Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten (3 page)

The main access door into Raven Rock was hidden by the trees and protected by more guards, cement barriers, and bunkers than the gold at Fort Knox. Large enough to drive a truck through, the main access was not far from the main road. Its huge metal doors braced on massive hydraulic pistons had not been opened since the senior surviving leaders of the government had fled to Raven Rock after the EMP attack.

In addition to the main entrance, there were other access doors, and the underground complex was not completely sealed. Some of the other entrances were used for supplies and service; some of them, like the one she waited near now, were secret entrances used exclusively for the exchange of personnel.

She stood in line with forty or fifty other people. None of them were friendly and no one spoke to her. All shared the same concerns: their families left above ground, how they were going to find food and shelter, their government, the future, the whole mess of a thing. Looking at them, Sara could see the same cold desperation in all their eyes. Almost all were in military uniform, but there were a few civilians in casual attire and business suits. All of them wore coded, picture identification passes on colored lanyards around their necks: blue, red, yellow, green—the color of the lanyards obviously meant something, but what it was, Sara didn’t know. She glanced down nervously at her own identification. She had rehearsed her name, story and her reason for entering Raven Rock so many times she could have explained it in her sleep, but still she was nervous, her hands shaking, her mouth so dry she could hardly talk. If anyone stopped or questioned her she would probably just throw up on their shoes. She swallowed, trying to keep the bile down, but her stomach kept on fluttering like the wingtips of a bird.

Turning, she looked back up the sloping tunnel. She had already passed through two security access points, the first on the military bus that drove them through the main gate into the surface compound, and the second at the door of the nondescript warehouse building that housed the entry tunnel into Raven Rock. The final, and most secure of the three security checkpoints, was still ahead.

She checked her watch for the umpteenth time, then glanced down the line of waiting people. The line began to move and her heart lurched into her throat.

One by one they stepped up to the final checkpoint. Three armed and very unfriendly military police checked their identifications, asked a few questions, and scanned their pupils with a portable iris scanner, passing the red beam in front of their eyes. The computer checked the electronic scans of their irises for a positive identification, then compared the scans against the database of personnel approved for entry into the compound.

This was the most critical of the checkpoints. This was where it could all break down. This was where they would know if Brucius Marino’s people were any good. Had they been able to plant Sara into the access system? They had assured her that they had, but the truth was, they didn’t know. No one could know until she got there. She thought of James Davies, her mind racing with worry. Surely that had not gone according to their plan. Would she be another failure?

They were about to find out.

Moving forward, she wiped her sweating palms and took a calming breath.
No big deal, no big deal
, she gently reassured herself.

She was next. She waited like the others behind a red line on the floor, an obedient member of the flock, then stepped forward when the first guard ordered her to advance.

He lifted her identification card hanging from the red lanyard around her neck. “Sara Brighton,” he called to the second guard behind him while scanning the coded information on the back of the identification card. Sara waited, trying her best to appear uninterested.

The second guard stared at his computer screen, which Sara couldn’t see, then motioned to a black keyboard mounted on the bulletproof glass wall that separated them. “Enter your access code,” he told her. Sara stepped forward. The keypad was covered with a curving black plastic cover, making it impossible for anyone to see what she was typing. She typed the access code they had given her, a code that changed every six hours.

“Again,” the second guard told her.

“Did I mess it up?” she blurted before she even had time to think.

“Again!” the guard answered tartly.

Her heart lurched again. The bile rose, her stomach fluttering. Time to throw up on the floor? She took a quick breath and put her fingers on the keypad, typing the eight-character code again. This time she moved her fingers more carefully and looked down, making certain of every key.

He waited. The guard studied her, then motioned to the other. “She’s new in the system. Give her a FOX session,” he said.

FOX session
. She almost froze. She knew from her husband that a FOX session was Intel jargon for “Ask a few tough questions, maybe rough her up a bit.”

The guard stepped toward her, his M-16 hanging loosely at his side. Sara turned toward him and almost fainted. He grabbed her identification card again. “Sara Brighton? Is that right?”

“Yes, yes, Sara Brighton.”

“And what is your reason for being granted access into the complex?” He looked down at her identification card again.

After much argument, they had decided back at Offutt to go with something close to reality rather than invent a story out of whole cloth. “I’m a private consultant with the Department of Defense,” Sara started. “My husband was Neil Brighton. He used to work for the president. I’ve consulted with Family Support Services for a couple of years. We’re working on an emergency program to ensure support, pay and benefits to military families during a time of crisis, especially for those whose spouses are away.”

The young enlisted man didn’t look impressed. “Who invited you here?” he asked.

This was where it all could break down. If they checked it out, their plan was over.

“General Cantera. He heads up Family Support Services.” She held her breath. They had timed it so Cantera would be in his afternoon briefing when she tried to get into the compound, making it more difficult to reach him if anyone tried to call to confirm her explanation.

The soldier once again glanced back to the others.

They had told her to stay with the story and not say more. They had told her to be silent and not to improvise. “Don’t screw it up!” they had warned her. “Silence is much better than handing them the rope to hang yourself. You’re not good enough, you haven’t been trained enough, to fake your way through.” But they hadn’t predicted that she’d be subjected to a FOX session, and she knew she had to say something now. Her instincts kicked into gear, and her instincts were good.

