Jaxx didn’t get a choice in the matter, so he responded like any good Lieutenant would. “Yes, Sir.”
Gentry stood and walked out of the room, followed by Fox.
“If you don’t have any questions, Lieutenant Jaxx, then you are dismissed,” Rivkah said. She was clearly blind-sided by this. She bit her lip, doing her best to hold in her anger.
“Why are we going to go to Taiyo’s quadrant?”
She crossed her arms. “Didn’t you just hear what the Admiral just said?”
“But, why would we help this Kelhoon group?”
Rivkah’s shoulder’s drooped and she shook her head. “I don’t know. Taiyo probably has precious minerals and ore that we can extract from their planet. The Kelhoon are a pretty ruthless group. The only reason we’d align with them is if we’re profiting by them...somehow.”
Jaxx was surprised at her honest response. She wasn’t the normal type of captain he’d been used to – dull and by the book. “But, the Taiyonians stole that planet?”
“I doubt it.”
Jaxx rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I back out of this?”
“No. You signed up for this and so did I. We follow orders. We do the job we are paid for, Lieutenant.”
“And we’re going to fight alongside this Kelhoon race?”
“Apparently.”
Jaxx wanted to reach out and touch her, if only on the arm; get her to mellow a little, see who she really was. “Who are they? What do they look like?”
“A once threat to our race. They are a mix of human and Drakonian. By the way, you were blasting at the Drakonians out there. The Drakonians are a lizard bi-ped species. Our race and the Drakonian race don’t get along. Anymore questions?”
Jaxx looked down. “Probably. But, not right now.”
“Dismissed.”
25
June 5th, 2018 ~ Plano, Texas
The light grew in size and a horn blared, almost toppling Drew over. He didn’t know if the horn went off because the person driving the colossal monorail had seen him, or if it was part of protocol.
The monorail was an abomination of all monorails, and in fact, was more of a dualrail that took up two rails, instead of one.
The tunnel was long, but the monorail’s speed nearly reached Drew’s position in seconds. Drew’s hair pushed back as the wind of the rushing titanic zipped by, pulling monocar after monocar, all the size of small cruiseliners.
He took a picture and ran, jumping through the doorway that had led him to the monorail tunnel. The monorail came to a whining halt. He hoped it wasn’t because of him.
Drew ran past the offices and underneath the spaceship. He eyed the doorway that separated one portion of the warehouse from the other, and bolted faster.
“There he is!” yelled a man.
Drew looked over his shoulder. Men in military garb, rifles in hand, were running in his direction. He was in trouble.
Making it through the doorway, he immediately pressed the elevator button.
Stupid idea, Drew.
Waiting for an elevator would get him caught, or worse yet, shot.
He twisted around, hearing the elevator ding open, disregarding it, thinking he was too late to enter. Instead, he looked for places to hide, and hurried past the luggage and food until he found the dune buggies. They were good and bulky. Ideal. He ducked behind one. He curled his hands around the roll bar, and peeked his head just above the seat.
More than a dozen men filed through the doorway. One was pointing, giving orders.
The elevator dinged and they all turned, watching the elevator’s doors close.
“He’s in the elevator!”
Drew crawled backward, bumping into a tire, then rolled around to another buggy. He peeked again.
The men were spreading out, searching for him. Obviously, they had ascertained that Drew wasn’t in the elevator.
Fuck, what do I do?
He crawled toward the back of the warehouse, moving by small aircrafts.
“Shoot to kill!” roared a man.
Drew’s head shot back stiffly, not believing what he just heard. They’re going to kill me? For trespassing? He always wanted to uncover a horrible conspiracy, and his wishes had come true.
He wasn’t ready to die.
Drew crawled faster, knowing he was about to run out of room. Soon, he’d be stuck and out of options.
A loud bang sounded across the room. At first, he thought a rifle had gone off until he saw the garage-like doors opening and dozens of military pouring from the monorail into the warehouse, guns pointed outward.
The good news, they hadn’t seen him. The bad news, they’d see him sooner than later. He conjured up two options. One: hands up, surrendering, hoping they weren’t going to shoot to kill. Or, two: do what he was about to do.
He studied the closest aircraft, not seeing a handle, but where a handle should have been was a large round button. He pressed it.
The aircraft’s door opened upward like a gullwing or a fancy sport cars. He pulled himself inside and onto a seat, pressing another large round button. The door shut. A lock function was on the control panel next to the control wheel and he pushed on it as fast as he could, hearing the craft lock.
Behind his seat was a bucket seat, wide enough for three or four people, but that was as deep as the cockpit went. There was no place to hide.
Even though he had never flown anything before, he had to try. If he could get his in the air and fly out through the tunnel, wherever that led, then he could survive. He studied the control panel, seeing a hover button, a flight button, and a land button. That was simple enough. They’d built the planes so any idiot could fly them, but Drew wasn’t an idiot. Drew was an A-1, no-shit, fully-functioning genius. He could fly this machine. He could escape.
An initiate engine knob was on the control panel. The control wheel might be self explanatory, but a stun expel trigger sounded kinda ominous.
