The Black Seas of Infinity (4 page)

Scenarios rushed through my mind. What if I
failed horribly? What if I burst into a bunker and was taken by
surprise and overpowered? A film played out in my head. Uniformed
figures, dark and sullen, standing over my prone body. Bright
overhead lights blinding me as they shoved cold steel barrels into
my face. They probably wouldn’t shoot me right then and there. They
were always too curious. Of course, they would recognize me, which
would be even worse than anonymity. It would give them an angle,
make them think they knew what it was that made me tick. Would they
torture me? I wouldn’t be surprised. Bring in some CIA experts,
inject me with drugs to make me more malleable? Who was I working
with? What was my ultimate goal? I don’t even think it would matter
what I told them. They would have an answer they wanted to hear,
and eventually, after a lot of pain, I’d find out what it was. The
negative thoughts and wild scenarios weren’t helping. I needed to
pay attention to the road.

CHAPTER IV

FORT BRAGG, NORTH
CAROLINA

At last I arrived, pulling up to the sleepy town of
Fayetteville. It all seemed to be a dream, everything veiled in a
glowing translucent haze. The streetlights shimmered brighter than
I remembered, the edges of buildings waved and flickered in the dim
illumination, the shallow night wind seemed to have a guiding hand
behind it. The air smelled hot and dusty, the cover of night
failing to fully burn away the day’s heat.

Bright lights spilled out of doorways and
onto the streets as I slowly drove past the idyllic scenes. Drunken
GIs talking up whores, spending dollars from the local pawnshop,
freshly traded for essential equipment they would have to borrow
money to buy back tomorrow. Despite the fact that this was
something I had seen every day for ten years, it all seemed strange
tonight, the prologue to one hell of a story.

Crumbling houses and low rent strip malls
lined the streets, broken up by brief patches of weeds and pine
trees, all of it barely connected by an asphalt sidewalk that had
fallen into serious disrepair. GIs and other small-minded
meatheads, minus the uniform but with comparable social skills,
strutted up and down the street. Glancing at my watch, I realized
I’d arrived a bit early. Too many people were still out. I pulled
into the unpaved parking lot of a closed pawnshop, the overhanging
shadows cloaking my ride in darkness. I spun the Jeep around, the
wheels crunching softly in the loose gravel, and settled into the
unlit back corner. I switched off the ignition, leaned back, and
waited. I was close enough and had a few options to consider. At
the entrance to the base I would have to get past the MP on duty,
and I definitely didn’t want to use my clearance. It might not
raise suspicion, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I’d probably
only get one. Time crept by, and I sank deeper into my seat and ran
through scenarios. I kept picturing the ending: like a Tarantino
movie, all bursts of gunfire and bullet-riddled bodies. The lamp
across the street flickered and, with silent resignation, went out,
casting the tiny lot into total darkness. All the better. Now not
even the traffic would take notice of me.

Finally the hands of my watch neared
midnight. Close enough. I fired up the Jeep, the roar of the
Flowmaster mufflers making me cringe. A minute to warm up, and I
could wait no longer. Punching the shift lever forward, I spun out
in a flurry of flying gravel onto the main street. The engine
grumbled, threatening to cut out. “Easy...easy...” I whispered. A
roar, and the RPMs jumped back up. Two shops, then abruptly I
veered off to the right. The route I followed was barely even a
road, starting out as loose gravel and quickly deteriorating into
twin dirt ruts, a strip of grass navigating the center. The pelting
of rocks underneath was replaced by plumes of dust kicking up in my
wake, the buildings of the town receding into the shadows. I
stomped on the dimmer switch and my high beams swung upwards,
illuminating the sidewalls of pine trees with the solitary dirt
road stretching out before me. The moonless night sky, a murky dark
blue haze, crested over a pine- topped hill in the distance. The
wind whipping through the pine branches insinuated an unearthly
presence, an impossible but eerie force flowing through the
desolate woods, carrying down the sharp scents of pine and moist
earth.

The Jeep bounced up and down the uneven road,
my shocks transmitting every gully and bump straight to my
kidneys.

