24 Declassified: Vanishing Point 2d-5 Page 19

  “But how will you get out, elude the policia?”

  Balboa handed his brother the oxygen masks, overalls.

  “I’ll manage,” he replied. “In any case, someone must continue on with the next part of this operation. Better that someone is you.”

  “But—”

  Balboa silenced his brother with a gesture. “I see how you look at that woman, Pizarro. I’ve known you all your life and you never looked at any woman that way before. So I want you to escape, and take her with you! I will provide a diversion, then join you at the rendezvous.”

  14. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 1 A.M. AND 2 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

  1:01:09 A.M. PDT Dormitory B, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Tony Almeida returned to his cramped quarters in Dormitory B, stripped off his sweat-stained shirt and lobbed it in the general direction of the overflowing hamper in the corner. He wanted nothing more than to grab a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, but could do neither until he checked in with CTU.

  Still in his sweatpants and sneakers, Tony powered up the laptop on the desk. Waiting for the system to boot, he stretched sore muscles.

  His day should have ended hours ago, after Senator David Palmer cancelled the Malignant Wave program on the spot. But instead of dismantling the device and storing it in Hangar Six, Dr. Megan Reed ordered the crew to install the Malignant Wave engine in the Blackfoot stealth helicopter in Hangar Five, ahead of the scheduled Tuesday morning deployment test.

  It was, Tony felt, an exercise in reality denial. When Dr. Reed delivered news of Palmer’s cancellation to the rest of the staff, it was Dr. Phillip Bascomb who reacted most strongly.

  “I’ve dedicated my professional life, since my days at Berkeley, to develop non-lethal technology as a means to render war less odious,” he’d said. “Sure, the wave causes permanent brain damage now, but with more time and research, I’m convinced we could improve the device, make the effects less debilitating — or even temporary.”

  “Sorry, Phillip,” Dr. Reed replied, turning her perfectionist streak on herself. “I didn’t make a cogent argument. I let you all down.”

  But it was Beverly Chang’s reaction that surprised them all.

  “No one has officially notified us that the project has been cancelled,” she said. “Senator Palmer is only one member of a committee. The other members may have a different view. We should proceed with our test schedule until ordered to do otherwise.”

  Dr. Reed agreed, and set them all to work immediately. They lowered the device from the tower, moved it to Hangar Five and loaded it into the bay of the experimental helicopter. Then they began work on the electronics. It was close to eleven o’clock before the device was finally installed, along with a temporary weapons panel mounted in the cockpit.

  Steve Sable wanted to knock off at that point, but Dr. Chang pushed them to conduct diagnostic tests on the control panel. It was after midnight when Tony and Steve finished, and Dr. Sable headed off to bed while Tony shut down the computers and stowed the equipment.

  Now Tony stifled a yawn, wearily tapped in a code that switched him over to the secret ARPANET pathways, where he could safely retrieve the intelligence Jamey sent him. Tony was shocked back to wakefulness when he read the analysis of the data taken from Dr. Steve Sable’s phone. His suspicions had been correct. Sable was the traitor. He’d made too many calls to Hugo Bix for him to claim innocence.

  Tony also learned that one of Bix’s henchmen had been caught with top secret Area 51 technology earlier that day. The evidence seemed incontrovertible now. It was clear he would have to move against Dr. Steve Sable in the next twenty-four hours, before the man had a chance to pass more top secret research technology to Hugo Bix.

  Fingers poised over the keyboard, Tony was about to send an update to Jamey when he heard a sound behind him, saw the shadow fall across the desk. Tony looked up, saw the wrench in the intruder’s upraised hand. He tried to cover his head with his arms as the first blow descended.

  1:03:51 A.M. PDT Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas

  Lilly rushed to the man she knew as Jaycee as soon as the elevator doors opened. She ignored the woman with him, and the big man from the Cha-Cha Lounge named Curtis.

  “They’re gone,” she cried. “I heard shots a minute ago. I went back to the corridor, and they were gone.”

  That’s when they heard another shot, this one aimed at them. The crack of the Russian handgun echoed off the walls. The bullet missed Nina’s head by an inch, punched a hole in the plaster.

