“Have they ever seen anything worthwhile?” James asked.
“Nothing we don’t want them to see,” Kovak replied, matter of fact.
Good answer, James thought.
SkyTech team arrived
The Controller cleared the message.
Groom Lake has two runways. The primary runway along the east side of the facility is roughly two miles long and used for regular military flights landing or taking off. Five hundred yards to the west, running parallel, the secondary runway, extending most of the way across the salt flat, is twice that length and used for experimental aircraft. It’s on this runway where most of the conspirators focused their cameras and telescopes.
After a minute or so, two black Chevys arrived. The drivers jumped out, saluted Kovak and immediately took care of their luggage and equipment. Opening the passenger doors, they invited the SkyTech team into the vehicles. James and Obadiah stepped into the back seat of the leading Suburban. The pilot sat up front. Nathan, Emily, Kovak and the co-pilot climbed into the other Chevy. Like the vehicles that collected them in New York; these too, had dark, tinted windows. Nathan and Emily welcomed the relief given by the cab’s climate control. The heat outside was becoming unbearable.
Emily looked at Kovak. “Why don’t any of you wear rank insignia?” she asked.
“If a military run facility comes under attack, the commanders are the first thing the enemy seeks out,” Kovak replied. “Soldiers are trained to do, not to think. Without leadership, there’s no one barking orders at them. They essentially become completely ineffective.”
“Kind of like taking the head off a snake,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“You obviously all know each other’s seniority status,” Emily said. “But anyone watching the order of salutes would see immediately who the guy in charge is. If I remember, it’s the junior rank that’s required to salute first. Doesn’t that defeat the objective?”
“We only salute each other when wearing caps or are in our dress-uniforms,” Kovak explained. “You’ll see that once we’re past the main security gates and in the building. No one wears anything on their head. If we did, nothing would ever get done because we’d be too occupied saluting each other all day.”
Emily laughed at the images forming in her mind.
In typical fashion, the Chevys drove bumper to bumper at twice the normal speed. They arrived at the security station in less than a minute. A large STOP sign was mounted in the centre of the heavy, steel-meshed rolling gate. Kovak opened the door, stepped out and handed the guard some folded papers he’d taken from his top pocket. The guard looked briefly at the documents, poked his head inside the Suburban, then went to the front vehicle and did the same. Kovak stepped back inside while the soldier returned to the guard house and opened the gate.
“Why didn’t you just give him the papers through the window?” Emily asked Kovak in mild amusement.
“These are standard government supplied diplomatic vehicles ma’am,” Kovak replied. “The glass is an inch thick and the windows are sealed.”
“This car is bullet proof?”
“Yes, ma’am. It will also survive a land mine.”
“What about RPGs?” Nathan asked.
“Today’s rocket propelled grenades are all armour-piercing,” Kovak said. “They’ll come straight through the glass, but still have enough force to break through the other side before detonating. Unless your head is in the way, you’d actually survive.”
Nathan was impressed.
“These Suburban’s weigh over three tons each,” Kovak said. “They’re about as safe as you can get.”
“Must also get great mileage,” Nathan said, with a sarcastic grin. “Are we supposed to know all this?”
“I work for the military, sir, not the spooks,” Kovak said. “As I understand it, you’re all cleared at Level-2.”
“What does that mean?” Emily asked.
“Let’s just say that your security clearance is higher than mine,” Kovak responded.
Chapter Eighteen
Emily could never grasp the various levels of government security; why there were so many, or who decided to what level each person should be designated. Level-2 meant nothing to her. Was that high, low, somewhere in between, or just the typical level of security dished out to civilians entering government run facilities? The best she could figure from odd thrillers that she’d read, suggested that Level-5 was probably the highest clearance; something likely afforded to the president.
A few hundred yards further along, the Chevys came to a halt. Looking towards the front, Emily noticed what she assumed to be a standard GPS screen mounted on the dash. Instead, she was watching a top-down view of Obadiah and James exiting the lead vehicle. Resolution was so clear that there was no doubt as to who these two were. Sliding out the back seat, Emily looked around. She couldn’t determine where the security camera was mounted. The surrounding land was no more than gently undulating hills and valleys as far as the eye could see. There were no masts or towers high enough to look down at such an angle.
Unknown to Emily, the video feed was being transmitted from a satellite, miles above the Earth’s atmosphere. The same scene was being watched and recorded by military personnel, both within the complex and Edwards Air Force Base in Kern County, southern California.
Speeding out the door of a nearby hangar, a military Hummer swept past. Emily’s eyes caught what she guessed to be a high-ranking general seated ramrod straight in the rear. Smartly adorned in his black dress-uniform, she couldn’t help but notice all his medals and ribbons. She was well aware that most obtained their rank through political means and not heroics in combat. Ass kissing must be more hazardous than getting shot at, she thought with amusement. Emily looked at the various buildings around her. The majority, fifteen or so she guessed, appeared to be low, flat-roofed, rectangular aircraft hangars for large trucks or small fighter jets.
There was, in fact, four times that number. Larger hangars could be seen along the perimeter. One in particular, Lockheed’s Hangar-18 was able to house aircraft with wingspans of up to two hundred and thirty-five feet; forty feet longer than a Boeing-747’s one hundred and ninety-five feet. With over thirty acres of munitions storage, burn-pits, bunkers, living quarters and administrative blocks, the size and complexity of Groom Lake could not be gauged from the ground. And those thirty acres didn’t include the subterranean levels.
Housed seven levels beneath Building-3A, cryptologic vaults were constructed to supress electromagnetic radiation. This highly secure underground crypt was known as the Tempest level.
Although similar in appearance from the outside, each of the small hangars served a different purpose. All had their wide rolling doors securely sealed except for one; Hangar-6. A man dressed like a lab technician appeared and walked briskly towards James, Emily and Nathan. Obadiah and Kovak lagged behind, carrying SkyTech’s container with the electronics.
Tall, with close-cropped blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, the newcomer approached James with a broad smile. They shook hands.
“Welcome to Dreamland, James. Pity you had to end up in this godforsaken place. You actually get used to the heat◦– after about two years.”
“Good to see you again, Doctor,” James said. “Let me introduce you to my team. Emily Hurst, Nathan McIntosh and that’s Obadiah Brown making his way here.”
More handshakes.
Obadiah and Kovak placed the container on the ground between them.