The Siren Project (39 page)

Mitch stood and turned to see Christa
sitting weakly on the cement floor, watching helplessly as Gunter appeared in
the entrance with his gun held high looking for targets. Mitch waved him down,
indicating there were no more. Gunter lowered his gun, as he gave Christa an
astonished look.

“You are telepathic!”

She nodded weakly. “Yes.”

“I heard her voice, inside my head. That is
how I knew.”

“I can project thought,” Christa said
exhausted, “Short distances.”

Mitch scooped up the M16, and his own gun. “And
Bradick? What did you do to him?”

“That was the hard part ... I tricked him
... I made him believe the gun was molten metal . . . and . . . it was burning
his hands.”

“You controlled his mind?” Mitch asked
incredulously. “You can do with your mind, what they do with their machines?”

“No . . . nothing like that. I put a
thought in his mind . . . only for an instant. It was a trick, a fleeting
thought, not mind control . . . I had to overpower his senses. I can’t even get
close to what they can do with their machines. I must feel the pain, much worse
than him to make it work, then I send him my pain.” She was absently rubbing
her hands, trying to forget the burning sensation she'd created in her mind.

Mitch lifted her gently to her feet. “Whatever
it was, thanks.” He turned to Gunter. “You take Mouse in the car, I’ll drive
the truck.”

Gunter pocketed his gun, then lifted Mouse onto
his shoulder.

Mouse's head rolled back weakly. “Why am I
always the one to get hit? I always get hit. It isn’t fair.” His words slurred,
ringing with self pity.

“That is because you have the hardest head.”
Gunter said, as he carried him out to the car.

“Really? . . . Do you really think I have
the hardest head . . .?”

Mitch helped Christa into the truck's passenger
seat, before reversing out of the garage. The truck bounced slightly as one
wheel rode over the body of Bradick’s dead accomplice, then he headed toward
the tunnel, back to Manhattan. Christa closed her eyes and, to Mitch’s surprise,
immediately fell asleep. When they had crossed back under the Hudson, they
drove to Washington Square Park. Mitch lifted Christa out of the truck, barely
waking her as he placed her in the rear of the car beside Mouse, then he and Gunter
climbed onto the back of the truck and peeled back the green tarpaulin.

“What do you make of it?” Mitch asked,
eyeing the melted machine.

Gunter tried to imagine what it would have
looked like before the heat of the explosion had fused its parts and partially
dissolved its structure. “ From your description, it is a charge collector, but
how it works. . .?” He shrugged. “They expected it to be vaporized in the
explosion, or at least melted to the point of being unrecognizable.”

“I’d say it’s definitely unrecognizable.”

Gunter knelt down beside the machine
studying the colors of the melted alloys. “It would take weeks or months to
reverse engineer, even if it were intact. The alloys are probably exotic, so
the metallurgy alone could take forever.”

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing
giving it to Lamar?”

“It would be an interesting job, but it is
beyond our resources to study.”

“Good enough for me. Slap the tracker on it,
where the Fibbies won't find it for a long time.”

Mitch secured the tarpaulin again, while Gunter
crawled under the truck and attached a homing beacon to the chassis. When they
returned to the car, Gunter checked his tracking device was receiving the
signal. Satisfied, they drove a few blocks from the park, then Mitch called
Lamar on Gunter’s cell phone.

“Mitchell? Aren’t you dead yet?”

“Not yet, but considering the FBI did such
a great job taking credit for neutralizing the bomb, I’m surprised you’d care.”

“I had nothing to do with that. I was
waiting until we found your body to make a statement.”

“Did you authorize the removal of the two
big speakers from the convention center?”

“I had to let the army take whatever they
wanted. Some kind of secret government crap! I don't know how I'm supposed to
investigate a crime scene with the army trampling all over it!”

“You could have obstructed them.”

“Not if I wanted to stay on this case.”

“They weren’t speakers. They were the detonators,
for a fuel air bomb.”

“You saw that with your own eyes?”

“Yeah, it was quite a show. How would you
like to take a look at one of those things? Or what’s left of it?”

Lamar was quiet for a moment. “The army has
them.”

“The army had them. It seems they lost one
of their trucks. Very careless. If you get your ass over to Washington Square
Park, near Sullivan Street, you might find it for them. But then again, you
might want to take a look at the melted pile of junk on the back of the truck,
and tell the army later, if they report it missing. Which they won't.”

