Jake Trotter was just about asleep.
He'd started his late night shift as deputy for the Garfield County Sheriff's department at 10 PM, relieving the Sheriff. During his quick briefing, he'd been handed an email noting that there was a "be on the look-out" for a black Tahoe with Nevada plates. Sure, he thought. Those will just magically appear all the time out here - particularly at this time of night. Still, it intrigued him enough to remember it. So when he was actually passed - as he sat parked on the side of Highway 12 - he was quite surprised.
The Tahoe was headed east and moving fast, but within the speed limit. This was a particularly lonely stretch of road, and there was no particular reason why someone should be on it at this time of the morning. He pulled out into the road and followed the Tahoe for a little while. When they arrived at the small town of Tropic, the Tahoe had to stop at a four-way stop sign and Jake was able to get close enough to note that the plates were indeed from Nevada - they were the distinctive Las Vegas plates. He hadn't been told to look for that in particular, but he figured that since the report had come in from the FBI Organized Crime division, which was located in Las Vegas, it seemed to fit. He got on the radio and reported what he'd seen.
The response surprised him. The dispatch, whom he knew well, was alarmed. She warned him not to approach the vehicle - just to note the time and direction of travel and then break off pursuit. That woke him up completely, now. Apparently there was more in the report than he'd been told by the Sheriff. Jake usually heeded this kind of warning, but this once he decided he'd give in to the impulse and follow the Tahoe. Since there was such little traffic, he knew this would be easy.
The Tahoe continued down Highway 12, still heading east. Somewhere between the small towns of Cannonville and Escalante, the Tahoe peeled off and headed down a dirt road. Jake had grown up in this county and had spent many years exploring these side tracks. Yet he could never remember a road in this location. The road was clear, well constructed, and well travelled. Largely sand, it had been washboarded and rutted by many, many vehicles passing this way. Some of the tracks appeared in the headlights to be those of 18-wheelers carrying some kind of heavy cargo. Luckily he drove a Ford Bronco, which, while older, still allowed him to navigate the road with relative ease. He noted that the road lead him into what is locally known as a box canyon, a narrow, closed formation which would dead end.
He tried to raise dispatch but was getting some kind of interference. He could not speak to the outside world and report his situation and concern. This troubled him greatly and he pulled over to the side of the road. Which is when he noted the headlights behind him.
Jake stepped out of the vehicle, leaving it running, and stood by the driver's side door as the military-grade Humvee approached. He saw that it was one of those canvas-sided ones meant for quick transport of several troops over very rough terrain. He expected the men getting out to wear fatigues of some kind, probably desert camouflage. Certainly the Humvee was painted the desert beige. He we surprised again when the men who got out were dressed in yellow.
"Evening, officer," the driver said, approaching the deputy. "Looking for Butch Cassidy?"
Jake relaxed a little. "No. I'm tracking a vehicle that just entered this canyon. Did you see a black Tahoe pass by here not too long ago?"
"Yes, I did. What's up? Something important?"
"Maybe. We've had a report to be on the lookout for a black Tahoe out of Las Vegas," Jake said. "I picked up a vehicle matching that description about 30 minutes ago and followed it here." He didn't know why he was being so talkative. Something about the man said military, even though the uniform did not. Also, it was probably a function of the early morning hour.
" Well, sir, I didn't see the plates, but I did note that vehicle pass by here about 10 minutes ago."
"Do you have any idea why it was headed up here? Is it attached to your unit? Are you guys running some kind of operation up here?"
"Yes to all three questions, deputy. Would you like to come up and inspect the operation?" the driver asked.
"No, I think I'll just head back to the road and call this in," Jake said.
"I wondered if we might hit that snag," the driver said, nodding over Jake's shoulder.
Jake turned abruptly. He'd been so focused on the congenial man in front of him he'd forgotten to stay aware of the entire situation. He just had time to register the second man in the yellow jumpsuit when the barrel of the pistol pointed at his head turned orange. It was the last thing he ever knew.
"I hate this job sometimes," the driver of the Humvee said, reverting to the strange language spoken only by the team. "Why do they always make such a mess when they die?"
The second man, the one who had shot the deputy, did not respond, thinking that this was more of a rhetorical question than one that needed a response. He returned to the Humvee and brought out a large white bottle. The bottle had a spray nozzle on the top, like a water mister with a hand-activated pump action. Carefully donning some thick rubber gloves, he stood over the body and began to spray. The reaction was instantaneous - the body began to dissolve. Soon all that was left were the deputy's house keys, his belt buckle, and his deputy star. The driver, after putting on gloves of his own, retrieved these items and put them in a plastic bag he'd taken from the trunk. The items would be taken to the complex and melted.
The other man carefully removed the spent brass which had been ejected when he'd fired the shot into a specially made bag attached to his pistol. Looking around, he noted that the ground was hardened here and there were few if any extraneous footprints. Lightning raked the horizon, lighting up the tops of clouds that were miles high. He knew that the storm would wash away any additional traces of the chemical solvent used to eliminate the man's remains.
Good, he thought. Unfortunate and unnecessary, but at least that's a clean job. And we even learned something in the process. John will have to be more careful in the future. How he could have been so careless....
Packing up the few items they'd taken from the Humvee, the man who'd pulled the trigger got into the Bronco and drove it further into the box canyon. The driver of the Humvee returned the way they'd initially come, this time alone in the vehicle. He used the radio in the Humvee to report the situation, allowing his partner to enter the compound without further distraction. The other man would get a ride back to the sentry location as soon as the Bronco was secured, he knew.
The Bronco was driven carefully down the road and into the compound. If you didn't know what you were looking for, you would never have known that that's where you were or even that you'd arrived anywhere. But your actions were carefully monitored and if you'd even made it this far at all you would not make it much further. There was a veritable arsenal of weapons pointed at you - even tracking the Bronco, although they'd been given the all clear, just for practice - and you would not survive. There were even anti-aircraft weapons pointed at the sky from deep within hollowed out circular depressions on the mesa above. This was a fortress that said - STAY OUT!
The site was chosen specifically for these characteristics after an exhaustive search. It would have been much simpler if the land had been privately owned, but the lease was easy enough to procure with the right leverage applied. Of course, the scandal had reached the White House, anyway, but it hadn't been the team's doing. The driver of the Bronco smiled to himself over that one. What exactly IS the definition of the word, "is"?
He pulled the Bronco into the large staging area, off to one side and under the cover of the cavern he'd help to create in the sheer rock face. Thunder rolled through the canyon as the rain began to pelt down. His thoughts turned to the ceremony that was scheduled for tomorrow... the one that would change the world.
The ceremony that would install the new queen.
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