“Sir?”
“I need to know who this Internet Protocol address belongs to,” Müller enunciated, suddenly turning irritable. He had a very short fuse when it came to others.
Sandra looked at the paper again, then up at Müller.
“Sandra, you seem confused.” He was starting to get angry. Did they all have some sort of hearing problem? “What part of my request is unclear?”
“Mr. Müller,” Sandra said, nervously. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. Where did this come from?”
Müller was now shouting, “That’s what I want to know from you.”
The rest of the workers lowered their heads behind their computer monitors. They knew from experience that Müller was only seconds away before rounding on them.
“What I mean,” Sandra said. “Is how did you get this IP?”
“It was from an email I received just a few minutes ago.”
Sandra looked at the paper again◦– 127.0.0.1.
“Mr. Müller, this is the address of your own computer. Every PC on the planet has this IP. It’s referred to as the Localhost. Did you send yourself an email?” She knew she’d just said the wrong thing.
Those seated around Sandra tried to make themselves even more inconspicuous. Many had been at the butt-end of Müller’s raging tantrums in the past.
Müller had missed the point completely. How dare Sandra challenge him in such an insolent manner in front of the entire department? Him personally. Joseph Müller, Director of the National Security Agency.
“You’re fired,” Müller yelled, storming out the room.
It was evident that the security department had already seen that video, but from the angle of the camera, it wasn’t really obvious what he was doing. Or so he convinced himself. Either way, Müller would erase it from the databanks. He’d deal with security later.
And what the hell was Yvonne Baird doing in Missouri? Why wasn’t she answering his phone calls?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Emily had her laptop plugged in to Level-2’s network and was doing some research on geophysics, understanding very little of what she was reading. She eased back in the chair and sipped her mid-morning coffee; a habit picked up from Nathan. Not a bad habit either, she thought, with an unconscious smile.
The last news item they watched during breakfast was McCarran’s ground crew covering the burned-out shell of the 737 with a huge tarp. It wouldn’t do for passengers taking off to see that. With nothing new to broadcast live any more, CNN simply repeated what coverage they had, but the entire affair was still a sensational and speculative media circus.
A few minutes ago, Emily had received notification that the twins were safely on their way. She informed James immediately. Yvonne would be thrilled.
Uri had arranged with Nellis Air Force Base for another drone to circle high over Kubacki’s site. Emily could watch its surveillance from the large TV near Gene’s workstation. She hadn’t seen Gene yet this morning and welcomed the total silence and time to herself.
Flying south, a Super-Huey, piloted by Kovak, was on its way to the Mojave Wastelands. Uri, Nathan and Obadiah were on board.
Flying east with favourable prevailing winds, Yvonne’s twins would be landing at JFK at four p.m. New York time.
Westbound, Trish LaForgue was en route to Groom Lake on a Cessna Citation owned and operated by the Office of Security.
Safely stored in a transport truck’s glove box, Yvonne Baird’s NSA phone, transmitting its current location, was travelling northbound along Missouri’s regional roads.
The cavern was a lot smaller than Nathan had expected. Besides the workshop on the left, all the other fixtures were exactly as described in Kubacki’s document. The central funnel-shaped pit had a menacing feel to it, as did the humming coils on the right. They were taller than Nathan envisaged.
The most fascinating thing was an outlandish hovering vehicle which Nathan would look at in more detail shortly. There was no mention of that in Kubacki’s document. Just to its right, was a chair and workbench, with a large black, sealed container, of sorts, on top. On the opposite side of the cavern, shelving lay scattered on the floor. Behind was a dead body with a metal detector close by. He followed the others cautiously around the pit to investigate.
Obadiah prodded the body with his boot. “He’s been dead for a while. Looks to be one of the sweepers we saw from the drone’s eye in the sky.” He tried the door. It appeared to be locked from the other side. “Uri, can you help me try and force this door open?”
After a minute or so of the two big men pushing, shoving and ramming the door with their shoulders, Nathan approached from behind.
“Here, try this,” he said, handing over a large crowbar he’d found by the tools.
Obadiah successfully pried the door open.
Uri looked at Obadiah. “You only managed to open it so easily because I’d already loosened it for you.”
“You carry on convincing yourself of that, Uri,” Obadiah said, with mock sarcasm.
Concealed behind the door was a narrow tunnel, too low for any of them to walk into without ducking their heads. They moved ahead a few feet. Nathan pointed out a trail of bloodspots leading into the darkness. Behind the door, heavy-duty power cables ran from a conduit along the right side of the tunnel’s sandy wall. A low resonant thumping echoed from deeper within. All three turned to the sounds of footsteps crossing the chamber.
“Is that your handiwork?” Kovak asked, pointing at the corpse.
“Nope,” Uri said. “He was already here as you see him. It’s one of the Mexicans that we were watching from the drone.”
Nathan turned back into the tunnel and reached for his phone. “Damn,” he said, in frustration.
“What’s up, Nate?” Obadiah asked.
“Phone’s acting up. I wanted to use the flashlight app, so we could see further into this tunnel.” He turned to the others. “Are your phones working?”
“No, mine’s acting up as well,” Uri said. “That’s strange.”
“I didn’t bring mine,” Obadiah apologised.
Kovak checked his various flight-suit pockets. “Ah, there you are◦– Flashlight.” He switched it on and shone it down the tunnel. “It seems to go quite a way in. Stay where you are while I check it out.” Ducking his head and squeezing past the others he strode in.
As one, they followed close behind.
Thirty paces along, a second tunnel◦– from where the thumping sounds were coming from◦– branched off to the right. Twenty feet in, it expanded into a long, dimly lit cavern.
“I thought I told you guys to wait,” Kovak chuckled.
“We’re just as curious,” Uri said.
“Kovak, you and Obadiah carry on,” Nate suggested. “Uri and I will check this other hollow. There seems to be enough light.”
The ceiling, from which a strand of low-wattage incandescent lights had been suspended, was slightly higher, allowing both to stand comfortably upright. Down the centre, with enough room to walk on either side, ten hollow tubes, roughly two feet in diameter, extended a few inches from the ground. The tubes were the source of the slow thumping sounds. Electrical cables running from each tube were spliced into the heavy-duty cables they had seen by the door.
“What in the hell is this?” Nathan asked.
“Power source,” Uri answered. “They’re thermal engines, or more commonly, heat engines.”
“Never actually seen one,” Nathan said, looking with curiosity down one of the tubes. He couldn’t see the bottom. “How do they work?”