Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

Cracks in Reality

Alex Siegel

Copyright 2014-2015 by Alex Siegel

Kindle Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For more information about this book and others in the series, please visit
http://www.grayspearsociety.com/

Cracks in Reality is the second in a four book series. It is recommended that they be read in order. The complete list of books is and will be:

1. Seams in Reality
2. Cracks in Reality
3. Breaks in Reality
4. Shards of Reality

The Gray Spear Society is an earlier series by the same author. Those books are:

1. Apocalypse Cult
2. Carnival of Mayhem
3. Psychological Damage
4. Involuntary Control
5. Deadly Weakness
6. The Price of Disrespect
7. Tricks and Traps
8. Politics of Blood
9. Grim Reflections
10. Eyes of the World
11. Antisocial Media
12. Sharp Teeth and Bloody Claws
13. Teller of Lies
14. Faith Defiled

Revision 6/20/2015

Chapter One

Blake Blutstein shook his head with disappointment.

He was standing in front of the Sweet Palms Tavern in Alamogordo, New Mexico. The building had walls made of ugly pink stucco. Arched windows tried to create the impression of a Spanish mission, but neon beer signs completely ruined the effect. The sandstorms that plagued the region had shredded a canvas awning over the door. Looking at the place created the expectation of cheap, watered-down liquor served in dirty glasses.

Alamogordo as a whole wasn't much more impressive. It was a town of 30,000 in the middle of the New Mexican desert. Pick-up trucks were the most popular type of vehicle on the wide, sunbaked roads. The surrounding land was formidably arid and flat. Distant mountains provided the only interesting scenery, but dust in the air gave them a washed out appearance.

Blake entered the tavern. The transition from bright sunlight to darkness forced him to stop while his eyes adjusted. When he could see again, he saw little worth the bother. Fake wood paneling covered the walls, and the ceiling was just sheets of plywood. The bar was so scratched up, most of the veneer was gone. Shelves were packed full of decorative empty beer bottles, many with labels written in Spanish.

Two middle-aged men in dusty clothes were sitting at the bar. They didn't even turn their heads when Blake entered. The place was otherwise empty of customers.

The bartender was a Native American man with long, black hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a green baseball cap.

"Hi there," he said.

Blake smiled at him. "I'm here to meet somebody, not drink."

"You can't stay if you don't drink."

"Then I'll have tonic water in a clean glass. Thank you."

The bartender frowned and muttered under his breath.

Blake checked his watch. According to his intelligence, US Army Captain Brian Ortiz would stop by the bar for a drink in approximately ten minutes. The captain prided himself on punctuality and strict adherence to a schedule even when he drank.

Blake sat in a booth in the back corner of the room where the light was poor. He calmed himself and cleared his mind. Good sorcery required strong mental focus, and while he could do it under adverse conditions, that wasn't his preference. The bartender brought him a glass of tonic water, and after checking the glass for dirt, Blake sipped the drink.

He scratched his chin. He was wearing a fake beard as part of an elaborate disguise. He never showed his real face in public anymore. The federal government was looking for him with the goal of killing him. Blake had to travel under an assumed name when he used a name at all. Even with the disguise, he avoided every surveillance camera he saw.

A short time later, a Hispanic man in an Army uniform walked in. His black hair was cut short and even all over. A little stubble was growing on his chin, but it was excusable considering he had just come off five days of continuous duty. Blake recognized the officer as Ortiz from pictures.

Ortiz sat at the bar. The bartender immediately served him a shot of whiskey and a tall bottle of beer. Ortiz nodded in acknowledgement.

Blake stood up and walked over. "Captain Ortiz?"

Ortiz turned his head. "Do I know you?" He squinted.

"No, but I'd like to talk to you in private, if that's all right."

"About what?"

Blake glanced at the bartender. "For your ears only."

"I'm busy drinking," Ortiz said.

"I'll pay for your drinks. Please."

Ortiz had a dubious expression, but he got up and grabbed his drinks. He and Blake went over to the booth in the corner.

"What is it?" Ortiz said.

"Look at this," Blake replied.

After making sure nobody else was watching, he took a giant emerald out of his pocket and placed it on the table. It was the infamous Russian Eye. The stone had a square cut and was the size of his palm. As a historic gemstone alone, it was worth millions.

To a sorcerer, the Russian Eye was priceless. A tiny seam was caught in the crystal structure. The crack in the walls of reality was just the size of a pinhead, but it allowed raw, chaotic energy to trickle in from beyond. Blake could harness that energy and use it to work magic. Without a seam, he had the limitations of an ordinary man, but the Russian Eye allowed him to accomplish impossible feats.

"Is that thing real?" Ortiz leaned down for a closer look.

Blake blasted Ortiz with a psychic attack. With the ease of a master, Blake found Ortiz's deepest fears and most crippling anxieties which could rob him of his willpower. Blake wriggled into the dark corners like a weasel going after a rat. The silent, invisible battle lasted only a few seconds, and when it was over, Blake was in complete control. He had manipulated Ortiz's beliefs to turn him into an obedient slave. Ortiz would eagerly do anything Blake asked, no matter how dangerous, because Ortiz felt it was the right thing to do.

"You're assigned to the Vault, right?" Blake said.

"The Vault?" Ortiz appeared confused.

"A big hole in a mountain at the northern end of Mumford Army Base."

"The Physical Containment Facility located in
Montaña de la Serpiente
."

"Sure. I'm going to rob the place, and I need to know all about the security, but let's start with the basics. How much stuff are you keeping in there?"

