Chapter 1: What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

Present day ( October 15^th)

Montana compound (assumed) - Second tour.

“I think I messed up,” I said to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The worried looking guy staring back at me seemed to agree. I wrapped up my moment of self-contemplation, rubbed my whiskers a bit and returned to my morning bathroom chores. As I chased the shaver around my face I thought back over the events of the past fifteen months and how I’d gotten myself into this mess.

My name is Dylan Clark. I am your stereotypical divorced, forty-year-old screw up. About thirteen years ago, after another night of drunken indulgence, I had gotten myself caught messing around with some easily forgettable bar hussy. This time, instead of being discovered by my wife Helen, which would have been the second time being caught by her, it was by the bar hussy’s husband. I woke up in the hospital the next day to find myself sporting plenty of new stitches and a terrible headache.

In addition to being informed about why I had been brought there and what my current condition was, I also learned from the stern looking abrupt doctor that my wife had stopped by earlier in the morning and had quickly stormed out in a rage. When I had inquired about my cellphone so I could call her and beg forgiveness, I learned that it had not been among my possessions when I had been brought in the previous night. Just great!

My only visitor later that morning was the local sheriff. It seems that I would not be charged with any crimes ... as long as I kept my mouth shut and stayed out of trouble, that is. Despite the fact that I was the clear loser of the fight and also despite my truck having been found burned, apparently I was being considered the perpetrator and instigator of last night’s events. (I later found out that the sheriff was the uncle of the husband who had definitely done the former deed and probably the latter). I was kept in the hospital another night for observation. The phone calls I had made to my wife from the room’s phone went unanswered.

The next morning, I had taken a cab to our apartment. There, I found the door unlocked and the apartment empty of anything belonging to Helen. There had been a note on the counter saying that divorce papers would be coming from her lawyer and that I should not attempt to find her. There was also a note from my boss saying that I was fired. I guess that was the downside to working for one of Helen’s relatives.

Fast forward the next dozen years. The divorce had happened quickly. I had moved on and worked a series of odd jobs but nothing to build a life upon. I had also moved around some and although I stayed out of jail and mostly off the law’s radar, I still spent plenty of time in bars or engaged in other dubious pursuits. There had been the occasional fling, but nothing with the spark I had once felt with my ex-wife. As the years passed, the regret rose at what I had done, what I’d lost, and at my own general stupidity. I needed a change in my life; something to hopefully get it back on track.

One day, an employment listing with an interesting job description caught my eye. It went something like this...

“Wanted. Long term caretaker for a remote residence and property. Must have general maintenance skills including basic electrical, plumbing, light construction, repair, vehicle maintenance, and the ability to work alone and unsupervised. Post high school education not required. No livestock or farming skills needed. Room and board provided. Very generous pay and vacations provided. Ability to tolerate solitude mandatory. Extremely limited communication and NO Internet allowed while on site. Relocation required. Discretion required. Intense background check will be required. DO NOT APPLY IF YOU ARE UNRELIABLE OR UNTRUSTWORTHY! Call 1-800-xxx-xxxx to apply.”

Something about the ad had struck a chord with me. I had grown up on a rural farm out west, so I was used to hard and sometimes solitary work. Many of the odd jobs I had done over the past decade had been light construction and maintenance, and I knew how to fix cars and trucks. The solitary position with relocation and housing provided sounded like just the thing to reset my life and get me back on track. My sketchy background would probably be an issue. But why not at least give it a try.

Oh, how I wished that I had never dialed that number.

I stopped reminiscing about the past when I stooped to tie the laces of my work boots. I felt the twinges in my back that proved middle age had fully arrived. The laces finished, I sat up and took a moment to look around the snug one-bedroom house I’d been assigned. Besides the one bedroom, it had a small kitchen, a small living space and an average bathroom which featured a larger than normal shower.

The remaining room in the dwelling was the large entry area in which I was currently sitting. This was a combination laundry and mudroom which held a cleanup sink along with a washer and dryer for my clothing. There were also cubbies and hooks for a wide assortment of outdoor work gear for all seasons. One unique feature of this space was a bank of three small closet doors. Two were locked and, I assumed, full of the personal items and gear for the other caretakers.

One was mine and was currently empty as all my gear and clothing had been removed for my use while I was manning at this facility. In three weeks, I would be bundling up all my stuff and securing it in the closet as I would be leaving for my month off. It would be over four months before I returned here, but I’d explain that later.

I checked my ever-present smart phone and saw that the tasks for this morning had not been changed during the night and remained generator maintenance and replacement. I zipped up my jacket, checked that my gloves were in my pockets and departed my quarters. On the front porch I stopped to survey the weather. It was mid-October and the morning was cool. But the sun was out, and the winds were calm, so it looked to be a great day for working outside.

As I walked down the concrete path which led to the compound’s large metal paneled maintenance building, I could not help glancing towards the main entry. There, the compact but imposing concrete two story security building sat beside the main gate. While the ground floor of the solid looking building had just a few solid metal doors, the upper story had numerous small reflective windows facing in all directions. I could easily imagine the security ninja inside watching me right now through binoculars. I resisted the urge to wave and continued down the path nonchalantly although I was all too aware I was probably being watched.

I seldom saw the Security Ninja which was my made-up name for the imposing characters. But I knew he (or she, I guess to be fair, ) was either in the reinforced building or lurking about somewhere outside nearby. Sometimes the overhead door would open on the main floor of the building and a heavy looking 4x4 would emerge to do a patrol or some other task. The vehicle had almost opaque tinted windows and I was never sure who was in it. Another odd feature of the vehicle was that the license plates had removable covers. They remained fastened in place obscuring the numbers and state whenever I saw them.

