The Siren Project (41 page)

They drove down main street, parking in
front of a large general store and went inside. Gunter collected the equipment
he was looking for, while Mouse discovered the store didn't sell computers. Gunter
laid his purchases on the counter, while Mouse asked the salesman behind the
counter where he could buy a computer.

“Try the electrical store three doors down,”
the salesman said, nodding toward the street.

“What about a Geiger counter?” Gunter
asked.

The salesman shook his head. “Haven't seen
one of them around here in a long time.”

Gunter paid for his purchases, then
deposited them back in the car before heading to the electrical store. He'd
only gone a short distance, when he noticed a waste disposal truck parked
across the street, seemingly abandoned.

Mouse followed Gunter’s gaze. “Is that the
same one?”

Gunter ran his eye up and down the street,
but saw no one watching them. “Same type of truck, but I cannot say if it is
the same truck. Keep your eyes open,” he said, as they entered the electrical
store.

Mouse immediately found a small display of
computers for sale. He sighed, disappointed. “Man, this stuff is prehistoric.”

“But will it do?”

Mouse gave the computers a disparaging
look. “It’ll have to.”

Behind them the bell over the door dinged
as two men in gray overalls entered, and walked to the display of household
electrical fittings.

Gunter glanced curiously at the two
tradesmen, then left Mouse to choose one of the aging computers, and approached
the salesman. “ Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Geiger counter?” The old salesman repeated
in an overly loud voice, due to his partial deafness. “What on Earth you want that
for?”

“Prospecting.”

The salesman looked puzzled, wondering what
kind of prospecting a Geiger counter would be used for. “Ain’t nothing out
there. Folks been all over that country. Got a couple of metal detectors, if
you're looking for gold, but . . . it’d be a waste of money.”

“No. I need a Geiger counter.”

“Let me see what I got out back. Lot of
junk out there. If I have one, it’ll be second hand.”

“Second hand is acceptable.”

Mouse selected the least deficient
computer, placed it on the counter, then looked over the limited display of
cameras in a glass case. Most were electronic types, but there was one aging
manual film camera which had been unsalable for years. He strolled towards Gunter,
noticing that while the tradesmen examined a box of light switches, they
periodically glanced at the big German.

The salesman headed off to his storeroom
out back while Mouse laid the computer he'd selected and a variety of cables
and attachments on the counter. “I'll connect to my site tonight,” he said,
referring to a server he had in Toronto that allowed him to access his archive
of hacker programs from anywhere in the world. “This box will be slow, but it'll
do.” He leaned close to Gunter and whispered, “I don't think the two guys over
there are as interested in light switches as they appear to be.”

Gunter glanced at the two tradesman examining
the box of light switches. “I know.” 

The salesman came out carrying a rusting
metal box with a black wire attached to a small sensor. “Will this do?” he
shouted. “Been out there for years, think it dates back to when they were doing
them nuclear bomb tests. People in these parts got a little nervous about that
fall out stuff.”

Gunter examined the ancient Geiger counter,
satisfying himself it still functioned. “How much?”

The salesman glanced at the pile of computer
equipment on the counter. “You together?”

Gunter nodded.

“A hundred dollars. Plus the cost of the
computer.”

“Agreed.”

One of the tradesman walked over and looked
at the Geiger counter. “I’ve been looking for one of those, I’ll give you two
hundred dollars for it.”

Gunter looked coldly at the man, certain he
wanted to prevent them from testing for radiation outside the Sincom base.

“Well, I’d kind of already sold it to this
here fella.” The salesman looked at Gunter helplessly, unsure if he could
refuse a better offer.

“Three hundred dollars,” Gunter said.

“Four hundred,” the tradesman bid
immediately.

Now the salesman was genuinely confused. “I
can’t guarantee this thing is working.”

“I can fix it,” the tradesman said.

“Five hundred dollars,” Gunter countered,
eyes now locked onto the tradesman, studying his every move.

“Five hundred dollars?” the salesman said
incredulously. “For that?”

“Six hundred,” the tradesman bid.

