Reckoning

Shooting the Gap

Throughout the night, although we hear faint shrieks continuously—some drawing closer—there aren’t any night runners that approach and test the hangar’s integrity. We stand down after a while, turning the safety of the teams over to the watches set by Lynn. Before finding my sleeping bag on the hard floor, I ask Robert if he has the ability to see in the dark. Removing his NVGs, he glances around and tells me that he can see just as well without them. As he’s not used to it, it’s a little disconcerting for him at first, but he quickly catches on. I don’t know why with having this ability, that we aren’t sensitive to the light; but I’m thankful that’s the way it is.

We further test his hearing and smell and find that it has been enhanced as well. Once we return home, I’ll have to check this out with the others. And, I’m sure there are others like us that we haven’t run across yet. It may be that we have to incorporate this aspect of opening up when we are out in order to find them. They may have shut down their senses by this time, but it’s worth checking out nonetheless.

The next two days are spent with training sessions and reviewing the plan, however, that really doesn’t encompass much time at all. For the most part, it’s spent in boredom with card games taking up a majority of the time. There’s only so much boredom that will cure though. Spread across the concrete floor, team members lie on their bags willing time to pass. We have imposed a radio blackout, so we haven’t had any contact with the compound.

By the late afternoon at the end of day two, we’d pretty much walk unarmed into a dragon’s lair to break the monotony; anything rather than to have to spend another day in the shelter. As the day winds down, the listlessness turns to activity as we gather our gear together, checking our packs and weapons. Other than our M-4s and various grenades, Lynn has brought several M-240s along, one for each of the teams that will be holding the security forces at bay within the hallways. We would have used them before, but they are a touch unwieldy in close quarters. We also have CS grenades with gas masks just in case.

The tedium prevalent during the two days has vanished, replaced by mounting tension, and, one might say, eagerness. Luckily for us, the 130 is parked near the hangar so it won’t be too much of a dash across open spaces. Outside, the cloud cover that began rolling in a couple of days ago is holding. It hasn’t brought but a few showers but it’s a thick cover which will help conceal us.

Hoisting their gear, the teams gather near the large hangar door, which we sealed shut. Removing the lock, they crowd together.

“Everyone ready?” Lynn calls across their heads.

“Hooah,” they respond en masse.

With a last look over everyone, Lynn and several others push the door open just enough for the teams to pour out. I join in the exodus, running across the grit-covered tarmac, hearing the sound of a hundred boots pounding on its hard surface. There is only that, the sound of hard breathing from those nearby, and the slight rattle of equipment. We flow across the gray pavement toward the 130 and, before we know it, we are racing up the rear ramp, the heavy footfalls changing to the ringing of boots on its steel surface.

Staying behind to shut the hangar doors, Lynn and her team are the last ones to enter. We were outside for nearly fifteen seconds and I hope that any attention on our encampment was directed elsewhere. Within the cargo compartment, there is a din of noise as gear is laid on the deck to be tied down and the soldiers find places to sit on the red nylon seats. Robert, Craig, Bri, and I make our way through the tangle of legs and packs on our way to the cockpit.

We don’t have much time as I want to be airborne while we still have the heat from the mid-afternoon. The clouds overhead have warmed the day and I want as much heat around us as we can get. The engines are going to push out a tremendous heat plume and my desire is to minimize that to any extent we can.

With the rear ramp closed, I do a quick start of the inboard engines. Thankfully, the engines come to life and we have a full tank of gas. I’ll taxi with those two and start the remaining two when we reach the end of the runway to minimize our heat signature. I flew past many of the checklist items after starting, so we are all knees and elbows in the cockpit getting the aircraft ready. Craig is crowded beside Robert busily inputting our route into the NAV computer.

I speed us along the taxiway to the end of the runway which is conveniently located next to the guard base. I would assume it was planned that way so the F-15s based there could make a quick takeoff.

Our dog and pony show continues right up to the runway threshold. I barely get the other two engines online as we pull onto the dirt-covered surface. Through the windshield, dark gray pavement stretches ahead, partially visible under swirls of dust. Without slowing, I push the throttles up and we start down the runway, the power of the engines vibrating through the fuselage. Pulling back on the controls, our front wheels release their grip on the runway, followed by our main gear shortly thereafter. We are airborne and, three hours from now, it will be go time.

Staying low over the city, I bank to the east. The clouds are still high above us but, across the landscape, I see the dark gray of showers connecting some of them with the earth. We really couldn’t have asked for better conditions, well, other than wishing for things to go back the way they were.

I bring us over the Columbia River, watching for the high-voltage power lines that I know stretch across it in places. I have those heavily circled on my map. It’s only a matter of minutes before we find ourselves in the Columbia Gorge; steep, forested slopes rise sharply from the edges of the wide waterway. This will keep us hidden until we break out onto the high desert plateau of Central Oregon and Western Washington.

Shooting at a hundred feet over the Columbia River and close to the southern line of hills, the turbulence bounces us like a paint shaker. Being the only real pass through the Cascades, the winds coming through the narrow defile are usually strong. In the past, they’ve had to close the highway to semis due to the winds.

Lynn had hooked into the intercom upon her entrance.

“How’s it going back there?” I ask, knowing it can’t be very comfortable for the soldiers.

“How much longer is this going to be like this? Too much longer and we’ll be worthless when we get there,” she replies.

I guess that’s my answer for how it’s going.

“Not much longer, but we’ll be hugging hills all of the way so I have no idea how long it’s going to be bumpy,” I state.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose, Jack. Oh, and I’m not cleaning up the mess back here.”

I chuckle and tell her that she can send the worst cases up to the cockpit. Being able to see outside will help and, perhaps more importantly, they’ll be facing forward.

Although it may be a different story for those in back, it doesn’t take us too long to navigate through the gorge. Emerging out on the other side, I turn us south to keep close to the rough terrain of the Cascades.