Over a small hill the tree line receded to
the left as a chain link barricade emerged from the pines. I pulled
off the road, bounced through a shadowed drainage ditch, and right
into the old fence. I stomped on the emergency brake and hit the
four-wheel-drive switch, popped the shift lever into neutral, and
climbed out. The treetops whistled softly, swaying in the wind.
Whatever happened, I had no doubt this night would be etched into
my brain, the prologue to a fantastic adventure—or the beginning of
the end. I walked over and clipped the metal fence, snapping each
link with a wire cutter. I hack-sawed the top pole, gripping it
with one hand and tearing away at it, the blade awkwardly cocked
above me. My shoulder kept cramping up, and I’d have to stop and
rotate it for a second. After what seemed way too long, I could
feel the metal giving. Suddenly, it lost all tension, my hand
slipping off the pole as I fell backwards into the tall grass. I
jumped back up, pulled open my passenger side door, tossed in the
saw, and jogged back around to the driver’s side. I pushed the
lever into four high and powered forward, the dangling metal edges
screeching holy murder as they scraped the sides of my Jeep. It was
enough noise to make me flinch, but the area was far enough from
earshot. On the other side I stopped the Jeep and vaulted out. I
grabbed the edges of the torn fence and pulled them back together,
using zip ties to bind the edges. That wouldn’t pass any close
inspection, but in the dark it would suffice until daybreak.

I broke the connection to the taillights,
pulled the switch halfway, and drove slowly using the parking
lights. The underbrush here was routinely burned out to cut down on
insects, so the ground was fairly smooth, coated mainly with pine
needles. Navigation shouldn’t be a problem. With some luck I would
avoid hitting one of the foxholes or trenches left over from World
War II training exercises. The terrain was littered with them,
randomly placed and disguised by low-lying foliage. When I lived
here I would jog in the woods. This whole area was crisscrossed
with old, badly weathered roads. The asphalt was pitted and
cracked, half-covered by debris, the edges worn by the ravages of
time. Breaking out of the woods and onto one of the old roads, I
turned right, then right again as the road abruptly twisted. The
Jeep bounced over a fallen cluster of branches and into a huge
pothole. The skid plate under my tranny grated as it ripped through
loose asphalt. It tore at the metal as I lumbered back out. A slide
through sandy concrete, and the road suddenly ended, a dirt trail
picking up the slack. I slowed down, the wheels slipping in the
loose white sand. After a short stretch and another jolt, my front
tires grabbed onto asphalt, the road scaling up into pavement once
again.

A small bridge was coming up, and I switched
on the headlights. The last thing I needed was to end up in a
creek. I drove slowly in the sand, the gentle padding accompanied
by the rustle of branches in the mindless gale. Everything was
folding into itself, the creepy desolation intensified by the
unnatural residue permeating the hills. I bypassed a few old
foundations, probably the remnants of old WWII buildings, the
ghostly bedrock staring down at me through the shackle of trees.
The dilapidated bridge, if it even qualified as that, came into
view. The headlights highlighted the rotted structure, two round
posts straddling both sides, yoked by a walkway of old planks. I
slowed down as I crossed, hoping the rope bindings would hold. The
wood creaked underneath, the ancient lanyard grunting with the
strain, but in the end it held. Past the bridge the road split, the
wider passageway continuing forward, with a smaller one forking off
to the left and tunneling up into a nest of trees. This was the
route I needed. Rolling up the small hill, the pass narrowed into a
dark tunnel. Bordered by white banks of sand that preceded the
overhanging trunks, their canopy a writhing mass of contorted
branches. I’d never been here at night before. It seemed so bright
and genial during the early morning hours, years ago. But all that
had changed. I’m not the young man I once was. That time is long
gone, the hope and ambition had faded into the desperation of
middle age, the uncomfortable inevitability of death lurking just
around the corner.

After about twenty minutes the road opened
into a semi-circle. Beyond a wall of trees, I could make out a
warehouse ahead. I rolled into the thicket, spinning the wheel. I
was lumbering through a thin grove now, the overhanging cover
giving way to a half-mile-wide depression, its rugged base a
labyrinth of a thousand tiny reflections. Just beyond lay the long,
dark parking lot, crowned at the far end by a cluster of buildings.
I leaned forward and strained to look at the gully in front of me.
It was a maze of water-carved ridges, barely visible in the gloom.
None of the fissures were deep, but they were complexly detailed, a
miniature Grand Canyon. I shifted the transfer case into 4 lo and
gently edged the Jeep into the canals. Pitching back and forth, I
glanced around nervously, my forehead beaded with sweat. There was
a more direct route, I was sure, but it was probably guarded.
Policies changed all the time, and it was better not to raise
suspicion. Since the 82nd Airborne was based here, the complex
hardly got questioned. When it did, all the secrecy was assumed to
apply to some new spy plane.

