From Here to You

by McGuire, Jamie

  “Doctors,” I said, nodding before following Bianca farther down the hall.

  Harbinger kept close and leaned in when he spoke. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “Not sure yet. But I’m going to find out.”

  “You’d better,” he said, pulling his rifle close.

  We were shown corridors Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta and then taken upstairs to meet Senator Bennett. “Good morning. What a nice surprise,” Bianca said. An expression I hadn’t witnessed yet softened her features as she waited for the senator to respond.

  “Is it?” he asked, one corner of his mouth turning up.

  Naomi shot me a wry smile, and I tried and failed not to roll my eyes. The senator was wearing a gold wedding band, while Bianca’s finger was bare.

  “Peter,” Naomi said, stepping out from behind.

  Bennett smiled, looking more relieved than surprised. “Naomi.”

  Harbinger whispered in my ear again. “What’s a junior senator doing here?” Before I could answer, he spoke. “Bennett. As in Speaker of the House Bennett? I’m guessing that’s your father?”

  Bennett straightened his tie. “You are correct.”

  It made sense then. Bennett was probably assigned to some needless committee and was overseeing absolutely nothing to claim Congress was on top of defense spending. Mostly he was spending too much time staring at one of my team.

  “You know him?” Martinez asked.

  Naomi shrugged one shoulder. “We’ve met.”

  Bennett couldn’t have looked more heartbroken, and Bianca was displeased. She cleared her throat. “Shall we go? We don’t want to keep the general waiting.”

  Naomi couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at Bennett before we left the NORAD Operations room for the elevator. No one spoke while we retraced our steps back down corridor Charlie, through the blast doors, and to the administrative offices. Bianca left us in a large conference room alone.

  The white walls were blank except for a few cracks and a line of portraits of white men, possibly former generals who had run the Complex in the past, but with no dates or names beneath, it was hard to be sure. The paint seemed to be the original coat, the bookshelves nearly empty, the large rectangular oak table with far fewer chairs than it could accommodate.

  “Did they bring us here to die?” Sloan said, looking around.

  “It’s where Dr. Philpot is going to make you a candlelight dinner,” Naomi teased.

  “Fuck off, Nomes,” Sloan said, but he didn’t mean it. He would take a bullet for her, just like any of the rest of us would do for anyone on our team. Just like Abrams did for us.

  “How do you know that jackass upstairs?” Martinez asked.

  She shrugged without making eye contact. “We met in DC.”

  “And?” Martinez asked.

  “And none of your fucking business,” Naomi snapped. “Do I ask about your conquests?”

  Sloan snorted. “He was a conquest?”

  “You don’t ask because I don’t remember their names,” Martinez said with a smirk.

  “Except your dad is militia, and he hates Bennett,” I said.

  She shot me a death glare. “I’m holding a loaded gun. Shut up, or I’ll blow out your other knee.”

  I frowned, but before I could retort, the general waltzed in with his entourage, including Bianca. She still looked pissed.

  Kitsch barked for us to stand at attention.

  “At ease,” the general said. “You’re all discharged or retired, anyway,” he said, sitting at the head of the table. “Trexler, have a seat. The rest of the team can wait in your quarters.”

  My team looked to me for approval, and when I nodded, they headed out without another word. I took a seat next to the general and tried my best not to appear too rigid. He didn’t seem worried about it.

  “I trust your team have all been situated?” he asked.

  “All but me, General Tallis.”

  “Oh?” He eyed Bianca.

  She stepped forward, but I stopped her from answering. “I wanted to find my own place.”

  The general considered my words and then nodded. He had no smile lines, but the bags under his eyes and the scar on his cheek were familiar. “Bianca has gone over the rules? The tour? Procedure?”

  “She has. Ad nauseam,” I said.

  He chuckled, but the expression looked awkward on his face. He cleared his throat and sat up, interlacing his fingers on top of the table. “Lieutenant Saunders will help you familiarize yourself with the monitoring and alarm systems. I’ll let you delegate to your team as you see fit.”

