The Rift

CHAPTER 9

Neeley slid off the examining table and put her clothes back on. Her chest ached, but she was functional. All systems normal. She was a go as far as the Cellar’s physician was concerned. She had a feeling the bar wasn’t too high; breathing seemed to be the standard.

The doctor had left her the usual assortment of pills, carefully sorted into different colored compartments in the compact case she was supposed to slip into her pocket. There was nothing subtle about it: red if she needed a jolt. Blue if she needed to come down off the red without crashing. Green for crashing when she was safe so she could rest and be ready for the next mission that needed a red.

She tried to remember the last time she’d had a green.

She didn’t like using the red because it put a ticking clock on the mission, but she also accepted most of her missions had a ticking clock to start with. Once in a while she had to go red in order to beat it.

Neeley knew who was next: the Cellar’s psychologist, Dr. Golden, and that interview was going to be a different story. Just breathing wasn’t going to clear that hurdle. Neeley slid the double-edged commando knife into her boot. It had been Gant’s and years of sharpening had shrunk the blade. Neeley knew the time was coming when she would have to replace it. But it was a connection, one she needed. She was good enough with it that snapping the blade on bone with an awkward thrust or slice hadn’t yet been an issue. She always went for the soft tissue over vital spots.

She looped the belt, with the steel wire garrote hidden on the inside, around her waist. She attached the holster to the belt and then drew her pistol, making sure there was a round in the chamber and the safety was off.

“My finger is my safety,” she whispered to herself as she looked in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. The woman looking back was pretty ragged.

“You look like shit,” she said to herself, and then frowned. Talking to herself twice in a row.

She sensed someone sliding through the door behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Dr. Golden reflected in the mirror. “What do you make of people who speak to themselves, Doctor?” Neeley asked.

“It’s not quite as bad when you talk to yourself in the mirror,” Golden said. “Those people in the airport with the Bluetooth, who look like they’re talking to no one until you see the little device, they freak me out sometimes.”

Neeley turned to face her. “I call those people assholes. I don’t want to hear their end of the conversation. Sometimes I just want to start an imaginary conversation just as loud and see how they react.”

“You seem the same,” Golden said.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“How did it feel to die?”

“Cutting to the chase, aren’t we?” Neeley didn’t wait for an answer. “Did I see a long white corridor? Did I go to the light? It went black. Total black. Nothingness. Then I was back. Sorry to ruin your expectations.”

“Why do you think I have expectations of life after death?” Golden asked.

“You seem the type,” Neeley said.

“What type is that?”

“Always asking questions,” Neeley said with a grin, and Golden smiled.

“Those white corridors or going toward the light,” Golden said, “are more likely the random firing of brain cells as they either are deprived of, or overloaded with, power. Our brains work on electricity. So they’re most likely a hallucination.”

Neeley stared at the psychiatrist, wondering how she could have known about Burns turning into Gant and then realizing she didn’t. It was just a coincidence. But Neeley didn’t really believe in coincidences.

Golden opened the door and gestured. “We’ll meet in the interview room. I’ll be down there in a little bit.” She disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

Neeley stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths. Had she really seen Gant? Had Burns’s eyes actually turned gold? Was she losing her mind?

“Fuck it.” Neeley opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor that was part of the Cellar complex.

Nada spotted the convoy coming into the community. Scout was in the lead in her father’s SUV, followed by four big black SUVs behind her.

This wasn’t going to be easy to explain to the neighbors, but that was the least of Nada’s worries at the moment. They had the garage doors open and all four black SUVs rolled in as Scout parked outside. One of the SUVs was driven by a Support person, and after unloading the gear in the back, they carefully buckled Scout’s unconscious mother and father inside for the trip back to the field.

And their sorely needed rest, according to Scout.

Nada hit the close buttons for the garage as car doors opened and the Nightstalkers were finally intact as a team, except for Eagle.

“Scout,” Nada said, making the one introduction, “this is Ivar. Ivar, Scout.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ivar said.

“The same,” Scout replied.

“Doc, check Roland out,” Moms said. “He decided to do a high dive from some high power lines.”

“Roland,” Doc said in a tone that indicated his displeasure.

