by Lin Larson
Driving through the second guard station, Sam could feel Eon’s tension building.
“Relax, Captain,” Sam said warmly.
“I’m trying,” Eon answered tightly.
“Sam pulled the black sedan into a parking space near a crop of metal barracks. He glanced around at the sleek and deadly missile silos in the distance. He had to admit that he felt a bit nervous. He forced his body to stay calm. Once done, Sam climbed out with authority. He noted the captain’s heavy winter topcoat in the back seat and carefully slipped it over it over his arm with the concealed rifle.
“Remember where we parked, Eon, in case we get separated. I’ll put this key under the mat by the back seat. Now it’s time to do this. Let’s go.”
The men walked side by side in a direct vector towards the silos. They entered an adjacent structure and asked for a night maintenance director. Sam and Eon silently followed their guide to a small room with a pulsating computer.
“Mister?” Sam said gruffly.
Maddox, sir. What can I do for you? I’m coordinating a shift change right now. I can talk with you in a minute.”
“Certainly. May I study a map of the complex in the meantime? I’m doing a readiness check for President Quint’s arrival tomorrow.
“I thought it was to be an unplanned secret?”
“It’s a secret, but nothing is unplanned, Mister. The maps, now!” Sam barked.
“Yes, General. I apologize for my dalliance.”
“Apology accepted.” Sam answered sharply and sat stiffly in a chair. He was ready to be served with the maps.
The Lieutenant pulled the book of maps on the complex and spread it before Sam. “I’ll leave you alone now, sir. If you have any questions, I shall be happy to assist upon my return.” The flustered young man delivered his salute and bolted out the door.
Sam grinned at Eon. “I think I’m getting the hang of this General act.”
“Most definitely, sir. You even had me cowering in supplication,” said Eon in amazement.
General and Captain poured over the maps and memorized the details as quickly as possible. They knew that they should be gone when the Lieutenant returned. Sam tore out one page and jammed it in his pocket. The two carefully restored the large book to its place and slipped out of the office and into the core of the military complex. They had the knowledge now. They just needed to use it.
#
The night personnel passed the rumpled General and Captain with nary a thought amiss. Salutations were crisply exchanged, and the men walked on.
Their first aim was locating a weapon storage locker.’
“Mister.” Eon cleared his throat. “The General needs to do a hands on inspection of your facility. Ready yourself to lead and explain.” Eon was beginning to relish his role as Captain.
“Yes, General.” The young man snapped back and opened the doors to his armament stash. General Sam passed his coat to his Captain Eon. The guard, with General Sam beside him, proudly explained the contents of the room. Sam carefully examined the instruments of death. Behind them, Eon hovered and silently lifted grenades and a machine gun with bullets and hid them into pockets and under the General’s coat. As the tour ended, General caught his Captain Eon’s nod, and they concluded the inspection.
Sam saluted and gruffly said, “Thank you, Mister. Well done. We’ll move to the next station.”
The guard saluted smartly as the General swiftly left the room. Sam and Eon then turned from the corridor and sagged in relief.
“Now what?” Eon said softly.
“The maintenance shafts; it worked last time.
“What last time?” said Eon.
“Later,” Sam said. It would take too long to explain. Sam felt a dreaded deja vu. He thought of Caroline beside him as they had tried to get out of the hospital. The memory left a gaping, agonizing emptiness in his gut. It hurt desperately.
They scanned up and down the walls and frantically jumped from corridor to corridor, looking for an entrance to the ducts.
“It’s got to be here. There.” said Sam as he saw the duck entrance cover. “Good, it’s big enough for us, I think.”
They pried off the shaft cover. Eon could just barely stuff his huge body through the passageway. Sam handed up the guns and Eon pulled Sam up also. Sam pulled in his legs and yanked up the grate, just as footsteps echoed in the halls. They waited silently.
Sam’s hands shook as he unwrapped the technical diagram map from his pocket. Eon squeezed closer to the drawing. “Is it a drawing of the shafts?” he whispered.
