Operation Indigo Sky Page 6

  "Seriously?" I shot him a disbelieving smile. "So they think someone's going to scale the walls and rip out some copper wire?"

  Markus spread his hands. Lilith issued a sardonic laugh.

  "Maybe they're worried about rats climbing up there and gnawing on the wires," she snorted.

  I finished my drink. My stomach rumbled. Not just for food. I felt a different kind of hunger taking hold – the desire to know what the hell was going on with these buildings. I didn't know how I'd get into the Wal-Mart or investigate the owners of the mall under construction, but if I could make it to the sixth underground level of the Denver International Airport...

  "This could almost be fun," I said.

  Markus laughed softly. "Ideally, a man should always enjoy his work."

  Chapter 5

  I CAUGHT A FLIGHT out of Denver to Sioux Falls early the next day. No good rates available on such short notice, but Markus didn't appear troubled. He and his organization obviously had deep pockets.

  At the Sioux Falls airport I rented a van - I thought I might need a comfortable place to rest while staking out the mall and Wal-Mart – and drove out toward the southern outskirts of Sioux Falls. The flat prairie and ninety-degree July temps reminded me a little of Phoenix, except for the soy and corn fields instead of scrub brush and cactus.

  I parked the van on a hill overlooking the Sioux Falls Mall. In its present state of construction I would've easily mistaken it for a prison with its high towers rising on five corners and the enclosed square of buildings. It also made me think of a fort from the past with its open central inside plaza where people could raise crops and livestock.

  I snapped photos and video with my Canon telephoto, driving in a loose circle around the building complex. Below, the construction crew was gathered on one wall, scrambling around on scaffolding and the roof like worker ants. I opened my laptop and pored over the information Professor Killian and his mysterious cohorts had assembled on Ellenberg Property Group, Inc., the owner and developer of the mall. EPG's chairman and CEO, Paul Ellenberg, lived in Houston, Texas, where the corporation was based. The good news was that his brother, Ethan Ellenberg, had leased a house in the area and was overseeing the operation here. A publicity blurb announced he would be on hand for the grand opening in early October.

  Next stop was Ethan Ellenberg's residence in the nearby Twin Oaks Estates. Judging by the profusion of McMansions, I was in the wannabe beautiful/rich people side of town. Ellenberg's house didn't look especially ostentatious from the front, but from the real estate photos – it had been for sale a few months ago for nearly two million – it exploded into wrap-around porches and cathedral-like walls of glass on its backside.

  I circled around back, but couldn't make out the house through a patch of woods. Sneaking on foot through the trees for a better view might catch the eye of a watchful neighbor. I figured that if I lay low for a few hours behind the van's darkened windows.

  I rolled back around front and parked a block away from the house. I spent a couple of hours there baking inside my van, seeing no one arrive or depart. I decided to throw it in here and drive back to Brookings, where I'd rented a motel.

  The closing of Wal-Mart two months ago in Brookings had raised holy hell in the small university town. Public outcry had inspired a town meeting where the mayor and city council agreed to send a letter of complaint to the giant corporation. No one was buying their latest "renovation and repair" excuse. The Wal-Mart here was only a few years old.

  I exited Highway 29 and found Wal-Mart a half-mile off the freeway. Not much to see out front. Circling to the back, I encountered a fence that prevented entrance into the delivery area, where several large steel storage containers were lined up along with a dozen vehicles – some of them bearing construction company logos. A single storage container was backed into a loading bay.

  I drove around the fenced back area on a dirt road past a NO TRESPASSING sign, but the loading bay was blocked by a row of trees. I was about to get out with my camera and snap some photos through the trees when a white van cruised in from the other side and planted its grill on my front bumper. A pair of rental cops hopped out. One stayed back, while one came to my opening window.

  "You didn't see the no trespassing signs?" he asked.

  "I assumed that meant inside the fence," I said.

  "Nope. This is all private property." He made a vague motion that may or may not have included the field behind the store. "You'll need to leave."

  "I was just curious what's going on in there."

  "You and everyone else in this town. We chase a dozen people out of here every day."

  "Do you know what they're doing?" I didn't see how it would hurt to ask.

  The man sighed and half-rolled his eyes. "I don't go inside, but I know some of the guys that do, and they ain't building a FEMA detention center, I can tell you that much."

  "Right." I chuckled sympathetically. "There's a conspiracy about everything these days."

  "You better believe it." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Not to say that all of them are wrong."

  "True."

  "Well, anyway, you have a good day." He straightened up. "And you might spread the word – nothin' to see here."

  "Will do. You have a good day, too."

  I turned my van around and headed over to my motel, the Hampton Inn. After checking in, I stretched out on the king-sized bed with my laptop and entered my website, where I left a report of my day so far on my administration post dashboard. The idea was no open communication between Markus and me. Using my Wordpress password, he'd go in and see what I'd written.

  My plan for the evening was to return to Wal-Mart and follow one of the workers home from work. With any luck, the worker would go out to eat or to a bar. The information I had suggested that every person working inside the store was from out of the area and had signed a non-disclosure firm. Nothing terribly unusual there. A lot of companies promised discretion and contractual agreements not to reveal their work. That meant that many if not most of these people were staying in motels, and there weren't that many motels in Brookings. The majority of them were concentrated in the area where I was staying by the highway.

