Eileen Reed - Ground Zero Part 3

Eileen did everything she could to find out what happened on Bernie's last flight. She went up her chain of command. She found out, astonis.h.i.+ngly, that this was the third time a pilot broke away from a formation and disappeared. When her review board came up that year she was pa.s.sed over for her promotion. The message was clear. Eileen handed in her resignation, and the greatest surprise was the intensity of her relief.

She loved to fly, though it was not a consuming pa.s.sion. Eileen was a competent pilot without dash, and she knew before she graduated from pilot training that she would never be a great pilot. But she lived while four of her cla.s.smates died, so perhaps a lack of dash wasn't so bad. Eileen liked being part of a squadron. She thought it would hurt more to give it all up.

It was only later, as she was waiting for acceptance into the police academy, that she realized how much she'd disliked military life. She'd joined to see more of the world than Wyoming, and because she wanted to be around people. When she was growing up she didn't have many friends. She didn't have any brothers or sisters, and her nearest neighbors were twenty-four miles away over dirt roads.

Eileen found there were pilots from the more thickly settled east who couldn't comprehend that she lived twenty-four miles away from another living being, that there were ranchers who were even more isolated than the Reeds, that a trip to the grocery store was a large and well-planned monthly event. One pilot from New Jersey could not believe there existed a place in the United States where pizza could not be delivered. Eileen laughed for a long time at that. She told him that when she and her high-school friends got a hankering for McDonald's, they would drive three hours into Rapid City, South Dakota. Six hours round-trip for a fast-food hamburger.

Being in a squadron was crowded and never lonely. Delivery pizza was almost always available. Eileen found a real friend in Bernie. Military life should have been exactly what she was looking for.

But something about the Air Force just wasn't right for Eileen, and she knew it long before Bernie flew into a mountain. Being in the Air Force was like eating a meal made of plastic. The food looked delicious, but it didn't taste good at all. The family of the squadron, so enticing when Eileen considered it, turned out to be an insider's circle where the condescension toward nonpilots was childish and cruel. And Eileen always felt like a second-cla.s.s citizen, no matter how well she flew. She was a girl, a woman, a female. An outsider.

At some point while she was still trying to get Bernie's files reopened, Eileen decided she wanted to try her hand at police work. She wasn't even sure what made her decide that being a cop might be satisfying. Eileen found she loved it. And she was surprisingly good at it. The new Liaison job was going to be difficult, but she was Detective Reed now, not Air Force Captain Reed. Things would be different. She would make sure of it.

Eileen smiled at the cattle. It was a long drive, but a pretty one. Time enough to get her thoughts in order and her temper firmly locked away. Eileen's mother was a true redhead, tall and fiery and very intelligent, with ice-cream skin and lots of freckles. Eileen's hair was darker and she had no adorable freckles, but she had her mother's height and her temper. To her regret, sometimes.

"Step on shoes," she murmured to herself. "But softly, softly now. And don't forget you're not in the military anymore. You don't have to call anyone 'sir.' "

Eileen found herself missing Jim Erickson fiercely. Jim was her partner, the senior member of their team. He'd moved to Denver six months before. Eileen was glad for the opportunity to move up into a senior position, but she missed Jim's steady and unblinking presence on a case. He made her laugh. And she'd never handled a really big homicide all on her own before.

"So what?" she said to herself. "I can handle it." Up ahead, she saw a small sign modestly announcing Schriever Air Force Base and an arrow pointing to the right.

She made the long curving turn off the highway at a safe and sane cop speed, about sixty miles an hour, and as she headed down a side road she could see a group of buildings on the horizon. A cl.u.s.ter of big white golf-ball shapes, radar dishes, sat beside the buildings. As Eileen approached the base, she became aware of the enormous size of the dishes. They were huge, five or six stories tall, looking like puffball mushrooms from an old horror movie.

"This place is bigger than I thought," Eileen murmured as she took the final turn onto the base. There was a security patrol Blazer waiting to meet her, lights flas.h.i.+ng. The Blazer was parked in a poor position for Eileen to speak to the driver. She pulled up to the pa.s.senger side, rolled down her window, and waited as the occupant reached over and cranked down the pa.s.senger-side window.

"Major Blaine?"

"Yes, and you are?"

"Detective Eileen Reed." Eileen flipped open her badge and held it up.

