Page 70 of Crimson Moon Falling

Dread crawled through me as General Michael Wilson stood before the microphones, his uniform pressed and his medals gleaming under the lights. He had a weathered square jaw, and his voice carried a measured authority.

“Good afternoon. I’m here to address the false allegations that have been levied against the Apex Mentis armed forces recently.” He looked directly at the cameras, righteous anger radiating from him. “Let me be clear, neither I nor anyone within any of the armed forces has knowledge of, or involvement in, any facility operating beneath Yellowstone National Park. Or any other facility, for that matter.”

“He’s lying through his fuckin’ teeth,” Parker muttered.

On screen, Wilson continued. “Apex Mentis has nothing to hide, and we welcome any legitimate investigation.”

The reporter cut in. “General, the shipping manifests and equipment serial numbers have been authenticated by three independent auditors. Apollo Genetics equipment was found in that bunker.”

Wilson didn’t flinch. “Apollo Genetics is an enormous global company with hundreds of federal contracts. Equipment is shipped to facilities across the country every day. The presence of their hardware proves nothing about Apex’s involvement.”

“What about the military personnel guarding the entrance? They were carrying Apex identification and were identified as Apex soldiers.”

“If, in fact, military personnel were present, they were there under separate orders, unrelated to Apex Mentis.” His smile was thin, patient. “I understand the public’s concern. But these allegations are being weaponized by interests that want to see Apex Mentis defunded and dismantled. What they’re really attacking is this nation’s security infrastructure.”

Freda made a sound low in her throat, something between a growl and a sigh. “He’s accusing the Pack of doing exactly what the Feds do. The bastard is good, I’ll give him that.”

Rage surged through me, hot and vicious, as the implant struggled to contain it. I flashed back to Roswell, and the waterboarding, electroshock, and branding. To the operating table where they’d cut me open to install their specialized device, probably created by someone at ApGen. All while I was conscious.

Wilson stood there in his pressed uniform, his voice steady and reasonable, and lied through his pearly white dental implants about all of it.

“They’re going to get away with it,” I whispered. The implant tried to reassert control, but out of desperation I began mentally negotiating with it. I needed its analytical edge, but I also wanted to keep my anger. “He’s creating enough doubt. By the time any investigation gains traction, the story will have moved on. We need to stop him.”

On screen, Wilson took questions, deflecting the substantive ones with practiced ease. He was photogenic and looked patriotic. Like a man you could trust. The general public might love him, but he was a corrupt, bigoted liar.

Wilson had been there in that bunker. I could feel it in my bones, the same way I’d felt Marlowe’s presence in Roswell. Men like them left traces.

Ideas began to form in my mind. Freda and Parker would try to stop me. Gunnar was in no shape to hike back out there, and I wasn’t risking anyone else.

I sat on the couch watching General Wilson lie, and I let the cold, clinical part of me calculate the odds as a plan crystallized. It was dangerous, maybe stupid, and it might get me killed. It would irrevocably change my life, but at that moment I didn’t care.

The segment ended, and I clicked off the TV. The room went quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and Parker’s boot tapping against the floor. He’d been doing that since Malcolm died, a restless, rhythmic tapping that he probably wasn’t aware of.

I stood and stretched, my thigh injury pulling a little. “I need to go back to Mary Mountain.”

Three heads turned to stare at me, and Mangus raised his head. Parker’s boot stopped tapping, and Freda set her drink down.

“To the bunker?” she clarified.

I nodded. “I need to check whether I can pick up Viggo’s energy signature. I never got the chance last time.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. He knew me too well. “Why now? It’s been days. The place is probably crawling with Feds by now.”

“Beau and the county sheriff still have it under control.” I crossed my arms. “The last time we were there, we lost Malcolm and I didn’t have a chance to search for Viggo’s energy. I need to go back.”

Freda’s expression was flat. “It’s an active military crime scene. I don’t like it.”

“I’m still an ISB investigator, and Viggo is still missing. It’s my job to find him. Fergus is breathing down our neck for updates, and right now I have nothing to give him.”

Gunnar shifted in the recliner, and flinched in pain. Guilt pulled at me, and I avoided eye contact with him.

Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. His three-day growth had become a five-day beard. “Beau and the county sheriff have it locked down tight. How are we gonna get in?”

“Beau will let me back in if I tell him why. And you’re going to call your friend, Decker.”

Freda made a sound low in her throat. “This is a terrible idea.”

I met her gaze. “You don’t have to come. But I’m going.”