Zero Day (43 page)

P
ULLER STOOD
in front of the cracked mirror in his bathroom at Annie’s Motel. He had on his combat uniform and his face was streaked black and green. Forward and rear M11s were in their holsters, rounds in chambers. The MP5 was fully loaded and the discharge set on two-round bursts. He had four extra clips in the cargo slots in his pants. He had to bend forward some to get his full image into the silver-backed glass.

In the Middle East, mirrors had been hard to come by out in the field. Puller had used a jerry-rigged contraption he’d made from a scrap of glass with some goop coated on the rear side to capture the light and thus his reflection. Some of his men thought him more than a little weird for looking at himself in a mirror before going out to fight. Puller didn’t care what they thought. He did this for one reason and one reason only.

If he was going to die, he wanted his last image to be of a man in a uniform going off to fight for something worth fighting for. In Iraq and Afghanistan the motivation had been easy. It had mostly come from the guy next to him. Fighting to keep that guy alive. It had also come from representing the pack he was part of, the United States Army in general, with the Ranger as a specialty. In third place had come his country. A civilian would have thought that unusual, that the priorities had somehow gotten reversed. But Puller knew better. His priorities were right in line with most who wore the uniform and were routinely catapulted into harm’s way.

His ritual completed, he turned out the light, locked the door of his room for perhaps the final time, and headed to his car. He
checked his gear and made sure every item he was going to need was in there. That included a few things that Cole had gotten for him. As he drove off, he thought about when he’d arrived in Drake. It had been days, but those days felt like months. It had been oppressively hot, just as it was now. He could feel the heat and sweat collect inside his combat fiber.

He looked at the motel office, thought of the little room where the tiny woman had sat for God only knew how many years. From poodle skirts, big hair, and probably dreams beyond Drake, West Virginia, to death by worn-out body six decades later. He had met the woman all of two times, didn’t even know her last name. But for some reason he didn’t think he would ever forget Louisa, if only because he had failed to save her. He hoped he’d have better luck saving the rest of the people who lived in Drake.

He had been on the phone for several hours and had spoken with several different people up the chain of command. What he had requested was unusual. And there was always resistance from the military when you requested the unusual. But Puller had insisted and the military got its back up even more.

And then Puller had demanded. And added to that demand was the perfectly logical fact that if people died because the military had refused to take proper steps, careers would be lost. And not just his.

That had gotten the right people’s attention and Puller’s plan was now in place.

He drove right at the speed limit, his gaze dead center on the road. Many switchbacks later he stopped at the rendezvous spot and waited for Cole’s headlights to cut the dark. His watch clicked to twenty minutes past eleven and he wondered if she’d had second thoughts, when her pale blue pickup slid in next to his. She got out, leaned into her truck bed, hauled out a large coil of phone cable on a plastic reel, and tapped on Puller’s trunk. He popped it and she put the cable inside. She got into the passenger seat of the Malibu.

She had on her leather jacket, a black T-shirt, dark jeans, and boots. He saw the Cobra in its holster. He looked down and saw the bulge of her backup weapon in an ankle holster.

“Caliber?” he asked.

“Thirty-eight shortnose chambering Silvertips.” She opened her jacket slightly and he saw the gutting knife inside a leather carrier. “And this for true emergencies.”

He nodded approvingly.

She glanced over at him. “You look ready to fight.”

“I
am
ready to fight.”

“You really think someone will be there?”

“I don’t play the odds. I prepare for all contingencies.”

“I can’t believe my brother told Dickie Strauss about that mineshaft and that’s what started this whole thing.”

“And that’s the reason we have to get into the Bunker a different way.”

“Otherwise we might get ambushed.”

“Right.”

They reached the spot, a quarter of a mile away from the east side of the Bunker.

Puller slipped his rucksack over his shoulder. It was loaded down with a bunch of gear. He looped the phone cable reel over the other shoulder and then lifted out the body armor.

“Put this on. You’ll have to crank down the straps to make it fit you. It’ll still be big on you, but it’s a lot better than naked flesh and bone getting hit by whatever they might be chambering.”

“Is it heavy?”

“Not nearly as heavy as me hauling your dead body back.”

“Thanks, I get the point. What about you?”

“Already armored up.”

He helped her on with it, and after inspecting her from all angles and making a few minor adjustments, they hit the woods.