  An air jockey in dress blues stepped forward, a CMC patch sewn to his sleeve. “Good morning, Trexler. I’m Saunders. I’ll be training you on the systems. I’ll be meeting you in the control room in fifteen.”

  I scanned him from shined shoes to hat. “Thanks.” My first inclination was to offer him a smartass remark about an echo in the room, but the general’s vicinity kept my mouth in check. Saunders already looked annoyed that he didn’t get my job.

  The general scanned the room. “Leave us,” he said to Bianca and the few guards still present.

  Everyone behind me turned on their heels and filed out of the room. Once the door closed behind them, the general sat back in his chair. “You probably think you’re someone special getting this job.”

  I arched a brow. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “You heard me. We have a security team, handpicked by me, downstairs that can more than handle anything thrown at this facility. An army, a Scud missile, a goddamn nuclear bomb. Scott Trexler and his band of PTSD-ridden misfits aren’t going to make one shit ounce of difference.”

  I sat forward. The general smiled. “You bowin’ up to me, son?”

  “I’m not your son.”

  He wasn’t fazed. Not a single muscle twitched, and one corner of his mouth turned up as if he knew I was fantasizing about using my sidearm to bitch-slap him. “You’re here because the son of the Speaker of the House has a crush on your girl.”

  “My girl, sir?” At first I thought he was talking about my sister Hailey. He was making no fucking sense.

  “Naomi Abrams.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Not at all. Senator Bennett’s great-uncle is Walter H. Bennett. Not only is he on the House Armed Services Committee, but the Oversight and Investigations Subcommittee. Peter could request an indoor pool and trained seals, and it would happen. Do you happen to know which state Senior Senator Bennett was elected in? New Mexico. Little Miss Militia was the girl next door.”

  “You expect me to believe one of the highest-security government bunkers in the US hired us PTSD misfits as security all for a crush? Why not just hire Naomi?” I asked.

  The general chuckled. “I’ve seen stupider things in government.” He stood. “The senator can’t justify his claim that the Complex needs an additional specialized security team if he just hires one Marine, now can he? Enjoy your paycheck, walk the halls, stay out of the way, and hope Abrams has a soft spot for the junior senator.”

  “Pardon the frankness, sir, but you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

  “If you were allowed downstairs in Deep Echo, you’d know I most certainly am not. The people leading this country are finicky toddlers with limitless resources and power. Be glad you’re benefiting instead of the alternative.”

  “Deep Echo, sir?”

  “Good day, Trexler.”

  “It’s just Trex,” I said, standing.

  The general didn’t look up, instead staring at a pit in the table. “You’re not to inform your team.”

  “About Deep Echo? Hard to inform them if I don’t know what it is. I assume it’s another corridor?”

  “About the arrangement.”

  “What? Then why tell me?”

  “So you know your place. We have strict rules here, Trex. You will abide by those rules, or you’ll learn quickly the alternative I was just talking about. Stay in unrestrict
ed areas, babysit the lab rats wearing the white coats, and smile at the tourists. If you or any of your men get curious, you’re looking at a cell, and not the cushy ones the pussy civilians occupy.”

  “Tourists?”

  “The Complex offers limited tours the last Friday of every month. Your job is classified. You don’t work here. Your team doesn’t work here. Make up any story you want, but you can’t claim or admit association. You’ll have certain knowledge of this base and its functions. You keep it to yourself and avoid questions. Understood?”

  I nodded once.

  “Dismissed,” he said, remaining in his less-than-formal position. “Close the door behind you.”

  I returned to our quarters in a daze. My team stopped what they were doing to wait for me to explain my confused expression. Sloan stepped out the bathroom, still drying his hands on a paper towel. Kitsch was sitting on the end of a long, metal bench centered between the lockers that lined the walls, waiting for me to speak, and Naomi was standing next to the lockers with her arms crossed, her cheeks flushed. Our names were already engraved into metal plates on our respective lockers, all except Naomi’s.