“I think so.” Sam softly answered. “We seem to be… here. The Presidential shelter with NORAD connections are south. We can make our way to the shelter. Then we’ll try to sabotage the computer relays to the missiles and/or kidnap the President at the broadcast and communicate to the networks. I don’t know if we can manage it all.” Sam sat back against the cool metal walls.
“It all sounds so incredible, just sabotage and kidnap. What if they don’t believe us on the broadcast?” Eon asked.
“They’ll have to… God, it does sound hopeless.” Sam suddenly felt defeat.
“Hey buddy, I was always the doubting Charlie. You’re the rock. Remember that, and don’t give up, Sam. We got this far; we’ve got to succeed.”
Sam passed his hand over his shaggy hair and threw back his head. “How can anyone believe I’m a General? Look at me. I’m a mess.”
“You had me convinced so far. Believe me. You were great. It was quite an award winning performance. Plus, you’ve lost everything. What else can they take? Well, except maybe your life and mine.”
“An interesting argument. Thanks, Eon,” Sam sighed and took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ve got time to disable the computer as a precaution, and then we hide until Quint gets here and shows his true colors. This way.”
The men crawled through the conduits and under the semi-red work lights. The red gave their faces an inhuman glow, which added to the nightmare sensations building within them.
“Wish we had knee pads, Eon whispered as he paused to rub his aching extremities.
Sam silently nodded. The shafts seemed to unfurled a dizzying array of tunnels which battered and confused them at times, as they tried to increase their pace.
Finally reaching their destinations, they eased their aching bodies out of their frustrating confinement and into the corridor. They had reached the shelter, but stared in discouragement at the door. It bore a computer coded release mechanism.
“Damn!” Sam whispered. “Computer Whiz, can you decode it?”
“I’m a physicist, remember? But, I am terribly bright,” Eon grinned. “I can try.”
They heard a sound. “Back in the shaft quickly, Sam said hurriedly.
Eon made it on time. Sam did not. He knew he was too late. He shoved back the tunnel cover.
“General we meet again.” A voice said crisply.
Sam whipped around. He knew that voice. “Jensen,” Sam said with repulsion.
“I’m honored, Mr. Stone, that you remembered me.” Silas Jensen laughed harshly. “You got pretty far.” Jensen looked at his guards. “Take him.”
Sam was suddenly surrounded by bulging muscles in grey suits. His arms were yanked back violently, and his head was pinned against a huge chest.
“Your fan club is getting ugly,” Sam grunted through gritted teeth. “What happened to your white-collar thugs? These guys look like stupid weasels. The suits don’t help.” Sam tried to jerk away but was held fast. “I’ll kill you, you know, you scum.”
Jensen roared with insane laughter. “You are just an annoying little ant, who I could crush right now by smashing your skull, but I’ll wait. I want more time to tear your body apart. Now I have preparations for a President to attend to. Take him to room 7.” Jensen waved his arm, and Sam was dragged away.
Jensen surveyed the empty hallway. He glanced at the door and pushed the code. He leaned into the massive cement portal door and stepped
into the shelter room. Seemingly satisfied, he stepped back out and heaved the cement door closed. Jensen strolled back down the hallway, and stopped at the end. He patted down his long greying hair, and then turned down the corridor.
Eon had watched Sam’s capture in terrified despair. He panicked for a minute, then he calmed. Jensen was out of sight. Eon ran the code numbers through in his mind. He felt that he knew them. It was up to him to finish Sam’s mission. He owed him that.
Eon Gustafson slowly pulled his bulk from the tunnel and stood tall. He reached for the computer relay and pushed the sequence of numbers and waited… Nothing! He’d made a mistake. His hands were sweating now. He had to try again and again. Oh God, it wasn’t opening! Once more and again. Suddenly he heard something. A click. That was it! He pushed hard and the door budged open.
