Dutch drove by the towering Mandalay Bay hotel with its shining golden windows. He turned left at the light, finally off the main strip. The change from the glitzy Las Vegas strip to the motel-lined desert road felt abrupt. He could only see a few low-slung buildings now. Ahead was the western side of the McCarren airstrip. This was the opposite side of the main terminals. Only one flight left from this side of the airstrip.
He pulled into a large parking lot that was fenced in on all sides. Just on the other side of the fence on the airstrip side, Dutch could see a white airplane with a red stripe along the fuselage. It was right where he had left it hours before when he returned from his last leg.
He parked, grabbed his duffle bag, and walked up to a small building at the far corner of the parking lot. Through the double glass doors was a small desk with a single person sitting behind it. Dutch knew that armed soldiers lay in wait on all sides. He sighed as he opened the door and felt a gust of cool air conditioning.
The woman behind the counter knew him well. “Afternoon,” she said with a smile. She was a small woman, wearing a blue jacket and skirt you’d see a flight attendant wearing. Her hair was tied in a neat bun atop her head. “Use the scanner, please,” she said, pushing a square plastic box toward him.
The scanner’s surface was semitransparent with four long grooves for Dutch to rest his fingers, palm facing down. As he did so, a light flashed from below so the scanner could measure the length of his finger bones, examine his fingerprints, and take in the general geometry of his hand to make a positive identification. After a brief moment, a round light beside his thumb flashed green, and the door to the right of the desk emitted a sharp, metallic clanging noise, and it unlocked.
“Have a nice flight,” said the woman.
Dutch nodded and went through the unmarked door. Beyond the reception desk was a small waiting area that looked exactly like the waiting areas in the main terminal. The same bench seats you’d see in any terminal across the US lined the center of the room, and in the corner was an old soda machine with branding from the 1990s. Windows looked out toward the airstrip, and Dutch saw a Southwest 727 Max 8 taking off.
The room was still empty, but people would arrive soon. Fluorescent lights flickered above him as he crossed the waiting room and exited through a beige door leading to the runway.
Again, the hot desert air slapped him across the face as he stepped out and walked across the tarmac. He cricked his neck as he approached the roller steps leading up to the unmarked 737 he’d be piloting. The ground crew was already in the middle of their pre-flight checks, and when he entered the plane, a stewardess was there to take his bag.
“Welcome back, Captain,” she said.
“Thanks. Good to see you, Julia. Did you have time to get some sleep?” he said, pulling the duffle bag away from her reaching arms. “I’ll take care of this one. It’s a little heavy.”
She seemed unbothered, letting him shuffle toward the cockpit with his bag. “I got a little rest,” she said, “Ready for this last leg to be over, though. Think this old bird has one more in her?”
Dutch chuckled as he dropped Joanna’s duffle bag in the footwell of the copilot seat and grabbed his kneeboard from the cockpit. “JANET will get us there, won’t you, girl?” he said, patting the side of the airplane. As Julia was digging through a compartment and taking note of the drinks and snacks, they had on the plane, Dutch said, “Hey Jewels. Keep my duffle bag off the logbook, will you?”
She looked up at him, her smile faltering slightly. But she said, “Yes, Captain.”
He nodded and said, “Thanks, Jules”
The preflight checks were simple. Monotonous. But he took special time and care to make sure everything was perfect, as always. Passengers were arriving before long. He watched them file up the roller steps onto the plan in ones and twos. He ignored them but made the mistake of walking too close to the roller stairs as a couple was approaching, giving the man an opportunity to call out to him. He was a silver-haired man wearing slacks and a white button-down.
“You there,” said the man. “Are you the captain?”
Dutch said nothing as the man stuck out his hand. “Howard Kepler,” said the man, waiting for Dutch to shake. Dutch sighed and shook hands firmly. Kepler said, “Are you the regular pilot?” Again, Dutch said nothing, choosing instead to flip through his checklist. Kepler cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming months. I’m the director of the FBI. Colonel Jacobs requested me personally for this evening. Do you expect good weather? It’d be a shame if we couldn’t see the base when landing. Do you think you could do a quick circle of the base before we land to give the passengers a good look? It’s not every day you get to fly over Area 51.” Kepler laughed, showing his white teeth.
Dutch sighed, still looking through his checklist, and said nothing. Kepler nodded to himself and said, “Well, I just thought I’d introduce myself and- Well, carry on. Make sure the plane is in perfect order.” Kepler backed away awkwardly and finally turned back to his wife, and the pair of them headed up the steps.
As he finished all of the pre-flight checks, Dutch started stealing glances at the people entering the plane, waiting to see if Joanna would make it. They’d been waiting to enact this plan for months; it all hinged on whether or not Joanna could figure out how to get cleared for a JANET flight to Groom Lake. Now that it was finally happening, he could hardly believe it.
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He’d flown this leg before; the day of the Colonel’s Gala always brought a slew of powerful people from around the country to Las Vegas and his JANET terminal. Generals, defense secretaries, and a few white house personnel only scratched the surface. As wheels-up inched closer, he caught sight of the vice president with his wife and a few secret service members. He nodded to them as they walked up the airstairs, silently amused at the disgruntled look on the vice president’s face. He was, no doubt, angry that he’d have to take a JANET flight instead of accompanying the president on Air Force One, the only other plane allowed to land at Groom Lake.
