24 Declassified: Vanishing Point

“This fly over was unscheduled, Dr. Reed,” the man explained. “US Space Command only warned us it was being repositioned two hours ago. And this satellite is a Jian Bing ZY–5, the Chicoms’ most advanced space based photo reconnaissance vehicle launched to date.”

Stratowski tapped the blip on his screen with his finger. “The ZY–5 has real time capabilities. That means some technician at the Taiyuan Satellite Launch Center in Shanxi Province is watching this hangar right now.”

“Smile. You’re on Candid Camera!” Dr. Alvin Toth grinned. A retired physician and pathologist, the sixty-four year old was the oldest member of Dr. Reed’s team. Portly and bald with bushy eyebrows that matched his worn lab smock, Toth leaned against the tow tractor, arms folded across his paunchy torso.

“Careful, Alvin. You’re showing your age. Nobody under sixty ever heard of Candid Camera,” Phil Bas-comb called.

“I’m not showing my age,” Toth countered with a wink. “What I’m demonstrating is my vast range of knowledge, experience, and expertise.”

Dr. Dani Welles snorted. “Candid Camera was a TV show, not a breakthrough discovery in particle physics. But you know I love you, Doc!” She threw a dazzling smile at Toth. “’Cause, I think older men are hot.”

Not yet thirty, Welles was down-to-earth friendly. No one who met her ever guessed that the breezy young woman graduated with honors from MIT. In fact, most of her MySpace friends thought “Ms. Cocoa Quark” was just another girl from South Central.

Steve Sable laughed. “So that’s why you won’t go out with me? You’re waiting for me to get an AARP card?”

He’d been observing the conversation from a folding chair, munching a donut and sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. A cyber engineer and software designer, Dr. Sable was a relative newcomer to the project — only their newest technician, Antonio Alvarez, had less tenure since he’d joined them nearly three months earlier. But Sable had proven himself invaluable in the fourteen months since he joined them. Malignant Wave was Sable’s second project at Groom Lake. The previous program had been cancelled.

“I never went out with you because you never asked,” Dani replied with a sly smile.

The banter was interrupted when the airman’s laptop beeped three times in quick succession. Dr. Reed watched over the Corporal’s shoulder as the blip drifted off the grid map and vanished from the screen. A moment later Stratowski tapped a key and shut down the computer.

“All clear, Dr. Reed. Your team can proceed.”

Dr. Reed sighed. “Finally.”

Heels clicking on the concrete, she strutted across the hangar and punched a red button on the doorjamb. A warning siren wailed, reverberating deafeningly throughout the massive hangar — the signal that nap time was over. With a metallic clatter, the massive steel door began to rise, filling the dim interior of the hangar with bright sunlight and waves of oppressive heat.

After ten seconds, the warning siren went mute. Several young airmen, yawning and stretching, emerged from a tangle of packing crates. A young Hispanic woman in overalls climbed aboard the tow tractor, and the engine roared to life in a cloud of blue smoke. Rumbling, the tractor lurched forward, dragging an aluminum tow platform containing the microwave emissions array.

A split-second later, the tow tractor abruptly braked, tires squealing. Carried by momentum, the tow platform continued forward, colliding with the rear of the tow vehicle. The jolt rattled the sensitive microwave emitter strapped to the platform. Cries of alarm erupted from the research team and Dr. Bas-comb cursed. Sable threw his Styrofoam cup to the ground and Beverly Chang took a step backwards, blinking in surprise.

Dr. Megan Reed went ballistic.

“What the hell is that… that thing blocking the door?” she cried. Reed pointed to a ten foot steel pole set in a concrete filled tire. A volleyball dangled from a long rope hooked to the top.

“It’s a tetherball post,” Corporal Stratowski declared.

“I know what it is,” Dr. Reed said. “I want to know who owns it.”

“It belongs to Antonio — I mean, Dr. Alvarez.” Dani Welles regretted speaking before the words were out of her mouth.

“I should have known,” muttered Dr. Reed. She looked around for the guilty party, but saw no sign of the project’s energy system programmer. She shouted out in a voice that rivaled the decibel level of the warning siren.

“Alvarez, where the hell are you?”

“Yo!” came the call from the back of the hangar. Dr. Antonio Alvarez stuck his head out of the interior of a malfunctioning electrical generator.

“Front and center, now!” Dr. Reed commanded.

Alvarez hurried forward, a power coupler in one hand, the end of a long electrical cable in the other. The wire in his hand unwound until it reached its limit, nearly jerking him off his feet. With an embarrassed frown, Alvarez dropped the cable and tossed the power coupler onto a crate. Standing before Dr. Reed, he wiped his greasy hands on his white lab coat.

“You called?”

Dr. Reed stared at the newest member of her team. She’d known many “eccentric” scientists and researchers in her day, but few were as clueless as Dr. Alvarez. She studied the man, from the dark tangle of his unkempt hair; black, thick-framed glasses; and perpetual five o’clock stubble; all the way down to the baggy, oversized sweatpants.

If Dr. Reed applied some of the considerable powers of observation she used for her research, she might have noticed that Alvarez was as tall as she was — a fact disguised by his submissive demeanor and perpetually slumped shoulders. Also masked was the man’s muscular, former-Marine physique, his strong shoulders and arms strategically camouflaged by a lab coat two sizes too big.

“Does that… that pole belong to you?” Dr. Reed asked through gritted teeth.

Alvarez followed Reed’s gaze to the tetherball stand outside.

“Yes, Dr. Reed.”

“Could you move it.”

“Of course, sorry. I was trying to fix the backup

generator. It blew yesterday, when we tested the

coupler set up. I had to reconfigure a few of the—”

“Move the pole. NOW!”

Alvarez flushed red. Pushing up his thick glasses,

he tucked his head into his chest and ran to the tetherball pole. He yanked on the rope until the pole toppled. Corporal Stratowski joined him and together they used the concrete-filled tire to roll the post out of the way. A moment later the tractor rumbled through the door of Hangar Six.

“Got it, partner?” Stratowski asked.

“Sure, Corporal,” Alvarez replied. “Thanks for the help.”

A crane rolled out of another hangar and approached the steel tower. Stratowski joined the others, following the tow vehicle to the base of the structure. Dr. Reed and Dani Welles passed Alvarez on their way out. The Team Leader glanced at the nerdy technician, who was struggling to position the pole as close to the hanger wall as possible.

“A grown man and he still plays tetherball. Can you believe it?” Megan Reed said incredulously.

Dani shrugged. “He plays solo squash, too. Last week I saw him over at the dorms before sunup. I’m sure he didn’t know anyone was around. The dude’s hot. He was wearing nothing but shorts, and he whacked that ball like a pro. I was surprised to see how trim he is. Hides it under those ridiculous clothes.” Dani glanced over her shoulder at Alvarez. “A girl could do worse…”

Dr. Reed snorted. “Antonio? Please. It’s lonely out here in the desert, but not that lonely.”

When everyone was out of earshot, Dr. Alvarez reached around the pole, until his fingers located a small hole drilled into the metal. He probed inside, until he located two buttons hidden there. He tapped them in a precise sequence, heard a faint beep over the sound of the desert wind and rustling sand.

“Jamey, it’s Almeida. Can you hear me?”