Thread: Cold War Defrosted

The large steel door swung open slowly and two guards moved aside. Roy stepped over the large notch in the floor and into the underground parking garage. He took the elevator to the B2 level and swiped his card, waited for the beep, and stepped into the parking area. He walked over to his car, an old but well-kept 1932 Lincoln, and slid into the driver's seat, pushing his bag onto the passenger seat. He sat for a few minutes, rooting through the bag. He pulled out a slim stack of papers and rifled through them for a moment, reviewing his payment package. The company for which he worked was a hidden affiliate of the government's own weapons research facilities. Affiliate so that, should something go awry, the government could not be blamed. Everything was kept hush hush, and all employees took on an alias when then entered the facility or, when they left it. Either way there were two identities every man had to contend with. Roy turned the key and the engine rumbled to life, and he inched the car forward, briefly testing its brakes. One could never be too careful, especially where he was going. Roy begrudgingly nodded to the security guard as he approached the checkpoint. His job wasn't glamorous. In fact rather the opposite since he was sworn to secrecy, but the worst part was having to finally go back home to a routine life after a month in the laboratory which he actually much preferred. The guard nodded and motioned to the control box, and the four steel rods descended into the ground. Roy's car rolled over the slight bump and he turned onto the gravel road. The facility was actually hidden inside of a mountain, the only trace of which was the very tiny entrance to the parking facility. From the air the whole thing was practically invisible. The Lincoln rumbled down the gravel road for several miles until a tiny light on his dashboard flashed. He pulled over, and retrieved a license plate from the bag. Roy stepped out into the crisp mountain air. He breathed deep. It was the first time he'd tasted fresh air in over a month, and it felt fine. It was late November. The sun was diffused behind a screen of clouds, the dull light hardly casting shadows. He walked to the back of the car and knelt down, and set to work reattaching the license plate. They'd taken all of the precautions, including the very tedious and not likely useful ones that Roy had to contend with, such as a ban on license plates within forty miles of the facility. Cars were not allowed to drive at a rate less than twenty-five miles per hour or more than thirty cars that stopped near the facility or sped towards it were promptly confronted by attack helicopters and humvees. In the interest of avoiding unnecessary loss, the facility did have its own fuel station. Roy tightened the screws on the license plate and quickly returned to the car, shutting the car door. He sighed. As bored as he was with life, and as unenthusiastic as he was about returning to his 'beloved wife', he understood that it was necessary to keep a good cover story. Truthfully, he didn't hate her. In fact he actually thought she was a rather understanding person, but what irked him the most is how much better off, happier even, she'd be if she'd just married some other bloke. God knows you must get lonely, dear. he thought, I'll be there soon enough. It was a four hour drive from the facility to their home. When the red light on his dash finally stopped blinking, he sped up and reached the highway fairly quickly. He checked to make sure that there were no cars visible for the entrance to that particular gravel road was actually somewhat hidden, and turned onto the concrete. He pressed the accelerator, climbing up past the speed limit in no time at all. The advantage of the red light actually a radar detector was that he could detect police car checkpoints and traffic stops. The car engine rumbled the Lincoln had had its engine tuned up significantly, although Roy was not really much of a mechanic. To prevent and diffuse suicide among its staff, the facility had encouraged employees to submit applications for 'hobbies' the facility would pay for whatever 'hobby project' a researcher wanted to work on, provided of course that it did not involve facility assets, were not immediately visible to spouses, and did not cost too much. Roy however, was not low on the ladder of command there at the facility, and thus had managed to procure a slightly larger budget for his 'hobby'. He pulled into the driveway of the single-story house. It was spacious and had a garage, actually a fairly nice home for a 50,000-a-year paycheque. Of course that was only a fraction of how much he actually earned, but the rest was stored in a bank somewhere in Europe. He shut the car door, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. Bristling at the cold winter air that slowly flowed into the garage, he closed the garage door and shuffled for his keys. Eventually he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Momentarily, Roy hesitated. Honey, he finally announced as he closed the door, I'm home.