“If he gets caught, he’ll reveal the location of the dead drop.”
“Which is how we’ll know if he was caught.” His capture wasn’t a concern because he couldn’t tell the authorities anything useful. Colchev had led him to believe he was stealing the Killswitch weapon for some American mercenaries planning to sell it on the black market.
“What about the xenobium?” Zotkin said. “We can’t use the Killswitch without the trigger.”
“We have proof that there’s more xenobium in Peru. And now we know how to find it, thanks to Fay Turia.”
Zotkin opened his mouth to voice further concerns, then thought better of it when he saw Colchev’s icy stare.
Five minutes later, Zotkin turned onto a dirt path and drove for a half-mile until he parked the van behind a rocky tor. He opened his phone.
“We’re ready.” After a moment, he hung up. “They’ll be here in four minutes.”
Colchev nodded. They wiped down the van and jogged back to the highway. The van would eventually be found, but their trail would go cold here.
They reached the road just as two cars arrived. Both were beige sedans, the first with only two men inside, the other with four. The contents of the stolen Killswitch crate had been divided between the trunks.
Colchev and Zotkin got in the back of the lead car, and they sped away.
“Buran,” Colchev said to the driver, “you and Vinski will wait at the dead drop tomorrow. Be aware that the location may be compromised. If the delivery is made, pick up the trigger and rendezvous with the package in Mexico.”
“What about us?” Zotkin said.
“We’ll follow the trail that Fay Turia led us to in case we need a backup source of xenobium.”
The cars stayed at the speed limit as they headed south. In ninety minutes they’d be at the remote airfield where they’d parked a chartered PC-12 Pilatus prop plane. Four hours after that, they’d be at Bankstown airport on the west side of Sydney.
Using Zotkin’s phone, Colchev called the pilot of their private jet and told him to be ready to leave Sydney’s main airport by eight a.m. the next morning. Because of today’s setback, they had an enormous amount of work to accomplish. There were only four days left until zero hour.
TWENTY-THREE
Sitting in the back of the unmarked black van, Grant worked his jaw trying to get his hearing back. The buzz in his ears was now down to a dull roar, and since they weren’t bleeding, he assumed he hadn’t ruptured the eardrums. His clothes were caked with dirt from his tumble out of the truck. His shoulder got the worst of it when he hit the ground, but he seemed to be intact, the benefit of learning how to take a fall during his wrestling days.
Tyler sat across from him, rubbing his elbow. Dust cascaded from his jacket.
“You okay?” Grant asked.
“Just a little impact with a car hood. Nothing that a beer won’t take care of.”
He nodded at the stoic security officers in the front seat and smiled at Tyler. “At least they didn’t handcuff us.”
Tyler shot him a grin. “Considering what we did to their nice road, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had.”
Within minutes of the explosion, police, firefighters, and ambulances descended on the site like locusts and cordoned it off from the local press. When Tyler mentioned Jess and Fay during questioning, they got even more attention from the police. They were told that Jess had discovered the five bodies of Bedova and her men at the warehouse.
The police had been about to bring them in for further interrogation when a Pine Gap security team took custody of them and swept them into the security van.
“Do you have any idea why they’re taking us to Pine Gap?” Grant said.
Tyler shrugged. “You got me.”
“They probably want to give us a medal. Thank us for stopping a major terrorist attack.”
“I doubt they were terrorists. If they’re rogue Russian operatives like Bedova said, it’s more likely that they’re mercenaries. Besides, they weren’t the sacrificial types.”
“Because of the robotic truck?”
Tyler nodded. “They went to a lot of trouble to steal the CAPEK prototype and put together a hundred and sixty tons of ANFO. Do you know anything about Pine Gap?”
“One of the cops said it’s some kind of NSA listening post. The people stationed there mix with the locals, but no one ever talks about what goes on inside.”
“Whatever it is, the people who put this road train together knew what they were doing. They had a definite plan, and it wasn’t to make a political statement. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been after Fay’s artifacts.”
“But all this having something to do with Roswell? I know we’ve seen some funky stuff in our time, but that’s just crazy.”
“I don’t believe in little green men any more than you do. But there’s something big going on here.”
“Must be, for them to bring a couple of civilians into a spook palace.”
Not that they were typical civilians. Because Gordian did so much work with the Pentagon, Tyler and Grant had secured Top Secret clearances. But that didn’t mean they could just stroll into the most secretive US base in the Southern Hemisphere. Someone with juice had to make that happen.
They reached the front gate of Pine Gap. Though the security was formidable, the road train had been so massive that halting its momentum would have been impossible, especially with no driver to shoot.
The guard checked the passengers’ credentials, including Grant’s and Tyler’s, while a second one used a mirror on the end of a stick to check the underside of the van for contraband or bombs. After a lap around the van, the guard waved them through.
A minute later the van screeched to a halt, and one of the security men got out and yanked the side door open.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Tyler climbed out and Grant followed, putting on his shades to shield his eyes from the harsh midday sunlight. He breathed in the clean air, unsullied by the smoke that was downwind and just visible over the ridgeline.
He rotated to get a lay of the land. Low white buildings were spread out over a ten-acre area. To the north were ivory-colored domes that protected sensitive communications equipment from the outback sand that billowed through the site. Nothing else distinguished the facility from an office complex you’d see on the outskirts of any US city.
Grant imagined the road train making it to the spot where he was now standing. If it had detonated here, every building would have been reduced to rubble.
A slender woman strode toward them, her thick auburn hair swaying with each step. Dressed in stylish gray pants, matching suit jacket, and tailored green blouse, she didn’t cut the figure of a scientist, but the sensible rubber-soled shoes didn’t peg her as an administrator, either. She would have been a knockout if she weren’t scowling.
She stopped in front of them. “Dr. Locke and Mr. Westfield, may I see your IDs?” She inspected their passports dispassionately and handed them back. “I’m Special Agent Morgan Bell, Air Force Office of Special Investigations.”
“Nice to meet you, Agent Bell,” Grant said. “Call me Grant. And you are welcome, by the way.”
She didn’t take the bait. “Anything you see, hear, or read on this base is classified at the highest levels. You shouldn’t even be standing here.”
“You wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for us,” Grant said.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you are a security risk that we don’t need right now.”
Grant looked back pointedly at the plume of smoke still rising to the east. “Seems like the security risk has already occurred.”