Get out of Denver

By Andrew Howell

GET OUT OF DENVER:
Short Novel about a private company called Sub Terran and their ongoing top secret research that eventually puts the city of Denver Colorado in Jeopardy. The story highlights the crisis and how ST ( Sub Terran) interfaces with the various Military organizations to try and save the Colorado front range.

SCRAMBLE:
A short story based on military air warefare games and covert undercover operations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499019049

Andrew Howell

Andrew was born in the USA at 8500 feet elevation in the mountains of Colorado. Along with growing up as a Navy Brat in the USA, he has traveled the world as a construction professional living in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, KSA (Saudi Arabia) Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Chile, Peru, Greece, Iraq and Colombia. This broad exposure to Global cultures provides a colorful backdrop for many of his stories. He has been writing for more than 20 years and covers a variety of genera’s. In addition to “Get out of Denver & Scramble” He currently has three other books published. “Writers Write” was published in late summer 2014 and “Writer on the Storm” will be out in October 2014. His fourth book “The Night Rider” is due out near the end of the year. The sequel to Scramble “Armageddon with a six Iron” will be finished in early 2015. He continues to work full time as a Corporate Manager while adding to his existing inventory of literary work on a monthly basis.

Book preview

GET OUT OF DENVER

Rocky Mountain High

J ennifer Alvarez-Miller woke at 1900 hours as she did every night and prepared for work. She took a look out of her bedroom window into the Colorado Rocky Mountains’ sky. It was a gorgeous September night with an incredible view of the early autumn stars. She loved living in Boulder. Even with all the tree huggers and conservationists, the nights were fantastic. She smiled to herself as she walked out of her bedroom and was met at the foot of the stairs by a huge white behemoth, which quickly materialized into her Great Pyrenees mountain dog Kodiak. She started the coffee pot and slowly stretched her supple 5’10" frame with some yoga exercises. She was a very attractive 47-year-old brunette, who had the face and body of a 30-year-old model. Ms. Alvarez-Miller could have placed in the top five in any bikini contest that she wished to enter. She was a very sexy lady. Her interests, however, were more of an academic nature. She had a PhD in chemical biology and a master’s in molecular biology. She had worked for a company called Subterran Incorporated for over seventeen years. In 2003 she had been promoted to group head of research and development for Subterran Inc. and she was number 2 in command of the multibillion-dollar research company. She had held this position for the past six years. She chose to work nights to avoid Denver traffic and because it was much easier to move materials back and forth from the Rocky Flats arsenal after dark.

It was the biological and chemical materials from Rocky Flats and other places that were her business.

She did not like to call them weapons even though many of them were. She was a dedicated researcher that was able to separate her scientific achievements from the various military factions who were always jockeying for government funds to serve their somewhat sinister and selfish purposes.

She showered quickly, put Kodiak in the backyard, and poured a cup of Juan Valdez Colombian coffee for the road. The night air was crisp and clear as she left her house. She had picked her property well to ensure she lived far above the Front Range mountains and the Denver smog line. She started up her Audi Quattro, put some old Bob Seger music on, and pulled out of her driveway, heading toward the Mile High City.

To say that Jennifer had an exciting job would be an understatement. She held a class 6+ DOD (Department of Defense) security clearance, the second highest in the company. This was a distinction she shared with four other ST (Subterran) scientists. Only the director and senior shareholder Phil Larsen had a higher security clearance at 7+.

At forty-nine, Phil was the youngest retired USAF (United States Air Force) two-star general ever. He had graduated from the Colorado Springs Air Force Academy with honors in 3.5 years and a master’s in genetic engineering. He held PhDs in chemical and aviation engineering. He was also a fully qualified MD. Far from being a geek, he had a third-degree black belt in tae kwon do. He was skilled with nunchaku and very skilled at the exquisite art of the Japanese samurai sword.

His military service record read like the who’s who of top secret freaky military intelligence sites. He had held command posts at White Sands and Roswell New Mexico, spent seven years in charge of Area 51 in Nevada (no accident in the sequencing there!), finishing up his career in charge of NORAD at Fort Carson in Colorado.

After the unfortunate death of his good friend Dr. Jarod Miller, the husband of Jennifer Alvarez-Miller and former director of Subterran, Phil suddenly supposedly retired to civilian life to become the new director of ST Inc.

By all accounts, Retired USAF General Larsen was a decent man trying his best to hold the front lines against the elements of evil, as he often called them. He had been married to his wife Penelope for eleven years and they had one lovely daughter, aged three.

It had been a tough decision for Phil to become a father. He had vast knowledge of world affairs and the true evil that lurked in the hearts of men. Because of this, he was unsure about bringing a child into this world. It was difficult for Penelope to convince him the child would be theirs and therefore could influence the world in a positive way. Yes, it was difficult but not impossible as Penelope had the charms of a West Coast Helen of Troy, a truly beautiful woman. She finally broke him down one night in their bed when she said to him seductively, Phil darling, as you have said so often, evil thrives when good men do nothing, so get your flying Air Force ass over here and make a baby with me to balance all the evil you’re always ranting about. Add the fact that she was wearing black lace Victoria Secret underwear when she said it, and how could a man refuse that?

