.
"Yes, sir. Good to see you again, sir."
"He is right about one thing though. I will need some help with the gear."
They pulled a heavy metal trunk from the helicopter that required each man to grab a handle on the end.
"Where do you want this?"
"Let's take it right in and find a secure area," Twiste answered.
"What is it? It's heavier than it looks."
Twiste told him, "Captain, this is what all the fuss is about. Another present from our friends at The Tall Company."
Major Gant told Roberts — the soldier with the little boy face — and "President" Van Buren, "I will handle things from here, gentlemen. Go get yourself some chow."
The two soldiers nodded and left in the company of two of the base's military policemen, who served as escorts for the team on the lower levels of the complex, particularly when weapons were involved.
Roberts and Van Buren had just delivered the last of team Archangel's gear to an assembly room on sublevel 5, not far from the vault. That gear was laid out on a long table and included rifles, pistols, antipersonnel grenades, and all manner of high-tech gear.
Major Gant stared at the collection and shook his head. A voice from behind put words to his thoughts: "Kind of crazy, isn't it?"
He turned around and saw Brandon Twiste standing at the door. A shiny new "Red Rock Mountain Research Facility" security ID tag hung from a lanyard around his neck.
Gant grinned a little and replied, "I have yet to go on an Archangel assignment that was not at least a little bit crazy. That seems to be a part of our mission parameters."
"Not like this." Twiste wandered into the room and looked over the gear. "A little something for every occasion — that's what bothers you, isn't it?"
"I see you still think you can read my mind," Gant said and then squinted and eyed Twiste's hair. "It also appears you have added more gray to your collection."
"Spending two days with The Tall Company will do that."
Twiste circled the table, looking over the collection of weapons and high-tech gizmos. He reached out and touched one particularly nasty-looking piece.
"Jesus, Thom, this thing is a little old, don't you think?"
"A flamethrower," Gant identified the weapon. "Vietnam era, actually."
"I thought we got all the good gear."
"I am sorry but did you not get the memo? The United States banned flamethrowers over thirty years ago. Finding one in working condition was quite a challenge."
Twiste said, "Like I was saying, a little bit of everything, and that's the type of thing that drives you batty." He stopped, considered, and added, "Hell, if it drives you batty it probably is making Campion climb the walls."
"All right, all right," Gant waved his hand as if trying to dissipate something in the air. "Enough of the awkward small talk. It does not fit you, my friend. It is nice to have my science officer back, but it is a lot more important to have you back. So stop all this dancing around and tell me what they had you doing at Tall."
Twiste chuckled and the atmosphere relaxed. He walked around the table and extended his hand, and Gant gave it a good shake.
"I guess they tried to make me just another cog in the machine," he said. "Something like you, I think."
"I quite doubt that is possible. By the way, welcome to Hell Hole."
"Yes, I heard that." Twiste gently slid aside a shotgun and rested his butt on the edge of the table. "Nice place, as far as circa 1975 underground bunkers go. At least Darwin has all the modern amenities."
"So tell me, what kind of fun was to be had at Moreno Valley?"
"Well, first of all, this whole experience just confirms my belief that our bosses don't have a clue. I'm a doctor — a physician and a biologist — yet I find myself over at Tall Sciences getting trained on a device that is so far out of my league it might as well have come from Mars."
"Let me guess," Gant led. "Something to do with quantum mechanics?"
Twiste cocked his head back as if slapped.
Gant said, "I am glad to see I can still surprise you now and then."
"Well then let me tell you, it seems you're already as knowledgeable on all this as I am. Maybe you should operate the thing."
"What thing?"
"This machine I just spent hours and hours learning how to operate. Wait, that's not exactly right. I know what buttons to push and how to set it up, but I don't have a damn clue how it does what it does. Like I said, I am most definitely the wrong science guy for this job."
"I think someone upstairs appreciates your intelligence, doctor."
Twiste moved off the table and stood close to Gant. His voice dropped and his eyes lost any sign of levity.
"No, Thom. Listen to me. You're in the military; you're a soldier. But you're not a pilot so you wouldn't think the Pentagon would put you in an F-14 and send you off to bomb a terrorist camp, now would you?"
Major Gant shook his head no.
"So that's my point. I may be your science officer, but I'm here because I'm a doctor and I understand biology. Like that thing in the Everglades a few days ago. I have a background and knowledge base that allows me to deal with living things and understand them; even develop things like that Net Taser to help capture our visitor. But this is different. It's like, well, it's like they wanted someone smart to learn enough about the machine to get it to work, but also someone who doesn't know enough about all this physics shit to figure out the details."
Gant did not know what to say, but it did not matter; a quick knock on the door drew his attention. Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder stood there.
"Thom, sorry to bother you, but General Borman is upstairs. He wants to see us right away." The glare in her eyes told the rest of the story.
No, Borman is not happy at all about yesterday's field trip.
Thunder glanced at Twiste.
Gant interceded. "I'm sorry. Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder, this is Captain Brandon Twiste, my team's science and medical officer."
She offered a quick, polite smile and extended her hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain."
Twiste's reaction, however, was much different than expected. He accepted the colonel's handshake but did not share the polite smile. Furthermore, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted just a bit.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, do I know you? I'm certain I've heard your name before."
Gant offered, "Not many Thunders in the military, I would imagine."
His light tone did not lighten the exchange.