Getting the gate open posed its own challenges. Around six P.M. — the latest seven — all the scientists went home. After that, the compound was left to the Blackhorse boys.
We’d brainstormed quite a few different options, with Sweetwater actually suggesting we pole-vault over the fence. I wasn’t sure if he was succumbing to cabin fever or if he was just that stupid.
Jennifer suggested a diversion, and that would work, up to a point. I could trigger a reaction by messing with the sensors on the fence, but I couldn’t get them to actually open the gate to leave the compound. They’d just inspect from the inside. I’d have to involve a third party to interest them enough to go outside the fence line, and the only one I had was Sweetwater. No way was I going to trust him to get away after a diversion. Not with some tactical guys frothing at the mouth to get him.
It wasn’t that I had that much concern for his welfare. It was ours I was worried about, because once they caught him, he’d spill his guts that we were on the inside.
In the end, I decided to cut my way through, which would require triggering the fence enough that they thought they had a sensor fault, then cutting a hole in between the inevitable increase in vehicle patrols — all while hiding said hole from discovery.
It would take a lot of time. Which was why Jennifer had questioned my delay in execution.
Chapter 12
I said, “You ready to do this?”
In the soft glow from the moonlight I saw her nod. I shook my head, internally hoping to see some reticence on her part. Anything to slow down this train. I said, “That damn badge isn’t going to work anymore. They know I took it.”
She said, “I told you I’d climb. Anyway, you said it didn’t work on the door where I was held to begin with.”
Part of our half-assed plan was using the access badge I’d taken off the scientist, but if it didn’t work because they knew they’d lost it, Jennifer was going to climb to the outside balcony where I’d seen the guy on the phone, break a window, then come down to the door from the inside and let me in.
I had a bad feeling about the entire situation. From our reconnaissance, all the Blackhorse guys were either in a trailer offset from the motor pool, or in the bunker-like concrete building that was formerly the SAC alert base, but none were in the hangar. It was completely off-limits to all but Blackhorse leadership — like the fake federal agent who had slapped Jennifer — but leadership would be gone at night. We hoped. What would happen if someone were inside? What would I do locked outside? Scream as they captured Jennifer?
I’d brought that up to her and she’d said, “Would you be worried if it were another teammate doing the entry?”
When I’d told her no, she’d said, “Then why do you want me to do Selection?” The implication was clear: Don’t tell me I’m capable, then treat me like a piece of fine china.
She broke the silence, snapping me back to the present: “Let’s do this.”
I checked my equipment one more time and said, “Here goes nothing.”
I handed her the tail end of a section of 550 cord — a thin, green, nylon military twine used for everything except making coffee — and snaked forward on my belly, pulling the other end. I reached the fence and, using a large binder clip from an office-supply store, I attached the cord to the bottom chain link, right next to the aluminum vibration sensor. I retraced my crawl, taking care to fix the disturbance of my passing, knowing they would shine a light.
I reached Jennifer in the ditch seventy feet away. I rolled next to her and said, “Okay, last chance to just get the hell out of here. Get back to Charleston.”
She snapped at me, saying, “Why do you keep asking? Is that what you want to do? Really?”
I was taken aback by her statement, since she usually got me involved in the overall problem, then acted like everything I did to solve it was insane. I considered, then said, “No. Not really. Those assholes think they have a cloak of immunity because of their classified status. Building a bunch of crap that costs billions and doesn’t even work. It pisses me off. The minute you start using your classification as an excuse to profit, you need to be gone.” I looked at her again and smiled, “Not to mention they were going to kill you. That alone is worth my attention.”
I started to pull the lanyard, beginning the show, when she stopped me, locking eyes in the moonlight. She said, “You mean that?”
“Well, yeah. Of course I do. Someone fucks with you, they fuck with me.”
“No, no. I mean about the abuse of power.”
Where is this going? I paused, seeing her search my face. I said, “Yes. I meant that as well.”
“So if the Taskforce were to start doing something wrong, you’d step up? Stop it?”
“Hell, yeah, I would. Jesus. You think I wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. You keep pushing me for Selection, but you never talk about the consequences. You see a force for global good. I see a damn secret police. I’m okay with the global good. I’m not so sure about the Gestapo.”
I laid flat, saying, “Then what the fuck are we doing here? Really? Because I’m the Gestapo that’s about to risk my life entering this site.”
She said nothing for a moment, then, “This is good. I can do this. The people inside need to be exposed. And I’ll do Selection if Kurt lets me. But I won’t be a partner to groupthink. I will not roll over if I see something going bad. You get that, right?”
I squirmed in the ditch to face her again. I said, “That’s exactly why I want you to do it. No other reason.”
She grinned and said, “No other reason?”
I heard the words and felt the flush on my neck, now glad for the darkness. I rolled away from her eyes and said, “Get your head down.”
I jerked the cord, muttering under my breath.
Nothing outward on the fence happened. No lights, no sirens. But within seconds I saw a glow behind the bunker building, near the Blackhorse trailer. Headlights.
Soon enough, they came ripping down the fence and stopped right outside our position, shining a Q-Beam handheld spotlight. I pulled a burlap cover over our head as it swept the earth around us. The beam began hunting, raking the ground left, then right, the spikes of light punching through the burlap enough to illuminate Jennifer in the flashes. I whispered, “Wanna run?”
She actually smiled, saying, “Too late.”
The vehicle rolled on, the light from the Q-Beam fading. She said, “I’m starting to get a kick out of this. Jerk the cord again.”
I grinned, pulling the 550 cord hard. Forty seconds later, the vehicle was back on us. The spotlight stabbed the dark and I scrunched down next to Jennifer, pulling the burlap tight and ducking my head into her armpit.
I felt her hold her breath, and the light went away, the engine noise fading. She said, “Did you really need to jam your nose into my breast?”
I leaned up and jerked the cord again, saying, “What are you talking about?”
She started to say something when the light came back. I slammed back down flat, pressing my head into her armpit again. She hissed, “This is not funny.”
The light lingered, hovering over us for the first time. We were about to be discovered.
I whispered back, “Shut up. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”
She went rigid, a plank without movement, my nose bunching into her left breast. The light lingered for a good ten seconds, then moved on. She rolled to the right and punched me in the shoulder.