His daughter’s name was Helena Angelica Larsen.

Phil was obviously not at ST by accident. It was often discussed in quiet corners of the complex that he was still heavily connected to the USAF and he did spend a lot of time going to NORAD in Colorado Springs.

When colleagues at ST would prompt him for inside information, or for stories of his days at Area 51, he would often smile and quote Jim Morrison, There are things known and things unknown, and in between, there are the doors. They lead to Area 51.

Phil Larsen had opened several doors in his career and at least a few of them were still open.

Jennifer Alvarez-Miller cruised down I-70 at a fairly high rate of speed. She knew the local cops and the state troopers knew her as well. A quick smile and handshake always got her out of any speeding citation. The Audi was a real pleasure to drive and I-70 had just enough curves to get the adrenalin pumping for the start of her work tonight.

She took the Golden exit, past the new Coors brewery, crossed the train yard, and drove the last ten miles to the ST complex.

The Subterran complex was a state of the art research facility towering twenty-seven floors above the prairie between the Front Range mountains and Denver, Colorado. The first ten floors were dedicated to laboratories and huge computer data centers. The next ten floors included the main offices for personnel and Historical archives.

Jennifer had a large office with a stunning window view on the twenty-first floor. She was even able to visit it once or twice a week, for publicity purposes.

She cleared the two main security gates, parked in the lower garage, and walked toward the elevator. As she approached the lift, she turned suddenly left and stepped into the service elevator, pushing the down arrow. The service lift dropped down four floors and opened into a secure reception hall with eighteen US Marines in full battle-ready combat gear standing to.

She flashed a security badge at the master sergeant, exited the lift, and proceeded to a clean room and locker facility. She stripped, used the medical shower, and donned her lab clothes and jacket. She opened the outer doors by using a retina scanner and stepped into a high-speed lift that would have made Mr. Spock envious. She dropped down twenty-two more floors and exited into a second clean room, more sterile than the first. She left her lab clothes in a second locker and once again she used the hygienic medical shower and then put on a skintight one piece, made of stretch white material that revealed her luscious figure exquisitely.

Exiting the change room, she walked toward the large titanium double doors. She was met by a pair of special military security officers. Good evening, Ms. Miller, said the tall blond Norse-looking guard. Did you pick us up anything from Coors tonight?

Hello, Skarsgard, Jennifer replied, smiling. No ale tonight. You guys will just have to stick to procedure and no alcohol. Besides if I gave you something against orders, I would have to kill you then, wouldn’t I? Her smile said she was joking. Her eyes said she could be deadly serious.

Erik Skarsgard returned the smile and inserted his security key into the top slot of the titanium doors. The second guard, Martinez, inserted his key in the next slot. Ms. Alvarez-Miller placed her key into the third and lowest slot. It was one of four keys she carried at all times. They turned the keys in unison, creating a resounding click. The right door opened and she walked into a gymnasium-sized master control center (MCC) that was buzzing with activity.

There goes the baddest ass in the complex, said Skarsgard.

Jeez, homes. It sounds like you’re in love? Martinez quipped.

You know I am, replied Skarsgard, staring at Ms. Miller’s ass and legs as she walked into the control center.

Secret Agent Women… and Men

O ver one hundred people could be seen inside performing a variety of tasks; 50 per cent of them wore military uniforms, the rest had similar outfits to the one adorning Alvarez-Miller.

Coffee, Jenna? asked an attractive USAF captain named Rachel Wood.

Thanks, Rachel. That would be great.

Captain Wood walked to the coffee area using long leggy strides. She was tall, maybe six feet, and was wearing a dark-blue skintight, stretch military uniform covering an athletic body rivaling that of Ms. Miller. She had a utility belt around her waist with a Glock M31 .357-caliber pistol strapped to her right thigh. She made Lara Croft look like a brunette Barbie.

Rachel Wood was in charge of intelligence, highly skilled in self-defense. Along with being the preferred Mission Lead for ST topside exercises, she provided personnel security for key staff members, including the group head.

Jenna Alvarez-Miller took the coffee, Juan Valdez again, and stepped into the office where she did most of her work… two hundred meters underground.

The coffee was sort of a taboo luxury in the MCC but everyone turned a blind eye to caffeine and Red Bull because of the long hours of work. Smokers, however, had to go to the top and re-process every time they felt the urge. It was a great deterrent to the nicotine addicted.

The ST underground complex was designed in eight basic levels, each level having multiple sectors. Some of the levels had teams of researchers working on classified projects, and some were used as interim and permanent storage areas for some really nasty shit.

Level 1—Aeronautics and Aviation Engineering, code silver

Level 2—Genetic Material and Research, code green

Level 3—Biological Material and Research, code yellow

Level 4—Chemical Material and Research, code orange

Level 5—Classified Material and Research, code blue

Level 6—Radioactive Material and Research, code red

Level 7—Area 51 and Off-Planet Material, code