Imminent Threat

by Jack Patterson

  “Shall we?” she said as she stood up.

  Flynn followed her lead and headed toward the main entrance. He stopped and whiffed the breezy desert air that carried a hint of burnt plastic to it mixed with the smell of a 1980s-era copier. As he looked around, he scrunched up his face.

  “Problems, Mr. Flynn?”

  “That smell,” he said, whisking the air toward him. “What is that?”

  “Ingenuity and invention.”

  He smiled. “It certainly isn’t cheese.”

  They checked in at the main desk. Flynn underwent several rounds of paperwork protocol. He spent a few minutes perusing the list that outlined what he could and couldn’t do.

  “No pictures on the tour?” he said.

  Gates rolled her eyes. “Please, Mr. Flynn. I told you all this before you came out here.”

  “How can I prove to readers that this isn’t Area 51 without pictures of vacant warehouses?” He flashed a wry grin.

  “You almost got me there,” she said.

  “I think I already did.”

  He scribbled his name on the paper and handed it to her. The receptionist handed him a badge and he began his tour with Gates.

  Flynn tweeted a picture of the facility he’d taken in the parking lot.

  “About to tour INL. If the military is hiding aliens here, rest assured I’ll find them #Area51”

  He shoved his phone back in his pocket and followed Gates. They wound around a long circular corridor until they reached some of the research stations. She showed him some of the projects they were working on, mostly benign. A team of researchers tested fiber optics while others tapped on their keyboards to test “Internet security,” according to Gates. After a few minutes of muddling along, he was glad he wasn’t allowed to take pictures for he was certain they’d make this mundane story even more boring. Captions like “a researcher tests internet security” underneath the picture of a guy in a white lab coat sitting at his computer didn’t exactly make for compelling content. It was clear after a half hour that he wasn’t going to find anything compelling on the tour.

  He tapped Gates on the shoulder as she continued her torrid pace. “Look, I’m definitely going to be able to tell others there’s no Area 51 artifacts here—but only if I get to see some other parts of the facility.”

  She stopped. “Fine. I can show you a couple more buildings, but that’s it. If you thought this was boring, prepare to be underwhelmed.”

  Flynn sighed and chased after Gates, who was already six steps into her purposeful gait.

  She took them out the back of the main building where a golf cart was waiting.

  “Get in,” she said, pointing at the vehicle.

  Flynn obliged and his butt hadn’t even touched the seat before she stomped on the gas. The cart whirred as it eased down an internal access road toward a two-story building about a quarter of a mile away.

  “Been here long?” Flynn asked.

  “Long enough.”

  Flynn decided not to press her. Her slumped shoulders and dour expression spoke volumes. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Once she parked the cart outside the building, she stomped on the parking brake and strode toward the door. Flynn hustled to keep up, grabbing the door as soon as she tugged on it so he could hold it open for her.

  “At least there’s one gentleman on this property,” she said.

  Flynn smiled and followed her inside. “So, what is the primary type of research that goes on here?”

  “It’s something you have to see for yourself.” She motioned for him to follow her.

  She strode down the hallway past several armed guards, who nodded approvingly at her once she flashed her badge.

  “What’s with all the muscle and firepower around here?” Flynn asked. “Definitely not a cheese factory.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  They continued on for a few more minutes before descending several flights of stairs. Once they reached the ground floor, she led him to a viewing area where they could see inside three labs on each side of the cavernous room.

  “What are they doing here?”

  “This is one of our nuclear research facilities.”

  Flynn’s eyes widened. “You’re showing me your nuclear research?”

  “Relax. It’s totally benign—unless you ingest it, of course.” She snickered and cut her eyes at him.

  He studied the team of scientists who scurried around the room.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We don’t enrich any uranium here or anything like that. No weapons-grade nuclear material.”

  “It could still kill me.”

  “If you aren’t careful. But we take the utmost precautions around here. This place is safer than Fort Knox.”

  “So, what are they doing here exactly?”

  She wagged her finger at him. “That, I can’t tell you.”

  “So, you’re going to make me speculate? This could be interesting.”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Oh, my readers will eat this up.”

  She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Fine. I’ll tell you—”

  Before Gates could continue a loud alarm sounded, echoing off the walls.

  She grabbed Flynn’s arm.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Come with me,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

  CHAPTER 3

  SENATOR HUNTER THOR took a deep breath and surveyed the room. One side of the table consisted of party members bent on reducing the U.S. military force to little more than drone pilots and surveillance satellites. On the other side sat distinguished veterans who saw it as their duty to make sure U.S. troops received everything they needed to succeed—even if the everything bankrupt the taxpayers. The Defense subcommittee for the Committee for Appropriations consisted of regular spirited debates, none of which seemed to be grounded in logic or reason. Party ideology governed every member’s decisions, though he fancied himself to be immune from such partisan bickering.

