Now he was ready to transform, ready to become bionic. He had laid the Bio Suit’s components across the floor of the tent. First he slipped into the inner lining, consisting of thermal absorbing material that drew heat from the body. Woven into the lining were hundreds of thin pliable tubes that circulated 75-degree water around the body like veins carrying blood, and lowered his body’s core temperature.
A second thermal shell overlapped the first, but instead of life support, the water-filled tubes served a counter surveillance function. The outer shell’s temperature varied to match the external air temperature, preventing Val’s body from generating a significant heat signal and camouflaging him from night vision or more advanced thermal imaging surveillance systems.
Shoulder casings, smaller than a football player’s shoulder pads, protected a computerized control system. Battery packs housed under casings on his thighs made him look like a bulky weight lifter — thin foldable solar sheets were used during the day to recharge the batteries while Val hid in bunkers.
Val lifted a casing on his left forearm that exposed a small keypad and LED display. He entered a code and the system initialized.
Removing a helmet from its carrying case, he slipped it over his head and wiggled it to a comfortable position before connecting its water tubes and power cord to the shoulder casing. Finally he zipped and clasped the suit across his chest.
A voice activated microphone processed basic commands so Val could input instructions on the move and not fuss with the keyboard. “Headset on,” he said. The computer lit a head-up display on the helmet’s face shield. Small readouts above and below Val’s field of vision displayed information like a computer screen.
The final complement to Val’s ensemble: a frayed burlap poncho. Primitive, but effective against the naked eye.
With the night vision in his helmet guiding the way, Val drove the ATV across a dark desert valley toward the Papoose Mountains where he would hide it under a camouflage tarp then continue on foot.
PART 4
IS THE TRUTH REALLY OUT THERE?
CHAPTER 26
Blake approached any new situation methodically, taking extra precautions not to overlook details that would leave him unprepared. Venturing to Area 51 presented a horde of new challenges to consider where previous life experiences didn’t exist and couldn’t be drawn upon. He purchased a desert survival book, maps and Nevada tourism brochures to help educate himself for the desert journey. But his gravest concern stemmed from disobeying Professor Eldred’s orders not to go. He spent several long distance jogs along the beach pondering what events might alert the professor of his journey. Aside from somehow being arrested, he figured the next greatest threat came from the license plates on their vehicle. Desmond was reluctant to drive for that reason, claiming his plates would bring them immediate and unwanted attention, which only compounded Blake’s concerns about the trip. So he needed to do something about the plates.
A horn blared from the street in front of Blake’s apartment. He walked out to see Trevor attempting to parallel park a Chevy Suburban that would be their means of transportation. Trevor stopped long enough to roll down the window, “Look at this badass vehicle. It’s loaded.” He shifted the car into reverse and tried to finagle the proper angle that would allow a clean parallel maneuver, but ran the back tire into the curb. “Screw it,” he yelled to Blake. “Grab the bags and let’s go pickup the alien hunter.”
To alleviate his concerns about the plates being traced to him, Blake arranged to rent an SUV through a company that specialized in providing vehicles to the entertainment industry for filming. Their records weren’t stored in a mainframe computer like the major car rental companies. As an added buffer, Trevor put the vehicle in his name. In exchange for the favor, Trevor insisted that Blake buy him a six-pack of beer for the ride to Vegas.
“Can I have one of those beers?” Desmond asked from the backseat once they were on the freeway and Trevor cracked open the first can from his shotgun position in the front seat.
Appreciating anyone who drank beer in the morning, Trevor passed him a can.
As they neared Barstow — the halfway point between Los Angeles and Las Vegas — Blake realized that Trevor and Desmond had finished the beer. “Hey, we have a serious hike ahead of us tonight.”
“It’s not that serious if you’ve done it as much as me,” Desmond bragged, his senses easing just a bit from his three-beer buzz. Having made the hike countless times, he knew what was in store, and like most who drank frequently, Desmond didn’t think the alcohol affected his senses.
“So, Blake said you got us a casino rate at the hotel,” Trevor interjected. “What’s your game?”
“I don’t bet much,” Desmond replied. “I’ve got contacts at The Sands.” He paused momentarily, wondering if he should elaborate, and figured what the heck? “There was a time — it could still be going on in some capacity — when certain defense contractors made monetary contributions to the Pentagon.”
“Payoffs?” Blake asked.
“We called them nickel jobs. I was the bagman. They would send me to Nellis on some smokescreen Air Force project and I’d get a room at The Sands. I’d stay for a few days and have as many as a half dozen visitors delivering money to my room. I must have carried a million in cash over the years. Anyways, I lived it up at the hotel, making a few friends in the back office.”
Blake gave him a discerning look through the rearview mirror.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Desmond told him. “Mobsters come in a variety of shapes and sizes, including a few in military uniforms.” He leaned his head back and rested his eyes, hoping the alcohol would put him to sleep for a while and he could forget about his recent tangles with the government.
CHAPTER 27
The morning sun seeped into Professor Eldred’s family room where he was still asleep on a sofa that had become his permanent bed. Clutched in his arm was a feather pillow that comforted him in his sleep as his wife once did. Rousing, he sensed Constance’s soft touch caressing his face. Opening his eyes, he still felt her touch, crawling down his neck. Swatting at the sensation, he scooped a roach that had been exploring his body. Disgusted, he threw it.
His son had encouraged him to sell the large home; cash in on his ocean view investment and move somewhere more manageable. He even offered to come visit and help organize for a move, but the professor said no. Too ashamed of the way he had let the house deteriorate, and that was when it still looked admirable. Now he could never let his son in.
At the kitchen counter, he poured a glass of Ensure, then personalized it with a shot of Kahlua. He continued to study his living conditions in dismay, and noticed sunlight squeezing through the curtains. They weren’t like that yesterday, he thought. He hadn’t touched them. Could it have been Blake? The professor decided to ask Blake if he’d used the sliding glass door, then remembered he wasn’t coming in today. He couldn’t understand how the curtains became askew. Certainly nobody else has been here. Pouring another glass of Ensure, he personalized it even more this time. His files. He needed to check his files.
Inside his lab, he walked straight to a large, fire-proof cabinet in the corner. Yesterday, he and Blake spent the day on campus with a mathematician who helped them crunch some formulas. It had been over a day since he opened this cabinet; the cabinet where he kept his most cherished documents. The cabinet’s lock required a special key with a half-inch extension at the tip. He inserted the key in the lock, but it stopped short. Jiggling it didn’t help.