Groom Lake (25 page)

Damien Owens clapped his mobile phone shut with a slight hint of frustration.

“Problems?” Kayla asked, as she approached with a cup of coffee she ordered for him.

“Circumstances—never problems,” he replied, although not too convincingly. “Turns out the congressman from San Diego is probing a little deeper than we thought. He acquired two experimental life-support suits from DARPA. The suits can keep a man alive in extreme desert conditions over a period of days, maybe even a week. The congressman arranged for the suits to be tested by the DEA for surveillance along the Mexican border, but the DEA is only testing one suit.”

“How did we find out?”

“The rumor mill in DC. It was traced to an aid in Congressman Langston’s office. Hopefully we’ve scared them enough to cancel any espionage plans they may have in our desert.”

“How do we know they aren’t already out there?”

“That’s being checked out now.”

Owens’ phone rang again. The agent on the other end said, “Air Force Security reported a false alarm on the base last night that delayed a flight test at Groom Lake. Then after dawn this morning, the Groom Proper Patrol discovered a stranded Jeep, footprints led them to the driver—wasn’t a false alarm after all. He arrived sometime last night and managed to avoid detection until daybreak.”

“Do we know him?”

“His name is Trevor Sinclair. He visited Freedom Ridge recently with another male, Blake Hunter. Both were escorted there by Desmond Wyatt. Now for the kicker: when we recorded Professor Eldred talking to the FBI agent, Grason Kendricks, they mentioned someone named Blake. Turns out Professor Eldred had a student named Blake Hunter. So the kid they stopped this morning has a connection through Hunter and the professor to the congressional investigation.”

“Where’s this guy Hunter now?”

“Don’t know. He used an Amex to pay for gas in Vegas and Alamo yesterday. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s somewhere in our backyard, and wearing the second life-support suit.”

“His friend is a student too?”

“About that age.”

“I find it hard to believe the FBI would involve college students in an investigation of this nature.”

“Hunter’s background is engineering, including a Master’s degree. He’s applied to NASA in the past and has a better understanding of the objects in the sky than any FBI agent would. It’s a clever cover. At first glance they seem like the typical curiosity seekers we get out here.”

Owens knew immediately what had to be done. He had spent countless hours preparing contingency plans for every situation, and rehearsed them so often in his mind that responding was second nature. “There’s more to those life-support suits if someone is avoiding our surveillance. Delay the hoot that’s returning tonight. If someone is out there, I don’t want them seeing that ship.”

“We’ve already checked with SPACECOM. NASA’s got an unmanned rocket launch in two days. It includes civilian satellite payloads. There’s going to be a lot of people watching the atmosphere. Tonight is the only safe window for at least fifteen days.”

Sending the hoot back to the moon for two weeks was a dangerous option. “Bring it in tonight,” he decided, “but at the last minute. Meanwhile, get patrols working the valleys.” After hanging up, he turned to Kayla. “It’s time you visit Papoose without a blindfold.”

Like many creatures in the desert, Blake and Val’s sustainment was based on a nocturnal existence. With the sun gone for another half-rotation of the earth, they ventured from their hollow and began a short five-mile hike to the next bunker. Val bid the makeshift hideout a sentimental farewell, knowing it would be his last time on the land. Although existing in the crude confines was grueling, the memories would always be with him.

Each step of their journey brought with it another question in Blake’s mind, but Val didn’t want to talk while they hiked.
You’ve got to have some serious cajones to undertake Val’s mission,
Blake thought.
Plus an extensive understanding of the land
. He considered the Indians, who were proof that desert survival was possible with far more primitive technologies. Tribes had survived for eons on similar terrain.

They arrived at the Papoose bunker in a little over three hours, carrying four extra gallons of water. Blake was impressed with Val’s ability to manufacture and collect water using shallow pits, pieces of succulent and a small tarp.

The larger bunker—a cave-like structure that had rock on three sides—was more comfortable than the previous night’s accommodations. They celebrated a safe arrival by feasting on military MREs—Meal, Ready-to-Eat—of chicken with rice, crackers and cheese spread. Powdered Gatorade added to a jug of water washed the food down. Ice was the one item absent from an otherwise gratifying meal. Being forced to survive on a minimal amount of food and water made Blake realize how much he took for granted the everyday perks that American society had to offer.

“Got any cake in that box of supplies?” Blake joked.

“No junk food.”

“Tomorrow is my birthday.”

“I can jam a lightstick in a protein bar.”

“That would beat some birthdays I had as a kid.”

“Rough childhood?”

“Lonely childhood. The early years.” Changing the subject, Blake said, “You know, I once considered becoming an FBI agent.”

“What changed your mind?”

“It was third on my list behind astronaut and doctor.”

“I guess it’s too early to tell if this situation is going to help you or hurt you.”

