“She left sometime yesterday morning, after we got back from Scottsdale. I think seeing the trailer destroyed was too much for her.”
“I’m sorry. Try not to let her distract you too much. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
“Okay. Give me a call when you get close and I’ll meet you at the front gate.”
“Can’t wait to see you again, Patrick,” Darrow said, and she sounded very sincere about that.
“Well, I can’t see anything from here,” Leif Delamar said. Leif was a retired mail carrier and avid hunter, and his rugged six-foot-five frame, creased face, and weathered hands were living portraits of his longtime love for the outdoors. He was looking through a pair of binoculars at the base of Judah Andorsen’s Freedom-7 mine. He and Michael Fitzgerald were in Leif’s Land Rover about a half mile from the mine at a barbed-wire fence that marked the edge of Andorsen’s land. He handed the binoculars to Michael. “What do you see, Fid?”
Michael searched for a few minutes, then lowered the binoculars and gave them back. “Nothing. Looks like business as usual.”
Leif studied the printout he made of the computer image, rotating the page so it was oriented the same way they were facing, then started tracing the different roads snaking up and down the face of the open-pit mine. “Okay, I see the two main truck roads going in,” he said, “and the west terraces here.”
“They’re called ‘benches,’ ” Michael said.
“Well, aren’t we the mining expert today?” Leif quipped. “Anyway, I see the haul roads, and the benches, and…” He picked up the binoculars and looked again. “I see a couple tunnels built into the sides of the pit. Do you know what they’re for?”
“Usually they’re just relief bores to keep water from loosening the rock,” Michael said. “They sometimes reinforce the walls with cables or shotcrete from inside the bores. If this mine ends up becoming a landfill in the future — most of them do — they also have to dig drainage tunnels to keep the pit from becoming a lake.”
“You are just a veritable font of fascinating information this morning, Fid,” Leif said. He focused in on one of the bores indicated as an activity spot on the printout. “Well, those bores look pretty big — almost like tunnels. I do see a lot of water coming out, and… hey, I think I see a couple cars lined up near one of those bores.” He looked more carefully. “Why, I think one of those cars is a sheriff’s cruiser.”
“What?” Fid took the glasses and looked. “It sure does. What in heck is the sheriff doing down in an open-pit mine?”
“Doing his job, I hope,” Leif said. “That’s the first sheriff’s car I’ve seen in days. Very weird.” He took the glasses back. “I don’t see anything else all that unusual. Maybe the sheriff is investigating something they found inside the bore, or they’re… holy shit !”
“What?”
“There’s a panel truck coming out of that bore!” Leif said. He studied the scene carefully for a few moments, tracking the newcomer, then exclaimed, “It’s a blue Air Force maintenance truck!”
“A what ?” Michael said.
“It’s one of those big blue Air Force ‘bread trucks’ we see all the time on the flight line,” Leif said. “The ones usually driven by the maintenance supervisor. Now what in heck would… ?” At that moment Leif was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle driving up the dirt road behind them. It was a two-door Jeep Wrangler, with two men aboard.
“Looks like a couple of Andorsen’s guys,” Michael said. “No sweat — we’re not on Andorsen’s property here.”
Leif lowered the binoculars, folded up the image printout, stuffed it in a pocket, and watched the Jeep approach. It roared to a stop a few yards away, and the passenger got out while the driver started talking on the radio. “Hey, guys,” Leif said. “We’re just out here checking deer trails. What’s going on?”
The passenger walked up to Leif and Michael, pulled a.45-caliber semiautomatic pistol from a hidden holster, and fired two shots.
The cameras were rolling and the media crews were ready as the C-57 Skytrain II glided in for a landing and taxied over to where the podium was set up outside the Civil Air Patrol hangar. It shut down engines, the landing gear extended to make room underneath the plane to unload cargo, and the cargo-bay doors opened. Meanwhile Jon Masters walked out of the belly hatch and came over to the podium, followed by Wayne Macomber, wearing the Tin Man armor but carrying his helmet in the crook of an arm. Behind them, Jason Richter and Charlie Turlock retrieved the folded Cybernetic Infantry Device and carried it over to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dr. Jonathan Masters of Sky Masters, Inc., a major American defense contractor and aerospace engineering firm,” Darrow Horton said into the microphones. Beside her were Patrick and Brad McLanahan, already at the podium. “He is here complying with an order from a federal judge in Reno to surrender this aircraft, various electronic components, computers and storage media, and these two pieces of technology: the Tin Man armor system, being worn by Mr. Wayne Macomber of Sky Masters, Inc., and this: the Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robot, of which I think you’re aware after one was attacked by extremists several days ago while on an FBI assignment.”
Darrow nodded to Charlie, who then began to speak: “CID One, deploy.” The large case began to move, and in seconds it had unfolded itself into the crouching robot. The reporters gasped in astonishment as Charlie spoke again: “CID One, pilot up,” and it assumed the boarding position.
“This is Miss Charlie Turlock, an engineer who works at Sky Masters, Inc., who was piloting the robot when it came to General McLanahan’s assistance against Agents Chastain, Brady, and Renaldo,” Darrow went on. “They are all here to cooperate with the FBI investigations into the bombing outside this base, as well as the allegations made against General McLanahan that he was conducting illegal spying operations against local citizens, and the even further heinous allegation by former president Gardner that the president of the United States ordered General McLanahan to undertake these flight missions.
“But make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen: we are not here to be bullied into submitting to frivolous and intimidating activities by the FBI or by inflammatory accusations and outright lies by Mr. Gardner,” Darrow went on. “First, we completely reject the idea that Special Agent Chastain return to Battle Mountain to conduct these investigations, in light of what happened here when General McLanahan defended himself and his son, Bradley, against the malicious actions of Agents Chastain, Brady, and Renaldo. He’s here because he wants revenge on General McLanahan, and that is unacceptable. We call on the FBI to immediately assign another lead investigator.”
While Darrow spoke, an Avenger security vehicle and a maintenance vehicle had arrived at the C-57, parking near the Skytrain’s tail, keeping a distance while the press conference was going on but ready to service the Skytrain if necessary. The arrival of both vehicles got Jon Masters’s attention — no one got near his planes unless he knew about it, especially ones with guns and missiles on it.
“Second, it is completely unclear why the FBI has ordered the seizure of Dr. Masters’s aircraft and these two defensive systems, the Tin Man and the Cybernetic Infantry Device,” Darrow went on. “They were not involved in either occurrence and are completely outside the purview of this investigation — Dr. Masters merely sold and installed the sensors that General McLanahan and his friends used on their private aircraft for personal reasons. Again, the FBI is using this opportunity to punish Dr. Masters, Mr. Macomber, and Miss Turlock for their previous actions, and that is completely unacceptable.