Craig Kreident #2 Fallout by Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson Page A
Authors: Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson
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Air Force base inside Nellis where the government is hiding a bunch of aliens in one of their hangars. They won’t let the public know about it because they’re holding negotiations so Earth can be accepted into the galactic union.”
Paige lifted an eyebrow. “Aliens?”
Geoff nodded, finally speaking, His voice was surprisingly high pitched for his burly body. “We’re sneaking in to get a look for ourselves, find enlightenment, and channel our energy to the stars.”
Dirks leaned out the window. “Site Security is on the way, ma’am.”
“Who are these people?” General Ursov glared out the open window of the van. “Why the delay? Is this another breach in security?”
Paige sighed. This was going to be one long day .
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday, October 21
1:45 P.M.
Cane Springs Test Range
Nevada Test Site
After NTS security troops had taken the UFO-hunting trespassers, Paige drove the government van to a line of rocky, brush-covered hills where explosives storage bunkers dotted the gullies and ridgetops.
They passed through a checkpoint where a security officer in sand camouflage fatigues inspected underneath the vehicle using mirrors and a flashlight. Paige couldn’t tell if the guard was suspicious of the Russians per se , or if his job was just to be skeptical of everyone driving past his station.
Warmed up to his role as tourguide, PK Dirks chatted breezily, trying to make the Russians relax. Ursov looked dourly out the van windows, as if filing away details of the emplacements, the bunkers, everything he saw.
Dirks pointed up the road. “Take the gravel road just before the curve, ma’am,” he said. “Go to bunker 87-3 — I know the door lock combination.”
She pulled up in front of a thick-walled, windowless concrete bunker set into a steep hillside. The bunker had water-stained walls and a heavy metal door. The coded lock consisted of a round ring of numbered buttons. Paige hung back as Dirks punched four buttons in sequence, then tugged on the handle. One of the Russians helped him haul the heavy steel hatch open.
“This is where we store our chemical explosives,” Dirks said, reaching inside to flick on the lights. He puffed his chubby cheeks, making his beard bristle out. He gestured for the Russians to enter the claustrophobic building.
Ursov said, “A bunker looks like a bunker, looks like a bunker.”
“Maybe they keep more flying saucers out here,” Anatoli Voronin muttered, spreading his thick lips in a grin.
Paige had just closed the van door when her cellular phone rang. As she plucked the unit from her belt, Dirks waved to her. “I’ll take them in, ma’am.” He ushered the Russians inside the bunker as Paige pressed the phone against her ear.
“This is Chief Medical Examiner Adams,” said a voice, reedy but firm. Her heart beat more rapidly as she prepared to receive the report about Nevsky’s death. “Are you someplace you can talk, Ms. Mitchell? The report is worse than you might have imagined.”
Paige braced herself. “Worse than him being dead?”
“Trouble is,” the coroner said, “the ambassador was dead long before that crate fell on his head — by at least half an hour. We can tell by the splash pattern and by chemical analysis of the blood. His heart wasn’t beating at the time of the massive trauma to his skull and vertebrae. It would seem that the falling crate was a cover-up to hide a major blow to the cranium.”
Paige stiffened as the words sunk in. “You’re suggesting this was a murder and coverup, not just an industrial accident.”
“No question in my mind. You’ve got a problem on your hands, and I don’t envy you the political hot potato. Not at all.” Adams cleared his throat, then continued as if reading from a dry report. “We’ll do a full autopsy and chemical workup, but facts are
Paige lifted an eyebrow. “Aliens?”
Geoff nodded, finally speaking, His voice was surprisingly high pitched for his burly body. “We’re sneaking in to get a look for ourselves, find enlightenment, and channel our energy to the stars.”
Dirks leaned out the window. “Site Security is on the way, ma’am.”
“Who are these people?” General Ursov glared out the open window of the van. “Why the delay? Is this another breach in security?”
Paige sighed. This was going to be one long day .
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday, October 21
1:45 P.M.
Cane Springs Test Range
Nevada Test Site
After NTS security troops had taken the UFO-hunting trespassers, Paige drove the government van to a line of rocky, brush-covered hills where explosives storage bunkers dotted the gullies and ridgetops.
They passed through a checkpoint where a security officer in sand camouflage fatigues inspected underneath the vehicle using mirrors and a flashlight. Paige couldn’t tell if the guard was suspicious of the Russians per se , or if his job was just to be skeptical of everyone driving past his station.
Warmed up to his role as tourguide, PK Dirks chatted breezily, trying to make the Russians relax. Ursov looked dourly out the van windows, as if filing away details of the emplacements, the bunkers, everything he saw.
Dirks pointed up the road. “Take the gravel road just before the curve, ma’am,” he said. “Go to bunker 87-3 — I know the door lock combination.”
She pulled up in front of a thick-walled, windowless concrete bunker set into a steep hillside. The bunker had water-stained walls and a heavy metal door. The coded lock consisted of a round ring of numbered buttons. Paige hung back as Dirks punched four buttons in sequence, then tugged on the handle. One of the Russians helped him haul the heavy steel hatch open.
“This is where we store our chemical explosives,” Dirks said, reaching inside to flick on the lights. He puffed his chubby cheeks, making his beard bristle out. He gestured for the Russians to enter the claustrophobic building.
Ursov said, “A bunker looks like a bunker, looks like a bunker.”
“Maybe they keep more flying saucers out here,” Anatoli Voronin muttered, spreading his thick lips in a grin.
Paige had just closed the van door when her cellular phone rang. As she plucked the unit from her belt, Dirks waved to her. “I’ll take them in, ma’am.” He ushered the Russians inside the bunker as Paige pressed the phone against her ear.
“This is Chief Medical Examiner Adams,” said a voice, reedy but firm. Her heart beat more rapidly as she prepared to receive the report about Nevsky’s death. “Are you someplace you can talk, Ms. Mitchell? The report is worse than you might have imagined.”
Paige braced herself. “Worse than him being dead?”
“Trouble is,” the coroner said, “the ambassador was dead long before that crate fell on his head — by at least half an hour. We can tell by the splash pattern and by chemical analysis of the blood. His heart wasn’t beating at the time of the massive trauma to his skull and vertebrae. It would seem that the falling crate was a cover-up to hide a major blow to the cranium.”
Paige stiffened as the words sunk in. “You’re suggesting this was a murder and coverup, not just an industrial accident.”
“No question in my mind. You’ve got a problem on your hands, and I don’t envy you the political hot potato. Not at all.” Adams cleared his throat, then continued as if reading from a dry report. “We’ll do a full autopsy and chemical workup, but facts are
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