83 miles north-northeast of downtown Las Vegas, near the shores of Groom Lake, Nevada, the night could not have been more silent. The landscape was barren for miles, rolling gently and unpredictably with thick, coarse desert scrub dotting it in uniform as far as the eye could see. The distant mountains were barely visible as black shapes on the velvet blue horizon, the lake just a glimmer of silver in the distance. The only light came from the soft red tint against the southwestern sky were the city lay, and a few scattered stars above. But for them, it was enough.
A black military helicopter moved over the landscape like a shark, passing over the white signs on the land below that warned of deadly military force and private government property. The rudders thundered out into the night, bum-bum bum-bum bum-bum, like the heart beat of some great animal, moving in for the kill.
Dark, ominous. Deadly.
It was going to be one wild night.
"United States Nellis Air Force Base requesting ID from Unknown Aircraft, Unknown Aircraft, do you copy?"
Inside the chopper, a large, powerfully built, dark man sitting beside the pilot gave him a glance. "Now we find out if this was all really worth it." he told him, grabbing a radio. "This is 4500x, patrol squadron north, requesting access to air space."
There was a pause on the other end, static filling the inside of the chopper that was silent save for the muted thuds of the propellers.
"4500x, you have permission to reenter airspace. Sorry for the delay. Must be a glitch or something."
"Copy that." said the black man, and put the radio back in the receiver. "Nice timing, Tex." he called over his shoulder. In the back of the helicopter, a man sat on the floor, the bright light of his computer screen illuminating him sharply as he looked up (or seemed to look up- there was a great black helmet covering his face) and gave the man a thumbs up. All around him, the others blended into the shadows as they moved around, cocking guns and rechecking equipment and cable lines.
One of them paused, masked gaze turned out of the open door and onto the dark red edge of the lower horizon. A second, taller figure came behind the first, holding on to the handles above the frame to keep balanced.
"Like the sky's on fire." the first said.
"Sin City." muttered the figure behind it.
The large man in the front seat took a deep, heavy breath. "Let's do this." He said in his deep voice, looking back out the windshield and hoisting his rifle with one hand while flicking an infrared visor down with the other.
The chopper veered sharply and continued on its dark path, careful to stay away from any other aircraft orbiting the skies- though there seemed to be none, other than a stray jet that blasted off, skirting along the edges of the area known to many pilots in Nevada as "The Container."
As the chopper began to approach one of the long, flat buildings built in the center of the base, the man who had spoken over the radio reached a hand up to his ear, pressing a thin button on a black earpiece that looked like a Bluetooth from the future. A tiny blue light flickered on it in the corner.
"Alright people." he said, looking out the window. "You know the drill. We're only going to have a few seconds to do this, and do this quietly. If I hear so much as a thud, I will personally whoop your ass the first chance I get once we're all in prison. Or I'll toss you behind me and get Tian here to pick me up while security is distracted with you. Understand?"
There was a general mumble of approval from the other ends; the Asian pilot next to him grinned.
"Okay." he said. "We're nearing the building. You know the drill." And with that, he cocked his rifle, swung the strap over his head, strapping it to his back, and lifted his own helmet up and over his head, his visor hardening from light yellow to totally reflective. "Operation NightHawk is a go."
The helicopter approached the building, and one figure from the chopper stepped onto the edge of the door with what looked like a video camera in his hand. But when he pressed a button, a red line shot through the lens, reflecting all the way down to the security camera that lay well-concealed on the other side of the base. Pre-programmed images, like the rolling film in a movie theatre, bounced through the light and projected into the camera- an image of a totally blank building with a deserted rooftop, and once a high frequency channeling button was hit on the man's device, the same image started looping through the camera, set for a certain amount of time.
The man shut off the device. "We have fifteen minutes." he said in a voice that sounded mechanical over the com link.
"Copy." rumbled the black man from before.
The helicopter now veered sharply to the left, thudding over the narrow white building set in the middle of the guarded facility. "Go."
A long, black rope dropped down from the chopper, and as it passed over the building, a dark figure grasped the rope and slid down it like they had no fear of friction burns, sheltered by their gloves. Followed by another. And another. And another.
Ten figures dressed totally in black slid down the rope just a few feet apart from each other, landing in a crouch or a roll on the roof, silent as the night, or else covered up by the sound of the chopper. When the last figure had dropped down onto the roof, just inches from the ledge as the helicopter passed over, it veered left, the rope sliding back up into it as it went, before vanishing into the darkness.
"Nice landing." rumbled the large man from over the com link. Then he turned, holding his rifle with one hand, and made a kind of hand gesture at the roof with the other.