  “Lock the elevator so no one can use it, then fan out,” Jack commanded. He stared down the barrel of his Glock as he methodically checked the corridors around him.

  The woman moved to the right, Curtis to the left. Lilly led Jaycee back to the hall. They moved slowly, wary of ambush.

  “There were three of them, right here,” Lilly said when they reached the corridor outside the maintenance room. “Stella had my daughter. When I came back, they were gone.“

  Jack was about to check to see if the door was unlocked. He was interrupted by a child’s scream.

  “That’s Pamela,” Lilly cried.

  Jack believed the noise came from the kitchen. The girl’s voice had an echoing quality that made him think of tile walls and hard, bare floors. He searched the kitchen for five minutes and came up empty.

  Of Curtis and Nina, there was no sign. Perhaps they had picked up the man’s trail. Jack was about to complete a wide circle of the ballroom when he heard shouts — then another shot.

  Jack burst through the kitchen’s double doors, Glock clutched in his fist. The ballroom was in shambles, broken glass and shattered shards from fallen chandeliers littered the floor. The room was packed, too, though the crowd seemed to be parting, as people scattered to escape the armed man carrying a little girl slung over his shoulders.

  Jack stepped into the middle of the debris strewn floor, aimed the Glock. “Halt or I’ll shoot!” he cried. Lilly stumbled through the kitchen doors, saw her daughter and cried out. “Please let my daughter go!”

  The man turned, squeezed a shot off in Jack’s general direction. People screamed and dived for cover. Bauer didn’t even flinch as the bullet ripped past his ear.

  “Stop now or I will shoot,” Jack cried. Arms outstretched, he corrected his aim.

  But Balboa Rojas refused to stop. He ran through the broken window frame, onto the crumbling balcony. Jack cursed, lowered his weapon and chased the man.

  When he reached the balcony, Balboa turned, held the girl in front of him like a human shield. He pointed the muzzle of his Makarov PM at her head.

  “If you do not drop your weapon, I will shoot,” Rojas declared. Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but his vision remained fixed on Balboa Rojas. He crouched low and set the Glock on the ground, inching closer to the man.

  “You don’t have to die up here,” Jack said reasonably, talking another step. “We can talk this through. If you have demands, I’m authorized by my government to listen to them.”

  Another step. He was in arm’s reach now. Balboa’s eyes were wide, nostrils flared. Jack could see he was panicking. “Move again and I’ll—”

  The gunshot shattered the tense stillness. Balboa’s head jerked backwards in a fountain of blood. Jack lunged, snatched the girl out of his limp arms, clutched her tightly. The Makarov clattered to the balcony as the dead man pitched backwards, over the edge.

  Jack turned to see Lilly racing toward her daughter. He released the girl and Pamela ran into her mother’s arms.

  Nina stepped out from behind the curtains. The Glock seemed huge in her dainty hand.

  “Good shot,” said Jack. “What about the others.”

  Nina frowned. “I think the man I shot was meant to be a diversion. Curtis and I found two dead men in the janitor’s closet. Firemen. Their gear was missing. We called downstairs to have the stairs guarded, but we were too late.
Whoever killed the firemen managed to slip past the cordon.”

  15. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 A.M. AND 3 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

  2:17:07 A.M. PDT Groom Lake Secure Terminal McCarran Airport, Las Vegas

  Gripping Stella Hawk’s hand in his own, Pizarro Rojas dragged the woman across the deserted airport parking lot, toward a fence surrounding the private military terminal. The lights of the Vegas Strip blazed, but it was the sound of emergency sirens that dominated the night. In the distance, Pizarro could see plumes of smoke rising above the skyline, police and press helicopters circling the smoldering Babylon Hotel.

  The Colombian was surprised to find the guardhouse empty. He led Stella around the roadblock and into the restricted aread. Crouching behind a row of parked cars near the terminal building, Pizarro spied Carlos Boca. The Cuban waved them forward.

  “You made it, Senor Rojas. Congratulations. By the noise on the streets, I would guess the bombs went off on schedule,” Carlos said.

  Pizarro nodded. “How many others are here?”

