by Bob Mayer
“This is very different,” Ms. Jones said. “Burns, the golden glow. Something is coming together. Something long in the developing.”
“Yes,” Moms said.
“You need to pay attention,” Ms. Jones said. “Be open to possibilities.”
“What?” Moms said.
“Good luck.” And then the connection was dead.
“The gates are all closed.” Mac was peering through a night vision scope.
Moms shook her head and focused on the immediate situation.
“We have to stop Burns from getting all that power,” Doc said. “He’s going to use it to open a Portal.”
“How can he?” Moms asked as they continued toward the side of the dam with the powerhouse.
Roland was ignoring the discussion, checking his M240, making sure it was loaded and that the nozzle for the burner was loose in its sheath.
“Are we sure that a Portal is a bad thing?” Ivar asked.
That earned him a glare from everyone in the boat—except Moms and Nada and Scout.
“Everyone who’s ever opened one is dead or gone,” Nada said.
“A Rift,” Ivar said. “Not a Portal.”
Nada looked at Doc. “Just tell me how to stop this.”
“I’m not dead or gone,” Ivar said, but he was ignored, except by Scout.
“We have to stop him from getting the power he needs from the dam,” Doc said.
“I’ve always wanted to blow up a dam,” Mac said. It was the dream of every Special Forces engineer/demo man. Along with a bridge, a skyscraper, and various other engineering feats. The bigger it was built, the more a demo longed to blow it up.
“What are you going to use to blow that?” Moms asked. “Even the Excalibur rounds aren’t going to do much damage.”
“We need the cruise missiles,” Mac said. “Kirk’s got the laser designator. I can use it and aim a couple at the weakest points. I’ve done a target survey on a dam. I know where to hit it to cause maximum damage and structural failure.”
Moms nodded. “I’ll get them ready for launch.”
On board the B-52, the crew listened to Moms’s order. On one hand they were happy they weren’t prepping one of the nukes for launch. On the other hand, they weren’t thrilled with the idea of loosing even conventional warheads over the continental United States.
On the third hand, which was duty, they prepped four cruise missiles for launch.
Burns smiled at Neeley as she came into the powerhouse, steel door slamming shut behind her, his face rippling and then becoming Gant. “You survived. I had hope they might get to you in time at the nursing home.”
“Stop with the face,” Neeley said, weapon at the ready, laser site flickering on Burns’s forehead. “It doesn’t work.”
“Oh, I think it does,” Burns said.
“Why did you have hope that I would live when you were the one who killed me?”
Burns’s face flickered, the scars reappearing for a moment and then going back to being Gant’s. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But you understand. Mission takes priority.” He cocked his head. “Your friends are here. My former teammates. The illustrious Nightstalkers. Let’s meet them.”
“I don’t think so,” Neeley said, and she fired twice, double-tapping.
The Zodiac bumped up against the dock on the side of the powerhouse. Roland was first ashore, machine gun at the ready, with Nada at his shoulder. Scout and Kirk jumped off their Sea-Doos to join the rest of them.
Mac took the laser designator from Kirk. Ivar and Doc were arguing about the possible dangers of a Portal opening, akin to the band playing while the Titanic went down in Scout’s opinion, a little speck of calm in the midst of a team in turmoil. That didn’t last long as she looked toward the water in the reservoir.
“Uh, people,” she said as she watched the blotchy hand reach up out of the water and grab hold of the edge of the dock.
No one, of course, was paying attention to her.
Moms was on the radio, done talking to Ms. Jones and getting permission to blow the dam. The TVA would be pissed, but collateral damage would be minimal outside of the dam and some structures immediately downriver.
“Launch and ride the beam,” Moms ordered.
A cruise missile dropped clear from the pods on each wing of the B-52. The two missiles free fell for a few seconds, getting clear of the bomber; then their rockets kicked in and they nosed down, picking up speed.
The first round hit Burns in the chest (go for the largest target first, one of Gant’s rules) and the second in the forehead (go where there isn’t the possibility of body armor, the footnote to the aforementioned rule).
Burns didn’t even flinch.
Both bullets passed into him, not so much hitting as being absorbed. He smiled. “Come, come, Neeley. You’re out of your depth here. This isn’t a Sanction. This is a Nightstalker mission. I was one of them. Let’s go say hello to my old friends.”