Another figure stepped forward, and pulled out something small and thin- a marker- from a pouch strapped onto the belt at his side. He uncapped it, and drew a circle on the top of the roof. A circle that didn't seem to show up. Then he flipped the marker and twisted the end- a tiny black light built into the back offered a small, feeble purple light- revealing a pale circle drawn onto the rooftop.
He twisted the light off, then took out something else- it looked like a can opener, almost- and set it onto the rooftop where the circle was. Then he hit a switch.
The thing hummed to life, and by the looks of metal shavings that were being thrown up, seemed to be cutting into the roof, but it was just so quiet.
"How does it do that?" asked a voice- probably from the figure that was leaning over the man's shoulder, wielding a long, thin and lethal-looking rifle.
"Tracer follows the ions in the ink." he said shortly, as the machine continued to cut, "And follows them quietly." The was a loud click and a thud as the machine stopped completing the circle. "Best thing the CIA made yet." he added, as he carefully maneuvered the circle of panel cut out of the hole and onto the roof, applying something to the edges of it.
"Move out." rumbled the man from earlier.
A second rope was fastened to the roof by some kind of claw, and the team slid down it again one by one through the hole in the roof. It was like another world, as they descended from the dark, starry sky to the blinding fluorescent underworld of the lab.
The first figure, slim and powerfully built, twisted away from the rope and landed a few feet away on one knee, then cautiously raised his head.
No one was in the lab.
The figure straightened as more people slid down the rope behind it, walking a few feet away from the group. The room was exceptionally barren- white floor, white walls, white ceiling- like being in an asylum. All that was present were three long tables set up in the center space, a massive shelf that went from one wall to the other stocked with scientific equipment, and several things lying on the tables- things that the public eyes had never- and probably would never- see.
"No cameras?" asked the black man again, surprise in his tone detectable even over the com link.
"Negative." responded the man who had had the computer. "Apparently all technology fizzes out in this room…we're lucky our com links are air-wave frequency and powered by something other than electricity, or they'd probably be fried now, too."
"Interesting." the man rumbled. "No wonder the Director was worried about this place."
"The entire general public is worried about this place." said another voice- sarcastic and feminine- from the figure who was inspecting the rounds in her thin rifle.
"True." admitted the computer boy.
Suddenly, the dark figure who had landed down first from the rope stood and removed his helmet. Her helmet.
"Damn it, King, what the hell do you think you're doing?" thundered the black man, as the woman's long black hair fell down past her shoulders.
She turned to stare at him with sharp blue eyes that pierced out from under her bangs. "No cameras." she pointed out. "Just like Tex said."
The man who had held the laptop also removed his helmet. "She's right." Martin "Tex" Carter replied. "But I wasn't implying that-"
"I can't think in there." the woman complained. "My head is too cramped."
The black man too, removed his helmet, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Graduate at only twenty four, top of your class. Jump out of a moving helicopter into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? Fine. But put a helmet on her head…"
"I'm with Liberty." said the woman with the rifle, removing hers as well. "It's hot in there. Nevada reaches an average of a hundred and six degrees in the summer. It's only August. Give us a break, Jax."
The tall man, Jax, rolled his eyes again. "Whatever. Just get those samples from the radioactive cabinet." he ordered three of the figures behind him, who still had their helmets on.
"Yes, sir." the replied, and hustled over to one of the far tables, as silent as street cats.
"I'm still surprised we got in alright." the woman with the rifle and the blonde hair called, as she carefully scanned the walls for any other sign of surveillance. "You'd think they'd keep tighter security around the most top secret military base in America."
"Top secret military base in the world." corrected Tex, pulling what looked like a mini camcorder out of one of his pockets around his belt. "One of them, anyways."
"I think we were pretty discrete." argued another man, one with brown hair, who had removed his helmet as well. The black light marker and the tool that had cut the whole in the roof were strapped at his belt.
The blonde snorted. "A random helicopter that just happens to match the tail of one of the patrol guards isn't exactly subtle…they should have noticed it just popped out of nowhere. What does this say for our public security?"
"Point." piped up Liberty, watching with a hand on her hip as their technician began to wander towards the tables.
"I hacked their network." offered Tex. "Put in an extra chopper for the patrol tonight. Besides, no one really cares on Christmas. The tower is probably more concerned about getting home sometime at four o'clock this morning…not that I'm complaining." he offered a quick grin as he zoomed his camera in on something on one of the tables. "Drop into Area 51? Best present ever."
"For you." snapped the blonde, the man, and Liberty all at once.
