Booker drank in the scene as best he could, trying to get a lay of the land. It looked as if they were getting further away from the hospital and the airstrip. The buildings around them changed from offices, parking lots, and huge airplane hangars to smaller, apartment-looking buildings. The apartments hugged the edge of a cliff face that cast shade over the road and the buildings. Here, Booker saw more men and women in civilian clothes sitting on small balconies, or chatting as they walked along the sidewalk.
After the apartments came rows of small houses. They had small, mostly brown lawns, scattered trees, and low-slung roof lines reminiscent of buildings from the 1960s. Some of them had some charm.
Over the tops of the houses, Booker could see they were approaching a water tower. It was situated right in the middle of the little town. The driver turned onto what must have been Main Street. To the left he saw the movie theater with its old-time halogen light display over the entrance, a convenience store with a few people walking in and out, a barber shop, and a few other small diversions. To the right was a park with green grass and a running track. A scattering of trees encircled the whole thing. There were a few soldiers running in gray jogging suits, and a few others playing a game of catch in the middle of the grass.
Straight ahead was an old-school New York-style diner with a shiny silver facade, wrap-around windows, and a big neon sight over the door that said, “Ted’s Diner. Established 1942.”
“Here we are,” said the driver, coming to a stop by the curb. They were in the shadow of the water tower, which was settled right behind the diner.
“Thanks again,” said Red, clambering out of the car. Booker followed suit and eyed the crowded booths through the diner’s windows. As the car pulled away from the curb, Booker took a moment to gather himself. All around the little town were huge brown mountains. They were magnificent but also ominous. It was as if the town sat in the middle of a big cage, walls all around, closing in. Peering around the side of the water tower, he once again saw the big hole cut into the tallest of the mountains.
Somehow, it looked even more ominous from here; it was a warden's tower, and they were all stuck in the prison yard. He couldn’t see what was inside. It was too high up. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could see people walking around the opening of the mountain.
Red said, “Come on. I don’t have a lot of time.” Booker saw Red leaving him behind, walking toward the diner. He hurried to catch up.
A bell chimed above the door as they entered, and a torrent of noise rushed over them from inside. The place was jam-packed. The booths overflowing, men and women standing around, servers winding their way through with difficulty, holding drinks trays high over their heads. The sound of sizzling meat and potatoes on the flat top somehow reached Booker’s ears over the booming jukebox by the door.
There was no host to seat them. Red just dove right in, ducking and weaving through all the different groups. As Booker followed, it struck him that everyone here was incredibly well-dressed. Tuxedos, ball gowns, full military dress uniforms with shiny medals adorning their chests. The women had their hair and makeup done, diamond earrings, and gold necklaces. The men were clean-shaven with their hair greased back, adjusting their watches on their wrists. Juxtaposed against the pure chaos and the white and red tile setting of the diner, it made for quite an interesting sight.
Red was taking him deeper into the depths of the diner, and Booker was just about to ask him again what was going on when he recognized a large man with a big, bushy mustache sitting alone at a small corner table.
Dutch had his back turned to the room and there was an empty milkshake glass in front of him. He was tilting his head from side to side as if stretching his neck after a long, hard day. Red turned to Booker and pointed to the empty seat across from Dutch and said, “Go on, sit.”
Booker shook his head in disbelief and then sank into the booth, facing Dutch.
“Beat it! I’m waiting on someone,” said Dutch. Booker watched as Dutch’s expression went from gruff dismissiveness to complete shock as recognition broke across his face. “Holy hell! What are you - how did you get here, kid!” he said in a voice that carried through the din.
But before Dutch could say more, Red dropped into the seat beside him and said, “Jesus, why not shout a little louder and grab everyone’s attention!”
“I said check up on him! Not bring him all the way out here!” Dutch hissed.
“What was I supposed to do? He was on the loose and Captain Tully had them scrubbing the whole building for him! He’s part of the team, isn’t he?”