After a short drive through the rainwater
trenches I was on concrete. Everything looked fairly deserted, so I
assumed the high command was in another lull, retaining only a
skeleton crew. I shifted back into two-wheel drive and headed
across the empty lot. Rolling up to the warehouse, I spun the wheel
to the left and crept along the wall, following the crude barrier
of concrete toward the distant iridescence. The tension was
oppressive, my breath emanating in shallow gusts. I could feel the
sharpness and fidgety high of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
So close. A trickle of sweat slowly rolled down my forehead.

The wall ended. The only illumination came
from a solitary light pole a few feet away, its soft yellow haze a
beacon in the surrounding blackness. I swerved into the muted glow
and parked, sloppily and mere inches from the wall. In front of me
the coarse barricade of manmade stone abutted a metal rim, the
weaker concrete yielding to the steel as it flowed around a
doorframe. I turned off the driving lights, climbed out of the
Jeep, and hoped my key still worked. I was prepared for almost
anything, but I could use a stroke of luck. The portal was an
ordinary slab of painted metal, imperceptibly nestled among the
endless blocks.

Beyond it were the keys to the kingdom.
Miracle of miracles, my key worked! I turned it sideways and
pulled. A slight creak, a gust of stale air, and a black hole
yawned open beyond. My eyes adjusted slowly, and I could make out a
long corridor. Florescent lights glimmered faintly from around a
corner off to the left. The meager illumination offered glimpses of
bare concrete walls and scuffed white tile flooring. The right side
disappeared into blackness, and if I remembered correctly, that was
the route I wanted.

I slowly guided the door closed behind me,
stumbling off into the dark and raising my hand to feel along the
wall. After a few minutes the wall suddenly dissolved into a right
turn. I could make out a thin sliver of light emanating from
beneath a door down the passageway. That glow meant someone was
still here, and it wasn’t security. Maybe a scientist working late?
The large room beyond the door was set up as a lab for the study of
organic matter. Not really my area. I wasn’t completely sure, but I
couldn’t afford a mistake. I unbuttoned the holster on my right and
withdrew my .45. Reaching into my rear pocket, I slipped out a
silencer, threading it onto the barrel. I moved slowly forward and
closed in on the door. Reaching out with my left hand, holding the
.45 aloft with my right, I turned the handle and pushed forward.
The bright light streamed around the door jamb, overwhelming my
vision. The sting of harsh chemicals bit at my nostrils. I blinked
rapidly, narrowing my eyes to slits and straining to make out what
was beyond.

The black dots of outlying objects slowly
came into focus, and I could spy one lone scientist bent over
something in the distance. He stood toward one end of the long,
sparse room, half-obscured by the gleams coming off of too many
reflective surfaces. Small tables arranged in rows and covered with
paraphernalia stretched out in parallel lines to the far wall. The
technician seemed lost in his own world. That presented a bit of a
problem. I needed to get past this room to make it downstairs to
the ship. I glanced around and considered somehow restraining him.
If I tied him up, there would be a fight, and the noise might alert
whomever was on duty. The restraints would also be makeshift, made
out of whatever raw materials I could scrounge up, and they might
not hold. Even if they did, he might knock something over or
otherwise try to alert someone. The guy looked young, maybe in his
late twenties. He had light brown hair that was too long to be
military, black-rimmed glasses, and a tailored white lab coat. I
had to think.

Do I really want to do this? This would be
going way beyond the point of no return. Breaking and entering. I
had no prior criminal record. Maybe this could all be minor? A slap
on the wrist? I didn’t see any other option. I had to give this
everything I had. Make it work or fail gloriously. If I made a
halfhearted attempt, my life would be a waste. I would never get
this chance again. It didn’t help that he was so young. I went to
school with people like him. I worked with them every day. I
couldn’t keep wasting time. Every minute was crucial. Any moment
now I risked being discovered, my Jeep being stumbled upon, my
break in the fence, anything? I had no choice. I pointed the gun at
his distant face and moved forwards. Every step seemed to
reverberate with the pounding in my head. Small beads of sweat
built up under the brim of my hat. My throat was painfully dry, my
tongue strange and thick in my mouth.