The Rift (30 page)

Both missiles exploded just above a thousand feet, an expensive fireworks display, lighting up the darkness for a moment, the sound of the explosion rolling across the reservoir.

“FPF, prepare two more missiles,” Moms said, shaking her head, not even sure why she’d given the order to abort. “Same target. Fire if you don’t hear from me in three mikes, over.”

“Roger. Over.”

Moms stepped toward Burns. “What’s going on? And talk quick or else that dam is gone.”

Burns pointed at Scout. “She was the key.” His face flickered and went back to its scarred form. “I think you”—he pointed at Moms—“and you”—he pointed at Neeley—“need to bring your bosses in on this. After all, they helped set it all up.”

Moms stood stock still for a moment and then pointed at Kirk. He quickly accessed both the Ranch and the Cellar. “We’re live with both,” he said. “On speaker.”

“Report.” Ms. Jones’s voice was a rasp.

“Good to hear you again, Ms. Jones,” Burns said. “It’s been a while. And Hannah. I know you’re listening. Good to finally make your acquaintance. Your predecessor, Nero, knew my grandfather.”

“A Nazi,” Hannah said.

“Yes,” Burns confirmed. “And a member of Operation Paperclip, which Mr. Nero had a hand in, which means the Cellar had a hand in. Which then Area 51 had a hand in and led to the birth of the Nightstalkers. It’s all connected.”

Scout spoke up. “Someone want to speak English? Who named the bridge after me?”

Burns laughed. “Out of the mouths of children.”

“I ain’t no child,” Scout protested.

Burns waggled the hard drive that Ivar had given him. “Shall we see the end play?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, going through the entry into the power station.

The rest followed, almost a dance, with weapons pointed at Burns and Ivar and people trying not to cross each other’s line of fire. They shuffled into the control room for the power station.

Burns walked right up to the golden glow and tossed the hard drive into it. It was caught in the field, suspended. A deep golden iris, less than a foot tall, appeared.

“It will take a minute or two or three,” Burns said.

“Two minutes is all you have,” Moms said.

Burns turned to face the team. “You’ve been through this before, haven’t you, Ms. Jones?”

“Yes. At Chernobyl.”

“But it was stopped.” Burns said it as a statement, but Ms. Jones spoke anyway.

“At great cost.”

“And, Hannah,” Burns said, “Nero didn’t leave you many records, did he? He didn’t leave you the Cellar report on what happened at Area 51 for the first Rift, did he?”

“He did not.”

“Greer,” Burns said, and Moms turned to Scout.

“Greer?” Nada repeated. “Really?”

“Really,” Scout said. “What’s your real name?”

“Fred,” Nada said.

“No shit?” Mac exclaimed.

Burns ignored them. “What do you think is going on?” he asked Scout.

“I don’t know,” Scout said, shrugging. “I was wrong about my name. With my mother. Sometimes we’re wrong.”

Burns pointed at Doc. “The demon core. Ever wonder about it?”

“It’s lost,” Doc said.

“It’s not lost,” Ivar said. “It’s the anchor on the other side.” He was nodding, finally understanding. “The first Rift needed it. It went through with most of the scientists. But it’s right on the other side. It’s been what every other Rift has used.”

“Very good,” Burns said. “And how would you feel if a Rift opened in this world and someone sent through a radioactive core?”

“Piss me off,” Roland said.

“Doors work both ways,” Nada said.

“Correct,” Burns said. “But your people opened one at Area 51 and then have been kicking it shut every time.”

“One minute,” Moms said.

“Oh frak,” Kirk said as the iris elongated, becoming twelve feet high by six wide. They could all see figures on the other side.

“They’re only giving you back what you sent to them,” Burns said.

And then Professor Winslow from the University of North Carolina stepped through. Followed by Craegan from Arizona State. Followed by a stream of scientists, all of whom had opened Rifts. As the years of the Rifts went back, it was clear that none of them had aged in the slightest during whatever experience they’d had on the other side. Colonel Thorn came through, the man who’d led the very first Nightstalkers, shutting the very first Rift.

And then the members of Odessa came through, the ones who had opened that very first Rift.

Blake was sitting by the pool in the Myrtle Beach complex, no grandkids in tow and studying the young mother across the way. She’d flashed him a look earlier, almost a smile, so he was figuring she’d forgiven him for dumping her kid in the pool. She was rubbing sunscreen on her incredibly long legs and her kid was also nowhere in sight.

An interesting development, he thought. Maybe it was time for that flank maneuver after all?

But before he could initiate the maneuver, the mother stood up and walked around the pool, striding with a purpose. So much purpose that Blake looked over his shoulder to see if there was someone behind him she was going toward. But no, he was the target.

“Here,” she said, holding out an OD Green plastic case about eight inches long by four wide by one thick.

Blake automatically took it.

She walked away and he was so surprised that he didn’t even stare at her ass, instead focusing on the box in his hands. He opened it and there was another encryption device inside, an updated model of the one he’d buried in the cache.

