Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle (34 page)

"Well, Colonel, ma'am," he said. He had never gotten anywhere by being coy. "We’re supposed to keep an eye out for strange behavior, and you seem to be behaving strangely."

She stopped looking at the papers and offered him a gaze that made him feel as if he had an "I’m an asshole" bumper sticker slapped on his forehead.

Sanchez’s concern for her behavior increased substantially as she slammed the remaining papers on the cluttered desk and rose to her feet with a determination that made him feel he might be in for a left hook.

In the 1.5 seconds it took Liz to get into his face Sanchez wondered which would be worse—the damage to his chivalry if he were to hit her back or the time in the stockade for striking a superior officer. Then again, a few days ago he had
shot
a superior officer, so all things were certainly relative.

"On the lookout for strange behavior—is that right?" She challenged.

"Sure, I mean, yes, ma'am. That’s part of our—"

"Strange behavior like people hearing voices. An example of which would be Colonel Haas and his idea that his daughter was behind the vault door."

"Well, yes."

Her eyes were wide and angry, but he could see that they were also tired.

"How about a tactical team that stuffs its pockets with Twinkies before it goes into a combat zone on an unknown mission?"

"I suppose—huh?"

"Maybe this is one of my psyche tests and I’m just fucking with you, right?"

Christ, she can actually read minds.

"How long have you been on base, Corporal?"

He considered and answered, "A year, ma'am."

"Do you know you are the longest tenured member of the staff here? Borman wasn't lying when he told me that before, but when you said you had been here for just about a year I figured that wasn't long enough, so he must have been mistaken."

"I believe Colonel Haas and Lieutenant Colonel Lewis were here longer than I, ma'am," he replied, but, of course they were both dead.

"I'm not talking about officers; I'm talking about the garrison. The grunts, corporal. And when I say you've been here the longest, I don't just mean the longest of those here now. I mean the longest of anyone who has served here, for almost twenty years."

At first he did not follow her point, but then it hit him.

"Yes, Colonel, they move us in and out a lot. High-stress post and all."

"Sure, Corporal, high stress. But it's more than that. Keep shuffling people in and out and none of them get to see more than a small slice of this place's history."

He had no idea what she meant until she asked, "How many entry teams have you seen go into the quarantine zone in the last year?"

That, he knew, qualified as classified information, and while she was technically his boss, his previous boss had given strict orders not to discuss entry teams.

Again, she seemed to read his mind.

"Don't worry, Corporal, the answer is right here. General Borman indicated to me and Major Gant that his group was the first to go in since the original incident. He gave me records from only those original incursions. But Task Force Archangel isn't the first to go in since 1992. Hell, they aren't even the first this year, are they?"

Regardless of inflection, she was not really asking a question.

The lieutenant colonel stepped away from Sanchez and returned to the desk and the papers and all the files. She randomly selected one.

"Take a look around this room, corporal. What do you see?"

He carefully pulled his eyes from her and glanced at the rows of shelves and the piles of papers and books and binders stacked therein.

"Um … a lot of records."

"The army loves to keep records."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Each of the entry teams that headed into the quarantine zone over the years, each one was carefully recorded. The names and ranks of each team member, even the surface temperature at the time of entry. Real anal, wouldn’t you say?"

Instead of speaking, he nodded.

"Why, there are even inventory lists of every last piece of equipment, supplies, weapons, and everything else that each of these teams took in with them. I mean, down to their shoelaces."

Sanchez finally broke: "Ahh, excuse me, ma'am, but, so what?"

"So what? Look around this room, corporal. Look at all the paperwork. These aren't records of old experiments or base personnel. These are entry team records. Dozens upon dozens of them."

He glanced again at the shelves and the clutter that barely fit in the room. Corporal Sanchez began to understand.

"Corporal, if you think that’s interesting, wait until you see this."

She grabbed a stack of papers and walked over to Sanchez. She forced those papers into his hands.

"I started pulling the inventory lists; the shit the teams took in. Take a look."

Sammy hesitated to take his eyes from hers; he still was not sure if she was completely in control. Nonetheless, he examined the inventory sheets and read about the type of things the entry teams had taken into the quarantine zone over the years.

"What in God’s name …" his thoughts trailed off.

"God? I’m thinking General Borman."

He stuttered, "What do we do now?"

That stopped Thunder’s rant. Her tone—which had been a combination of sarcasm, anger, and fear—grew nervous but determined.

"Well, as commander of this base I believe I deserve an answer."

Sanchez smiled.

"I believe you do, ma'am."
 

"What do you figure this place was, Cap?" Galati asked as he sat on the floor, his back against a stainless steel wall.

Campion surveyed the dark surroundings. Only the tiniest pinpricks of light offered any illumination. That is why he had chosen this spot for a rest.

"Specimen containment, probably," Campion thought.

The area was old and dirty and full of clutter from broken equipment, discarded furniture, litter, and a thick layer of grime over everything. Yet there was no mistaking the cages built for small animals, the feed tubes stuck to bars, the small tabletops for opening up the beasts of scientific burden to understand what that nifty new drug had done, how had the brain cells been altered, whether it could withstand another 100 milligrams of saccharin.

Nothing moved now. The animals were long gone.

"Say, Captain," Wells asked after taking a swig from his canteen, "How much further we got to go?"

Campion removed his cap and scratched behind his ear as he thought. The comforting weight of his MP5 machine gun rested reassuringly on his lap.

