Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 87

Five Days, Five Hours, Twenty-One Minutes

His rifle raised and pointed into the space before him, Ramsey crept slowly down the darkened corridor, Agent Murphy across the hall from him, and two soldiers coming up from the rear. He listened hard in the stillness of the hallway. Most of Zulu's troops they had found bound and gagged in one of the airfield hangars. A handful of soldiers were missing, and, from what he understood, they were called 'Dark Soldiers,' a term he had never heard. Apparently, they had only recently been assigned to the base – a crack squad training by some colonel assigned to FEMA – and they were going to be stationed overseas very soon. Their tour at Zulu Base was never supposed to happen, but, apparently, a paperwork snafu gave them seven weeks of unassigned service. Rather than remain dormant at their original posts outside of Seattle, some Pentagon pencil-pusher had them re-assigned to Zulu.

"We knew they weren't here to stay," one of Nash's men had informed Ramsey, "but we didn't realize they'd be working against us, either."

Thankfully, no one had been seriously injured. When the Apache squad landed, they immediately took control of the airstrip, and one of the men had taken General Nash hostage. She had been in the radar center reviewing new satellite images on Hightower's possible location when she had been captured. She put up a fight, the soldier said, but she had been quickly escorted out of the hangar and into one of the adjacent buildings. Also, no one on Ramsey's infiltration team had been hurt. After helping to dispense with the Apache, Yuri took his Mi8 on a quick flyover of the sniper locations. When the gunmen turned their attention to the skies, the ground forces moved in very easily and shut down the enemy. Everyone had been accounted for, with the exception of General Nash, but Ramsey knew where he'd find her.

Squinting, the director made out the thick steel door up ahead. It stood about ten meters down the hallway, and he ordered everyone to stop.

"That's as far as you go," he cautioned, taking a step in the direction of the door. "I'll have to do this on my own."

"With all due respect, Mr. Ramsey … are you nuts?" Murphy asked.

Smiling over at the young man, the director said, "Son, taking on this whole assignment shows you just how out of my gourde I am. But I can't stop now. You have to. So do the others." Nodding down the corridor, he explained, "What lies down there is quite possible a classified matter beyond your clearance. I don't have time to explain. Just … don't take your eyes off me. You see anything go wrong, then the hell with clearance! You get your butts down there to provide me some back-up." He shook his head. "Unless you hear from me, you stay right where you are."

"But, Ramsey …"

"That's an order."

Grimacing, Murphy replied, "Understood."

With that, the Secret Service agent stepped away from the wall. He knelt on one knee and brought up his assault rifle. He aimed down the hall into the darkness, and he nodded at the director.

Gently, Ramsey crept up to the door. He saw the twinkling keypad, and he reached out, tapping in the clearance code provided by Chief Stoddard. The red light changed to green, and the door hissed, its seals cracking and swinging away from the frame. Slowly, the recessed panel started to slide, and Ramsey quickly brought up his rifle sights as the door whooshed out of the way. He peered carefully into the next room – a deep aluminum chamber – with overhead fluorescents. Easily poking his head through the arch, he glanced to the left and to the right. He didn't see anyone in there, so he stepped onto the deckplates.

Down an access ramp, he saw General Nash. She was bound to a service railing, and he noticed a slight trickle of blood down her left cheek. Hurrying, he trotted down the stairs. Once he realized that they were alone, he lowered the gun and gently reached out, taking her chin in his hand.

"General?" he asked.

He saw the bruise above her left eye. Someone had cracked the butt end of a rifle there. He recognized the familiar shape of the torn skin.

"General Nash?"

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She winced at the pain, but, when she grinned at the sight of Ramsey, the man saw that her teeth were stained with fresh blood. She had clearly taken several hits to the mouth before she divulged the information on how to get in here, on how to breach the secret sealed bay.

"Director," she whispered as she came back to full consciousness. "It's good … it's good to see that you made it back to us."

"Take it easy, ma'am," he offered, setting down the rifle and taking the knot that bound her to the rail in his fingers. He began to tug on the rope, and, finding a loose strand, he started to unravel it. "They put up a bit of a fight. They even commandeered some shoulder-firing missiles, tried to take down the Russian helicopters, but we made it alright. Our only casualty seems to be a twisted ankle." With a weak smile, he added, "It looks like you didn't fare as well."

"No," she agreed, and a hiccup of blood slipped out the corner of her mouth.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Not long after you disappeared," she tried, her hands free. She started to fall, but Ramsey caught her, easing her gently down to the floor. "Their helicopter did a quick pass. It … it came back with its gun active and … and it swooped low enough to drop a few of its men on the tarmac. With most of my troops out trying to find Hightower … we were caught outmanned and outgunned pretty quickly."

"Everything's all right now," he told her.

"Not quite," she said, resting her head in her hands. "Like you, we thought … we thought that they were coming for Hightower … but they … they took it."

"The Sarcophagus?"

Surprised, she glanced up at the younger man. "Why … yes … but how do you …"

"Chief Stoddard briefed me on the Halfstep Program," Ramsey confessed. "Once we realized that Hightower's rescue was a distraction, I contacted the White House. He told me all about it, but you don't have to worry about a thing."

"Why's that?" she asked.

From his pocket, he pulled a handkerchief. Gently, he pressed it to the corner of her mouth, where the blood spatter had grown into a slight trickle.

"We were infiltrating your airstrip when that Apache opted to engage us," explained Ramsey. "That thing had some pretty thick armor, but Yuri and Svetlana managed to knock it out of the sky before it could really prove any tactical advantage. Take my word for it: it they loaded the Sarcophagus on board that chopper, it went down in flames as easily as the rest of the ship did. You don't have to worry about a thing."

He stared into her eyes. He saw her fatigue, and he turned to cry out for a medic, but then he felt her grip on his forearm.

"Director," she tried, her voice breaking, "they did take the Sarcophagus … but they loaded it onto one of my cargo planes before they left me down here."

"What did you say?"

"That plane," she explained, closing her eyes, "left here long before you and your team had a chance to do us any good."

He stared at her.

"I'm sorry," she finally replied.

Grimacing, he reached out and slipped her arm over her shoulder, carefully lifting her to her feet. She needed medical attention, and he'd see that she get it.

"Not half as sorry as Washington's going to be when they hear about this, general."

END of Chapter 87