Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  "We just have to wait," Tonya said. "Hopefully, SocialTech will get back to us before it's too late. Until then, let's try to enjoy our evening in Vegas."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Almost there, sir," the driver called back from the cab of the Commander Vehicle.

  "Stop at the perimeter," General Ross replied. "I want to take a good look before we go in."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ross had suited up like a regular soldier with body armor, a helmet, and an M4 rifle. It had been many years since he had dressed properly for war, but extraordinary circumstances demanded extraordinary measures. Every man under his command, from privates all the way up to himself, was ready for a fight. The feel of Kevlar wrapped around his body was like a hug from an old, dear friend.

  After a few minutes, the Commander Vehicle squealed to a stop. The door in back lowered, and Ross stepped out. The night air was cool but dry and comfortable. A crescent moon on the horizon provided a little light.

  Ross looked across the sand at the Titan II complex. Bright lights on poles illuminated a square patch of desert surrounded by a fence. The enormous concrete door protecting the missile silo was open. Some pipes and vents stuck out of the ground, but otherwise, he didn't see any structures. The complex was entirely underground.

  Armed soldiers in Army uniforms were standing guard. Squads stood at every corner of the square fence, and more squads were on patrol. The complex seemed secure, and there was no obvious sign of trouble.

  Ross didn't see any threats in the vicinity, although it was tough to tell at night. The dark desert was silent and still.

  His officers gathered around him.

  "Seems safe," Ross said, "but we'd better be sure. I'll walk in with an escort and check it out."

  "You, sir?" a captain said. "Shouldn't somebody less valuable take that risk?"

  "I need to inspect the facility with my own eyes. If there is any trouble, get the convoy out of here immediately. Just go. My life is less important than the cargo."

  "Yes, sir."

  A force of twenty Rangers was put together to act as escorts. Their armor included hard plates in critical locations for added protection. They wore face masks with integrated night vision goggles, air filters, and radios. The Rangers formed two columns on either side of the general.

  When everybody was ready, Ross gave the order, and they marched forward. The group walked past the rest of the stopped convoy. As they approached the silo complex, the guards moved towards the newcomers.

  Ross met a captain at the gate. The captain's uniform looked new and fit well, and his black hair was neatly trimmed. His posture was less than ideal however, but he had the excuse that it was late at night.

  "We're here," Ross said.

  The captain nodded. "Yes, sir. We've been waiting for you. It's an honor."

  "I need to inspect the site before anything else happens."

  "Of course, sir. Follow me, please."

  Ross knew the basic layout of an ICBM complex. The silo was just a vertical concrete tube big enough to hold the actual missile, and it was located on one side of the complex. The crew quarters and launch control equipment were in a separate chamber at the other side. A tunnel connected the two parts. Blast doors in between kept the crew alive in case the missile failed to launch properly. Titan missiles used hundreds of tons of exotic fuels like hydrazine which were notoriously fickle.

  Ross was led down into the crew area first. It had three floors with the beds on the top floor. Very thick concrete walls were built to withstand the blast pressure from an atomic bomb provided the detonation wasn't too close.

  The cleanliness of the facility impressed Ross. He didn't see a speck of dirt or rust anywhere. All the original equipment was gone leaving just empty rooms. The lights had been replaced with high-efficiency, LED bulbs. Copper water pipes attached to the ceiling were still as shiny as a new penny.

  "Somebody did some remodeling," Ross said.

  "Yes, sir," the captain said. "This silo was being prepped for a different mission when yours took priority."

  "What mission?"

  "That's top secret, sir. It doesn't matter now. You can use it for as long as you need."

  Ross nodded.

  He still didn't see any sign of trouble. Soldiers were posted at the doorways and in the corridors. They snapped to attention and saluted when Ross got close, although their salutes lacked crispness. The soldiers were definitely less impressive than the facility.