  I washed up a little and returned to Wal-Mart, watching from a street across from the back area. A bit after five, the far gate opened and a line of cars and trucks streamed out. Most of them headed east, toward the freeway. I fell into line behind them.

  The convoy split up, with three pickups continuing on to the Super Eight motel and the Holiday Inn, while a Chevy van pulled into the Hampton parking lot. I followed, making a point of parking near them. I got out just as they did. Three guys not far from my age. They were talking and laughing and seemed cool as they headed for the entrance. I closed the distance between them without being too obvious. I was just a step or two back by the time we reached the front doors. One of the dudes held the door open for me.

  "Thanks," I said. "Long day at the office?"

  "Long freakin' drive to the office," one of them, a long-haired guy with a thin beard snorted.

  "Tell me about it," I said.

  I had a sudden inspiration of how I might make this "chance encounter" work to my advantage. The reports coming in from people allegedly working inside the closed Wal-Marts indicated that strict compartmentalization was in effect – to the extent that areas of the building were blocked from the view of other areas. Meaning that one set of workers couldn't observe or might not even know what other workers were doing.

  "I just flew in from Colorado," I said.

  "North Dakota," said the long-haired dude. "We've been here a few weeks. What did they fly you in for?"

  "Technical shit." I grinned. "I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you."

  We paused at the elevator. Their friendly smiles drifted downward.

  "Just kidding," I said. "Sort of. It's a security programming issue."

  "Oh. Right. We're setting up some security stuff, too."

  W
e entered the elevator. One of the guys hit the third floor button. I tapped the second floor.

  "You guys know any decent restaurants? I feel like eating real food tonight."

  "I hear you. That fast food shit's been burning a hole in my stomach. We're headed over to Applebee's after cleaning up a bit." He hesitated as the elevator dinged to a stop on my floor. "You're welcome to join us, if you want."

  "Sounds good to me. I'm kinda on my own up here." I thrust out a hand as the elevator door opened. "I'm Scott."

  "Josh." The long-haired dude shook, and nodded to his friends. "Don and Jim."

  We shook hands quickly in turn. "Good to meet you. See you down in the lobby in a few?"

  "Yup. Just gonna grab a shower, then I'll be good to go."

  "Cool. Same here."

  I walked onto my floor smiling. Jeez, that was easy. In the shower – which felt fantastic after a day soaking in 98% humidity – I planned my evening strategy. I wouldn't push them for information. I'd just let the conversation flow where it willed. Obviously, these guys were curious about what was going on in the building. I was sure I could play on that. I also thought the odds were good that I could lure them into some bar-hopping – especially if I was buying. This definitely could become a business-pleasure thing. In truth I was feeling a bit isolated of late, and I liked the idea of shooting some shit with guys my own age.

  The guys entered the lobby a minute or two after me, and we scrambled across a simmering parking lot to the restaurant. The wonderfully air-conditioned place had a fifteen-minute wait, so we headed to the bar. I offered to buy the first round of drinks to appreciative grins.

  Two rounds of beers later, we were led by a hot thirtiesh woman to our booth, where an even hotter twenty-something girl took our orders.

  "Man," Josh groaned, brushing back his long hair to better appreciate our waitress's hip-swaying retreat. "I am so missing my girlfriend."

  "You couldn't talk her into coming?" I asked.

  "I don't usually have to talk her into that." Josh grinned. "No, she's got a job, and sitting around a motel for a week or two in bum fuck Egypt isn't her idea of a good time."

  "Doesn't seem all that 'bum fuck' to me." I nodded to a group of giggling young girls passing the table.

  "Sure, if you like college girls," said Jim, a wiry blond dude with a wispy beard that was so light it was almost transparent.

  "They think the world revolves around them," Don added with a scowl. "I dated a NDSU girl for most of last year. Supported by her parents, partying with her girlfriends, coasting through classes – they have no clue what the real world is like."

  I nodded. One of my many female-related resolutions was that I would never date a college girl.

  "She'll find out soon enough," I said. "Might as well let them enjoy their illusions while they can."

  "Wise words," Josh chuckled.

  We shut up as the pretty waitress - probably a student and thus the bane of our existence - arrived with our food. We ate in silence for a while. My grilled walleye wasn't half-bad.

  "You guys think you got it rough," I said. "My girlfriend is afraid I might be working for the New World Order, retrofitting Wal-Mart to hold political dissidents."

  Other than a couple of cautious smiles, my new friends didn't seem to find my mythical girlfriend's objection all that amusing. Josh's slipped into the beginnings of a contemplative frown.

  "Have you ever wondered what we're doing in there is all about?" he asked. He noted his friends' nervous glances. "Yeah, I know, we all signed non-disclosure forms, but we can talk amongst ourselves, can't we? You signed one, too, didn't you, Scott?"

  "They were pretty insistent on that."

  "So what we're doing is installing secure doors with facial recognition and RFID-reading capability," said Josh. "And no, I don't know much about the electronics. We're just setting up the mechanical stuff. They'll probably bring someone else to inspect the system and make sure it's working after we're done." He smiled and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Maybe someone like you."