“Look, maybe you don’t know how bad it is up there right now,” she said quickly. “Maybe to you it’s no big deal, all safe and sound down here. But if you’re a soldier with a family, a wife and kids, and you’re not able to be home to help take care of them, then yeah, it’s a big deal. We’ve got to figure out a way to help those who can’t be there for their kids. Military members and their families are one of our highest priorities right now. We have to ensure your families are taken care of. If they’re up there starving on the streets, none of our troops are going to stay at their stations. Our desertion rates will skyrocket. We’ve got to figure out a way to make sure the supplies of food and water are getting to the right people, and right now military dependents are one of the highest priorities we have.” She did her best to glare at the soldier. “I’m sure you agree. You want your family taken care of. That’s why I’m here. If we don’t do that, our military members will do what they have to do to help their families. If that means leaving their posts to feed their children—well, I think we both know what a mess that could be.”

The soldier lifted his face and looked at her, his eyes now sad. “I’ve got two kids,” he said.

Sara didn’t answer. Time to shut up now. Anything else she said would be redundant, and she needed to let him figure out for himself the importance of what she had said.

He glanced behind him, then leaned toward her. “How bad is it out there?” he whispered. “They won’t let us leave the compound—”

She cut him off. “It’s bad. But we’re trying.”

He watched her, then stepped back and lifted his portable iris scanner. She felt a slight sting as the iris scanner scanned her right eye.

They waited. Sara tried to breathe. Had they been able to plant her identity into one of the most sensitive military databases the Pentagon had ever maintained?

Ten seconds passed. The soldier glanced at her. She heard a soft beep.

He stepped aside. “Step through the X-ray and metal detector. Take any electronics out of your briefcase,” he said.

She almost cried with relief but caught herself. Exhaling visibly, she stepped toward the X-ray and metal detector.

Four minutes later, she was in.

Everything about her said
leave me alone.

Sara sat in the corner of the main cafeteria, a sheaf of papers spread out before her, pen in hand, a laptop pushed to the side of the table. She looked busy and she kept her head down, not talking to anyone. The mess hall was always busy: day, night, it didn’t matter, the staff at Raven Rock worked around the clock and the cafeteria remained open around the clock. Although she appeared consumed with her work, shuffling her papers, scrawling notes in the margins, tapping on the computer, she kept her eyes moving, always looking for him.

Twenty minutes later, Sara glanced at her watch. Almost 11 p.m. She’d been inside Raven Rock for more than seven hours. Still no sight of him.

It had taken her a while to find the Supreme Court annex to the underground complex, a row of small but finely furnished apartments with tiny offices lining a narrow corridor with the Supreme Court chamber at the end. All of the offices had been empty. She didn’t know which office Jefferson had claimed, for he had his choice of nine, but not a justice, secretary, clerk, or lawyer could be found. She had waited near the hallway for a couple of hours, trying not to look conspicuous, but after being approached by a security guard, she’d moved on.

Standing in the main corridor that led into the mountain, Sara had stopped to think. No way to get down to the executive office level. She’d already tried. The elevator was guarded and she didn’t have the access codes. He wasn’t coming to the Supreme Court wing; it was pretty obvious he’d set up his office somewhere else. And why wouldn’t he? Who would want to sleep and work in an empty chamber, only to be reminded constantly of his dead friends? Where else could he be? The gym? Not likely. Jefferson was five-foot-seven and pushing 240 pounds; it had been a few legal briefs since he’d seen the inside of a gym. The central cafeteria? Maybe. But surely they provided food services on the executive level. Would he really come up here? The recreation hall? She’d already been down there. Rows of Ping-Pong™ tables, computers, arcade games, poker tables, a couple of billiard tables, banks of televisions that were mounted on the wall. It was pretty obvious that Raven Rock designers expected recreation to be the last thing on the minds of its long-term occupants. No, he wasn’t going to show up there.

Which left her with nothing.

Finally, after wandering the halls for a while longer, she’d taken up a table near the back of the cafeteria from which she could survey the hall. There she waited. And hoped.

Now it was approaching midnight and she had nothing.

More than four thousand people had been crammed into the underground complex. What were the chances she might see him in the cafeteria in the middle of the night?

Not very good, Sara knew that.

And even if she found him, how would she ever get him to listen to her, let alone convince him to leave the safety of Raven Rock and venture in their cause?

Sara didn’t know where to sleep. They had hoped that she would have found him and gotten out before it mattered. But here she was, the middle of the night, and she had nowhere to go.

There were temporary quarters for guests and newly assigned members of the underground compound, but they required written orders. She had them, but they would have to be verified, and she didn’t want to chance it. She simply couldn’t stomach the thought of another encounter with a security guard. She had already decided that she would sleep in the women’s restroom before she’d take the chance of checking into the visitors’ quarters.

Time passed. The cafeteria stayed equally busy, the pace of operations fairly consistent from night to day. Looking around her, she realized there were many others working at tables. Staffing had reached war-footing levels and she wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a place to work.

Sara glanced at her watch: 1:20 in the morning.

Resting her head on her arms, she fell asleep.

* * * * * * *

Twenty minutes later she woke up. Something inside her made her tense, and the soft hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart raced and she felt disoriented as she struggled to come awake. She kept her head down, trying to understand what had jarred her.

Then Sara heard it. His voice was deep, resonating and distinct enough to jolt her from her sleep—the voice of an old friend, a man she and Neil had known since his first assignment at the Pentagon.

He was the national security adviser to President Fuentes now. She had seen his picture just a couple of days before when Brucius Marino had shown her photographs of the meeting of conspirators that had taken place somewhere overseas.

This was the man that was responsible for the previous president’s death.

She kept her head down, her heart slamming in her chest.

If he saw her, he would recognize her.

If he saw her, she was dead.

She kept her head buried in her arms, wishing she could tunnel under a pile of papers, wishing she could climb under the table, wishing she could disappear.