  The Rangers did their best to protect Ross, but the spaces were tight. So many soldiers were packed together, they were literally rubbing shoulders.

  They left the crew area and entered the long tunnel leading to the silo. Ross noticed one sergeant in particular, an African-American man. He stood out because he was older and fatter than the rest. The sergeant kept his eyes forward as Ross walked past.

  Suddenly, Ross had a strange vision. He had always had a secret fear of tornadoes even though he had never witnessed one in person. He saw a tornado now in his mind's eye. It was destroying a city, and the terrifying image froze him.

  "This place is safe," the black sergeant murmured. "There is no reason for concern. Unload your cargo and leave."

  The words echoed inside Ross's head. They crushed his will to resist like tanks rolling through civilians. Complacency took hold of him even though he was still shivering with fear. There is no reason for concern, he thought.

  "Shall we continue the tour, sir?" the captain said.

  "Lead on," Ross said, feeling disoriented.

  They proceeded through open blast doors and up a flight of stairs. As with the crew area, the tunnel had been scrubbed clean until the cement looked new. Metal brackets and pipes actually were new. Somebody had spent a lot of money fixing the place.

  The group reached the silo. It was well over a hundred feet tall and wide enough to accommodate one of the most destructive weapons ever built by man. The vertical tube was empty now, although some original catwalks remained attached to the walls. A new staircase went all the way up.

  "We were thinking you could put your cargo here," the captain said.

  Ross looked at the circular floor of the silo. If the physical containment units were stacked properly, there was enough room for all of them. He expected the walls of the silo were extremely thick.

  "Can you close the lid on top?"

  "Yes, sir," the captain said. "We tested the mechanism recently."

  Ross nodded. With the top closed, the only way to enter the silo was through the tunnel, and that passage was easy to secure. He could have locks installed on the blast doors turning the place into a real vault. The site was more than adequate for his needs.

  There is no reason for concern, he thought. He relaxed even though the image of the tornado was still stuck in his mind.

  He looked at the night sky through the opening at the top of the silo. He glimpsed a few stars.

  "Do you have an elevator?" Ross said. "The boxes are heavy."

  "No elevator, but we can rig a lift using some electric hoists, sir. How heavy are they?"

  "Between 50 and 80 kilograms each."

  "That seems manageable," the captain said. "The hoists can handle a thousand pounds."

  Ross nodded firmly. "Then let's get to work. I have a good feeling about this place. No reason for concern." He eagerly started up a staircase which would take him to the surface.

  * * *

  For the second time, Tungsten parked the car in the SocialTech lot. He, Andrew, Charley, and Tonya got out.

  Andrew yawned. It was past midnight, and the long day had started in Washington, DC. He wished he had taken a nap when he had had the chance.

  They went to the front door of the office building. Tungsten tried the door, but it didn't open.

  "Locked," he said.

  He pressed a doorbell button beside the door repeatedly.

  After a minute, Meyer opened the glass door. He was wearing the same gray jogging suit a
s before, but food stains had been added to the coffee stain.

  "What do you have?" Tonya said.

  "Come to my office," Meyer said.

  The group walked swiftly through the building. Andrew was surprised to see half the cubicles still occupied by workers. They were clicking and typing as if it were the middle of the work day.

  "Do your employees sleep?" Andrew said.

  "In shifts," Meyer said. "Social media never takes a break."

  They arrived at his office. The lights were dimmed, and most of the illumination came from the wall of computer monitors.

  Meyer sat behind his desk. "Before I go into what I discovered, let's talk about Mr. Panetta. When you were here before, you failed to mention he's dead."

  "I didn't want to derail the conversation," Tonya said.

  "He was shot in the head, and a lot of his men died. His office was attacked."

  "Why is that relevant? We asked you to hack his financial records, not investigate his murder."

  "It's interesting you showed up right after it happened," Meyer said in an accusing tone.

  Tonya was holding the Raven against her chest with her right hand. Andrew sensed her draw upon the power of the seam.

