If that were the case, somebody would have called him by now, right?
He picked up his phone. He had a good signal, but there were no missed calls.
Then what the hell is taking so long?
He bounced his legs up and down, attempting to ease some of the pressure on his bladder.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered.
Then, as if magically obeying his command, the top of the IDM began to rise.
With a sense of relief, he smiled. It was really happening. The new world they’d been working toward was about to arrive.
He shifted his gaze past the truck, to the buildings about two miles away — Marine Corps base Camp Pendleton, directly downwind from the module.
He picked up his phone and hit the preset number. “It’s me,” he said. “It just opened.”
6
The decades it had taken Project Eden to move from an idea for a better world to the actual Implementation Day had been wisely spent in preparation. With a goal as large as theirs, it was vitally important that every detail was well thought out.
One of the priorities on the list was the creation of storage facilities to ensure that those chosen to restart humanity would have the supplies they needed to guarantee their survival through the transition. The depots were spread across the world, and were designed to serve the dual purpose of storing the supplies, and acting as a shelter for Project members during the unfortunate but necessary step of killing off over ninety-nine percent of mankind.
It wasn’t that the members needed the facility to avoid contracting the KV-27a virus — all had been vaccinated — but after the release of the disease, there would likely be a period of chaos until the pandemic burned itself out. It was believed this would not last for more than a month, meaning those taking refuge in the depots would barely make a dent in the storage supply.
Depot NB219 was located just north of Las Cruces, New Mexico. By all appearances, it was just another farm along the Rio Grande. If the local population had been given a tour of the facility, they would have been shocked to find out how much of the place was actually underground.
Due to its remote location, on Implementation Day NB219 was one of the least populated facilities, with only forty-three Project members using the living quarters. One of those present was the Project’s primary fixer, a man named Perez. His status as the Project Eden directors’ golden boy made him not only the highest-ranking member at the depot, but the second highest of all members not currently at Bluebird. So while he didn’t immediately insist on taking over for NB219’s facility director, he did make sure he was involved in every decision.
When the hour of implementation approached, he joined Director Kane and his assistant Claudia Lindgren in the main conference room to monitor the events.
There were some tense moments when the hour came and went without any reports that activation had occurred. Then, nearly five minutes late, a message appeared on the television screen:
ACTIVATION COMPLETE
Soon after that, news started to trickle in from spotters scattered around the globe that the IDMs were going live.
Kane smiled broadly. “I think we should break out the champagne.”
Claudia rose from her chair and pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the small refrigerator along the wall. She grabbed three glasses from a nearby cabinet, and returned to the table.
As she popped the cork and started to pour, Perez said, “None for me.”
Kane’s smile slipped a little. “Are you sure? It’s a special occasion.”
“I’m sure.”
The director looked like he didn’t know what to do.
“I’ll have one with you,” Claudia said. She held a glass out to the director.
With a weak smile in Perez’s direction, Kane raised it in the air. “To the new beginning.”
“The new beginning,” Claudia repeated.
They both took a drink.
Perez’s refusal to join them had not been any kind of anti-alcohol stand, nor was it based on the fact it was still morning. As someone who had routinely killed people for the Project, he clearly understood the sacrifice the rest of the world was about to make. To him, celebrating that was beyond inappropriate. But he said nothing.
As it approached ten thirty, he watched the monitor for the expected follow-up message from Bluebird. When it didn’t come on time, he thought perhaps it would be delayed the same amount of time as the activation message.
But five minutes passed with nothing. Then six. Then seven.
“Are we still online?” he asked.
Kane, red-cheeked from the two glasses of champagne he’d already downed, leaned toward the monitor. “I, uh, think so. Yes, I believe we are. Is something wrong?”
If Kane couldn’t figure it out, Perez wasn’t going to tell him. “I need someone to open the vault.”
“What?” Kane said, confused.
“The vault. I need someone to open it.” Perez narrowed his eyes, staring at the director. “Not you.”
“Now, hold on. There’s no reason for you to take that tone with me. I’m in charge here.”
“You were in charge. Things have just changed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Claudia glanced at her watch, then looked at the monitor, the blood draining from her face.
Immediately she put her glass down and stood up. “I’ll take you.”
Kane gaped at her. “Claudia, what do you think you’re doing?”
Instead of answering, she led Perez out the door.
The conference room was located on the third basement level, while the vault was on level four, the bottom level.
As they rode the elevator down, Claudia said, “It could be just a communication glitch.”
Perez said nothing.
The amount of redundancies the Project had built into their communications system meant the chances of that being the case were extremely low. The second message, the one confirming everything was happening as planned, should have arrived no more than thirty minutes after activation. That was a step built into the Project’s plan years ago. The fact it hadn’t happened meant something was wrong, most likely at Bluebird itself.
But, as it had done for many possibilities, the Project had prepared for just such a circumstance.
Once out of the elevator, they made their way to the vault where Claudia punched in the code, opening the outer door. Inside was the real vault door. This took not only another code but a retinal and hand scan of an authorized individual. Claudia wasted no time releasing the locks, and within seconds they were standing inside.
One wall was covered with small, numbered doors that looked no different than a wall of safety deposit boxes in a bank. The only difference was that the ones in the Project’s vaults were opened with codes instead of keys. Each box contained instructions or information that would be used in different scenarios. Perez went immediately to box A002.
“Code,” he said.
“Two-slash-thirty-eight-slash-seven.”
He input the characters and the door popped open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read it carefully then handed it to her. “I’m officially taking over this facility.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes scanning the page.
“Retrieve the communication codes for the other depots, and have your people start making contact. I want a video conference in one hour with the top four ranking members.”