The Armageddon Directive

by Dayton Ward

  Pausing a moment to draw a deep breath as though to calm himself, Cushman replied, “Fine. Put her in a safe house for a few days. Hopefully by then we’ll be able to get some help from the air force.” As Tanner gestured for Sutherland to accompany him down the hall, the senior agent added, “And Nate? I meant what I said. Stay out of the military’s way on this.” Something in the other man’s eyes gave Tanner pause. Was it genuine concern? Even fear?

  Somebody’s leaning on him.

  Processing that troubling thought, Tanner asked, “What about Charlie?”

  “We’ll work our side of the case as far as we can without getting Uncle Sam’s nose out of joint, but you know I can’t let you head up the investigation.”

  Tanner was forced to concede Cushman’s point. His emotional investment in tracking down anyone else who may have played even a small part in Charlie Bryant’s death would cloud his judgment. It was almost painful to admit it, but Wayne Cushman was right on this one.

  Was that going to stop Tanner from checking out a few things on his own?

  Hell no, it’s not.

  Chapter 6

  “Good morning, General.”

  Entering the foyer leading to Francis Crane’s office, Beloss Bel was surprised to see the young human male standing at attention behind a desk and offering a crisp military salute. It being a Saturday morning, he had expected the workspaces normally occupied by the general’s staff here in the base’s headquarters to be unoccupied.

  “Good morning.” Bel studied the rank insignia and name tag on the man’s blue uniform shirt. “Sergeant Reu, why are you here?”

  A look of obvious anxiety crossed the human’s features. “Paperwork, sir. The reports you requested are due next week, and the secretaries are still sending them to me for review and corrections.” He paused, swallowing. “I thought I’d try to get ahead on the backlog.”

  “Excellent,” Bel replied, trying to sound impressed with the sergeant’s efforts to please a superior who would never read those reports. “Keep up the good work. I’ll be in my office.”

  “Yes, General.”

  Using a key from the ring he had taken from Crane, Bel unlocked the door and stepped into the general’s office. It was a well-appointed room, with lush brown carpeting and beige walls. A large bookcase, its shelves filled with dozens of books along with a few framed photographs and other small items, dominated the wall behind Crane’s large, polished mahogany desk. A red leather couch was positioned before the oversized windows that comprised the office’s western wall, affording a view of the courtyard and the other buildings that sat adjacent to the headquarters.

  It took him nearly thirty minutes to inspect the files in Crane’s desk, matching credenza, and quartet of lacquered wood file cabinets positioned along the office’s eastern wall. While he found several reports detailing the operational status of the United States military’s nationwide radar network and the installation on the base that played a part in that larger effort, most of that information was innocuous, offering no real hints as to the network’s top secret operations and the sorts of traffic it tracked. Such data would be classified and protected, Bel knew, and that presupposed a safe or some other secure storage vessel.

  Opening the briefcase he had appropriated from the late General Crane, Bel extracted a scanning device, and also uncovered the proton flux disruptor pistol hidden beneath folders and other papers. Using the scanner, it took Bel only a moment to locate a space hidden within the bookshelves behind Crane’s desk. Bel smiled in satisfaction as he realized the entire shelving unit swung outward on recessed hinges, revealing the dull, steel-gray door of the concealed safe. Eyeing the large black dial set into the door, Bel decided there was a simple, efficient way to defeat the safe’s lock that would have him on his way in short order.

  He reached for the flux pistol, adjusted its power setting to a low level, aimed the weapon at the safe’s door, and fired. The gray steel was no match for the short energy burst and the metal began immediately to melt. Within seconds the point of impact had expanded to a hole large enough for Bel to reach in and retrieve the safe’s contents.

  Mindful of the ragged hole’s glowing, red-hot steel edges, he extracted a pair of folders from the recessed vault. The first folder was marked “TOP SECRET” and contained various codes, pass phrases, and contact information for a number of high ranking military officers and government leaders Bel assumed had some connection to the base’s activities that required General Crane to contact them. Such information might prove useful at some point, but it was the second folder that made Bel smile as he beheld its cover label: “TOP SECRET/EYES ONLY—SAGE.”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “General? Is something wrong?”

  Turning toward the voice, Bel saw Sergeant Reu standing in the office’s open doorway. The human had obviously heard the disruptor and rushed into the office, doubtless concerned for his superior’s well being. Reu’s expression changed from worry to disbelief as he noted the safe’s scorched, destroyed door, and the folder and odd weapon in what he thought was his general’s hands.

  “What the hell?”

  Reu was backing out of the office when Bel thumbed the flux pistol’s power setting to its maximum level, aimed at the human, and fired. There was only time for the sergeant to utter the briefest of panicked cries before the weapon’s blue-white energy beam struck him in the chest. His internal skeleton was highlighted in a bright aura as his skin and muscle tissue disintegrated, then his entire body was gone, reduced to an explosion of gray ash that peppered the walls and rained down upon the office carpet.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Bel asked himself, moving from the safe and stepping toward the doorway. Had anyone else heard the sounds? Were they coming to investigate?