"Follow me," Major Blaine said shortly. He was a trim man with a mustache and a deep widow's peak. His face was pale. Eileen looked at the sleepy peaceful base and saw a couple of early lunchtime joggers heading off along broad dirt paths.

She followed the Blazer down a long curving road, lined on each side by wide green strips of lawn. Sprinklers fought gamely under the hot prairie sun. Eileen could see brown spots dotting the green. The sprinklers were losing the battle. The Blazer parked by a long, low building and Eileen followed. The base really started here; she could see two sets of st.u.r.dy fences with an asphalt strip of no-man's-land between them. At intervals along the fence line she saw posts with cameras mounted at the top. Very serious security. The air was hot and dry and smelled of baking asphalt and prairie sage. Very faintly, Eileen could smell cattle.

"Can I see your badge again, please?" Blaine asked after they both got out of their cars. Eileen gave it to him, and watched as Blaine compared her picture with one in a file he produced from his briefcase.

"I guess you're Eileen Reed, and you have the clearances we require. This is your badge," Blaine said, and sighed heavily. He handed Eileen a square of plastic about as large as the palm of her hand. Where her picture was supposed to be was blank. Blaine held the door open for her, and they entered the building.

Filling the interior was what Eileen took for a moment to be phone booths. She saw a woman standing inside a booth. The woman was facing them and her mouth was set with impatience. There was a loud click and the woman opened the door on the booth. She pa.s.sed them without a glance, wrapping a neck chain around her badge and stuffing it in a gym bag she carried slung over her shoulder.

"This is the ECF, the Entry Control Facility." Blaine held out his own badge to Eileen. "Those booths are retinal scanners. You enter the portal and it locks behind you. Run your badge through like this"-he demonstrated with a sliding movement of his hand-"and type in your number... oh, d.a.m.n." Blaine dug in his pockets for a moment and came up with a slip of paper. He squinted at it. "Your number is 7893; memorize it. You put your eye to the retinal scanner. This is your first time through, so you'll have to scan twice, once to put your pattern into the system, and once again to establish your entry."

"What is this place, anyway? Why do you have such a fancy setup just to get in this place?" Beyond the other side of the clear gla.s.s phone booths and beyond the fencing Eileen could see more green gra.s.s, more dun-colored buildings. The whole scene looked ordinary to her.

"I can't answer that yet," Blaine said. Eileen nodded, wondering if her face showed the distaste she felt. The military and its secrets. She hated secrets.

She watched Blaine as the Major went through one of the portals. Eileen felt a brief burst of panic when she entered the booth and the door clicked shut behind her, locking her into a coffin-size gla.s.s room. The retinal scanner looked ominous. The booth smelled stale. The eyebrow pad on the one gla.s.s eyehole reminded Eileen of surgeon's equipment. She felt distinctly afraid of putting her eye to the small round circle. She took a deep breath, bent down, and pressed the b.u.t.ton on the machine. A clear green beam briefly flashed into her eye. She expected pain but there was none, not even the wincing reflex that a bright light causes. She pressed the b.u.t.ton a second time, remembering that she had to set her pattern into the system.

There was a sudden honking sound somewhere in the building. Her booth suddenly lit up with red lights. Eileen stood up from the scanner and looked around. She couldn't hear Blaine, but she could see him talking to her. She tried to open the door. It was locked. She tried to open the door she'd entered from. It, too, was locked. Eileen felt a burst of panic and took a deep breath.

"Let me out of here, please," she said through the gla.s.s to Blaine.

"Uh, ma'am?" A voice came out of the speaker next to the retinal scanner.

"Let me out of here, please," Eileen repeated through clenched teeth, trying to keep calm. She did not like enclosed places. The booth was getting smaller by the second.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you set off our metal detectors," the voice said, sounding bewildered.

"I imagine I did," Eileen said dryly. "I'm carrying a .357 in a shoulder holster." As well as a concealed .38 Ladysmith in an ankle sheath, she did not add. There were some secrets that Eileen didn't mind keeping to herself.

"You're not allowed to carry weapons on base," the voice said, sounding shocked.

"I'm allowed," Eileen said. She glared out at Blaine. "You better talk to your Major Blaine, out there."

Major Blaine walked quickly to an office area at the end of the row of booths. Eileen could see him speaking rapidly to a soldier dressed in camouflage.