He looked up. The monocars’ doors were open, the cars completely empty. Ramps extended from the doors and into the warehouse. Immediately, Drew knew what the monorail was – a way to transport the contents of this warehouse to another place. The puzzle pieces clicked into place: Colonel Slade wanted off the planet. He had space craft and supplies at the ready. He had held Jaxx in Grenada, in a place Jaxx had called “Underfoot Black.” What were the chances the monorail was transporting everything in the warehouse to Underfoot Black? That way, Slade would have the space craft, the dune buggies, and all the supplies, delivered directly to him.
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he muttered.
Drew pushed on the initiate engine knob and the craft turned on, purring like a kitten. Things were looking a little brighter. A tap sounded on the cockpit window and Drew instinctively ducked.
A man with a rifle peered into the cockpit. “Sir, I recommend you exit this craft immediately.”
Drew cowered in the corner of his seat, covering his head with his forearms, shaking his head no.
“I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
Drew shook his head again. “Dude, I heard one of you say ‘shoot to kill.’”
The man’s eyes went wide. He glanced over at another man, then nodded. He lifted his rifle and took aim.
Drew kicked the middle of the control wheel, triggering stun expel. A loud electric sound rattled and the man drew back in a writhing twitch as if being electrocuted. When the sound halted, the man went limp, flopping to the floor.
“Oh, shit. Oh, no.” Drew looked around. All the men searching for him were on the floor, lifeless. Had he killed them?
He quickly opened the door and ran toward the elevator. Before he could get halfway, a bullet whizzed by him, ricocheting off a buggy. He slid to the floor, huddling behind another buggy, then shimmied toward the monorail.
More guns went off, bullets pinged off the wall, the floor, the damned ceiling. They knew where he was, until they didn’t. The closer he came to the monorail, t
he more the bullets were whizzing well behind him. He stood and ran, his adrenalin taking him faster and faster. Bullets rained down all around him, sparking where they hit.
Reaching a ramp that led inside one of the monocars, he glanced toward the head of the monorail. More men carrying firearms were on their way. Others were also coming at his six o’clock.
The gunshots suddenly stopped, perhaps to protect the monorail, but the men continued the pursuit.
Finally inside a monocar, Drew looked left and right. Military personnel were now coming from both directions. In minutes, he’d be surrounded. He looked up, he spied a ladder that led to an upper compartment.
He pulled himself up the ladder, skipping as many rungs as possible. Reaching the top, he peered down. Men were already climbing after him, but the ladder was attached by a mount. Drew yelled, “Sorry.” He kicked the mount, successfully detaching the ladder. It pushed out, carrying a few men with it, then crashed to the floor. He ran toward a long complex on the monocar’s upper balcony and flung open a door. Inside, it went on for miles, one side lined by doors, the other side a long wall.
He could hear the men fixing the ladder back into position, so he slammed the door shut, looking for a lock that wasn’t there.
“Dammit,” he said, under his breath. “Where do I go?” He was panicking, not able to think straight.
He didn’t have a minute to look around and try to find a hiding place. He dashed into the nearest room, seeing a large vent near the window. He lifted up the grate, and jimmied inside, placing the grate back in place.
It reminded him of the longstanding steam tunnel spelunker clubs at places like Harvard, Stanford, Oxford, and his own alma mater, Columbia, in which students would use air ducts to explore and pull off pranks, sometimes spying on the opposite sex.
He scraped his forearm on a sharp metallic edge, then gashed his knee as he pushed his way down into the darkness. Dust lined the duct, coating his clothes and skin, and blood dripped from his wounds. He pushed himself lower, doing his best to be as quiet as possible, then froze in place when someone came into the room.
A closet opened and he could hear someone pulling things out, then doors and cupboards opening and shutting.
“Check under the bed,” someone blurted out.
“Nope, not there either.”
“Are we checking all rooms, bathrooms, and storage units?”
“Yep. We’ve got just about everything covered.”
“Try the vent.”
Drew squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he was deep enough in the darkness to conceal himself.
They took the vent cover off and slid it to the side.
“Do you see anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“Anyone got a flashlight? We can shine it down the vent, see if the asshole is there.”
“No, sir.”
“Get one!”
Drew heard someone march out of the room. He didn’t know how deep he could get or when the air duct eventually leveled out and went horizontal. If he could find that spot, he’d be safe from any flashlight.
Drew slowly pushed himself down, cringing in pain as another metal shard scraped against his side. If he wanted to live, scratches and a little blood didn’t matter.
“Flashlight, sir.”
“Excellent.”
The air duct rounded, cornering, and started to level out as Drew continued to crawl backward. A light gleamed down, bending against the air duct corner, shining into Drew’s eyes. This section of the duct kept him hidden, he hoped.
The flashlight turned off.
“Wait a minute, turn that flashlight back on. I thought I saw a hand.”
The light radiated through the duct and Drew squeezed his eyes shut again.
It turned off.
“Nope. Next room.”