  "It's not interesting," she said. "Tell us what you discovered."

  Meyer shook his head as if dizzy. Then he turned to his computer monitors.

  "We discovered one very unusual project," he said. "A refit of a Titan II missile complex in Arizona."

  "Huh?" Tonya said.

  He pointed at a satellite image, and everybody crowded around. It was a picture of a patch of arid desert. A square fence surrounded an area which didn't look much different than the rest. Andrew spotted a concrete pad near a circular hole, and he guessed it was the silo. A straight dirt road led to the complex.

  "What do you mean by a refit?" Tonya said.

  "I don't have the details," Meyer said, "but construction crews have been working round-the-clock for weeks. The project cost millions on top of the purchase price of the land, and Panetta paid for everything in cash."

  "Does Blake want to launch a missile?"

  Tungsten shook his head. "Most of the intercontinental ballistic missiles were taken out of service decades ago. That silo is empty."

  Andrew was confused. He had no idea what Blake could do with an old, empty missile silo in the desert.

  "What do you know about these complexes?" Andrew said.

  "Not much," Tungsten said. "They were built during the height of the Cold War. The missiles could deliver thermonuclear weapons into the heart of Russia."

  "I don't see any buildings."

  "It's all underground. The bases were designed to survive a first strike and launch a retaliation."

  "Maybe I can find something on the internet," Meyer said.

  He clicked on his keyboard, and images popped up showing views of missile complexes. They were underground fortresses made of concrete and steel, and they reeked of military paranoia. The giant blast doors were particularly impressive.

  "Maybe Blake is building a secret home for himself," Andrew said. "He plans to live underground until we forget about him."

  Tonya shook her head. "He's not the kind of man who hides in holes." She looked at Meyer. "Get out of here. We need to talk privately."

  "But this is my office," he said.

  "Get out!"

  Meyer frowned and left. Tungsten closed the door after him.

  "It looks like another vault," Charley said.

  "What does?" Andrew said.

  "That silo. It's strong enough to survive an atomic bomb. Those doors would work for a bank safe."

  He looked at the images of giant doors and concrete tunnels. The US military had used the best technology available at the time to build an absolutely secure facility.

  A shocking idea occurred to Andrew. "Maybe Blake never intended to attack the convoy. He knew the security was too good, and the Army expected an attack. There was no way for him to put together a large enough force to get the job done."

  "Then what does he have in mind?" Tonya said.

  "What if the convoy is going there?" He pointed at the satellite image of the missile complex.

  "He'd be fighting from a prepared position," Tungsten said in a soft voice. "He'd have all the advantages."

  "My God," Tonya said. "He could divert the convoy with fake orders."

  She took out her phone, fumbling with it in her haste. She made a call.

  "Director Webster?" she said. "Yes, I know what time it is. We need to get a message through to the convoy immediately. It could be driving straight into a trap." She put the phone into speaker mode.

  "That's impossible," Webster said. "Blake can't know where the convoy is headed. Even I don't know."

  "What if he diverted it?"

  "Unlikely."

  "Blake has been pouring construction money into a Titan II missile complex in southern Arizona," Tonya said.

  "Interesting, but the convoy is running silent. I'm not sure if it can be reached at all."

  "Listen to me. If you don't do something, Blake is going to win. I know it in my gut. Just warn the convoy! Tell them to stay away from missile silos."

  Webster paused. "I might be able to get a short message through. It may take some time."

  "Get started! Bye." Tonya hung up.

  She exhaled loudly.

  "What now?" Andrew said.

  "We'd better get our asses to Arizona. I expect we'll be needed there. We'll charter a flight to save time."

  * * *

  Ross looked at the 392 physical containment units. The heavy steel boxes were stacked in neat columns which reached high into the air.

