Protocol 1337 (15 page)

“So I can safely say that you had nothing to do with his current condition? You are a concerned friend looking out for a buddy. Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t say I would have done anything different. That is an interesting tattoo you got there. How much did that one cost?” Amos asks.

“I didn’t really have a choice... it just kind of showed up one day.” I reply.

“There is only one more question for you, Mr. Long, and you are free to go about your business. You told me your name is Antone Long, but your uniform says your last name is Haus.” Amos says.

My brain finally catches my unintentional slip up. How could I have been so stupid to use my real name? I have to think of something to cover up my story. I stare blankly at Amos like a deer caught in the headlights. Sweat begins to form on my pale forehead, and my mind races for ideas. Amos doesn’t even flinch as he awaits my answer. I think he actually is getting pleasure out of watching the panic take over. “I think we should talk elsewhere Mr. Long. There is an abandoned missile silo out east of town a few miles. Just look for the signs and you can't miss it. I will be right behind you to make sure you don’t lose your way.” Amos says quietly.

Amos slowly draws back his suit jacket to reveal a nickel plated M1911 hand gun neatly holstered under his left arm. He draws his jacket closed again, and nods his head towards the door. “Mama has a bad temper, wouldn’t want her to get upset now, would we?” Amos asks. I fumble in my pockets looking for an imaginary set of car keys that I know I don’t have. Amos holds up his hand, and dangling from his finger, is a set of keys. He walks closer to me and places the key chain in my hand. “Those are your brothers, are they not?” He says.

I look down at the keys in my hand and recognize the plastic beaker on the key chain. It's a china made key ring of clear plastic with a blue liquid sloshing around inside of it. I can remember how excited Cox was when he got it. The chemical supply guy was restocking the lab and gave it to him as a marketing ploy. I tried to explain to him it was just a sales pitch to keep ordering chemicals from them but he didn’t care. To him, it was a prized possession, and he was the very proud recipient of it. “Shall we go, Haus?” Amos asks.

The ride to the missile site was very quiet. Every attempt I made at small talk was met with a stern finger pointing forward to our supposed destination. Every agonizing mile passed, until I could finally see signs that directed me to this missile site. I did my best to shake the thoughts inside my head. At any instant, this lunatic is going to put a bullet in my head and I am completely helpless to stop him. It really didn’t help that he kept turning the radio off and insisted on perfect silence. A few miles turned into over one hundred fright filled miles, loaded with images of my own death along the way.

I thought of every possible scenario to escape, including jumping out of the driver's door into oncoming traffic. Nothing I could think of resulted in a better scenario. Then Amos pointed at our exit ramp. I took the ramp off the interstate; about a third of a mile from the exit was the minute man missile site. “We are here. Exit the vehicle, and follow me.” Amos instructs.

Amos walks into the empty parking lot of a forgotten relic of the cold war. He motions me to follow, and I reluctantly walk over to him. “It's safe here, and we can cut the bullshit.” Amos says.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

Amos reaches into his inner pocket, and produces an envelope. He hands it to me. The envelope is much heavier than I anticipated. I open the document and empty the contents into my hands. There is a cell phone and a set of keys.

“The investigation is being wrapped up as we speak. The official report will be ruled as a drug fueled robbery. We have both meth heads in custody with full confessions. Our officers will be gone by the time you make it back to town. I am told that you will find that cell phone useful to you. I am leaving you with keys to Cox's car and apartment. The cellphone was confiscated from one of the meth heads. I hope you find what you are looking for.” Amos explains.

A black SUV enters the parking lot at full speed. It slides into position next to Amos. He gets ready to enter the SUV but hesitates a bit. “I got a message for you, Haus. Reese says make this one count!” He yells. Amos removes the leather glove from his right hand and raises it in the air. The bar code tattoo on the back of his hand catches my eye. The door shuts, and I am pelted by gravel as it speeds away.

I stand in the parking lot with a head full of questions. Amos is a member of Omega Phi, but what is his specialty? I am over one hundred miles from Cox's apartment so I had better get back on the road soon. I get into the car and begin driving back to Spearfish. The drive is long but it's for the best. I have plenty of things to sort out in my head.

The interstate is almost empty as I make my way back to town. I grab the cell phone from my pocket and begin my investigation. A quick browse of the contacts list doesn’t yield anything out of the ordinary. The only thing that sticks out to me is the ridiculous names of the contacts like dabitch, milenko, trudog, and liltiger. Call it a pet peeve of mine, but if you're going to give someone a nickname at least use some originality to it. Instead, the idiots just rip-off names from famous people.

A check of text messages sent yields about the same results. A lot of garbage written in text lingo, mixed with some porn forwards. Then, something does catch my eye. A text message from someone not in their contacts list. Lester Lane and old 14, storage unit 31. That is the only text from that number. I take note of the number and compare the time stamps from other messages. I notice a time gap in the messages by about two hours. What was the owner doing for two hours that they couldn’t reply for so long?

People often try to cover up their tracks by deleting something. I know that if you delete something, it is still retained in case you want to reverse the action. I need to retrieve the deleted information on this SD card. Finally, my exit ramp comes into view and I drive into Spearfish. It doesn’t take me long to get to the apartment. I open the door and I can't believe the mess left behind. The once meticulously organized dwelling is a debris field of destruction.