  He had killed the sergeant without a second thought. Of course, Bel had killed humans before, for little or no reason. On a few occasions he had even derived pleasure from it, but in each of those cases he had at least weighed the risks, considering the ramifications of the act before committing it. That had not been the case here, and Bel was stunned by his own inexcusable lack of judgment. What was the matter with him? Looking down at the weapon he still held, he realized his hand was trembling. Now angry with himself, he willed the hand to steady, feeling his grip tighten around the pistol.

  “The drugs.”

  That had to be the reason. The chemicals needed to maintain his altered appearance and survive here on Earth had to be affecting him. It made sense that such noxious compounds might have lasting effects on his body, but what might they be doing to his mind? Actions such as the one he’d just taken only invited the danger of discovery. He needed to be more careful.

  Standing in silence near the open door, Bel listened for indications of activity but heard nothing. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. While it was true that the sergeant would be missed at some point, that likely would not occur for several hours, perhaps this evening at the latest.

  If all went according to plan, it would not matter anyway.

  Chapter 7

  Nate Tanner knocked on the door a second time.

  “She’s in there, right?”

  In response to his question, the uniformed Kansas City police officer nodded. “Unless she jumped out the window or something.”

  “Funny guy.” How old was this kid, anyway? To Tanner, it seemed like cops and soldiers looked younger every day.

  Nope. They’re the same age. You’re just getting older.

  The apartment was on the sixth floor of the building located a block west of the FBI’s field office. Tanner knew there was a police cruiser parked in the alley around the back, from which the officers in that car could observe the apartment’s windows. There was no way for their guest to leave without being noticed, so she was definitely inside. Though Tanner had a key, he preferred no
t to use it out of respect for Sutherland’s privacy.

  Doesn’t mean I want to stand out here all day.

  He knocked a third time and now heard the sounds of someone approaching from inside the apartment. Light disappeared from the peephole before Tanner heard the chain and then the dead bolt being disengaged, and the door opened to reveal Danielle Sutherland, wearing a bathrobe and with her hair tucked into a towel. Droplets of water were visible on the skin below her throat.

  Eyes up, pal.

  “Agent Tanner,” said Sutherland. “Good morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She eyed his gray suit and matching tie. “Such formal dress on a Saturday? Doesn’t the FBI give you boys a break on weekends?” Despite the attempt at casual interaction, Tanner sensed the tension in her voice, and there was no mistaking the puffy eyes that signified insufficient sleep. The events of the previous evening had doubtless taken a toll on her, but she was doing her best to maintain an even keel.

  “Good morning.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, Tanner asked, “Hungry?”

  Sutherland shook her head. “Yes, but there’s not much here, yet.” She gestured to the police officer standing behind Tanner in the hallway. “I’m told someone will be bringing some groceries and a few other things I asked for.”

  Placing her into protective custody had happened quickly, with Agent Katherine Corey volunteering to help acquire a few basic necessities to get Sutherland through her first night at the apartment. Now that she was settled, she’d provided a list of other requested items to make her stay as comfortable as possible.

  “Come on,” said Tanner. “I’ll buy you breakfast.” In truth, he didn’t feel like eating. He and Charlie Bryant had made a habit of Saturday morning breakfast at a small diner within walking distance of the office, and he was now keenly feeling his partner’s absence. However, if providing a hot meal and a change of venue enticed Danielle Sutherland to offer him additional information and assistance, he could choke down a plate of bacon and eggs.

  And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

  Stepping away from door, Sutherland gestured for him to enter the apartment. “Let me get dressed.”

  The two-room affair was nothing special, Tanner knew from experience. A worn couch and a dumpy recliner situated before a television were the main room’s primary furnishings, and a small square Formica table with two chairs sat before the room’s only window. A small kitchen area took up the rest of the room’s space, to the right of which was a door leading into the apartment’s small bedroom. Sutherland disappeared into that room.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” her voice carried through the doorway.

  Stepping toward the window, Tanner looked into the alley below and saw the police cruiser. Inside the car were two uniformed cops, who he suspected were as bored as they looked.

  “I have to be honest with you,” he said, raising his voice so that she could hear him in the other room. “I came because I want to ask you some more questions, but I have to tell you up front that this would be off the record.” Pausing, he added, “Basically, I’m asking you for a favor.”

  There was no response for a moment, and Tanner was considering repeating some of what he’d said when he heard movement behind him. He turned to see Sutherland standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a pair of gray slacks, a white blouse, and matching flat shoes, all of which had been provided by Agent Corey the previous evening. She was in the midst of pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” she said, noting his appreciative yet bemused stare. “I work for a living, remember? I don’t spend a lot of time primping.”

  Tanner smiled. “Please tell me you like baseball.”

  “Yes, but I prefer minor league games.”

  I think I love this woman.

  Moving away from the bedroom, she finished fussing with her hair. “What’s this favor you want?”

  Tanner replied, “Nobody in your line of work would keep all their eggs in one basket. Tell me the pictures you had at your office weren’t your only copies.”