  "Could be," I said, going with the flow. "That's pretty much what I'm doing, but for the rest of the store."

  Josh nodded and his co-workers seemed to relax. "Makes sense."

  I smiled to myself as I finished off my fish. This was almost too easy. But what could I get out of it?

  "So why is Wal-Mart so concerned about security, I've been wondering," said Josh. "I'm guessing this new system is costing them a fortune."

  "Not to mention what they're losing in sales and customer relations," I said. "That has to be millions and millions of dollars over the course of the projected seven-month shutdown."

  "So they're spending millions to lose millions." Jim scratched his head. "What the hell is the sense in that?"

  "And people may not like their new security measures," Don added.

  I had to stop myself from grinning. I could almost see conscripting these dudes into my conspiracy investigation. It didn't surprise me that workers would question what they were doing in Wal-Mart. I imagined that some of the construction companies erecting those towers around enclosed shopping centers might wonder about that, too. But shooting the breeze didn't get me anywhere. I wanted to get inside and take a hard look at what was going on, though I wasn't sure I could make sense of it even if it did. The other option was getting someone in the know – either in the organization or elsewhere - to talk.

  "Anyone up for visiting the local watering holes?" Don asked.

  His friends offered a hearty accord.

  "Absolutely," I said.

  We drove across town to The Motley Crew. As luck would have it, it was Friday night and things were hopping. A line curled out from the front doors, and heavy bass beats from what sounded like a live band shook the humid air.

  "Our lucky night," said Don.

  That remained to be seen. We got in line and inched our way to the door. After ten minutes we were only halfway there, and I was beginning to wonder if we'd even get in. I heard protests and muted curses from behind, and turned around to see some big dude who was built like a fullback shoving his way through the knot of people behind us. A couple of guys looked like they might do something, but then backed off.

  When the fullback dude bumped me aside on his crusade to the front of the line, I bumped him back – hard enough to make him stagger sideways and damn near land on his ass. He sprang forward, snarling, fists bunched like he was going to smack me into the next world. Our eyes met, and he slowed down. I've been practicing martial arts since I was in elementary school, on top of my military training. And while I didn't think of myself as some tough guy – I couldn't kick multiple assailants into submission or break bricks with karate chops - I knew one thing to be fact: a person with martial arts skills can defeat one-on-one pretty much anybody who is unarmed and has no fighting skills. A lot of people think that's bullshit, but it isn't. With knowledge there are literally countless ways you can defeat someone who is ignorant, even if they're much bigger and stronger than you. And this guy - maybe 6'3" and two-twenty, two-thirty - wasn't that much bigger than my 6'1", 190. I'd sparred with lots of guys his size who actually knew what they were doing and still held my own.

  A second thing I knew was that people who'd taken the time to master some variety of martial arts were almost never bullies or instigators. The required discipline and cooperation discouraged the ill-tempered and the dumb. Exceptions probably existed, but I hadn't personally met one.

  The dude must've seen that confidence in my eyes, because he let his arms drop to his sides and stopped where he was. Now he was looking at me more with question than aggression. After a long moment, he lowered his eyes and walked away.

  The quiet people around us relaxed and resumed their laughing conversations, and we continued our advance to the front doors.

  "That was some mojo there," said Josh. "I was sure that guy was going to swing on you, and then something changed. Like he sensed something in you."

 
; "I guess he's not as stupid as he looked," I said.

  The guys laughed uncertainly as I smiled a cryptic smile.

  "You're into martial arts, aren't you?" Josh asked. "And you were in the military, right?"

  I suppressed my surprise and a slight discomfort. I didn't like the idea of being obvious about it – especially under these circumstances.

  "What gave me away?" I asked.

  "Nothing, until now. I mean, the way you stared down that big muscle-bound asshole, as if you weren't worried at all."

  "Yeah," said Don. "You could practically smell the 'droids coming off him."

  "What branch of military were you in?" asked Jim. "Navy SEALs?"

  "Marine."

  I braced myself for the predictable onslaught of questions. Had I been in combat? Had I killed anyone? What did I think of the war effort? I absolutely hated those kinds of conversations. But now we'd arrived at the doors, and had to cough up the entrance fee. I hoped by the time we'd found a place to sit and ordered some drinks that the topic would be forgotten.

  They found us a small table at the back. People were packed in so tightly that one group seemed to blend into the next. On stage, at right angles to the bar, a group of musicians huddled by their instruments. The crowd was mostly guys, with a smattering of women. A pretty server brought us drinks. The guys ordered a pitcher of Budweiser while I decided to live dangerously with a tall glass of Long Island iced tea.

  The band started up before our conversation did, so I sipped my drink and decided to chill. The guys had already told me everything they knew – except the person who'd called their company from Wal-Mart. It was conceivable that he or she might know something. I'd try to work in that question at some point, but for now I was content to soak up the atmosphere – maybe meet my daily requirements for ogling pretty women – and enjoy the company. I might be an introvert who found large gatherings soul-sucking, but even I needed some human contact sometimes.