Gunter turned to the salesman. “One
thousand dollars in cash, plus for the computer.”

“And that old camera,” Mouse added. “And a
couple of boxes of film.”

The salesman’s eyes widened, now thinking
tax free money. He turned to the tradesman. “Are you bidding cash?”

The tradesman’s face hardened. Without a
word, he nodded for his companion to follow, and left.

Gunter produced a roll of cash and counted
out the money.

“You should be careful carrying around that
much folding money.”

“I am always careful,” Gunter assured him,
pocketing the remaining notes.

They collected their purchases then walked
out of the shop. Outside, they studied the street carefully.

“No sign of them,” Mouse said a little
anxiously.

“And the waste collection truck is also
gone.”

“You want to bet that’s the only Geiger
counter in any store for a hundred miles?”

“No, you would win. Clearly, they will not
allow anyone to puncture the deception.”

“Yeah, and now they know we’re going back.”

They climbed into the four by four and headed
west out of town, back toward the Gila Bend airstrip to give Mitch the camera
before he took off.

* * * *

The glider shuddered as Mitch released
the tow cable at eight thousand feet. The plane had towed them about forty
miles north of Gila Bend before release, on the promise that they'd glide south
in order to be safely over the airport when he ran out of altitude. The tow
plane pilot had been curious at their desire to be towed so far north before
release, but his curiosity vanished when Mitch doubled his fee. The tow plane
banked to the south, then as soon as it was out of sight, they turned north. Now
that they were flying freely, Mitch tested the glider controls with a gentle
banking maneuver, finding there was so much heat rising off the desert, that
thermals were plentiful.

Christa called from her seat behind him, a
touch of apprehension in her voice. “Can you really fly this thing?”

“Sure,” Mitch said with more confidence
than he felt. “It comes with parachutes, doesn't it?”

He dipped the nose slightly to build air
speed, then regained some lost altitude in a thermal. Below, the sun bleached
desert ran with unexpected patterns drawn by dry creek beds and gullies that saw
rain every few years. In the distance, the unnatural line of a road cut across
the desert, and occasionally a tiny object could be seen crawling ant like
along it. To the north, the ridge and peak of the Eagletail Mountains raced
toward them out of a vast dry plain.

Mitch angled the glider to pass well above
the southern ridge. “Get ready, we should see something soon.” He glanced at
the battery powered instrument panel, checking their air speed and altitude,
then soared through a thermal to gain a little height.

Christa sighted through the old film camera
Mouse had purchased, getting a feel for the focus, while the ground below
seemed to rise slowly to meet them.

The speaker mounted on the far left of the
simple control panel hissed as a radio signal was beamed toward them. “White
glider, heading three five zero degrees, altitude five thousand six hundred
feet. You are entering restricted air space. Change course to one eight zero
degrees, immediately.”

“At least we know they’re paying attention,”
he noted uncomfortably.

“What should we do?”

“Ignore it. Hopefully they’ll think our
radio is switched off.”

Mitch nosed down to gather speed, dropping
closer to the high ridge racing below them.

“White glider, heading three five zero
degrees, you are entering controlled air space. Change course to one eight zero
degrees immediately. Acknowledge.”

The ground below began to drop away as the
desert beyond the mountains opened up before them.

“I see it!” Christa called excitedly. “Way
over there, ahead and to the left.” She focused the old film camera, snapping
several pictures through the telephoto lens.

Several miles north of their position,
nestled close under a steep rock wall was a cluster of buildings laid out in a
neat rectangular pattern. Mitch began a slow turn to port, wary of bleeding
speed by a rapid course change. They glided out over the desert, pulling away
from the ridge as they approached the complex.

“White glider, you are entering restricted
US military air space. We are authorized to use lethal force to maintain air
security. Change course to one eight zero degrees. This is your final warning.”

Christa snapped another picture as they
drew closer. “Maybe we should turn back.”

“Unless they’ve got surface to air
missiles, there’s not a whole lot they can do to us. Let’s see if I can’t
confuse them with some lousy flying.”