“I’m fine,” Roland insisted.

“He grimaced,” Scout said. “I never saw him grimace before.”

“You never saw him hurt before,” Moms said. “I have.”

“I’m fine,” Roland repeated. He lifted up an M240 machine gun with one hand over his head and twirled it. “See? Fine.”

“Let me check anyway,” Doc said.

“He’s got a couple of busted ribs,” Mac said. “Not that anyone respects my medical expertise.”

Roland sighed and allowed Doc to take a look.

“My mom would not be happy about this at all,” Scout said happily, taking in the piles of weapons, demolitions, and assorted gear scattered about. “Lucky you knocked her out.”

“It was mission essential,” Moms began. “We—”

“It’s okay,” Scout said. “Really. I can assure you she’s had worse nights.”

Nada stood on a plastic case full of something deadly. “All right. We’re—”

And then their phones all started ringing: “Lawyers, Guns, and Money.”

“What the frak?” Kirk said.

“We’re getting Zevoned on a Zevon?” Mac wondered out loud.

“Huh?” Roland said.

“This is curious,” Kirk said as he silenced his phone.

One by one the phones went quiet and the team turned to Moms. Scout was literally bouncing up and down. “Fireflies? Killer heavy equipment? Possessed pool?”

Nada held up a hand. “Technically, the first Zevon was actually ‘I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead,’ not ‘Lawyers.’ Didn’t you get it?”

“Someone had our phones,” Eagle said.

“The Loop?” Mac said. He turned to Scout. “From you?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Scout said. “Do I get a gun?”

“Yes, from Scout,” Nada said. “No on the gun.”

Moms had her finger pressed against her ear, getting an update from Ms. Jones. Even Scout fell silent as they watched her. She nodded and then pulled her finger away. “There’s a Rift forming near here, so the ‘Sleep’ was a good call.”

“Coordinates?” Nada asked.

Moms shook her head. “Ms. Jones says the Japanese and the Russians have got it located somewhere in the Knoxville area. Our Can is without power. Going to take them a little while to get it running and get us exact coordinates.”

Doc paused, in the midst of wrapping Roland’s ribs. “Our Can is down? That is most unusual. And very suspicious timing.”

Moms held up her hand, indicating silence, and spoke into her radio. “Eagle, bring the Snake in. We’ll load up and recon the area and be ready to shut the Rift as soon as we get a fix.”

“Inbound,” Eagle said. “ETA ten mikes.”

Moms gave a hand signal to Kirk to change freqs to the Ranch. “Ms. Jones, we’ll be airborne in ten minutes and monitoring for location. Did you hear back from Cleaner regarding the toothbrush?”

“He did not replace it,” Ms. Jones said. “He did scan everything and found nothing unusual.”

“Roger. He made a mistake or missed something.” Moms turned to the team. “Gear up.”

As they proceeded to do just that, Mac, as he was wont to do, asked a question. “If a Rift is just forming now, why were we alerted via the Loop earlier?”

Moms quickly explained the golden glow coming out of Scout’s toothbrush, the power outages, and the golden glow in the water.

“So something was still in that toothbrush even after we got the Firefly,” Mac said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Duh,” Roland said, and everyone on the team turned to look at him. Apparently pain had sharpened his wits a bit. Doc had wrapped his ribs tightly, about all that could be done for the three broken ones. He warned Roland not to laugh too much, which didn’t appear like it was going to be a major problem.

Doc spoke up. “The question is, if this glow wasn’t a Firefly, what was it? So far it’s apparently caused no harm other than shorting out the power for short periods of time.”

“It hurt my mouth,” Scout said.

“If it came through in North Carolina,” Doc said, “it’s been dormant a long time. Waiting.”

“That’s not good,” Roland said.

“How do we track this thing down?” Mac asked.

“It’s in the water,” Scout said. “And the water flows that way.” She pointed to the left.

“Out of the mouth of babes,” Mac muttered.

“Hey!” Scout was offended. “I’m not no baby.”

Moms interceded. “But if it doesn’t come to land like you say it did at the power line or affect something like the boat, we need a way to locate it. Whatever it is.”