“You hijacked an army truck?”

“That depends, on whether it really was an
army truck, or just made to look like one. You might want to check on that. And
keep in mind, they tried to kill a couple of million people today, and you’re
talking to the man who stopped them. That should count for something.”

Lamar was silent for a moment. “It counts,
Mitchell, with me.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Let me bring you in.”

“I don't think so. Too many people want me
dead. I’m safer out here.”

“I'll give you that protection you wanted. And
anything else you need.”

“No one can protect me, Lamar, not even
you. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Wait! Mitchell!”

“You better hurry. I left the keys in the
ignition!” Mitch switched off the cell phone and checked the time. “Let’s see
how long he takes.”

After almost twenty minutes, the on screen marker
indicating the location of the tracking device began to crawl across the map of
Manhattan. “They have it,” Gunter said.

Mitch started the car, and followed from a
safe distance. The blip passed south of Canal Street, then drove a short
distance and stopped. Following Gunter’s directions, Mitch eventually halted
opposite 26 Federal Plaza, the FBI’s Manhattan Headquarters.

“It is in there,” Gunter said. “The signal
is weak, probably underground.”

Mitch gazed across at the FBI building,
well satisfied. “Lamar wouldn’t be stashing that thing in FBI headquarters if
he was going to hand it over to the opposition. He’s put it where he knows they
can’t get it.”

“They could order him to surrender it.”

“They don't know he's got it. And I don't
think he's going to tell them.” Mitch smiled.

“So where to now?”

“Arizona.”

They hired a four wheel drive at Sky
Harbor International Airport, then headed west on the highway out of Phoenix, into
desert country. Before midday, the thirty three hundred foot peak of Eagletail
Mountain emerged out of the shimmering heat haze on the horizon. The highway
skirted around it to the north, carrying them into an arid wilderness of cactus
and scorpions.

Mitch kept watch on the desert, until at
last, he pointed to a south bound track. “Over there.”

Gunter turned onto the dirt track, which
was scarred with potholes as if it hadn't been maintained for years, but the
wheel ruts indicated the road was in frequent use.

“I don’t suppose we know what we’re looking
for,” Christa said, scanning the desert apprehensively.

“Sure we do,” Mouse said. “A super secret,
multi-billion dollar military base, guarded by an army of special forces Rambo's
who are itching to shoot us on sight.”

“Right . . . well that shouldn't be too
hard to find.”

They drove south, past several more dirt
tracks, endless miles of scorched desert and scattered cactus, but found no
base. When Mitch estimated they were well south of the latitude and longitude
they were searching for, he said, “Let’s go back. We’ll try one of the turn
offs.”

“We could be out here for days and find
nothing,” Gunter observed.

“If we have no luck today, we’ll come back
with a GPS receiver and find the exact coordinates.”

Gunter drove them back up the track through
the thinning dust haze their car had stirred up, a haze which seemed to hang in
the air over the desert.

“Want to try this one?” Gunter asked as
they approached the first side track.

Mitch studied the map, estimating their
location. “Okay. My guess is the coordinates are over there, closer to the
mountain.”

They turned onto the side track, which
angled indirectly east. After a few miles, the track turned to the south east,
revealing sunlight glinting on metal far ahead.

Mitch searched for the source of the flash
with his binoculars. “There's a metal fence up ahead. Slow down G, we’re
kicking up too much dust.”

Gunter slowed, reducing the plume of dust
behind them as they approached the chain link fence that stretched away for
miles, running parallel to the road. The fence’s nearest corner cut back toward
the peak, disappearing over the line of hills rising to the east. Just before
they drew level with the fence, a sign supported by two metal poles came into
view beside the track. Gunter halted the four wheel drive in front of the sign,
that read:

WARNING!

ATOMIC
ENERGY COMMISSION

NUCLEAR
MATERIALS WASTE DUMP

RADIATION
HAZARD

KEEP
OUT!

“Not exactly a multi-billion dollar secret
military base,” Mitch noted dryly.

“It’s a good cover though,” Christa said.

“Most people would stay away from a
radiation hazard area,” Gunter said. “And it is a plausible excuse to fence off
the area.”

Mouse leaned forward, peering through the
windows. “Can’t see any buildings. Maybe it’s all underground.”

