“Naw, it was crazy back there, son. People with guns runnin’ around.”
McKinney felt her eyes drooping in exhaustion.
Foxy slapped Smokey on the shoulder. “Hey, looks like the professor needs some rack time. So do I.”
“All right, we’ll catch up later.”
They left Smokey behind and headed toward double doors. As McKinney padded across the floor, it occurred to her it wasn’t concrete. It was solid rock, probably hundreds of feet thick, ground flat by mining equipment and polished. Their shoes made almost no sound as they walked across it.
Looking around at the other vehicles in the large garage, McKinney noticed some were marked with the same Ancile Services shield logo she wore, while others were painted teal green and marked with U.S. Forest Service insignia. There were also a couple of four-wheel-drive Dodge Power Wagon crew-cab pickups in the process of being painted with Bureau of Land Management livery-the word Ranger partially stenciled and taped out along the side. All of the vehicles were rugged-looking; obviously made for off-road work, with the largest trucks being ten- ton, four-wheel-drive monstrosities. She’d seen similar Unimog trucks in Africa used by pricey European or South African tour groups. Apparently no expense had been spared on this place; there were three gleaming multi-ton Amerigo four-wheel-drive survey trucks with sensors and antennas sticking up from a windowed control room in their cargo area. They looked like oil company seismic trucks, but they were partially disassembled in places with welding equipment stored close by and modifications half-finished.
McKinney gestured to the vehicles and looked at Foxy quizzically.
“Need-to-know, Professor.”
“You realize that conducting covert military operations inside the United States is illegal.”
“Someone’s attacking us, Professor. When that happens we get to shoot back. No sense panicking everyone in the meantime.”
They pushed through the doors and entered a plain white hallway that smelled strongly of spackling, fresh paint, and adhesives. The whole place was brand-new. It had the look of a medical office building. Foxy brought her ahead and to the right, down a side corridor.
“Your hooch is this way…”
McKinney’s head kept darting about. “This whole place was built just for this project?”
Foxy sighed. “Yeah, and let me tell you, top-secret general contractors don’t come cheap.”
They turned a corner to see a man with tightly curled gray hair standing with his back to them in the middle of the hallway; he was dressed in a sweater and slacks, holding a tablet computer in his hands while he watched a lawn mower-sized unmanned electric vehicle with large, off-road wheels weaving through doorways, following some sort of search pattern.
Foxy called out, “You’re up late.”
The man kept his eyes on the vehicle. “Tinkering is sleep for me.” He turned as they reached him.
He was balding, with an aquiline nose. A wiry, intense-looking sixty-year-old. He regarded McKinney with something like disdain.
Foxy gestured to McKinney. “Expert One, meet Expert Six.”
The man stared intently as he extended his hand. “Brian Singleton, Professor Emeritus, Computer Engineering and Robotics, Carnegie Mellon University.”
Foxy rolled his eyes. “Goddammit, Singleton, how many times do I have to tell you, no names?”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to cower behind some puerile alias.”
“It could compromise your personal safety, not to mention-”
“Let these terrorists do their damnedest.” Singleton focused his gaze back on McKinney, but he addressed his talk to Foxy. “The report said she’s a myrmecologist. Don’t tell me this young woman was brought here because of Odin’s fixation on swarming again.”
“One, what Odin does or doesn’t do isn’t my-”
“Because it’s a waste of time.” Singleton’s eyes stayed on McKinney as she watched his vehicle whizzing around the hallways unattended behind him. “The drones we’re facing are premeditated hunters, not swarming hordes.” He gestured behind him at his nimble vehicle. “Hunting alone. We can’t waste time on conjecture.”
McKinney stared right back at him. “I’m not here by choice, and I have no intention of trying to push an agenda on you.”
“Good. Because I won’t allow us to be sidetracked.”
“Fine.”
“People are dying.”
“I got it. Okay? Let it go.”
Foxy interceded. “Stop busting balls.” He gestured to the hallway. “You wanna call off your premeditated hunter?”
Singleton kept his gaze on McKinney for a second more, and then nodded. He clapped his hands sharply, and the unmanned vehicle stopped in its tracks.
Foxy pushed past with McKinney. “Thank you. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
After they rounded the corner McKinney shook her head ruefully. “I knew there was a reason I liked fieldwork.”
Foxy chuckled. “Oh, he’s all right once you get to know him. Just been here a while, that’s all.” Foxy led her to a row of blond-wood doors. They stopped at one with the number six engraved on a plastic plaque. “Here we are.”
McKinney narrowed her eyes to see that someone had even printed the number in raised Braille letters underneath. She ran her finger along the dots.
Foxy opened the door. “Yes, we are ADA compliant.” He turned on the lights. They buzzed on to illuminate a Spartan dormitory-style room with sturdy, brand-new furniture. A bed, dresser, and a desk with a laptop already sitting on it-hardwired with a CAT-5 cable to a jack in the wall. A flat-panel television hung opposite the bed. It was a room she’d never in a million years conceived she’d be in. She was still trying to grasp the surreality of all this and half expected to hear the night sounds of the jungle. Here there was only the sterile buzzing of lights.
Foxy walked to the desk and opened the laptop. “Yours for the duration. It has most of the software that was on your old laptop.”
“Do I even want to ask how you know what was on my old laptop?”
“You can ask Hoov tomorrow. He might have some firewall advice.” He gestured to the laptop again. “There’s a team wiki on our intranet that’ll tell you everything you need to know about the mission. Welcome to government service.”
“A covert military operation with a wiki.”
Foxy headed to the door. “It’s only going to get stranger from here on, Professor. So I suggest you get some sleep. Your bathroom’s over there. Toiletries too. Clothes and shoes in the bureau and closet. The alarm clock will sound at oh six hundred hours. Everyone gathers in the team room at seven. You can grab breakfast before then-I’ll send someone around. If you need sleeping aids or anything else, ring this button by the door.” He regarded her tired eyes. “Any questions?”
She shook her head wearily.
“Super…” He gave her a two-finger salute. “See you in about five hours, then.” And closed the door behind him.
She stared at the dead bolt, and then walked over to turn it with a satisfying clack. Just the sight of the slug of steel entering the frame, sealing her off, brought her stress level down by half.
McKinney then sat on the edge of the bed and put her hands to her face. This was insanity.
She noticed the remote control for the television on the nightstand. She grabbed it and clicked the power button. The television blinked to life on the Weather Channel. A meteorologist was waving her hands above the northeast, showing a high-pressure system moving in from the Great Lakes. It was a window of normalcy viewed from inside a loony bin.
She clicked the channel button and cable news came up. Video of a burning office building, windows blackened and blasted out. The chyron scrolling on the bottom read, “… attack in D.C. Six dead. Twelve injured…”
McKinney felt it almost personally.