Thirty minutes later, at a point midway between the cities of Redmond and Madras, still bouncing through the mountain waves as the westerly wind pours through passes and across the slopes, I turn us eastward. Here is the narrowest point between the Blue Mountains and the Cascades. From this point, I guide us through a long ravine that cuts through the Blue Mountains and drops us into the head of a valley just north of Boise.

Still hugging the slopes, I circle the valley. The turbulence is less severe as we make our way along the slopes of the Salmon River Mountains. North of Idaho Falls, we cut into the Rocky Mountains and turn south to avoid the rolling plains of Wyoming. This is a very circuitous route, but we have the time and fuel.

Climbing ridgelines and plummeting into valleys, I hand the controls over to Robert. Initially, he’s a little hesitant crossing over the ridgelines and brings us too high over the deep ravines but his transitions soon become smoother. The overhead cover of clouds has stayed with us, which is a good thing and we’ve had clear visibility. Looking to the east, I see that trend seems to hold.

The day begins fading as we draw abeam to Salt Lake City and turn east. Only a little over three hundred miles remain, just over an hour of flight time. However, that time will be spent racing through ravines at night. I brief Lynn on our position and time remaining, warning her that we may be in for more bumps but that it should settle down come nightfall. She makes some form of answer which, if I heard correctly, involves something about my genitals and a vise. Surely I heard that wrong but I don’t ask for an elaboration.

As much as I’d like to follow the interstate directly to Denver, I have planned our route far away from the roadway. Although it’s almost night, I have no idea what they may have in place to observe that route and I don’t want to announce our arrival. It would really suck to have made it away clean only to be discovered on their doorstep.

With Robert at the controls, and my hand hovering close to the other set, we fly from ravine to ravine, heading ever eastward. The darkness closes in, making the night flight all that much more interesting. We bring our altitude up as the terrain rises steeply and without much warning. Luckily, the aircraft is equipped with FLIR (Forward Looking IR), making it a little easier.

We break out of the mountains near the town of Boulder. The change is abrupt. One minute we are wrestling the aircraft through steep-sided ravines and the next, we are shooting out over open plains. I have Robert turn north to hug the slopes rising off the plateau as I head into the back to prepare.

I feel the familiar coldness settle into place as I begin donning my gear. First, I pull on the dry suit and put my fatigues over it. I’ll have to vent the suit at times so that it doesn’t build up body heat which will make me visible to thermal imaging. Buttoning my shirt, the emotionless feeling I remember from the past envelopes me. Attaching my chute, I ensure that the sling holding my M-4 is snug. I then check that my leg holster holding my Beretta, with the suppressor in a pouch alongside, is securely strapped on. I haven’t done this in a long, long time and, truth be told, not that many times.

Feeling ready, I shuffle close to the ramp and give a nod to Lynn. She, in turn, relays the information to Robert. I feel the aircraft bank for several seconds before it levels again. Barely noticing the rank stench of vomit in the back, I focus on the upcoming drop. No longer are there thoughts of self-doubt or second-guessing. It’s one step at a time, making sure to keep my impatience in check.

The cloud cover that rolled across the western part of the country, allowed us to leave Portland early. That gives me almost eleven hours of darkness remaining.

Plenty of time to make it there. Just keep your shit in check, I think, seeing the red light illuminate near the ramp.

The aircraft begins a shallow climb and slows as the top of the ramp raises up. The bottom part then lowers into a level position. I don my goggles and begin the shuffle step to the edge of the ramp. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Lynn standing next to me, looking up. The roar of the aircraft and the wind outside make it difficult to hear her.

“You be safe, Jack. Although this isn’t the life I had planned for us, it’s the only one we have. You’ll seriously piss me off if you get hurt,” she shouts.

“I love you, too,” I say, to which she smiles.

My eyes are focused on the red light, waiting for it to change to green. The interior is lit with red lighting meant to preserve night vision and outside, past the open ramp, it’s completely dark. The aircraft levels off from its shallow climb and I know we’ve reached five hundred feet above the ground. The light turns green.

Opening up quickly to see if there are any night runners in the area, I’m relieved when I don’t sense any. I shuffle the last couple of feet and throw myself off the back edge of the ramp, vaulting into the black void. With the chill air blowing against my cheeks, I feel the turbulence of the aircraft plowing through the air for a split second; and then comes the familiar feeling of free-falling. That only lasts for a second as the harness pulls tight against me, slowing my descent drastically. There are only a few moments before the ground and I will meet so I quickly look up while pulling down on the risers slightly to feel the tension. The dark chute against the night sky makes it hard to define, but it feels like it is fully deployed. I release my drop pack and look down.

With my vision, I am able to see the ground and it looks far too close, like it’s rushing up to meet me. I totally forgot how disorienting a night LALO jump can be and fight my initial instinct of starting a parachute landing fall. All of the ground below me looks flat, so I quickly steer toward what looks like the middle of a field. Raising my sight to a level attitude, I relax my knees slightly and wait for the first feel of contact with my boots.

Feeling the ground, seemingly at the exact moment that I lift my eyes, I roll into the PLF, ending up on my back. I pull the quick releases and hear the parachute fluff to the ground. Far off, I hear the drone of the 130 which quickly fades. I’m surrounded by silence.

I pull in my gear and release the harness. Donning my pack and ensuring that all of my equipment made it to the ground with me, I stand to get my bearings. If the drop was accurate—and there’s no reason to think it wasn’t—I should be about three miles west of the bunker.

There are very few landmarks to guide on which makes positioning difficult. I undo my fatigue top and unzip the dry suit in order to prevent any heat buildup. With a bead string attached to my vest to mark distances, I set out on an easterly heading. We had planned the drop to be directly west and, being computer controlled, I have no doubts that my heading will bring me to the facility.

Time passes, and it seems like I have climbed over a hundred fences. Walking slowly and having to navigate ditches and barbed wire, it takes me about two hours to arrive near the outer fence of the bunker. Looking through my night vision binoculars, I see the outer perimeter. I’m still far enough away that the cameras won’t be able to pick me up, but I maintain a low profile nonetheless.

