“Who loves you?” Moms said, and she knew the answer: Her team loved her and she loved her team.
Nada reached up and felt the blue bulb in the ammo pouch on the outside of his gear, where there should be two magazines of bullets. Sometimes rules were made to be broken. “Abort, Moms.”
“Abort,” Moms said into the radio.
CHAPTER 13
Both missiles exploded just above a thousand feet, an expensive fireworks display, lighting up the darkness for a moment, the sound of the explosion rolling across the reservoir.
“FPF, prepare two more missiles,” Moms said, shaking her head, not even sure why she’d given the order to abort. “Same target. Fire if you don’t hear from me in three mikes, over.”
“Roger. Over.”
Moms stepped toward Burns. “What’s going on? And talk quick or else that dam is gone.”
Burns pointed at Scout. “She was the key.” His face flickered and went back to its scarred form. “I think you”—he pointed at Moms—“and you”—he pointed at Neeley—“need to bring your bosses in on this. After all, they helped set it all up.”
Moms stood stock still for a moment and then pointed at Kirk. He quickly accessed both the Ranch and the Cellar. “We’re live with both,” he said. “On speaker.”
“Report.” Ms. Jones’s voice was a rasp.
“Good to hear you again, Ms. Jones,” Burns said. “It’s been a while. And Hannah. I know you’re listening. Good to finally make your acquaintance. Your predecessor, Nero, knew my grandfather.”
“A Nazi,” Hannah said.
“Yes,” Burns confirmed. “And a member of Operation Paperclip, which Mr. Nero had a hand in, which means the Cellar had a hand in. Which then Area 51 had a hand in and led to the birth of the Nightstalkers. It’s all connected.”
Scout spoke up. “Someone want to speak English? Who named the bridge after me?”
Burns laughed. “Out of the mouths of children.”
“I ain’t no child,” Scout protested.
Burns waggled the hard drive that Ivar had given him. “Shall we see the end play?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, going through the entry into the power station.
The rest followed, almost a dance, with weapons pointed at Burns and Ivar and people trying not to cross each other’s line of fire. They shuffled into the control room for the power station.
Burns walked right up to the golden glow and tossed the hard drive into it. It was caught in the field, suspended. A deep golden iris, less than a foot tall, appeared.
“It will take a minute or two or three,” Burns said.
“Two minutes is all you have,” Moms said.
Burns turned to face the team. “You’ve been through this before, haven’t you, Ms. Jones?”
“Yes. At Chernobyl.”
“But it was stopped.” Burns said it as a statement, but Ms. Jones spoke anyway.
“At great cost.”
“And, Hannah,” Burns said, “Nero didn’t leave you many records, did he? He didn’t leave you the Cellar report on what happened at Area 51 for the first Rift, did he?”
“He did not.”
“Greer,” Burns said, and Moms turned to Scout.
“Greer?” Nada repeated. “Really?”
“Really,” Scout said. “What’s your real name?”
“Fred,” Nada said.
“No shit?” Mac exclaimed.
Burns ignored them. “What do you think is going on?” he asked Scout.
“I don’t know,” Scout said, shrugging. “I was wrong about my name. With my mother. Sometimes we’re wrong.”
Burns pointed at Doc. “The demon core. Ever wonder about it?”
“It’s lost,” Doc said.
“It’s not lost,” Ivar said. “It’s the anchor on the other side.” He was nodding, finally understanding. “The first Rift needed it. It went through with most of the scientists. But it’s right on the other side. It’s been what every other Rift has used.”
“Very good,” Burns said. “And how would you feel if a Rift opened in this world and someone sent through a radioactive core?”
“Piss me off,” Roland said.
“Doors work both ways,” Nada said.
“Correct,” Burns said. “But your people opened one at Area 51 and then have been kicking it shut every time.”
“One minute,” Moms said.
“Oh frak,” Kirk said as the iris elongated, becoming twelve feet high by six wide. They could all see figures on the other side.
“They’re only giving you back what you sent to them,” Burns said.
And then Professor Winslow from the University of North Carolina stepped through. Followed by Craegan from Arizona State. Followed by a stream of scientists, all of whom had opened Rifts. As the years of the Rifts went back, it was clear that none of them had aged in the slightest during whatever experience they’d had on the other side. Colonel Thorn came through, the man who’d led the very first Nightstalkers, shutting the very first Rift.
And then the members of Odessa came through, the ones who had opened that very first Rift.
EPILOGUE
Blake was sitting by the pool in the Myrtle Beach complex, no grandkids in tow and studying the young mother across the way. She’d flashed him a look earlier, almost a smile, so he was figuring she’d forgiven him for dumping her kid in the pool. She was rubbing sunscreen on her incredibly long legs and her kid was also nowhere in sight.
An interesting development, he thought. Maybe it was time for that flank maneuver after all?
But before he could initiate the maneuver, the mother stood up and walked around the pool, striding with a purpose. So much purpose that Blake looked over his shoulder to see if there was someone behind him she was going toward. But no, he was the target.
“Here,” she said, holding out an OD Green plastic case about eight inches long by four wide by one thick.
Blake automatically took it.
She walked away and he was so surprised that he didn’t even stare at her ass, instead focusing on the box in his hands. He opened it and there was another encryption device inside, an updated model of the one he’d buried in the cache.
Damn job, Blake thought as he looked at the encryptor.
He looked up, but the woman was gone.
Damn, damn job.
Wallace Cranston hated rehab.
Iris Watkins swiped her credit card through the device and then signed her name, feeling a piece of her security crumble with the signature. A hundred fifty bucks for the baby’s checkup at the pediatrician’s office. Taking her receipt, she swung the halter onto her chest and herded the two oldest toward the door.
An older blonde entering held the door for her and Watkins graced her with a smile.
Then the blonde started following and Watkins slid her free hands into her purse, fingers curling around the mace.
“Iris?” the woman asked.
Watkins turned and faced her. “Yes?”
“My name is Gretchen.” The woman looked at the baby. “He’s got a lot of his father in him.”
Watkins blinked. “What?”
“Your son,” Gretchen said. She reached into her large purse and pulled out a thick envelope. “This is from Mrs. Sanchez.”
“Who?”
“Let’s just say someone who knew your husband and valued his service and his sacrifice to our country.”
Watkins let go of the mace and took the envelope. It wasn’t sealed and she could see a thick wad of bills in it, the end one with Ben Franklin staring out.
“Why?”
“You don’t need that special phone anymore,” Gretchen said. “There’s more money as you need it.”
Iris Watkins stuffed the envelope into her purse and pulled out the phone. She handed it to Gretchen. “All right. No more Loop?”