The Dig: A Taskforce Story

by Brad Taylor

  She said, “Contract cheats are nothing. Those guys were going to kill me. I’d like to show them how big a mistake that was.”

  Chapter 11

  Sitting outside the wire, I watched an aircraft come into final approach for Roswell International, wondering yet again what magical ability Jennifer had to get me to do stupid things. She said, “How long are we going to wait?”

  Until this moment of insanity passes from my brain. “Until I’m ready, damn it.”

  She turned away with a scowl, saying, “It’s only three hours until daylight. You said it would take at least an hour to get through the fence. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for exploring.”

  It had been a full two days since our discussion in the motel room, and the Blackhorse boys had been running all over town trying to find us. Which had made it hard to conduct a proper surveillance of their facility.

  I’d called Kurt, relaying what we had and asking for some help. He’d gotten a little agitated, to put it mildly.

  “Are you telling me you went to Roswell, New Mexico for an archaeological dig, and instead you’ve killed a bunch of people in the desert? And you want me to do something about it? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Sir, I didn’t kill anyone. It’s Aegis and their Blackhorse Tactical security. I’m telling you they’re covering for something. I need to know what they’re up to in that hangar. You can find that out.”

  “Jesus, Pike. I don’t know what to do with you. I’m trying to convince the Oversight Council to use your damn company, and they’re already skittish as hell about you. This isn’t going to help.”

  “Sir, I didn’t do anything. They’re the ones that are killing. They kidnapped Jennifer, for Christ’s sake. If you don’t believe me, believe her.”

  “She’s involved in this too?”

  “Well, of course. She’s the one who came up with the theory—and it’s a pretty good one. I just want to prove it.”

  I heard nothing on the phone for a minute, then a sigh. He said, “Okay, look, I did a scrub after our last conversation. Aegis has a contract with Big Safari. They’re working on a new stealth UAV. An armed drone that carries a bigger payload than just hellfire missiles.”

  I took that in. So much for aliens.

  Big Safari was a classified program run by the US Air Force that focused on rapid procurement of all sorts of intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance platforms. Everything it touched was top secret.

  I said, “So that’s what crashed out there? A prototype of an invisible armed drone?”

  “Yeah. The SECDEF is a little agitated because of the cost. It was a no-bid contract, so others are saying it’s a money pit.”

  Which was the same old DoD story. In the past, Big Safari had generated some bad press because of its tendency for no-bid contracts, instead relying on the good ol’ boy network to get things done. A lot of defense types on both the industry and the government side had complained that the system didn’t allow for competition.

  “Well, I agree with him. I think it is a money pit. One thing’s for sure: The UAV’s not invisible. I heard two of the scientists talking. It doesn’t work, and they’re faking tests to keep the funding. That’s why they were so adamant about getting that little piece back. It would provide proof of their fake tests. This must be worth billions to Aegis. A long-term funding stream of maintenance and support, all backed up by their classified testing.”

  “You got any proof of that?”

  “No. But I’m going to get it. Will you help? All I need is someone to exploit their computers. I’ll gain the access.”

  “Pike, I can’t authorize this. I can pass along your suspicions to the SECDEF at the next Council meeting, have him talk to the Armed Services Oversight Committees and check out Big Safari, but there’s no way I can conduct an operation on US soil against a US corporation.”

  “Sir, there’s too much money floating around here. Congress will do nothing. It’ll just be cost overruns and delays, giving Aegis time to hide their flaws and present some bullshit report. All that will accomplish is the loss of more tax dollars. I’m not asking for a Taskforce team. Just some computer help. I’ll do it myself.”

  “Pike, the answer is no. Not a chance in hell. Besides that, Creed’s on leave.”

  Bartholomew Creedwater was a Taskforce hacker. A geek like all the others in the hacking cell, he was an expert at penetrating computer networks. Unlike the others, he’d actually done a ton of illegal hacking operations before seeing the light with the Taskforce. Given that, Kurt’s statement made little sense.

  Why do I give a shit if he’s on leave? It wasn’t like Taskforce computer operations shut down because of one man. Especially one who had no qualms about breaking the law.

  Hesitatingly, I said, “Yeah? Is he still in the building?”

  “How the hell would I know? Pike, get back home. You get caught doing stupid shit out there, and you’re on your own. No way will the Oversight Council let you back in.”

  Wow. Real subtle. I decided to poke him a little bit. “Understood, sir. But if the evidence falls in my lap, Jennifer gets a shot at Selection, right?”

  I heard a click, waited a bit, then said, “Hello? You still there?”

  Two nights later and I was sitting outside the Aegis compound with a pocket full of thumb drives, a computer geek on standby, and Jennifer lying in the ditch next to me. About to execute what I considered a marginal plan, at best.

  While waiting on the FedEx of hacking tools from Creed, Jennifer and I had done about as much reconnaissance as we could manage, dodging the big hulking four-by-fours the Blackhorse Tactical guys were using all over the city.

  When we were done, I was going to give them a little lesson on camouflage and blending in, but in the meantime, I’d found no weaknesses in their fence line. The only way in was through the front gate. It was impossible to remain undetected trying to cut through or climb the fence itself.