Dutch rubbed his face with his hands and said, “We’re a pin drop away from this whole thing falling on our heads.”
Red nodded at Booker and said, “Now that I got you here, what’s your part in this whole thing anyway?”
“My part?” said Booker. “I didn’t sign up to steal missile codes or government secrets or whatever it is you’re after! I came to help my dad.”
Looking at Dutch, Red said, “What’s this about Robert?”
“Beats me,” said Dutch. “Listen, kid, I don’t know where you’re getting this idea about helping your old man. The way I see it, we’re in a lot more trouble than he is at the moment.”
“But Joanna said -”
“Screw what Joana said! Your old man will be in a lot less trouble than you if they find you.”
Before Booker could say more, Red said, “Whatever the case may be, I need to report to High Point Hall in the next fifteen minutes, so you two need to figure this out on your own.” Looking at Booker he said, “Don’t worry, Booker. If these guys get you in, they’ll get you out.” He stood up, extended a hand, and Booker shook it. “I’ll see you on the other side,” said Red.
As he made to leave, Booker called him back. “Red! I just - Well, thanks for the help.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Red. With a small salute, Red was off, weaving through the crowd.
At that moment, a waiter came by to greet them, saying, “You gentlemen need anything? Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Booker, who had almost jumped out of his seat in surprise, said, “Jesus, how did you - what?” For a split second, Booker thought that - somehow - Red had disappeared into the crowd, changed into a server uniform, and returned to their table. But he could still see Red walking through the crowd. The waiter looked just like him though.
“We’re fine,” said Dutch.
The waiter was about to leave when Booker said, “Actually, I’ll take something.” Dutch gave him a look, but Booker was eyeing the empty milkshake glass on the table. He said, “I’ll take a milkshake. And the biggest burger you have.”
“Make it two milkshakes,” said Dutch.
The waiter left. Booker was sunk deep into the booth, and said, “I think I’m going crazy. All these people look the same.”
To his annoyance, Dutch actually chuckled and said, “First timers. Listen kid, they look alike for a reason. They’re all PCs. You’ll see them all over the place here.” Booker listened silently as Dutch described the PCP - Progressive Cloning Project. Some people around the base called them photocopies. All cloned copies of the same original source. “There’s about 200 of them, give or take. More than half the staff here. They all work different jobs. Green name tags work in security. Yellow tags run odd jobs. They work at the stores; line cooks, janitors, stock boys. Red tags are secretaries or hospital staff - like Red. Administration mostly. Get it? They’re all programmed a little differently. They’re all a little unique.”
“You mean Red is … a clone?” said Booker, slowly. Another waiter was walking by their table and Boker examined his face. Sure enough, he could have been Red’s twin. Now that he was looking for them, he saw several identical faces among the staff of the diner.
Dutch said, “Red is actually one of the oldest ones on the base. Delta generation. He and I go way back. He is different from the rest. The older generations were more real than the others, but their lifespans are volatile. Red might be the last one.”
“What do you mean?” said Booker.
“I mean they’re not like us. Most of them anyway. The newer the generation, the stranger they become. Romeos. Sierras. Tangos. They look like Red, but there is something off about them. Like these waiters. They look normal enough, but spend enough time with them, and you notice small things that just aren’t right. The PCP program is supposed to create soldiers you see. That’s the end goal. The current generations can’t disobey an order from a superior. You could literally tell one to shoot his partner, or shoot himself, and he’ll do it.”
“Whoa,” said Booker. “You’re serious?”
“Believe it, kid,” said Dutch. “The powers that be only see upsides to it. Using the PCs means less civilian and military personnel are needed on the base. Less people means less secrets get out. Programming the PCs to be obedient - to be submissive. It means they don’t have to worry about mutiny or insurrection. They’re like robots. They’re popped into this world to serve Groom Lake, and when they’re all used up, they’re recycled to fertilize the next batch.”
“Is that even legal?” said Booker.