I’m hesitating as I know that, once I start forward, things could get interesting. Looking at facility photographs and mission planning in a warm room is far different than looking at it face on. With a deep breath, I focus on the fence poles, counting them until I come to the one that the terrain and closeness to the exit building makes it the best option to go through. It is also the best in regards to angles from the fence-mounted cameras.

The terrain outside of the fence is composed of knee-high stubble which should help minimize my profile as I crawl through it. If I should actually encounter any mines, they’re going to be hard to mark without the cameras picking up the markers. Instead, I’ll be laying a trail of dark brown 550 cord along my path, making sure that it’s hidden amidst the grass stubble yet still visible to those looking for it. The cameras look through the surrounding terrain at an angle, so the grass should conceal it easily enough.

The fact that I haven’t been assaulted or heard any sound of pursuit to this point leads me to believe that we were able to leave Portland and arrive unnoticed. Removing my vest, I tape strands of the grass to it and my pack, which I will be pushing ahead of me as I go. I have to adjust the stands to make sure they look the same as the ones in the ground when I’m crawling. If they are at vastly different angles, I might as well be carrying a large blinking sign with a neon arrow.

Sealing my dry suit and fastening my fatigue top, I replace my vest. With a last look at the compound through the binoculars, I stow them and lower myself to the ground. It’s going to be a long, slow crawl, so I set my mind into that frame. I begin by slowly pushing my camouflaged small pack ahead, choosing the best path through the tufts so that I don’t create a trail. Burrowing through the clumps, ensuring my body remains below the tops of the grass, I follow.

Inch by inch, I push my gear and drag my body closer. After each movement, I use the toes of my boot to close the grass behind me. My mind is clear of any thoughts other than the next foot of dirt. I know that I have a couple of hours ahead of me before I arrive at the fence so force myself to be patient.

About a hundred yards from the fence, I begin probing the ground in front of my pack with the blade of my knife. I test the area ahead and just to the side, pressing the edge gently into the soil in order to locate any mines that may have been laid. Satisfied that all is clear for the next foot, I push my pack ahead and pull myself along, only to do it again. On the dirt behind me, I trail the cord.

As I draw close and can discern the motion of the cameras, I slow even further, timing the camera movements. Two of the cameras are equidistant from the part of the fence where I’ll make my entry. They aren’t rotating a full one-hundred eighty degrees, so I’ll be able to get inside of their visibility cone outside of the fence. I imagine in my mind what the monitors in the security room are showing; low-light imaging with a thermal overlay, or alternating the spectrums with each pass.

I time my movements when they are both facing away. Each of the cameras is on a constant rotation, with each rotating at slightly different speeds, so it takes a little timing on my part. If they were on random offset schedules, it would be a lot more difficult. However, random offsets are hard for the security personnel to tell the difference between someone messing with the cameras and the computer-generated algorithm, so most security systems utilize synchronized rotations when using multiple cameras.

I lie down and become part of the landscape when one or both of them pan my way. Periodically, as I’ve lain on the dirt, I’ve opened my dry suit to allow any body heat to slowly escape. Moving as slow as I am, there isn’t much heat generated on its own, but with the suit on, some is. With the cold air surrounding me, I have to keep my movements slow to prevent any heat build-up which will be easily picked up.

I look at the cameras and, noting they are facing away, I push my bag forward over probed ground. So far, I haven’t found any evidence of mines, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. It could mean that I’m just lucky. I’m in the smallest of gullies, really just a low spot in the ground that extends a distance. I pull myself along and settle close to the ground, my boots quickly pulling any tipped grass stalks upright.

There are times when I can only move the pack and have to lie low due to the cameras overlapping. It would be so much easier if the cameras were in synch so I could time them, but nope, they have to make it difficult.

I’m close enough to hear the faint whir of the camera motors. I lay tight against the earth as they pan over me, feeling thankful that the facility didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by placing lights around the perimeter. That would have been a lot of lights, but it would have made what I’m doing next to impossible. Use of lighting would have interfered with the camera systems but not enough to make them useless. This place is relying on their technology to spot anyone approaching when they should have a mix of soldiers and technology.

By the time I reach the fence, my elbows and knees are raw from dragging myself across the ground. Through the links, I make out the shape of the small exit building a hundred yards on the other side. The plan was to signal with clicks on the radio that I had reached the fence, however, with the ability to speak to Robert over a distance, I open up and inform him. He’ll then relay the information to Lynn. The radio will be used as a backup just in case.

Of course, thinking of it in that way is just redundant. Aren’t all backups used just in case? I think, lying next to the fence.

Weird thoughts filter through my mind at the oddest of moments sometimes. It may be my brain taking a break from the focus or stress. Whatever it may be, I’ve had some of my weirdest thoughts while out on missions.

Removing a chemical spray can from my pack, I set to work on the links next to the fence pole, spraying the corrosive liquid on the mid-point between the intersecting links. Keeping one eye on the cameras a couple of posts away in both directions and my other on the field, I spray upward for a few feet before directing the liquid horizontally.

Finishing, I separate the broken links quietly. Although the odds are pretty slim, there is a chance they have microphones attached to the cameras so I have to maintain silence. I push the fence slowly inward and crawl through the opening. Kneeling on the other side, I hook the separated links back to their counterparts making it appear that the fence is unbroken.

Pulling my pack on, I run toward the small, square building that serves as an entry, or exit, to the escape tunnel. Fortunately, the entrance is faced away from me so I quickly make my way to the rear. Crouched against the concrete brick wall, I listen for any sounds that might signal that I have been caught. There is nothing except a very light breeze that flows across the grass stubble.

Removing a folding pole ladder attached to my pack, I inch around to one side of the building and extend the ladder to the roof. Ascending quickly, quick being relative with trying to keep the ladder from sliding to the side, I climb onto the roof, pulling the ladder up behind me.

Crawling across the sloped surface, I make my way to the front and peer over the edge of the peak. There isn’t any light illuminating the front and directly below me is a stationary camera within reach. Looking closer, I see that the camera is connected with a coaxial cable which will make the connections easier. I roll out of my pack and remove one of the switch assemblies that I made prior to leaving.