“It’s power,” Ivar said, a split second before Doc said something, apparently the same thing, because he gave Ivar the fish eye. Ivar continued. “So we try to figure out what kind of power, most likely electrical, and we rig a device to track it.”

“Get to work on it,” Moms ordered Ivar. “You stay here while we take care of this Rift.”

Doc looked like he was going to protest and then just shook his head.

They could hear the Snake coming in, landing in the paved circle out front in the cul-de-sac.

“My neighbors aren’t going to be happy,” Scout said.

“I think we crossed the threshold on that when Roland landed in the power lines,” Eagle said. “His chute is still up there. Support will get it eventually.”

“Let’s move out,” Moms ordered.

As they moved out of the house, Nada sidled up next to Moms. “What’s with Ivar? Leaving him behind.”

“We’ve got a problem,” Moms said. “Someone shut down the Can. Doc and Ivar were just down there before the alert. I put my money on Ivar being the problem.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Doc, then,” Nada said.

The golden glow was now about three feet in diameter.

Burns checked his watch. He stood up. He could hear the muted sound of jet engines echoing across the river. Sound carried really well here, reflecting off the water, and with little to obstruct it. He recognized the sound of the Snake, which was interesting since he’d seen it crash back near St. Louis.

Ms. Jones was nothing if not persistent.

That could be an asset in most situations. But not all.

Scout followed the team up the ramp into the cargo bay, unnoticed among the loading of gear and mission prep. Everyone was checking off their part of the mission Protocol on their team handbooks, slightly out of sync since they were used to loading the Snake in the Barn back at the Ranch.

But not completely. “Oh, no, no, no,” Moms said, taking Scout’s elbow and leading her back down the ramp. Dust and dirt and mowed grass were swirling about, kicked up by the Snake’s engines. The sound was a high-pitched whine and a dog was howling somewhere down the street. Lights were on in several houses and Ms. Jones would have to get Support to work hard to keep video of this off the Internet while spreading a good cover story. A bunch of supposed FEMA personnel were on their way with some cover story.

“You’re going to leave me alone with that Ivar guy?” Scout asked. “He’s a little bit freaky. Big Bang Sheldon, sort of, but not so funny.”

“This is a combat mission,” Moms said.

“Let’s go!” Nada shouted from the cargo bay.

“Please?” Scout begged. “I’ll stay on the plane.”

“The last plane crashed,” Moms said.

“Then I’ll stick with Nada.”

Who was suddenly standing next to the two of them. “Sorry, Scout.”

“I’ve—” Scout began, but Moms held a hand up, silencing her.

Moms’s and Nada’s headset crackled with Ms. Jones’s voice. “I believe the young lady has earned a place on the team. What is being played out here came through her. Regardless of how we feel about it, she has a role in this.”

“This is going to be dangerous,” Nada said, knowing his words had no power.

“The stakes are high,” Ms. Jones said.

“Roger,” Nada said. He pointed toward the cargo bay. “Come on. Rules were made to be broken.”

They ran back on board the Snake and it lifted up into the night sky.

Burns knew exactly how they’d come in to try to seal this Rift.

Protocol. The hobgoblin of little minds. Burns began to giggle as the phrase passed through his own mind.

He looked up at the golden sphere, flickering in the air. It was five feet in diameter now. His face was bathed in the glow. He could almost see through. To the other side.

That was the whole point. The other side.

Burns giggled once more.

Then he clapped his hand over his mouth. This was no laughing matter, but he couldn’t stop giggling.

Nada grabbed Moms’s elbow and leaned close so he could talk to her off the team net. “We do it different.”

“Do what different?” Moms was staring at the screen of her iPad, scanning the Google Earth map of the area around them.

“The way we hit the Rift and the Fireflies,” Nada said. “If Burns is opening this thing, he knows our Protocols. He’ll be waiting. Plus, we’re going to be late. Odds are the Fireflies, however many there are, will already be through.”

“What do you want to change?”

“No HALO or HAHO parachute jump onto the target. He’ll be waiting for that. We come in fast and hard. Everyone fast ropes right onto the target.”

“And if it’s a trap?” Moms asked.

“Of course it’s an ambush,” Nada said. “And you know the only way to break an ambush is—”

Moms finished for him: “Assault directly into the ambush with everything you’ve got.” She nodded. “All right. Brief the team.”