"I'm with the Colorado Springs police," Eileen said, hoping her voice sounded patient and wise instead of squeaky and shrill. She felt unsure and out of control. It was a hateful feeling and she felt her temper begin a slow climb to compensate.

Major Blaine waved his arms around. The soldier looked confused.

"Used to be, civilian police held no jurisdiction on federal property, but that's not true anymore," Eileen said conversationally. She was pleased at her calm voice, when what she felt like doing was pulling her gun and shooting the gla.s.s.

She wondered if she could shoot out the gla.s.s in the booth. Eileen felt a quick drop of sweat run down from her armpit and soak into the cotton of her bra. If she didn't get out of this coffin very quickly, Major Blaine was going to spend some time in the smallest jail cell she could find. More sweat ran down her armpits. She felt fury and claustrophobia in a nauseating mix.

The door of the booth suddenly clicked open. Eileen leaned against it and stepped out. The air smelled divinely cool and sweet. She took a deep breath and mentally gripped the reins on her temper.

"That was unpleasant," she said to Major Blaine. He was hurrying back toward her, his forehead wrinkled in anxiety.

"I forgot you'd be carrying a gun," he said, holding his hands out apologetically.

"I will always be carrying a gun," Eileen said calmly. "Is this going to happen again, Major Blaine?"

"No, don't worry," he said. "I had the guard set your pattern into the system. You have a bypa.s.s to the metal detector."

"Thank you," Eileen said. She was amazed at her voice. It sounded very steady, when what she really wanted to do was commit all sorts of police atrocities on Major Blaine. "Why don't you show me to the victim now?"

"This way," Major Blaine said, and headed toward the exit. He held the door for her and Eileen accidentally stepped heavily on his shoe as she walked through.

"Sorry," she said sweetly.

Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia.

Lucy Giometti was not having a good day. She'd gotten past the first bout of morning sickness, but the second was coming earlier than she'd hoped. She had a lot of work to do and she couldn't afford to spend her time in the halls at Langley going back and forth from the bathroom. She also had a lot of trouble with her weight. The only way to stop from throwing up was to eat, and she was already well past the weight gain her doctor had set for this month.

She sighed, and opened her desk drawer. It was full of food. She was an attractive woman who'd been absolutely breathtaking in college. Her body had been one flowing curve of female muscle and fitness, and the lines still showed through the soft new padding of fat. Lucy picked up a package of fat-free crackers and opened the twist tie. She eyed the package of fruit pies underneath the crackers, then firmly shut the drawer.

When the phone rang she was immersed in her primary case, a Chinese firm that might or might not be trying to spy on the latest computer-disk technology. Her job was to collect and a.n.a.lyze data for the Central Intelligence Agency. She had a powerful Sun workstation on her desk. Lucy was hooked directly into the TRW credit-check services, as well as some of the other less-well-known credit systems. She had access through her Government Internet channels to all university records, police dispatch files, and medical charts that existed on networked computers. Her snooping was relentless and expert, although she felt she never had enough time to spend on her detective work. Lucy loved the Internet.

Lucy picked up the ringing phone and tucked it on her shoulder, her fingers barely pausing in their rapid typing on the computer keyboard. She was using a "gopher," a computer program that connected to different computer servers across the country, seeking information on her suspected spy, John Chan. What a name. It had to be false.

"Giometti here," she said.

"We have a potential addition to our Missile Defense homicide case, Giometti. This is Mills."

Lucy sat up straight in her chair, her eyes leaving the screen and focusing on the wall behind her desk. Mills was her boss. She couldn't divide her attention between Mills and her computer screen, as she did with most of her callers.

"I have Admiral Kane from the Pentagon on the line. He's the BMD C in C."

"Yes, sir," Lucy said, and resisted saying "I know." Of course, she knew the Missile Defense commander in chief. Who did Mills think she was? She pressed her lips together and drummed her fingers silently against her leg.

"They've had a murder during the War Game they had in progress today. The murder was in Colorado Springs, Schriever Air Force Base. Do you have your file?"

"Yes, sir," Lucy said. Her fingers, resting a half-inch above the keyboard, stabbed toward a key that dumped her two hours' worth of data to disk. She typed rapidly for a moment, and her screen filled with new data. "I have it right here."

"I'll put him through."

Admiral Kane was brisk and to the point. "We might have a problem out at Schriever," he said. "You're the new a.n.a.lyst? What happened to Bob?"

"He retired, sir," Lucy said. "I have the file now. Mr. Mills told me you'd had a murder?"