Cole followed Puller, who moved confidently through the thick trees, finding paths and trails that seemed invisible to Cole until he advanced down them.

She whispered, “I’ve lived here my whole life and I’d be lost in here in ten seconds.”

Puller skirted the hide of the Bunker, walked north till he reached the end of the concrete, and then headed west again. He
checked his luminous watch. He was two minutes ahead of schedule. Sometimes on the battlefield being early was just as bad as being late. He slowed his pace just a bit.

When they finally reached the edge of the woods, Puller squatted on his haunches and Cole did the same, coming to a stop on his right.

Dead ahead was the firehouse.

Puller pointed to the right of the structure. “Phone line comes in to that spot. There’s a jack in the office on the second floor.”

Cole had a thought. “The passageway from the firehouse to the Bunker wasn’t on those plans.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

“But why not?”

“For a very good reason. Back door in they didn’t want to publicize.” He rose. “You ready? Because it’s time to do this.”

Cole rose. Her legs wobbled a bit, but then regained their steadiness. She swallowed a lump the size of a fist and said, “Let’s roll.”

T
HE FIRST PART
of the mission went exceptionally smoothly. They entered the firehouse through a back door. Puller noiselessly attacked the lock and the wood swung back shortly thereafter.

“They teach you breaking and entering in the Army?” Cole said in a low voice.

“It’s called urban warfare,” he replied.

They made their way up the steps to the second floor after confirming that the first floor held nothing that was breathing. Puller spent ten minutes rigging the phone cable into the wall jack. He pulled from his knapsack what looked like an old-fashioned SAT phone the size of a large brick.

“Where did you get that?” asked Cole.

“Army. They never throw anything away.”

He attached the cable to ports on the phone. He hit a button on the phone and held it up to his ear.

“We have a dial tone,” he said.

“Is your call going to be long-distance?” she said, managing a weak smile.

“The longest,” he replied.

They walked back down the stairs and reached the set of lockers that David Larrimore had told him about. These lockers were all secured and looked like they hadn’t been touched since the place had closed down.

He shook off his knapsack and said, “Time to dress for the show.” He pulled out two hazmat suits and accompanying filtration gear.

“The guy said plutonium has a half-life of twenty-four thousand years,” said Cole.

“That’s right.”

He handed her the suit. She stared down at it. “He also said these suits probably wouldn’t protect us against direct exposure to that crap.”

“These suits are a lot better than anything he had back in the 1960s. But you can stay here if you want and cover my rear flank. It might actually be a better plan than you going in there with me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She started to put on the suit.

When they were done she gazed up at him. “We look like astronauts ready to do a moonwalk.”

“Maybe not so far from the truth.”

Puller broke open the last locker, found the pressure point for the panel, pushed it, and the little door popped open. He felt for the catch. He hoped that after all these decades the mechanism would still work.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard a pop and then a slight rush of air and the wall of lockers swung away from the wall. It did so with a screech. The thing probably hadn’t been opened since the 1960s. This made him smile. Whoever they were up against had not used this way to get into the Bunker. They’d gone through the shaft.

Cole hit the opening with her light. Revealed was a set of stairs.

“You look disappointed,” said Puller through his mask.

She started and stared up at him.

“Hoping we might not be able to get in?”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“Facing fear is better than running from it,” he said.

“What if it’s fear you can’t beat?”

“Then it might be better to be dead,” he answered.

He pulled out two pairs of night-vision goggles. “The place will be pitch black inside presumably, so this is the only way we’ll be able to see. Once we confirm we’re the only ones in there, we can use our flashlights. I’ll show you how to use the goggles. They take
some getting used to. And if something happens to me, you’ll need them to get out as quickly as possible.”

“If something happens to you, it’ll probably happen to me too.”

He shook his head. “Not necessarily. We have to buck up the chances that at least one of us will survive.” He explained how the device worked and then slid it over her head and flipped the eyepieces down over Cole’s clear mask shield. He powered it up and took her through what she was looking at.

“Okay, you’re officially night-vision goggle certified.”

He powered up his own goggles and slid them down in front of his eyes. He handed her the roll of cable. “Spool this out as we go.”

“I got the longest length I could. Think it’ll be enough?”

“We have to go with the equipment we have. If it’s not long enough, we’ll figure something else out.”

She nodded.

He led the way down the stairs, his field of vision reduced somewhat because of the green that made him feel like he was in a dirty aquarium. But certain details were enhanced beyond what his naked eye could ever pick up.