  Getting the gate open posed its own challenges. Around six P.M.—the latest seven—all the scientists went home. After that, the compound was left to the Blackhorse boys.

  We’d brainstormed quite a few different options, with Sweetwater actually suggesting we pole-vault over the fence. I wasn’t sure if he was succumbing to cabin fever or if he was just that stupid.

  Jennifer suggested a diversion, and that would work, up to a point. I could trigger a reaction by messing with the sensors on the fence, but I couldn’t get them to actually open the gate to leave the compound. They’d just inspect from the inside. I’d have to involve a third party to interest them enough to go outside the fence line, and the only one I had was Sweetwater. No way was I going to trust him to get away after a diversion. Not with some tactical guys frothing at the mouth to get him.

  It wasn’t that I had that much concern for his welfare. It was ours I was worried about, because once they caught him, he’d spill his guts that we were on the inside.

  In the end, I decided to cut my way through, which would require triggering the fence enough that they thought they had a sensor fault, then cutting a hole in between the inevitable increase in vehicle patrols—all while hiding said hole from discovery.

  It would take a lot of time. Which was why Jennifer had questioned my delay in execution.

  Chapter 12

  I said, “You ready to do this?”

  In the soft glow from the moonlight I saw her nod. I shook my head, internally hoping to see some reticence on her part. Anything to slow down this train. I said, “That damn badge isn’t going to work anymore. They know I took it.”

  She said, “I told you I’d climb. Anyway, you said it didn’t work on the door where I was held to begin with.”

  Part of our half-assed plan was using the access badge I’d taken off the scientist, but if it didn’t work because they knew they’d lost it, Jennifer was go
ing to climb to the outside balcony where I’d seen the guy on the phone, break a window, then come down to the door from the inside and let me in.

  I had a bad feeling about the entire situation. From our reconnaissance, all the Blackhorse guys were either in a trailer offset from the motor pool, or in the bunker-like concrete building that was formerly the SAC alert base, but none were in the hangar. It was completely off-limits to all but Blackhorse leadership—like the fake federal agent who had slapped Jennifer—but leadership would be gone at night. We hoped. What would happen if someone were inside? What would I do locked outside? Scream as they captured Jennifer?

  I’d brought that up to her and she’d said, “Would you be worried if it were another teammate doing the entry?”

  When I’d told her no, she’d said, “Then why do you want me to do Selection?” The implication was clear: Don’t tell me I’m capable, then treat me like a piece of fine china.

  She broke the silence, snapping me back to the present: “Let’s do this.”

  I checked my equipment one more time and said, “Here goes nothing.”

  I handed her the tail end of a section of 550 cord—a thin, green, nylon military twine used for everything except making coffee—and snaked forward on my belly, pulling the other end. I reached the fence and, using a large binder clip from an office-supply store, I attached the cord to the bottom chain link, right next to the aluminum vibration sensor. I retraced my crawl, taking care to fix the disturbance of my passing, knowing they would shine a light.

  I reached Jennifer in the ditch seventy feet away. I rolled next to her and said, “Okay, last chance to just get the hell out of here. Get back to Charleston.”

  She snapped at me, saying, “Why do you keep asking? Is that what you want to do? Really?”

  I was taken aback by her statement, since she usually got me involved in the overall problem, then acted like everything I did to solve it was insane. I considered, then said, “No. Not really. Those assholes think they have a cloak of immunity because of their classified status. Building a bunch of crap that costs billions and doesn’t even work. It pisses me off. The minute you start using your classification as an excuse to profit, you need to be gone.” I looked at her again and smiled, “Not to mention they were going to kill you. That alone is worth my attention.”

  I started to pull the lanyard, beginning the show, when she stopped me, locking eyes in the moonlight. She said, “You mean that?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course I do. Someone fucks with you, they fuck with me.”

  “No, no. I mean about the abuse of power.”

  Where is this going? I paused, seeing her search my face. I said, “Yes. I meant that as well.”

  “So if the Taskforce were to start doing something wrong, you’d step up? Stop it?”

  “Hell, yeah, I would. Jesus. You think I wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. You keep pushing me for Selection, but you never talk about the consequences. You see a force for global good. I see a damn secret police. I’m okay with the global good. I’m not so sure about the Gestapo.”

  I laid flat, saying, “Then what the fuck are we doing here? Really? Because I’m the Gestapo that’s about to risk my life entering this site.”

  She said nothing for a moment, then, “This is good. I can do this. The people inside need to be exposed. And I’ll do Selection if Kurt lets me. But I won’t be a partner to groupthink. I will not roll over if I see something going bad. You get that, right?”

  I squirmed in the ditch to face her again. I said, “That’s exactly why I want you to do it. No other reason.”

  She grinned and said, “No other reason?”

  I heard the words and felt the flush on my neck, now glad for the darkness. I rolled away from her eyes and said, “Get your head down.”

  I jerked the cord, muttering under my breath.

