"Ug. Yeah." They batted around the possibilities. It was strange. Ellen Garcia was as much fun to talk to as Ulysse, even though she had to be about five times smarter than either Ulysse or Dixie Mae.
Now they were close enough to see the lower windows of 0925. This place was a double-sized version of 0999 or 0994. There was a catering truck pulled up at the ground level. Beyond a green-tinted windbreak they could see couples playing tennis on the courts south of the building.
Victor squinted. "Strange. They’ve got some kind of blackout on the windows."
"Yeah. We should at least be able to see the strip lights in the ceiling."
They drifted off the main path and walked around to where they wouldn’t be seen from the catering truck. Even up close, down under the overhang, the windows looked just like those on the other buildings. But it wasn’t just dark inside. There was nothing but blackness. The inside of the glass was covered with black plastic like they put on closed storefronts.
Victor whipped out his notepad.
"No phone calls, Victor."
"I want to send out a live report, just in case someone gets really mad about us being here."
"I told you, they’ve got web access embargoed. Besides, just calling from here would trigger 911 locator logic."
"Just a short call, to–"
He looked up and saw that the two women were standing close. "–ah, okay. I’ll just use it as a local cam."
Dixie Mae held out her hand. "Give me the notepad, Victor. We’ll take the pictures."
For a moment it looked like he was going refuse. Then he saw how her other hand was clenched into a fist. And maybe he remembered the lunchtime stories she had told during the week. The week that never was? Whatever the reason, he handed the notepad over to her. "You think I’m working for the bad guys?" he said.
"No," Dixie Mae said (65 percent truthfully, but declining), "I just don’t think you’ll always do what Ellen suggests. This way we’ll get the pictures, but safely." Because of my superior self control. Yeah.
She started to hand the notepad to Ellen, but the other shook her head. "Just keep a record, Dixie Mae. You’ll get it back later, Victor."
"Oh. Okay, but I want first xmit rights." He brightened. "You’ll be my cameragirl, Dixie. Just come back on me anytime I have something important to say."
"Will do, Victor." She panned the notepad camera in a long sweep, away from him.
No one bothered them as they walked halfway around the ground floor. The blackout job was very thorough, but just as at buildings 0994 and 0999, there was an ordinary door with an old-fashioned card swipe.
Ellen took a closer look. "We disabled the locks on 0999 just for the fun of it. Somehow I don’t think these black-plastic guys are that easygoing."
"I guess this is as far as we go," said Victor.
Dixie Mae stepped close to the door and gave it push. There was no error beep, no alarms. The door just swung open.
Looks of amazement were exchanged.
Five seconds later they were still standing at the open doorway. What little they could see looked like your typical LotsaTech ground floor. "We should shut the door and go back," said Victor.
"We’ll be caught red-handed standing here."
"Good point." Ellen stepped inside, followed perforce by Victor, and then Dixie Mae taking local video.
"Wait! Keep the door open, Dixie Mae."
"Jeez."
"This is like an airlock!" They were in a tiny room. Above waist height, its walls were clear glass. There was another door on the far end of the little room.
Ellen walked forward. "I had a summer job at Livermore last year. They have catch boxes like this.
You walk inside easy enough–and then there are armed guards all around, politely asking you if you’re lost." There were no guards visible here. Ellen pressed on the inner door. Locked. She reached up to the latch mechanism. It looked like cheap plastic. "This should not work," she said, even as she fiddled at it.
They could hear voices, but from upstairs. Down here, there was no one to be seen. Some of the layout was familiar, though. If this had been Building 0994, the hallway on the right would lead to restrooms, a small cafeteria, and a temporary dormitory.
Ellen hesitated and stood listening. She looked back at them. "That’s strange. That sounds like .
. . Graham!"
"Can you just break the latch, Ellen?" We should go upstairs and strangle the two-faced weasel with his own ponytail.
Another sound. A door opening! Dixie Mae looked past Ellen and saw a guy coming out of the men’s room. Dixie Mae managed to grab Victor, and the two of them dropped behind the lower section of the holding cell.
"Hey, Ellen," said the stranger, "you look a bit peaked. Is Graham getting on your nerves, too?"
Ellen gave a squeaky laugh. "Y-yeah ... so what else is new?"
Dixie Mae twisted the notepad and held it so the camera eye looked through the glass. In the tiny screen, she could see that the stranger was smiling. He was dressed in tee-shirt and knee-pants and he had some kind of glittering badge on a loop around his neck.
Ellen’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but nothing came out. She doesn’t know this guy from Adam.
The stranger was still clueless, but– "Hey, where’s your badge?"
"Oh ... damn. I must have left in the john," said Ellen. "And now I’ve locked myself out."
"You know the rules," he said, but his tone was not threatening. He did something on his side of the door. It opened and Ellen stepped through, blocking the guy’s view of what was behind her.
"I’m sorry. I, uh, I got flustered."
"That’s okay. Graham will eventually shut up. I just wish he’d pay more attention to what the professionals are asking of him."
Ellen nodded. "Yeah, I hear you!" Like she was really, really agreeing with him.
"Y’see, Graham’s not splitting the topics properly. The idea is to be both broad and deep."
Ellen continued to make understanding noises. The talkative stranger was full of details about some sort of a NSA project, but he was totally ignorant of the three intruders.
There were light footsteps on the stairs, and a familiar voice. "Michael, how long are you going to be? I want to–" The voice cut off in a surprised squeak.
On the notepad display, Dixie Mae could see two brown-haired girls staring at each other with identical expressions of amazement. They sidled around each other for a moment, exchanging light slaps. It wasn’t fighting ... it was as if each thought the other was some kind of trick video.