She switched frequencies, going on the TACNET back to the FOB, getting their Heavy ready.

The lights flickered and then came back on. The two screen watchers ran back through the tunnel to their stations. Computers were rebooting, agonizingly slow.

Then the clicking alarm came back on, along with the strobe light.

“Yeah, yeah,” the woman muttered. “We know.” She slapped a palm down on the button that cut off the alarm as she adjusted controls with her other hand, zeroing in on the Rift that was forming.

“Got it!” she cried out as she forwarded the data.

Eagle had the Snake high, at five thousand feet, circling over Knoxville. They knew Burns was close — how close was the question.

Doc knelt in front of Moms, holding out his iPad. He tapped the screen. “Here. See this?”

“Power lines,” Moms said. “The ones Roland jumped into. And? You think Burns is using them?”

Doc shrugged. “He might be. But this whole area is built on power. The TVA.” He pointed to the deck of the Snake. “The river is dammed in multiple places, all of which generate power. There’s also three nuclear power plants that are run by the TVA along the river.”

Nada had leaned over to listen in. “Not another fucking Chernobyl. Ms. Jones would shit.”

“How close is the nearest nuke plant?” Moms asked.

“Watts Bar,” Doc said. “About sixty miles downriver. And they’re getting ready to put their second unit online. The first reactor to be started up in the U.S. in over twenty years. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Plus they ship tritium to the Savannah River Site.”

“But Burns is around here as far as we know,” Nada said. “And—” He paused as Moms cocked her head to the side, indicating a message from Ms. Jones.

“We’ve got a target,” Moms announced. “Lock and load. Eagle, take us in.”

The Fireflies flashed through, darting about almost joyfully.

As if they knew what joy was, Burns mused as he watched them go by, lighting up the darkness. Despite the fact that he was no longer a Nightstalker, his training held and he counted them as they came out.

Fourteen.

They went off in different directions on their various missions of mayhem.

“Too late, Nada,” Burns whispered. Then he brought the automatic rifle up and scanned the sky overhead for the parachute he was sure would soon appear.

Most likely Roland.

Which meant it would be a big target.

Roland had always been a pain in the ass, Burns thought as he flipped off the safety.

Eagle flew along the river, one hundred feet above the dark water. The plan was to use the river to reach the power lines and then loop underneath them, avoiding the towers and coming in right on top of the Rift and fast roping down. It would require some fancy flying on Eagle’s part, but that’s why he had the big brain.

Literally.

“Thirty seconds from the lines,” Eagle announced. “Opening ramp.”

The team was locked and loaded. Scout was all the way forward in the cargo bay, under dire and strict orders from Nada to remain exactly where she was. He’d buckled a harness around her and snapped the leash into a deck bolt, ignoring the dirty look she gave him.

It was just in case.

And to keep her from following the team out.

The back ramp opened wide and the roar of the engines and the air swirling about added to the decibels.

Roland had the M240 in one hand, loaded and ready. He had a flamethrower on his back, the barrel of the weapon resting in an asbestos sheath strapped to one thigh.

Mac had the M203 grenade launcher, a 40-mm grenade ready in the lower barrel.

Moms and Nada had MK-17 CQC SCAR automatic rifles, reluctantly having traded in their venerable 9-mm MP5s over the past year in favor of the heavier cartridge and greater range. They were old dogs but willing to learn new assault rifles when the advantages were obvious.

Doc had his medical kit in one hand and his laptop in the other. This was Protocol when they were approaching a Rift, because it was his job to shut the thing while the rest of the team took care of the Fireflies.

Moms glanced down at her iPad, checking on the status of their support units. She had a lot of firepower on hand and ready.

Nada glanced over his shoulder and gave Scout an encouraging grin, lost in the blackout red lights of the cargo bay. Then he focused at the yawning mouth of the ramp, ready to charge off into whatever new hell awaited them.

What wasn’t lost was the fourteen-foot-long wooden pole that abruptly ripped through the floor of the Snake, passing inches in front of Scout and lodging into the roof.

“Fuck!” Eagle shouted over the net as the aircraft rocked sideways and lost altitude, diving toward the river.

