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“You just want to see me with coffee dribbling down my face,” said Zen.
The actual sound was more like: “Yuwwa see muf fee dippling dowt mek fack.”
“What language are you speaking, Jeff?”
“Novocain.”
“See you in six months.”
“Not if I can help it.”
The Nevada Desert
1600
Mark Stoner shifted his eyes from the highway to the bluffs in the distance and then back, sca
Not that he or Jed Barclay, the man driving the car, were in any danger of being ambushed. Coming from Washington in a scheduled flight offered expediency, but led Stoner to insist on a number of precautions, most of which caused Barclay to roll his eyes: dummy reservations, Agency-supplied false documents, even an elaborate cover story designed to be overheard—all routine precautions for Stoner. The fact they were traveling to a top-secret, ultrasecure facility changed nothing.
Stoner had never dealt with Whiplash before, and knew only vaguely about Dreamland. He tended to be agnostic about organizations and people until he saw them under fire; so he had formed no opinion on Whiplash, or even on Jed, though his youth and overabundance of nervous energy tended to grate.
Stoner noticed a small pile of rocks ahead, off on the right, seemingly haphazardly piled there.
“Security cam,” he said.
“Yeah. They’re all along the road,” said Jed. “We’re being watched via satellite too.”
Stoner cracked the window slightly, listening to the rush of air passing over the car. The road changed abruptly, taking a sharp turn down into a suddenly exposed ravine. Barclay had to slow to barely ten miles an hour as he made his way through a series of switchbacks. Undoubtedly that was the idea, and Stoner noticed the random rock piles were now much closer together.
They must have remote weapons as well as sensors here, thought Stoner.
These guys knew what they were doing, at least in terms of guarding their perimeter. There’d be holes, though. There always were.
The dirt road at the base of the slope extended for roughly a quarter mile, then suddenly trailed off. Jed drove about two hundred yards further, then stopped the car. They looked to be in the middle of nowhere. “Wrong turn?” asked Stoner.
“No. You wanted to do it the hard way. I told you, if we didn’t go through Edwards—”
“Easier to keep it compartmented.”
“If we don’t go through Edwards or get a direct flight, this is the way we have to do it.” Barclay hit his radio scan, pushing the FM frequency to exactly 100.00. all they could hear was static.
A small cloud of dust appeared directly ahead. The ground began to shake. As Stoner stared, the cloud separated into two Ospreys, roto-tipped aircraft capable of hovering like helicopters. These were unlike any Ospreys Stoner had ever seen, however; beneath their chins were swivel-mounted chain guns similar to those used in Apache gunships, and there were triple-rack missile launchers on their wings and the side of their fuselages.
Stoner started to unlock the door.
“Uh, no, not until they say it’s okay.” Jed reached across and grabbed him. “They’ll blow us up if you get out.”
Stoner let go of the door handle. One of the Ospreys whipped past, its big shadow covering thee car. The other slowed to a hover about twenty yards away. The reflection of the sun made if hard to see, but from where Stoner was sitting there didn’t seem to be a pilot.
“Blue Taurus, license plate X-ray Tetra Vector, exit your vehicle and stand by for identification,” said a sharp, clear voice on the radio.
“That would be us,” said Jed, unlocking the door. Stoner watched and then copied his actions, taking a few steps away and holding out his hands. He looked upward as the hovering Osprey moved forward slowly, its gun rotating, there was a camera pod behind the weapon.
The Osprey leapt upward. Stoner waited as the wash from the second aircraft pushed his pants and shit to the side.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Jed, who was already trotting forward. The first Osprey landed about fifty yards ahead; the second, meanwhile, had plopped down behind them, depositing two fully armed Air Force special tactics team members to inspect and investigate the vehicle.
The door to the Osprey sprang open as Jed and Stoner approached. “Welcome, Mr. Barclay.”
“Hey,” said Jed.
“There’s nobody flying this thing,” said Stoner as he climbed inside.
“This is Dreamland,” said Jed. “What did you expect?”
Prince Hotel, Las Vegas
1800
The silkiness of his wife’s body worked like a drug, loosening knots Da