The switch has one small length of coax with a quick connect end attached to one of the input/output ports. A small recording device is also attached. The whole assembly, even with the recorder, which I attach to the wall alongside the switch, is small.

Leaning over the edge of the roof, I remove the protective covering from permanent, double-sided mounting tape and place the switch assembly and recorder against the wall behind the camera. No one should notice anything out of the ordinary. They’ll think the contraption is part of the camera system, unless they are IT techs who will notice that the switch and its associated gear is not part of the original system.

With everything in place and hidden for the most part, I unscrew the coax cable connected to the camera making sure that I keep pressure so that the signal isn’t interrupted. I then quickly remove the coax cable I was holding in place and slide the quick connect cable from the number one switch port to the back of the camera while placing the end of the original cable into the single main port on the back of the switch. The whole move takes less than two seconds which shouldn’t trigger an alarm. There may be a small blip on the monitor in the security room which may or may not be noticed. I quickly screw in the original cable and push back from the edge.

With one hand on my M-4, I lay still and listen. If the blip was noticed, a security team will be sent to investigate. It wouldn’t be in my best interest for them to emerge from the door and look up to see my smiling face as I fuck with their camera. Emitting small breath plumes, which I cover as best as I can within the fold of my elbow, I wait fifteen minutes, which should be more than long enough for anyone to show up. There’s nothing but the darkness surrounding me and the cold of the roof that seeps through my layers of clothing, chilling even the dry suit.

Inching back to the edge, I insert the reconfigured network sniffer and connect it to the mirrored port. Harold said it should almost instantaneously configure itself, but I give it a few seconds. Removing the sniffer, I insert the recorder into the same port and watch the small display to verify that it’s picking up the video feed, noting that the video isn’t sending time and date information as part of the data. That will most likely be displayed by the video system in the security room itself. The fact that the camera isn’t rotating makes it much easier as I won’t have to clip the video to present a continuous path as it goes through a looped playback.

I set the recorder to ‘record’ and let it run for a minute. Moving the recorder to an open port, port two, I set it to do a looped playback. Now the tricky part. I plug the sniffer into the switch on port three while pulling the cable from the camera, which I reattach to the mirrored port as per Harold’s instructions.

The small display on the recorder shows the low-light image from the front of the building with small differences in the heat showing up from a thermal overlay. If it all works correctly, I should be able to work on the door without being seen and the system will still show that the camera is online and sending video. Satisfied, I place electrical tape over the small recorder display and, with my chest hurting from hanging over the edge of the roof, I move back and wait for any response.

Either I really fucked up and the security team is laughing so hard that they can’t move, or the contraption is functioning the way it’s supposed to. Regardless, no one comes to investigate.

Giving it another measure of time, I climb down from the roof, smooth over my tracks, and edge toward the front, keeping my senses tuned to the area around me for any sound out of the ordinary. I especially watch the door looking for the barest hint of movement. With a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I hug the wall toward the steel door leading inside.

Internally, I feel both numb and anxious. The conflict of emotions stems from maintaining my entire focus on the next step while also feeling the anxiety of knowing that I could be discovered at any moment; the racing heartbeat, senses tuned so fine that even the noise of grass bending under a boot sounds loud, nervous sweat oozing from pores. Without the ability to force the mind to focus, those emotions would run wild, causing fingers to slip and fear to escalate.

Taking out a flashlight, I shield it, letting only a thin beam of light exit. Shining it in the crack of the door, I see a metal strip a couple of inches above the bottom. Actually, it’s two strips of metal in contact with each other. If these two strips separate, it will trigger an alarm, or at the very least, it will display an alert.

Taking my steel slim jim, I run it behind the latch and ease the door ajar, opening it only far enough so that the latch won’t re-engage, and so that the magnets at the bottom of the door stay in contact. Taking a thin set of calipers, I place one of the small magnets Bannerman located in the narrow jaws and tighten it enough to hold it in place. Easing the doors open so that the metal strips remain in contact, I gently slide the calipers in the gap behind the door-side contact. Luckily the door opens outward or this would be impossible. Any slip here and it will be over. The facility will be alerted and my ass will be hanging out over a very large cliff.

As I draw the door open more, I move the magnet in the caliper along frame-side contact, slowly replacing the door sensor with the magnet. The magnet rotates slightly and, with a click, it snaps onto the metal strip set into the jamb, completing the circuit. Opening the door barely wide enough, I slide through the gap and step inside.

I gently ease the door closed behind me. The sensor on the door will move the magnet I placed out of the way while keeping the circuit closed. The magnet is likely to stay attached to the door or metal frame. It won’t fall off so it shouldn’t be noticed by anyone unless they happen to look very closely.

With the faint click of the latch, the outside world is shut off, at least from my mental perspective. Crouching with the door at my back, I let out a sigh. I wasn’t sure that I would have been able to make it this far. Now that I’m inside, I know that each step will take me closer to a point of no return. I pretty much came to that point when I jumped out of the 130, but now each step takes me closer to situations where I could be caught.

Ahead, concrete stairs descend to a small landing before continuing down to the right. Concrete-poured walls rise to either side, joining with a slab overhead. Except for a faint glow of light emanating from somewhere down the steps, it’s dark. I look to the top of the door searching for a camera but don’t find one. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to worry about night runners here, but I open up just in case. There aren’t any around that I can sense. I take a few moments to calm my rapidly beating heart. I forgot just how much I hate being inside of buildings.

Looking at my watch, I note that I have plenty of time before the dark of the night ends. I still have a ways to go, along with the probability that there are more difficult security measures to beat. A few deep breaths bring my heart rate down but the underlying anxiety remains.

Rising, I test my pack and gear to ensure that there isn’t any sound that issues forth from movement. With my carbine held at the ready and hugging the wall, I begin descending the steps. Near the first landing, I place my mirror at the corner and look around.