  With his right hand, he reached for his left ring finger to twist his wedding ring, a tic he had whenever he was nervous. But it wasn’t there, serving as a stark reminder of his bitter divorce only a few months before. He’d been named the hardest working freshman senator by The Washington Post in a poll conducted by the newspaper, yet it served as little consolation for him. His dedication to his position on Capitol Hill didn’t impress his wife, who grew tired of the long days and weekends spent being entertained by lobbyists. In an effort to save his family, he told his wife he decided to step down after his term ended. She decided a relationship with a masseur was what she needed more—and she took their girls, Emily and Courtney at ages six and four, with her when she filed for divorce. Despite a fierce custody battle, she won out since she had a parcel of secrets on a handful of people in the court system. Every attempt he made to influence a favor was met with resistance until he figured out his wife’s game—one he couldn’t beat her at without great risk to his own political future. That’s when he really threw himself into his work.

  With the sting of betrayal still fresh, Senator Thor put aside his aspirations for a second chance at a happy family. Now his life was about creating a happy America, a place where the future was bright and the borders were safe. It was about making sure that the dream imagined by the country’s Founding Fathers could actually become a reality for the American people. Government reach had grown far beyond manageable, creating instead an unhealthy dependence on an approach to governance that crept toward socialism. And he wasn’t having any of it.

  Led by Senator Norton Queen, the committee meeting commenced—and Thor braced himself for the budget review process. It seemed to be a never-ending process, one filled with favors, trades, and promises.

  He sifted through the stack of papers in front of him, combing for details to question, contest, or confirm.

  If the American people knew th
is is how their government ran, they’d storm Capitol Hill and the White House with bayonets if they had to.

  The committee was Thor’s least favorite, but he felt an obligation to be there before the doves stripped the country of its world power status in an effort to regain favor in the world’s eyes. Serving on this committee, he never balked at spending suggestions—only reductions. But his eyes blazed when anyone sought to reduce or remove funding, particularly when it had no basis. Yet he didn’t expect his compatriot and fellow party member Senator Colt Ryan to be the one hoisting the axe on a handful of programs Thor deemed vital to national security.

  “This missile defense program needs to be seriously reduced, if not eliminated all together,” Senator Ryan said, his voice gruff and gravely as he tapped his cane on the floor. “I hate to see the American taxpayers fleeced for something that will remain inoperable for years to come—if ever.”

  Thor banged his fist on the table. “It’s that kind of thinking that’s going to get us bombed back into the Stone Age. Our enemies are getting smarter and more technologically advanced every day. We must stay ahead of the curve, and cutting this program would be a severe miscalculation on our part. We need to be vigilant in our defense of the American people, using our resources to keep them safe from any and all threats.”

  “Nobody has ever lobbed missiles at us.”

  “That day’s coming sooner than you think,” Thor said. Then under his breath, “But I doubt you’ll be around to see it.”

  Ryan slowly turned toward Thor. “I might be deaf in my left ear, but I can still hear your snarky comments loud and clear.”

  Senator Queen cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, let’s remain focused on the task at hand.” He paused and peered over his glasses at the sheet in front of him. “I tend to agree with Senator Ryan on this issue. The missile defense program has stalled out and serves only as a deterrent rather than an actual tool to defend this nation. I’m of the notion that it should be reduced only to a subsistence level until we can perform more viability studies. Under the current economic conditions, I feel like it would be wasteful spending. We need to be paring this program down and focusing on other things, not ramping it up.”

  Thor sighed loudly. “You’re going to regret this. We need this program right now, more than you’ll ever know. Shuttering it won’t shutter the resolve of our enemies to destroy us however they can.”

  One senator’s phone buzzed and he slipped away to a corner of the room to answer it.

  “They may try to destroy us anyway they can, but firing missiles across a large body of water isn’t how they’re going to do it,” Queen retorted.

  The senator who’d stepped away, returned to his seat and shook his head. “You might want to reconsider that last statement, Senator Queen. Terrorists just attacked one of our facilities that makes plutonium in Idaho.” He paused and reiterated for effect, “On our own soil!”

  CHAPTER 4

  SVETLANA YURKOVICH NEVER TOOK pleasure in watching men squirm under her control. While she knew others who did, she deemed it a distraction to her mission. For her, it was about the money, which only came after accomplishing the task. Delighting in a position of power over another man might result in failure or worse—death. “Never underestimate your opponent,” she preached to her team before every assignment. And the fact that her foot was on the throat of a tied-up Harold Huffman meant nothing more than she was inching closer to accomplishing a difficult undertaking.

  An alarm buzzed in the facility while lights flashed. She peered out of the closet and watched white-coated researchers scurry for the exit.

  “Niko, I need your help again,” she said into her radio. “We’re not going to be able to blend in here.”

  “On it,” he said.

  She looked down at Harold, who pleaded with his eyes that she not kill him. With his mouth gagged, it was all he could do. She sighed, growing tired of his begging.

  “Finish him,” she said to Vladimir Gurkin, one of her hired musclemen for the mission.

