when I damn well want to.”
“Zero Cool, are you there?” The machine voice inquired.
“Yes sir,” Hatch replied with his eyes still on Molly.
“Can you ask your guest to explain the comment?” The Gibson was clearly searching for the information.
“I remember the report. The dollar was falling like a stone. Every currency was when all this started.” Molly felt strange talking to a speaker, but there it was. “Then we got a report over the news wire, confirmed by La Monde.”
“Yes?” The Gibson was asking for more.
“42 countries including us had the meeting at the Bilderberg hotel in the Netherlands and had secured it.” Molly was speaking from memory. “We were stabilizing our currencies by going back on the gold standard.”
There was silence in the cabin as the blades thrummed away providing a background rhythm to the proceedings. It gave Molly a moment to remember the first few heady days at the newsroom. She began insisting to reporters that addresses of evacuation sights do not go on air until we had confirmed they were still operational. USA today had called her a life saver in a fluid situation. The sheer adrenalin of finding facts and checking information while live hour after hour. It was news that mattered. A strange environment developed in the Washington studios. The quaffed and mannequin talking heads began to give way to faces not quite as well known but more information adaptive. The heads and mannequins interviewed experts and droned on desperately in these new waters of information and the end of innuendo.
“We have no such knowledge of that story, madam.” The Gibson replied dryly.
“Excuse me?” Molly stole an incredulous look between the speaker and Hatch. She remembered being in the wire room and holding the printout paper in her hands.
“No madam, We have no knowledge of such an event.”
Molly stared for a moment in the space between Hatch and the speaker. In my hands, she remembered the words on the paper. They were right in my hands. She passed the story on and expected it to be good enough for the six o’clock news.
What happened then? The thread of memory grew stronger. Molly knew she never forgot a story. Editors at first were intrigued but later dismissive of the report. It faded to black fast. It hardly seemed surprising with New York, Denver and Boston evacuating the next day. Everyday there just wasn’t enough room to tell the story. But now......
Was that it? She tried to gauge the atmosphere that was changing in the helicopter. Hatch had a suspicious look in his eyes. Molly returned it out of habit. The pilot and co-pilot tried to busy themselves in the forward cabin while listening in. The Gibson was silent but in between quiet she could feel the voices on the other end passing signals and messages with their usual stealth.
She knows..............she knows what we want to forget…….
So, is he going to throw me out of the helicopter now? An hour ago the thought would have been humorous. Now, it didn’t seem so funny. Hatch avoided eye contact and concluded his conversation with the Gibson. There was still an hour before it became light. She let her eyes rest as the whirling blades rocked her to sleep with their rhythm.
Dawn always appeared slowly. First there was a lighter shade of darkness to the east. A few more minutes revealed the first speckles of sunshine turning large clouds a light shade of pink and purple. Time ticked on and the first few rays stabbed into darkness adjusted eyes and made them blink. Beneath the helicopter shadows began to grow and take form in the beginning of a new day. There were fewer vehicles here. The burned out and rusted husks had been towed away for spare parts and recycling. Steel, aluminum, computer chips and whatever else was in a car were all precious now. Production lines were overworked, mining was at a minimum.
“Can I offer you some breakfast, Miss Hunter?” It was the co-pilot. He glanced back at her and offered two fruit bars and a black cup of coffee. “Sorry, this all we got.”
“Coffee, that is perfect,” Molly reached out her hands and accepted the kindness. “Thank you, mister....?”
“Abrams, Miss Hunter.” He looked back toward her. His dark visor hid his eyes as the sunlight filled the cabin. “Charlie Abrams, everyone just calls me Chucky.”
“Nice to meet you, Chucky,” Molly smiled and kept Hatch in the corner of her eyes. He appeared to be napping, which probably meant he was not. She couldn’t help but add: “Are we there yet?”
“As a matter of fact yes,” Chucky turned and nodded toward the plexi-glass front of the helicopter. Molly slipped the fruit bars into her Lululemon hoodie and sipped her coffee with her right hand. She steadied herself with her left and moved closer to the cockpit to check out their destination.
The surroundings were a series of squares within squares. A large security fence that Molly imagined was perfect down to the inch was the first square. A single road at a perfect straight angle was the only break in the chain link. A second fence was the absolute mathematical double of the first barrier but smaller, forming the second square.
Inside the second chain link fence were roads of straight lines and ninety degree turns, meandering driveways were not an option to the military mind.
Finally, inside all of this was a squat square building of white concrete and thin, hooded windows that seemed more at home in the days of siege craft. Another square rose up out of the center of the building, an observation post perhaps? Molly had seen this design before in ancient buildings in Europe. This was the castle keep of fortress America.
“Have they tried to contact us?” Hatch was right at her elbow. How the hell he snuck up on her and could be this awake without a coffee made her wonder if he was human. The stubble on his chin seemed to be a chink in his armor. A slight imperfection or wrinkle in his ways.
“No contact at all.” Abrams picked up the vibe. That was unusual. They were getting close. “Maybe they are having trouble finding our frequency.”
“That’s odd.” Molly tilted her head slightly as they passed over the first security fence.
“What’s that?” Abrams asked the question for everyone present.
“The grass,” Molly pointed with her free hand. “It hasn’t been cut in a while.”
“And?” Hatch gave her a sideways look that had a depth of sarcasm to it.
“This is an important military installation, Lieutenant Hatch.” Molly observed. “If you were in command here would you let things look like that?”
The sideways glance became a nod. The cruel lines on his face twisted into understanding. Hatch turned away and followed the approach of their helicopter into the base. As the whirling blades came closer to earth Hatch saw how long the grass was as it swayed in the man-made wind like un-harvested wheat. He finally spoke: “Where the fuck is everybody?”
A door opened and a figure appeared. He paused in the dawn shadows of the doorframe before carefully making his way to the landing helicopter. Even from this distance Hatch could tell the man wore no uniform. Just a patch on his shoulder, he was militia. The wheels touched down lightly on one of Fort Knox’s mathematical road ways. Hatch was out the door in an instant.
“You!” Hatch screamed above the rotors as he got closer. The man had stubble