The room was like a darkened cell. He felt for a switch. He pushed a button. The room suddenly became bathed in a garish yellow haze. Eon’s eyes swept the room. It was like a tomb. He wondered why the humans who push the annihilation button and launch the fatal bombs should survive, while the innocent ones die horribly. By what right was that justice? And especially if those humans, that lived, were Quint and Jenkins.
Eon paced the room slowly. NORAD computers and vision screens lined the one wall; the other contained shelves of equipment for survival. A small side room swelled with crates of food and water. Pull-down cots and tables lined two walls. A mural of snow-capped mountains and lush green forest covered another wall. Eon stared. It was probably there to maintain sanity from the isolation. A large military clock peeked out at the side of the painting. Was it a reminder of human’s mortality? He felt sudden revulsion for this room and all it meant. He totally hated it.
Eon turned to the computers and opened its bowels. He would need more light. He searched, found a flashlight, and balanced the torch as he lay on the hard floor. He snorted at the lack of carpet and other amenities, and then turned back to the intricacies of the monster machine. Was he knowledgeable enough on computer dynamics? He began to finally just snap the wires in frustration. There was not enough time for him to become an expert. Eon snatched a look at the ticking clock. He’d have to leave. He’d been here too long.
Returning the panels over the scramble of wires was simple. Undoing his destruction of the massive computer would not be. Eon smiled in satisfaction. The missiles would either backfire or fail to launch. He felt great with either alternative.
Eon closed down the lights and tugged the huge door closed. He returned to his overhead cave of tunnels, pulled up the maintenance cover, and peered out through the slits in the grate. The deserted hallway seemed to look back, unaware of its previous intruder. It was as if Eon had never been there, but he had.
Now, where was room 7?
CHAPTER 39
“Do you know why you are here, Mr. Stone?”
‘No,” Sam mumbled groggily, “but I’m sure you’ll tell me.” Sam felt like he was spinning. They had beaten him severely. “Why don’t you just kill me?”
Jensen smiled smugly. “You’re my trump card, in case it all falls apart. I doubt it shall. In either case, we will eliminate you, sooner or later. I wouldn’t make any plans, if I were you. This may seem like a broken record, but where are the diaries?”
“You mean you still can’t find them?” Sam chuckled weakly. “You bastard.”
Suddenly Sam felt a bullet rip into his thigh. He wrenched back with the force of the close range impact. Pain shot through his body.
“I repeat, where are the diaries?”
Another shot rang out its deafening sound and shook the air. This time a deadly bullet exploded in Sam’s shoulder, and he gasped in shock. He twisted in the chair and slumped.
“You noticed that I haven’t killed you yet. Are you ready for number three? Where are the diaries?” Jensen yanked Sam’s head up and glared into his eyes. “You see why I chose this room? No one will hear the shots. I can blow you to pieces.” He began screaming. “Perhaps I have no need for a trump card, you!”
“Go to hell,” Sam mumbled, as another shot rang out. Sam braced for the lance of pain, but there was none.
The room exploded with machine gun fire. Men scattered and scrambled for the door. Bullets crashed into the walls and ceiling. Sam watched the madness through glazed eyes and disbelief. It seemed a macabre dance of death. Then the air became still. A large form loomed into Sam’s blurred vision. He tried unsuccessfully to make it out and understand.
“Jensen?” He whispered in fear.
“No,” a voice said shakily, “he’s gone. He and his groupies have run like fat rabbits. It was pretty scary, however.”
“Who are you?”
The body knelt beside Sam. “It’s me, Eon, Sam. You look a lot worse than before, and I didn’t think that was possible. I’m untying you. Lean on me; we are going back into the shafts. Hold this on your leg while I make a tourniquet from my belt. You are dripping a trail.” Eon pulled the belt tight around the leg.
Sam groaned.
“Okay, now get in this little bitty hole, partner. Good, now my turn.” Eon moved Sam gently but quickly. There could be no time lost; they must disappear. “We are getting out of here.”
“No. Head us back to the Presidential bunker or shelter or whatever. Jensen will think we’ve run away, I hope. We can wait nearby.” Sam said as he leaned back to clear his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will, you’ll just bleed to death.”