It was a sign that he was more than a tad agitated that he used a profanity.

Eagle was flying on instinct, having no idea what had caused the problem, not being able to look over his shoulder into the cargo bay. He just knew they’d been hit by something and he had to keep them airborne.

He slammed throttles forward, drawing every ounce of power he could from the engines, while he fought the dive with both flaps and rotation.

The Snake settled out to a hover less than three feet from the water, stuttering, engines straining.

“What happened?” Eagle demanded as he kept them level.

“We got hit by a telephone pole,” Nada said as he got to his feet and observed the cargo bay, his heart racing until he saw that Scout was all right.

“A what?” Eagle asked.

“We got a fraking pole through the cargo bay,” Mac clarified unhelpfully. The team was sorting itself out after everyone had become a pile of people, weapons, and gear on one side of the bay. Scout had been dangling in her harness, just above all of them, and she had settled back down on the upright deck with a thump.

“Where—” Eagle began to ask, but then another pole flashed by the cockpit, glanced off the armored side of the Snake with a clang, and disappeared into the darkness. Through his night vision goggles, Eagle could see the barge tied off beneath the cliff ahead. The crane was lifting another pole into place in the pile driver, which was oriented toward them.

“We got Fireflies already through,” Eagle announced. “Pile driver on the river has one in it.”

“Head for the Rift,” Moms ordered. She switched frequency. “Spooky, I’ve got a target for you.”

The gunner was chewing gum, reading her Kindle when the call for fire came in. She lifted her gaze from the latest Bella Andre romance novel and scanned the display. “I’ve got a barge. No heat signatures.”

“That’s it,” Moms’s voice echoed in her ear.

The gunner didn’t question the order, the lack of personnel on the target, or the mission. While the Spectre gunship was part of the Air Force Special Operations Wing and had conducted more than its share of hush-hush missions, she’d been able to tell from the attitude of the pilot and copilot just before takeoff that whatever they were doing here over Tennessee was so far in the dark they didn’t even dare to start a rumor.

Theirs was but to shoot and scoot.

“Acquired. Request final authorization.”

“Authorized,” Moms said.

A line of 25-mm bullets shot out of the spinning barrels of the Gatling gun poking out of the side of the aircraft, firing so quickly that the slugs appeared to be a solid line of red even though only every fourth round was a tracer. The 40-mm cannon chugged out rounds, not quite as quickly. And the 105-mm howitzer fired as fast as the crewmen could load it.

As the Snake cleared the shoreline underneath the power line, those in the cargo bay could see the gunship firing downward.

“Minds on the mission,” Moms snapped, trying to ignore the pole through the cargo bay and wrapping her arms around the fast rope.

“Ten seconds,” Eagle warned.

“Roland, guard Doc once we hit the ground,” Moms ordered.

Nada leaned close to Roland and whispered something in his ear, and Roland nodded.

The barge never got a third pole off.

The incoming fire from Spectre chewed it up, ripping the wood decking apart, punching holes in the metal hull. As pieces flew in all different directions, a small golden sparkle lifted out of the sinking hulk and dissipated.

One Firefly down.

The gunner flipped the off switch, and the guns lined up behind her along the left side of the plane stopped firing. The barge slowly settled underneath the dark water of the Tennessee River. The gunner glanced up at the metal plating between two of her screens. As World War II fighter pilots had chalked up kills on the side of their plane, there were little images of various targets taken out by the gunship over the years: technicals (armed pickup trucks), roadside bombers, buildings where terrorists were meeting, and so forth.

She’d have to get the image of a barge.

Burns swung the rifle down as the Snake came roaring in. He fired a sustained burst at the cockpit.

Futile, because the cockpit was armored and he knew that, but Burns let loose more out of irritation that Nada was breaking Protocol and he was missing the chance to shoot Roland.

The Snake came to a hover and thick ropes came tumbling down. Burns aimed at them, but then he was blinded as the halogen searchlight in the nose of the Snake came on.

He fired anyway under the theory that sometimes the big sky little bullet theory worked in favor of the bullet.

