Sedona Conspiracy

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN ^DECEPTIONS

There were times when being military liaison was worse than a boil on Alan’s ass, and listening to Davis rant and rave had been one of them. But in his years of diplomatic service, Alan Nutt had learned to know when it was safe to simply tune out a diatribe and go to a higher, peaceful state while his antagonist vented a spleen, so to speak.

It had taken Davis several minutes to vent his anger; all the while believing Alan was actually listening. Whatever, it had worked. A few minutes later, Davis was teachable again. The threat to the base was real, and required a substantial force to counter it. A foreign power that had gifted a priceless technology would provide that force at no cost, if only to protect their investment. What was there to be debated and discussed? The orders had come from the oval office. Davis could obey them, or relinquish command. End of discussion.

The argument had soured his stomach, and Alan was not in the mood for conversation or even comforting words for a man he really liked. Eric was working with Dillon in Sparrow’s bay, finalizing a flight profile. If Alan came through there he would have Eric all over him about Leon, would have to say nothing was new, again, but the man was in good hands, et cetera, et cetera. To say nothing was new was truth, of course, but Leon had been rushed through the portal, and Alan had no idea what had happened to him on the other side. Eric’s pain over his friend was horribly real, and came in powerful waves that Alan could not contend with at the moment. He avoided Sparrow’s bay, went back to the main tunnel and took the back entrance past the machine shop to get to portal bay.

Three men were at the console when he arrived. They stood, and Alan motioned for them to be seated again. The bay below them had been cleared of all personnel, and was empty. Quarters had been readied on level four, and two service elevators would be used. The duty roster was divided into three shifts of thirty men, ten of them cloaked at all times.

It was ten minutes until activation. Alan poured himself a small cup of coffee from a thermos, and made small talk with the console operators to put them at ease in his presence. It was their first rotation away from home, and they were far too conscious of his rank when he was with them. It had nearly led to problems of explanation for him when Davis had been present on two occasions.

“You all must be getting anxious to go home. It’s nearly a year, right?”

“Yes sir,” said one man, a boy, really.

“Stuck down in this hole, no suns, no salt in the air. I’m working for surface leave, and the council is listening, but it won’t happen until we’re flying. I think it’ll be soon.”

The three young men smiled, but nobody spoke.

“A young person can go nuts down here. No women.”

That earned a reply. “What are they like up there, sir?”

“The women? Oh, same as home, maybe a little more outspoken and aggressive, some gorgeous, some plain. Same people, Ensign. Remember that.”

“I do, sir. I’d just like a chance to find out for myself.”

“I’ll work on it,” said Alan, and patted the kid on the shoulder. Towards the end of the console, a board suddenly lit up. Heads turned.

“Incoming signature. B-42, sir.”

“That’s the one. Let ’em in, Ensign.”

Fingers played over the console boards. The bay below darkened, and a wall shimmered red, then flashed brilliant blue in rippling waves. Alan exited the control room and went down a spiral staircase to the bay. As he walked towards the brightly glowing wall he saw the dimples come and go on its surface as the first, cloaked personnel came through. He counted ten, and stepped up close to the quiet ripples of the portal.

“Welcome to Hole-in-the-Ground, gentlemen. Good to have you with us. Looks like a 1694 day.”

“A sunny day,” came a voice out of clear air.

“Very good,” said Alan, and looked at his watch. “I have ten-forty-two. Officer briefings and a lunch with the Council are at twelve hundred. Noncoms will be served in the Mess. I’m taking you straight to quarters to get settled in first.”

The air shimmered, and the figures of ten men appeared in front of Alan. They were dressed in fatigues, were burdened with heavy field packs and helmets with darkened faceplates. All carried stubby, black automatic weapons. The man nearest to Alan put a hand to his throat and said, “Proceed,” then held out his hand and smiled.

“Good to see you again, sir. It’s been a couple of years.”

“Jack,” said Alan, and shook his hand. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”

“It was either this or a desk, sir. How about you?”

“One more tour after this one, someplace where I can get a sunburn, then home. We could have a bad situation here, Jack.”

“I understand, sir, but for once our Intel is good. Watt’s outfit has been porous for the past year; people are positioning themselves to be in the President’s favor when arrests begin. His mercenaries are good, but they won’t have time for rehearsal. We’ll be ready for them. I don’t know about you, but I never did like Watt, even when he was the President’s right hand. Shifty-eyed, always said exactly what people wanted to hear.”

“He wanted to be President,” said Alan. “He still does. The obsession has run away with him.”

“Too bad,” said Jack. “Our orders come direct from Blue Tower, sir. There was some argument about mining the portal and the bay here to lower the risk to our own personnel, but in the end they accepted the value of keeping the portal intact for the star craft project. No prisoners are to be taken. That includes Watt.”

“I agree,” said Alan, “but we’ll have to find him first. Let’s get you settled.”

Three lines of men had marched out of the portal and arranged themselves in three platoons behind the single squad of men who had been cloaked. Jack turned to face them.

