She began scrambling on her belly as fast as she could, knowing all the men would be focused on the fight. She went as far as she could on her stomach, then raised herself to her elbows, clawing the dirt and flying forward. Eventually, she rose into a bear-crawl and kept going. She looked behind her and saw the firefight a hundred feet away. She rose to a crouch and heard a noise. She whipped to her left and was surprised to see Sweetwater still with her. She stood up and started running.
They were fifty yards out, the sound of the fight behind them, when they heard the thump of the rotor blades.
Chapter 8
I crawled into the lowest terrain I could find, scrambling under a patch of scrub and held up fast, knowing that movement would expose me quicker than anything else. The helicopter lifted off from the other side of the bunker, a Bell 407, and came screaming across the terrain, skimming much faster than was necessary before it reached a good flight altitude. Apparently, it was going somewhere in a hurry.
The rotor wash passed over me, and I was glad for my choice of attire. Jennifer always complained that I dressed like I was going to get shot at on a daily basis, but today it had paid off. Had I been wearing some fashionable spandex jeans and a froo-froo shirt, I’d have been caught dead to rights. I would have to remember to tell her that.
When I saw her.
I waited a bit, then began crawling forward again. It was slow going. A sniper stalk. When most people think of a sniper mission, they think of the shot. The single commando on a patch of rock pulling the trigger on some general from a mile away. That was true, but that wasn’t the heroic part. Getting to the patch of rock was what separated the men from the boys. Anyone with a modicum of skill could take the shot. Very few could get in position.
I snaked forward, moving about a meter every minute, getting closer and closer to the bunker building. I saw men outside, milling about and smoking. Apparently, Aegis followed federal rules on tobacco. I waited until they went back inside and continued.
When the bunker building was fifty meters away, I studied it. Mostly concrete, it had no windows that I could see, and had ramps leading down as if most of the building was underground. The primary entrance was composed of utilitarian metal doors with a new, state-of-the-art access badge panel. When nothing interesting happened, I veered toward the hangar, doing my little lizard crawl through the brush.
I got close enough to see the rust on the old sliding hangar doors, like castle gates. Giant things, they gave off a sense of history that could have been Cold War majestic, but now were resigned to hiding some research project I wanted to see. The hangar was big enough for a blimp, but I doubted that’s what Aegis was involved in. Just above the rust was a balcony with a string of windows. I saw a man exit a door, walking on the corrugated metal and talking on a phone. He was agitated, waving his arms in the air.
I waited, seeing what he would do.
He punched the rail, shouted into the phone again, then hung up. He put both hands on the balcony and stared into the sky.
I heard the blades coming back.
I was now within fifty feet of the old alert tarmac and had nothing to hide me from the air but dirt. I was hidden from observation on the ground — and even the balcony, as I had some scrub in front of me — but I’d be easily seen by anyone looking down from the helicopter. I began clawing away from the hangar as fast as I could, snaking my way backwards and desperately trying to find a bit of cover. I saw a snarl of some sort of agave plant and curled around it just as the blades broke over me. I willed myself invisible.
The helicopter landed right in front of the hangar, the rotor wash bathing me in dirt. I closed my eyes and let it settle, praying I hadn’t been seen. I heard the pilot cut power and the blades wind down. I snuck a peek, expecting to see a squad of men running toward me. What I saw was A.J. Sweetwater exit the helicopter.
Followed by Jennifer.
At first, I didn’t believe my eyes, but it was true. Jennifer and Sweetwater were being led into the hangar by a guy with a gun. Definitely not guests.
What in the world?
I watched them enter a door on the right of the hangar and disappear. I sat in the heat, thinking. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Call Kurt? Call the police? Call the A team?
One thing was for sure: I couldn’t do anything from here. I needed to get outside the threat. Needed to come up with a plan. I was almost positive the gunslingers weren’t going to bring any harm to Jennifer or Sweetwater inside the facility. If they had wanted to hurt them, they could have done it at any time, landing the helicopter in the middle of the desert. The fact that they’d brought them here meant they weren’t going to kill them.
Unless the pilot didn’t have the authority to do anything.
Maybe he chickened out and punted to higher command. Maybe they’re going to kill them right now, then order the pilot to dump the bodies.
My back-crawl had made it within striking distance of the front gate when my indecisiveness was cut short by an SUV coming down the fence line on patrol. It circled the far side of the alert tarmac and headed my way. Not a big threat, as I could tuck into the earth and let it roll right by. Or I could use it to get me into the base, Indiana Jones — style.
Fucking crazy.
But not stupid.
I let the vehicle get within fifty meters and made my decision. I stood up.
The SUV swerved, then hit the gas, driving straight at me. I acted disoriented. It slammed on the brakes and a man stormed out, screaming, “This is private property!”
He had a pistol on his hip, but hadn’t drawn it. I said, “Private property? This is a US Air Force Base. I’m allowed here. I’m a US citizen.”
He took a look at my disheveled appearance, dirt on my clothes, and relaxed, glancing at his partner. He said, “You can’t be here.”
I said, “Why not? I’m looking for UFOs. And you bastards are hiding them.”
He snickered and said, “There aren’t any UFOs here. Get in the truck old man.”
Which hurt more than he could know. The asshole was maybe twenty-five, and it wasn’t like I was using a walker. Something I’d be glad to show him in the next thirty seconds.
I got in the back, behind the driver, seeing a Blackhorse Tactical sticker on the window. I said, “Can you guys take me back to Roswell?”
The driver said, “We’ll take you back to the front gate, but first you’re going to tell us how you got in here.”
The other man closed my door and began circling to the passenger seat, going the long way around the bed of the truck. Leaving me alone, in the back seat behind the driver, free to do what I wanted.
Some security.
I snaked my arm around his head and cinched it into his neck, choking him out while the other man was still walking around to the passenger door. By the time he had opened it, I had the driver’s pistol out. I said, “On your knees.”
His eyes as wide as dinner plates, his hands in the air, he dropped, squeaking out, “You’ll regret this.”
I thought, That’s the best you can come up with? You need to watch more Clint Eastwood.
I tapped him in the temple with the butt of the pistol, just hard enough to knock him out. He screamed and hit the ground, rolling around and holding his head.
Damn it.
I jumped on his back and pummeled him with the barrel until he was unconscious. Probably doing more damage than I wanted.
Clint never had that trouble.
They were both wearing a cheap security uniform with a Blackhorse logo on the breast. I stripped the driver, who was the bigger guy, and rolled him into the dirt next to his partner. I put on the jacket, forgoing the pants. I was betting that as a subcontractor the Blackhorse guys would know each other, but the prime contractor Aegis wouldn’t. You’d think that was a stupid bet, but having worked in the security world, it had an even chance of being true.