Like with many large lakes in the US, local residents had constructed legends about a sea monster in Lake Winni. Carrack had heard about them since he was a kid and wondered how many people had really seen a glimpse of Ridley’s 575-foot long decommissioned Russian Typhoon submarine and thought it was a living creature. The thing had been retrofitted for cargo hauling with approximately 15,000 tons of cargo space after the removal of its ballistic missiles. Deep Blue hypothesized that Ridley had managed the construction of much of the compound by smuggling equipment and supplies in and debris out, with the massive sub. When Carrack had seen the beast in the concrete underground dock a few weeks ago, he had been so stunned that his mouth had fallen open like some cartoon character. Deep Blue had clapped him on the back saying, “You’ll get used to wacky shit like this, son. It’s what we do.”
Now Carrack suspected he was seeing the start of more wacky shit. He had been fully briefed on the Alpha compound, and then had taken it upon himself in his spare time to study some of the information about the place Deep Blue had been able to obtain while mining Manifold’s old data architecture. Carrack knew about the hydraulics on the hangar door, and he also understood that several redundancies were in place in its mechanical make up to prevent a failure that would result in the door slamming shut from its recessed place in the rock above the entryway. He understood automatically what it took Deep Blue a few minutes to figure out on the other side of the door—the doors had been security locked. What he did not understand was why. He knew that Deep Blue would not have locked him out. Either there was a glitch in the computer system or they were under attack. Carrack assumed the latter. That’s what he got paid to do.
“Four, I’m going to check Post 4, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be the same story. You get to Dock and get in that way. Any way you can, understood?”
Carrack knew that White Four, a former 10th Mountain sergeant named Ravenelli understood completely. He’d trained with the short man for weeks and knew he would move Heaven and Earth to get into the facility through the Dock.
“Sir.” White Four was already heading toward his own waiting biofuel-powered dirt bike.
Everyone on Carrack’s team, Carrack included, would willingly give his life for Deep Blue. There was no hiding the fact that the man was the former president of the United States, and for that reason alone, probably any US military member would have willingly gone to work for him. Duncan had been good to the armed services while he was in office. But after vetting each man and explaining why the man had engineered his political demise, what Chess Team was and what their ultimate goals were—protecting the US and the world from threats too outlandish for the normal military—each security solider would have been crazy not to sign on.
As Matt Carrack raced along a dirt path around the base of the mountain to another door into Central, designated Post 4, he reflected on his own meeting with Tom Duncan and the revelations the man had provided.
“Your job as head of security, Matt, will be to overreact to the slightest hint of danger. Don’t ever fear making a mistake erring on the side of caution or worry about accidental property damage. If you even have a slight hunch that something has gone hinky, you leap into action. The five prime members of Chess Team will always look after themselves. Your job is to protect every man and woman in our support team, including me. Our enemies cover the range of terrorists, foreign governments and even mythological creatures. If you think something smells funny, you boys go into action mode long before everything turns FUBAR.” Tom Duncan’s face had turned serious when he had said it, and even though Matt Carrack hadn’t seen the mythological threats, he had read the files and he knew they weren’t bullshit.
“Yes, Sir. If you ever need me in that capacity, I’ll bring the hellfire.”
As Carrack approached the door to Post 4, a much smaller door disguised to look like the entryway to an abandoned mine tunnel into the side of the mountain, he turned his mind back to the job at hand. He quickly unlocked the chain-link fence gate across the entryway to the mine tunnel, pulled it back and ran down the 40-foot long damp tunnel, with the flashlight mounted on the barrel of his FN SCAR leading the way. At the end of the tunnel was a miniature version of the steel hangar door, this one designed only to admit a vehicle the size of a small truck. It too was locked tight and the control pad mounted on the wall to the side of the gleaming door was dark and unresponsive just like its twin outside the main hangar door.