The Red Team

Gunnar Faison was an expert at what he does best – breaking in to, and out of, high security complexes. A former MARSOC Marine, he was a natural candidate for Mirvan International’s site security evaluation unit. And not just the unit itself, but the elite Red Team. Red Team are the guys (and sometimes gals) that physically challenge a location’s security defenses. Blue Team are the people that monitor the Red Team’s progress and verify whether or not they have successfully breached their assigned security objective.

Just like in any other private security contractor, the assignments and objectives are determined buy whatever service contracts the firm has managed to secure. But there is one sole exception. It’s to challenge a place so secure, that if you’re successful, it will put your firm on the map. It was a long time coming, but finally the stars fell in to alignment.

Gunnar was the quintessential action figure model, seemingly taken directly out of the GI Joe lineup, with squared, chiseled features, and close cropped blonde hair. He looked out of place in an office building, more belonging in the swamps of Southeast Asia or the jungles of North Africa. Despite that, he had a knack for moving through walls and security barriers seemingly undetectably. Years of discipline had taught him to sit erect in a chair, awaiting the boss to arrive, without fidgeting, or mentally straying for whatever task he was about to undertake. Former Master Chief Petty Officer Togwood’s office wasn’t particularly grandiose. In fact, it was fairly sparse save for a few framed pictures of his SEAL units. He didn’t even adorn the wall with medals and commendation certificates. He didn’t run on ribbons. He was driven by service and adrenaline.

A slightly tallish blonde woman who knocked, and entered through the open door of the office, which was unoccupied save for Gunnar, seated herself in front of Togwood’s desk. Gunnar acknowledged her presence, over which he was completely confused. She was dressed in a sharp business suit and jacket, unlike Gunnar, who was dressed in what could best be described as canvas hiking attire, which is about as civilian as guys like Gunnar ever get. You couldn’t stuff him in a suit and pass him off as an accountant or attorney any more than you could put the woman in military fatigues and pass her off as a commando. It’s not that she looked weak, in fact, she looked rather fit. But not hardened. Not battle hardened. Not fight hardened. Popular movies and television shows featuring strong female action characters depict them as Cosmopolitan model attractive, picture perfect ladies without a blemish to their name who can kick the asses of an entire room of bad guys, and then go to the evening show without so much as showering up. The women that can kick the asses of multiple bad guys don’t end up looking like runway models even if they started out that way. Maybe it’s not fair, but it’s a harsh reality.

There were only two chairs in the office other than Togwood’s own. Which meant that once Gunnar’s partner showed up, someone would have to give up a chair. Exactly who is going to stand would be somewhat dependent on who shows up. If it’s a green kid – and Gunnar both loves and hates sheparding young green rookies at the same time. But, depending on the mission, coaching a young gun can be either rewarding, or limiting. Usually these assignments are undertaken in pairs. Exactly what the woman’s role was he could only surmise. She was possibly Blue Team but he didn’t recognize her. Then again, he rarely interfaces with Blue Team and doesn’t know all of them. She nodded curtly, and took a seat, but didn’t otherwise bother to introduce herself. Then again, neither did Gunnar offer to introduce himself. Hell, maybe she was the department secretary or something. Gunnar found it best, as a general rule, to say silent until communication became a requirement.

Togwood walked through the door at a brisk pace, closed it behind him, and took a seat at his desk. He was tall, lanky, and wore a waxed, curled mustache. He more resembled a stereotypical British military NCO than an American SEAL. All he was missing was a monocle and a pointer stick tucked up under his armpit. “I trust that the both of you have had a chance to meet?”

Gunnar stared blankly. “No, not really.”

“Well then I guess it is on me to do the introductions. Gunnar, this is Monika Hartman. Spelled with a ‘K.’ Ms. Hartman, this is Gunnar Faison.”

“Pleased to meet you” Gunnar said as he glanced towards Monika. He turned his attention back to Togwood. “So… Ms. Hartman is….”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry. I guess you hadn’t been informed. She is your partner.”

