Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (39 page)

"You want me to hack Mr. Panetta?" Meyer said in a tone of dismay. "He'll kill me!"

Tonya drew more power from the Raven. "Don't worry about that. Just follow orders and put your best people on it. We want answers tonight, not tomorrow. Call this number when you get the information."

She took a wallet out of a small purse and a blue business card out of the wallet. She handed over the card.

Tungsten, Andrew, Charley, and Tonya left. They walked outside just in time to catch the last rays of a setting sun.

"That was good thinking, Andrew," Tonya said.

Andrew smiled. "Thanks." His stomach growled loudly.

She chuckled. "Sounds like dinner time. Let's eat."

* * *

General James Ross looked at the long convoy of Army vehicles.
It had better be enough,
he thought.

Ten M985 trucks were in the center. They were hauling armored trailers loaded with the precious contents of the Physical Containment Facility. Heavy machine gun emplacements were mounted on top of the trailers, and soldiers sat behind the guns. Lighter transport trucks carried food, water, spare ammunition, and other supplies in case the convoy needed to make an extended stop.

Twenty armored fighting vehicles were at the front of the convoy, and twenty more were at the back. The assortment included M1126 Infantry Carrier Vehicles, M113A3's, and LAV-25's. A total of two hundred soldiers were riding in the convoy. Lighter and more exotic vehicles acted as escort, such as motorcycles and buggies capable of driving over rough, sandy terrain.

The convoy included air support. Three MQ-9 Reapers were circling above. A squadron of AH-1 Super Cobras was on standby, but helicopters didn't have the endurance to stay with the convoy the entire time.

They were going to Yucca Mountain in Nevada. The United States government had spent billions trying to build a nuclear waste repository inside that mountain. The enormous project had been abandoned for years, but deep, secure tunnels remained. They would serve as the new Physical Containment Facility at least temporarily.

It would be a twelve-hour drive, and the convoy would make only very brief stops along the way. General Ross intended to arrive just before dawn.

It appeared all the vehicles were ready to go. Engines were running, and headlights were on.

He climbed aboard an M1130 Commander Vehicle. The thick armor on the eight-wheeled transport could stop most rounds. The passenger compartment contained six officers with enough computers to control every aspect of the convoy. The command staff was already at their stations and working.

Major Fernandez turned to Ross immediately. "Sir," the major said, "we have a problem."

He was a short, Hispanic man with a pencil-thin mustache. He was responsible for all external communications. That job was normally given to a lesser officer, but Ross wanted his top aides around him for this operation.

"Already?" Ross said. "We haven't even started moving."

Fernandez handed over a printout. It was a message from Army Installation Management Command, the organization responsible for building and maintaining all Army facilities and bases. The lieutenant general in charge of the entire Command had signed the message.

The message read, "Intelligence reports destination is compromised. Do not proceed with current plan. An alternative location has been selected for temporary Physical Containment Facility. Go to Titan II Missile Silo Complex south-east of Tucson. See attached map and directions. Run silent as before."

A satellite image showed an intercontinental ballistic missile complex located in arid, mountainous terrain. During the Cold War, many silos had been built, but nearly all were abandoned now. The fall of the Soviet Union had eliminated the need for the extremely expensive program. The military had built the silos to withstand a nuclear attack, and they were far from any population centers. The silos made good places to store dangerous, secret materials.

Ross reread the message to make sure he understood.

"You authenticated the order?" he said.

"It was properly coded, sir," Fernandez said.

"Then we're changing the plan. How far is Tucson?"

"Just four and a half hours."

Ross smiled. "Closer than Yucca Mountain. We may get to bed before dawn after all."

* * *

Blake looked at his own face in a cracked, dusty mirror. The Titan II complex had just one bathroom, and he was using it to apply makeup. He smeared brown, greasy gunk across his skin with the tip of his finger. The coating had to be smooth and cover every bit of skin even around the eyes. He took his time.