“Legal? This place doesn’t run on the same laws as the real world. It’s all about progress here. They’re thinking ten, twenty years in the future. Trying to maintain pole position as the biggest, meanest power in the world. The PCP program just scratches the surface. They can grow replacement parts for you here. Lung cancer? No problem. Kidney replacement? Skin graph? Heart transplant? They can do it all for the right customer. But unless they’re growing something for a special order, all the PCs come from the same source. They’ve been perfecting the same DNA strand for years and years. You think the government would say no to an army that can’t refuse orders? An army that can survive on less food and water, that doesn’t feel fear or pain? It’s a politician’s wet dream.”
Silence fell between them for a moment, and Booker’s eyes wandered.
“Not Red though,” said Dutch. “He’s one of the last ones with any real sense of self. He’s got a mind of his own. He’s smart. And he wants out of this place. That’s why he’s our inside man. The deal is that he helps us, and we help him get out.” Dutch looked as though he wanted to say more, so Booker waited.
“You know, Red might have saved your life today,” he said. “This is a dangerous place. Ask the wrong questions, see things you're not supposed to see, let secrets slip - these are the types of things that get people disappeared here. I’ve been around this place a long time. Long enough to know some of the unlucky souls that ended up buried in the salt flats out there.”
“Jesus,” said Booker, rubbing his face with his hands.
“I’m telling you this so you understand the stakes we’re dealing with here - You think that we - Joanna, Red, and me - would try something like this without good reason?”
“I thought you said you don’t even know what you’re after,” said Booker.
“I don’t. It’s better that way. But I do know Joanna. I trust her. And so should you.”
Booker scoffed.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“I’m serious,” said Dutch. “She likes you. And she’s got a plan for you.”
“Is this part of her plan?” said Booker, gesturing to the diner around them. “Because it feels like I’ve been hung out to dry.”
“All I’m saying is that, you stick with us, and you’ll get what you want. If Joanna said we can help your dad, I’m sure she has a plan,” said Dutch.
Booker sighed, lost in thought. His head still hurt. His muscles ached. It was hard to think clearly. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the tattered postcard again. His eyes lingered on the two lines:
There’s still time to help your father.
P.S. You can trust your neighbor
Why couldn’t the message be more clear? The first card was so clear. But this barely made sense. His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion of some kind toward the front of the restaurant. Looking up, Booker caught sight of a uniformed Airman piling stacks of dishes into a man’s arms. He stacked the dishes higher and higher so that it became more difficult to balance. And then Booker realized the man having dishes stacked in his arms was Red.
Even through the din of the room, Booker could hear the Airman speak as he turned to the table of well-dressed guests, saying, “It’s no trouble to him. PCs can’t even say no! They grow them here to help us out with odd jobs. Your tax dollars at work!”
Red was scowling as the Airman and the table of guests chuckled. But before he could leave with all the dishes piled in his arms, Red was called back by the Airman. “Hold on there, PC. Why don’t you tell my friends here all about yourself. You got a name?”
Booker couldn’t hear what Red began to say, but the Airman cut him off anyway, saying, “You a Sierra generation? Does that make you five or six years old?”
By now, Booker had already brought Dutch’s attention to the interaction happening across the room between Red and the Airmen. As Red tried again to respond to the Airman, struggling under the weight of all the dishes piled in his arms, he was cut off again.
The Airman said, “Sierra generation is five or six, but some of the PCs you’ll see around here are only two or three years old! Crazy, isn’t it? They’re all grown to maturity though - they come out equivalent to about twenty-five.” The Airman made a dismissive gesture and, again, Red tried to leave, but was called back yet again.
“Hold on!” said the Airman. “We’ve got just a few more dishes, and I think you could carry some more!”
Booker felt a burning sensation deep inside as he watched the Airman gleefully stack more dishes in Red’s arms, carefully balancing every item on the top of the stack. In a low voice, Booker said, “What is that Airman over there?”
“No idea,” said Dutch.
“I mean his rank. What’s his rank?” said Booker, double-checking his own stolen uniform.
