David Golemon - Primeval

Just as Niles felt the onslaught of whiskey-induced sleep, his assistant stepped into his office and quickly walked to the couch and shook Niles. He came awake like a man falling from a cliff — that unsettling feeling of falling and not being able to stop yourself. Then he opened his eyes and realized he couldn't focus on the face in front of him. His assistant reached out her slim hand and pulled his glasses back down to cover his eyes.

"Sir, the president is on the phone. He says you're not answering your laptop."

Niles laid there, not wanting to move, not wanting to face the man he had disobeyed. He took a deep breath and then slowly sat up on the couch, placing his stocking feet on the floor one at a time.

"Sir, you look horrible. Maybe you should just answer his phone instead of going visual?"

Niles looked his young assistant over. Her name was Linda, and she was reporting more and more for duty since Alice Hamilton was spending more time with Senator Garrison Lee these days, the former director of the Group. Compton figured that the two oldest members of the Event Group deserved all the time they had together; they had after all, earned it.

"I look that bad, huh?"

"Yes, you do," she said.

"Well, your training progresses, young lady. I think I'll follow your advice. Hand me the phone."

She reached out and pulled the phone over from the small table next to the couch. She lifted the receiver.

"Mr. President, we have located Director Compton."

There was silence on the other end of the phone line when Niles placed the receiver to his ear.

"Compton," he said with a mouth full of cotton.

"I warned you, Mr. Director, CIA reported a backdoor hack of their Dahlia system. May I assume it was your people?"

"You may not assume it was my people," Niles said with as much indignity as he could conjure up.

"Okay, then you're telling me it was NSA, the FBI, or the boys at the Pentagon? They're the only ones other than your Europa who has that capability. And believe me, I know what that nervous bastard Pete Golding is capable of, I've seen him work: He can twist that damn Cray system to do backflips if he wanted."

"I resent that, Mr. President, just because Pete's — well, anyway, I resent the accusation."

"Just so you know, I have ordered the arrest of Colonel Collins and anyone in his security department that tries to fly out of Nellis, which I highly expect they'll try. For Christ's sake, Niles, as a friend, I asked you not to tell him. I wanted to let this thing play out a while. As it looks, we'll never know the real reason for his sister's reasoning for talking to her brother."

"And as a friend, I told you what you wanted to hear. Would you want to be kept in the dark about your sister? No, you wouldn't. And that man has done more for this country than anyone you or I have ever known, I think—"

"Don't think, damn it. We may have serious problems here, his sister may have been getting close to something and Director Easterbrook has stuck his neck out to assist her. And don't ask because we really don't know yet. Look, Collins has already screwed the pooch here, he's made a big mistake, he and his buddy, Everett, filed an advanced flight plan to Los Angeles out of Nellis. Hell, it took the FBI all of two minutes to get that information. And they have at least two agents at every dirt airstrip for fifty miles, too. Listen, Niles, Jack Collins is too close, and I don't want to lose him along with his sister — that's what I owe him, at least until we get a handle on what his sister was working on. So, let the FBI catch and detain him."

"I know that, but I am not going to keep that man in the dark even if his sister is already dead. If she is, can you think of anybody else in this world who you would want to track the bastards down that killed her?"

"No, but consider yourself under house arrest Mr. Director, you little bastard. I should just fly out there right now and hang you."

"Excuse me, but I'm a little drunk and I'm going to go back to sleep."

"You do that!"

Niles winced as the phone was hung up.

"Is the president mad?" Linda asked.

"Yes, very mad," he said as a smile crossed his lips. "He's going to catch Jack at the base before he enters his aircraft," he said as his eyes started to close and the smile was drifting but still present. "But I think I may have gotten a step on him. When McIntire and Mendenhall get here, give them this," he said as he handed her a folded piece of paper.

"Is there anything else we can do to help the colonel, sir?" the young assistant asked.

Niles didn't answer her question as he had fallen asleep with the phone still clutched in his hand and the smile still on his lips.

Jack, Carl, and Jason Ryan stepped from the tram that led to Gate Two just beneath the Gold City Pawnshop, the clandestine entryway for all Event Group personnel. They were dressed in civilian attire and had identification that indicated they were Los Angeles police detectives, and L.A. County sherriff's officers. As they took the elevator up, Jack looked at his watch.

"Mendenhall was nowhere to be found?" Collins asked the small naval aviator.

"No, sir, he left his security badge in the security office, I couldn't get a track on him through Europa."

"Damn," Jack said as the elevator doors slid open. The view ahead was the dusty and very dingy back storeroom of the Gold City Pawnshop.

They were met by Lance Corporal Jess Harrison, a black marine from Compton, California. The young corporal had the duty at Gate Two.

"Sir, this just came through from the director's office," he said handing Collins a flimsy.

"What's the word, Jack?" Everett asked as he walked over to the arms locker and used his security code to open it. The corporal watched Everett with a wary eye.

"Oh, effective in," Jack again looked at his watch, "exactly five minutes, the director has ordered us detained."

"Do you agree with the wording Corporal?" Jack asked his gate security officer.

The marine looked around from watching Everett removed three nine-millimeter automatic pistols and their holsters from the arms locker, along with three clips of ammunition apiece. He also looked at his watch.

"Yes, sir. In five minutes, I am to detain you," the lance corporal said, still watching Everett.

Everett handed Jack a holstered weapon along with Ryan. "Let's not hang around for that five minutes so our young friend here doesn't have to do his duty."

The three men left the back storage area and into the back office of the pawnshop.

"Sir, Air Police, and what looks like the FBI is crawling all over Nellis looking for you guys," the corporal said as he buzzed them through the secured office and past the armed army private that had his finger close to the trigger of a submachine gun clipped underneath his desk.

"I would be worried if that was where we were going, Corporal." Jack stopped and turned to face his men. "Watch the place for us. If you can't find Lieutenant Mendenhall after we leave, you're in charge of security. I imagine you'll have orders to lock down the complex."

"Yes, sir. Good luck Colonel."

Jack didn't answer, but Everett slapped the young marine on the back as they left the back office and then a minute later the Gold City Pawnshop.

They didn't use one of the three department vehicles sitting in the alley beside the pawnshop; instead, Ryan used his irritatingly loud whistle to flag a cab. With temperatures hovering around 108 degrees, they quickly climbed in and Collins ordered the driver to take them to McLaren Airport where there was a C-21, a U.S. air force variant of the Learjet 35, stashed in a hangar on the military side of McLaren, a hangar complex the gamblers and vacationers never knew existed.