Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle (15 page)

Major Gant tried to lighten the mood: "I suppose that answers the age-old question. Apparently if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear, it does not make a sound."

Dr. McCaul narrowed her eyes and told him, "No, Major. If there is no one around, the tree does not exist."

"That boggles the mind," Gant admitted.

"And that is only one of many theories relating to quantum physics, any number of which could cause a person to question the very nature of existence," McCaul said. "The people I worked with when I was involved in subatomic research tended to drift into one of two camps. Some decided that, having seen the building blocks of existence, they had debunked any notion of a Creator, like knowing the tricks up a magician's sleeve."

"The others?" he asked.

"Others realized that no matter how hard we look, we will never grasp the truth of our existence because one cannot fully understand a system while living inside it. In short, some of us found faith in a force greater than our comprehension. I'm not sure if that is God as the churches describe him or a fantastic natural force too magnificent for our minds, but I am confident there is more to life than what we can see."

"It must be nice," Gant said, "to have that kind of faith."

McCaul looked to him, then back at Liz, then to Gant again. She said, "Oh, now, everyone has faith, major. Especially you."

"Me?"

"Everyone does. Having faith in yourself is the most important, but you also believe in the chain of command. Your orders come down and you follow them—is that not true?"

Major Gant slowly nodded his head. Yes, she was right. He followed orders, even when he disagreed with those orders. McCaul called it faith, he might call it instinct, but the end result was the same. He obeyed.

She turned to Thunder and said, "And you, Colonel? How is your faith these days?"

Liz seemed somewhat transfixed.

McCaul said, "You're different from the major. You don't share his faith, do you?"

The lieutenant colonel's eyes widened and she said, "I'm an officer in the United States military. Yes, I have faith in my superiors."

"No, I'm afraid you don't. You're wearing civilian clothes; your phone call came directly to me, bypassing the proper channels; and you came to me for answers that, it would seem, your superiors did not feel fit to discuss with you. That means you don't trust them leaving you in the dark about Briggs and his work. No, Colonel, you have no faith in the chain of command." She leaned forward and in a voice bordering on a whisper, added, "I hope, dear, that at least you still have faith in yourself. At a place like Red Rock, you will need it."

Liz's mouth opened but no sound came out.

Gant came to her rescue.

"Thank you, Doctor, for all the information.

"If you need me, I’m only a phone call away and I promise to be discreet. I’ll do anything I can to help. Dr. Briggs was an arrogant man, yet somehow he found the funding to pursue even his wildest theories, something the rest of us can only dream of."

Liz stood and stepped toward the door, eager to leave. Major Gant followed.

As they left the office McCaul said, "There’s something I’ve learned as a scientist that you should know, Major Gant. Every time I think I’ve seen it all—every time a theory becomes accepted doctrine—something comes along to take it to a whole new level. Briggs was out there; way out there. He may have taken things to a whole new level."

—

The chopper flew south across New York en route to the Pennsylvania border. For the first ten minutes they flew in silence. Gant tried to find the right words to open up conversation, then finally decided just to jump right in.

"She said something that bothered you."

"She said a lot of things that bothered me," Liz replied while remaining focused forward through the rain-covered windshield.

Gant eyed her suspiciously. He knew very little about this woman, but his initial impression had been very positive; an officer of good temperament and intelligent. Yet McCaul's harmless philosophizing had elicited a reaction—a defensive reaction.

So Gant pushed, "Was it all that talk about faith? I, for one, would not put—"

"Don't try and analyze me, Major. I'm the psychiatrist here. I know the game."

"I did not realize you were a doctor."

"That's because I'm not. I'm a soldier. Like you. Everything else is just an area of specialty. You and I, we just use different weapons."

"I see. Well then,
Colonel,
this excursion was your idea. What kind of answers do you think we found?"

She bowed her head for a moment, closed her eyes, and then finally turned and faced him.

"I'm sorry if I'm a little rough around the edges, Major. I suppose McCaul said a lot and my mind is just trying to make sense of it. I think … I think something happened with Briggs’s experiment that is much different from a virus breaking loose or radioactive contamination."

"Such as?"

"Well, let's take a look," Thunder said, retrieving a smartphone from her pocket and firing up the Internet connection. Gant watched her use her phone, tapping letters and numbers and reading lines.

"Here it is," she finally said. "She did give us enough to Google. I've got a bunch of articles here announcing the Extreme Light Infrastructure Ultra-High Field Facility. Apparently scientists are working on a series of big lasers that use a lot of power to rip apart the fabric of space. Something about looking for ghost particles and tearing apart time and space and seeing what pours out of the fissure and finding evidence for other dimensions."

"For some reason, that makes me nervous."

She put away her phone, took a deep breath, and said, "I don't get this stuff, Major. It's way outside my pay grade. But what happened—what is still happening—at Red Rock is a lot more than some sort of explosion caused by a power overload. We keep thinking something went wrong and blew up in Briggs's face."

He caught on: "The other possibility is that his experiment went as planned. Maybe more so."

"McCaul said that Briggs was sort of digging at the floorboards of the universe. What happens when you dig at the floorboards in an apartment?"

Gant thought about that for a moment. "You end up coming through someone else’s ceiling."
 

Liz stepped from her cabin and sucked down a healthy gulp of moist, cold morning air. It sent a shiver through her lungs that spread across her body, causing everything beneath her green BDUs to tremble.

The rain from the previous day had cleared away, leaving behind row after row of rolling white clouds. Very few sunbeams managed to slip through those clouds. Fewer still penetrated the orange, red, and yellow canopy of turning leaves covering the Red Rock grounds. The smattering of thin gold beams that managed to clear all those obstacles and reach the forest floor resembled focused lasers more than natural light.