26
June 5th, 2018 ~ Underfoot Black, Grenada
Slade’s office was above ground in an old, dank building next to a local bar, the Nutmeg. From the outside, Slade’s office wasn’t appealing and for good reason. It was designed to draw no attention to itself. On the inside, however, it was as good as any office in the United States; nice decor, air conditioned, and marbled floors to keep the place cool in the Grenada sun.
His office faced Warf Road, placing him across St. George’s Inner Harbor, just northeast of Fort George, the entrance to Underfoot Black.
Slade took a brief respite from his papers and watched boat taxis bobbing up and down, waiting for passengers. A couple of drivers stood by on the dock shooting the breeze, the rising sunshine sparkling on the aquamarine colored ocean like diamonds.
His phone rang. GSA Warehouse displayed on the caller ID. He frowned. Being contacted by them at this hour was peculiar, especially at 2:11 AM their time.
“Colonel Roberson here.”
“We’ve had a breach. A man we have identified as Drew Avera, World News Network reporter, has infiltrated our Plano, Texas underground facility. He evaded us and is in hiding somewhere on the monorail.”
Slade leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand, shaking his head. “Are you sure it’s Drew Avera?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stood. “You got to be fucking kidding me. How in God’s name did he get down there?” Slade bit his bottom lip, nearly biting all the way through. He had underestimated Drew.
“We don’t know. We are searching for him. Our orders are shoot to kill.”
Slade grimaced. “Stop the search. Call it off.”
“Excuse me, Sir?”
Slade looked at his computer screen, a picture of Drew Avera sat at the bottom of an article Drew had written. There were many reasons why he wanted to call it off, but he had to give the most important of all.
“Because we cannot stall anymore. We need to stay on task. We don’t have the time, or resources, to waste looking for a low-life-piece-of-shit trying to expose our mission. Guard all exits when you stop at the next destination.”
“But, Sir. I – ”
Slade slammed his fist on his desk. “Do not question my orders!”
“Yes, Sir. Protocol orders for trespassers are shoot to kill. Is that order still on, Sir?”
Slade unwrapped a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth. “You’re asking if I want to change those orders?” This should be an easy no. Anyone who had compromised the mission, stolen information, and had classified information that they wanted to expose should receive a death sentence. With Drew Avera, however, it wasn’t so easy. In fact, it was the hardest decision of Slade’s life.
27
June 5th, 2018 ~ Plano, Texas
Drew was scrunched in the air duct. Any itch that he couldn’t get to was like a soft tickle he couldn’t slap away. The more he thought about it, the more everything itched.
Movement inside the air duct needed to be as slow and methodical as possible. If his elbow or knee panged into the duct, it could easily give him away. So he remained as still as possible, keeping his breaths short and shallow.
For several hours, sounds of fork lifts, jacks, and other vehicles filled the warehouse and echoed throughout monorail. The monorail shuddered every so often from what he could only imagine were machines setting down heavy items in the monocars.
What time is it?
He wanted to reach for his phone, but the cramped duct wouldn’t allow it.
An hour ago, the search for him, the commotion, and yelling had all but halted.
A loud voice came over the intercom and shot through the duct. “All aboard!”
The monorail whistled, its horns blared, and a loud hiss pierced the air. The monorail started to vibrate, followed by a heavy shudder.
The monorail started moving.
28
June 5th, 2018 ~ Underfoot Black, Grenada
Wires, electrodes, and needles were all over Rivkah from head to foot. She sat on a doctor’s table, computer monitors displaying graphs and charts she didn’t understand. When she had a thought,
something changed on the monitors. When she moved, something else changed on the monitors.
What did I do that was so bad?
A part of Rivkah was mad at herself, for volunteering to be here. She was here on her own accord, however, being a test subject wasn’t part of the agreement, at least that’s not what she thought. She assumed she’d be back on tour with the Secret Space Program.
Another piece of her wanted to kick every doctor’s ass she had met in this strange facility – Underfoot Black. The facility was technologically advanced, that much she understood. It, however, wasn’t as advanced as the Secret Space Program. Colonel Slade Roberson was a very well-known figure during her last space operation with SSP before she turned into the hideous-looking monster she was now. He was known across the Galaxy, not just within the Secret Space Program, but with other programs – extraterrestrial programs. Why was he with a new group? When did he leave SSP?
She looked at her hands for the fiftieth time, convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. They were no longer scarred from burn trauma. They were smooth, young looking, matching her mid-thirties age. She acted as natural as possible. The drugs they had her on had interesting effects, especially with vision.
For an instant, she blacked out. When she came to, she was looking at her fingertips. Her fingernails were back. She had almost forgotten what they looked like.
A beep brought her back to the present.
She closed her eyes, wanting to fall back asleep. “Why am I here?” she muttered. “Why are you doing this to me?”
They never did tell her why they needed her, just that they needed her. Was she to fly a ship they couldn’t understand? She had the aptitude for figuring out unknown crafts. Or, was it what she had been telling herself shortly after she arrived here – she was being punished, experimented on. Ultimately, she’d die.
Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set Page 14