  “What the fuck is this?” Naomi said, pointing to the green boxes. “My quarters are across the hall. I’m the only one in there. There’s twenty empty lockers in there.”

  I shrugged.

  “No,” Naomi said. “The special treatment is bullshit. And don’t tell me it’s for safety reasons.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Nomes.”

  “Because he wants to live,” Martinez teased.

  I wanted to tell her all she had to do was mention it to Bennett, and she’d likely be assigned a locker in this room by end of day, with a solid gold nameplate and some shit like surround sound and climate control. “I’ll mention it.”

  She threw her pack on the ground. “So tired of this shit.”

  “Just use mine for now,” Sloan said.

  “What did the general have to say?” Harbinger asked.

  “He told us to walk the halls, and that Saunders will train us on the system. They run a tight ship. We cross the restricted line, and we’re out. Maybe worse.”

  Martinez frowned, two deep lines forming between his brows. “The fuck?”

  I glared at him. Martinez was a medic, but he was also the prankster. He was always doing stupid shit like sending the new guys all over the hospital looking for spare fallopian tubes. “Don’t go anywhere you’re not authorized to go. This is a top-secret facility. Don’t jack around. I mean it.”

  “You heard him,” Kitsch said. “Keep it tight. Move out.”

  Kitsch rushed the men out into the hall, leaving just Naomi and me. I had a hard time looking at her, knowing the information the general had shared with me, and knowing I couldn’t tell her put me in a situation I’d never been in before. Trust was paramount, and lying wasn’t in our vocabulary.

  “You’re acting weird,” she said.

  “I am?” I asked, putting my boot on the bench to retie it.

  “How’s the hotel?”

  I smiled, thinking of Darby. “It’s good.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “You have that look.”

  “What look?” I asked, annoyed.

  “That goofy dreamy look you get when you’re using your fake future wife to get out of a second date.”

  I stood and pointed at Naomi. “She’s not fake. It’s a real thing. No point in a second date if it’s not her.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “Just admit it. You’re a commitment-phobe.”

  “That’s not true. I’m very committed. Just to her.”

  “There is no her.”

  “There is. And…okay, don’t tell the guys, they’ll give me shit.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This woman who works at the hotel. I have a feeling about her.”

  Naomi couldn’t hide her surprise. “Seriously? You think you’ve finally found her? This”—she gestured with her hands—“epitome of perfection?”

  “I never said she was perfect. I just said she was perfect for me.”

  Naomi pulled open the heavy metal door that led to the hall. “I hope you’re right. Would save us all from hearing you whine about her for the next ten years.”

  We met the rest of the team in the hall and walked to the control room. Saunders was standing at the entrance with the constipated look that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. As expected, the control room was vast, with television monitors, computers, and an enormous screen on the wall. Most of the equipment looked as old as I was and older. My team noticed our surroundings and then faced forward. It made me proud that they weren’t gawking like the tourists that had likely been ushered in and out like cattle the Friday before. They were all business, looking like badasses in a room full of flyboys.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen monitors before,” Saunders said. “Or maybe all they showed you in the Marines is how to shoot a gun and spit properly?”

  Martinez’s eye twitched, and I stepped forward to keep my men in line and Saunders from a near-death experience. “I’m sure we can handle it, Saunders. Just train us as usual. We’ll try to keep up.”

  Saunders blew out a laugh and turned. Martinez took a step forward, but Kitsch held him back.

  “These monitor the entrance. This section, the exterior north; the south is there, the east, the west. Then you have the interiors: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta,” he said, pointing to each monitor. “This is Doherty, Haskins, and Lev. They run this area—the monitors, the fire, earthquake, radiation, and blast sensors. This entire facility is on enormous springs. They run those, too. So basically, they’re the saviors of this place.”

  “Springs,” Naomi said, amused. “Are you serious with that shit?”

