SECTOR 64: Ambush (6 page)

Light banished the last of the dream. The fog of sleep evaporated, taking the elation with it. While he couldn't remember the details of the dream, he vaguely recalled speaking with Victor. It was a nice notion. However now, sitting in the beam of harsh streetlight falling through the parted curtains, he needed to deal with reality: his wingman was still dead.

"Fuck," Jake croaked through his parched throat.

Flinging the covers back, he stepped from the bed and walked to the window. Sliding the curtains open, Jake studied the few predawn stars that managed to burn through the city's light-pollution. "What happened to you, Vic?"

***

"Please sign in here, sir, and have a—"

Walking quickly, Richard swept into the office. "That won't be necessary. He won't need to sign in. As a matter of fact, he isn't here at all." Gesturing to Jake, he added, "Come with me, Captain Giard."

"Who won't need to sign in, sir? I don't see anyone," said the young army private through a conspiratorial smile.

"Thank you, Betty. Please forward my calls to voicemail." He hiked a thumb at Jake. "The invisible man and I will be out for the rest of the morning."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

Playfully grabbing Jake by the back of the neck, he pushed him toward the door and back into the Pentagon's labyrinth of hallways. Walking down the long sterile corridor, he looked at Jake with an exaggerated grimace. "You look like shit. How's your head this morning?"

Jake grinned. "My head's not too bad, but when I woke up, my liver was on the pillow next to me, crying." Actually, in the two hours since waking, the combined effect of coffee and aspirin, coupled with a surprisingly peaceful cab ride had left Jake feeling much better, physically. "But, enough about me. What's the plan?"

"Patience, grasshopper."

Rounding a corner, they stepped into a dead-end hallway. At the far end stood a very serious looking guard next to a table and an elevator door. Jake didn't see a call button. However, a keypad and some kind of lens sat above its expected location.

As they approached, the Guard nodded to each of them in turn. "Good morning, Captain Allison, Captain Giard."

Jake blinked his surprise at the guard's foreknowledge of his name, his gaze snapping from the apparent camera lens back to the sergeant.

"Good Morning Doug," Richard said as his fingers danced across the keypad. Bending slightly, he looked into the lens. Jake heard a beep and saw a green light illuminate on the keypad's small screen.

"Good morning, Captain Allison," a computer rendered male voice said.

"Good morning, Hal," Richard said, looking at Jake with a crooked grin. Gesturing, he said, "Step over here and look into the lens."

He complied. As soon as Jake looked into the glass eye, a red glow filled his vision, followed by the same beep and computer generated voice. "Good morning, Captain Giard."

Jake looked at Richard. "How does it know me?"

"Don't ask, I could tell you, but I would have to kill you," Richard said with mock seriousness.

Jake spun on him. "Goddamn it, Richard! Enough with the fucking jokes, already. Someone really did get killed over this shit."

Richard's head snapped back as if Jake had slapped him. To his credit, the sergeant didn't flinch.

Richard raised both hands. "I'm sorry, Jake. That was thoughtless of me." The elevator doors opened, Richard motioned for Jake to enter. "Bear with me a little bit longer."

After a moment, Jake shook his head and walked into the elevator. Still fuming, he studied its interior walls. All four surfaces were brushed stainless-steel with no discernible fixtures or buttons. The doors slid closed, and to his surprise, the elevator went down from the ground floor.

Richard merely smiled with that maddening humorous indifference.

The elevator continued downward. Jake felt the pressure building on his ears. Pinching his nose, he performed the Valsalva maneuver. His ears popped and the pain subsided. "How the hell did that computer know me?" he asked again.

Richard pinched his nose in an apparent effort to clear his ears too. In a nasal tone, he said, "For the last twenty years, the military covertly scanned all recruit's retinas."

"How?"

"A camera built into the ophthalmoscope the doctors use for their initial entry exam, snaps a shot of each retina. It's added to the recruit's file and to the master database."

The elevator slowed and stopped. The doors opened, revealing a modern hallway, its design far removed from the comparatively ancient architecture of the Pentagon—now an unknown distance above them. Another pair of serious-looking guards flanked a double door at the end of the hallway.

