back and opened the two heavy doors. “Bad news. Safe is open. The Package is gone.”
Moms and the rest of the team other than the two men on security came up. They all went to the rear first, looking in.
“The van
was
locked and secure, right?” Moms asked.
“Correct,” Mac answered.
“Fuck,” Nada said. “Inside job.”
“Rig it for sling load and let’s get it out of here,” Moms said, but she was looking about, into the darkness. Because someone out there had done the impossible.
Five kilometers away, in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains, Burns was watching through a night-vision scope as the team rigged the van to be hauled away. It had gone down exactly as Burns had experienced numerous times in the past as a member of the Nightstalkers.
According to Protocol.
Nada and his Protocols.
Burns nodded.
THE NEXT DAY
In the middle of the southern part of the Bonneville Salt Flats, out of sight of I-80, a convoy of semis and Humvees had circled up. Much like the Donner Party that had crossed this same desert so many years ago. Except the Donners had gotten lost and had to detour to Pilot Peak way off to the north, losing valuable days, resulting in—months later—getting snowed in high in the Sierras. And eating one another.
Nada was in that kind of mood as the Snake came to a hover over the empty space in the center of the circle. Eagle gingerly descended, depositing the sling-loaded van onto the desert floor. Then he sidled the Snake over and set down, opening the back ramp.
They had a few hours before dawn and Ms. Jones wanted this wrapped and brought back to Area 51 before the sun came over the Rockies to the east. Moms had been on the Satcom with Ms. Jones the entire flight and the team had been unusually quiet, the bodies of the Courier and the girl on the deck in the center of the cargo bay. Her ID meant little: a runaway who’d gotten caught up in some bad shit. There was no doubt she’d been the bait, giventhe way the Courier’s pants had been opened. No one had even made a joke about shrinkage, which indicated the seriousness with which they were viewing this breach of security.
“Best they never know,” Mac said suddenly as Eagle cut the engines and they all got to their feet.
Everyone turned to him in surprise, even Moms. Mac pointed at the girl, her face mangled beyond recognition by the two bullets. “Better the family thinks she’s still out there somewhere. Alive. Hope is better than knowing for sure what the parents don’t want to know for sure. Trust me on that.”
Moms nodded. “Ms. Jones says she’ll be taken care of.”
Mac’s face tightened. “I didn’t mean taken care of. I meant no cop with a badge shows up at her parents’ door, some complete stranger, and tells them their daughter’s head has been blown off ’cause some dickhead couldn’t keep his pants on and some other dickhead wanted a hard drive. Best they not know. Sometimes hope is all you got.”
Mac stomped down the ramp into the desert and out beyond the perimeter into the darkness.
Kirk was surprised, because Moms had kept her mike hot during the last part of what Mac said, and everyone heard Ms. Jones reply on the team net. “I understand, Mister Mac. They will never know.” Then Kirk heard the click as the link went back to just Moms and Ms. Jones.
Nada looked down at the bodies as a Support team with two body bags appeared at the bottom of the ramp.
Nada pointed at the Courier: “He forgot why he was here.”
Doctor “never call me
Professor
, I earned my degree” Winslow left his lab on the campus of the University of North Carolina into the darkening evening with the hunched shoulders of a man whose day had been less than fulfilling. He occasionally, but not often, wondered if everyone who worked for him in the lab, from the techs to the various levels of graduate students and postdocs aspiring to his own position, ever noticed his bored resignation.
Physics was a young
Moms and the rest of the team other than the two men on security came up. They all went to the rear first, looking in.
“The van
was
locked and secure, right?” Moms asked.
“Correct,” Mac answered.
“Fuck,” Nada said. “Inside job.”
“Rig it for sling load and let’s get it out of here,” Moms said, but she was looking about, into the darkness. Because someone out there had done the impossible.
Five kilometers away, in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains, Burns was watching through a night-vision scope as the team rigged the van to be hauled away. It had gone down exactly as Burns had experienced numerous times in the past as a member of the Nightstalkers.
According to Protocol.
Nada and his Protocols.
Burns nodded.
THE NEXT DAY
In the middle of the southern part of the Bonneville Salt Flats, out of sight of I-80, a convoy of semis and Humvees had circled up. Much like the Donner Party that had crossed this same desert so many years ago. Except the Donners had gotten lost and had to detour to Pilot Peak way off to the north, losing valuable days, resulting in—months later—getting snowed in high in the Sierras. And eating one another.
Nada was in that kind of mood as the Snake came to a hover over the empty space in the center of the circle. Eagle gingerly descended, depositing the sling-loaded van onto the desert floor. Then he sidled the Snake over and set down, opening the back ramp.
They had a few hours before dawn and Ms. Jones wanted this wrapped and brought back to Area 51 before the sun came over the Rockies to the east. Moms had been on the Satcom with Ms. Jones the entire flight and the team had been unusually quiet, the bodies of the Courier and the girl on the deck in the center of the cargo bay. Her ID meant little: a runaway who’d gotten caught up in some bad shit. There was no doubt she’d been the bait, giventhe way the Courier’s pants had been opened. No one had even made a joke about shrinkage, which indicated the seriousness with which they were viewing this breach of security.
“Best they never know,” Mac said suddenly as Eagle cut the engines and they all got to their feet.
Everyone turned to him in surprise, even Moms. Mac pointed at the girl, her face mangled beyond recognition by the two bullets. “Better the family thinks she’s still out there somewhere. Alive. Hope is better than knowing for sure what the parents don’t want to know for sure. Trust me on that.”
Moms nodded. “Ms. Jones says she’ll be taken care of.”
Mac’s face tightened. “I didn’t mean taken care of. I meant no cop with a badge shows up at her parents’ door, some complete stranger, and tells them their daughter’s head has been blown off ’cause some dickhead couldn’t keep his pants on and some other dickhead wanted a hard drive. Best they not know. Sometimes hope is all you got.”
Mac stomped down the ramp into the desert and out beyond the perimeter into the darkness.
Kirk was surprised, because Moms had kept her mike hot during the last part of what Mac said, and everyone heard Ms. Jones reply on the team net. “I understand, Mister Mac. They will never know.” Then Kirk heard the click as the link went back to just Moms and Ms. Jones.
Nada looked down at the bodies as a Support team with two body bags appeared at the bottom of the ramp.
Nada pointed at the Courier: “He forgot why he was here.”
Doctor “never call me
Professor
, I earned my degree” Winslow left his lab on the campus of the University of North Carolina into the darkening evening with the hunched shoulders of a man whose day had been less than fulfilling. He occasionally, but not often, wondered if everyone who worked for him in the lab, from the techs to the various levels of graduate students and postdocs aspiring to his own position, ever noticed his bored resignation.
Physics was a young
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