The stairs continue down to intersect the end of a hall where a very faint amount of light is being cast from some source farther along the corridor. Close to the ceiling, on the near side, large conduits are anchored to the slabs of concrete overhead. At my end of the hall, the conduits continue through the wall. Step by step, I start down, my senses tuned for any sound, for the movement of a shadow showing in the faint light.

The stairs and hall have the musty scent of not having been used in a long time. It also has the distinct smell that all concrete rooms and stairwells seem to possess. Although the air is chilly, the stairs and hall are dry and I feel a hint of warmth. At the bottom of the stairs, I look around the corner once again using the signal mirror.

At the far end of the hall, about thirty yards away, there’s another steel door with a keypad next to it. In the corner on the far side of the door, twin floodlights cast a brilliant light down the hall that reaches almost to the stairwell. I see another stationary camera positioned above the door. The conduits, which are almost directly overhead, continue down the length of the hallway and through the far wall. At intervals, steel rods hang down from the ceiling to hold brackets that are supporting the steel pipes.

Three of the conduits are large ones placed side-by-side with others running between or on top. Several smaller ones are held by brackets as they run along the wall. I look for placards that might indicate what they are being used for but don’t see any from my vantage point. I guess I’ll just have to take the risk that none are being used for hazmat waste or radiated water. It would make it a little difficult to hide if I glowed in the dark.

The pipes themselves look in good shape, and I don’t see any leaks dripping from seams or attachment points. The brackets also look to be in good condition. Backing away from the corner, I extend the ladder from one of the steps to the conduits. In my youth, this wouldn’t have been much of a problem, however, it’s all I can do just to keep the ladder steady as it wants to roll to the side. Scaling it, which is much like trying to make it across a rope bridge, I manage to get to the pipes without bringing them down or tumbling into the hall.

Slowly easing onto the pipes, I test to see if they’ll support my weight. There is only a faint creak as I lie across the rounded surfaces. From this vantage point, I’ll be out of view from the camera over the door. For that matter, I’ll be out of sight from anyone or anything below provided they don’t look very closely through the small gaps. Resting for just a moment, I remove my handgun and screw on the suppressor, replacing it in the holster designed to carry it with the suppressor attached.

I begin inching along the conduits. I have to move slowly so I don’t create any movement which will be picked up by the camera. There’s also dust on the very tops which I have to be careful that I don’t send down through the cracks. With the flood lights, I can be pretty sure that the camera is capturing video in the visible spectrum with maybe a thermal overlay. Any sway of the pipes or dust falling down from them will be noticed.

Reaching the first bracket with the steel rod attaching it to the ceiling, I maneuver around it, keeping to the wall side. I am placing my pack ahead of me with each movement similar to the way I traversed the field. My M-4 is secured to my back. If I need a weapon, which will be a short-lived time, I’ll use the handgun strapped to my leg.

I slowly make my way toward the door. It’s not too far to crawl, but it still takes a bit of time. I feel the dust in my nose and keep having to wipe it to prevent a sneeze. The inside of my mouth feels chalky with the grit and it’s annoying to say the least. The anxiety within grows as I draw closer, expecting the door to open at any moment. Not that they could see me, but it opening will mean that my entrance has been noticed.

Reaching the wall, I rest for a moment. The nervousness and effort of crawling has taken a little out of me. I’ve come to the next phase of infiltrating the bunker. I just have to get by the security door and then I’ll be in the main facility.

The camera is just to the side of me. I’ll have to lean out over the pipes in order to reach it, but it shouldn’t prove to be more of a challenge than the one outside. Readying another switch and recorder, I stretch out and place them on the wall as before. I have to take care that I don’t cast a shadow from the lights either across the lens or on the floor below.

While readying the equipment, I keep an eye on the top of the door just scant inches below. If someone were to walk through, I’d be readily visible and in a precarious position. My only hope in that case would be to drop down, draw my handgun, and begin firing. I may or may not get them; but in any case, my sojourn, and our plan, would come to a quick end.

I make the switch with the cables and pull back to the top of the conduits. I check that I’m not casting a shadow against the wall and wait knowing that there’s a greater chance that a reaction team will respond to this latest glitch. They might have overlooked one from the outside, but there’s no way—providing it was seen—that they’ll ignore a second one from a different camera. The switch, sniffer, and recorder are well camouflaged behind the camera and look like part of the system, at least to the casual observer.

Due to the thick walls and door, my only warning is the sound of the latch clicking. The hinges creak as the door swings open. Pressed flat on my stomach with my head turned to the side, I hold my breath and mentally wedge tighter between two of the large conduits, hoping to hell that my shirt tail isn’t hanging down between them. I imagine feeling the tug and ‘Hey, what do we have here? You okay up there, buddy?’ I told you my mind goes into strange places at the oddest of times.

With the opening of the door, voices in mid-conversation carry loud and clear just a foot and a half below.

“…told him the system was buggy but he said, ‘Just go check it out. It’s not like you have anything else to do.’ You know how Walsh is,” one voice states.

“I know, I know. But it isn’t like there is really anything for us to do,” a second voice says.

“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want us to do?” the first voice says.

“I can see you,” I hear a voice that sounds like it’s coming over a radio. “Do you see anything?”

“That depends on what I’m supposed to be looking for. There’s just a bunch of wires,” the first voice replies.

“Okay, it looks like it’s working. Go check the outside one,” the radio voice says.

“Really? Come on Walsh.”

“Just go check it out.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go smile pretty for you.”

“You know this is because I cleaned him out last time. He still owes me so he’s…”

Oh fuck, the camera. If they go check out the camera, there isn’t going to be any pretty smile for Walsh, I think, feeling things start to go sideways.

The group heads down the hall toward the stairs and outer door, the boots heavy on the concrete. It sounds like there may be five or six of them, but I don’t dare lift my head or risk the mirror to find out. The conversation fades and dies out as they turn the corner and enter the stairwell. Once they are out of sight, I reach over and unplug the cable to the camera and quickly replace it, hopefully causing a glitch in the system that the reaction team will respond to before making it outside. Taking some electrical tape, I quickly cover the small screen of the recorder and fold back into my position waiting for them to return.