“Senior Airman,” said Dutch.
“Is that above or below a Sergeant?”
“You mean you? You’re dressed as Master Sergeant. E-7. Way above him. But I wouldn’t -”
Booker stood up and cracked his knuckles. Dutch grabbed his arm and said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Returning the favor,” said Booker, stuffing the postcard in his pocket again and approaching the Senior Airman.
The Airman was now laughing, stacking one last coffee cup atop the mound of dishes - a cherry on top. “Are you struggling there, PC?” he said.
Red was sweating, as he caught sight of Booker approaching.
Booker gave him a small wink, stepped forward, and glared at the Airman. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
The airman jumped, and his face fell comically as he saw the rank on Booker’s uniform. Hastily standing at attention and saluting, the airman said, “Master Sergeant, sir! I was just telling our guests about the PCs, sir!”
Booker jabbed the man’s chest and said, “I could give a rat's ass about what you were telling them - but it sure as hell looks like you were showing them how to disrespect and degrade a member of our staff! Is that what you were doing, Airman?”
“Sir?”
“You think it’s funny to disrespect this man just because you outrank him?” said Booker, nodding at Red, who was still struggling under the weight of all the dishes.
“No, sir,” said the Airman.
“No,” said Booker. “That’s too bad! Because I find it hilarious! In fact,” Booker lifted all the heavy plates out of Red's arms and tipped the entire stack over the Airman’s boots. The crashing sound of shattering plates and tingling silverware brought a momentary silence to the entire diner. The jukebox still blared its music, and someone yelled “Opa!”
The general din of conversation was already building back up when Booker said, “Go on then! Pick it up!”
The Airman immediately started scrounging on the floor to pick up all the broken bits of glass, trash, and scattered silverware. Red, who was watching Booker with his mouth slightly open, didn’t say a word. Booker said, “Don’t you have other work to do?”
Red seemed to snap back to his senses. He nodded, and left the diner, the bell chiming as he pushed the doors wide, and the shadow of a grin on his face.
Booker turned to the well-dressed group who were sitting at the table with Airman and was pleased to see that none of them could look him in the eye. They sat awkwardly as the Airman crawled around their feet trying to clean up hastily. “Welcome to Groom Lake,” said Booker. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Then he turned on his heel and marched back over to Dutch's table and sat back down. Dutch just stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “What?” said Booker, after an awkward silence.
“What the hell was that?” said Dutch. Booker just shrugged, and Dutch burst out laughing. “So much for not drawing attention. Have you got a death wish, kid?”
“Like I said, I was just returning the favor,” said Booker. “Besides, he said we’re running out of time, right? Now we’re back on track.”
Dutch was still grinning, shaking his head as if still in disbelief. Then he said, “Alright, let’s figure this all out. Take it from the top. How did you get here? What happened to you?”
Booker explained how he’d found the uniform and made his way to the diner with Red’s help. The food he had ordered arrived and Booker paused his story and dove into his plate with gusto, shoving fries into his mouth as fast as he could. He couldn’t remember being this hungry in his entire life. “You’re going to make me sick, kid. Could you slow down?”
Through a mouthful of burger, Booker said, “I was in a car wreck. Did you hear about that? They said it was the FBI’s fault.”
“I saw them bringing you onto the plane. You looked pretty banged up,” said Dutch. “How’s the head?”
“Killing me. Where’s Joanna?”
“No idea,” said Dutch, taking a spoonful of strawberry milkshake. “I saw her an hour ago. She handed me a napkin with some notes on it. I gave that to Red, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“The napkin was from here? What’s on it?”
“Instructions,” said Dutch.
“Instructions for what?”
“Instructions for Red.”
“Well, why was Red looking for me at the hospital if he’s supposed to be doing whatever Joanna wrote down for him?”
“I told him to check on you. Joanna and I didn’t know where they took you, so I asked if he could help us figure it out before the Gala.”
“He found me alright,” said Booker.
