Extinction Machine

Chapter Ninety

House of Jack Ledger

Near Robinwood, Maryland

Sunday, October 20, 4:59 p.m.

Before I went inside, I used my cell to make a call. I reached Gunnery Sergeant Brick Anderson at the Shop.

“Cap Ledger!” he cried. “Sweet Jesus I thought you were dead. Holy mother of—”

“Listen, Brick, we don’t have much time,” I cut in. “First, have you heard from anyone who was at the Warehouse?”

“Gus Dietrich called me a couple minutes before the place blew, said that Dr. Sanchez and the big man were on their way over—but they never got here.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, but didn’t interrupt.

“Gus sent over all the updated files, though,” said Brick. “There’s stuff coded for you. Want me to send it?”

“Yes,” I growled. “And right goddamn now. I’m running blind here.”

“Sending it now. What else can I do?”

“I need Black Bess and at least one other vehicle. I need them loaded with everything you can squeeze in, including a MindReader substation. And I need all of it right now. I’m about an hour and a half from you, up in Robinwood.”

I gave him the address.

“Give me ten minutes and then we’re on the road.” Brick Anderson was a good man who’d lost a leg in combat.

“Brick, this is getting messy out here, so you don’t have to bring it yourself.”

He hung up on me.

I put the cell back into my pocket and went inside.

They were all in the kitchen, seated around the big table. There was a lot of food on the table but it didn’t look like anyone was eating. Junie stood apart, leaning against the counter near a Mr. Coffee that was brewing a fresh pot. No one was looking at anybody, except Top and Junie, who were both looking at me.

“Coffee will be ready soon,” she said, then she cleared her throat. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay, but I have to talk to my team. Then they’re going to need to hear what you have to say.”

She nodded and pulled a stool over next to the counter and sat on it. Top turned a chair backward and sat down at the far end of the table. I stood by the door.

“We haven’t lost,” I said.

It took a moment, and one by one they glanced up at me.

“It feels like it. It feels like we got our asses kicked. We lost Hector, Red, and Slick, and that was bad. That would have been the worst day of the week for us. I wish I could say that it would have been the worst day this month, but that wasn’t true even before the bomb.”

No nods, but they were looking at me.

“We don’t know who we’re at war with. Not exactly. Maybe it’s Majestic Three. Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe we’re caught in the middle of something. But no matter how it swings, we’re at war.”

A few nods.

“People die in war. Sucks to say it, sucks worse to mean it, but people die. Friends die. Family dies. And what really sucks is that this is worse than we think.”

Bunny looked up at that. “Worse?” he asked. “Excuse me, boss, but how the f*ck can it be worse?”

I told them about Dugway and the dogfight in the Taiwan Strait.

It was Junie who broke the silence. “Wait—Joe, tell me that part again. About what the craft looked like.”

I described it exactly as Aunt Sallie had described it to me.

“A black triangle,” she said, nodding. Then for the benefit of the others she explained, “They call it a T-craft. Most of the really reliable UFO sightings don’t describe a flying saucer—what they see is a T-craft just like this. That’s the kind of craft M3 and groups in other countries have been scavenging. When President Truman initiated the Majestic Program, that’s the kind of ship he wanted them to either repair or make. The T-craft is powered by a special engine, either one made from original parts or a facsimile—a Truman Engine.”

“What are you saying, miss?” asked Sam Imura. “Are these ships aliens? Or are they ships we’ve built?”

“I don’t know. If they’re alien, then it would be the first time they’ve ever attacked us. If this is something we built—the U.S. or another world power—then it will change everything. War, the arms race … all of that is going to change.”

“Why?” asked Lydia.

“You’re soldiers,” said Junie, “so let me put it in terms you’d understand—having a working T-craft is the equivalent of bringing a nuclear bomb to a knife fight.”

“Bullshit. How the f*ck would you know?” Lydia’s tone was so sharp that Junie jumped.

But Top snapped his fingers as loud as a gunshot. “Secure that shit, Warbride,” he snapped. “This lady is a civilian advisor and you will treat her with respect.”

“Yes, First Sergeant,” barked Lydia, straightening in her chair. To Junie, she said, “Please excuse my tone, ma’am.”

Junie shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I understand. To you people I’m a nonmilitary UFO freak and probably a severe pain in the ass. I get that, and I’m sorry. But Joe and your Mr. Church reached out to me because I understand this stuff. I know about the T-craft and Majestic Three and the secret arms race that’s been going on since 1947. And I want to help.”

Lydia and the others studied her and then one by one their eyes turned toward me.

I placed my cell phone down on the table. “None of us knows exactly what the f*ck is going on. But here’s a news flash—each of us knows something the others don’t, and Brick Anderson just sent me the case notes from Mr. Church. This is everything that Church and our friends at the Warehouse had been able to put together, right up until they died. This is our field intel. This is what we have to go on. That—and what’s inside Junie Flynn’s head. As of now she is an official liaison to this team and will be afforded every courtesy and access. You think she’s an outsider? Think again. These motherf*ckers murdered her parents to try and bury this information. That buys her a ticket to our club. That means everyone here has lost a friend or loved one.” I leaned on the table. “Does that make you mad? Does that make you want to go out and cut some heads? Good—it damn well ought to. It damn well better. But first we need a name. We need to put somebody in the crosshairs. It’s up to us or no one. We go through this material. Everyone works it. Everyone has a voice. I want to hear every theory, every possibility. And once we know who set off that bomb at the Warehouse, then we are going to go after them and show them what hell is really like. Do you hear me?”

Their eyes bored into mine. I saw rage and resentment, anger and bloodlust.

“Hooah,” they snarled.

Lydia stood up, grabbed Junie by the sleeve and pulled her—firmly but gently—over to the table. “If you’re one of us then you’re one of us,” she said.

I saw Top silently mouth the word, Hooah.