Kill Decision(71)
About a half mile to the east she could see a collection of buildings and sagebrush ringed by tattered-looking chain-link fencing and rusted Restricted signs. There were new antenna towers and satellite dishes there amid old corrugated tin buildings, a massive concrete bunker, and rusting pipelines and conduits. The whole area was peppered with dozens of heavy vehicles.
A new Jeep Rubicon approached them trailing a cloud of dust. Odin nodded at the Jeep’s driver, a buff-looking Asian—possibly Thai or Indonesian—as it rolled to a stop in front of them.
“Troll, how we looking down here?”
“We’re one hundred percent operational.”
“Good.” Odin caught a red object tossed at him by Hoov. Odin turned and offered it to McKinney. “Ski mask. Please put this on while you’re on the ground, Professor.”
She unfolded it. A cheap drugstore ski mask, red with white trim. “What for?”
“I don’t want any drones sneaking in here and recognizing you before we’re ready.”
Troll opened the Jeep’s doors. “We’re not transmitting yet, Odin.”
“Doesn’t matter. Better safe than sorry. This has taken a lot of preparation.”
McKinney realized he was right and pulled the mask on. The fabric was scratchy. She was ready to rob a liquor store now.
The team piled into the Jeep, with some of them standing on the sideboards as they headed into the nearby camp.
The place was a mixture of decay and modernity. Among the rust-stained, inscrutable concrete blocks sprouting twisted pipes and the buckshot-spattered outbuildings there were also parked heavy vehicles leveled and raised on hydraulic jacks, most with civilian markings. They were spread out in a way that would make it difficult to destroy them with a single bomb.
Scary that she was starting to notice these things—to think this way.
Odin nodded at the passing buildings. “White Sands missile facility. In the fifties they’d launch test missiles from here on a trajectory to Nevada. That’s what the old track railings were for. And the heavy bunker.”
They were passing teams of people now, most in civilian clothes, but some of them in gray camouflage uniforms and tan boots. They drove past a hangarlike building, inside of which was parked a Humvee with a bank of four missiles in a hydraulic rack launcher, pointing up at a forty-five-degree angle.
“AIM-120s—just in case.”
“I thought you were trying to catch this thing.”
“Like I said: just in case.”
They drove toward the center of the makeshift camp and passed more heavy equipment. There was a large satellite truck with several dishes aimed to the south, a mysterious trailer with a steel mast that rose at least a hundred feet above it, the top clustered with cameras, receivers, microphones, and other objects. A large white radar dish also spun circles on the back of a flatbed truck with a command van close by. There were several military-like cargo trucks with huge off-road tires, piled with equipment and crates, as well as a Unicat passenger van parked to the side. She’d ridden in one like it on a long, grueling trip across West Africa. There were also several official vehicles—or at least they were marked that way. She recognized the two Bureau of Land Management Ranger Police SUVs and a couple of smaller U.S. Forest Service trucks. There was also a large semitruck with a full-sized shipping container on a flatbed trailer—dozens of thick cables leading out of it over to another equally huge generator truck, engines rumbling.
They finally pulled up to an off-road craft services van where cooks were busy serving an institutional breakfast buffet, of all things. There were dozens of people milling around here—both men and women. McKinney counted over forty people, and she knew she missed some.
“My God, this is quite an operation.”
Foxy nodded. “Everyone thinks this shit just happens. War is logistics. And paperwork.”
The Jeep rolled to a stop near the chow wagon. Everyone piled off, headed toward a serving tray. Odin called after them. “Guys!”
They all turned.
“Eat. Shit. And get back to the plane. We’re on standby until further notice.”
Aye, ayes rippled through the group.
McKinney got out as well, straightening the eye holes on her ski mask.
“Professor.”
She turned to see Odin motion for her to follow as he headed into a corrugated metal hangar across the sandy roadway.
She caught up to him. “Hey, I could use something to eat.”
“In a second. I want you to see something.” He led her out the far side, through a large rolling door to a series of olive drab military tents. Odin led her through the open flaps, where several rather fashionably dressed people were placing computer monitors and chairs, and hanging maps. Natural gas heaters were keeping the tent warm.