Ortiz feebly resisted the command. Blake gave him a jolt of terror to remind him of the penalty for defiance. Blake could push any button he wanted in Ortiz's mind.

"There are 392 PCU's," Ortiz replied in a soft, tight voice.

"What's a PCU?" Blake whispered.

"A physical containment unit. They are steel boxes weighing 50 kilograms each."

"How inconvenient. I assume they're locked. How do I open them?"

"They have electronic locks," Ortiz said, "and each unit employs a different, unique code."

Blake furrowed his brow. "That's going to be a problem. How are they stored?"

"In chambers deep underground, twenty PCU's per chamber. Each chamber has a 10-ton door which is typically closed and locked. In an emergency, explosive charges can cave-in the chambers."

"Another problem. What's the total mass of all the materials? How much do I have to haul away?"

"Hard to say," Ortiz said. "Maybe twenty or thirty tons."

Blake sat back in his chair. The logistical issues added a layer of difficulty he hadn't fully appreciated until now. Manpower alone wouldn't be sufficient. The job would require a lot of specialized equipment.

"When I scouted the facility, I saw guard towers."

"Six towers," Ortiz said. "They are 30 meters tall and made of solid reinforced concrete. Long-range video cameras and computerized recognition systems automatically identify intruders."

"And weapons?"

"30mm guns in the towers can destroy threats at a range of up to 1.5 kilometers. The ammunition is made of depleted uranium for extra penetration."

"I also saw tanks," Blake said.

"Two tank platoons, one on active duty and one in reserve. All the tanks are equipped to resist biological, chemical, and radiation attacks. Four M777 howitzers in fortified positions can support the tanks."

"And troops?"

"Two infantry companies are permanently assigned to the Containment Facility," Ortiz said in a dull monotone. "The men operate on a five-day duty cycle to keep them fresh."

Blake sighed unhappily. "What about sensors?"

"Multiple rings of sensors extend out to a range of one kilometer. They include motion detectors, heat sensors, microphones, vibration sensors, and lasers."

Blake grimaced with annoyance. His sorcery had a very short effective range. The small seam in the Russian Eye limited him to five or ten feet at the most, and mind-control was the most potent spell in his arsenal. He could create illusions, but they would only fool human eyes, not video cameras. There was no way to use his power to cross so much open ground undetected. The Vault had been designed specifically to keep out sorcerers.

"What else do I need to worry about?"

"The Containment Facility has multiple, independent security checkpoints," Ortiz said. "If any are attacked, the entire facility will immediately go into lock-down. All doors will seal. Hydrogen chloride gas will flood key connecting passages."

Blake snarled. "Any other security measures?"

"All staff members must pass a daily blood test before they can enter the Facility. The blood test checks for contamination which might compromise brain function."

Blake knew the truth. Exposure to sorcery caused the human brain to release specific chemicals. The blood test would reveal a sorcerer in disguise or an ordinary person who was a victim of mind-control.

"OK. If you had to rob the Containment Facility, how would you do it?"

"I don't know," Ortiz said. "It's designed to withstand a siege. If necessary, we can bring in reinforcements from Mumford Army Base where an entire brigade is stationed. As a last resort, we would destroy the entire Facility to prevent dangerous materials from falling into enemy hands."

"Do you know what those materials are?"

"No. The PCU's are usually sealed."

Blake knew the answer. The United States government kept dangerous artifacts related to sorcery in the Vault. The collection included precious seams like the Russian Eye, but most of it was journals and notes from decades of experiments performed by sorcerers and scientists. The treasure trove of knowledge was worth any price. It could make him the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

"That's a problem for me," Blake said. "Assuming I can get in there at all, I won't be able to take everything out. I'll have to pick the best plums. Is there a manifest or an inventory somewhere?"

"The Army doesn't have one. The contents of the PCUs just have code numbers."

"I'm not surprised."

Blake expected the Bureau of Physical Investigation had a list describing what each code number meant, but getting that list was another difficult challenge. BPI headquarters also had extreme security measures. The federal government had dealt with renegade sorcerers like Blake before and had learned the hard way what steps to take. They weren't entirely clueless.

Furthermore, the BPI employed other sorcerers, some capable of defeating Blake in a straight fight. He wasn't the only person who had mastered the infernal arts like mind-control. There were people out there who could do it even better.

The Vault was too big a prize to ignore though. The potential payoff more than outweighed the risks. With the wisdom locked away in those secret journals, he could achieve all of his dreams.

Blake would have to be exceptionally clever though. He had enemies of all stripes, and if he made any mistakes, he would pay with his life.

He had an idea.
I won't rob the Vault,
he thought.
I'll trick my enemies into delivering the Vault to me.
He smiled.

Ortiz was staring ahead, waiting for another command. His left eyelid was twitching slightly. Blake had to dispose of him. If Ortiz went back to the Vault and took the blood test, the Army would know he was compromised. The BPI would bring in another sorcerer to discover the reason, and Blake's influence would be revealed. Blake couldn't allow that to happen.

"You're going to end your own life."

Ortiz didn't react visibly. "Why?"

"Too much stress at work," Blake said. "Write a suicide note that talks about the long hours, overbearing security, and relentless pressure. Make it clear that the Containment Facility is an intolerable hell-hole. Then stick a gun in your mouth and blow your brains out. Understand?"

Ortiz nodded slowly.

"Good bye, Captain. It was nice meeting you."

Blake put the Russian Eye back in his pocket. He dropped twenty dollars on the table, stood up, and walked out of the bar.