  “Gladly,” he said before picking up Harold and breaking his neck with his bare hands. He chuckled as he watched Harold slump to the floor.

  “Niko? You still there?” she said.

  “Almost got it,” he answered. There were a few more clicks on his keyboard until he spoke again. “OK, ready?”

  “Still waiting on Boris,” she said.

  “Not sure you can do that based on the lab’s protocol. You need to get moving—and here’s what you need to do.”

  Niko guided Svetlana and Vladimir through the research labyrinth undetected. They heard shots fired but kept moving.

  “Do you think that was Boris?” Vladimir asked.

  “Don’t have time to think about it. Let’s keep moving,” she said.

  Niko led them to a washroom where they could suit up like the other researchers and walk out without drawing suspicion.

  “Think you can hide the plutonium under your lab coat?” Niko said.

  “Of all the things I’ve done today, that might be the easiest,” she said.

  In a matter of minutes, they’d slipped into white lab coats and made it out of the building. They found an empty golf cart with the keys in it and drove toward the main parking lot, almost invisible amidst the chaos. They passed several security cars and two fire trucks.

  “Must’ve been some kind of accident back there,” Vladimir said.

  Svetlana laughed. “It won’t be anything compared to what’s going to happen with this plutonium once we get it out of here.”

  They disappeared around the backside of the main building where Niko was waiting in Harold Huffman’s truck.

  “Ready?” she shouted before she’d even pulled the cart to a complete stop.

  “Let’s do this,” Niko answered.

  Svetlana slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition as the truck roared to life. She rammed the gearshift into drive and was about to step on the gas before she felt a cold piece of metal jammed into the back of her skull.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  She took her hands off the steering wheel in surrender.

  “That’s it. Nice and easy,” said the security, who shifted his position so he could now see all three of the fleeing suspects snug in the front seat of the truck cab. “Keep those hands where I can see them.” He paused. “Now, get out.”

  Svetlana didn’t move. “Why exactly are you pointing a gun at us?”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what’s going on here.”

  “I doubt you do,” she quipped. “This stuff is way over your pay grade.”

  He forced a smile and cocked his head to one side. “You fit perfectly in my pay grade. Just be lucky I don’t have an itchy trigger finger.”

  Svetlana threw her head back and laughed while reaching for the gun in her boot as she stepped out of the truck. In one smooth motion, she pulled her gun out and peppered the security guard with three shots. He staggered backward before falling to the ground. He dropped his gun and put both hands on his chest. Blood pooled around him as he gasped for air.

  She looked down at him. “You’re right. I do feel lucky you didn’t have an itchy trigger finger.” She reached down and took his gun and cell phone before climbing back into the truck.

  “Now, let’s see if we can make a clean getaway this time,” she said before stomping on the gas.

  She grabbed the guard’s cell phone and punched in a phone number.

  “Hello?” answered a man in a hushed voice

  “I’m just calling to check in with you. We have the package.”

  “Excellent. News has already reached Capitol Hill and people are panicking here.”

  “Time to move on to Phase 2 of the plan.”

  “Already in motion.” She hung up and sped toward the guardhouse and the man who stood firm in the road with his gun trained on them. He kept screaming at them—right up until the second sh
e clipped him and sent him flying through the air.

  Niko and Vladimir both turned around, eyes wild with delight.

  “That was incredible,” Vladimir said.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” Niko said.

  A grin spread across Svetlana’s face. “And we’re only getting started, gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER 5

  DR. MELISSA WATSON ADJUSTED the radio dial on her rusted Camry. She could only move the dial about an inch, which was fine with her since it remained stuck at the left end of the spectrum. Public radio heaven. She flipped between 90.9 and 89.3 FM—often a difficult choice for her. Classical music versus jazz. Her car lurched to a stop at a red light, where she took the chance to sway while sawing on her air violin as Rachmaninoff Symphony No. 2 blared on her speakers.

  She didn’t stop until she noticed the man in the car next to her staring and smiling. She shot him a look and looked straight ahead, smoothing her hair back in her ponytail. It wasn’t the first time she’d been caught and she doubted it’d be the last. But she didn’t like the attention or the fact that she was someone else’s amusement. She gripped the steering wheel and pursed her lips in anticipation of the light turning green. When the red light blinked off, she stomped on the gas and quickly pulled ahead of him.

  As she neared the next intersection, the radio host concluded the hour of music by introducing the news. She almost twisted the knob to the jazz channel until something the newswoman said arrested her attention.

  “A growing concern about biological warfare has prompted the Department of Homeland Security to tighten its restrictions on liquids for flights originating from or landing on U.S. soil.” The newscaster continued. “In an about-face from several years ago, Homeland Security has credible intelligence that there is an imminent threat and that this is one way to prevent it.”

  Watson rolled her eyes.

  What is this world coming too? Next thing you know, my kale smoothie will be considered a threat to national security.