“No… this was real. This Grey… it knew things about me that I’ve never told a soul.”
“Let me guess… you’re pregnant.”
Jessica’s eyebrows raised. “How—”
“Please. You’re highly emotional and you threw-up in my apartment. I’m sure they ran blood tests on you after my husband stunned you with his taser.”
“That was Captain LaCombe?”
“Delta Force runs security down here. When they detected you inside the launch area he intervened. He felt bad about tasing you, but he couldn’t let you identify him.” Joyce stepped inside the elevator. “You don’t have to worry. Down here I’m Sheriff Glinda and the Wicked Colonel of the West isn’t welcome.”
Placing her arm around Jessica’s shoulder, she led her off the elevator to a security station resembling a pedestrian version of a toll booth. An office enclosed in bullet-proof glass divided two walkways, the men’s entry on the right, the women’s on the left.
A female guard wearing a black jumpsuit addressed them from inside the women’s area. “Swipe your identity cards and go on through one at a time.”
Joyce nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jessica removed the lanyard from around her neck and slid the card’s magnetic strip along the slot, causing the rotary bar lock before her to open. She walked through, waiting by a door designated “Women” by its stick figure.
Dr. LaCombe passed through security and pushed open the door.
Inside was a well-kept locker room. Bathrooms and showers were to one side, rows of lockers on the other. “Strip down and stow all your belongings in a locker. Then take the key and your I.D. badge and follow me into the showers.”
Jessica selected a locker across from Joyce and removed everything but her I.D. lanyard. Placing the locker key’s elastic band around her left wrist, she grabbed a clean towel from a stack and entered the showers.
Joyce cupped her hand beneath a soap dispenser, the motion detector activating the water pressure. “Lather up from head to toes. We have to pass through a bacteria detector; if you fail you’ll have to repeat it until you get it right.”
Jessica did as she was told. Rinsing the anti-bacteria body wash from her hair, she squeezed out the excess water from her blonde strands and then passed through the bacteria detector without a glitch. Joyce led her into a another locker room equipped with hair dryers and scales. Racks of scrubs and shoes were organized by size.
“Dry your hair, then swipe your card on one of the scales and weigh yourself. Once your birthday suit weight is logged in you can get dressed. Purple scrubs are for guests. You’ll find clean bras and underwear in those drawers.”
“Joyce, do you have to shower every time you enter wherever it is you’re taking me?”
“Yes. It’s for their protection, not ours.”
Their protection? Jessica grabbed a gun-shaped dryer from a wall rack and quickly dried her hair, an uneasy feeling tightening in her gut.
“Stop worrying. I would never endanger you or your baby. By the way, does Adam know?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to him in almost three weeks.”
“Well, I’m sure he could use the good news.”
Adam awoke five minutes before the battery-powered alarm clock went off. The car windows were steamy, his undershirt soaked in sweat. Unlocking the doors, he climbed out of the backseat and looked around.
It was a cool autumn night, the air muggy with humidity. The Walmart lot was empty save for three cars parked close to the entrance. Peeling off his tee-shirt, he tossed it in back and pulled on his gray sweatshirt. Then he climbed in front and started the car, the digital clock above the radio reading 11:32 p.m.
Adam drove through the center square of Cassopolis, only to follow the wrong road to a dead end. Retracing his route, he located the two lane highway that led to the closed gas station.
He parked the car and shut off the engine. Removing one of the powerful flashlights from the plastic Walmart bag, he got out to check the two bay doors and the office. Finding everything locked, he returned to his car and popped open the trunk, locating a tire jack.
Adam walked back to the gas station office. Making sure no one was around, he jammed the flat edge of the tire iron between the door and its frame and popped open the lock.
Entering the dark office, his light revealed bare shelves and a layer of dust that indicated no one had been there for quite a while. Using the tire iron to brush aside cobwebs, he entered the service area, making his way carefully to the last bay where he slid back the bolts on either side of the roll-up door before opening it.
Returning to the car, he organized his supplies. He consumed a bag of trail mix and a bottled water before placing the items Jared had acquired for him inside the backpack, along with the flashlight and bolt cutters. He checked the safety on the 9mm and climbed out of the car, tucking the gun into his waistband; the night vision glasses going around his neck. He removed the bicycle from the trunk and restarted the car, backing the Ford Taurus into the open bay. After rolling down the windows, he powered off the engine and left the keys inside the ashtray. He then sealed the garage door and exited through the office.
Adam surveyed the area using the night vision binoculars. The countryside appeared green in the glasses — the stars, glowing specks in the sky. Satisfied there was no one in sight, he secured the backpack over his shoulders and climbed onto the bike, sliding his left shoe in the peddle strap before pushing off with his right foot, following the deserted country road to the northwest.
He quickly realized his prosthetic was not going to cooperate and was forced to adapt a one-legged spin with his real leg. After a few minutes he found himself winded; after ten he stopped to gauge his bearings again with the night glasses.
He could see the farmhouse half a mile up ahead, a soft glow of light coming from one of the first floor windows.
That’s close enough…
He climbed off the bike and removed the bolt cutters from the backpack. Examining the barbed-wire fence, he selected the nearest wood post and snipped each of the three horizontal lengths of wire. After replacing the tool, he dragged the bike through the opening, laying it flat along the tall grass.
Using the night vision glasses, he headed for the farmhouse.
Orange flames danced around a log in the stone fireplace, the random crackling and popping in contrast to the rock-steady cadence of the ticking grandfather clock.
Air Force counter-intelligence agent Kelly Kishel huddled beneath the down comforter on the dining room floor. From her vantage she had a clear shot at the front door of the farmhouse, as well as most of the first floor windows. The back door, accessible through the kitchen, was her one vulnerable point. To gain entry her target would first have to enter the screened-in porch, its rusted springs alerting her to his presence. Once inside he would still have to pass through the kitchen and into the dining room, again entering her kill zone.
She had arrived at the property shortly after receiving confirmation that Adam Shariak had boarded United Flight 6324 out of Washington, D.C. The farm’s caretakers — both retired field agents — had vacated the black ops location the day before and would not return for seventy-two hours. To their credit, the couple had actually become novice dairy farmers. The sixteen cows they cared for certainly lent to their cover, though the supplemental income was far from necessary with what MAJI was paying them.
The dark screen of Agent Kishel’s laptop suddenly illuminated, revealing an aerial view of the property. Sensors had picked up a break in the security fence along the northwest access road, heat sensors locking on to the intruder as he circled the farmhouse to the north.