Gunnar’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Oh relax now. I assure you, that this mission will not be accomplished successfully by a display of athletic prowess and tactical stealth. You have both been selected for this mission based on your respective backgrounds and appearances. You see, we are going to challenge and objective that, for years, has been considered entirely, and unquestionably, unachievable.”

“And that is…?” Gunnar replied.

“Ms. Hartman, do you care to explain?”

“By comparison, breaking in to a high security prison is a cakewalk. It is a huge complex, hidden remotely in the Nevada desert, located miles from its outer perimeter, protected by a massive network of aerial and ground sensors, every inch of which is covered by high resolution and thermal imaging cameras, and it is backed up by a highly trained, and highly motivated security force, ready to respond on the drop of a dime to any and every anomaly that is detected. That facility is the Nellis Air Force Base Nevada Test and Training Range, located at Groom Lake, popularly known as Area 51.”

“Surely you can’t be serious. Area 51? I mean, even if that could successfully be breached, they would lock us away in a federal prison for the rest of our lives.”

Togwood spoke. “Actually, Bill Mirvan himself is personal friends with the man just under the Deputy Director of the CIA, and they have an agreement that if a Mirvan team attempts a breach of security on that facility, they will be immune from prosecution.”

“Well, somewhat comforting, but one guy…”

“And he is personal friends with Senator Leroy Jardinsky, head of the congressional intelligence oversight committee. The man is very well connected. Don’t worry about that angle.”

“Okay but, so… as… Hart… Ms. Hartman had pointed out, their perimeter is extremely secure.”

“Yep. It is. Like I said, your stealth or athleticism isn’t going to make this work. No, we are going to take a bit of an unconventional approach.”

“Look, those guys are not mall cops. They catch you inside of their perimeter and they take no prisoners.”

Togwood scowled. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

“Really Chief?” Gunnar responded. “You gotta play me like that?”

“I mean, we’ll find a way to get by. Somehow.”

“You’re serious about this?”

“Oh yeah. If I was fit for it, I’d go at it myself.”

Gunnar looked resigned. “All right. It’s against my better judgement, but I’ll go.”

“Good, because I already booked your ticket to Vegas. Both of you have a flight to catch in two hours.”

The steady murmur of the jet engines did little to drown out the sound of a crying baby four rows back. Gunnar sometimes questioned himself internally over why he never ended up living in a suburban house with a white picket fence around with a wife and children playing in the yard. Now he remembered. He glanced over and noted that Monika was intently focused on some sort of technical trade journal.

A flight attendant wheeled a meal cart to just past their row of seats. “Beef, salmon or pork?” She asked, directing her attention to Monika.

“I’m good thank you” Monika replied.

Gunnar whispered in to her ear. “Can you uh… get the beef?”

“My god, that massive burger in the terminal café wasn’t enough for you?”

Gunnar put the finishing touches on his second helping of what was ostensibly beef bourguignon, and some slightly crusty mashed potatoes. “Whatcha reading?” He asked Monika.

“Artificial intelligence applications in military aviation.”

“Sounds pretty heavy duty. You sure didn’t have a lot to say in that briefing with Togwood. You’re not worried about anything going south?”

“Of course I am. But Blue Team has been planning this for a year. I’ve been on board for the last two months.”

“So what’s the angle?”

“The angle?”

“The plan. How are we going to do it?”

“I don’t know exactly. All I know right now is I need to learn enough about artificial intelligence in order not to sound stupid around people that do this kind of stuff for a living, at least in a casual introductory meeting.”

“Huh. Why did they pick… you? Or me?”

“I guess we will find out this evening at the hotel.”

“What’s your background?” Gunnar asked, as he passed two empty meal trays to a passing flight attendant.

“Defense Intelligence Agency. Last position I held before coming over to Mirvan.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Personal reasons. I could ask the same of you.”

“Joined the Corps with the intention of a career, broke in to MARSOC, then went to a private contractor after my time was up for better pay. Then the work started drying up, so here I am. Got a husband and kids?”

Monika turned a slight shade of red. “You know, it’s guys like you that were the primary reason I left the DIA. I was good at what I did. I came to Mirvan to escape the piggish, misogynistic attitudes.”