The walls and doors were highly polished black onyx, trimmed with brushed stainless steel.

Jake recognized the type of flooring. "There must be a lot of computers on this level."

Richard looked surprised. "What makes you think that?"

He pointed at the floor's grid of panels. "That's a raised floor. The underlying crawlspace is used to distribute chilled air and run cables between server racks."

"Astute observation."

They approached the doors. "So, what is this place?"

"I could tell you." Richard pointed at the larger of the two guards. "But then he'd have to—" Seeing Jake's warning glare, he stopped mid-sentence. "Sorry."

In a deep, humorless monotone, the mountainous guard said, "Captain Allison, Captain Giard, IDs, please."

Taking their cards, he passed each under a laser scanner. It beeped twice. Nodding, he returned them. "Please proceed, sirs."

Turning, Richard reached out, placing his palm against a panel next to the doors. A red glow emanated from the pad. It beeped like the one upstairs. "Good morning, Captain Allison," the computer said. The double doors parted. Noise from the busy room beyond flooded the quiet corridor.

Richard walked through, and Jake followed. Inside, the architecture was identical to the entry hall, but on a much larger scale. While the corridor was empty, this area was teeming with activity. Personnel, both civilian and military, scurried about.

It looked like NASA's Mission Control. Large monitors adorned the far wall while rows of computer consoles filled the large chamber's center.

Jake scanned the room, surprised to see so many foreign uniforms. Strange accents and languages were interspersed in the bustling room's din. Whatever it was, it had to be a multilateral, multinational effort.

He turned to Richard. "Again, what the hell is this place?"

Smiling, Richard pointed to the back wall.

Turning, Jake saw a beautiful scene on one of the large monitors. The image feed came from a camera orbiting high above the planet. The video quality was amazing, like looking through a window into space. Earth's curving horizon filled half the image. Irregular halting movement drew Jake's attention. One of the stars in the image's right side appeared to be moving. Then it blossomed to fill half the screen. To his shock and bewilderment, no one in the control room reacted to the development.

Looking around the room, mouth agape, his pulse quickened. Confused and angry, he turned back to the monitor, and glared at the ship that had killed his wingman. It darted out of frame, its extreme acceleration leaving only a hint of its departure direction.

Jake was dismayed that those who had obviously seen the spaceship continued with their tasks. He turned to Richard, only to see that same infuriating smile on his face. Jake blew up. "What's so goddamned funny?". Then he realized Richard wasn't grinning at him, he was looking over Jake's shoulder.

A familiar voice spoke up from behind him. "It's about time you got here, Captain."

Jake turned and came face to face with his suddenly not-so-dead wingman.

Standing in the bustling underground control room, Jake stood with his mouth agape. Head spinning he stared at Lieutenant Victor Croft. A mix of emotions and confusion flooded his thoughts. "What the hell?"

"Well, it's good to see you too, Captain," Vic said, laughing.

Victor's chortling broke through Jake's shock. He grabbed the young man in a bear hug, nearly crushing his reanimated wingman. "Holy shit, Vic! You … you got out after all. Thank god!" Jake shook his head. "I thought … hell, I
knew
you were dead," he said, finally setting him back down. "Why didn't you—"

"Let's move this to the conference room," Richard interrupted, placing a hand on Jake's elbow and nodding toward the control room's occupants.

Jake turned in the room's abrupt silence. While the appearance of a strange ship hadn't phased the assembled personnel, the reunion had brought all activity to a standstill as everyone watched.

Confused and unsure of what to say in spite of all the questions running through his mind, Jake looked from the onlookers to Richard, to Victor, and then back to the large monitor. Overwhelmed, he allowed Richard to guide him to a door on the side of the control room.

After climbing a flight of stairs, they passed through another door into a conference room. A long table surrounded by chairs occupied its center. A glass wall separated it from the control room.

Jake walked to the clear wall. Watching the activity below, he again felt overwhelmed. His mind raced with a multitude of questions.

Moving to stand on both sides of him, Victor and Richard joined Jake at the window.

Richard said, "It's a lot to take in."