When he was done, he stepped back to check himself. He looked like he was twenty years younger and African-American. He was wearing the combat uniform of an Army sergeant. The digital camouflage pattern employed desert yellows, browns, white, and black. He picked up an M16 rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

Blake turned to Phillip. "How do I look?"

"Like an old, fat man pretending to be a soldier," the boy said.

He was wearing black body armor fitted for his small size, and a black helmet protected his invaluable brain. Two revolvers were in holsters on his hips. They were just .38 specials, but his thin arms couldn't handle anything bigger.

"When this is over," Blake said, "I may have to adjust your attitude. I don't appreciate your tone."

"Sorry." Phillip swallowed. "The disguise should work well enough."

Blake checked his watch. "Let's make sure everybody is in position. It's almost show time. I wish we had a better audience considering the cost of this production. Somehow, I don't think General Ross and his men will appreciate the care and creativity that went into it."

"Very true. Other sorcerers might though. Maybe we should start keeping a journal."

"That would be deeply ironic. Let's go."

* * *

Andrew had never been to the real Eiffel Tower in Paris. He had never even been outside the United States. He wondered how the Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas stacked up against the real thing.

He, Charley, Tonya, and Tungsten were dining in the Eiffel Tower Restaurant. It had a magnificent elevated view of the famous Strip, and his window seat allowed him to see the crowds of tourists below. Even though it was getting late, a river of humanity flowed along the sidewalks. The bright lights of mega-casinos surrounded the tower, making Andrew think about electricity bills. It seemed everything in Las Vegas was big, loud, and excessive. He was enjoying the experience but expected it would wear him out before long.

The restaurant itself was less pleasing. It was a fancy French place which served food like
foie gras
, venison, and caviar. He wasn't that adventurous. The prices made him feel guilty about the BPI picking up the tab. He had ordered roasted chicken just so he knew what he was getting, but the dish included something called "
Jus de Poulet
." He had no idea what it was.

Charley's beauty distracted him from his view of the Strip. She was wearing a red cashmere sweater belted snugly around her waist. Ruby earrings sparkled in the soft light.

"It would help if we knew what was in the Vault," she said. "Then we would understand the threat better."

"There are portable seams, of course," Tonya said.

She had also dressed up a bit for the fancy meal. Her black shirt had tiny crystals worked into the fabric which glittered like stars. She had a crystal bracelet on her right wrist, and Andrew knew it was purely decoration, but it was the sort of thing a storybook sorcerer would wear.

"How many?" Andrew said.

"A dozen, maybe," Tonya said. "I think most of the material is in the form of written documents. There are tons of journals, notes, recordings, and reports about sorcery."

"Including my grandfather's journals."

"Yes."

Andrew understood why Blake was so interested in the Vault. It was a treasure trove of forbidden knowledge. The portable seams were almost an afterthought. Andrew certainly wouldn't mind taking a tour of the place.

He squelched that thought. It was dangerous. The Raven was sitting on the table, and its energy filled the air. Charley or Tonya could easily take a peek into his mind.

Andrew decided to change the topic. "How do you think Blake will attack the convoy?" he said.

"That's going to be a tough job," Tungsten said. "I'm sure the Army is guarding the convoy like it's carrying the gold in Fort Knox."

He was wearing his standard blue business suit. His huge chest and shoulders stretched the jacket. His Mohawk didn't fit the clean-cut image of a federal agent, and Andrew wondered if Tungsten ever got any grief from the BPI because of it.

"He could use Panetta's men as an assault force," Andrew said.

Tungsten shook his head. "They're amateurs. They wouldn't stand a chance against heavily armed professional soldiers. Blake will have to use mind-control to get past the security."

"That's not so easy, either," Tonya said. "The Army is expecting that sort of attack, and they must have procedures for preventing it. Blake's range is also limited because he's using a small seam. As long as the convoy moves fast and doesn't let anybody get close, they're pretty safe."

He grunted.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Charley said. "I feel so useless just sitting here."

"We just have to wait," Tonya said. "Hopefully, SocialTech will get back to us before it's too late. Until then, let's try to enjoy our evening in Vegas."

