“I think the Red Room would be more interesting — it’s where we keep our nuke mock-ups, kind of a show-and-tell. Do you have your CNWDI clearance yet?”
McGriffin frowned, then remembered that CNWDI stood for Critical Nuclear Weapons Design Information. “Yeah. I was briefed into it yesterday.” McGriffin climbed into the jeep. “Sounds interesting. Maybe you guys can throw some excitement back into my life.”
Fellows started the engine. He popped the vehicle into gear and they lurched off. “If you’re into rabbits, then you’ve already experienced all the excitement you’ll see.”
As they drove back in silence, McGriffin hoped that Fellows was right.
The sheet fell away from her breast as she rolled over to her side. She placed a hand on his chest and smiled at him.
Britnell started giggling, then laughed as she rolled on top of him. He pulled her down and they kissed.
Minutes later, she propped her head up on an elbow. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”
Britnell stretched. “Anything you want, babe. I’ll give you the world if you want.”
Vikki murmured, “Anything?”
“Yeah. Anything.”
She hesitated, then drew a finger across his chest. She really wanted to pull him in, string him along longer … so if she asked for something innocuous, she could build up to the important things. “You know, it might help if I could get a hold of a Wendover phone book. It’s really a hassle to call base information all time. It would really come in handy when we make appointments with your contracting division.”
“No problem.” He closed his eyes.
Vikki reached over and flicked off the light. She rolled to her side and snuggled up against him, smiling.
Chapter 8
“You’ll have to check out the staging area by yourself. I’ve got to go to Baja.”
“Why?” Vikki Osborrn pushed back her hair. “I’m getting close to finding all we want to know about Alpha Base, including the call signs and map. We can’t afford to blow it now. Can’t you wait to go?”
Anthony Harding stood silent for a moment. He sounded weary. “I have to finalize the plans with this mercenary group that NUFA dug up.”
Vikki eyed Harding as he walked across her apartment. An old television sat in one corner, facing a threadbare couch and a coffee table. A card table and three folding chairs made up the rest of the room. Ashtrays held just as much residue from marijuana as from tobacco, and the double bed in the bedroom was unmade, with clothes were strewn over boxes.
She raised an eyebrow at Harding. Here she was, prostituting her body, giving herself to Britnell, all for a higher cause. The zeal that she and Harding had once felt was gone now, and even their lovemaking was replaced with a mechanical, almost predictable, rhythmic grinding.
Britnell’s caresses brought back the fervor — but it was tempered with the knowledge that she was no better than some slut on the main strip. It almost made her vomit to go through with it.
But it was that elusive higher law—the end justifies the means—that kept her smiling while courting Britnell. Through all his groping, she kept that one goal in mind: she’d put up with anything to get rid of the nukes, or at least be able to prove to the rest of the nation how easy it was to steal one.
And now Harding wanted to go cavorting off and leave her to finish his work.
Harding placed his hands on the back of the couch. “While I’m away you’ve got to find a landing strip in the mountains, one big enough for a C-130, so it will have to be at least a mile long. Plan to get up there, spend a few days to find what we need. I’ve got to hammer out the assault plans.”
“No. If we’re going to pull this plan off, I’ve got to keep seeing Britnell. His ego is too fragile. If I leave now, he’ll go to pieces. Even for a few days. Can’t you do it when you get back?”
Silence. Harding held up his hands. “Britnell can wait.”
Vikki bit her lip. She couldn’t believe that he was dismissing the whole reason for what she was doing. She spoke with an edge to her voice. “If we steal those nukes, the U.S. will take so much heat they’ll be forced to upgrade security, hopefully even get rid of most of their arsenal. If NUFA wants to bring the country to its knees, this is the way to do it. And that means working through Britnell.”
“Look, these mercenaries are running the assault,” Harding snapped. “They can’t fly in here unless we find a staging area. They’re the key — not Britnell. And they’re pretty dammed serious about it, too.”
“Screw the mercenaries. If they’re threatening you, then they don’t really care about the nukes. Remember why we got involved with NUFA in the first place: to get rid of the nukes. That’s the only thing that counts. Let’s do what we came to do.”
Harding slammed a hand against the wall. They remained silent for some time, staring at each other.
Jumbled thoughts roared through Vikki’s mind. The nukes, she thought. There’s nothing more important than getting rid of the nukes. If that wasn’t true, then she wouldn’t be leading Britnell on — having sex with the airhead every moment they were together.
Or Harding, as it was turning out. The sacrifices were piling up, but the end in sight seemed ever smaller, constricting.
Harding spoke with his back to her. He picked up his bags. “Do what you have to. But remember, no staging area, no raid. It’s as simple as that. I’m going to Baja.”
“So this is a Jolly Green Giant.”
The flight-suited man whirled and shot a glance at McGriffin’s name tag. “That’s right, sir. Actually it’s a highly modified Super Jolly Green. I’m Captain Manny Yarnez. I’ll be taking you up today.”
“How do you do, Manny. Bill’s the name.”
Manny returned McGriffin’s handshake with a firm grip. Red-haired and lithe, Manny’s infectious grin sparkled. The airman who had escorted McGriffin out to the flight line backed away to the staff car.
A flight-suited master sergeant who looked at least five years older than McGriffin walked around the craft, completing a preflight checklist. He nodded to McGriffin as he passed.
Manny squinted at McGriffin’s pilot wings. “Fixed wing?”
“C-17’s for thirteen years.”
Manny whistled. “Must be nice. We get our share of Globemasters through here.”
McGriffin looked wistful. “I’ve noticed.” He started to warm up to the chopper pilot.
Manny motioned for McGriffin to follow him around the craft. He walked behind the master sergeant, quickly looking over the blades and ensuring all panels were closed. Manny reached inside the cockpit and hauled out a flight log. He scanned the names and dates, then nodded to himself. “Looks like we’re in luck. She’s good for another ten hours.”
McGriffin looked along the helicopter’s side. The skin looked strange in the sunlight. It was dull black, devoid of any shine. The rotor assembly was encased in the same material. Examining the skin closer, he couldn’t even see where the sun reflected. He rubbed a finger against the fuselage; the skin was ice cold. “What have you guys painted this with?”
Ducking back around to the opposite side, Manny swung up into the craft. McGriffin hesitated, then followed. Manny said absently, “It’s a radar absorber. It cuts our cross section down to almost zero. That, the exterior design and the electronic countermeasure gear add about five hundred pounds to our weight. The drawback is that the paint also absorbs heat like crazy but doesn’t radiate it, so it heats up fast inside. That keeps us from being a sitting duck for infrared sensors, but we lose five pounds from sweating every time we fly.” He motioned for McGriffin to climb into the jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, he turned and grinned back at McGriffin.