Gunnar chuckled. “A simple no would have sufficed. You didn’t have to demonstrate why not.”

Monika threw down her journal. “Okay this clearly is not going to work out. I’m going to find another seat.”

“Good luck with that.”

Monika scanned the rear rows, fell back in to her seat, and took a deep breath. She picked up her trade journal, started to read it, and threw it back down in frustration a minute later.

“I have a story for you” Gunnar said.

“I’m not interested in stories.”

“When I get a new partner, or a new team member, one of the very first things I do, is I find some angle to chip away at them personally. I figure out what they are most self-conscious about, and I start digging. Do you know why I do that?”

“Because you’re a boorish ass wipe?”

“No, I mean, I may well be, but I want to know how they are going to react under pressure. I want to know if I can depend on them to keep their cool, and their professionalism.”

“You know, if you had hit on any other, and I mean any… other….”

“Any other what? It’s clear that you are preparing to try to fool people. What happens if they start going down that path?”

“All right. Point taken.”

Gunnar studied aerial maps of the Groom Lake facility on his tablet computer in the rented warehouse just outside of major urban area of Las Vegas. Their transport from the airport was a white panel van with no windows. Both were still in the dark, figuratively speaking, of what the plan would be. It did however quickly become apparent that the plan was bigger than just the two of them. Generally, Gunnar is used to planning and executing his own infiltration and exfiltration missions, with or without a partner. Finally, a geeky looking young man dressed in jeans and Vans tennis shoes sat down at the wooden work bench serving as a meeting table. Eric Weed had the look of the ultra-intelligent computer tech that every TV series featuring a governmental law enforcement agency has on staff. The man capable of hacking in to every known network, including the NSA itself. Except he wasn’t. He seemed to be running point for Blue Team.

“I want to thank both of you for coming on such short notice. We are on a strict time table here, and Blue Team is scrambling to get logistics squared away” Eric said, pulling out some documents and placing two manila folders in front of Monika and Gunnar.

“Logistics?” Gunnar said. “I brought my own tac gear.” He looked over at Monika. “I’m not sure about her.”

“You won’t need it.”

Gunnar gave a slight imperceptible falsetto laugh and shook his head. “I don’t get it. It’s not like we can just show up at Janet airlines, and board a flight to Area 51.”

Eric perked up. “Oh... but that is precisely how you are going to get there.”

Both Gunnar and Monika exchanged bewildered glances. “What?”

“You see, the day after tomorrow, two new hires are scheduled to report for duty at Area 51. Except that they won’t. They will be our indisposed guests for the day. You both have been chosen for your backgrounds, and your physical appearances, which, if all goes well, will be close enough to the photo IDs on their security badges. You will in fact, be going in their places.”

“Now how the hell are we going to pull that one off?” I mean, resemblance to a photo ID is one thing, but person to person is an entirely different matter.”

“Right” Eric replied. “But trust me, we’ve been monitoring their vulnerabilities for quite some time. You see, you will be a security guard. One of the fabled ‘camo dudes’ you see on Area 51 conspiracy documentaries. They’re all ex-elite military. You can talk the talk, and walk the walk. But here’s the thing – these people have already been vetted prior to ever setting foot on Area 51. The people that you are to report to are not the people that have interviewed you. You are going to show up in tactical fatigues ready to go to work.”

“What’s my mission?”

“Your mission is to run interference so that Monika here can accomplish her mission. And that is to take a prized memento from the installation commander’s office.”

“But… here’s the thing, if I report to work, presumably, they are going to put me to work.”

“Not the first day. Most of your in processing has already occurred off post, but there will be some in processing that you are going to have to go through once you get there. And intel has it that it will be something you will do on your own, giving you time. And, being a security guard, you have a reason to be places where you otherwise wouldn’t be allowed.”

“Oh, so like reporting to a new military post.”

“Precisely. Which – is basically what you are doing. Since you guys work all different shifts there will be some overnight billeting arrangements. Some orientation and security briefings. Anything involving personal identification issues has already been done.”

“I don’t understand” Monika said. “If my mission is to grab some item from the base commander’s office, why do you need me? Can’t Gunnar do it on his own?”