The conversation was stymied as both tired after their meal. Blake rested his eyes and his body, enjoying the comforts of an inflatable vinyl pool float that helped him drift off to sleep.

Daybreak was still hours away when Val began rustling about the bunker as he began the methodical process of putting on his Bio Suit components.

“What are you doing?” Blake asked.

“Going out for a while.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I picked up a transmission. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to film something.”

“What kind of transmission?”

“Scrambled. I’ve heard it before. Don’t know who it is or what they’re saying, but once it preceded a craft landing in a mountainside nearby.”

“At the second base? We’re that close?”

Val continued fastening the straps and clasps on his Bio Suit, answering Blake with a nod of the head.

“What kind of craft?”

“That’s what the professor is supposed to determine.”

“But you’ve seen it. What’s it look like?”

“You familiar with the classic UFO?”

“A flying saucer?”

“Umm-hmm!” Val pointed at Blake, “I’m serious when I say keep your ass planted. I catch you poking your head out for a look—I’ll zap you and strap you until morning.” His point made, Val secured his helmet and left the bunker.

“How many miles have we hiked?”

“About three.”

“You’d think we were back in boot camp.”

“For real. This better not be a drill. I hate dragging around our assault rifles.”

“I don’t mind the gun, it’s the night-vision straps rubbing against my scalp that drives me crazy.”

“We gotta start pulling more day shifts. It’s too hot for them to make us leave the patrol vehicles and hoof it.”

“Is anyone else working this sector?”

“Why?”

“Footprints.”

“Those shouldn’t be from any of our guys.”

“It was windy today. I don’t imagine they’re too old.”

“They told us to look for anything out of the ordinary. I’d say we found it.”

“Let’s track them a bit before calling it in and getting everyone excited. Just in case they are from an earlier patrol.”

A faint tremor rumbled through the cave and rock Blake was leaning against, and pulsated his back.
Could it be a silo opening?
he wondered. Feeling like a child told to keep his hands out of a cookie jar, he wanted to peek outside, but knew it would be wrong. His desire to remain safe kept him sequestered in the corner. He was already zero for one when he diverted from the plans.

A few minutes later the tremor returned, this time followed by a brief and distant popping sound. He never heard a craft. Rumors about flying objects in the valley spoke of silent spaceships, but could they be that quiet, like a glider?

With Val gone, time seemed to pass more slowly. Then Blake heard footsteps, but the tarpaulin covering the entrance wasn’t disturbed. He listened with greater intensity. Silence. Maybe it was a passing animal, a coyote. He thought of a time in the Boy Scouts when a raccoon was clawing at his tent during the night. He had imagined an enormous monster—Bigfoot—not such a small creature. He convinced himself the sound outside wasn’t footsteps, but some insignificant noise. Then he heard it again, closer. Knowing better than to call out, or even move, he sat in utter silence. Again he heard movement. Someone poked at the tarpaulin. Feet scuffed the dirt. A man crashed inside and rolled on the ground. It was Val and he failed to rise.

Leaping to Val’s side, Blake said, “What’s wrong?”

“Help me get this suit off,” he said, in apparent pain.

Blake helped him pull the helmet off and unclasp the chest piece. Val remained speechless, gasping after every movement of his body. When Blake started removing the components attached to Val’s thighs, he felt moisture on his hands. “Your leg is soaked in blood!”

“They stumbled across my footprints.”

“How did you get away?”

Val removed the controls strapped to his left forearm and handed them to Blake. “This baby has a few tricks. Now put it on!”

“What?”

“You’ve got to go.”

“I can’t leave. You need help. And I’ll get caught.”

“The hell you will,” Val grunted. “I got the saucer craft on video. You’re putting on the suit and sneaking the data off this base.”

From Val’s tone, Blake knew it was the only option.

“Start putting the suit on,” Val insisted. “I’ll explain what you need to do.”

“How will I know where to go?”

“GPS—the suit will guide you, but you’ve got to hurry. Two guards stumbled on me. They’ll be out of commission for a bit, but soon it’ll get ugly.” Val used a knife to cut away the blood-soaked material covering his left thigh, revealing an oozing bullet wound.

While Blake slipped the various components of the Bio Suit onto his body, Val dictated a general set of instructions into the helmet’s sound recorder, then showed him how to use the navigation system. “Follow the coordinates. You need to navigate around the sensors in this valley, and the radioactive soil at the Nevada Test Site.” The last item Val showed Blake was a distress beacon. “If you think that you’re going to get caught, activate this. Just keep in mind that the other guys can track the signal too.”

• • •

Alone, stranded and bleeding through the in-and-out bullet wound in his upper left thigh, Val sat on the bunker’s floor and cursed his luck. He had navigated the surrounding terrain undetected on three separate missions, finally having recorded the evidence he sought, only to round an outcropping of rock and find himself facing two menacing soldiers. “You can’t hide your footprints,” one said.

