“You see that?” Skip whispered. “It’s a door. Embedded in the side of the hill.”
Lights appeared in the portal, and then a jeep, then a second, emerged at high speed, headlights lancing through the darkness. They raced over the desert, heading toward the fence, where Lime’s body was hung up amid the weedy ground fire.
The jeeps screeched to a halt while Corrie and the rest kept in the shadows of the ruined building. “Oh, Jesus,” said a man in uniform as he leapt out, voice clear in the cool night air. The others all piled out, weapons in hand.
“The fucker tried to climb over,” another voice said.
“What the hell was he doing out here?”
“Maybe from that crashed chopper?”
They clustered around the scorched corpse.
“See if he’s got ID.”
Corrie watched as they busied themselves with the body, prying it off the fence and shining the light in the face.
“Good God!” the commander cried. “It’s Lime!”
“What the hell was he doing, trying to climb that fence?”
“Idiot.”
“Stick a fork in him, he’s done.”
There was a burst of talk and radio chatter as they discussed what to do. Within minutes, they loaded the body into the back of one jeep, restrung the live wires, fixed the fence, and drove back to the portal in the hill, which then closed slowly and silently behind them.
All went quiet.
“It looks like we’re in the clear,” said Corrie. “What now?”
It was Skip who answered. “We go get my sister.”
59
THE FACT THAT neither she nor Watts moved in response to Skip’s statement drove home to Corrie that they had no plan. They were three people, up against some kind of military base.
“We can’t defeat them all—can we agree on that?” Watts said.
“I’m not leaving without Nora,” said Skip defiantly.
“Look,” said Corrie, “for God’s sake, think through the choices we’re facing here. We can’t stay where we are, we can’t walk out to get help, and we’ve got neither truck nor radio equipment. Ergo, Skip’s right. We go in.”
“And do what?” Watts asked.
“Evaluate our options. We don’t know what’s down there: how many people, how well guarded. But down there is where we’ve got to go. Then we figure out a plan.”
“In other words, out of the frying pan and into the fire,” said Watts. “Maybe that guy Lime was right about you, Skip. It’s suicide.”
“It’s the only option,” Corrie said firmly. “We’re just wasting time talking about it. Let’s check our ammo.” She took out Lime’s Glock 19 and ejected the magazine. “Fifteen.” She racked the slide.
“I’ve got four,” said Watts.
“It’s obvious that whatever’s here is underground,” Skip said. “There have to be air vents or openings somewhere.”
They cautiously moved out of the barracks into the landscape. Corrie hand-signaled for them to spread out. There was no moon, but the desert air was so clear that starlight gave them just enough illumination to see. Beyond the barracks were more ruins and a parade ground of concrete riddled with cracks, resembling a field of rubble. They kept to the darkest areas. It felt so desolate it was hard to believe there was anyone within miles, let alone a secret base under their feet.
“Over here,” Skip suddenly said in a low voice.
Corrie and Watts came over to find Skip standing next to an old corrugated shaft sunk into the ground, covered with a corroded grille of wire mesh.
“Smell that air coming up.”
Corrie leaned over. A clean, cool draft rose, redolent of warm electronics and, oddly, french fries.
“Here’s our way in,” Skip said.
“Are you kidding?” Watts said, staring into the black maw. “You have no idea where it goes. We don’t even have a light. We might get stuck.”
“I can shinny down,” said Skip. “See where it goes.”
“That requires chimney-climbing experience.” Corrie paused. “You don’t know the technique. I do.”
“Oh, no,” said Watts. “No one’s going down there. We’ll find another way in.”
“We don’t have time,” said Corrie. “I’m going.”
“No,” Skip said. “I will. It’s my sister.”
“For fuck’s sake, the person with climbing experience should go first.” Without waiting for any more argument, Corrie yanked off the loose grille, then swung herself over the opening. She glanced around. Against the starlight, Watts’s ruined Resistol looked utterly ridiculous: his silhouette was a cross between the Little Tramp and Chico Marx.