  Saunders crossed his arms over his middle and leaned toward Naomi. With one of her famous warning glares, he backed off.

  They were focused on the fire monitor, toggling between exterior thermals and interior temps.

  “Why are you monitoring a fire that’s at least an hour west, especially since this place is a rock?” Sloan asked.

  “We have systems in place. We just don’t want the fire getting too close. Then we have to fight the news crew helos and people sniffing around. Not good with us being a top-secret facility and all.”

  “Oooh, I feel so special,” Martinez said.

  “Secure that, Martinez,” Kitsch said.

  “You got this, or you need me to get out the label maker?” Saunders asked.

  “We got it,” I said.

  “Good, because it’s time for chow.” Saunders made an invisible swirl in the air with his index finger, signaling us to move out. “Deefac is this way.” Martinez and Sloan were both fighting a laugh. Saunders had probably been waiting to do that his entire life, and finally got his chance with Marines who’d seen enemy fire. Chow hall, mess hall, cafeteria, or dining facility instead of DFAC was sufficient. Saunders was trying way too hard to fit in with the big kids.

  “It’s not necessarily his fault,” I said, keeping my voice low. “We’re a tough bunch to impress.”

  “I’m sure his grammy thinks he’s a warrior,” Sloan said.

  The team worked even harder not to burst into laughter, but even Harbinger was struggling. He finally cleared his throat. “All right, all right. Let’s not get fired on our first day.”

  The food was better than anywhere else we’d been, with a buffet that offered dishes like organic steak and shrimp bowls, to ahi poke, to a Kotlet sandwich—whatever the hell that was.

  Sloan had the largest pile of food on his rectangular plate, the blue plastic reminiscent of the fifties, as was the rest of the room. Nothing had been updated in the facility for sixty years. It didn’t have to be. It had been built to outlast the fallout from a nuclear bomb—so at least two lifetimes.

  No one had a lot to say while they stuffed food in their mouths, accustomed to limited time to fill
their bellies before we were yelled out of the room—or bombed out. The feeling wasn’t wrong. Bianca was standing at the door with a clipboard, impatiently waiting for us to notice her.

  Sloan frowned while he chewed, a small dollop of mayo on the corner of his mouth. “Have y’all gotten the feeling they don’t want us here? Or am I just being sensitive?”

  “No,” Naomi said. “They’re not rolling out the welcome mat. Bianca said they were nervous about Trex. I think they’re nervous because we’re outsiders.”

  “I’ve felt more welcome in an Iraqi village than here,” Martinez said.

  “All right,” I said. “Pack it up. Don’t prove them right. We’ve been through worse. Stop feeling it and handle it.”

  The team stood with renewed confidence. Lunch and a pep talk were all it took to give them a second wind after a long morning of orientation bullshit no soldier should have to endure. Physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion, yes. Hours of droning on about rules, regulations, and tech manuals? No fucking thanks.

  At day’s end, we stepped out, even the fading sun causing us to squint. I felt naked after carrying a rifle all day, then leaving it behind.

  “You’ll get used to the brightness after leaving the Complex,” Bianca said, unaffected. “Just be glad you’re not a resident.”

  “People live here?” Martinez asked.

  I couldn’t tell if Bianca was annoyed with the questions or indifferent. “Some of the scientists, and the other security team.”

  “Okay. Let’s call it a day,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.

  Gravel crunched beneath our boots as we left Bianca standing alone at the entrance, if we didn’t count the half dozen MPs.

  I shook hands, fist-bumped, and side-hugged my team good night, and then climbed into my truck, letting out a sigh. We’d done it.

  Naomi perched her arm on top of her open car door with a smug smile.

  I rolled my eyes. “What?”

  “Is she there? The girl? At the hotel?”

  “Yes, Nomes, she works there.”

  “You really think she’s the one?” she said with a giggle.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled. “I’d expect this from the guys. I thought I’d catch a break from you.”