  For the thousandth time, he wondered what they contained. The contents had to be precious indeed to justify such enormous trouble and expense. He had heard that cursed artifacts were hidden in the boxes, but he didn't put much credence in the story. He didn't believe in magic of any kind.

  The African-American sergeant from earlier was posted in the silo. He was badly out of shape for a soldier, and Ross wondered how he had earned his current assignment. The other soldiers were much younger and fitter.

  "You're done here," the sergeant murmured. "The cargo is secure. Go home."

  The words bounced around inside Ross's skull like rubber balls. He started walking before he even knew what he was doing.

  It took ten minutes for him to get out of the underground complex. He had to walk through tunnels and climb stairs until he finally reached open air. The night had cooled enough for him to want a jacket. The dry desert air didn't retain heat well.

  The trucks and other vehicles of the convoy were parked on the dirt. They formed long, neat lines under bright floodlights. Many soldiers were wandering or sitting while they waited for their next orders.

  Ross went straight to the M1130 Commander Vehicle. The hatch was already open, and he climbed inside.

  "Pack it up," he said. "We're leaving."

  "What, sir?" Major Fernandez said. "We can't go. The PCUs need our protection."

  "It's fine," Ross said dismissively. "The cargo is secure."

  "Huh?"

  A chirping noise made Ross turn to a computer console. He read text that appeared on the display.

  "Message from the Pentagon, sir," Fernandez said. "This is very strange. We're supposed to stay away from missile silos. Some kind of security breach." He faced Ross again. "Are they talking about this place?"

  Ross shook his head. "The cargo is secure. There is no reason for concern."

  Fernandez drew back. "Are you feeling all right, sir? You sound a little off."

  "I'm fine. There is no reason for concern."

  "You keep saying that."

  Ross shrugged. A vision of killer tornadoes was still stuck in his mind, and it prevented him from thinking clearly. He didn't understand why Fernandez was concerned. There was no reason for it.

  "I think we'd better double-check the PCUs, sir," Fernandez
said.

  "Why?"

  "It seems like a good idea."

  "It's a waste of time," Ross said. "Let's go home."

  "We really can't do that, sir. It would be dereliction of duty. The PCUs are our responsibility."

  "I'm in charge here, and I decide what our duty is. I want to go home!"

  Fernandez thought for a moment. "Of course, sir, but may I suggest we all take a blood test first. We want to be certain nobody has been compromised."

  "Another waste of time."

  "You know the protocol, sir. Any officer can insist the test be performed at any time. It's not necessary to provide a reason. Shall we go?"

  "OK." Ross rolled his eyes.

  They left the Commander Vehicle and walked over to another variant of the Stryker, the M1133. It was a medical vehicle capable of providing treatment for serious injury and trauma. The special blood testing machine had been installed in it.

  Ross and Fernandez climbed inside. A doctor and a nurse snapped to attention and saluted.

  "At ease," Ross said.

  Fernandez used the machine first. Its purpose wasn't entirely clear to Ross, but he knew it was an essential part of security. It detected some kind of contamination that affected the brain. People who failed the test had to be taken into custody for their own safety and the safety of the unit.

  Fernandez stuck his arm into a slot and winced. The machine was the size of a refrigerator and had several computer displays.

  A green light flashed. Fernandez had passed the test.

  Ross rolled up his sleeve, clenched his jaw, and stuck his arm in. Rubber clamps gripped tightly, and then he felt a sharp prick. After the clamps released him, he pulled his arm out.

  A few seconds later, a red light flashed. The doctor and the nurse gasped.

  "That can't be right," Ross said. "I'm fine. I'm not contaminated."

  Fernandez ran outside and barked orders in a loud voice. Soldiers swarmed into the M1133. They grabbed Ross by the arms and marched him back outside.

  He didn't understand. There is no reason for concern, he thought.

  Fernandez sent men to check the silo. They reported back via radio, and his face turned red.

  "What happened to the PCUs, sir?" he asked in an openly insubordinate tone.