She glanced at the helicopter, her ride to the airport. She glanced at the Red Rock building, barely visible through the trees. She remembered the secrets, the violence, the guilt, the regrets, and the cravings for a cigarette.
"I'll think about it."
A pair of eighteen-wheeler tractor trailers pulled out of the dirt parking lot and started down Red Rock mountain. Corporal Sanchez watched them go. The last of dozens of such trucks hauling away every scrap, every piece of equipment, everything that could possibly be salvaged from that high-tech hole in the ground.
Evacuated. Emptied. Abandoned. No matter which word he chose, he approved. With the lower levels collapsed through controlled demolitions and the vault room cemented in, Red Rock became just another office building that no one wanted anymore, although he had heard that some government agency thought the site might make a good job training center or something like that.
Sanchez would never forget his time here, nor would anyone else who served in the Hell Hole. He figured that was a good thing. Such places — such incidents — should not be forgotten.
He wrapped a heavy chain around the handles of the front door and clamped on a thick padlock.
Satisfied everything was locked up tight, Corporal Sanchez turned his back on the place and walked away.