Mitch used his binoculars to study the area
inside the fence. “If there is something in there, it’s hidden behind those
hills. Keep going, G, we might see something further on.”

They moved slowly along the fence, passing
radiation hazard signs every few hundred yards as they searched for any sign of
surveillance.

“Someone sure is keen to let us know about
the radiation hazard,” Mouse said. “I wonder if the people in Phoenix know how
dangerous this is?”

“We’ll bring a Geiger counter next time,”
Mitch said, “Just in case this place is for real.”

They drove on for half a mile, finding the
road becoming increasingly degraded. When they hit a particularly deep pothole,
jarring the vehicle, Mouse said, “They are sure trying hard to make it look
like no one has been out for years.”

“Trying too hard,” Mitch said, scanning
beyond the fence with his binoculars.

Over a shallow rise, they came upon the
full skeleton of a long horn bull, bleached white in the blistering heat.

“Think it died of radiation sickness?”
Mouse asked apprehensively.

Mitch eyed the skeleton suspiciously. “Or
maybe it was put here to scare people away.”

They left the white bones behind and drove on
until they were halted by a rotting wooden road block. An aged and grimy sign hung
from it by two rusting chains.

STOP!

RADIOACTIVE
AREA

SUSTAINED
EXPOSURE IS FATAL

GO
BACK!

“Go around it,” Mitch ordered.

Gunter drove up onto the shoulder of the
road and around the road block, then continued along the road. A few hundred
feet further on, they came to a white cross with a long dead bouquet of flowers
crumbling at its base.

Mouse eyed the cross uncomfortably. “Now
they're really creeping me out.”

Gunter and Mitch exchanged skeptical looks,
both determined to press on.

Less than a minute past the sign Christa winced
and rubbed her temple. “There's something out there . . .”

“What is it?” Mitch asked, turning to her.

“I’m not sure.” She said feebly, as her
face turned pale. “It’s getting stronger.”

“Holy crap,” Mouse exclaimed, “There really
is radiation out here!”

The four wheel drive shuddered as the
engine coughed several times and died. The crunching of tires on dirt was the
only sound they heard, as the vehicle rolled to a halt. Gunter tried restarting
the engine, but each attempt was greeted with silence.  There wasn't even the half
hearted whir of a flat battery.

“Completely dead,” Gunter said.

“As if the entire electrical system shorted
out,” Mitch said suspiciously.

Mouse warily watched heat shimmers roll off
the desert. “I’m not walking in this oven!” He held his hand over the air vent,
searching vainly for the reassuring blast of cool air. “Oh man, no air con!”

Mitch studied the terrain inside the fence
with his binoculars, seeing nothing but sun bleached rocks and cactus plants. “Mouse,
is your notebook working?”

Mouse tried turning his computer on. “It’s
dead as a dodo!”

Gunter checked his watch, only to discover
the liquid crystal display was blank. “The chip in my watch is gone.”

Mitch checked his watch, listening for any
ticking. “Mine too.”

“Mine also,” Christa said.

Mitch stared at his dead watch
thoughtfully. “That’s funny. My watch didn’t stop when they disabled the car in
Washington.”

“Maybe this is some kind of wide area field,”
Mouse said. “The device in Washington might have been a focused beam.”

Gunter said, indicating the open spaces all
around them. “This effect is more advanced, or more powerful. After all, it
does not need to be mobile, so it can be larger and heavier, and camouflaged
out there somewhere.”

Mitch studied the barren terrain beyond the
fence, convinced. “This must be the place. It doesn’t matter that we can’t see
Mouse’s secret base, it’s out there, somewhere.”

“This technology is like. . .,” Mouse
searched for the right words, “. . . the opposite of the neutron bomb. You know
that nuke that kills people, but doesn’t hurt buildings or machines, so the
cockroaches have a place to live after the top of the food chain has been wiped
out. This thing wipes out electronics, but doesn’t kill people.”

Mitch lowered his binoculars. “Christa,
what are you sensing?”

“A constant . . . low intensity pain. It's
like a buzzing, but there’s no sound.”

Gunter pointed ahead as a cloud of dust
drifted above the line of hills ahead of them, marking an approaching vehicle. “Company.”

“I see it,” Mitch said, ensuring he could
quickly access his gun. Gunter did the same. “Keep the guns out of sight until
we hear what they have to say.”

