STERLING

 

Tuesday January 14 - 2048 CST

Six hours and forty-two minutes until Turbocharger activates

 

When I looked at the satellite phone's display I swore. There was something going on at the CTTC and I had missed it.

"What is it?" Adam had heard me swearing and stopped kicking his boot against the curb to find out why. In the aftermath of the street battle he'd inadvertently stepped into a puddle of the black blood that had streamed out of the nameless demon's severed limbs. I didn't blame him for it though, it was dark out and the black fluid blended in with the black tar pavement. Blameless as he was, the sticky ooze was already starting to smell like a fish market and he was having a hell of a time removing the stuff. Even after furiously kicking the curb the black globules of demonic blood refused to dislodge themselves.

"C.J.'s been trying to get a hold of me." I looked down at the list of missed calls from her and it was far too long. She'd only blow up my phone that way if it was serious. "Something's happened at the Underground."

I dialed the number and she answered on the second ring. "Logistics squadron."

Even though she saw my number on the caller ID she followed orders and used the cover phrase like a trooper. Phones could be compromised. "Sorry I missed your calls, C.J. We had a situation here. It's handled now."

"Understood, sir." She was professional and to the point, but I could practically hear the sigh of relief. That definitely meant something serious had happened, and if she was happy to hear from me it meant Basser wasn't providing the leadership that the staff needed. That was not a surprise though. "We have a situation here too and could use a hand handling it."

"Let me have it, C.J."

She went over everything. The Praetorians taking over, shutting down the cameras then suddenly leaving, Basser's indifference to it all. That made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. In light of all that, I got a sudden chill thinking about the Delta site operation. That was the collective brainchild of Basser and his cronies. It all felt like a huge con now. We'd been played to forward the interests of that unsavory bunch and now it was all coming to a close.

"What are you going to do now, sir? What do you want us to do?"

Those were questions I didn't have answers to. But because she was asking them it meant that she and the rest of the CTOC had lost faith in Basser's ability to lead. They wanted guidance. They wanted a purpose. And though I knew that providing it would anger Basser and likely end my career I couldn't just leave them hanging.

"Here's what we're going to do, C.J. I want you to continue to monitor the situation. Do you remember the Exodus protocol?"

I never thought I would have to bring up the Exodus protocol. That was something meant only for the most dire of circumstances. It was the checklist for evacuating the Underground after a critical breach of C-Watch. It meant the entire facility was considered lost and unsalvageable. It also meant the activation of FAILSAFE. "Yes, sir."

"Start evacuating non-essential personnel. If things look dicey, get everyone out. Don't wait for confirmation from me. Just get everyone to safety."

"Yes, sir."

I realized then I hadn't answered her second question. "On my end I'll have to secure transportation for us back to Dugway. What's the closest air base to our location?"

After a moment's pause and several keyboard strokes in the background C.J. spoke up. "Barksdale, sir."

I opened my mouth to ask for the Barksdale command post's number but C.J. was already reading it off to me. Again, I have an amazing staff. "Thank you, C.J. Let me know if there are any further developments. We'll get back to the CTTC ASAP."

Adam was staring at me. "Where are we going now?"

"Barksdale Air Force Base."

"What's there?"

"Our ride home."

Adam's mood picked up considerably when I mentioned going back. That signaled a shift from being unwanted pariahs that had been kicked out of their home like mangy dogs, to men who could go home if they wanted. And if I was being frank I felt the same way. Dialing the number to the Barksdale command post I got a courteous, if bored sounding response. Working a command post into the evening was typically boring work as Air Force bases tended to be safe places with little in the way of excitement after flying hours.

"This is Colonel Steven Sterling declaring a Slipstream Expedite event and I need you to write down the authentication code." I passed on the long string of letters and numbers that would verify my identity and authority to mobilize the base's assets. "I'll wait while you verify that."

"Yes, sir. I'll—ah—put you on hold for a minute while I verify."

For all that airman knew I could be some random crazy calling his number. That was why the Air Force instituted protocols written into folders contained within binders and kept among a mountain of other protocols. The Air Force loved to have a checklist for everything, and the base command post was a haven for them. There were some checklists that the command post would be expected to recognize immediately, like those for handling a lost nuclear weapon. But for highly classified programs like the CTTC they would be codewords hidden inside a binder kept in a safe. All but forgotten about until a colonel called in the middle of the night demanding that they be excavated from the vault.

"Sir, I'm back and verified the code." He no longer sounded bored, but very intent on helping out. "The wing commander is being notified. What can we do for you?"

"We're going to need a lift to Dugway Proving Grounds as soon as we arrive."

I hated dropping the protocol on unsuspecting people. They had their things to do and would have to drop them all to accommodate us. But sometimes things got really bad and it was necessary. This was one of those times.