Endo shakes his head. “He’s a genius, like Brice, but not in the scientific way. He’s not a fan of Brice, or much of what he does, but he appreciates and utilizes the weapons being developed.”
“Ends justify the means,” I say. “I get it. So when does the shit show begin?”
Endo glances at the X-35’s digital displays. There are screens full of numbers and instruments I can’t make sense of, but the map, with a dot quickly moving atop it, is clearly our position in the world. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Better get dressed. And wake the others.”
Nine minutes later, after dropping off the shell-shocked janitor outside the Little A'Le'Inn—a small restaurant and inn welcoming UFO fanatics to the outskirts of Area 51, where he was excitedly received as an abductee—I’ve exchanged my GOD uniform for Silhouette’s, which is just different enough to be recognizable. Thankfully, we’re close enough to the same size that it fits well. The ensemble is completed by the head piece and mask, which Endo claims the man rarely removed. Apparently, the BlackGuard leader preferred to keep people guessing, even his superiors.
Hawkins has also dressed in a uniform and concealed his face behind a mask. He’s bigger than me, and he’ll be playing the part of Obsidian. He’s not quite as big as the BlackGuard behemoth, but if no one scrutinizes him, it could work. Endo wanted to leave everyone but Lilly behind. Her injuries would grant us access to the infirmary, where he was sure we would find Alessi and Woodstock. But Hawkins wasn’t about to let Lilly out of his sight, and if Endo is right and a Tsuchi is going to attack the base, I’m not about to leave Collins and Maigo on the surface. Silhouette on the other hand, bound and seat-belted...he’s on his own.
“Two miles out,” Endo says. “We’ll be on the ground in forty seconds. When the hatch opens, follow me.” He looks at me. “If anyone questions us, keep your answers short and terse. Lower your voice an octave, if you can. Everyone, even Cole, should feel like you’re on the verge of getting violent. No one wants to be on your bad side.”
I glance at Silhouette. He’s staring right at me. We are most definitely on his bad side. That could be a problem someday.
Endo taps my arm with the back of his hand and points out the windshield. “Look.”
Looking out the front, it takes no effort to find what he’s pointing at. The Tsuchi, a good four hundred feet from mandible to tail tip, races across the barren terrain below, leaving a towering trail of dust behind it. “Why haven’t they spotted it yet?”
“They’re watching Vegas,” Endo says, “but they’ll know it’s coming when it passes the motion sensors a mile out from the base.”
We cruise over the Tsuchi and a line of mountains. Area 51 comes into view ahead and below. We swoop down toward it, the Tsuchi closing in, and our friends, according to Endo, are fifteen stories underground. This...is going to suck.
33
By the time the X-35 ramp lowers, the base is coming to life. Soldiers run about, armed and ready for war, most of them lugging heavy weapons instead of standard rifles. Several large auto turrets, like those used by the BlackGuard in Oregon, but much larger, rise out of the concrete. They’re joined by several missile systems rising from the ground. They look like surface-to-air missiles, but I suspect they’ll work just fine against something that’s two-hundred-feet tall. It’s clear that all the action has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with the Tsuchi cresting the 6000-foot-tall Papoose Mountain, just south of the base. From above, the Tsuchi didn’t look too dissimilar from the first, but I can now see that its four rear legs are stocky and powerful, with wide, split claws at the base, rather than the scimitar blades.
I wave the others down the ramp, saying, “Let’s move. Go, go, go.”
When everyone, except the bound Silhouette, is out, Endo steps up next to me. “Try to slow down. Stay calm.” He motions to Silhouette. “You’re supposed to be him now.” I look at our captive, tied up and gagged in the back of a vehicle that might get tromped by a Kaiju Tsuchi. Despite what I would call a worst case scenario, he’s calm as can be, like he’s got the situation under control.
“Right,” I say. “Lead the way.”