The sound of footsteps in the hall is there before I know it. They aren’t running steps, so I don’t feel that they are alerted but I remain tense. There’s the chance that they will still head outside and check on it. I can’t keep pulling the wire; that was a one-attempt-and-done kind of maneuver; unless I want to see what the afterlife is like, and I’m not all that eager to find out right now.

“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What do you want?” a voice says as the footsteps halt almost directly below me.

“The camera flickered again. What do you see?”

“I see the same damn thing that I saw a minute ago.”

“Okay, well, it’s still working. I’ll just write it up,” the radio voice says.

“Do you want us to still check the outside one?”

“No, come on back. It’s obvious we’re having the same problem that we had on the east wing last week.”

“Okay, we’re on our way back.”

“You had better hope that the cards haven’t been moved or that you peeked,” the leader’s voice says, now directed at one of his teammates.

There’s a beeping sound as one of the people a foot below slides a keycard across the keypad, followed by a loud click as the magnetic lock releases.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Bullshit! I know you better than that you—”

The voices are cut off as the door closes and the lock engages.

I take my first deep breath. It’s not that I was holding it in but I was taking very shallow breaths to minimize any sound. My racing heart begins to subside after a moment, helped by the deep inhalations.

That was fucking close, I think, giving them some time to make sure that they don’t come back suddenly, one of them having discovered that they dropped their favorite good luck charm. I roll over and remove the tape. I then proceed to set up the recorder and have it run on a looped playback.

Satisfied that no one dropped their lucky charm, I remove several items from my pack, don it, and drop to the floor next to the wall. The lights are angled so that I’ll be fine with my shadow if I stay near the door and wall. I lean the ladder against the conduit and mentally place its position in my mind so I don’t accidentally bump it and tip it over. Overlooking small details like that have been known to ruin many a day.

The door on the bottom is sealed too tightly, so I don’t bother trying to put a fiber cam under it. It’s apparent that there is a reaction team that will respond and I’ll have to work quickly. And, although not alarmed, the security room personnel will now be more watchful. I remove a two-inch strip of magnesium and place it between the door and the jamb where the magnetic lock is.

Looking between the gap, I don’t see any magnetic sensors. The mag lock itself will notify anyone that the door has been opened, but there’s no way to avoid it if I want to get through. Digging into my fatigue pocket, I take out a flame torch. This is different than a lighter as the flame is barely visible and doesn’t cast any light. If I used a regular lighter or a match, the flare might cast a higher level of light and be seen in the camera. Lighting the magnesium strip, I place a ceramic coffee cup over it to cover the flare of light caused by the intense heat. If this were an inward opening door, the flare would be seen from the inside but the door stop prevents any light from leaking to the other side.

The strip burns quickly and I remove the cup stashing it in a pocket along with the lighter. The door still has some resistance but I yank it open and, grabbing the ladder, slide through. Quickly placing the ladder against the conduit on the other side, I take a rag sprayed with a diluted lemon juice mixture and wipe the walls, door jamb, lock mechanism, and door, to remove any char marks that the magnesium made. I then close the door and scale the ladder quickly, pulling it up with me. Taking a small spray bottle with diluted lemon-scented room deodorizer, I give a light spray like I was Febrezing the living room to remove any lingering burn smell.

I know it won’t be long until the reaction team shows up and I push myself a few yards down the conduits before coming to a stop. Almost level with me, florescent light fixtures hang from the concrete ceiling and extend down the inner hall. This hallway is long, being made to provide an escape tunnel that exits far away from the main facility, and the lights extend beyond my line of sight. Although they illuminate their immediate vicinity, they are spaced far enough apart that the corridor is cast in an overall gloom. I look to the top of the door I just entered and verify there isn’t a camera placed there. If I can manage to elude the guards who are surely going to show up, I will be inside the main facility. Not close to being where I need to go, but at least inside.

Without the door and walls blocking the way, and the fact that there is little to absorb any sound, I hear the response team approaching from a distance. Their boots ring on the concrete surface and, this time, there is no conversation. This is the second time they’ve been called out to the same location, so they are wary.

I can’t see them as I am pressed as flat as I can be between two conduits that are closest to the wall. I can tell they are more alert by the difference in their footsteps and by the lack of chatter that they previously exhibited. They aren’t trying to be quiet, but they aren’t exactly discussing their card game either.

“Okay, Walsh, we’re here. What’s up now?”

“It’s like I said, the monitor showed the door being opened a few minutes ago,” I hear a voice state over a radio.

I hear a bump against the opening bar. “It’s closed now. Are you sure it wasn’t us entering before?”

Their demeanor is different and more professional. It’s like I thought, they aren’t alarmed or on high-alert, but they are definitely cautious.

“No. I have that recorded. This alert came about ten minutes after,” the radio voice says.

“Okay. I don’t see anything, but we’ll check it out. Jenkins, you and Graham go check the outside door.”

I hear the door opening as I presume the two head through it on their way to check the door. If they check any farther it will, again, show that the camera isn’t working. They’ll go on high-alert and begin searching the building. If that happens, our mission is done for and I’ll be hard-pressed to escape. However, there’s nothing I can do about that now. Taking shallow breaths, I will myself to complete stillness. Flashlight beams pan along the ceiling and along the outer edges of the pipes. Slowly moving my hand, I rest it on the butt of my Beretta.

If the soldiers searching below me decide to jump or otherwise check out the tops of the conduits, it won’t be hard to find me. If they do, I’ll draw and fire. They’ll more than likely have armor vests on so I’ll have to go for the head. If I survive, I’ll make a run for the outside door, taking the two out on my way. I’ll have surprise on my side, so it shouldn’t be difficult providing the distance isn’t too far.

Beams continue to pan along the corridor and I feel my heart beating in my ears and neck, my blood pressure increasing with the tension. The group below me, four of them to judge from the number of flashlights, walk down the hallway playing their lights on the walls and ceiling. They continue for a distance before returning.

