by Steven James
After ending the call I tell Xavier to turn around. “We need to head to the Strip.”
“Why?”
“There are a couple stops I need you to make on the way to my house.”
Misdirection
2:46 p.m.
6 hours left
We take care of the errands I had in mind and then arrive at the gates to the drive leading to my home.
Sure enough, the black sedan is parked nearby.
Xavier’s driving, so I get out and walk around the RV, punch in the security code, making sure that I’m visible to the men in the car as I do, then climb back in.
I pretend I don’t notice them watching me.
The gates swing open, we drive in, and I put things into play.
Undersecretary Oriana Williamson waited as patiently as she could for Akio Takahashi to finish telling her about the miniature flying robots.
Finally, she just cut in. “Look. We’ve been walking around here since noon and I’ve had enough of this. Here’s what I’m wondering: Have there been any breakthroughs on the bionic forefront?”
“Nothing we haven’t already reported to the oversight committee.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
A pause. “From whom?”
“A friend. I want to see the blueprints for this building.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want to see the schematics. And I want to see them now so I can make my six o’clock flight.”
Officer Gordon Shepard peered through his binoculars and watched Charlene Antioch and Jevin Banks leave the house and slip into the Aston Martin parked out front.
“Man, we are in the wrong profession,” he said to his partner, Ron Ledger. “Wait till you see this car.”
When it came into view, Ron grunted. “You’re not kidding. That just ain’t right.”
The gates swung open and the Aston Martin turned south, toward the Strip.
“Call Garcia.” Gordon started the engine. “Tell him they’re on the move.”
Derek got the call from Jesús Garcia while he was tying off the sutures closing up one of the longer slits he’d made in Dr. Jeremy Turnisen’s abdomen.
The man tried to protest but the gag swallowed most of the sound.
“Buenos días, my friend,” Jesús said.
“Hello, Jesús. To what can I attribute the honor of this call?”
“Well, there are three matters to discuss.”
“Go on.” He snipped off the end of the thread.
“First, a certain performer has been looking into his friend’s death. I believe you know him? From last fall?”
“Banks.”
“Yes. I thought it’d be best to keep tabs on him, so I have two men tailing him. I’ll let you know if anything comes up that might be of interest to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Second. The time frame. Are we still on schedule for tonight?”
“We’re still looking at a launch time of 8:46.”
“You’re confident that you’ll have what you need by then?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. Alright, finally, then, Tomás has been taken care of.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
“Focus on the engineer.”
“Don’t worry.” He let his eyes travel to the blood dripping onto the plastic sheet beneath the chair. “I am.”
Officer Shepard followed Banks’s sports car down the Strip.
Eventually, it stopped at the Arête.
He watched as Banks handed his keys to the valet parking attendant, went around the side, and opened the door for Antioch. Then the two of them swept off into the resort.
“I guess we’re gonna have valet parking today too,” he said to his partner, stepping out of the car and handing over the keys to the sedan. “Let’s go.”
I glance at Charlene. “Okay. There’s no sign of them. I think we’re good.”
I’m standing beside my library window, scrutinizing the neighborhood.
Fifteen minutes ago we’d watched as Seth and Nikki left the house dressed in our clothes.
Without a show tonight, the two of them had some free time, and since I’m paying them anyway, I decided they could hang out at the Arête as long as we needed them to.
On our way back to the house from the alley, Xav and I had picked them up and hid them in the back of the RV.
Body doubles can come in very handy.
Everybody should have one.
Now it’s time to get some answers without anyone peeking over our shoulders.
Though the kids are upstairs—Lonnie doing homework, Donnie playing video games, the girls making Valentine’s Day cards—I close the library door to give us a little added privacy.
Xavier is on his laptop surfing the Internet, and suddenly he exclaims, “Oh, this is not good.”
“What?”
“Tomás Agcaoili is dead. He was found in his cell about an hour ago.”
“You’re kidding.”
He surfs to another site, scrolls down, then taps the screen. “Hung himself with a belt.”
“What cop in his right mind would leave a belt in a cell with a prisoner?” I say, thinking aloud. “Wouldn’t they guess that he could use it for a noose?”
Fionna looks at us intensely. “The clot thickens.”
Close enough.
“Yes, it does,” I agree.
So, Tomás is dead.
A life for a life.
In a sense, justice for Emilio’s death has been meted out, but on another level it hasn’t been.
Someone hired Tomás to kill Emilio.
And that person is still out there.
Akinsanya?
It seems possible, likely even, but—
From out of nowhere another possibility comes to mind: What about Solomon? Could he have mentioned Akinsanya just to start you looking in the wrong direction?
He gave you both Akinsanya and Tomás. What if he’s playing both sides? He knew who you were, had to know the Feds are after Akinsanya. Is this all just window dressing to keep you away from the truth?