"Do you know how many conspiracies are flung around this place?" asked Tex, ignoring all of them. "The Roswell UFO…Majestic Twelve…Aurora Project…"
"All myths." snapped the blonde. "Which is what you will be if you don't-"
"Lay off, Grayson." warned Jax. "We have ten minutes, six samples, and I'd personally like to get out of here before our time is out."
Grayson Bourne offered a nod. Stressing out on missions wasn't unusual for her- outside of this place, she never got on Tex for a thing.
"Hey, Tex," called the marker-man, "What are you doing?"
The techie shrugged, now several yards away from them and peering and random pieces of equipment on the tables. "Nothing. Just looking."
"Get back here, Tex." growled Jax. "We are not screwing this one up."
"Roger." Tex responded, and retreated. "Did you see that machine thing over there?"
"No, and I don't want to." Jax growled.
"Oh, that's right." Liberty recalled, grinning. "I forgot you had this thing for aliens."
The massive man glared down at her, both burly arms clutching his rifle threateningly.
Okay, maybe thing wasn't the right word. Tex had a thing for aliens. Jax had…extraterrestrial phobia. Yeah, that one fit.
"Didn't he freak out when his interns pranked him last April by filling his locker with a fake dead alien?" Tex asked, one of his eyes peering through his lens, the other squinting shut. He yelped, however, when Jax reached over and slapped him upside the head, sending his reddish hair flying.
"Just because my grandmamma raised me to be nice," warned Jax, "and not to hit girls, that doesn't make you an exception, kid."
Liberty winced at the blow to the tech master's manhood, but marker-man just laughed and punched Jax's shoulder good naturedly, causing the giant man to stagger a bit.
"Seesh, Milo." he muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
Milo rolled his sea-green eyes. Libby began to wander off in the direction Tex had mentioned the machine being in.
"Six minutes!" she heard Jax warn over her shoulder.
She prowled carefully down the tables, looking at a giant telescope, a strange ball filled with gears, and what looked like a laser gun from Star Wars. And then she saw it.
"Tex," Liberty threw back, and glanced up to make sure she had his attention. "Is this the machine thing you were talking about?" she asked, pointing at it on the table.
"Yeah, that's it." replied the man. "Creepy, isn't it?"
Liberty looked down at the circular shaped thing, which had a fray of wires and circuitry hanging off one end, as if it had been severed. Liberty frowned and leaned in closer, staring at the two dark, glassy slits on the thing's front.
"It looks…like it has…eyes…"
"Libby!" warned Jax.
Liberty jerked up in attention, and her hair swept forward, dangerously close to the twisted metal.
WRAA! WRAA! WRAA!
Everyone in the room flinched, reaching for weapons blindly as an alarm began screeching somewhere down the hall of the facility, and the seamless doors in the wall suddenly were barricaded shut as lasers activated from seemingly nowhere on the ceiling, walls and floor to block of the entrance in burning, acid green light. Sirens were screeching down the halls, rebounding off the sterile white walls and ringing in the super spies' ears.
"Shit!" roared Milo, and aimed his slug at the nearest speaker in the wall.
Pchew!
The wailing suddenly quieted, now only echoing outside the room.
"What the fuck was that for!" roared Jax, already reaching behind him for his rope and throwing it up at the ceiling, were the magnetic hold kept it there more securely than any knot ever could have.
"They already know we're here, they're coming!" yelled Milo, gesturing at the doorway while the others hurriedly stowed test tubes and equipment in their packs and belts. "At least now we can think!"
"Move!" thundered Jax, ignoring Milo as a sound like thunder began to reach them under the high-pitched wailing of the sirens. Immediately, slim black figures began to grab the rope and ascended with skill only learned in CIA training camps, helped on by the slim knots and workable footholds in the advanced rope fabric.
Its was government property, after all.
Liberty forced her helmet back on her head with one hand, jerking away from the table and reaching the ladder last, as Jax began to climb. "Move it, Xena!" he thundered over the link and the sudden sound of helicopter rudders above, switching to code names in case they were hacked.
The doors burst open.
Liberty whirled around, one hand wrapped around the rope, the other gathering what slack was left behind. Three tall, large guards in dark masks like hers stared at her, large rifles drawn. Liberty stared at the one closest, seeing herself reflected in his yellow visor. There came a wild jerk as the rope began to be wheeled in mechanically from Jax above on the roof.
Liberty clung on in a vice-like grip as the room seemed to be yanked downwards and vanished from view, taking the guards, the bleached white room, and all its secrets with it.
Operation NightHawk had failed.