Chapter 16 - The Arrival of the Delegation
By 0900 hours the next morning, the blizzard had swept eastward, leaving the polar skies over Pituffik crystalline, cold, and glaringly bright.
On the tarmac of the main air base, a sleek Gulfstream C-37B military VIP jet touched down, its polished blue-and-white paint gleaming under the pale Arctic sun. When the airstairs lowered, a procession of men in expensive cashmere overcoats and crisp dress uniforms descended onto the frozen concrete.
Leading the party was Senator Robert Sterling, the ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, flanked by two private defense liaisons in tailored suits. Walking closely behind them was Lieutenant General Richard Kincaid, looking formidable in his heavy trench coat, his four rows of ribbons pinned immaculately over his chest.
Waiting on the snow-packed apron was Master Sergeant O'Connell and a detachment of twenty military police.
General Richard Kincaid walked with the impatient, commanding stride of a man accustomed to having runways cleared for his presence. "Sergeant," the General barked, barely acknowledging O'Connell's salute. "Has the recovery team located the wreckage of the DARPA transport yet?"
"Yes, General," O'Connell replied, his expression completely blank. "The site was secured at zero-three-hundred hours."
Senator Sterling stepped forward, offering a theatrical sigh of mournful solemnity. "A tragic loss for the defense community. Doctor Sloan was a brilliant mind, albeit overly zealous in her bureaucratic investigations. We must ensure her personal effects and any digital media from the wreckage are impounded immediately for classified debriefing."
"Of course, Senator," O'Connell said. "The survivors are currently waiting in the tactical conference theater at Outpost Bravo."
General Kincaid stopped dead in his tracks. His face paled beneath his windburned skin. "Did you say... survivors?"
"Yes, sir. Both passengers were recovered alive. Ground extraction was carried out during the storm."
Senator Sterling’s jaw tightened, his hand twitching inside his leather glove. "Who authorized a ground extraction during a Category 4 blizzard? That is an explicit violation of post emergency doctrine!"
"An unranked logistics specialist, Senator," O'Connell answered with a razor-thin grin. "He informed me that if you had an issue with the operation, you could file an official complaint with the Pentagon."
General Kincaid felt his chest tighten with a sudden, suffocating intuition. He turned toward the military shuttle bus idling near the hangar. "Take us to Outpost Bravo. Immediately."
The drive across the thirty miles of packed ice was conducted in tense, suffocating silence. Senator Sterling furiously typed messages on his encrypted satellite phone, while General Kincaid sat with his jaw clenched, staring out at the barren, frozen expanse.
When the delegation walked through the blast doors of Outpost Bravo, the cavernous briefing room was dead silent.
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Standing on the raised platform at the center of the room, flanked by two massive tactical screens displaying encrypted banking ledgers and component procurement manifests, stood Doctor Avery Sloan. She was wrapped in an Army thermal fleece, her arm in a clean sling, but her posture was as unyielding as a marble column.
And standing directly beside her, dressed in clean, pressed service fatigues without a single ribbon or insignia on his chest, was Mason Kincaid.