I find myself trying to piece everything together, but at least for the moment, it seems like a maze that I’m going through backward, looking for the start but running into dead ends with every turn I venture down.
You don’t have a show tonight.
Fred is working today.
You probably still have time before the blackmailer’s people are able to crack the security measures Fionna put on the drive.
“Any word yet on if that drive has been hacked into?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Good so far. I’ll be notified as soon as someone gets through the firewalls and attempts to access the files. Could be soon. Could be never.”
We have shift information and passcodes for accessing Building A-13 at Groom Lake.
If you’re going to do this, today is the day.
Now is the time.
Somehow all of this ties back to whatever lies in that building.
I turn to Xavier. “I think it’s time to call Fred.”
“And?”
“And see if he’ll help us get into Area 51.”
“Now you’re talking.” He draws out his cell and starts punching in numbers.
“Hang on,” Fionna says in her mom tone. “I’ve been thinking about this since you brought it up last night. Do you have any idea how absurd this plan is? Groom Lake is one of the most secure military installations on the planet.”
“True,” Xav acknowledges. “But we do have the security firm’s shift rotations and access codes. And we have a man on the inside.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Let’s at least see what Fred says, see if he found out what’s in this mysterious Building A-13.”
He puts the call through. We can only hear his side of the conversation; unfortunately, it doesn’t s
ound like he’s finding out what he was hoping to.
Finally, he hangs up. “Well, there’s some good news and some bad news. Actually, a couple pieces of both.”
“Start with some of the bad news,” Charlene says.
“He doesn’t know what’s in A-13. That’s bad, but it’s attached to a hangar, which means—”
“Experimental aircraft.”
“Most likely. Yes.”
“I’m confused”—it’s Fionna—“is that good news or bad news?”
“I call it good. But back to bad news: we’ll be needing a white 2012 Chevy Silverado or we’re never going to make it onto the property.”
“And the good news?” I ask.
“You have an American Express black card.”
Silverado
Jesús Garcia watched the news report about Tomás Agcaoili’s untimely death, then checked in with his associates in Las Vegas and found out that they had not made any progress in deciphering the USB drive yet.
The level of security convinced Jesús that the drive was authentic.
Well, the computer technicians who worked for the Los Zetas cartel knew what they were doing. They would get through the firewalls by tonight, and even if Colonel Byrne wasn’t successful in getting the information from the engineer, Jesús would still get the drone.
For years the cartels had been trying to get their hands on one of the US government’s drones. And now they would have one that was not only armed and able to autonomously target and fire on whoever the cartel decided were its enemies, it was also able to be controlled by the mere thoughts of a pilot on the ground.
And once they had it in hand, they would be able to reverse engineer it and develop their own fleet of drones to patrol the borders, the crops, the farms that they were hoping to control.
The drones would provide not just an eye in the sky but a finger on the trigger.
Or at least, the thought of a finger on the trigger.
Which, in the wars of the future, was going to be more than enough.
As far as dealing with Fred, Jesús wasn’t petty and he wasn’t interested in ruining the man’s life unnecessarily, so he held back from posting the photos online.
Instead, he took some time to confirm the arrangements with his people to make sure they would be on hand tonight when the drone landed in Mexico.
Before leaving to go truck shopping, we make some calls.
We can’t find any dealers with white 2012 Silverados, but we do find a new 2013, and the guy on the phone assures us that it’s not that much different than the previous year’s model. “She’s a beaut and I can fix you up with her today. She’s just sittin’ right here on the lot waitin’ for someone to drive her home.”
On our tight time frame I decide it’s best if we just go for it.
But before we leave, Xavier checks his texts and tells us, “Looks like a tad bit more bad news. We’re gonna need radios. That’s how the Cammo dudes communicate between trucks. If we don’t have one we’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Any good news related to that?”
“What about the walkie-talkies at the warehouse?” he suggests. “You know how we used to use them to talk to the stagehands and the guys in the lighting booth in the back of the auditorium? You still have ’em stored over there.”
“Do any of them still work?”
“They do. But I don’t know if they’ll be the right frequency, or the right model, that sort of thing. I’d say I doubt we’ll be that lucky, but it’s worth a shot. We can take ’em along.”
We have radio patches that we use now. They’re nearly transparent and you wear them behind your ear, but that was obviously not what we were looking for in this case.
“While you guys go buy the truck, I’ll go grab the walkie-talkies,” Charlene says. “Save some time.”
“Okay, one more thing.” Xavier is looking at his cell phone screen. “Fred says we’ll need to have our paperwork in order.”
This is just getting better and better.
“What paperwork?”
“He’s sending a link to some online forms we’ll need from their security firm. And if we’re going to show up, that means someone else needs to not show up.”
