“We got something on the cameras out at Cyrus’ place this morning.”

Spaulding sat forward in his chair.

“Show me.” The video hopped between various views of Cyrus house and the approaches. A small vehicle drove up the gravel drive, parked in front of the house. An individual got out, walked back to the barn, reemerged, then drove off.

“We ran the plates. Current lease to Tribcorp media, out of Chicago. We haven’t made the female yet. Want me to hit the feds facial database?”

Spaulding nodded.

“I know who she is. Keep an eye on that car. Get the paperwork on that warrant done, ISP will be out there shortly to reprocess the scene. Then load the plates and her face into our system, let me know if she pings any of the readers. She just became a suspect. Let’s keep an eye on her.”

***

Michelle drove straight from ISU back up to Idaho Falls, then stayed on I-15 to go up to Mud Lake. She drove past Cyrus’ house, then turned on a side road and drove south toward open fields. At first she passed through farm fields with irrigation equipment, but these gave way to dry brown grasslands on a lumpy plain, clusters of rocks poking through. The land dried out, and soon it was more rocks than grass. She followed a dusty unpaved road until it turned at a sharp right angle to the west. A fainter trail appeared off to the left and she stopped to scrutinize it. On a hunch, she turned on to it and resumed heading south. She drove slowly to avoid rocks and holes, the road barely visible. Up ahead was a sign on a lone pole, and she pulled up to read it.

Danger! Restricted Area

This is a U.S. Government Testing Facility. Closed to the General Public.

Violators will be prosecuted.

Danger! Restricted Area

Michelle smiled to herself. Signs like that were a catnip she couldn’t resist. She drove forward and made out a fence line in the distance.

She pulled up to the fence and picked up her tablet. Not only was there no public signal here, but she also had to contend with some other security measures, electronic jamming of some kind. She finally established her own private satcom link. She accessed the public imaging databases without using her identification and scanned the area looking at all the available remote imagery. She found the road she drove in on and followed, zooming in as she went. The dirt track ended, and as she scrolled across the image, nothing but grass and rocks. No fence. She zoomed out, and way to the south was the Research Laboratory, but that was a good 30 miles away. No fence line on these images, yet, there it was, right in front of her.

She logged into her accounts after going through the usual verification dance with Tink, then checked what resources she could bring to bear to find more images. Idaho is a Freestate member of the Compact, so contracting a surveillance drone or commercial satellite imagery over the place wasn’t an option. She checked all her private resources, and was intrigued to find either blanks, or bland placeholders, Potemkin images of featureless scrub land she knew were fakes.

She put the tablet on the seat and got out of the car. She walked up to the fence line, a double layer of chain link, the inner one taller and more sturdy. It was an unusual arrangement that reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place. Crowning both fences were three rows of barbed wire. On the outer fence, the barbed wire was angled out, but on the inner fence it was angled inward. She looked to her left and right and saw a sign with a yellow triangle and a jagged arrow next to a skull and crossbones. She knew what it said before she got close enough to read it.

Danger! High Voltage!

She examined the fences again. The outer fence looked like any other chain link fence surrounding an industrial area or business place, even with the barbed wire. In places it was rusted or damaged, and not particularly secure looking. The inner fence, however, was substantially sturdier, made of different materials. Dark knobs festooned each upright pole, holding the fencing away from the pole. It towered over the outer fence, and leaned inward. The space between was big enough for a small vehicle to pass, and she saw parallel tire tracks stretching away in both directions.

In places the outer fence was damaged, but not enough to allow her to squeeze through, and she still wasn’t sure about the wisdom of approaching the inner fence. She looked back at the car, now a spot in the distance. The sun was directly overhead, and even in the cool fall air, it was getting warm. She turned back to the fence and walked a while more, then stopped and stared.

On the ground near the fence lay a large rabbit with very long black tipped ears.. What nauseated her was the burned stumps of the front legs, clear evidence of the lethality of the fence.

She turned back.

At the car, she looked back at the fence, the mountains in the west, toward the farming community around Mud Lake to the north, pondering the connection between the cast, the fragment, the dead farmer, and this place. The green of the farms was a shimmering film on the horizon, a hint of a verdant paradise compared to the sere rocky landscape around her. A faint hissing sound drew her attention back to the fence, and she turned to locate the source.

Far behind the fence, an insectoid drone hung in the air, almost silent save for the whir of four enclosed rotors. It bristled with small appendages, hovering uncannily still, pointed in her direction.

Uh-oh. Looks like someone knows I’m here.

She walked deliberately back to the car, and pulled around, careful to avoid the larger rocks, then headed back to the road. She craned her neck around to see the machine, which hadn’t moved, making no effort to follow. She tried to hurry, but the rough terrain slowed her.

Before she made the dirt track, she saw clouds of dust approaching from her left, and two unmarked security vehicles waited for her blocking the road. She slowed down, knowing that trying to run would only further arouse their interest.

The first vehicle stopped in front of her, the other pulled behind. A young man in a dark uniform got out and approached. Michelle saw only the word “Security” emblazoned as he got closer, hand resting discretely on a sidearm. She took a deep breath, confident about what was about to transpire.

“Ma’am. You’ve violated federal law by entering a high security area. We’re going to need you to come with us. Please secure your vehicle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Michelle responded with a smile. She picked up her device and stuffed her purse under the passenger seat, then got out. “What about my car?” she asked, settling into the back seat of the first security vehicle.

“We’ll keep an eye on it.”

They bounced along the dirt road for several miles, Michelle taking note of details along the way. They approached a gate. In the distance, she could see a larger gate fronting a paved road, surrounded by security towers and access control buildings. Overhead, several drones came and went from a landing pad inside the gate. Behind the facility, on the other side of the landing pad, she saw three round squat tanks marked “JP-8”. The facility had an unusual configuration: high walls with inward tilting fencing, towers with platforms on top, shielded from the outside. She memorized the view for later. Was that a barrel of a weapon protruding? She lost sight of it before she could be sure.

Before they entered the gate, she turned her attention to the group of people in the distance across from the main gate, holding signs. It was too far to make out what they said. There was one wearing a large sombrero, another a tattered bush hat, sitting in lawn chairs next to a wall of plywood festooned with posters, signs, photographs. By the main gate, she made out a rag tag group of a dozen people holding signs, some wearing animal costumes, which must have been unbearably hot in the direct sun. Tents and sun shelters clustered behind them, evidence of a prolonged occupation.

They passed through the side gate.

***

Across from the main gate, Harlan Tisdale lowered his binoculars and handed them to his partner. She walked over to the shade of a nearby pop-up tent and plugged a jack from the binoculars into a tablet, replaying the video.

“Fuck me! Is that what I think it is? They just abducted someone! Is she one of ours?”

Harlan shook his head.

“I don’t know. She didn’t look familiar. Definitely not one of us. Everyone is accounted for, and they all know to stay together so we can keep an eye on each other.”

“Could she be one of those girls from Portland?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head again.

“I don’t know, but let’s post it. Time to get the party rolling.”

Chapter 38