“If there’s anything at all you need, Doctor, please don’t hesitate to ask. Just press the intercom and you will get right through to me up front.”
DeWitt closed the door behind Jim as he climbed into the backseat of the Lincoln. A smoked glass window separated the passenger’s compartment the front section of the vehicle. A TV monitor embedded into the paneling behind the driver’s seat gazed at him like a blank cyclopean eye.
As the car rumbled and crunched its way back towards the main road, Jim relaxed back into the exquisitely comfortable seat. It was going to be a long trip.
The briefing papers DeWitt had handed Jim—outlining a secret military communications’ project by the name of Tach-Comm—only added to the mystery of why he had been singled out by the enigmatic Doctor Lorentz. Despite rereading the papers three times, Jim still could not see how there could be any connection between him and the project.
It took three hours to make the drive from Jim’s place at Shadow Mountain Lake to the government installation on the outskirts of Reno It was an inconspicuous looking building, but as the Lincoln pulled up to the security gate Jim noticed the security protecting the complex was extraordinarily high. It was subtle but it was there if you looked.
The guards staffing the security booth both had side-arms in brown leather holsters fixed to their belts and, he noticed, a row of assault weapons were stashed within easy reach on a wooden rack toward the back of the booth. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire ran around the entire compound perimeter. Fixed periodically along the fencing were red-bordered triangular warning signs. The icon on the sign depicted a body struck by lightning with the words warning—high voltage printed in bold letters both above and below the image, clearly indicating what would happen to anybody stupid enough to touch the fence. Several low-key cameras were scattered strategically around the base, nestled surreptitiously between the lamps of overhead gantry floodlights, observing all those who entered and left as well as monitoring the movements of those who were already on the grounds.
In the distance, Jim could see an electric cart as it patrolled around the perimeter of the fence. Two burly men dressed in the same taupe uniform as the gate’s guards occupied the two seats. The complex was ostensibly a civilian site, but it was obvious to Jim from the level of security and the demeanor and professionalism of the guards (not to mention the smart salute the guard had executed when he saw Colonel DeWitt) that the military played a grand part in the running of the place.
Jim’s window whirred quietly into its recess as DeWitt’s voice came over the internal speaker, “This won’t take a second, Doctor.”
The security guard peered in through the open window, comparing Jim’s face to a picture attached to a clipboard he carried. He scrutinized Jim for a few seconds, then turned to his partner in the control booth. Satisfied that the car’s passenger matched the information, the guard nodded once and the security gate that blocked the entrance began to rattle open. Jim noticed several metal spikes protruding like punji-sticks from the hot concrete of the entrance road retract into their holes in the tarmacadam.
The car engine engaged and they pulled silently forward onto the long black drive leading up to the complex.
It was a low black building.
To Jim it reminded him of a squat, fat, black spider sitting at the center of a web of roads that led off and encircled the complex.
Hopefully, he was not the fly.
The Lincoln pulled to a halt outside the canopy-covered steps leading up to the glass double-door of the building’s entrance. DeWitt climbed out and opened Jim’s door. “Here we are, Sir,” he said, as Jim exited the vehicle. “I’ll get your bags and make sure they arrive at your apartment.”
“Can’t I just take them with me?” asked Jim.
“Sorry Sir, procedures. Security will want to give them the once over before they are allowed into the main building,” was DeWitt’s reply, delivered with a tolerant smile.
The doors to the building swung open and a woman dressed in a two-piece gray business suit descended the five concrete steps, a professional well-practiced smile on her face. She was close to six-feet tall, but at least three-inches of that was due to her stiletto heels; the wearing of which she was obviously accustomed to, as she strode confidently down the steps toward him. Her shoulder length black hair was pulled back into a topknot accentuating a face with a firm jawline, and a minimum of makeup. Attractive, Jim thought, in a stern sort of a way.
“Welcome, Doctor Baston,” she said, offering her right hand. The woman’s voice was the epitome of distant professionalism, the considered aloofness of one of Mr. Tolkien’s famous Elves. “My name is Mina Belkov. I am Doctor Lorentz’s personal assistant.”
Jim shook the proffered hand; she had a strong grip, with none of the looseness he had been expecting. Her voice was a surprise too; very soft, very feminine, belying the austerity of her dress and the rigidness of her posture. “If you would like to follow me,” she continued, gesturing toward the entrance, “I will process you and show you to your apartment. This way please.”
She ushered him up the steps, through the smoked-glass double doors and into the building’s reception area. The exquisite parquet floor and brass fixtures of the building’s interior were a stark contrast to its bleak, utilitarian exterior. Here and there, large pots held what Jim guessed were probably real ferns. A waterfall cascaded serenely into a pool full of Koi and water lilies near the base of a wide open-backed stairway leading up to the second floor.
Belkov escorted Jim up to the marble—paneled reception desk. The pretty, blond-haired receptionist behind the desk raised her head in acknowledgement of their approach. She placed a guest book on the counter for Jim to sign, which he dutifully did, filling in his name and time of arrival.
“Now if you would just step over here to this spot please,” said the receptionist as she guided him to a red ‘x’ taped to the floor next to her desk. A few feet away stood a tripod and digital camera, the lens of which the young woman now asked him to look directly into as she stepped behind it. “Say ‘super accelerated particles’,” she said with a wry grin but which extracted only a disapproving glare from Ms. Belkov. A few seconds later, a photo popped out from a printer sitting on the reception desk. Peeling off the backing, the receptionist placed it sticky side down onto an ID card that already contained Jim’s name, printed in bold black capitals.
“Now if I could just get your thumb print here,” the receptionist said, pointing with her manicured index finger to an inkpad and a blank box below his image on the card. “And finally,” she continued, handing him a tissue for his blackened thumb, “Just sign here at the bottom, please”
Placing the completed card into another machine, she finally handed Jim a still-warm laminated security badge which Mina fastened to his shirt pocket for him.
“You will need to keep this with you at all times. If you lose it, please contact me immediately,” said Mina, her tone indicating the loss of the card might well herald the end of the world as it was currently known. Well, a little too late for that, Jim thought absently. He smiled his understanding back at the woman as she continued talking.
“Okay, let me take you to your apartment.”
By the time Mina Belkov had escorted Jim to his quarters, his bags had miraculously already arrived, considerately placed in the bedroom next to the nightstand.