Chapter Twenty-nine
“What?” Christian Teare leaned closer to the intercom in his private quarters. “That’s crazy, Cap.”
“It’s the message, Major. I’ve checked it three times myself.”
“What about confirmation?”
“Got it.”
“From base?”
“Direct from Com-con at NORAD.”
“It’s still crazy.”
“You better get up here.”
“On my way. Teare out.”
Teare stretched. His powerful muscles, sorely in need of exercise, spasmed and he slowly brought his hands back to his sides to ease the strain. He had almost fallen asleep for the first time in more than a day when a shrill buzz signaling a page from Bunker 17’s Command Center shook him from his cot.
Teare’s pace moved from a trot to an all-out sprint and he covered the distance from his quarters to Com-center in record time. Captain Heath was waiting inside, face drawn into lines indicating confusion. He handed over the decoded message.
“I just reconfirmed.”
Teare read it four times. “Jesus H. Christ …” His eyes came up from the paper. “Okay, Cap, let’s put this thing together. Twenty-four hours ago we get kicked up to a Yellow Flag alert. Now we get instructions through the SAFE Interceptor to raise all defenses at thirteen hundred hours today to accept shipment of thirty-six MX missiles for immediate loading into silos. You get the feelin’ someone in Washington’s fuckin’ with our minds?”
“Those missiles have been scheduled to arrive from COBRA on this date for over a month now.”
“But under Yellow Flag they’d be frozen in San Diego.”
“Unless Com-link has reason to believe we may need them.”
“I can buy that. But it still doesn’t explain why we’ve been ordered to load them immediately into the silos.”
“Maximum efficiency probably,” Heath proposed. “These Track Ones are the latest thing off the drawing board. Their accuracy is unparalleled.”
“Which practically implies we’re gonna be usin’ them ‘fore much longer,” Teare theorized, tugging at his scraggly beard. “And I been monitorin’ civilian frequencies for a solid day now and as far as I can tell there ain’t nothin’ goin’ on out there out of the ordinary.”
“They could be keeping it secret from the press.”
“Come on, Cap,” Teare scoffed, “there’s enough leaks in Washington to bring Noah back for a return engagement. This whole mess stinks to high heaven.” Teare stroked his beard and thought briefly. “No way I can talk to the President direct, is there?”
“Negative, Major, not under Yellow Flag.”
“Yeah? Well, back in farm country stand downwind and you can smell shit all day. I think I got me a whiff of it now, Cap.” A buzzer began to sound and a red light Hashed on the perimeter defense board located on the far left wall of Com-center.
“Jesus H. Christ, what the hell’s that about?”
“A caravan of heavy vehicles headed our way, Major,” reported one of the technicians. “Just passing checkpoint two now.”
Heath moved to the left half of the control room and flipped on the master switch activating six closed circuit TV monitors. Six black and white perspectives of the ground above Bunker 17 appeared immediately. Two clearly showed a parade of green missile transports under heavy armed guard approaching the installation.
“That’ll be our delivery from COBRA,” Heath said.
“Should I activate base defenses, sir?” asked the man behind the main console.
“No,” Teare told him. “We got our orders. Let’s get this done with. I want them outta here inside of an hour. Record time, Cap, record time.” Then, to the man behind the console, “Signal temporary halt to Yellow Flag procedures. All personnel stand ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Teare turned back to Heath. “Cap, let’s you and me head for the elevator. I want us to meet these sons of bitches personally.”
They started for the door.
“And, Cap?”
“Yes, Major?”
“We’re gonna watch these assholes like a horny John at a whore’s peephole. And I’ll tell ya something else; I want the fail-safe mechanisms on those missiles checked a dozen times to make sure all systems are functional.”
“You really think there’s something wrong here?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Bane hit East Sixty-ninth Street and headed for Harry the Bat’s apartment. After a generally sleepless night at the hotel, he had left Washington early in the morning and followed a haphazard route back to New York, making use of both trains and planes, the latter having forced him to discard his Browning. He had gotten used to carrying the gun these past few days and being without it, especially now, had him feeling vulnerable and insecure. Hands were fine, but not against an army of killers called up by an unsalvageable order.
Bane had used the trip to put his thoughts together and plan his next steps as best he could. There would be no help coming from the government; Jorgenson had been his last hope there. It was up to him now along with Trench and Harry, to finish fitting the puzzle together with the help, hopefully, of Otto Von Goss, the third man in the Navy trinity with Einstein and Metzencroy. Somehow Bane felt the Philadelphia Experiment which linked them together was the key to everything, the link to Vortex and its ultimate destruction. He could only hope that Trench had had sufficient time to track Dr. Von Goss down.
Bane neared the building’s entrance.
“Keep moving, Winter Man, and don’t turn around.”
Bane recognized Trench’s voice, coming from about a yard behind him, immediately.
“They took your friend away. Winter Man, and they’re waiting upstairs for you. He put up quite a fight but fortunately was taken without harm. At the next corner, I’m going to turn right. You keep going. There’s a room reserved for you at the Diplomat Hotel on Park Avenue South in the name of Summers. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”
They reached the corner. Trench veered away. Bane kept on straight, heading farther into the madness.
“You’re sure Harry’s all right?” Bane asked as soon as Trench had closed the door to the hotel room behind him.
“For now,” Trench said. “I was across the street when they took him. He was all right enough to be giving them a mouthful.”
“Then they were official types.”
Trench nodded. “The kind who sometimes wear ID’s pinned to their lapels. It was all very legitimate. Your government works in strange ways, Winter Man. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“And I’m surprised you’re still here, everything considered.”
Trench pulled a gun from his jacket. “The Americans have been trying to locate me with an assignment to kill you.” Bane’s eyes locked on the gun. He didn’t move. “I’m sure they’d pay quite well for the death of the Winter Man but”—Trench swung the pistol’s butt toward Bane, offering it to him—“… I turned them down.”
Bane allowed himself a sigh of relief and took the pistol.
“A Browning,” Trench told him. “I figured you might have mislaid yours somewhere along the way.”
“So what’s our next step?” Bane asked, giving him the lead.
“Your friend Harry passed on to me what he learned of Von Goss. The professor disappeared from Princeton three days ago.”
“About the same time Metzencroy was eliminated. Harry told me.”
“Proceeding on the assumption that Von Goss fled willingly into hiding, I did some checking and learned that a close associate of the professor owns a cabin in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. Von Goss has been known to use it from time to time. Further questioning revealed the cabin is actually a house built into the side of a mountain, accessible only from one side: the front. A fortress, Winter Man.”