Chapter 17 - The Road to Hawthorne
By noon, our black utility truck was tearing down the desolate stretches of US-95 south toward Hawthorne, cutting through the vast, sun-baked expanse of the Nevada desert. The landscape was a monotonous blur of gray-green sagebrush, cracked alkali flats, and distant, heat-shimmering mountain ranges under a brilliant, cloudless sky.
The digital dash clock glowed 12:42 PM as we maintained a steady ninety miles per hour, staying just under the radar of local highway patrols by utilizing Ethan’s real-time satellite jamming feed.
"Ethan," I spoke into the comms mic as the truck bounced slightly over a cattle guard. "Give me the tactical layout of the Hawthorne facility."
"Pulling up the blueprints now," Ethan’s voice replied, followed by a soft chime as a three-dimensional wireframe map of the compound projected onto the dashboard screen. "The facility is built into an old Cold War munitions depot carved directly into the side of the mineral hills. Single reinforced perimeter fence with motion sensors, two guard towers, and a primary underground vehicle elevator that leads straight into the main subterranean laboratory level."
"Where are they holding my father?"
"Sub-level two, interrogation sector B," Ethan said, the sound of typing clicking rhythmically in the background. "And there's more. Thermal signatures indicate there are at least twenty armed operators on site, plus a heavy transport vehicle that just arrived from Reno fifteen minutes ago."
Chloe leaned forward, staring intently at the wireframe map. "That transport vehicle... could that be where Marcus is being held?"
"It's possible," I said grimly. "Harrington isn't just moving my father. He’s consolidating all the remaining human assets from the Colorado breach before the federal oversight committee's emergency injunction takes effect tomorrow morning."
"We need a breach strategy," Chloe said, her voice steady and resolute. "We can't just storm a reinforced military munitions bunker with a single truck and two sidearms."
"We don't need to storm it," I replied, a cold, tactical plan forming in my mind. "We use their own security protocols against them. Ethan, can you spoof an executive override signal using Harrington's personal authorization code from the Tahoe vault files?"
A pause hung on the comms line for a few seconds before Ethan let out a low whistle. "It’s risky. Harrington’s access codes are heavily encrypted, but I pulled enough raw metadata from the flash drive to synthesize a valid proxy handshake. If I broadcast it on their primary tactical frequency right as you reach the outer gate, the automated security system will treat your truck as an authorized executive transport."
"How long will the spoof hold before their IT division flags the anomaly?"
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"Maybe three minutes," Ethan said. "Four if we're lucky."
"Three minutes is all we need," I said, shifting my grip on the steering wheel as the jagged concrete perimeter walls and watchtowers of the Hawthorne facility finally hove into view across the shimmering desert flats.