But no Joanna. He checked his watch several times a minute, standing at the bottom of the steps. Finally, a black car arrived on the other side of the fence and let out a small party by the terminal doors. He first saw a couple; Director Lakewood from the CIA and his wife. Then, Joanna stepped out of the rear passenger door, a small bag slung over her shoulder, still wearing the blue dress from before. He couldn’t help grinning as she pushed her sunglasses atop her head and gazed up at the Dutch’s airplane. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he could have sworn she passed him a small wink before walking into the terminal’s double doors behind the CIA director and his wife.
She actually did it, he thought, shaking his head. He waited for the small party to finish their security check and board the plane so he could be the last to enter before takeoff. But as Joanna walked by him, he noticed a team of black SUVs arriving at the JANET terminal on the other side of the fence. He heard them before seeing them. Tire’s screeched as they all came to a stop in front of the terminal’s double doors, and car doors flew open to let soldiers in black uniforms pour out onto the sidewalk.
A few steps above him, Joanna had stopped to watch. Dutch stole a glance up at her, but she just shook her head. He saw that only a few people entered the terminal. The rest got back into their SUVs and departed. He heard Joanna walking up the steps again as the terminal waiting room doors opened and a small group of people emerged onto the tarmac.
In the lead was Captain Donald Tully. Dutch had seen Tully many times over the years. An Air Force Captain, and legacy member of the Area 51 staff, Tully was a regular passenger on his JANET flights. He was also a cold-hearted son of a bitch.
Tully held the terminal door for others to file out onto the tarmac behind him.
First came a soldier leading a beaten down looking woman in handcuffs. She stumbled through the door onto the tarmac, squinting against the afternoon light, blood staining her shirt and bottom lip. Dutch didn’t recognize her, but he recognized the obscured yellow writing on the windbreaker tied around her waist. It was an FBI windbreaker, and her belt had an empty gun holster.
Before he had time to question why Tully had an FBI agent in custody, two more soldiers emerged from the terminal, carrying Booker Dunn between them. The kid was still unconscious. Blood stained one side of his face, and the tips of his shoes dragged against the tarmac as he was carried forward.
Dutch stole glances as the FBI woman was led up the steps followed by the two soldiers awkwardly carrying Booker up between them.
“Thanks for waitin’ for us,” said Tully, standing at the bottom of the airstair and following Dutch’s gaze upward. “What’s the matter? He a friend of yours?”
Dutch shook his head. “He just looks a little banged up is all.”
“Well don’t look at me,” said Tully, snapping his toothpick in half and tossing it to the ground. “We found him like that.”
“Sure you did,” said Dutch, glancing back up the stairs to see Booker being carried into the depths of the plane.
Tully chuckled and said, “Wheels up, boy.” And with that, he ascended the stairs with a spring in his step and Dutch followed behind slowly.
For the next hour, Dutch felt as if he was on autopilot. He was in the cockpit, he taxied, and before he knew it, he was taking off. About fifteen minutes after takeoff, he turned off the plane’s transponder, as was protocol. Now they were invisible to any tower that might try to check in on them. He took a deep breath as he leveled out the plane and said, under his breath, “Here we go.”
Halfway through the flight, Julia came in to check on him. She offered a cup of coffee, but he refused. His mind was in the back of the plane, wondering what was happening to Joanna and the kid. He hadn’t got a good look, but the kid looked in bad shape. And he wasn’t in good hands. Donald Tully was not a man to lock horns with; it couldn’t have been part of Joanna’s plan to hand over the kid to the likes of him. This whole thing was a mess. Their plan, so carefully crafted over the last year, now felt so rushed. He felt the weight of all the unknown elements waiting for them as they flew through a calm sky.
Before long, he was circling Groom Lake air force base. Thousands of feet below, he could see the white, dried-up lakebed that made up the northern portion of the base. The lakebed was surrounded by dusty, brown mountains on all sides, making it the perfect place for the military to build a secret, secluded test facility. The base itself was built on the southwest side of the salt flats. There were three runways, the center one being over two miles long and extending halfway through the dried lake.
At the southwest side of the lake were a collection of low-slung hangars and office buildings erected in a grid pattern beside the airstrip. Those made up the bulk of the testing facilities for aircraft and the offices for the engineers and scientists to work. As you looked further away from the airstrip, closer to the mountain's edge, you could see the winding streets of Laketown; the small community where workers at Area 51 lived. It was a small neighborhood built around a main street and central park. Even from this altitude, Dutch could make out the grass pitch and running track at the center of Laketown. Main street ran along central park, with a huge water tower looming over the low-slung buildings. The tower cast a shadow over the grass of central park.
Dutch imagined himself sitting in a booth at Ted’s, the diner situated at the base of the water tower, within the next hour. A religious routine he’d created as a JANET pilot over the last few years always ended at Ted’s; land, taxi, deplane, security check, walk to Ted’s diner for a milkshake. It would be a crowded night at Ted’s with the Gala later in the evening. All the fresh blood he was delivering to the base would find their way there to wait and gossip before High Point Hall opened for the Gala.
As he descended below the mountains on final approach into the Groom Lake dust bowl, he looked up at High Point Hall. It was situated inside the tallest of the surrounding mountains looming over Laketown. Toward the top of the mountain, workers had cut a huge, hangar shaped hole that extended half a mile into the rock.
Dutch imagined Colonel Jacobs standing by the windows of High Point Hall, watching the JANET flight touch down on his runway at Area 51 from far above. Whether he was there or not, Dutch always felt like the mountain was watching him.