Dead Six

I nodded.

“Ah, Train, come on,” Reaper whined. “We need you, big guy.”

“I don’t trust Eddie,” Train spat. “And you’d be an idiot to trust him. He knows about my kid, man. I’ve got to go get her.”

I extended my hand. He hesitated only briefly before crushing it in his big mitt. He was one of only a handful of people in this world that I actually trusted. I had worked with Train for nearly a decade and his decision didn’t surprise me at all. For a man who could snap a neck with one hand, he had a remarkably soft heart. “Watch your back,” I ordered.

He gave me a sad smile. We both knew that this was the end of a long run. “No problem, chief.”

Train took his share of the money and slipped out that night. At the time, none of us had realized that our hotel room had been bugged even though we had swept the room.

The next morning I had awoken to a knock on our door. When I answered, gun in hand, the messenger was gone, but there had been a cardboard box left there addressed to me. The size and weight told me what it was even before I opened it. Train’s severed head had been neatly wrapped in newspaper. The only other contents were a note.

I AM WATCHING YOU.

Chapter 1:

Job Security

VALENTINE

ATC Research & Development Facility

North Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

January 18

0330

I made my way around Building 21, rattling door handles as I went. It was the second time I’d checked this building during my shift, and I didn’t expect to find it unsecured. Still, the night-shift maintenance guys had a habit of leaving doors unlocked as they did their rounds, so I often had to relock them during my rounds.

Finding nothing out of place, I returned to the front of the building. Mounted on the wall next to the front door was a small metal button, resembling a watch battery. I retrieved from my pocket an electronic wand, and touched the tip of it to the metal button on the wall.

Nothing happened. “Goddamn it,” I grumbled, wiping both the button and the end of the wand with my finger. The wand was my electronic leash. As I hit the buttons across the facility, the wand recorded the time that I was there, thus proving to my employers that I was actually doing my job. However, if there was any moisture at all on either the button or the wand, it wouldn’t register.

I tried the button again. Still, nothing happened. Swearing some more, I pulled a small cloth out of my pocket and wiped down the button and the tip of the wand. Yet again, nothing happened. A pulse of anger shot through me, and I threw the wand against the steel door of Building 21. It bounced off, leaving not so much as a dent, and clattered to the concrete sidewalk below.

I took a deep breath and looked around. The sprawling ATC facility was dark, lit only by the amber lights around the buildings and along the roads. To the south, the omnipresent glow of the Strip lit up the sky. The night air was cool but had the familiar dusty stink of Las Vegas.

I looked down at the wand and frowned. Everywhere I’d been, everything I’d done, and this was what I was reduced to. I had seen combat on four continents and had survived it all, only to be utterly defeated by badly designed electronics. I sighed loudly, though there was no one around to hear.

I picked up my wand and made one last attempt. Touching it to the button, the wand beeped loudly and registered the hit. Muttering to myself, I stuffed the wand back into my pocket and returned to my patrol truck. Building 21 was last on my scheduled rounds; I had nothing else to do but drive around for the remaining three and a half hours of my shift.

As I drove, I listened to a late-night radio program called From Sea to Shining Sea. It was basically four hours of people talking about conspiracy theories, aliens, ghosts, and stuff like that. Most of it was a bunch of hooey, in my opinion, but it was often entertaining. Listening to the conspiracy theories regarding Mexico, the United Nations, and Vanguard Strategic Services always gave me a chuckle. They had no idea. The host, Roger Geonoy, was talking about secret government black helicopters or something with a guest. The guest was a frequent visitor to the show and only called himself “Prometheus.” He never gave his real name. Because, you know, they are listening. I barely paid attention as they went on about the supposed shadow government and its stealth helicopters. I did get another chuckle when Prometheus insisted that these choppers are sound-suppressed and can fly in what he called “whisper mode.” I’d ridden in enough helicopters to know just how freaking loud they are.

As Roger Geonoy listened to Prometheus blather on about black helicopters and cattle mutilations, I remembered my last helicopter ride in detail. The noise of the engines, the roar of gunfire. The sickening sound of bullets hitting the hull. The shrieking of the alarm as we dropped into a drained swimming pool. The ragged, bloody hole in Ramirez’ head. Doc’s guts spilled out onto the floor of the chopper.

“Sierra-Eleven, Dispatch,” my radio squawked, startling me. I realized that I’d been sitting at a stop sign for minutes on end. From Sea to Shining Sea had gone to commercial break. My heart was pounding.

Shaking it off, I answered my radio. “This is Sierra-Eleven.”

“Electrical Maintenance needs you to let them into Building Fourteen,” the Dispatcher said.

“Uh, ten-four,” I replied. “Ten-seventeen.” I took a deep breath and returned my attention to doing my stupid job.

Hours later, I pulled my patrol truck into a parking space behind the Security Office. Putting the truck in park, I finished the paperwork on my clipboard, recorded the mileage, and cut the engine. My breath steamed in the cool January air as I stepped out of the truck and made my way into the office.

“Mornin’, Val,” my supervisor, Mr. Norton, said as I passed his office en route to the ready room. “Anything happen last night?”

Pausing, I leaned into the doorway for a moment. “It was quiet, Boss.” Leaning in farther, I handed him my paperwork. “Is McDonald here yet?”

“Yeah, he’s on time today,” Mr. Norton said. “Have a good weekend, Val.”

“You, too, boss,” I said, leaving the doorway and making my way down the hall. I pushed open the door to the ready room. My relief, McDonald, was standing by the gun lockers, seemingly half awake. He was