Alan whispered, “Elevators are to your left. One platoon at a time. Cloaked personnel remain here until the rest are settled.”

Jack barked a command, and one platoon moved off. Ten men spaced themselves at regular intervals around the bay, and disappeared from view. Jack went with the first platoon, came back later for the second, then the third, and Alan joined him for the ride up in the elevators.

The flickering, shimmering wall in the bay went to orange, then red, and was rust-colored rock again. The lights went out, plunging the bay into darkness. Above the floor, a dim red light went on in the control room.

A door snicked shut, and the portal bay was peaceful again.

Dario Watt had done all he could to create a positive atmosphere for the meeting. The boardroom was large, with variable lighting from brilliant to near darkness. The air conditioning was more than adequate and the chill would serve to shorten debate on any trivial matters that arose. Most importantly, the air would remain fresh, the odor of his guest neutralized and swept away. The slightest hint of it would be offensive even to the least sensitive of the few men who had remained loyal to Watt, those men who were destined to serve on his cabinet once he had taken power. Privately he agreed with their beliefs in ethnic purity, but now was not the time to indulge in it, a conclusion he knew was not lost to any of them.

The meeting began promptly at seven, and Watt used the half-hour he’d allotted himself to explain why it was necessary to move so quickly, that once the star craft was in space it would be virtually impossible to destroy it with the resources available to them. Everyone seemed to agree, and there were no questions or arguments. The longer they waited the more chance their operation would be discovered by a president who had previously shown no mercy to dissidents. Discovery meant death for all of them.

At seven-thirty there was a knock on the door and Watt himself answered it. Ustiss Kroic had dressed himself in military blues, and saluted sharply. Watt ushered him in and seated him by his side at the end of the big conference table. The five other men had seated themselves near the other end, in anticipation of Kroic’s arrival.

“I hope you had a pleasant trip,” said Watt.

Kroic’s voice was the sound of a small engine needing tuning. “Only because we arrived with embassy personnel in the dead of night. There were few people to gawk at us. My troops arrived before us on a private jump ship.”

Kroic paused, and absently scratched an unusually thick scaly patch on his face with a long fingernail. “It is very dry here,” he said.

“Misters have been arranged for your quarters,” Watt said pleasantly, then, “What I would like for this meeting is a brief summary of your strategy for the operation, and the probability of its success.”

“Of course,” said Kroic. “I must first say that based on the information I’ve been provided there will be little opposition to a lightning strike. The bulk of my force will be used to transport ordinance for destruction of the target. There is only a police force to contend with, but the ordinance comes in four large crates that must be moved quickly to optimize positioning for maximum effect. The bays are separated by twenty feet of rock. The individual weapons are moderate in yield, but shock reinforcement will take out both bays and a one-mile section of tunnel simultaneously. I guarantee this.”

“Won’t the weapons be detected when they come through?” asked a man at the far end of the table.

“Our intelligence efforts have indicated the portal has never been equipped with radiation detectors at any wavelength. The one installed for the Americans is an older, commercial model, not military. The crates will be brought through as supplies for the base, and preset to detonate within a few minutes. Half my force will be cloaked, the rest disguised as laborers.”

“Really?” said another man. “And how will you do that?”

“By the judicious use of thin polymer masks, and darkened face plates. We wouldn’t want to frighten anyone.” Kroic’s voice dripped hostility, and matched the tone of his inquisitor.

The odor that burst from Kroic’s body was like fecal matter in moist earth, and Watt fought hard to suppress a gagging sensation. “The plan is excellent, but ordinance placement is critical. Your people must remain until that is accomplished, and the portal must be closed before detonation. Do they understand the risks?”

“Yes,” said Kroic, his voice a low rumble. “They are professionals, all of them. Their courage is beyond question.”

“Portal shutdown and detonation must be synchronized,” said a man in gloom at the end of the table. “Our own facility can be destroyed if there’s an error in timing.”

“Our plan includes a twenty minute window. I will carry a remote that can reset the timers, but you must control the portal. We must be in constant communication.”

“Absolutely,” said Watt.

“If all goes well the crates will be delivered and properly placed, and we will leave without incident. At worst there will be a limited exchange with a small contingent of guards and police and we will withdraw under fire. The end result will be the same, but you must keep the portal open during this time.”

Kroic half smiled, half scowled at the men at the other end of the table, and it was an unpleasant thing to see.

“I will be there to oversee everything,” said Watt, and gestured to the others. “We will all be there, gentlemen. That’s two days from now, the usual morning transmission at nine. Our usual friends have been paid, and the preparation bay will be open only for our group at eight. The transmission will not be logged in; officially there will be a two-hour portal hold for maintenance. Unofficially this is a private, black market operation, and the people we’ve dealt with have supported such in the past. There can be no hint of a military operation until it has begun. Weapons must be out of sight, and disguises intact.”

“As I’ve been instructed,” said Kroic.

