Admiral Sam Karson was betting on something else.
“Enter.”
The door opened slowly; the old wood was heavier than it looked, but the hinges were equal to their task, and the person beyond had to wait for the gap to be large enough to grant him access. He stepped in carefully, eyes moving around the room with no small amount of fear.
He had been here before, and it rarely worked out well in his opinion.
It was an opinion that he kept to himself, however, along with any other words that may have come to mind.
“Welcome, Brother. I assume you bring me news?”
He nodded, taking off his navy cap and slipping it under his arm. “I do, Matriarch.”
“Well then, tell me what you know,” the old woman ordered him from where she sat by a slowly burning fire.
He tried to ignore the heat as best he could. It was Washington, DC, for the Line’s sake, and while it wasn’t summer anymore the heat was still oppressive. Outwardly, all the admiral of the US Navy did was bow slightly before opening his mouth.
“The government continues to try and make sense of the attacks.”
“A futile gesture,” the old woman said, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t understand what you can’t see. And you can’t see what you don’t believe.”
“The president has given Admiral Karson a directive to recruit a man by the name of Masters. He was a survivor of an attack ten years ago.”
“Huh,” the woman said, sounding slightly surprised, maybe even impressed. “Few survivors are of much use, and those who are would seem insane. It won’t go anywhere.”
“As you say.”
“Still,” she said, trailing off in thought. “Send a shadow team to follow and observe.”
“And if this Masters seems to know something?”
“Kill him,” the woman said casually. “The government is too stupid to be left bumbling around in the real world. Remind them that they are best left dealing with their fantasies.”
The admiral nodded. “As you say, Matriarch.”
The woman watched him back out, the unspoken dismissal thick in the air. When the door closed, she straightened and half turned.
“Do we know of this Mr. Masters?”
A man appeared from an alcove, tall and thin with graying hair and piercing blue eyes.
“He has not appeared on any upper-level reports. I will request an archive search,” the man said calmly.
“I don’t like it, Percy,” the woman admitted tiredly. “Too many factions, too many unknowns. It’s spiraling out of our control.”
“Perhaps,” came the reply. “I doubt, however, that it ever was in our control.”
“If it wasn’t, then we must take control now,” she responded hotly. “And soon. There’s too much at stake. We will control the veil, or see it destroyed. Ensure that our people in the government know that we will brook no interference from the United States or any other group. They are to use any means necessary to ensure that.”
“Whatever you say, Matriarch,” the man said.
As he faded back from the room, the old woman turned back to the fire and stared pensively into the crackling flames.
There were no power lines running to the ranch-style home. No signs of civilization at all, in fact, beyond the small wind farm that was set a thousand feet to the north. The home was compact, built low into the land for shelter from the wind, and it blended into the natural landscape until it was all but invisible.
Karson noted that there was clear range on all sides of the building. It was over a few hundred feet to the closest trees, and nothing within that distance was more than a few inches in height. The land sloped down from the house on all sides, providing perfect visibility, and he could see that lights were inset in the grounds.
In short, the land around the house was an immaculately tailored kill zone.
A man doesn’t build a place like this without being paranoid, insane, both…or rightfully wary for his life.
Karson didn’t know which it was in this case, and wouldn’t even guess at it until he’d met Masters. He pulled his rental to a stop at the end of the drive, beside a beat-up Ford Expedition, and killed the engine. He stepped out onto the packed gravel and looked around for a moment before letting the car door shut and making his way toward the house.
He knocked a few times, then rang the bell, but there was no response. Karson sighed, stepped back, and looked around. A sound caught his attention, a rhythmic thud that took him a moment to recognize. He moved toward it, walking around the side of the house, where he found a man, his back to the drive, splitting wood with a heavy splitter’s maul. Karson paused well out of reach and cleared his throat in order to catch the man’s attention.
“Don’t want any, got no use for any, couldn’t afford it if I did.”
It took the admiral a moment to piece together what that meant.
“I’m not selling anything, Lieutenant.”
The man stopped, letting the maul fall to one side before slowly turning to look at Karson. “I ain’t been a lieutenant for almost ten years now.”
“That’s one of the things I’m here to talk to you about.”
Harold Masters took a deep breath, then slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think I care, sir. Captain? Admiral?”
“Vice Admiral Karson. ONI.”
“Naval Intelligence,” Masters snorted. “As if military intelligence wasn’t enough of an oxymoron.”
“I’m here to talk about the Fitzgerald incident.”
“I’ve got nothing more to say about that, Admiral. I told the initial investigators every damn thing I knew. To be honest, I’ve probably forgotten stuff you already have in your files…and I certainly haven’t remembered anything new.”
“Maybe we’re the ones with new information, son.”
“I’m not your son, I’m not your sailor, and I don’t give a good goddamn what you’ve found out since that night.”
Karson winced as Masters turned back to the woodpile and set up another chunk to be split.
“There have been other attacks.”
The heavy maul thudded into the hardwood, sending two chunks flying in opposite directions.
Karson tried again. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Masters answered, setting up another chunk of wood.
“You don’t have any thoughts on that?” Karson pressed.
Masters pointed to the west. “You see those mountains, Admiral?”
“Of course I do.”
“They’re between me and the only open water for a thousand miles. Why do you think I live in Montana, Admiral?” Masters said, hefting the maul again.
Karson felt his lips pull back, exposing teeth. “From your file, I didn’t take you for a coward, Masters.”
This time the maul struck the edge of the wood, sending the whole chunk spinning off as the broad head dug into the ground. Masters left it quivering in place and spun around, jabbing a finger at Karson.
“You know what? Screw you, sir,” he snarled. “After that night all I wanted was a team and a strike mandate to hunt that goddamn thing down. You know what I got? My security clearance was burned so bad that I couldn’t find work to save my soul!”
Karson held his ground as the younger man finally looked him in the face. Masters stepped over some random chunks of wood, coming to stand next to him.
“Hell, I couldn’t even get in with StillWater for Christ’s sake! Do you know how bad your reputation has to be burned for those mercenary assholes to turn down a trained SEAL?!”
Karson winced, but didn’t respond as Masters seemed to be winding down.