  “Eight, counting Roland and I.”

  “Who is missing?”

  Boca frowned. “Salazar and young Hector. I don’t know what happened to them. And your brother?”

  Pizarro shook his head. “He helped me escape the hotel, but I’m not sure he got out himself.”

  Carlos Boca sighed. “Two men lost to that spy at Bix’s Garage. Now Salazar and Hector—and your brother. I do not like these losses. I hope our goal is worth it.”

  “The stealth device that was stolen from us was only the beginning. If all goes well, we will have technology to match anything our enemies possess. Machines that will erase national borders. We will control the cocaine market as never before,” Pizarro declared.

  Roland Arrias joined them. Like Boca, he carried a metal toolbox in his hand. “There is no sign of the Chinaman,” he said.

  “You’re wrong,” Pizarro hissed. “Look.”

  Jong Lee stood at the terminal’s front door. At his side a woman in a black jumpsuit clutched an AK–47. With a casual gesture, he waved them forward. Hesitantly, the Cuban commandos rose from their hiding places among the cars.

  “Move,” Roland barked, and the men sprinted to the terminal entrance. Moaning impatiently, Stella rose and followed Pizarro, heels clicking on the pavement.

  “You are early,” Jong Lee said. “You didn’t require our assistance, I see,” Rojas replied.

  “Yizi, with my commandos, secured this building—” He glanced at his Rolex. “Twenty-one minutes ago.”

  Jong Lee glanced at the box clutched in Roland’s hand, then the one held by Carlos Boca. “You have both devices?”

  Carlos nodded. “Here and operational.” “Good,” Jong said. “Then let us board the airplane.”

  Lee led them through the silent, windowless terminal. The harsh glare of overhead fluorescent lights cast ghastly shadows across the corpses sprawled on the floor, draped over chairs and desktops. Men and women. Air Force security personnel in blue uniforms, terminal employees, and over a dozen civilian workers who had reported for the late shift had been cut down in a hail of gunfire.

  “How did you manage this without attracting attention?” Pizarro asked, clearly impressed.

  “Yizi, Captain Hsu and my commandos, they are all highly trained,” Jong replied. “They infiltrated the terminal using current security codes and a valid card key. Their weapons were equipped with noise suppression devices, and they killed without hesitation.

  It took only a few minutes to wrest control of this facility from the American military.”

  “Where are your commandos now?” Roland asked, stroking his scar with his free hand.

  “They are waiting for us inside the plane. Hurry, now. We must take off precisely on time so we do not attract the attention of McCarran Airport’s air traffic control personnel.”

  A moment later, the commandos exited the terminal on the opposite side of the building. In a long line they crossed the tarmac and climbed stairs that led into the passenger compartment of an unmarked Boeing 737–200, its engines idling on the tarmac.

  Three minutes later JANET 9—the call sign for the two forty-five AM flight to Groom Lake Air Force Base — lifted off from McCarran on schedule. Captain Hsu was at the controls, Yizi in the co-pilot’s seat.

  The trip was a short one. They would reach their destination in approximately twenty-two minutes.

  2:50:12 A.M. PDT Flight Control Tower Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Airman Trudi Hwang was the only air traffic controller on duty that night. Since the process of base deactivation had begun, the pace of the flights had diminished, and so had the work load. With all but one of the dormitories unoccupied, the full-time staff cut to less that a hundred, there was less and less to do.

  In the old days, a minimum of two controllers were required on every shift. Nowadays, it was two guys in the morning, two in the afternoon, and one lonely and bored controller on the graveyard shift.

  Trudi sat up in her chair and stared out of the tall windows. The night sky was black and strewn with stars. Not even the brilliant lights of Las Vegas interfered with the star shine here in the desert. She sighed and reached for her tea, to find it ice cold.

  A desert it may be, Trudi mused, but it’s still damn cold in the middle of the night.

  She glanced at the clock. JANET 9, the next flight of the evening, arrived in less than ten minutes. She’d already verified the IFF signal, and the pilot had radioed in. If she bothered to look, Airman Hwang could watch the blip approaching the base on her radar. Instead she headed for the tiny kitchenette to brew more tea.