“How did you manage to get out of the clinic and find this uniform?” said Dutch. Gesturing to the blood stain on Booker’s olive drab jacket, he said, “That from you?”
Shaking his head, Booker said, “I found it like this. I woke up in some office over there somewhere. This doctor lady kept asking me questions and trying to figure out what Joanna is up to.”
“Who was she?” said Dutch.
“Redhead, probably in her thirties or forties.”
“Is she hot?”
Booker gave a noncommittal shrug, chewing slowly. He was starting to feel overly full already, and not even half the plate was gone.
Dutch let out a low chuckle, and said, “You blind, kid? Or are redheads just not your thing?”
“Could we just not talk about that right now? Please?” said Booker, waving a fry in the air.
Dutch laughed again and said, “That must have been Dr. Heart. Evilyn Heart. She’s a big name around here. If she was asking about Joanna, that’s not a good sign.”
“Why?” said Booker.
“Because we don't need people asking questions about why we’re here. Especially someone as high up the ranks as Dr. Heart.”
“Well, she didn’t seem interested in whatever Joanna is after,” said Booker. “All she wants is the sphere.”
“What sphere?”
“This flying sphere-thing crashed into my house yesterday. Joanna was there messing with this radio-radar thing in my dad’s office. Then the roof exploded, and the sphere was sitting there, hovering over the ground.”
Dutch whistled softly.
“Pretty nuts, right? The house is burning up, I had to unpin Joanna from under a broken piece of roof, and then I ran out of there. I thought she was dead when I couldn’t find her. Sphere was gone, too. But Joanna showed up the next morning and gave me a ticket to Las Vegas. Dr. Heart thinks Joanna might have taken the sphere.”
“No kidding,” said Dutch through another spoonful of milkshake.
“You know anything about any of this? Or are you as lost as me?” said Booker.
“I haven’t heard anything about a sphere,” said Dutch.
Booker leaned back, tossing a fry back onto his plate. He had to admit, he was feeling a lot more calm sitting with Dutch. And his head was more clear now that he’d eaten. But it didn’t stop the fact that he and Dutch were in the dark on almost every part of this plan. He felt frustrated.
Some of that sentiment must have crossed his face, because Dutch said, “Alright, let’s try and put the pieces together. About a year ago, Joanna comes to me and says she’s got a job. Private job for a friend of hers. Off the books. No CIA. No Airforce. No nothing. The location? Groom Lake. The target? An undisclosed document. Ten inches by six inches. Weight is next to nothing. We’re talking grams, you understand?”
Leaning forward heavily on one arm, and subtly checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping, he continued, saying, “Our deadline is tomorrow. She said if we can’t pull this off by then, the whole thing is off. We spent a year getting all this together. I’ve been getting my hands on all kinds of maps and charts of the base with the help of my inside man - Red - and she brought in a friend as well. Thomas Miller. His job is to get the document smuggled off the base without detection. Tom trains birds. The idea is, we figure out where the document is, we train the bird where to go using a mocked-up course somewhere out in Montana, then, when the day comes, we drop the document in a specific location somewhere here on the base, and the bird knows where to go. It can carry off the document for us. Simple. Easy. Right?”
“Okay,” said Booker.
“Wrong. Not easy. Joanna’s contact won’t tell us what we’re looking for until we can guarantee a way into the base. Says there’s no point in us knowing what we’re after unless we have a full-proof way onto Groom Lake. That’s Joanna’s part in all this. She’s the one organizing everything. She had me do the pre-work with Red. Thomas figures out how to get the package off the base. But Joanna needed to figure out how to get herself to Groom Lake to make the lift. I was ready to give up, then I got word that one of the Colonel’s new aircraft went down last night. The whole base is going crazy. I’m flying JANET legs back and forth and back and forth because the Colonel wants all hands-on deck to get the situation under control. And then Joanna calls me and says it’s go-time. She’s got a ticket stamped with her name on it. One way to Groom Lake on my plane.”
