Читать книгу The Last Daughter - Thomas Mahon - Страница 11

Team Alpha- Bravo, the militia’s most trusted two-man recon unit, hunkered down in a rocky bluff seven miles west of Highway 93. Save for the roar of an occasional military jet and the sighting of a stray cow or two, there was very little activity in the semi-remote desert. In fact, they hadn’t seen so much as a car or another human being in the past three days. The scorching sun was relentless. Even more relentless was the dry heat. Who, in their right mind, would be out in conditions like this?

In its heyday, which would be the mid-Nineties, the Badger Valley/Tikaboo Peak region of Southern Nevada was a Mecca for UFO and conspiracy aficionados. The famous Groom Lake base, otherwise known as Area 51, was rumored to be the home of secret, government aircraft, as well as alien saucers that had supposedly been captured and reverse-engineered by U.S. military personnel. Conspiracy buffs flocked to the area with scanners, cameras, telescopes and cases of bottled water. Enterprising locals conducted hiking expeditions, UFO sightseeing excursions and camping events from a ridge only twelve miles from the famous Groom Lake Base. Eventually, the Clinton Administration got wise and ordered a massive Southern Nevada land annex. It included the ridge. Suddenly, the nearest viewing location was twenty-five miles from Groom. Viewing condions were poor. Few were interested in making the hike, and the excursions dwindled to a trickle. The gawkers went back to their buffet lines and slot machines on The Strip. The region lost its glamour.

But not with the militia. Badger Valley remained prime training ground.

The hand-held scanner emitted a low beep. The militia private glanced suspiciously at the device with its blinking red light. “What do you think, another cow?”

The unit leader shook his head. “Not sure.”

There was a second beep, this time much longer in duration.

“Okay, that’s no cow.”

“I think you’re right,” said the unit leader. He unclipped the walkie-talkie from his utility belt. This could be what they were waiting for.

He scanned the horizon. “Alpha-Bravo to base.”

The radio hissed back. “Go ahead.”

“Sensor just picked up something. Vehicle of some kind.”

“It’s probably him,” said the voice. “Radio back when you have visual.”

The militia had staggered magnetic sensors along the dirt road leading west from 93. The sensors, considered rather primitive but still effective, consisted of two plastic capsules buried in the sand beside the road. They were connected by a long wire, which ended at a gray-colored battery-operated transmitter, about the size of a gallon paint can. The militia concealed the transmitters behind the clumps of scrub brush dotting the landscape. They were next-to-impossible to spot unless a person hopped out of his car and rooted around the brush.

Again the scanner lit up and beeped. Something was definitely advancing toward their position at a rate of 20 MPH, and it was certainly not a bovine by any stretch of the imagination. The private surveyed the eastern horizon with his binoculars.

“Here we go,” he said, passing his glasses to the group leader.

The other took a long look and nodded. “Navigator. Airport rental if I’ve ever seen one.”

He radioed base.

As the SUV approached, the men got a good look at the vehicle. It was new and covered with a fine layer of dust and sand. Woefully out of place in the harsh wilderness. Suddenly the SUV screeched to a stop at the fork in the rocky trails just a stone’s throw from Alpha-Bravo’s position.

“What’s he doing?” whispered the private.

“If he’s smart, he’s checking GPS for directions.” He motioned. “He doesn’t want to take the right fork. That’ll take him to the old abandoned prospecting mine two miles away, but if he stays the left course, he’ll continue his descent into the South Badger Valley.” He focused the glasses on the driver’s window, but the heavy tint obscured any view of the driver. “Come on, bud. Stay left.”

After a short pause, the tires spun back to life, and the Navigator veered left, bouncing deeper into the rocky wilderness.

The Echo team leader raised the walkie-talkie to his face. “He’ll be yours in fifteen to twenty.”