“Strength in numbers. A single individual walking around in an area that they don’t normally belong in is suspicious. That person is much less suspicious if they are being escorted by security. And conversely, a lone security guard wandering about looks suspicious unless they have a reason for wandering around, like escorting yourself to a meeting in the command center.”

“So what is this memento I am supposed to retrieve?”

“Don’t know. You will have to use your own judgement on that. Bigger is better but remember there is outgoing security to make sure people aren’t taking state secrets away with them.”

“I presume that I will also be going through some in processing as well, and that’s when I… we do this?”

“Yes. The idea is get the prize, bide the day making as little of a footprint as you can – making the minimal amount of communication that you must, get on that Janet flight home, we return uniforms and badges to our indisposed guests, release them, and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“What if we can’t do it within the first day?” Gunnar asked.

“Then that becomes problematic for two reasons. One, the both of you actually will be expected to work, and two, the person that interviewed Lena Franks for the position will be back on post. Her boss is actually scheduled for an offsite meeting the day she reports.”

“One small issue. Actually it is a rather large issue. It occurs to me that kidnapping two government employees holding high level security clearances is a federal offense, and no small one.”

“And who’s going to press charges on that one? The Air Force? In relation to a secret facility that doesn’t officially exist? And remember, the two individuals are subject to some pretty strict NDA’s. They can’t even bring up the subject of their employment and possible motives for their kidnappings.”

Obviously, individuals dragged in to a van against their will and bound are going to be indignant. You just can’t help that. Even Gunnar felt a little bad about the situation. Lena Horn was sort of on the frail side for what both he and Monika expected. But at least she kept her clothes. She didn’t wear a uniform, just business casual. Monika did her best to emulate her uptight, closed off personality – not because she needed to imitate her, but she needed a standoff persona. Or rather, a more standoff persona than she already displayed. It was hoped but not anticipated that a little bit of filet mignon in wine reduction sauce, and rather expensive Cabernet would go far to offset her displeasure. It didn’t. And rightfully so, she found it a little hard to believe that she would be walking out her makeshift holding cell that night or in the morning.

Chuck Barley on the other hand, despite being stripped and humiliated so Gunnar could have a proper uniform, made the best of the Italian combination pizza afforded to him. Being stripped in itself wasn’t necessarily humiliating, but the fact that the pants and jacket had to be taken in somewhat to make Gunnar presentable was. A Blue Team member with some seamstress experience managed to work magic with some internal safety pins. There was no time for cutting and sewing and they hadn’t anticipated that possibility anyway.

The real moment of truth would come as the pair (“pair”) entered the security holding area for the Janet flight. What about biometrics? That was not anticipated, and both breathed a sigh of relief when their security badges were scanned and the green beep ensued, meaning they were authorized, expected, and validated. The security marshal didn’t seem to be overly interested in looking at the badges closely. One individual was flagged red, but a phone call and ten minutes later that individual was cleared for the flight. They made it a point to stay as far away from each other as possible from the time that they entered the Janet terminal – which, incidentally, isn’t marked with any kind of signage as to its functionality, other than the standard trespass warnings with threat of prosecution and bodily harm, not necessarily in that order.

One of the confounding things was that Eric and team didn’t actually know positively where areas C4 and L3 were, on the aerial map. They knew where some other cardinal locations were, and by conjecture, took their best guesses as to where the two would be shuttled to upon their arrival to Groom Lake. The aerial photos weren’t exactly annotated. The dormitory area was fairly obvious, and centered in the facility, as one would expect, and the administrative buildings would logically be fairly close by, and L3 was probably within them, being the security headquarters. The fleet of white pickups gave it away – although they could have just as easily been public works vehicles. The administrative building was likely next to the large, mostly empty parking lot next to the Janet tarmac on the airfield. C4 probably (hopefully) wasn’t very far away. The enormous hangar structures at the north and south ends of the complex probably housed large, uber-secret experimental aircraft, and hopefully not the AI lab, as they were not exactly within easy (inconspicuous) walking distance from the central facilities. The rally point was chosen to be the building assumed to be the administrative building, judging by the parking lot activity.