"You think?" Jake shook his head and turned from the window. He grabbed a chair and fell into it. With his back to the conference table, he looked from Richard to the strange control room and finally to Victor. He struggled to comprehend the developments of the last five minutes. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Lieutenant Croft," Richard said, pointing to the head of the table. "Please debrief the good Captain."

Vic walked toward the end of the table nearest the door. "I still don't know the whole story, but I can tell you my part of it."

Richard nodded. "That's fine, Lieutenant."

Jake stared at him. "I'm all ears."

"Ok," Vic said. Sitting down, he turned to Jake. "As you know, when that ship showed up, everything went to hell. When it got too close, I lost control of my fighter."

"Yeah, me too," Jake said, nodding.

Victor also nodded. "I figured that, when your fighter rolled on top of mine, but when it left, mine didn't recover like yours did. Somehow, its departure threw me into an inverted flat spin. No matter what I tried, I couldn't recover it."

"So, you were able to eject after all."

"Nope," Victor said, with an indecipherable grin.

***

— Fifty Hours Earlier —

"Oh my god!" Victor screamed over the radio. With a white-knuckled death grip on the controls, he fought to rein in the violently shaking fighter. He keyed the radio transmit button again. "The stick is … beating up … the inside of my thighs."

Through the building roar of turbulence buffeting the airframe, he heard Jake over the radio. "Get away from the ship."

"I don't know … if I can hold on," Victor said, his voice straining as he was thrown against the harness.

Multiple caution and warning lights illuminated, filling the cockpit with their red and amber brilliance. Blaring from his helmet speakers, squealing horns and mounting static drilled into his head. In a cascading collapse, system after system crashed. Still struggling to control his bucking fighter, Vic looked from the flashing warning-lights to the strange ship. "Get the fuck away from me!"

Panic's icy fingers gripped his heart. He squeezed the radio transmit trigger. "My systems are going down. Every damn warning light is flashing!" he shouted into the building static. He couldn't tell if the radio transmitted.

"Mayday, mayday, may—" he screamed. His helmet audio cutoff mid-word as all electrical systems crashed. The cockpit lights faded to black, and the screaming static evaporated.

The fighter's electrically actuated flight controls locked up. Victor struggled with the stick, but his aircraft remained unresponsive. He looked across to the strange ship. "Move!"

A shadow crossed his cockpit. Looking up, he froze. Upside down and on a collision course, Captain Giard's fighter loomed overhead, blocking out the moon.

"Come on!" Victor screamed. Looking across the narrowing gulf, yanking futilely against the flight controls. He tried to slide lower in the fighter's ejection seat.

Light flooded his cockpit, banishing the fighter's shadow. Dragging his eyes from the impending doom and surreal image of Jake looking down on him, he watched the strange ship's ethereal ring of lights grow blindingly bright, then it flashed away from his jet.

A tremendous shockwave threw Victor against his restraints. "Shit!" Somehow the ship's departure knocked his fighter into a flat spin. Knowing Jake was only a few feet away, he cringed.

Alternating waves of light swept through the cockpit as his spinning fighter emerged from under the shadow of Jake's airplane. Looking up, he saw Captain Giard's F-22 rolling away. Victor's momentary elation quashed as his fighter tumbled inverted.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!" his quivering voice squeaked into the dead radio. "Damn it!" he screamed, pounding the lifeless instrument panel.

Following his emergency restart procedures, he flipped switch after switch to no avail.

Knowing he was running out of options and time, he looked up from his upside-down fighter to see the Nevada desert floor way too close. In panic's icy grip, he frantically clawed at the ejection handles. An eternal second later, his fingers wrapped around them. He yanked with all his might.

Nothing! They didn't budge.

"Fuck!" He tugged and yanked several more times

Still nothing!

Inverted, knowing death was imminent, Victor tilted his head back to watch the desert race up and devour him. He blinked, not believing his eyes. The strange ship had returned. It was outside, falling in formation with his fighter. "What the hell?"

Looking past the ship, he realized they weren't falling. They were still descending but at a much slower rate. "Shit," he whispered.