“Yes, and now I’m sharing it with the rest of you.”

There were questions. Watt could see it in the eyes of the others, but they all held their tongues.

“Are there any questions for Commander Kroic?” asked Watt, and saw the mercenary’s posture go rigid beside him.

“No?” He turned to Kroic. “Funds have been deposited as you instructed.”

“They are received, and will be distributed. It is a generous sum.”

“The future of our civilization is worth it,” said Watt.

Kroic made a strange sound in his throat, but said nothing, and stood up to leave.

“Thank you for coming, Commander. We’ll see you in two days.”

Kroic nodded, walked in his heavy-footed way to the door, and left the room.

A long silence followed. Watt poured a glass of water and drank it slowly.

“He disgusts me,” said a voice in the darkness.

“I know, and you made little effort to hide it. That is stupid, my friend. We have no supporters for what we’re doing. They will surface, of course, when we are done. Until then we work with whomever we have to, and you’ll be wise not to jeopardize it. Besides, our association with Kroic and his mercenaries will soon be terminated.”

“So? You’ve paid him, and the money can be traced.”

“There is no money. The accounts have been terminated.”

“But he checked them!”

“Electronically. Better that he did it in person. I collected on a small political favor that was long overdue.”

“If he finds out he’ll come after all of us.”

“He won’t live to find out. There is going to be a premature shutdown of the portal during operations, a minimum of five seconds before detonation. It will be much sooner than that if the operation goes too smoothly. In any case, our mercenary colleagues will not be returning to serve as witnesses against us. The blame for the entire operation, in fact, will be theirs.”

“Their government will deny any involvement.”

“Let them. Any hearings will show they have indirectly supported mercenary operations in the past. They are not friends of ours. It will be another challenge for the new president to show the people who our true friends are.”

The others were now silent. Watt detected discomfort. “You all knew there were risks from the beginning. Have you lost faith in me?”

“I would feel better if we were far away on other business when the operation commences. I don’t see why any one of us has to be there. Even you, Dario.”

It was the same man, Elias Trent, who continued to question the plan. The others remained silent. Watt wondered if the man acted alone, or as a spokesman for the other four.

“I must be there to order portal closure, and you will be there to concur with my decision. There will be no operation without the presence of all of us. Two days from now—at eight—prep bay. If you are not there I will send someone after you, and you will never miss a meeting again. Am I being clear?”

A pause, then, “Yes, but you need not threaten us, Dario. We became involved to rid ourselves of a president who works to give away our sovereignty, and we will see it through.”

“Thank you, Elias. That is reassuring. I’ll see you in two days, gentlemen. Try to relax until the moment is upon us. We are making history.”

The other men nodded silently, stood, and followed him out of the room. They went their separate ways, Watt taking an escalator up one floor to his Ministry office, the others descending in elevators to the street level below.

Or so he thought at the time.

Across the street from the Ministry building, five men huddled around a corner table and sipped tea.

“What do we do now? He’s crazy. There will be war over this. The president will dig out the truth and be a hero,” said one man.

“The president has more than a few enemies. We can expose the star craft project without destroying it, and then the threat will be real. We can win in the polls, but if we kill people we’ll lose,” said another.

Elias Trent leaned closer and said, “I can warn them about the attack, give them the time and strategy so they can be ready for it. I have an old friend stationed at the base, and he will believe what I say. If you agree, I’ll send the message today.”

“The mercenaries might succeed anyway.”

“It will be up to the Americans. The best we can do is warn them. It’s really the only thing we can do,” said Elias.

“Then do it,” said one of the conspirators. “It could mean our lives when we’re at the mercy of the court.”

“Our president might be more forgiving than we think,” said Elias. “Our lives will be in more danger when the operation begins, but we must be there for it. At the first sign of trouble I’m running. Follow me if you wish, or not.”

The other men left Elias at the table, and hurried away. Elias made a call on his headphone, then typed a message on his pocket computer and loaded it on disk. A few minutes later a man came across the street from the Ministry Building. He wore the cap and coveralls of a stevedore who worked portal shipments. He came straight to Elias’ table and sat down. Elias handed the disk to him.

“Wear your IR when you go through. Locate any cloaked guard and tell him this is for Commander’s eyes only, and urgent. If you can’t deliver it, get right back to me so I can try another way.”

Elias handed the man several folded credit notes. “For your trouble,” he said.

The man said nothing, pocketed money and disk, and went away.

Elias sat for a few seconds, and then made another call.

“The time for the attack has been set, and I just sent them a warning. I’ll have to be there, otherwise Watt will call it off and my usefulness will be over. Yes, the others have agreed, but they’re scared to death of the consequences. I think a show of mercy might be politically wise if we live through this.”

Elias listened a moment, then, “I appreciate that, sir. It’s my job, and I knew the risks when I started it. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Goodbye, sir, and thank you for the opportunity to serve you.”

He broke the connection, and felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

His president had been sobbing while he praised what Elias had done for him.