  Feeling lonely, she considered calling Tom, the night officer downstairs, just to hear a human voice. But the man on security detail in the tiny terminal building would only think she was interested in him and hit on her. The military was different than the real world. A girl had to watch how she presented herself, lest the men around her neglect to take her seriously.

  She was filling the tea pot at the sink when a silhouette loomed in the doorway. Startled, Trudi yelped.

  “Whoa. Calm down. It’s me… Beverly.”

  The woman stepped into the light and Trudi breathed a sigh of relief. “Dr. Chang. You scared the heck out of me.”

  Beverly Chang smiled, displayed a plastic bound folder. “Sorry. I was delivering the new security protocol codes.”

  “You could have left them in the box,” Trudi replied, moving the pot to the hot plate. “Or you could have delivered them tomorrow.”

  “I was awake. Big demonstration today, another experiment Tuesday. Lots to do…”

  Turning away from the woman, Trudi shook her head. “I don’t know how you scientist types do it, I mean—”

  The silenced gun coughed twice. Trudi tried to cry out. Instead she dropped the tea pot and pitched forward.

  Beverly Chang gripped the gun in her trembling hand, stared down at the corpse at her feet. She dropped the weapon and ran out of the tower and down the stairs. Another body sprawled on the terminal’s linoleum floor. She stepped over the murdered duty officer, burst through the door.

  16. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3 A.M. AND 4 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME

  3:02:51 A.M. PDT Runway 33R/15L Groom Lake Air Force Base

  Beverly Chang listened for the sound of jet engines. After a seemingly interminable wait, she heard a distant whine. Minutes passed. Finally blinking lights appeared in the black night sky. The lights dipped, dropping below the mountain range, plunging into Emigrant Valley.

  Finally, Dr. Chang watched the Boeing 737 touch down in a cloud of desert dust, then taxi along Runway 33R/15L until it reached the tiny terminal building.

  Covering her ears against the noise, Beverly rushed to the airplane the moment the passenger door opened. Two men — Chinese — jumped out and ran to retrieve the portable steps. It took them only a moment to roll the stairs to the aircraft. The first man
to emerge at the top of the stairs was Jong Lee, an armed woman behind him.

  “Jong Lee. I must speak with you,” Beverly cried.

  Lee descended the steps. Ignoring her, he moved aside while armed men poured out of the airplane. Guns drawn, boots pounding on the concrete, they fanned out across the facility. Beverly counted thirty men, most, but not all of them Asians.

  “Jong Lee, don’t ignore me,” she demanded. “I have done everything you’ve asked of me.”

  Finally, the tall man faced her. “Everything?”

  Beverly Chang nodded. “I’ve given you the security codes. I killed the people in the tower.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And Malignant Wave?”

  “The device has been installed in a prototype helicopter in Hangar Five. The aircraft is ready to fly.”

  Beverly reached out to clutch his arm. Yizi pushed her away.

  “My sister. Her family,” Dr. Chang cried. “You promised me they would be set free in exchange for what I’ve done.”

  Jong Lee well knew, and exploited, Beverly Chang’s tragic family history. While Beverly and her family immigrated to America in the 1970s, the woman’s infant sister remained with her grandparents. The young woman became an outspoken member of the Falun Gong movement, and she and her family were among the first to be arrested when the People’s Republic of China began to suppress the quasi-religious movement in the 1990s. As far as Lee was concerned, they’d earned their fate, as Beverly Chang would now earn hers.

  “They have been freed, Dr. Chang. Join them.”

  Yizi stepped forward, sai raised.

  Pizarro Rojas exited the plane at that moment. Beside him an unruffled Stella Hawk, her makeup and hair painstakingly restored to their former glory, paused at the top of the stairs.

  The pair watched as Yizi thrust her razor-sharp sai into Dr. Beverly Chang’s throat. With a gargling cry, the woman grabbed Yizi’s wrists in a death grip, while she twitched and bucked on the end of the three-pronged blade like a speared fish. Finally, Dr. Chang died, and Yizi let the corpse slide to the ground. The assassin stepped back, trembling, her glassy eyes staring in fascination at the bloodied blades.