"Yes. Civilian woman, stabbed. They've got the OSI called in, but he won't be there for three days. They have a civilian Police Liaison man-er, woman-on the job."

Lucy typed quickly, taking notes on one of the windows on her computer screen. As she typed, her eyes were scanning one of the other windows that contained the latest data on the file.

"Civilian detective, sir?"

"Yes, and I don't like it. We don't want any fuss out there. We can't have the press knowing what Schriever really does."

"Of course, sir," Lucy said. Her eyes flickered across the screen. "I know the policy is nonintervention in this particular file. Any investigations that attempt to tie the deaths together are discouraged. We're still investigating at the CIA level, but we're not allowing it anywhere else."

"Good," Admiral Kane said approvingly. Lucy frowned, her forehead wrinkling. My G.o.d, had the file been open for that many years? How many deaths had there been with the Missile Defense project? Her mouth dropped open in surprise as she scanned some of the totals in the list.

"I see we've had three incidents at Schriever on this case, none filed as Homicide," she said neutrally. She'd read the file quickly when it had landed on her desk but hadn't given it much thought until now. "All were automobile related."

"We won't be so lucky with this one," Kane said grimly. "Olsen tells me she was stabbed."

"May I have Colonel Olsen's number?"

"I have it here, but you won't be able to reach him until later today. They haven't released the witnesses yet."

Witnesses? Lucy thought blankly. Her hand stole to the desk drawer and pulled out a fruit pie. Kane gave her the number, and she wrote it down.

"I'll get right on it, sir," she said.

"I appreciate it." There was a click, and the buzz of a blank line. Lucy sat with the phone still cradled against her ear, her eyes scanning the data. She bit off a hunk of fruit pie and chewed it thoughtfully. She finally put the phone down and started to work. After ten minutes she opened her desk drawer and pushed aside the fat-free crackers. She pulled out a package of cookies and opened them with her teeth as she typed on her console. This case was going to call for serious snacking.

5.

Schriever Air Force Base.

As they walked into the base Eileen figured out what was bothering her about this strange Air Force base.

"Where do the personnel live?" she asked. "I don't see any barracks." There were only about a dozen buildings on the base, and none of them looked like living quarters.

"The housing is at Peterson Air Force Base, about half an hour from here," Blaine said. "This base has no resident barracks, no commissary, no place to buy anything."

Blaine pointed at the farthest building. All the buildings were windowless, with broad lines.

"The Command Center?" Eileen asked. Blaine nodded, and took a deep breath.

"The Ballistic Missile Command Center," he said. "That is the first of many cla.s.sified facts you are going to find out today."

"Missile defense? But I thought it was-"

"Canceled? It was canceled to the public. It has not been canceled. If this fact gets to the media, we will know whom it came from, Detective."

"I get the picture," Eileen said, sighing. "I have a security clearance, Major." Blaine bit his lip. Blaine was a lip biter, Eileen was discovering.

"Good." He continued to walk briskly toward the building.

After ten minutes, Eileen realized what was fooling her. The lack of windows made the buildings appear smaller than they were. Every building on base was huge, huge like the towering golf-ball radar dishes that were now behind them. It took them ten minutes to walk the length of a building that Eileen thought was an ordinary structure. She felt like an ant next to this bland monolith.

"That's the See-Sock," Blaine said, following Eileen's gaze. "Consolidated s.p.a.ce Operations Center, CSOC. Not quite as large a building as the Missile Defense Command Center."

They reached the building, and Eileen breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the cool interior. The sun had been hot.

"Next badge," Blaine said, handing Eileen one and clipping his own to his s.h.i.+rt. They were standing in an anteroom, alone and indoors. Blaine looked around furtively. It appeared that he was going to give her some more information, she thought in amus.e.m.e.nt. Major Blaine was acting as paranoid as any military officer she'd ever seen.

"I've already keyed you into the system. This one is simpler, and all you have to have is the badge and the number."

Eileen looked at this badge curiously. It was a pale green and had her name printed neatly on the front below a fancy logo. The plastic was still warm to the touch.

"Enough with the badges," she said with a smile she hoped was charming. "What about the incident?"

"The murder took place today somewhere between eight and ten A.M.," Blaine said reluctantly. "There is-there was- a War Game going on out here today. A full-up, worldwide War Game with what we call hardware-in-the-loop."