Mitch gently turned to port again, as if
beginning to head off to the east, but soon rolled back towards the north,
drawing closer to Sincom One. Valuable seconds passed and no further warning
sounded from the speaker, as the complex took shape. A large rectangular
central building, flanked by several smaller structures to the north, came into
view. A white dish antenna of a satellite ground station was on one side of the
complex, and a large hanger alongside a concrete helipad was on the other. A
sleek black helicopter gunship sat on the landing pad, its rotors spinning up
to speed.

“Forget about surface to air missiles,”
Mitch said, dropping the nose of the glider down to trade altitude for air
speed. “They’ve got an Apache down there.”

“I see it!” Christa focused the telephoto
lens on the sleek helicopter gunship. “Two pilots aboard. It’s just lifting
off.”

He angled the glider to the east, as if finally
turning away, but kept the aircraft level so Christa’s view of the base would
not be obstructed by the glider's body. She focused and snapped pictures in
quick succession, zooming in as close as possible to each building. They were
close enough now that Mitch could see the base was encircled by two wire
fences, one inside the other, marking the inner and outer perimeters of the
installation. Several miles further west was a third wire fence, the fence they'd
encountered yesterday bordering the dirt track. The location of the base,
nestled as it was between an almost sheer cliff face and a ring of hills, had
been wisely chosen. Visual sighting of the base from ground level beyond the
outlying fence was impossible and any approach overland would be easily
detected. The cliffs made approaching the ridge from the north impractical and
far to the south, another fence blocked access to the heights overlooking the
complex.

“Someone sure is particular about their
privacy down there.”

The clicking of Christa’s camera fell
silent. “I’m out of film. Let’s go.”

Mitch banked sharply to the south, losing speed
as the glider turned onto the course instructed. Too late. The control panel
sparked and the instrument gauges all dropped to zero. “We just lost our
electrical system!” He reported, finding neither the flying performance of the
glider nor the functioning of the compass were impaired by the short circuit. He
had no air speed indicator or altimeter, and the radio was dead, but the
glider’s air surfaces were all wire controlled. “If we were a powered aircraft,
we’d be going down hard now. You feel anything?”

Silence.

“Christa?” Mitch craned his head around to
see her. She was unconscious, her head slumped forward, her breathing shallow. “Christa,
can you hear me?” he yelled, wanting to reach out and touch her, but unable to
do so without losing control of the glider.

He guessed the directed energy weapon could
be focused on them constantly, trying to knock them out of the sky and
subjecting Christa to a sustained bombardment, something she'd never
experienced before. Mitch pushed the stick forward, throwing the glider into a
wild dive toward the ridge as he stole a glance at the base below to his right.
The attack helicopter was now racing toward them, still too distant for Mitch
to see the cannon barrels mounted in its nose, but with unmistakable purpose.

The glider fell into a near vertical dive,
its structure vibrating vigorously against the sudden burst of speed. He
assumed the energy weapon was radar guided, which meant he could not fly out of
its beam. His only option was to place an obstacle in its path. He angled the
dive toward the jagged peak below and the cliff wall beyond, while the Apache closed
on them. Mitch was certain it was only a matter of seconds before its guns
would be close enough to shoot the light weight glider out of the sky. Subterfuge
was their only escape. With the ridge top racing up at them, he pushed the
stick sideways, rolling the glider. Almost upside down, he aimed for the
northern cliff face. The glider kicked, complaining at a maneuver it was never
designed to perform, then it plunged toward the jagged ridge top. At the last
moment, Mitch threw the stick to port, lifting the starboard wing and angling
the nose away from the cliff’s edge. He hoped to deceive the Apache as the
inverted glider swept past the cliff top, the canopy missing the jagged edge by
feet. The fragile aircraft then plummeted down a near vertical rock face. Mitch
forced the nose of the glider away from the cliff, gaining air room while still
inverted, then he barrel rolled, righting the glider as it swept away from the rock
face. When the wings leveled, he ran parallel to the cliff, gaining altitude
from the thermals.