Fionna offers to take care of that while we’re gone. “Once I’m on the website I’ll send a message to the two guys who’re supposed to be showing up for work this afternoon, tell them there’s been a scheduling change.”
“Great,” Xavier says.
“Don’t be too long getting that truck.” She’s studying the files she pulled up from the USB drive. “It looks like if we’re going to make this work, you’ll need to be entering Groom Lake by 5:15. That’s when the shift change occurs.”
From there, things move quickly.
I put the truck on my AMEX Centurion Card, and we zip back home to get the walkie-talkies from Charlene and the completed paperwork from Fionna. She has also printed out the access codes and passwords from the USB drive.
“You think we should bring the drive along with us?” Xavier asks.
“I’d rather leave it here.” Just in case we get arrested, I think, but say, “Just to be safe.”
Fionna slips it into her purse.
The pickup only has dealer plates on it. My “BANKS1” plates won’t work, Xavier’s “UFOHNTR” probably wouldn’t be a good choice, and Fionna’s minivan plates are from Chicago, so we end up using the plates from Charlene’s car.
“This might be a problem,” Xav notes. “They’re not government-issued like the ones on Fred’s truck. Remember? When Fionna ran his plates?”
“I have a friend at the DMV,” she informs us. “I’ll see if we can get this pickup registered under the right name for those plates, at least temporarily, in case they run them at the base.”
“It’s Sunday afternoon,” I remind her. “The DMV’s not open.”
“My friend works flexible hours.”
I have the sense that her “friend” might actually be her computer and that she’s going to do a little work that might not be best to mention to us, but either way I trust she knows what she’s doing. “Alright. Great.”
She checks the names on the staff rotation. “Jevin, we’ll make you Colin McIntyre. Xavier, you’re Aurelio Gonzalez.”
“Sí,” Xavier replies.
I promise Charlene that I’ll look before I leap, if it comes to that.
“Just don’t do anything stupid.”
“And how does sneaking onto Area 51 with Xavier not fall into that category.”
“Well. Good point.”
“Listen, how about you and Fionna look into the RixoTray researcher Dr. Schatzing, see what you can find out about him and his connection with Emilio. Now that we know what we’re looking for, maybe you can pull something up from Emilio’s computer files, something that’ll give us an in for talking with him.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She gives me a kiss. In the other room Fionna is passing a folded-up clump of papers to Xavier. “I didn’t have time to tell you this earlier,” she explains softly. “Read it on the way.”
Then we call upstairs to tell the kids we’ll see them later, say goodbye to the women, and take off in the Silverado. Though I’m curious, I don’t ask Xav about the papers that I saw Fionna slip to him.
“Can you think of anything else we might need?” I ask him.
“Just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Camo. We can’t forget our camo.”
“I don’t think we have time to go camo shopping, Xav.”
“We’re going to have to make time. We can’t imitate Cammo dudes dressed like this.”
The second sporting goods store we call has what we need, and thankfully, it’s on the way out of town.
We touch base with Fionna and confirm that the other two Cammo dudes who were scheduled to show up for work this afternoon won’t be coming.
“Don’t forget, you need to check in at 5
:15,” she reminds me. “And don’t be late.”
“Gotcha. 5:15.” I check the clock in the car. “We should be fine.”
At last we’re on our way to the west entrance to Groom Lake to see if we can really get into Area 51 without being arrested.
I drive while Xavier unfolds the papers Fionna handed him and begins to read.
Outside the Box
3:46 p.m.
5 hours left
Akio Takahashi watched the undersecretary study the blueprints he’d dug up.
She was taking her time, and he didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.
They did not contain any information about the secret fourth sublevel, but she might be suspicious.
She’d mentioned that a friend of hers had told her about recent undisclosed research findings on the “bionic forefront.”
But who? Could it be someone on the project? They were all thoroughly vetted, so that seemed unlikely. But if not, who could have found out about that?
Obviously, someone had access to the information, or she wouldn’t have heard about it.
As he was sorting things through, the undersecretary straightened up but said nothing, just stared at him.
He smiled. “Satisfied?”
She took a deep breath.
Akio waited anxiously.
“Yes.”
He barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief. “Well. That’s good, then. So, alright. And will there be anything else I can help you with?”
“No.” She gathered her things. “The oversight committee will be in touch.” She gave no indication if they would be giving him good news or bad.
“Of course,” he managed to say. “Would you like me to walk you to the—”
“I’ve just spent how long studying your building’s blueprints? I think I can find my way to the front door on my own.”
“Certainly. Of course.”
She gave him a clipped goodbye and headed for the door.
When it’d closed behind her, Akio finally let out that sigh and slumped into his chair.
It looked like he’d dodged a bullet. He decided to wait until she was past security, just to be sure, before placing a call to Colonel Byrne to update him.