Tommy stroked his biker mustache and shot a jet of tobacco juice out through the gap between his front teeth, enough to make a tapping sound when it hit the dirt. “Ain’t enough bourbon in my house for me to understand the lengths you all go to to help folks who don’t pay you a red cent.” He side-eyed Evan. “That was a hint.”
Evan pulled three tight rolls of hundreds from his cargo pocket and handed them over to Tommy. Tommy thumbed one of the edges, breathing in the scent of money. Then he started to lumber back to his driver’s seat. He paused. Then swung back around, leaning on his side mirror to look at Evan.
His baggy eyes held concern, though he was never one to give voice to softer emotions. He started to say something, thought better of it, spit again, and cursed softly at the wind.
“I’ll be okay,” Evan said.
Beyond the dunes the coyotes were at it again, singing their death song.
“Wear the brown pants,” Tommy said, turning away once more. “You’re gonna need ’em.”
65
Darker Darkness
Evan steered the Honda Civic over the bumpy dirt road through the ruinous landscape of the Nevada National Security Site, the night sky thick enough to hide the recce drones. Joey had made clear she could manipulate the surveillance feeds through a signals intercept, erasing Evan’s vehicle and heat signature. She’d yet to make a boast she’d been unable to back up; even so, as he neared the base, his back prickled with sweat when he thought about the invisible firepower drifting overhead.
At last the solid perimeter fence of Creech North came visible in the night, a seam of darker darkness.
He gave the front security gate a wide berth, peeling off down a side road. Signs at regular intervals urged EXERCISE EXTREME CAUTION. STAY ON THE ROAD. Having seen the rabbit disassembled by a land mine on his last visit, Evan minded the instructions.
He had his radio earpiece in, bone-conduction technology that sent and received audio signals through the walls of the skull, bypassing the outer ear and leaving it open to sounds in the immediate environment. He shared an encrypted channel with Joey and Candy.
Joey had used one of Creech North’s own surveillance drones to watch Molleken’s delivery arrive—two SUVs with tinted windows bookending a black box truck. The convoy had arrived five minutes ago, drifting into the compound easily and driving to the central lab building Evan had infiltrated yesterday. She’d zoomed in with night vision, close enough to identify their weapons, and sent the images to Evan’s RoamZone. Just like the crew sent to take out Andre at the impound lot, the six contractors wore dark polo shirts and carried MP5s and Browning Hi-Power clones. But conducting semilegitimate business here, they’d forgone the black Polartec masks. Nonetheless, they’d be easy enough to differentiate from whatever base personnel remained.
Careful to hold to the road, he pulled near one of the rear gates. There was no guard station here, just a massive solid steel gate braced by concrete barriers.
He stopped in the middle of the road, killed the engine and then his lights. He’d have a few minutes before someone spotted him and came to ask questions.
He hoped that was enough time for Candy.
* * *
The Jeep careened up to the checkpoint, windows down, country music blaring, Chely Wright singing about a single white female lookin’ for that special lover.
Two MPs manned the station, one emerging swiftly, M4 carbine at the ready, giving the driver vigorous hand signals to stop. The Wrangler skidded to a halt, and Candy spilled out, a weighty tote bag swinging from her elbow. “Goddamn it, I’m all turned around. I’m supposed to meet the girls for a bachelorette party at Caesar’s Palace, and my GPS says the Strip’s no more than an hour from here, but it keeps glitching.”
“Ma’am, please back up.” He wore the navy-blue beret, sage-green combat boots, and the Airman Battle Uniform with slate-blue incorporated into the camo design. The embroidered name tape read MOORE. Shoulders pinned back in rail-straight posture, dimples in his cheeks, wide