“How did she do that?” said Booker.
“You tell me,” he said. “You’re the ticket.”
“I’m the ticket? How am I the ticket?”
“I don’t know, kid. But it worked. She’s here. And so are you.”
“What about the sphere?” said Booker.
Dutch shrugged. “Bit of a coincidence that the Colonel’s new aircraft goes down the same night this sphere-thing crashes into your house. You the one who brought it down? Maybe that’s why the Colonel wants you so bad.”
“It wasn’t my fault! Joanna’s the one who was messing with the stuff in my dad’s office!”
“So, there was something in your old man’s office that caused the crash?” said Dutch, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.
“I think so,” said Booker. “Joanna said that we got him into trouble. That device in his office caused the crash. It’s our fault he’s in trouble. She said we could help him, but it sounds like she’s only interested in this job you have put together.”
“Joanna doesn’t throw people under the bus. It’s not her style. If she said we’ll help your dad - we’ll help him. But I gotta tell ya’, kid, Robert Dunn doesn’t strike me as a guy to get on the Colonel’s bad side. If he’s in some kind of trouble, they’ve kept it quiet.”
“Do you know how to find him?”
“Sure. He’s up there,” said Dutch, nodding in the direction of one of the windows. Booker looked and saw the big mountain looming high above the diner. The hole carved into the rockface was still dark.
“My dad is up there?” said Booker, still gazing up at the towering mountain.
“High Point Hall,” said Dutch. “That’s where it’s all going down.”
“Where all of what’s going down?” said Booker.
“The Colonel’s Gala. That’s where Joanna will need to make the lift and drop off the package. That’s where your father is. That’s where all these people are going. It all happens up there.”
Now it was Booker’s turn to whistle softly.
Nodding to all the well-dressed people in the diner, Dutch said, “These are some of the most powerful people in the world. The guy over there runs Lockheed Martin. The President of the United States is here somewhere for this party.”
“I know. I saw him,” said Booker, rubbing his forehead again. “Why now? What’s this Gala for?”
“It’s just a big party, and a chance for the Colonel and your old man to show off all the fancy tech they’ve been cooking up in S4. Officially, it’s a briefing of sorts. All these people are getting a first look at the newest weapons and technology that will deploy over the next several months. But it’s really just a big, self-aggrandizing circle jerk.”
“Well, how do we get up there?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Dutch. “I wasn’t planning to go at all. In fact, the original plan was for me to stay down here.”
“Plans change. I wasn’t part of the original plan, remember?” said Booker.
“That’s true,” said Dutch.
“So how do we get up there?” Dutch still looked unconvinced, so Booker said, “Look, I’m supposed to be in a hospital bed on the other side of the base. They know I’m out, and if they haven’t started looking outside the hospital, they will soon. I can’t stay down here. They won’t be looking for me up there. And if my dad is up there, that’s where I need to be.”
Dutch sighed. “Look kid, Joanna’s the one with the plan. I’m just the pilot -”
“Screw the plan. Plans change. Joanna can’t help us if we’re down here. We can’t help my dad if we’re down here. Let’s go up there. At least we’ll be able to see what’s going on. Maybe Joanna will need our help.”
Dutch considered him for a moment, and said, “Screw it. I’m tired of sitting here anyway.”
Booker smiled and began to stand up, but Dutch said, “Not so fast kid. You can’t go to the Gala dressed like that.”
“You have a tux hidden away somewhere?”
“I’ve got something better,” said Dutch. “But I warn you, kid, I’m going out on a limb here. If we get caught, there’s no going home. Not even your old man will help us.”
“Fine by me.” Booker started to stand again, but Dutch snapped his fingers and pointed him back down.
“I’ve been around the entire world. When I say these are the best milkshakes on the planet, I’m the one who would know. Seeing as how you and me will probably never be setting foot on this base again after tonight …” He raised his milkshake glass.
Booker took his own, and they clicked glasses. “Bottoms up,” said Booker, and they each drained their milkshake.