Val had refused to surrender, yet the men training guns on him were not the enemy; they were honorable Americans doing their job as employees of the United States Air Force. For that reason, Val carried no gun, but he did have a small arsenal of non-lethal weapons stowed in his Bio Suit. Using the suit’s voice-activation feature, he whispered instructions and concentrated a low-frequency sound wave at the stomach of the closest soldier. Within seconds the muscle-bound man lost the stern look on his face and rigid grip on his gun. Nausea had overwhelmed him and before he realized what was happening, his stomach’s contents blew from his mouth in a projectile fashion. Weakened, the soldier crashed to the ground, dry heaving and rolling in the dirt.

Val continued abiding by the instructions of the first soldier, dropping to his knees, keeping his hands raised.

When the standing soldier became nauseous, he charged Val, tackling him to his back. Val responded with a stun gun blast that incapacitated the soldier. As he pushed the man off him, he noticed the other soldier struggling to point a pistol at him. Val stood and kicked the gun away, but not before two random blasts discharged from the muzzle. One bullet bored through the quadriceps in his left leg, missing the femur bone and femoral artery. Contact with either body part would have put him on the ground between the soldiers.

After taking their radios and tossing them out of sight, Val hobbled back to the bunker. The pressure from each step shot a resounding pain through his leg, reinforcing the fact that he wouldn’t be hiking off the base.

Using a flashlight, Val studied his torn flesh. Applying pressure had diminished the blood flow, but he knew by his dizziness that he had lost a significant amount. His challenge now was staying in the bunker long enough to give Blake time to distance himself, but not so long that he might pass out and bleed to death. He knew the two soldiers would have recuperated by now, but without radios they didn’t pose an immediate threat.

After twenty minutes, Val figured Blake was at least a mile and a half from the bunker. His leg had stiffened, and standing generated excruciating pain as if someone had poked a pencil in the wound. Outside, he sat on the ground, sucked up the pain caused by his movements, then reclined to a supine position. After resting for a minute, he rolled on his stomach—more pain. Although his wound was now in the dirt, protected only by a t-shirt wrapped around it, Val thought it better that he put himself face down rather than be manhandled by the soldiers when they handcuffed him.

Soon he heard helicopters approaching. When he careened his neck skyward, he saw three of the large monsters flying with equal distance between them, sweeping the desert with infrared, he presumed.

The closest chopper veered from its place in the formation and shined a spotlight on Val. The two others also banked in his direction. Blake could now continue unpursued for the time being. One chopper descended from Val’s view. He figured a cargo load of soldiers would be upon him soon.

The roar from the choppers drowned the thumps of approaching footsteps. As soon as Val realized the soldiers had surrounded him, a knee landed in his back and forced every breath of air from his lungs. They said nothing to Val and paid little attention to the blood-soaked shirt wrapped around his wound. Instead, they stretched the wound by pulling his ankles over his back and hog-tying them to his wrists. The last memory Val had was a sharp pain in his neck, an injection that put him to sleep.

• • •

The Bio Suit weighed on Blake like a novice backpacker’s overstuffed load. Hiking with the excess burden wouldn’t have been too hard on him, but running proved challenging. Yet he wasn’t tired. Spending the day snacking on MREs and protein bars had nourished his system, and fear again boosted his adrenaline, putting him in a mental zone that allowed his body to sustain a vigorous pace. A manly sound of exertion accompanied each outward breath—
huh
…
huh
…
huh
—as he pumped his arms and lifted his legs. He slowed his pace just once to watch the helicopters converge over Val.

Val set the functions on the suit so all Blake had to do was follow the directional arrows on the head-up display. Few thoughts passed through his mind while he traveled across the terrain except those concerned with his movements: dodging Joshua trees like they were flagpoles on a slalom course; planting his feet on sand; stepping over rocks, holes and brush.

He made good time rounding the sandy southwest tentacle of Papoose Lake and reaching another of Val’s bunkers. This locale offered the fewest amenities of the three refuges Blake had visited. Val had built it for emergencies. A folded camouflage net and a pile of brush that looked like a good snake sanctuary would be his building materials to fortify the shelter. Under the tarp, a gallon of water and small ammo box protected a day’s rations.

Val had told him of the ATV hidden in the mountains less than four miles away from his present location. Climbing four miles with the Bio Suit’s added weight was not a feat Blake could accomplish before sunrise.

Like the other mammals in the desert, Blake hunkered in his shelter to avoid the sunlight that was just beginning to silhouette the mountains on the eastern horizon. He didn’t look forward to the day ahead. When he sat still his skin itched and begged for a cleansing, and his lack of movement encouraged movement from the creepy-crawlies sharing the bunker with him. He occupied his time studying the help program on the Bio Suit’s computer.