Chapter Eighteen

"Almost there, sir," the driver called back from the cab of the Commander Vehicle.

"Stop at the perimeter," General Ross replied. "I want to take a good look before we go in."

"Yes, sir."

Ross had suited up like a regular soldier with body armor, a helmet, and an M4 rifle. It had been many years since he had dressed properly for war, but extraordinary circumstances demanded extraordinary measures. Every man under his command, from privates all the way up to himself, was ready for a fight. The feel of Kevlar wrapped around his body was like a hug from an old, dear friend.

After a few minutes, the Commander Vehicle squealed to a stop. The door in back lowered, and Ross stepped out. The night air was cool but dry and comfortable. A crescent moon on the horizon provided a little light.

Ross looked across the sand at the Titan II complex. Bright lights on poles illuminated a square patch of desert surrounded by a fence. The enormous concrete door protecting the missile silo was open. Some pipes and vents stuck out of the ground, but otherwise, he didn't see any structures. The complex was entirely underground.

Armed soldiers in Army uniforms were standing guard. Squads stood at every corner of the square fence, and more squads were on patrol. The complex seemed secure, and there was no obvious sign of trouble.

Ross didn't see any threats in the vicinity, although it was tough to tell at night. The dark desert was silent and still.

His officers gathered around him.

"Seems safe," Ross said, "but we'd better be sure. I'll walk in with an escort and check it out."

"You, sir?" a captain said. "Shouldn't somebody less valuable take that risk?"

"I need to inspect the facility with my own eyes. If there is any trouble, get the convoy out of here immediately. Just go. My life is less important than the cargo."

"Yes, sir."

A force of twenty Rangers was put together to act as escorts. Their armor included hard plates in critical locations for added protection. They wore face masks with integrated night vision goggles, air filters, and radios. The Rangers formed two columns on either side of the general.

When everybody was ready, Ross gave the order, and they marched forward. The group walked past the rest of the stopped convoy. As they approached the silo complex, the guards moved towards the newcomers.

Ross met a captain at the gate. The captain's uniform looked new and fit well, and his black hair was neatly trimmed. His posture was less than ideal however, but he had the excuse that it was late at night.

"We're here," Ross said.

The captain nodded. "Yes, sir. We've been waiting for you. It's an honor."

"I need to inspect the site before anything else happens."

"Of course, sir. Follow me, please."

Ross knew the basic layout of an ICBM complex. The silo was just a vertical concrete tube big enough to hold the actual missile, and it was located on one side of the complex. The crew quarters and launch control equipment were in a separate chamber at the other side. A tunnel connected the two parts. Blast doors in between kept the crew alive in case the missile failed to launch properly. Titan missiles used hundreds of tons of exotic fuels like hydrazine which were notoriously fickle.

Ross was led down into the crew area first. It had three floors with the beds on the top floor. Very thick concrete walls were built to withstand the blast pressure from an atomic bomb provided the detonation wasn't too close.

The cleanliness of the facility impressed Ross. He didn't see a speck of dirt or rust anywhere. All the original equipment was gone leaving just empty rooms. The lights had been replaced with high-efficiency, LED bulbs. Copper water pipes attached to the ceiling were still as shiny as a new penny.

"Somebody did some remodeling," Ross said.

"Yes, sir," the captain said. "This silo was being prepped for a different mission when yours took priority."

"What mission?"

"That's top secret, sir. It doesn't matter now. You can use it for as long as you need."

Ross nodded.

He still didn't see any sign of trouble. Soldiers were posted at the doorways and in the corridors. They snapped to attention and saluted when Ross got close, although their salutes lacked crispness. The soldiers were definitely less impressive than the facility.

The Rangers did their best to protect Ross, but the spaces were tight. So many soldiers were packed together, they were literally rubbing shoulders.

They left the crew area and entered the long tunnel leading to the silo. Ross noticed one sergeant in particular, an African-American man. He stood out because he was older and fatter than the rest. The sergeant kept his eyes forward as Ross walked past.