The Breach - Ghost Country - Deep Sky

of his awareness.
    “Travis,” Garner said.
    It bloomed. Clear as a captioned image on a screen. He saw its meaning.
    And its significance.
    He saw hope, too. Hope that the Whisper could be beaten, after all. Right now it was tucked away in its little box. Right now, everyone in Border Town, good and bad, thought he was dead. And right now, there was a chance to find the one thing on Earth that the Whisper seemed to fear. Why else would it have killed all those people working to create it? That was a lot of smoke for no fire.
    “There’s another option,” Travis said.
    This next part would require a lie. A half lie, anyway. Or else it would never work.
    “I’m listening,” Garner said.
    Travis explained about Lauren. About the quantum computer. Then he said, “We know where it is.” That was the half lie. There was no we. Just he. He knew where it was. Thought he knew, at least.
    “Where?” Garner said.
    Travis told him what he believed. Then the president grew silent again.
    “The Tangent detachment is still on Grand Cayman,” Garner said at last. “They could probably reach the house in about ten minutes. It’ll take another ten for them to do what you’ve described. If we make this gamble, and come up empty, we’ll have lost the nuclear option as well. Border Town’s defenses, once they’re back up and running, can kill an ICBM a long way off.”
    Travis thought about it. Turned the possible outcomes over in his mind.
    Garner said, “I need a zero-bullshit answer from you, Mr. Chase. How high is Tangent’s confidence on this idea?”
    Travis got as close to zero-bullshit as he dared. “There’s no better move to make, sir.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
    Travis watched it all on Paige’s cell phone screen, linked to the headset camera of the detachment leader on Grand Cayman. The man’s last name, Keene, appeared in tiny letters in the lower left corner of the frame. The team reached the house in just under the ten minutes the president had guessed, speeding at eighty miles per hour along the coast road, the Caribbean bright blue in the sunlight there.
    Eastern Wyoming was still mostly dark, a few minutes before full daybreak. Travis sat on the concrete beside the fifty-one-story-deep hole in the ground, and watched the team enter the estate two thousand miles away. They reached the mechanical shed beside the pool within half a minute.
    “You expect this to work, huh?” Keene said. He had a Texas accent. One of those guys who’d grown up roping cattle and gone on to design guidance systems for cruise missiles. Probably still roped cattle for fun.
    “We’ll know in a minute,” Travis said.
    One of the operators found a heavy, two-foot-long steel tool on the wall, its business end shaped to pry something specific. The guy set his rifle aside, took off all electrical gear, and dove into the pool with the implement in hand. Through Keene’s headset, Travis saw the man pry up a drain plate on the bottom of the pool, then swim to the side.
    The pool took only a few minutes to empty. The outgoing pipes must be as oversized as the system built to fill the pool. A system five times faster and more powerful than what any homeowner would realistically install, regardless of personal net worth. Who the hell needed to fill his pool in an hour?
    Someone who had something hidden beneath it.
    Keene and the others descended the ladder to the wet stone bottom of the emptied pool. Travis watched Keene’s viewpoint scan the flagstones, looking for a telltale sign of what had to be there. After a moment, the image stopped on one particular stone.
    “Grout’s different around this one,” Keene said.
    Even in the resolution of the cell phone’s screen, Travis could see what he was talking about. Keene called for one of the others to bring the pry bar again. Its squared head worked well enough to gouge away the sanded grout around the slab. When the gap was deep enough for the tool to get a purchase, Keene wedged it in and pried. The stone resisted for only a second, then gave with a grind—and a hiss like a seal breaking. Hands reached into the frame and lifted it away to reveal a narrow shaft descending into darkness, with built-in rungs.
    A minute later the team was inside the chamber below. It was larger than Travis had expected: forty by forty feet at least, extending far beneath the house itself. Steel beams as solid as bridge supports crisscrossed the ceiling, braced by upright columns every fifteen