David Golemon - Event

"What can I do for you, sonny?" the old Hispanic man asked.

Collins left his bag sitting on the floor and walked to the back of the shop. He was aware of the items surrounding him on the walls and in the racks. As he passed by the boxes with old records and other boxes that held their technological replacements, the CD, he saw the old man's eyebrows rise.

"Maybe you can help me," Collins said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth slightly. "I'm looking to sell a watch and was wondering what I could get for it."

"Depends on the quality, son."

"Well, it's an old railroad-retirement pocket watch, belonged to my father."

"Pocket watches are always nice, just can't get rid of 'em."

That was the answer Collins had been aiming for. He reached into his back pocket, drew his ID out, and placed it on the glass counter for the clerk to see. The man with the gray hair and bifocals looked down at the military identification, then back into the piercing blue eyes of the stranger. The passwords had been exchanged and accepted.

"Welcome to the Group, Major."

Collins looked the store over and grimaced. "I was told this would be different," he said as he looked back at the man before him.

"Don't laugh, Major, this store turns over a nice profit. You'll see the results in the Group's mess hall." The old man came from around the counter and walked to where Collins had left his bag. "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Lyle Campos of the great United States Marine Corps and security for this entrance. Gate Two is what she is," he said over his shoulder. "If you'll follow me, we'll get you started for the complex."

He picked up the major's bag and walked back around the counter, nodding his head for the younger man to follow. They went through two batwing doors into the back area of the pawnshop. Inside were two other men. The shorter of the two stepped forward and took the heavy bag from Campos. The, other, more muscular and bald, walked up to Collins and looked him over. He placed the Beretta nine-millimeter automatic he held at his side into his pants at the small of his back.

"Welcome to the high desert, sir. I'm Staff Sergeant Will Mendenhall, U.S. Army. This is Lance Corporal Frakes, he's a jarhead marine." He gestured to the man now holding Collins's bag. "We'll be escorting you through the tunnel to Group, sir."

Collins was more wary than impressed. The two men wore civilian clothes; the marine corporal had on shorts, and the black sergeant wore an overly stated red Hawaiian shirt and Levi's. Jack just nodded his head and wondered to just what cluster-fuck job he had been assigned.

"Gunny, would you please put the closed sign on the door until we get back?" Mendenhall asked. The old man bobbed his head once and left the office area without further comment.

"You'll have to excuse the gunnery sergeant, Major, he's just a little miffed at recently being placed on the inactive field duty list. He wants to stay with the Group, but he's only allowed gate security, and I suspect even that may change soon enough."

"How old is he?" Collins inquired.

Mendenhall shook his head as he gestured for the major to follow. "No one's commenting on Gunny's age, sir, that's for self-preservation. He may be old, but he's a better man than most men half his age. If I asked him, I'm afraid he would break his foot off in my ass... uh, sir," he said, turning away as he realized he was talking to his new boss. He rolled his eyes at his own conduct.

The two men led Collins into a smaller room in back of the first. The worn-out wood paneling was cracked and peeling in places. A single, shabby desk occupied the space. A computer monitor sat atop it, looking entirely out of place on the ancient desk. A solitary man sat behind the computer and did not rise to greet the three men but gave an acknowledging nod in the major's direction. Collins would later learn that the computer monitor served only as window dressing. The real reason to have a desk and fake computer at all was for the Ingram submachine gun clipped to the underside of the desk, and the man's hidden hand had a finger placed firmly on its cold steel trigger. The computer monitor was equipped with a pressure trigger on the floor that the guard could reach, and if pushed, it would send the back of the monitor exploding outward along with three hundred disabling tranquilizer darts. This was a small gift from the CEO of Pfizer Pharmaceutical.

The three men stepped up to the far wall. A motion sensor activated a small panel that popped free of the chipped plaster. The sergeant punched in a six-digit code on the now exposed keypad, which allowed another doorway-sized panel to the right to slide up and into the wall. Inside was a small cubicle, the floor of which was covered in linoleum in the military's favorite color, puke green (the same found in any government building in the country). The three men stepped in and the sergeant placed his hand onto a clear glass panel as a bright flash lit the small room momentarily, causing Collins to blink.

"Voice print analysis, please state destination," a computerized female voice asked from a hidden speaker.

"Nellis shuttle," the sergeant said.

"Thank you, Sergeant Mendenhall," the voice answered after three seconds had passed for the handprint and voice analyzer to finish.

"The glass read my finger and palm prints and the computer analyzed the pitch and pronunciation of my voice, thus clearing us for Group entrance. It's a security device of bio-mechanical engineering," Mendenhall explained. "If one thing didn't come back as kosher, the computer with the sexy female auditory system would have rendered us senseless with a two-thousand-volt shock." He smiled as he said the last statement.

"Nice, so when do we meet Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock?" Collins asked, not returning the smile. He waited a moment, then turned to the sergeant. "Listen, uh, Sergeant Mendenhall, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am well aware of the capabilities of the A2-6000 Kendall Encoded Bio Engineered Security System. It's a nice advantage to have, but I could have shorted the entire system out one minute after I walked into the pawnshop. The entire electrical hard line for the security gate is fed in from the Las Vegas power grid. Your backup generator is in plain sight in an unsecured cage just to the left of the back door, which I heard clearly kicking on and charging batteries just before I entered the building. Don't be too proud of something that isn't being utilized in a secure manner."

The door closed and the elevator moved quickly and silently down its hydraulically controlled shaft. Mendenhall was quiet, not knowing exactly how to take this man who obviously knew his security systems. As he looked the man over, he noticed small scars here and there on his exposed skin.

The elevator movement was whisper quiet, and the only way the major knew it was an elevator at all was because his stomach was still in the pawnshop. Collins mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, sir?" Mendenhall asked, turning to face Collins.

"Awful lot of James Bond crap."

"Yes, sir, it is."

The elevator door slid open and the three men stepped out onto a concrete platform, and Collins was surprised to see it was a train tunnel. The track was different from any he had seen outside of Disneyland, as it only had one rail and that was made from what looked like concrete. It was a single track that ran down the tunnel and had only a metal strip on its left side.

"We usually bring people in through the Nellis gates and through our regular checkpoints, sir, just as if they were regular air force personnel, but we have those points under security renovation. Director Compton and the senator thought this would be easier"

"The senator?" Collins asked.

The two men said nothing.