Read Online Bzrk Apocalypse by Michael Grant - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Grant
Ads: Link
beard, sunglasses, and a big grin. Jim Tanner
was Lockheed security. Lockheed ran McMurdo. But it was well
known that Tanner was former Naval Intelligence. And it was widely
assumed that he was the U.S. government’s eyes and ears on the base.
Or at least, one set of eyes and ears.
“Well, hello there, Suarez. Whatcha got in the bag?”
“What, this bag?” Suarez asked innocently.
“Wouldn’t be contraband booze, would it?”
Suarez stopped, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a bottle of
scotch. “Huh,” she said. “I wonder how this got in there? And look, it
has a twin. You here to help me destroy the evidence, Jim?”
Alcohol was sold at McMurdo, but it was also rationed. Nobody
begrudged you a drink, but there were supposed to be limits.
“I would like nothing better.” Tanner took one of the bottles, held
it up to read the label. “Ah, the Macallan Sixteen. You’ve grown and
matured, Suarez. You have grown and matured.”
64
BZRK APOCALYPSE
“If you’re nice to me and let me get to sleep eventually, I’ll share.”
Tanner handed her back the bottle, grinned, looked away a bit
sheepishly, and said, “Sadly, I am here in an official capacity.”
Suarez’s eyes narrowed. “Your official official capacity? Or your
unofficial official capacity?”
His smile thinned out. “This will be a conversation that involves
your signing a legal document promising not to disclose the nature of
the conversation. The document in question is not a company docu-
ment. It’s a company document.”
The company was Lockheed. The company was the CIA.
“What the hell did I just step in?” Suarez demanded, no longer in
a joking mood.
Tanner’s office was tiny—space was always at a premium in a place
where Home Depot was ten thousand miles away. It was overheated,
so neat that no piece of paper could be found, and seemed to have
been furnished entirely with the kind of office furniture that a self-
respecting Goodwill store would reject.
The document he had for her was on an iPad. If it had been
printed out it would have taken up four pages. Pages full of threats
and requirements and official language. The long and short of it was
that if she spoke of this meeting to anyone not properly cleared for top
secret or better, she would go to jail.
“I’m going to remind you that even though you have been sepa-
rated from the Marine Corps, Lieutenant Suarez, the corps still owns
you.” Tanner turned the pad to her. She scribbled a fingernail signa-
ture and at his prompting spoke her full name to the camera.
65
MICHAEL GRANT
“And now do we get to the reason for this cloak and dagger, Cap-
tain Tanner?”
He was behind the desk in the good chair, the one that swiveled.
She had a steel-frame chair with the stuffing half blown out. The bag
of booze was at her side on the floor.
“Cathexis Base,” Tanner said.
“Okay. What about it?”
Cathexis Base was a facility built by Suarez’s corporate masters. It
was used as a transshipment point, a storage facility, a rescue facility
for the Celadon and her sister ship. There were repair facilities for the LCACs there, as well as for the helicopters and planes Cathexis used
on the ice.
“Well, let’s start with this: Have you ever seen anything suspi-
cious at Cathexis?
No, she had not.
“What about at the satellite facility. What do they call it? Forward
Green? Good grief, sounds like a golf course.”
“I’ve never been there.”
Tanner nodded. “Know anyone who’s ever been there?”
Suarez shrugged. “I imagine a lot of the support people have.
Must have been to handle construction.”
Tanner shook his head, and watched her. “No. In fact, the crews
have been kept almost entirely separate. There’s very little crossover.
There’s Cathexis Base and its people, and there’s Forward Green and
its people.”
Suarez looked at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of clue.
When all he did was look back at
was Lockheed security. Lockheed ran McMurdo. But it was well
known that Tanner was former Naval Intelligence. And it was widely
assumed that he was the U.S. government’s eyes and ears on the base.
Or at least, one set of eyes and ears.
“Well, hello there, Suarez. Whatcha got in the bag?”
“What, this bag?” Suarez asked innocently.
“Wouldn’t be contraband booze, would it?”
Suarez stopped, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a bottle of
scotch. “Huh,” she said. “I wonder how this got in there? And look, it
has a twin. You here to help me destroy the evidence, Jim?”
Alcohol was sold at McMurdo, but it was also rationed. Nobody
begrudged you a drink, but there were supposed to be limits.
“I would like nothing better.” Tanner took one of the bottles, held
it up to read the label. “Ah, the Macallan Sixteen. You’ve grown and
matured, Suarez. You have grown and matured.”
64
BZRK APOCALYPSE
“If you’re nice to me and let me get to sleep eventually, I’ll share.”
Tanner handed her back the bottle, grinned, looked away a bit
sheepishly, and said, “Sadly, I am here in an official capacity.”
Suarez’s eyes narrowed. “Your official official capacity? Or your
unofficial official capacity?”
His smile thinned out. “This will be a conversation that involves
your signing a legal document promising not to disclose the nature of
the conversation. The document in question is not a company docu-
ment. It’s a company document.”
The company was Lockheed. The company was the CIA.
“What the hell did I just step in?” Suarez demanded, no longer in
a joking mood.
Tanner’s office was tiny—space was always at a premium in a place
where Home Depot was ten thousand miles away. It was overheated,
so neat that no piece of paper could be found, and seemed to have
been furnished entirely with the kind of office furniture that a self-
respecting Goodwill store would reject.
The document he had for her was on an iPad. If it had been
printed out it would have taken up four pages. Pages full of threats
and requirements and official language. The long and short of it was
that if she spoke of this meeting to anyone not properly cleared for top
secret or better, she would go to jail.
“I’m going to remind you that even though you have been sepa-
rated from the Marine Corps, Lieutenant Suarez, the corps still owns
you.” Tanner turned the pad to her. She scribbled a fingernail signa-
ture and at his prompting spoke her full name to the camera.
65
MICHAEL GRANT
“And now do we get to the reason for this cloak and dagger, Cap-
tain Tanner?”
He was behind the desk in the good chair, the one that swiveled.
She had a steel-frame chair with the stuffing half blown out. The bag
of booze was at her side on the floor.
“Cathexis Base,” Tanner said.
“Okay. What about it?”
Cathexis Base was a facility built by Suarez’s corporate masters. It
was used as a transshipment point, a storage facility, a rescue facility
for the Celadon and her sister ship. There were repair facilities for the LCACs there, as well as for the helicopters and planes Cathexis used
on the ice.
“Well, let’s start with this: Have you ever seen anything suspi-
cious at Cathexis?
No, she had not.
“What about at the satellite facility. What do they call it? Forward
Green? Good grief, sounds like a golf course.”
“I’ve never been there.”
Tanner nodded. “Know anyone who’s ever been there?”
Suarez shrugged. “I imagine a lot of the support people have.
Must have been to handle construction.”
Tanner shook his head, and watched her. “No. In fact, the crews
have been kept almost entirely separate. There’s very little crossover.
There’s Cathexis Base and its people, and there’s Forward Green and
its people.”
Suarez looked at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of clue.
When all he did was look back at
Similar Books