The click of the magnetic lock signals the return of the other two. I’m guessing they didn’t venture outside or I would have heard something over the radio, aside from an increase in activity.

“We didn’t see anything,” one of them reports.

“Did you check around outside?”

“No, we just checked the door and it was locked.”

I hear the one who seems to be the team leader sigh. “Okay, never mind. Walsh, did you note anything on the door outside? Do you have an alert that it was opened?”

“No. There’s nothing to indicate that it was opened,” the radio voice states.

“I’m thinking it could be the same glitch down on this end. I suppose it could be something electrical. I don’t see anything here and we’ve checked almost the entire length of the hall. There’s nowhere anything could be hiding.”

“Alright, I’ll note the door and cameras in the maintenance log and have them checked in the morning.”

“Say, do you guys smell something?” one voice questions.

“No. What’s it smell like?” another asks.

“I don’t know. It was there for a second. Wait, there it is again. It smells like, I don’t know, lemon?” the first voice says.

“Wait, yeah. Now it’s gone. Jenkins, are you putting on cologne again trying to get that corporal’s attention?”

“Fuck you guys.”

I feel a small amount of relief as their dialogue heads back to the good-natured conversation they had earlier. That means they’ve gone back to being at ease. However, I’ll have to be more careful from here on out as any further ‘glitches’ will put them on high-alert. Their voices fade as they make their way back down the hall.

I let out another sigh of relief and take several deep breaths. This isn’t simple by a long shot, but it sure is a hell of a lot easier than it was going into the night runner lair to get Lynn. I guess it helps if you don’t have inhabitants that can smell what you stepped in four days ago or hear your organs as they process chemicals. And, to me at least, humankind is more predictable than, and not as relentless as, the night runners. If these had been night runners, they wouldn’t have let up until they found me.

Lying on the conduits, I suppose I should feel a touch of exhilaration at getting inside the main facility, but what I feel is tired and drained. I send a message to Robert and quietly stash my gear back into my pack. Refocusing, I lock the tired away into a compartment. Moving my gear ahead of me, I bend my knees and, pushing up with my elbow and side of my heel, I move another foot down the pipes.

It’s a long arduous process, slowly passing from one light fixture to the next, from reflected light to gloom. The fixtures become both my mark of progress and my next goal. Being designed to exit far from the main facility, the tunnel is naturally a long one. As tedious as the crawl along the pipe is, pausing along the way for periodic rests, it also serves to create some time between the noticed events and hopefully reduces the alert level of the security personnel. I’m guessing so as no one else has entered the tunnel since checking the door.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, I think, reaching the end of the corridor; or at least the end of the long tunnel.

My arms and legs are stiff and aching from the exertion. The tunnel takes a right and, using my mirror to peer around the corner, I see that it takes an almost immediate left. The conduits, for whatever reason, proceed across the hall at my location before continuing to follow the path of the hallway. At the juncture where it bends to the left again, a steel door with a wire mesh window is set within the wall with a sign above denoting ‘Security’. Above the door is another camera pointed down to the ground at the entrance.

The pipes are on the opposite side of the hall to the camera, which will make it interesting to install a rigged switch. I’ll be able to reach it if I lean outward, but that will make me visible to anyone approaching the room. I double-check the camera angle before pulling the mirror back to ensure that it won’t spy me crossing the hall across the top of the conduits.

Settling away from the corner, I mentally run through the scene and my next steps. I’ll need to set up a similar loop recording, make sure the hall is clear, drop down and bypass the door, then proceed in, eliminate the personnel within, set the proper monitors inside on playback, notify the teams, and hold off until they arrive.

Seems simple enough, I think facetiously, shaking my head.

I take a few moments, visualizing the steps over and over in my head. My heart is pounding solidly in my chest. I think about turning back as every nerve in my body is thrumming from the tension. Getting here has been the easy part compared with what’s coming next. I wish there was a way I could take out the reaction squad without anyone knowing, but I just don’t see a way to do it and remain undetected, let alone remain alive. I seriously contemplate giving it up. However, I don’t see a viable alternative than to proceed.

I continue wrestling with my opposing thoughts. I know that inching across the hall on the pipes will constitute a go-no go decision for me mentally. Making that first move is difficult as this is the part where too many variables come into play. Not to mention that a bit of luck will be necessary to pull this off, most of that coming from no one showing up at the security room while I’m inside. At least it’s only me at this point.

Okay, Jack, come on. You’ve done this before, I think, steeling myself to continue. This is a no-brainer. You know what needs to be done and how to do it. I calm my racing mind, Settle down, focus on the next task at hand. There is nothing but the next thing.

I hold the visualization of accomplishing each step firmly in my head. I recheck my gear as a final step and check the hallway and room once again. It’s all clear. From my angle, I can only see a linoleum floor through the window of the security door. There aren’t shadows of anyone moving inside, only the florescent shine of lights.

Lifting myself once again, feeling the ache in my arms as they resist further movement, I crawl across the hall. My eyes alternate between placing my gear and body, and the light emitting from the window. A few quick pushes and I’m across. I listen for any doors opening or footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. I don’t know what’s around the corner as yet but, keeping in mind the diagram Harold found, the corridor should continue for a short distance ending with a door entering into the large equipment bay, around which the whole bunker is built. There should also be a branching hallway about halfway down with other rooms opening off from it.

It’s a short crawl to the next corner. With the way the conduits are situated, stretching nearly across the hallway, I can’t see much. Setting my pack to the side, I grab another switch assembly. Listening intently and not hearing anything, I lean out from the pipes making sure to keep myself from the front of the camera. The florescent lights are spaced such that I don’t cast any shadows from my position. With one hand braced on the far wall, I place the device. In this precarious position, I have to be careful that I don’t slip. Below me, there is a loud click as the magnetic lock of the door disengages.