She let the flimsy wood door shut and started toward the main complex along a path that, despite the start of a new day, seemed particularly dark and lonely.

While others might find the encroachment of nature and the secluded location of the facility a welcome respite from civilization, Red Rock managed only to amplify her feeing of isolation. Four mornings ago the phone call from General Borman had felt like a get-out-of-jail card freeing her from a prison of monotony. In reality, however, it seemed she was as much a prisoner of the Hell Hole now as whatever lay locked behind the vault door.

Worse, she wondered exactly why had she been summoned to this place. Again, Borman's invitation came packaged as a second chance, an opportunity for redemption, a sign that the brass recognized a waste of talent. But now she was not so sure.

The strangeness of this place … an apparent suicide mission for the Archangel team … The Tall Company's involvement … it all added up to one big unsettled feeling, even before considering the dangerous influences emanating from beyond the containment bulkhead.

Am I here because I have firsthand experience in watching minds go from normal to crazy, or am I here because my record is tainted enough that I'll make a plausible fall-gal when the shit hits the fan?

Choosing BDUs over her dress uniform for today's attire resulted in an unexpected bonus or, perhaps, a curse: she had found a crumpled half-pack of Virginia Slims in her suitcase. At some point that pack had made its way into her pocket.

Why not, Liz? Have a smoke again. The other bad habits are all coming back. So far you've screwed around with the heads of a bunch of young soldiers and you've played fast and loose with your authority. Of course, if things hadn't gone FUBAR last time the brass probably would have been happy with your breaking the rules. This time, well, I don't think Borman is going to be thrilled with yesterday's trip.

She stopped and pulled out the cigarettes. The aroma of tobacco and nicotine dove into her like a shot of smooth whiskey, although she suspected the ghost of addiction played a greater role than her sense of smell.

One of her other senses—hearing—managed to steal away her attention. More specifically, the
chop-chop-chop
of helicopter rotors flying low overhead en route to a landing pad on the far side of the main building. The sound broke the spell; suddenly the cigarettes changed from enticing to a painful reminder of bad times.

She could have thrown them away, or tightened her hand into a fist to pulverize the temptation. Instead, she returned the pack to her pocket, unsure if she might need them some other day.

—

Captain Richard Campion stood outside the main entrance taking deep, refreshing breaths of the morning air. He found the chill bracing and it helped chase away the grogginess from a nearly sleepless night when dreams of armies trapped by an enemy's surprise maneuver kept him tossing and turning.

Not only did the brisk air shock his system awake; the myriad of scents and sounds also tantalized his nose and ears.

He envied the acute senses of the canines who sometimes served with the unit. During missions, he would oftentimes think of himself as a wolf on the hunt, tracking his prey not only through sight but through sound and smell as well.

Standing in front of the building that morning, he listened to a dozen different tunes of birdsong; he heard cracks and drips as the morning dew weighed down dying leaves to the point that some snapped and fell to Earth, where they joined growing piles of dead foliage that decayed with a heavy, sweet smell.

All those sounds and aromas were smothered by the loud
chop-chop-chop
of an incoming helicopter that dropped a sheet of malodorous exhaust over his morning.

The Sikorsky s-76 came in fast and then slowed just as fast before descending to the landing pad. Campion hurried over and arrived just in time to see the luxury helicopter—sporting The Tall Company's logo (a 'T' wrapped in a circle)—touch down.

As the rotors slowed the rear doors opened and two men disembarked. The first was a man most likely in his early fifties wearing a loose-fitting light blue sport jacket over a white dress shirt. While he was fairly tall, his shoulder slouched sloppily, giving his clothes the appearance of being one or two sizes too big. He had a thin, drawn face and rough black hair. A cigarette dangled from the edge of his lower lip, seemingly staying in place only by defying the law of gravity, and the man walked with a lazy gait that nearly made Campion question his sobriety.

This first man approached and spoke to the captain with a choppy, Eastern European accent: "Soldier there, go get the case from the helicopter and send them to my quarters inside."

And then he was by, continuing on toward the main facility, apparently regarding Campion as something akin to a doorman.

Fortunately, the second man who emerged from the Sikorsky was Captain—Doctor—Brandon Twiste, wearing his usual green BDUs. He came over to Campion, shook his hand, and said, "Don't let that asshole bother you. That's Vincent Vsalov of Tall Sciences and he is one arrogant prick."

Despite sharing the same rank, Campion addressed Twiste as if he were a superior officer, out of some kind of instinctual respect for an elder.

"Yes, sir. Good to see you again, sir."

"He is right about one thing though. I will need some help with the gear."

They pulled a heavy metal trunk from the helicopter that required each man to grab a handle on the end.

"Where do you want this?"

"Let's take it right in and find a secure area," Twiste answered.

"What is it? It's heavier than it looks."

Twiste told him, "Captain, this is what all the fuss is about. Another present from our friends at The Tall Company."

—

Major Gant told Roberts—the soldier with the little boy face—and "President" Van Buren, "I will handle things from here, gentlemen. Go get yourself some chow."

The two soldiers nodded and left in the company of two of the base's military policemen, who served as escorts for the team on the lower levels of the complex, particularly when weapons were involved.

Roberts and Van Buren had just delivered the last of team Archangel's gear to an assembly room on sublevel 5, not far from the vault. That gear was laid out on a long table and included rifles, pistols, antipersonnel grenades, and all manner of high-tech gear.