Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle (44 page)

"He headed back west. Said there was something he had to do."

—

Thom parked his Buick sedan at the curb. It was a beautiful fall weekend in southern California. The type of day for families and picnics and friends. Not the type of day for this.

He exited the car, carefully swinging out his injured leg and struggled to rise from the car without sending a bolt of pain through his arm. He had discarded the sling against doctor's orders, and he eschewed his cane because he needed to stand tall today, if only for a few minutes.

The mailbox in front of the duplex listed a name he did not recognize, but he knew the mother of the house; her maiden name was Twiste and she had a young daughter of her own.

Thom stood as straight as he could and studied his reflection in the car window. Technically he should not be wearing his old blue dress uniform. In the Pentagon's eyes, he was no longer a marine; he was a member of Task Force Archangel, an organization that did not wear a dress uniform, displayed no visible signs of rank, and worked in the darkest shadows.

Not today. Not for Brandon. Today he was Major Thom Gant of the United States Marines. Proud. Honorable. And he was here to look a daughter in the eye and tell her that her father was the most noble man Thom Gant had ever served with; to tell her that he had died trying to save lives and trying to make the world—and the people in it—better.

When he was finished here, Thom Gant would go back to his job of fighting the nightmares. But if the Hell Hole had taught him any lesson, it was that many of those nightmares were of our own creation.

He stood as tall as his wounded leg and damaged shoulder allowed and marched across the sidewalk and up the concrete path, to knock on the door.

—

The rotors whirred, sending a constant gust of wind across the pad and down the path where Liz Thunder walked, bag in hand, with General Friez as an escort to her helicopter.

"Colonel, one more thing."

She stopped and faced him.

"You did a good job here, Colonel. You used your head. That's what a good soldier does. It's what a good commander does."

"Thank you, General."

"As you can imagine," he started, but the rotors were too loud, the wind too strong. He tried again in a louder voice: "As you can imagine, my area of responsibility is growing, due to the loss of Borman. That's created an opening back in California."

"Sir? Are you offering me a job?"

"Yes, Colonel, I am offering you a job."

She glanced at the helicopter, her ride to the airport. She glanced at the Red Rock building, barely visible through the trees. She remembered the secrets, the violence, the guilt, the regrets, and the cravings for a cigarette.

"I'll think about it."

—

A pair of eighteen-wheeler tractor trailers pulled out of the dirt parking lot and started down Red Rock mountain. Corporal Sanchez watched them go. The last of dozens of such trucks hauling away every scrap, every piece of equipment, everything that could possibly be salvaged from that high-tech hole in the ground.

Evacuated. Emptied. Abandoned. No matter which word he chose, he approved. With the lower levels collapsed through controlled demolitions and the vault room cemented in, Red Rock became just another office building that no one wanted anymore, although he had heard that some government agency thought the site might make a good job training center or something like that.

Sanchez would never forget his time here, nor would anyone else who served in the Hell Hole. He figured that was a good thing. Such places—such incidents—should not be forgotten.

He wrapped a heavy chain around the handles of the front door and clamped on a thick padlock.

Satisfied everything was locked up tight, Corporal Sanchez turned his back on the place and walked away.

THE END

Tony DeCosmo

March 1, 2005