Eric’s team was wrong. L3 was actually up by the helicopter pads just north of the end of the non-extended main runway. But, the distances weren’t actually as bad as they initially thought from the tabletop recon activity, as long as you didn’t have to walk the length of the entire airstrip. All the activity except for some of the utility plants were within walking distance. C4 was in fact within the group of structures where Eric’s team guessed it was.

Corporal Ranjeet Patel smiled broadly as he walked in to the lobby area of the main security building. It was obvious that he was fairly new at leading a squad. He was surprisingly enthusiastic and courteous – most of these guys are dicks. He took Gunnar behind the counter, quickly introduced him to Marge, who in turn handed him a pre-printed map, annotated with the alphanumeric location, with in processing stops accented in blue highlighter. He excused himself after a call on his handheld radio, and instructed Gunnar (or rather Chuck, played by Gunnar) to report to those locations and then report back afterwards.

Monika didn’t get off quite so easily. The other senior AI team member was a middle aged man with male pattern baldness with a bit of a paunch to his gut. He came across as, quite frankly, a little bit creepy. Monika got the distinct sense that he felt threatened by her presence, judging by his condescending tone and clingy presence. The department admin actually intervened, and even offered to escort Monika on her short list of stops – all of which were actually in a single building. She politely declined.

It turned out that choosing the front of the admin building as a rally point was sort of moot, since that is where, for most employees, all of their in processing was going to happen, so they ended up actually showing up for the same orientation briefing.

Now there was a new problem. The target objective is the installation commander’s office. Where is the installation commander’s office? Logically, a top corner office of the administration building. That’s problematic. The elevators were electronic badge access only. And you didn’t have access unless you belonged there. But, that’s true of most of the facilities on this installation. Monika had the wherewithal to ask the reception on the ground floor lobby where the installation commander’s office was, as she was instructed to report to him (she wasn’t.) It turned out that the installation commander’s office was not indeed a corner office in the top level of the administration building, it was a rather old, traditional two story building set some distance from the central facilities. It was neither fancy nor super secure. Double secret probation activities didn’t occur there. As it turned out, if the installation commander had double secret probation activities to be involved in, which he frequently was, it would actually be done in the highest level of the admin building, probably in a corner office. Consequently, Colonel Seagrave was rarely in his actual office. It was guarded by an airman. Not a ‘camo dude,’ but an actual Air Force security detachment airman.

Gunnar quickly began to realize that he had a new problem, as he walked out of the security headquarters towards the admin building. They all had red security badges and shields, in addition to their installation access badges. Those things are treated like weapons. You draw your weapons when you report for duty and turn them in when your shift is finished. That goes for the shields and red security badges, which give complete access to most (but not all) of the facilities on the base. Those don’t leave the installation. So now, Gunnar doesn’t in fact look like he belongs wandering about on his own.

There was really no time to waste. The quicker Gunnar and Monika could get to Colonel Seagrave’s office, the more time they had to ensure he was not there, or wait it out until he wasn’t there. Inside the small two story wooden building, Gunnar took a deep breath, opened the door, and entered, as the Air Force airman sitting behind a metal desk looked up.

“How can I help you?” He asked, eyeing Monika, and Gunnar.

“Yes, um, Ms. Horn here has been instructed to report to the base commander.”

The airman looked confused. “Where’s your security badge?”

“I’m not actually on shift right now. I just happen to be available to escort Ms. Horn.”

The airman appeared to accept the explanation, and pulled up a schedule on his workstation. “The Colonel actually appears to be booked for a meeting until thirteen hundred hours.”

“Mind if we hang out until we can get this sorted?”

The airman looked around and started to pick up a telephone. “Hold on.”

“Tell you what” Gunnar said. “No need to pull the Colonel out of a meeting. I can make some calls. Got a phone I can use?”

“Yeah, that office down the hall. You can use one of those phones.” Nobody uses cell phones here. There is no reception. Plus, they are a little bit funny about cell phones at this facility. Getting caught photographing something could land you in a holding cell and extended interrogation.