The door, just seemingly inches below me opens and a guard steps out. I freeze in mid-action, one hand against the wall and my other holding onto the device. My breath catches in my throat as the guard is just a little over a foot and a half directly under me. My sight is filled with the top of his head. Beads of sweat form on my face and I don’t know how he can’t hear my heartbeat.

Holding the door open, he turns back inside. My shoulder is screaming from holding my body up with my hand on the wall; my stomach muscles trembling.

“Did you make the annotations in the maintenance log?” the man below me asks into the room.

“Yeah,” someone inside answers.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.”

The man steps away and the door begins swinging slowly closed. It’s a good thing I had my fatigue top tucked in as the tails would have brushed the top of his head were it hanging out. He passes under me muttering something so far under his breath that even I can’t pick out the words. I keep a close eye on him as he walks down the hall. All I need right now if for him to have forgotten something and turn back. There’s no way he’d miss me looking from his present position.

With the pneumatic hinge holding the door, it eases shut ever so slowly. Just before it closes, still holding the device, I inch my hand down and place my finger between the jamb and the door. This will keep the door from closing and engaging the magnetic lock. The sound may make the guard turn. That’s just human instinct, to turn toward a sound even if we know what it is. I can’t hold if for long as a lot of security doors will also have an alarm if it’s left open for too long. The guard turns to the left down the hallway that leads to the other rooms. I remove my finger and the door closes, the magnetic lock reengaging. Somewhere down the hall, I faintly here a door open and close.

I place the gadget on the wall and look to the hall where the guard disappeared. ‘I’ll be right back’ rings in my head. I wish I could see into the room better to get a clearer picture of the layout and how many are in there. A plan forms. I finish setting up the gadget and push back to the pipes, donning my pack. Although the guard damn near caught me with my pants down, it may actually work to my advantage.

On the edge of the pipes between the two hallway corners, I lay on my side with my suppressed Beretta in my hand, listening for the sound of the guard returning. It takes a while but, even though I don’t hear the door he went through opening, I do hear his footsteps echoing off the walls. I hear the beep of the keypad next to the door and the lock clicks. Disregarding my pounding heartbeat, I roll off the conduits.

The guard swings the door open as I hit the ground just behind him. He starts to turn at the sound but I shove him through the door before he gets the chance. He stumbles inside with a yelp and I follow hard on his heels. I instantly take in the surroundings; a wall of monitors opposite the door with a bank of equipment in racks to the left. Sitting in front of the monitors are two additional guards who turn at the sound of their comrade. Without hesitation, I lift my handgun and fire.

I send two rounds into each of the guards whose surprise is short-lived. One guard crashes backward into the controls from two rounds impacting his cheek and nose. He then topples to the ground leaving a red smear across the control board. The second is spun around in his chair as two projectiles slam into his neck and mouth, spraying blood into the air. He falls heavily to the floor beside his overturned chair.

Rounding on the third guard, who is recovering from his stumble and starting to reach for his own handgun, I fire point blank into his forehead. His head rocks sharply backward and stops. It then moves slowly forward as if he doesn’t know that he’s already dead and is trying to right it. He then slumps to his knees and falls face forward. The door behind me closes with a click.

The second guard, hit in the throat and mouth is gurgling, air bubbles forming from the holes in his throat and mouth. Noting that these guards aren’t wearing armored vests, I walk over and pump two rounds into his chest. His shirt flutters upward from the striking bullets and his wheezing/gurgling ceases.

I look overhead at the door to see if they have a camera installed inside and I’m glad to see that there isn’t one. There are dozens of monitors filling the wall above a control panel. Most are from the fence line but others show the interior. I see the ones of the hallway I just crept through playing through their loopbacks. They don’t look any different than the others with regards to quality and look natural. One monitor shows a room with several guards sitting around a table playing cards. I assume those are the ones who responded to the doors and cameras. Another monitor shows a location that looks like a control room for a space launch center with manned consoles and several large screens to the front. I continue to look but, other than the ones mentioned, I don’t see anyone moving around. Unfortunately, after looking over all of the feeds, I don’t see any depicting a barracks or where the majority of the security personnel are staying.

All of the monitors have locations imbedded into the video feed which makes it rather convenient. Studying the controls, I find that it’s rather intuitive. I’ll place the fence monitors into playback mode when the others arrive. If there is an alternate security room, they shouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary unless they look at the small time stamp in the lower corner. The possibility of a secondary security room is the reason I placed the loopback over the room I’m currently occupying.

“I’m in. Land and send the teams,” I send to Robert.

“Okay, we’re on the way,” he replies.

Now is the time for luck to take the reins for a little while. It’s going to be some time before the teams arrive and it’s just me. I remove my pack and place it against the wall near the door. Holstering my Beretta, I remove the M-4 strapped to my back. Uprighting the overturned chair, I place two of the guards in the seats, arranging them as best as I can. Using speed tape, I secure their legs to the seat and do my best with their upper bodies while keeping the tape hidden from the back. I push the chairs close to the console to hold their bodies up. It won’t hold up for anything more than a cursory inspection, but anyone passing by the window and glancing in shouldn’t be alarmed.

Dragging the third guard out of view, I remove his shirt and begin mopping up the copious amount of blood on the floor and console. In case you didn’t know, wiping spills up from a linoleum floor is a bitch. I end up having to use the guard’s pants as well. On a table opposite the equipment racks, there are three hats. I take two of them and place them on the two guards. Standing by the door, I look over my handiwork and chuckle thinking that I could actually make it look right. It’s like something from the horror section of a wax museum, but it should pass a quick inspection, especially as anyone walking by will be expecting to see guards at their stations. A lot of it is about what others expect to see and accommodating that vision.

There’s really nothing else for me to do so I station myself against the wall just inside the door, watching the banks of monitors and ready for anyone to enter. I won’t have any warning other than the lock disengaging so I stay alert. Although I’d never tell anyone, there’s a part of me that didn’t expect to make it this far and the effort has left me feeling drained. Along with being tired, there is a deep anxiety about having to wait so long. It’s the unknown and the anticipation of it that will fuck with the mind…and that’s where I am at the moment.