Moms was first to touch boots to the ground, Nada a split second behind her. They both let go of the fast rope and began firing toward the Rift as they moved forward, “breaking” the ambush. All they could see was the Rift, its light overloading their night vision goggles. And tracers flashing by from someone firing at them.

Mac and Roland touched down next, followed by Doc.

That’s when six deer came charging in from the side. One buck hit Moms, sending her tumbling. Nada avoided getting tagged and fired a burst into the side of the doe that went by him, slowing it slightly.

“Deer!” Nada yelled over the net.

“No shit,” Mac said as he fired a 40-mm grenade at a Firefly-possessed deer charging at him. Fortuitously, and unfortunately as it turned out, Roland had modified the grenades so that they armed upon leaving the barrel, rather than the normal safe distance of around fifteen meters. The round hit the deer in the chest about four meters from Mac and exploded on contact.

Pieces of venison flew everywhere and Mac was blown backward by the blast.

Roland was standing in front of Doc, unable to fire in the confusion and the blackout of his night vision goggles.

A cluster fuck.

Burns knew when it was time to make an exit. He tossed a couple of flash-bangs to add to the confusion, averting his eyes and cupping his hands over his ears as they went off. Then he ran to the trees and cut to the right, heading for the car.

The flash-bangs didn’t help the situation for the Nightstalkers.

Moms and Nada were back-to-back, having ripped off their night vision goggles. But the grenades wiped out what little vision they had left with their bright flash, and the thunderous explosion stunned them. Mac was on his back, half conscious.

Doc had been protected somewhat by Roland’s bulk. He grabbed Roland’s shoulder. “Come on!”

He led Roland forward toward the Rift, but Roland paused, switching out the machine gun for the flamer, and torched the remains of the deer that Mac had blasted. A golden sparkle rose up and dissipated.

Two Fireflies down.

“You okay?” Roland yelled to Mac.

Mac lifted a hand and gave an unenthusiastic thumbs-up.

Roland moved forward to stick with Doc, who was setting up his laptop short of the Rift, next to the laptop Burns had left behind.

“Eagle, what do you have?” Moms asked over the net.

“Someone is escaping through the forest to your south. Got lots of heat signatures. Yours, deer, others. It’s a mess.”

“Doc?” Moms asked, trying to get some vision back.

“The Fireflies are through,” Doc said. “I’m going to shut the Rift.”

“Spooky, do you have a human moving in the forest to our south?”

On board Spectre, the gunner trained her infrared and thermal sights on Moms’s location. “Roger. I’ve got your team and one more, south of your location, moving toward the road. Also what looks like some deer.”

Burns paused and looked up. Of course, with the thick trees all around him, he couldn’t see anything, but he felt the electronic fingers from above, coursing over his body, like an enemy’s caress, seeking him, finding him, fixing him.

Burns closed his eyes and stood still for a moment. His entire body took on a golden sheen. Then he continued on his way.

“Target gone,” the gunner announced. “It just disappeared.”

“Fire up the deer,” Moms said. “Can you take them out without hitting us?”

“Danger close,” the gunner said, “but roger. Smoking the deer.”

The young woman leaned forward, hand light on the joystick, and began the delicate surgery of blasting the deer scattered among the team members, selectively using incredibly short bursts of 25 mm, a couple chugs of 40 mm, and an occasional 105-mm shell when there was a sufficient safety margin.

It took her twenty-two seconds to blast the remaining five deer.

When she was done, she was sure she could find a deer image pretty easily online. But whether to put them up was the question. Bambi? Really?

Moms had some vision back. She could make out Doc by the Rift and the laptop that had opened it. Roland was flaming what remained of the deer Spectre had blown to bits, destroying the Fireflies.

A small success in a lost battle.

“Keep a count on Fireflies you’ve gotten, Roland.”

“Always.”

She went to the Support net. “All elements, back off, back off. Return to FOB.”

The last thing she wanted was for a Firefly to get into Spooky or one of the Apaches or any of the firepower she had on hand. She headed toward Doc to make sure he was doing what he was supposed to be doing.

The Rift snapped out of existence as Doc shut it.

But it was too late.

Burns was loose; the rest of the Fireflies were free.

How many, they had no idea.

Moms switched frequencies once more. “Ms. Jones, we’ve lost containment.”