Dead Six Read Online Free PDF Page B

the button and the tip of the wand. Yet again, nothing happened. A pulse of anger shot through me, and I threw the wand against the steel door of Building 21. It bounced off, leaving not so much as a dent, and clattered to the concrete sidewalk below.
    I took a deep breath and looked around. The sprawling ATC facility was dark, lit only by the amber lights around the buildings and along the roads. To the south, the omnipresent glow of the Strip lit up the sky. The night air was cool but had the familiar dusty stink of Las Vegas.
    I looked down at the wand and frowned. Everywhere I’d been, everything I’d done, and this was what I was reduced to. I had seen combat on four continents and had survived it all, only to be utterly defeated by badly designed electronics. I sighed loudly, though there was no one around to hear.
    I picked up my wand and made one last attempt. Touching it to the button, the wand beeped loudly and registered the hit. Muttering to myself, I stuffed the wand back into my pocket and returned to my patrol truck. Building 21 was last on my scheduled rounds; I had nothing else to do but drive around for the remaining three and a half hours of my shift.
    As I drove, I listened to a late-night radio program called From Sea to Shining Sea. It was basically four hours of people talking about conspiracy theories, aliens, ghosts, and stuff like that. Most of it was a bunch of hooey, in my opinion, but it was often entertaining. Listening to the conspiracy theories regarding Mexico, the United Nations, and Vanguard Strategic Services always gave me a chuckle. They had no idea. The host, Roger Geonoy, was talking about secret government black helicopters or something with a guest. The guest was a frequent visitor to the show and only called himself “Prometheus.” He never gave his real name. Because, you know, they are listening. I barely paid attention as they went on about the supposed shadow government and its stealth helicopters. I did get another chuckle when Prometheus insisted that these choppers are sound-suppressed and can fly in what he called “whisper mode.” I’d ridden in enough helicopters to know just how freaking loud they are.
    As Roger Geonoy listened to Prometheus blather on about black helicopters and cattle mutilations, I remembered my last helicopter ride in detail. The noise of the engines, the roar of gunfire. The sickening sound of bullets hitting the hull. The shrieking of the alarm as we dropped into a drained swimming pool. The ragged, bloody hole in Ramirez’ head. Doc’s guts spilled out onto the floor of the chopper.
    “Sierra-Eleven, Dispatch,” my radio squawked, startling me. I realized that I’d been sitting at a stop sign for minutes on end. From Sea to Shining Sea had gone to commercial break. My heart was pounding.
    Shaking it off, I answered my radio. “This is Sierra-Eleven.”
    “Electrical Maintenance needs you to let them into Building Fourteen,” the Dispatcher said.
    “Uh, ten-four,” I replied. “Ten-seventeen.” I took a deep breath and returned my attention to doing my stupid job.
    Hours later, I pulled my patrol truck into a parking space behind the Security Office. Putting the truck in park, I finished the paperwork on my clipboard, recorded the mileage, and cut the engine. My breath steamed in the cool January air as I stepped out of the truck and made my way into the office.
    “Mornin’, Val,” my supervisor, Mr. Norton, said as I passed his office en route to the ready room. “Anything happen last night?”
    Pausing, I leaned into the doorway for a moment. “It was quiet, Boss.” Leaning in farther, I handed him my paperwork. “Is McDonald here yet?”
    “Yeah, he’s on time today,” Mr. Norton said. “Have a good weekend, Val.”
    “You, too, boss,” I said, leaving the doorway and making my way down the hall. I pushed open the door to the ready room. My relief, McDonald, was standing by the gun lockers, seemingly half awake. He