“That’s if they want to talk,” Mouse said anxiously.

“They have no way of knowing who we are,”
Mitch reassured him. “Or that we know the location of this place.”

A battered old pickup truck appeared on the
hill ahead. As it rumbled down the road toward them, it became apparent that it
was equipped with a small crane.

“A tow truck,” Mitch said. “How convenient.”

Mouse laughed nervously. “They’re going to
kill us, and tow away the car, so there’s no evidence.”

Gunter shook his head. “That pickup is
thirty years old.”

“So?”

“An operation like this wouldn’t be using a
thirty year old truck,” Mitch said, “As part of a kill and clean operation. They’d
have something modern.”

The pickup truck rattled up beside them and
stopped in a cloud of swirling dust when the driver’s window was alongside Gunter’s.
Stenciled in faded letters across the door were the words, Z. E. Ackerman
Towing. A grizzled old man wearing a faded baseball cap and a week's stubble
rested his arm on the truck’s window frame and called out to them, “You folks
need help?”

“How did you know,” Mitch replied.

The old timer grinned. “Shoot! Happens all
the time. Damn radiation stuff in there.” He stuck a finger toward the wire
fence. “Always shorting out cars. Some say it’s them UFOs, sucking up the
power. Never seen one myself, sounds like baloney to me.”

Gunter eyed Ackerman’s old pickup curiously.
“Why is your truck not affected?”

“Too old I reckon. None of them fancy
computer thing-a-mes in it. Plus I got me some lead and used it like
insulation.”

“You ever get sick?” Mitch asked, “From the
radiation?”

“Naw, you got to stay here a long time to
get sick. Know plenty of folks who think they been sick from it. Not me, but I
don’t stay out here long. Just in and out.”

“Why come out here at all?” Mitch asked.

“Cause I make a pretty penny towing
greenhorns like you back to town. No offence.” The old timer grinned slyly. “You
need a tow, partner? I ain’t cheap.”

“How much,” Gunter asked.

“A thousand bucks gets you to Gila Bend.”

“A thousand!” Mouse exploded.

“You could walk, but I wouldn’t recommend
it, not in this here heat.”

“How far is it?” Mitch asked.

“About fifty miles.”

“Tonopah is closer,” Gunter said, checking
the map, estimating it couldn't be more than thirty miles away.

“Yeah, that's true, But I ain't going to
Tonopah. I'm going to Gila Bend.”

“You take credit cards?” Mitch asked.

“Any card, any time,” Ackerman replied,
content he had another sucker over a barrel. He put his pickup in reverse, then
backed around until his crane was lined up with the front of their four wheel
drive. They climbed out to watch him secure the front wheels for towing.

“So you were just cruising around . . .”
Mitch asked, trying to sound conversational, “Looking for a customer?”

“When there ain’t much work on. I do a run
along the fence. I was heading back when I saw your dust about twenty minutes
ago.” He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d head toward the Mountain. Most of you
city types in your fancy four by fours head this way. Something about that big
rock attracts you like hogs to mud. Probably ‘cause there ain’t any shade out
here.”

“What’s up ahead? Can we get out that way?”

“Nope, not that a way. Just a dead end. The
old gate into the dump up there's been locked up for more ‘an twenty years. This
here road’s the only way in or out.”

“Is our car permanently damaged?” Gunter
asked.

“Nothing you can’t get repaired in the auto
shop in Gila Bend.” Ackerman grinned. “My cousin Floyd's a real good mechanic,
but he ain’t cheap.”

“Of course,” Mitch nodded knowingly. “I
don’t suppose there’s another auto shop for miles around.”

“Not for what you need, young fella. You
could take the bus to Phoenix, of course, but it ain’t due for three days. You’d
have to leave the four by four at Floyd’s while you’re gone.” Ackerman looked
at him meaningfully. “Because that’s where I’ll be dropping you off. And Floyd
don’t like storing cars for folks, so he’ll be charging you a pretty penny, for
parking and such. You know how it is.”

“I’m learning fast,” Mitch replied dryly.

“There ain’t enough room in the truck for
you folks, so you’ll have to ride in the four by four.”

They climbed back into the car, then
Ackerman towed them slowly back the way they'd come, away from the nuclear
waste dump.

Mitch turned to Christa. “Was he conditioned?”