  The thought had occurred to him at four o’clock that morning, waking him from a sound sleep, and he had felt like smacking himself for not considering the possibility earlier. He was forced to admit that the stresses of the previous day—Charlie’s death most of all—had thrown him off his game, and that, more than anything else, had pissed him off. Unable to sleep following this revelation, he’d spent the morning running through Swope Park east of downtown, trying to sweat off his anger and excess energy. The exercise gave him time to think, and to consider his options. Wayne Cushman had warned him to steer clear of the air force and whatever might be going on down at Richards-Gebaur. Indeed, Cushman had been quite clear on that point.

  Charlie Bryant deserved more than that.

  Her eyes narrowing as she regarded him, Sutherland said, “Even if I did, why would I share them with you, and off the record, at that? Your boss certainly doesn’t believe anything I’ve sent him, and even though I can tell you have questions, it’s obvious you’re a skeptic.”

  “Of course I’m a skeptic. It comes with the job.” Pulling his hands from his pockets, Tanner started pacing the width of the small apartment. “Theories and hearsay are nice, but evidence is what makes or breaks any case. You want to be taken seriously, right?” He reached the couch and turned to face Sutherland. “Whatever you saw or even think you saw down at that base, it made somebody want to grease you. So, show me what you’ve got, and let’s go figure this out. And I’m throwing in breakfast, so what’s not to lose?”

  “Going off on your own?” said Sutherland. “Your boss will have your ass if he finds out you’re doing this.”

  “Probably,” replied Tanner.

  What else was new?

  They were alone in the warehouse. That much Tanner was able to determine after a sweep of the building’s interior. The floor was cluttered with all manner of crates, boxes of varying size, and old furniture. Catwalks ran the length of the room, offering access to second-story rooms. He caught a whiff of something that might have been a dead rat, but he had no desire to go looking for the source.

  “Should we be expecting anybody?” He returned his .45 to its holster inside his jacket and followed Sutherland, their footsteps echoing across the warehouse floor.

  “I doubt it,” replied Sutherland. “The building belongs to a friend of mine, and he’s the only other person with a key. He’s hoping to sell the place, but until then he lets me keep my extra furniture here, along with other stuff that didn’t fit in my apartment after I sold my house.”

  Tanner nodded. “Along with whatever else you decide to store here.”

  “Exactly.”

  Another key on the ring she pulled from her purse opened an office door with frosted glass set into it and a label marked “PRIVATE,” revealing a typical cluttered office. File cabinets and cardboard boxes packed the small room, although the desk itself was clean and tidy, like the one in Sutherland’s office at Aliens Among Us magazine. Without hesitation, she set her purse on the desk and moved to one of the boxes. After a moment’s rummaging, she extracted a thick folder.

  “This is everything I’ve got on R-G,” she said, moving to the desk and opening the folder. Tanner moved to stand next to her and studied the handwritten note that was at the top of the stack. It was covered in a shorthand he couldn’t decipher, augmented with dates and times.

  “Is that English?”

  Sutherland chuckled. “Sort of. It’s my notes on the nights we were there poking around. Think of it as a travel diary.”

  Several of the pictures showed the tops of trees and buildings. Most were taken at night, though a handful had been captured during daylight hours, and all of them had one common feature.

  He cast a sideways look at Sutherland. “Are you going to tell m
e that’s a . . . ?”

  “An unidentified flying object, yes.”

  Tanner grunted, making no attempt to hide his skepticism. “A flying saucer?”

  “Didn’t say that. I said ‘unidentified,’ as in I haven’t been able to identify it. Neither has anyone else.”

  Pondering the odd, blurry, oval object captured in the photos, Tanner said, “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure the military doesn’t have anything like this.”

  “Nope.”

  “All hours of the day or night,” he said, reading the notations printed on the bottom border of each picture. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “It’s been known to happen.” Picking out another of the pictures, she laid it on the desk and tapped it with a fingernail. “Take a look.”

  Tanner studied the photo, one of several depicting what he now recognized was the base’s SAGE blockhouse. Many if not most of the pictures were taken from only two or three angles, each focusing on one of the building’s entrances. The black and white images were not the best quality, but he could still make out various individuals moving into and out of those doors. He pointed to a figure in the picture Sutherland had selected.

  “Walker.”

  Nodding, Sutherland asked, “Notice anything else?”

  It took him a moment, but then he saw what she meant. “Same five guys.” The officers were shown entering and leaving the facility at different, even odd hours according to the notes Sutherland had made on each picture’s edge.

  “Right. We were able to identify these other officers by name, and verified that they’re all assigned to the SAGE center. We did some digging and found out that they all live in base housing.”

  Tanner shook his head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “These five officers work at what’s a closely guarded, top secret installation on a military base,” replied Sutherland, “and live on that same base. Whenever they go somewhere on post or to the airport or the train station, they’re driven by an enlisted man. The only exception to this is when they’re leaving the SAGE blockhouse at weird hours in the middle of the night. For those, we’ve got pictures of them driving themselves off base, mostly using military-issue cars from the motor pool.”