Puller liked details. They were often the difference between walking out of a situation and being carried out of it.

They reached the bottom of the steps. They were now in a long hall formed from concrete painted yellow. They had traveled half of it when he began to see the filtration equipment. He tapped Cole on the shoulder and pointed ahead. “Filtering station.”

She tapped him on the back to indicate she’d seen it too.

The machinery they encountered was large, elaborate, and was probably state of the art for its time. Puller faced next what he had expected to, even though the filtering station had not been on the facility plans. A large fan. Twice as tall as he was. This would be a tricky part. At least they didn’t have to worry about the thing starting up. He contoured his body to get past it and then helped Cole do the same. They were careful with the phone cable so that it was not against the blades of the fan. The last thing they needed was a cut line and no communication. No cell signal could work from under three feet of concrete. Puller worked the line down to the bottom
of the floor so that the only thing it was touching was the base of the fan, which was rounded smooth metal.

They continued on another hundred feet or so. In his head Puller calculated distances and concluded that they were close. He shifted his knapsack to a better position and lifted his forward M11 from its holster. The MP5 rested against his chest and he could deploy it on target in seconds. He looked back and saw that Cole had her Cobra out too.

The inside of the facility was large enough not to be classified as close quarters, but an MP5 was a devastating weapon in virtually all encounters that did not involve long-distance killing. But if there was a sniper in here with the same green glasses Puller had, he and Cole were probably dead.

They made their way through two more barriers, one of which Puller had to dismantle, and then they stepped out into a space that was enormous by most definitions. It was also totally dark. Without the goggles they would be operating blind. They had about three hundred feet of phone cable left. He hoped it was enough. He immediately stepped to the right and took cover behind a long metal workbench. Cole scooted along behind him. The place smelled of mildew and rot. What the concrete bunker above could not protect against was moisture from below.

Puller looked around at the walls of the building. They were high, windowless, and built of brick. The ceiling was about thirty feet above him. It was solid, with fluorescent lights hanging from support poles. There were additional floors above this one. The plans had shown that. Probably admin and other support offices. But they appeared to be in the main work area of the facility.

And overlying the entire building was the dome of concrete. Puller felt like he was inside a building that was inside an egg.

“We have to grid-search this place,” he said through his mask.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Things breathing, fifty-gallon lead-lined barrels, and something that looks like it shouldn’t be here.”

“And what is that exactly?” asked Cole impatiently.

“Something that looks
new
,” he answered. “You go left and I go
right. We’ll work our way to the center.” He handed her a walkie-talkie. “These will work in here. They’re not bouncing off a satellite somewhere. But they’re not secure either, so someone could be listening.”

Thirty minutes later Puller had found them.

He counted the barrels. There were five of them. He couldn’t tell if they were lead-lined but he hoped they were. As he drew closer he could make out the muck and mildew clinging to the sides of the metal. He hoped there were no holes in them. If so, he was probably already dead. He drew even closer and used a gloved hand to rub some of the muck off. He was looking at a faded blue label with a skull and crossbones.

Blue meant uranium.

The next barrel in line was the same. He pushed against each with his hand. They were full, or at least seemed to be. The weight could be coming in part from the lead lining. Yet the tops appeared sealed and had enough crust around them that Puller didn’t think they had been opened in decades. Two other barrels had red labels and the skull warning.

Plutonium cakes. He pushed. They were full too.

The last barrel in the line had the same red label. Plutonium. But that wasn’t what he was focusing on.

The top was off the barrel. He eased a few steps closer. Then, deciding to just go for it, he got so close he was able to look down into it. Lead-lined, yes. That was good. There was no penetration into the lead from the outside elements.

That was excellent.

The barrel was also empty. The plutonium was on the loose.

That was catastrophic.

And then he noted something else. On the concrete floor were six identical rings lined up next to the barrels. Puller knew exactly what that meant. There had been six other barrels here. Uranium and/or plutonium. And now they were gone.

He got on his walkie-talkie.

“I found the stuff. And we got one empty barrel. That used to hold plutonium. And a half dozen missing ones.”

The walkie-talkie crackled and Cole said shakily, “I found something too.”

“Cole, you okay?”

“I… Just get over here. I’m on the east side, about three hundred feet from where we came in.”

“What is it? What did you find?”

“Roger. I found Roger Trent.”