He turned for the outside steel door of the powerhouse.
Behind him, the golden glow had grown larger, forming a stable pre-Rift.
“Guys,” Scout called out in a louder voice.
Nada heard her and turned, but the rest were caught up in their own concerns: Roland wanting to shoot something; Mac searching the dam wall for its weak spot through the laser designator since he had two warheads en route; Kirk facilitating Moms’s commo back to Ms. Jones and the launchers of the Tomahawks; Doc and Ivar moving closer to blows about the possibility of even a Rift without the algorithms, never mind a Portal.
“What?” Nada asked.
“Zombie,” Scout said, pointing.
At the same moment, the door to the powerhouse swung open and Burns stepped out, his face covered with scars.
Roland fired on instinct, a good, solid, twelve-round burst, every round hitting the former Nightstalker. And being absorbed.
As Roland fired, so did Nada.
In the other direction.
The former Jimmy DiSalvo had climbed out of the water and was staggering down the walkway to the dock in classic zombie style, arms outstretched, body bashed, bloody, and very dead. Nada’s bullets had more impact on him than Roland’s did on Burns. DiSalvo’s corpse staggered back, chunks of flesh flying off.
But he kept coming.
Until there was a flash of gold from Burns’s eyes. DiSalvo’s body exploded into vapor and the Firefly that had taken him over fluttered up and dissipated.
“As we always noted,” Burns said in the moment of silence that followed that surprising development, “the Fireflies aren’t very bright.”
“Sixty seconds until impact,” Mac called out, ignoring Burns, the exploded zombie, and everything else, his face pressed against the rubber seal of the laser designator.
“Now, now,” Burns said, holding his hands up, “let’s not be hasty.”
Neeley appeared behind Burns, keeping her submachine gun pointed at him and edging around, making sure she didn’t get in the line of fire of the team.
Moms’s earpiece crackled with information from Frasier. She shifted the aim of her gun from Burns to Ivar. “Why did you sabotage the Can?”
Burns stepped between Moms and Ivar, facing him. “Do you have it?”
Ivar pulled out the hard drive he’d stolen from the Archives and handed it to Burns.
“No way,” Moms said. “That dam is toast in forty-five seconds and so is the power for the Portal.”
“Abort your missiles,” Burns said. “It’s not what you think.” His face rippled and changed.
“Gant?” Neeley whispered, shaking her head, trying to get rid of the image.
“Whoa!” Scout was pointing. “You see that?”
Once more, the only person who followed her was Nada. She was pointing at a road sign announcing that the roadw
ay on top of the dam was the Greer Bridge.
“My name,” Scout said.
“Very good,” Burns said, surprising everyone and addressing Scout’s apparently inane observation.
“Thirty seconds,” Mac said, still focused on the dam.
“That is not by chance,” Burns said, his eyes flickering with gold.
“All of this just to get me here?” Scout asked.
“All of us,” Burns said. “We need all of us. None of us are here by chance.” And then a golden flash from his eyes washed over everyone, and they all had a simultaneous moment of enlightenment, different for each one.
Scout thought of her name and her mother. “What if we’ve been wrong?”
“Twenty seconds,” Mac announced. But he suddenly saw the dam now as a work of progress, of man’s achievement, not to be destroyed, and pulled his eye away from the sight.
Electricity can be love, Neeley thought, and she lowered the muzzle of her MP5. “Who loves us?”
“Backwards,” Ivar said, remembering the lab. “It’s all backwards.”
“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.
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.
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 smil
e.
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?”
Gretchen smiled. “No more Loop for you. Your family has done enough.”
“Thank you,” Watkins said, and she turned for her car, but Gretchen’s voice stopped her.
“Can you cook?”
“Still looking at the monument?” the Keep asked Captain Griffin.
He didn’t move the binoculars from his eyes. “It hasn’t changed.”
“Other things have,” the Keep said. “The Cellar and the Nightstalkers have closed a big chapter in history. I’m still sorting the pieces out with Hannah and Ms. Jones, but I don’t think we’ll ever know the full story since Burns went back through the Portal the other way and it’s shut.”
“Permanently, I hope,” Griffin said.
“One can hope,” the Keep said, but her voice lacked confidence.