  Nothing outward on the fence happened. No lights, no sirens. But within seconds I saw a glow behind the bunker building, near the Blackhorse trailer. Headlights.

  Soon enough, they came ripping down the fence and stopped right outside our position, shining a Q-Beam handheld spotlight. I pulled a burlap cover over our head as it swept the earth around us. The beam began hunting, raking the ground left, then right, the spikes of light punching through the burlap enough to illuminate Jennifer in the flashes. I whispered, “Wanna run?”

  She actually smiled, saying, “Too late.”

  The vehicle rolled on, the light from the Q-Beam fading. She said, “I’m starting to get a kick out of this. Jerk the cord again.”

  I grinned, pulling the 550 cord hard. Forty seconds later, the vehicle was back on us. The spotlight stabbed the dark and I scrunched down next to Jennifer, pulling the burlap tight and ducking my head into her armpit.

  I felt her hold her breath, and the light went away, the engine noise fading. She said, “Did you really need to jam your nose into my breast?”

  I leaned up and jerked the cord again, saying, “What are you talking about?”

  She started to say something when the light came back. I slammed back down flat, pressing my head into her armpit again. She hissed, “This is not funny.”

  The light lingered, hovering over us for the first time. We were about to be discovered.

  I whispered back, “Shut up. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”

  She went rigid, a plank without movement, my nose bunching into her left breast. The light lingered for a good ten seconds, then moved on. She rolled to the right and punched me in the shoulder.

  I hissed, “What? What’s wrong with you?”

  She looked at me, trying to find some sign that I had enjoyed what had just happened. I gave nothing away. She squinted her eyes, but said nothing. I pulled the cord again, this time getting no response.

  They’d shut down the sensor.

  With a choir-boy look of innocence, I climbed out of the ditch with my wire cutters. I held the smile at bay until I was out of her eyesight, but it busted wide open as I crawled toward the fence.

  I started snipping a spot big enough to get us through. I got about a third of the way around when I saw the lights from the patrol kick up again. I cinched the fledgling hole in four places with micro-fiber zip-ties, then scrambled back to Jennifer.

  We waited, seeing what would happen. The fact that the patrol was coming this early either meant they were starting their manual protection, or that we were fucked and they hadn’t shut down the sensor. If they focused on our spot at the fence, like they had before, we would be found out when they saw the cut links.

  The vehicle swept on through, the light bouncing along at a good ten miles an hour, but not stopping near us. I did the math and figured I had about eight minutes. I crawled forward again.

  We went through four rotations, and the hole was cut. On the fifth, we entered the compound, leaving behind a knit job that would pass cursory examination. I led the way, skirting the lights to the hangar.

  We drew up on the right side, crouching down in the darkness, the balcony above us. I pulled out my stolen access badge, looked to see if she was ready, then leaned into the light, placing it against the reader. It blinked red.

  Shit.

  I said, “Not working. You sure you want to do this? You get up there, you’re on your own.”

  Her eyes were wide, the adrenaline coursing through her. She nodded. I said, “Check your pistol.”

  She’d kept the Glock she’d taken from the badge guy who had slapped her around, with me keeping the one from the roving patrol. She pulled the slide a bit, just enough to see the brass of a round, then let it ride forward, nodding at me and slipping the pistol back into its kydex holster.

  I said, “Okay. Let’s get this circus stunt over with.”

  Chapter 13

  I’d found out in Guatemala that Jennifer wa
s a little bit of a freak when it came to climbing or acrobatics. Which is to say she could get up the side of any building like a lizard, as long as she had a start. In this case, she’d studied the pictures we’d taken on our reconnaissance and figured she could get to the balcony above the hangar doors by utilizing an offset electrical conduit. If she could get to it, she could jump to the balcony. Unfortunately, the only way to reach the conduit was to stand on my shoulders and leap. Like some demented college cheerleading event.

  We’d actually rehearsed this in the motel room, Jennifer coaching me through how to do a lift onto my shoulders, then launching her into the air high enough to reach the conduit. In a past life, she’d been a member of Cirque du Soleil, and she’d wasted no time tearing into me at my ham-handed abilities until I got it “right.”

  Now, hoisting her up in the dark, the reality hit home. The worst thing about the whole idea was that I couldn’t repeat her maneuver to the box. Once she was on her way, we were committed, with me on the outside.

  She got up on my shoulders and I stood, holding her hands. She squeezed once, and I bent down at the knees like I was squatting weight. She squeezed again, and I stood. She held it for a moment, and I heard her breathing rapidly. Getting ready. She squatted down on my shoulders and squeezed one more time.

  Here we go.

  I lowered until my legs were at a ninety-degree angle. I squeezed her hand once, then exploded upward with all my strength. Two-thirds the way up I felt her body shift, with her now leaping off the top of my shoulders. She let go of my hands, and I immediately rotated, looking up and holding my arms out to catch her fall.

  I needn’t have worried. She was hanging from the conduit ten feet above me.

  Amazing.

  She hoisted herself up, then pushed backwards, releasing the conduit and turning in midair, catching the bottom of the balcony.

  Fucking super-amazing.