Damn job
, Blake thought as he looked at the encryptor.

He looked up, but the woman was gone.

Damn, damn job.

Wallace Cranston hated rehab.

Iris Watkins swiped her credit card through the device and then signed her name, feeling a piece of her security crumble with the signature. A hundred fifty bucks for the baby’s checkup at the pediatrician’s office. Taking her receipt, she swung the halter onto her chest and herded the two oldest toward the door.

An older blonde entering held the door for her and Watkins graced her with a smile.

Then the blonde started following and Watkins slid her free hands into her purse, fingers curling around the mace.

“Iris?” the woman asked.

Watkins turned and faced her. “Yes?”

“My name is Gretchen.” The woman looked at the baby. “He’s got a lot of his father in him.”

Watkins blinked. “What?”

“Your son,” Gretchen said. She reached into her large purse and pulled out a thick envelope. “This is from Mrs. Sanchez.”

“Who?”

“Let’s just say someone who knew your husband and valued his service and his sacrifice to our country.”

Watkins let go of the mace and took the envelope. It wasn’t sealed and she could see a thick wad of bills in it, the end one with Ben Franklin staring out.

“Why?”

“You don’t need that special phone anymore,” Gretchen said. “There’s more money as you need it.”

Iris Watkins stuffed the envelope into her purse and pulled out the phone. She handed it to Gretchen. “All right. No more Loop?”

Gretchen smiled. “No more Loop for you. Your family has done enough.”

“Thank you,” Watkins said, and she turned for her car, but Gretchen’s voice stopped her.

“Can you cook?”

“Still looking at the monument?” the Keep asked Captain Griffin.

He didn’t move the binoculars from his eyes. “It hasn’t changed.”

“Other things have,” the Keep said. “The Cellar and the Nightstalkers have closed a big chapter in history. I’m still sorting the pieces out with Hannah and Ms. Jones, but I don’t think we’ll ever know the full story since Burns went back through the Portal the other way and it’s shut.”

“Permanently, I hope,” Griffin said.

“One can hope,” the Keep said, but her voice lacked confidence.

Nada sat with Scout on the riverbank. They were smoking electronic cigarettes, one of Nada’s conditions for meeting her.

“How are your folks?” he asked.

“Rested,” Scout said. She nodded toward the dock where a boat rested in the lift. “My dad finally got his boat. Said life was too short. Support gave him a really good cover story. He thinks he and Mother and I barely survived a train wreck and chemical discharge.”

“Support is good at that,” Nada said.

“You know something?” Scout asked, and then she took a puff of nicotine. It wasn’t as good as a real cigarette, but it would be enough for now. She knew that eventually she wouldn’t need this either.

“What?” Nada said.

“It was a very complex plan,” Scout said.

Nada remained silent, because he and Moms had been over this several times at forward operating base and they got confused when they got mired in the details of everything that happened.

Scout continued. “Craegan opening that Rift in Arizona, then the drive going to Winslow, while Ivar worked in the lab opening a Portal while you shut the Rift in Senator’s Club, and then multiple Ivars coming through, then shutting that Portal. But Ivar was affected. And whatever was in my toothbrush was planted. Then my dad getting assigned to Oak Ridge, so we moved here to the river, near the dam.” She shook her head. “Gives you a headache if you believe it was all one long, complex plan by whatever is on the other side just to spit back out all those people.”

“It scares me,” Nada said. He stood.

Scout stood up. “It scares me too. Because Ms. Jones and Hannah are the best we got and whatever this is outthought them.”

“A lot more people than just them.”

“What’s going to happen to those people?” Scout asked as they walked along the riverbank. “The Odessa people?”

Nada shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure the Cellar will handle it.”

They paused. The Snake was waiting, engines whining, the ramp open. The team was inside, watching. Nada held out his hand. “Until we meet again?”

Scout shook it. “Until.”

Nada turned for the ramp.

“Hey,” Scout said.

Nada paused. “Yes?”

“You owe me a piggy bank.”

Nada smiled. “I’ll bring it.”

“So you’ll be back?”

“You know it.”

On top of the Gateway Arch, a pair of magnets with duct tape partially attached were solidly anchored onto the stainless steel. The Park Service had yet to figure out how to remove them safely.

Even more puzzling was how they got there.

Still caught in the power lines cutting across the Tennessee River, a tattered parachute hung limply. The TVA had removing it on its to-do list, but resources were focused on repairs to the Loudoun Dam, where an accident had caused a power outage.

In the Cellar, Hannah looked at images of both the magnets and the parachute, still there after dawn. Ms. Jones wasn’t on top of this.

Hannah reached for the phone, and then she realized what the magnets and the parachute signified. She lowered her head and said a short prayer, not that she was religious, but sometimes it’s all you have. Then she got up and headed toward the door. She had an appointment to make.