I walk back into Cox's bedroom and inspect the closet. The Styrofoam cooler is still sitting there with the lid still on it. Well, that’s at least a good sign. All things considered, had the meth addicts opened the virus, they could have easily doomed us all. I wander around the apartment and aside from some broken glass, there isn’t anything of interest here. I should head back to the base but I want to check out that address in the text message.

I find an old gas station down the road and ask the clerk about the address. “Excuse me, I am looking for the intersection of Lester Lane and Old 14. Is that close to here?” I ask.

“Yeah, not too far from here; take a right at the stop light down there. It's about eight blocks north after that. Big place, can't miss it, Pine Hills Storage is there.” The clerk replies.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” I say as I exit the store. I get back into the car and follow the clerks directions. Sure enough, it literally is impossible to miss; there has to be at least 250 units down there. I circle around the complex looking for unit 31 and finally come across it. There is no lock on the unit and the door is partially open. I lift the door up cautiously and view the contents inside. A whole bunch of empty space, an opened lock, and an empty duffel bag lay on the floor. Disappointed, I get back in the car and drive back to the base.

I open the door to my bunk, place the Styrofoam container under my bed, and fire up my laptop. I carefully remove the SD card from the cell phone and connect it to my reader. I extract all the recently deleted files and open them up for a look. The first one is a picture of Cox followed by his complete address, along with details about what they are to be looking for. The final few messages are the most disturbing.

I wonder what treasure they are talking about? Why would anyone want Cox dead? Well, that explains the empty duffel bag in the storage unit. One thing is for certain, I am going to track this number down and kill the person behind this. It doesn’t take me long to find out which carrier has the phone. I load up my tracking program and download the most recent 911 GPS triangulation for the phone. Once I have the coordinates I plug them into my GPS. “It's someone here on the base!” I scream as I jump to my feet.

Sirens start to blare around the base and I can hear the sound of truck engines coming close. I can hear the sound of the men rushing from their beds to get dressed. The barking of guard dogs sets my senses on high alert. Is this some kind of drill? I ask myself as I peak out the window. I see people running in every direction and huge spotlights turn on illuminating the whole area. I slide the Styrofoam cooler out from under my bed and slowly open it. “Where in the hell is the virus?” I exclaim as I stare into the empty cooler.

I panic, frantically packing my few possessions into my bag. I don’t know where I am going to go but anywhere but here. I hit my Dlink and wait for Reese to answer. I pace back and forth in my bunk. The door bursts open hitting me in the face and flashlights blind my eyes. “Get on your feet NOW!” I hear armed soldiers yelling at me. Two of them pick me up as I try to stop the blood hemorrhaging from my nose. They drag me outside and instruct me to get in line.

I drag myself to my feet and walk towards the main hangar. Every time I start to slow down, a swift nudge from a rifle stock reminds me that time is not to be wasted. I see a crowd of civilian workers assembled in front of the main gate. It is chained shut with a wall of armed soldiers in front of it. I can hear them pleading to let them go home. I hear a soldier with a loud speaker addressing the crowd. “Go to your designated areas. The use of lethal force is authorized. This is your final warning. Disperse and go to your designated area.”

I continue toward the main hangar but I can't help watching the crowds at the gate. The crowd continues to close in on the soldiers and I can see men become uneasy. Dogs are barking wildly at the civilians, but they continue to draw closer. The soldiers raise their weapons to their shoulders but the crowd won't back down. I stop in my tracks and focus on the eyes of one soldier. He is freckled young man, and I can see his mouth move. He whispers... Please God Forgive Me.

The eruption of gun fire screams through the cold mountain air. The quick bursts of controlled gunfire repeat methodically as the people begin to fall. Years of training have taken over and the guards fire in systematic fashion. People fall as the bullets tear through their flesh, blood spattering in every direction. Spent brass form in small piles at the soldier's boots, as each target is taken down. The man on the loud speaker screams “CEASE FIRE!” repeatedly.

It's too late, stress has overtaken the soldier's brains and they drown out everything around them. The only thought is to eliminate any threat, and they continue to fire upon the crowd. In 27 seconds, it is all over and the soldiers are still pulling the trigger. They ran out of ammo but don’t even notice. It takes some more time for their brains to react and they lower their weapons. Some stand in shock, while others drop to their knees and begin sobbing.

The man with the loud speaker has since thrown it to the ground and grabs the nearest soldier to him by the collar. “I SAID CEASE FIRE GOD DAMMIT!” He shakes the soldier, but it's no good, he doesn’t comprehend anything being said. In shock, I turn my head away from the slaughter and continue towards the hangar. The door opens and I am greeted by a set of guards shouting. “Civilians to the left and soldiers to the right.” They yell.

I shuffle to the right hand line and stand waiting. The line isn’t moving forward but the civilian one is. I can see the main elevator in the distance with a long line of soldiers waiting their turn to descend underground. I can see several containment chambers already filled with civilians. The glass door is open on one chamber as civilians are loaded in. Each one is screened, photographed, and ID taken. They strap themselves into their seats, and await the transport to take them away.