“Excuse me” Monika said. “Can you direct me to the restroom?”

“Sure thing. Down the hall, take a left, by the staircase.”

Monika wasted no time racing up the stairway, quickly surveying row of offices. Most of the activity seemed to be downstairs. A large brass placard next to a wooden door on which ‘Colonel Morbey Seagrave’ on it indicated clearly that it was the colonel’s office. There was an open door in the office next to it, which was probably his personal secretary. She gingerly tried the door, which was in fact unlocked. Why was it unlocked? Answer – you are on one of the most secure military installations in the world, guarded by an airman dedicated to its security, why do you bother to lock it? It’s one more key and keys aren’t used that much here to begin with.

Eric was right. He had no way of knowing exactly what kind of bling the Colonel liked to display, but he correctly assumed that there was plenty of it. There wasn’t a lot of time to act, since Gunnar’s stall tactic was on borrowed time at best. Then she saw it. It was an old piece of yellowed parchment, locked in a bed of clear resin roughly the size of a tablet computer, dated August 3, 1917 by a General Estes Seagrave, to President Woodrow Wilson, stating the status and future of the United States Army Air Corps. It’s not like he wouldn’t get it back at some point in time. And it fit in to her handbag. Exactly how she was going to explain it in a security search on the return flight was something she had not yet figured out, but there was some time for that.

There was some conniving, deflection and stalling on both fronts, but at the end of the day, both Gunnar and Monika were sitting in the air conditioned terminal, awaiting for their return Janet flight. They had made it. They achieved the seemingly impossible. Gunnar was already starting to visualize that nice, cold, celebratory beer. Monika was itching for a bath and a glass of wine. It occurred to Gunnar at some point that the particular holding area they were in was surprisingly empty. Gunnar immediately jumped up and peered out the window. Droves of people were boarding the white with red stripe 737’s unmarked save for an FAA assigned tail number.

“Something’s wrong here” Gunnar said in a soft voice. He had a sinking feeling.

Just then, a dozen security guards bearing assault rifles and helmets tore into the room and screamed. “Down on the floor! Show me your hands!” Both Gunnar and Monika were bound by handcuffs, wrists and ankles, and carried out of the holding area in to waiting SUVs.

The exclusive rooftop restaurant in downtown DC overlooked the Potomac River. Seated at the table was Senator Leroy Jardinski, Bill Mirvin, and CIA program manager Jesse Ulman.

“You know” Jardinski said, “I will admit. The Oversight Committee is grateful to your firm for detecting that breach to our Groom Lake facility and alerting us. We’re kind of indebted.”

“Well thank you Leroy. I graciously accept the compliment. But I understand the contract for security services at Groom Lake is up for renewal. Any chance we can give it a shot?” Mirvin winked.

Ulman swirled a shot of whiskey on the rocks. “Yeah we can make something happen.”

They say the cell in the federal women’s correctional facility actually belonged to Martha Stewart, but it didn’t reek of French cooking and it wasn’t adorned with crocheted throw rugs, although Monika Hartman has plenty of time to remedy that situation. Homeland Security has jurisdiction over terrorism cases, and the rules of evidence and process are… different. She’ll retire here. At least that’s how they put it.

It took some serious nerve for Togwood to show up at the Federal Correctional Facility at Thomson, Illinois, but the man must have had something to get off his chest.

Gunnar stared at Togwood through the thick glass, and picked up the intercom handset. Togwood didn’t look very good. He actually looked pretty frail. Gunnar spoke. “What the hell are you even doing here, Togwood?”

“I have stage four lung cancer. I don’t have long to live” Togwood replied.

“Yeah well I have stage four acute incarceration disorder. I basically quit living. You expect me to feel sorry for you?”

“No, I didn’t come here for forgiveness. I just wanted to tell you sorry, buddy, for making you guys take one for the team. I mean you know the deal. Sometimes, in battle, you have to sacrifice the lives of a few to protect the lives of many.”

“Wow. Is that how you justify it? I had real respect for you once, but now I realize you’re just a piece of work. Only out for the highest bidder.”

Togwood looked at him reflectively. “And you’re any different?”