Kilo-61 (Damned of the 2/19th Book 19)- Ongoing

Not Exactly On the Tours

Bighorn National Forest
Central Wyoming
United States of America
6 April, 2002
1430 Hours

Everyone was looking at doubtfully as they got out of the vehicles, with the exception of Heather, Donaldson, and Kincaid. Kincaid immediately moved to the back of the Gypsy Wagon, opening the cargo hatch and pushing it up despite the cargo on it. Heather grabbed the M-60 and undid it, dropping into the vehicle and slamming the ring-mount shut. Donaldson walked up next to me.

"You sure about this?" He asked me.

I nodded, staring at the cliff face in front of us.

We'd followed the dirt "Park Ranger Maintenance Trail" for nearly 10 miles into the National Forest, twice having to stop to remove trees or open gates after cutting the chains. It had led to a pad of cracked asphalt with parking space marked with fading yellow paint. A long abandoned bathroom was off to the right, and a faded map board on the left with just discolored plexiglass where a map should be. Old trail markers pointed at overgrowth on the left and right, with stupid names barely legible on the wood.

It looked entirely like an expansion to the park that had never been completed or worked into the existing park infrastructure.

It was well built.

"I'm sure," I told him, walking toward the cliff face. It was a good two hundred feet straight up, good solid bedrock exposed when the glaciers had scoured the MidWest during the last Ice Age.

"There's nothing there," The NSA dwonk said.

"Wait for it," Timmons said, lighting a cigarette with a match.

The patch was visible if you knew what you were looking for. I slid my fingers into what looked like a normal stress fracture on the rock and pulled.

The panel popped free with a crunch, swinging down and revealing an impact resistant plastic cover over a hexidecimal five colorbar keypad and a sixteen LED readout.

"What the fuck?" Agent Sweets blurted out as I stepped to the side and waved my arm as if I was presenting a Southern debutante.

"Cold War Bullshit," Timmons chuckled.

I held down the ENTER button and nothing happened. Pretty much what I figured. I crouched down and started searching until I found another panel. When I popped that, the plug-in for a charge, complete with plastic cap, sat there just like I knew it would.

When I turned around Donaldson was dragging the jumper cables over to me. I nodded, plugged it in, and listened to the engine on the Gypsy Wagon bog down for a second before Heather climbed in and hit the gas. The big diesel V-8 roared then evened out.

"Bathrooms are clear," Kincaid said. He turned and looked at everyone. "Look at those bathrooms and tell me if you notice anything odd."

The Hammerheads and even some of the SEALs went over and began looking at the bathrooms. Timmons and Vollman went along and I turned my attention to the keypad.

CHARGING

I grunted and lit a cigarette. Heather came over to me and handed me a bottle of beer, already opened, and I took a deep drink as I leaned against the cliff wall and waited.

I could feel a faint vibration from deep inside the rocks.

"This one ever been cracked?" She asked me, putting her hand on the wall and leaning close.

I shook my head. "Nope. Fell off the records, near as I can tell, during the Watergate Hearings. Last people to access was a SLEP team in 1968," I told her. The vibration changed pitch and seemed to come from more points and deeper in.