“Eon,” Sam grabbed his shirt,” we’ve got to finish this. How much time do we have?” He changed the subject.
“Forty-five minutes. We’ll never make it!” Eon said. Sam ignored the comment.
“They’ll beef up security, so keep your eyes open wide, for me too.” Sam rested his head back and squinted in the half light. “You’re going to have to help me get moving. Sorry, Eon.”
“Apology accepted, and I hope you’re right. Eon ripped off both of his shirt sleeves and placed them on Sam’s shoulder wound. He cinched the belt tighter on the leg. “I hope you don’t die on me,” he muttered.
“Me too,” Sam said softly. “We’ll hide in the “Presidential Suite.”
They made their way, albeit slowly but did just that.
#
Sam and Eon had almost reached the Presidential bunker. They had heard that a military buildup was coming soon. They were crawling as fast as possible. They needed to fully leave the area near room 7. Sam had a feeling that Jensen suspected they were escaping in the ducts. He probably had men in them Sam hoped they could keep one step ahead until they could sequester in the bunker somewhere, but he was awfully weak.
Sam stopped for a minute to catch his breath. He noted that the shoulder had ceased bleeding. Eon had torn out the lining of his jacket awhile back and packed it solidly in the wound also. Eon reached over to check the tourniquet on Sam’s leg, but Sam stopped him.
“Thanks, Eon. The leg’s okay. You can stop worrying now. Neither injury will kill me,” Sam said softly.
“Yes, but they bleed pretty well, and I bet they smart too.”
“Correct assumptions,” Sam smiled faintly and then frowned. “We still have a problem with the bunker’s coded entrance door.”
“Hey, what’s a partner for? I already mastered that assignment, sort of. I got in and chewed and scrambled the wiring of the missile firing computer to the best of my amateur ability. We just have the President’s broadcast and his credibility to corrupt. Actually he’ll probably do the latter all by himself.”
“You are certainly picking up on your self-confidence,” Sam observed.”
“Yes, along with discovering my caveman-like aggressive tendencies.”
Sam started to chuckle, but it hurt. “Don’t do that, don’t make me laugh!” He turned back to the tunnel. “That’s it, the bunker is just a few yards ahead, I think.”
Sam pushed forward as Eon brought up the rear and helped him with his injured leg which screamed in a
gonizing protest now, in Sam’s head. He strained to concentrate on every movement.
They finally stopped. They were at the grate of their destination. They peered through. It appeared that they were on floor level and that two sets of feet guarded the entrance to the Presidential room.
“Feet are of average size. We might be able to handle them…unless…”
“Unless what?” Eon whispered back.
“They are big guys with little feet.” Sam felt cheerful all of a sudden. Why not, the whole mission was for the crazies anyway.
“Oh, deathbed humor is always nice.”
“Yep. Okay. Hand me your gun.”
Eon handed over the pistol.
“No, the big one.”
Eon fumbled and extended the machine gun. “Do little feet need the big guns?”
Sam shrugged and then watched until the feet seemed to be pointed away from the grate. He softly slid the metal covering to the side and eased himself out on his back. Sam positioned his gun up at the guards who whirled at the sound of the gun hitting the side of the tunnel before it had emerged, but Sam had achieved his leverage in time. The gun was aimed at their lower torsos.
“Freeze, gentlemen, unless you want to lose your manhood in a split second. I shoot fast and never miss.”
The tall guards held their hands up over their heads.
“Thank you. I detest death and dismemberment, but I won’t hesitate to indulge in them.” Sam continued sliding on his back the rest of the way out of the tunnel with Eon’s help.
One soldier started to test Sam’s precarious position by lowering his arms for a brief second. “Don’t do it,” Sam snapped, “Or I’ll blow you apart! I feel really lousy, and when I feel this way, I am nasty. So don’t test me.”
By now Eon had yanked his body out and was getting to his feet. He held his handgun. “Hands on the wall and high,” he ordered.