"Not far. I've got a feeling we can access the main ventilation shaft at the end of this hallway. We should be able to drop down onto sublevel 8 not far from the primary lab facility. Then it’s a short hop skip and a jump and we’re at the target zone."

"Piece of cake, right Boss?"

"That’s right, no problem," Campion said.

Galati pulled his own canteen from his pack. He popped the top, but before the bottle touched his lips he asked, "So is this V.A.A.D. thing going to be hard to use?"

Campion did not reply. After several seconds both Wells and Galati gave the captain their complete attention as they waited for an answer.

None was forthcoming.

"Oh my fucking God," Wells said. "You have no clue how to work it, do you?"

Campion did not respond.

"Cap … sir," Galati was more respectful but equally as surprised. "What’s this all about if you can’t get that thing going?"

"Stow it, right now, both of you. Captain Twiste was trained on this the thing. Besides, he’s got the batteries. It’s no good without the batteries. We will rendezvous with Major Gant and Captain Twiste and he’ll operate it. End of story."

Galati and Wells fell silent, but they knew it was not the end of the story.

—

Twiste told Gant the good news: "The bleeding has really slowed down."

"Unfortunately the pain has not slowed down nearly as much."

The two had sat for a long time, although in the dark it was hard to tell if a couple of hours had passed or just a whole lot of minutes. Regardless, they had heard no movement from outside the locked office for quite some time.

"I’ve been thinking," Twiste speculated. "Briggs was looking for God, right?"

"Not really. Not God as the Bible thinks of it. More like a particle that was at the center of creation."

"Sounds like God to me."

Gant replied, "I suppose it is a matter of perspective."

"Point is, what if he succeeded, but didn’t find what he had been expecting?"

"I do not follow."

"You know me, always the good Catholic," Twiste smiled. "If my Sunday school teachers were right, if there is a God, then doesn’t it follow that … well … maybe Briggs found the opposite of God."

"Give me a moment while I struggle with the idea of you as an altar boy."

"Pure as the driven snow," Twiste chuckled.

"You mean all that snow growing in your hair? I suppose I should be more respectful to my elders."

"All right, all right, you got your shots in. But listen to what I’m saying. What if Briggs didn't exactly find God, but something else?"

"You are forgetting that he was not looking for the Creator; he was looking for a particle."

"Yes, the particle at the center of creation. But play along with me."

"Very well. You mean, what if he found the devil?"

Twiste shrugged and said, "He sure is a mean son of a bitch. Sadistic. Petty. Sounds like the devil to me."

"Or just your average IRS agent."

"Funny coming from the guy who needs me to do his taxes every year."

The door to the tiny office unbolted and swung open in one quick motion. Even the dim light of the Red Lab appeared bright compared to the solitary lamp in the office-turned-holding-cell.

Jolly stood there motioning for Twiste and Gant to stand. His breath whistled through his teeth right where there should have been a chin.

Twiste said, "He’s hurt."

Jolly did not care. Gant tried to stand. He got most of the way up, thanks to a helping hand from Twiste, but Jolly had to step in and haul the major out of the office, nearly throwing him into the lab.

The entity in the form of Dr. Ronald Briggs stood with Andrew and Ruth on his flanks. It spoke through Briggs’s mouth, and while it may not have been human there was no mistaking the anger in the way it gritted its teeth. "You did not tell me that your Captain Campion does not know how to operate the V.A.A.D."

Gant could not resist: "You didn’t ask."

Jolly instantly whacked Gant's damaged knee with the collapsible baton. He screamed and hunched but did not fall.

Twiste jumped: "Campion has the device. I was carrying the batteries to power it."

"Yes, of course. You were chosen for training. You will activate the device."

The last part of the thing’s words seemed more as if it were thinking aloud than addressing Brandon. The body of Briggs turned to walk away, as if the issue had been settled.

"I won’t do it."

Briggs’s attention fully returned to Twiste, who said, "I think I’ve figured you out. Whatever you are."

"You know nothing," it said.

"You are God?"

"Yes," it answered.

"Where did you come from—heaven?"

The question appeared to throw the entity.

Twiste went on, "You're not from heaven, but you aren't from our world, either. You are a different type of life form, maybe made of pure energy or maybe … maybe," Twiste stole a glance at Gant and said, "… maybe pure thought."

He turned back to Briggs. "Point is, you’re stuck down here. See, the way I figure it, this experiment opened up a hole into a new plane of existence—something that crosses paths with this world on a subatomic level. Hell, maybe something that really was part of the God particle."

"I AM GOD."

"No, no you’re not," Twiste corrected while Gant struggled with a new bout of pain, hearing the conversation and seeing the action from a sort of mental distance, almost apart from it. "You have some sort of power, some sort of mental power. The way I figure, maybe you’re a being that’s completely made up of what we would call mental energy, maybe psychic energy. Shit, maybe even a ghost of some sort."

"You will operate the device. You will complete your mission."

"No, I don’t think so. The V.A.A.D. isn’t going to shut the hole Briggs opened, it’s going to widen it. You may be all Mr. God and whatnot down here, but you’re still
stuck
down here. Open that hole and I guess you’ll be a lot more powerful and a lot more mobile. All of you will come through, and that would be bad news."

Gant recovered his composure enough to say, "Captain, do not say any more."

But Twiste would not stop.