I was not sure if there was more than one security ninja on duty or if more lived in the structure. I imagined there had to be others, as how else could a proper full-time watch be maintained? Aside from the unknown number of security personnel, there was at least one other active person on the compound besides myself. This was the housekeeper for the primary residence. He or she was as much a mystery as the security ninja was.

I had only seen the housekeeper active outside a few times as they had departed the main gate on some errand. They had also driven a dark-windowed, heavy looking 4x4 sport utility vehicle with obscured plates. I am sure the facility occasionally saw more staff or guests at times but during those periods I was instructed to remain in my dwelling or out-of-site elsewhere. Even more mysterious was that when I was confined indoors, my small house’s windows became opaque and I was not able to observe the happenings going on outside. It was good that my house had a well-stocked bookcase and a compact exercise machine in the living space.

I reached the maintenance building and entered my access code. The steel door unlocked and I went inside to begin my workday. The first thing I did was to open two of the three large overhead doors on the south face of the building so that I could take advantage of the sunny weather and calm day. The third door remained closed as per standard procedure. That door led to the interior-located concrete ramp which descended down to the bunker-like concrete basement level deep below ground. I had been instructed that that door was to remain closed at all times unless I was using it to access the ramp.

As the two big doors opened I surveyed the rest of the large building’s interior. My maintenance equipment and tools looked clean and ordered as I had left them. The largest of these was a cabbed utility tractor which I would be using for today’s generator replacement task. There was also a skid loader and a large zero-turn-radius mower. Last month, before fall weather had set in, I would typically spend a dozen hours a week on the mower keeping up with the grass cutting for the large compound. Now with the cooler weather that lawn work was over.

The near bay of the building held four vehicles: An ATV, a UTV, and two 4x4 pickup trucks. One of the trucks was fitted with a five-hundred-gallon water tank, pumps, and a firefighting hose. It served as the compound’s firefighting unit and I was the acting fireman but luckily, I had not had to perform that duty so far. None of these vehicles had license plates so they could not legally leave the area of the compound.

The next required task was to inspect the building’s secured small arms locker. This was a case located near the entry door which I opened by scanning my hand print on a reader plate. Inside was a rifle, a handgun, and a shotgun. I verified that each was in its place along with the required number of rounds and shells. The rifle was a Ruger Mini-14 with a scope.

The compact semiautomatic rifle was chambered in 5.56mm and sported a shoulder strap and collapsible bipod. It had proved deadly to mangy coyotes and rabid skunks all the way out to the outer fence. There were a half dozen loaded twenty round magazines for the rifle in the case.

The shotgun was a twelve-gauge Remington 870 Express Super Magnum. There were four boxes of shells with one each of slugs, buckshot, number two and number eight shot. These were all three and a half inch shells (except for the number eight) and packed a bit of a wallop when fired, especially the slugs. The shells were also all-lead instead of steel or tungsten which was strange for this environmentally friendly day and age.

The handgun was a Sig Sauer P229 in 9mm. There were six ten-round magazines for the compact weapon. There were also six extended capacity magazines. All were loaded with jacketed expanding hollow point bullets. Along with the weapons and ammo, the case held other items of gear including a holster for the handgun, a pair of 10x50 binoculars and even a night vision monocle.

Once I had verified that the cabinet’s contents were present and secure, I stepped back to allow the twin cameras mounted above and to the side to see that I had left all three weapons in place. I then closed the case door until it latched with a loud click. Next, I tugged on the handle firmly to demonstrate to the cameras that I had verified that it was fully secured.

With my first required duty complete I finally went to the tractor. Before I climbed up into the cab, I checked the tire pressures and the engine oil level. It started with the normal smoky exhaust and rough rumble of a cold diesel engine. As I let it warm up for a minute, I turned on the stereo. As always, the tractor’s radio was set to Bluetooth and started playing my playlist which was stored on my smart phone. Bluetooth was the only option as the tractor radio’s AM, FM and satellite settings were disabled. I lost myself in the music for a few minutes until I noticed the heater finally blowing warm air.

With the engine now up to operating temperature, I nudged the autoshift lever forward and eased the tractor outside. Turning carefully on the paved pad I headed towards the compound’s main entry. As always, I was a bit anxious as I pulled up next to the imposing security building and stopped in front of the closed, heavy steel gate. Within seconds, my smart phone pinged with a text message. It was the expected normal message of two spaced question marks. I replied with my personal ‘correct’ code (I had an ‘incorrect’ one that I was to use if I was under duress) followed by a short message of

Overhauled generator retrieval.

After a half-minute wait, during which I assumed the security ninja was matching my reason for leaving with today’s work schedule, the gate opened. I nudged the tractor into forward and increased its speed, heading down the narrow-paved lane at about ten miles per hour. My destination was the turn-around pad and small parking area located just outside the other security gate and perimeter fence. This was almost a mile away and also over a low hill. I kept the speed fairly low and spent the time outside the compound looking over the rolling hills of what I imagined was eastern Montana ranch country.

I say ‘imagined’ as I had no idea where the compound actually was located. It just reminded me of the big sky country of the western prairies, but it could have been in the Dakota’s or even Canada for all I knew. Hell, it could have even been Siberia. Wherever I was, it was currently fall and the area had seen a light snow fall just last week, so the location had to be north of say ... Nebraska, if it was actually in North America.

The tractor topped the low hill that separated the main compound from the outer fence. I was able to see the small, paved parking area near the access roads turn around. The reason for my excursion sat waiting in the parking area. It was a large trailer-mounted generator set. This was the third of the compound’s three such generator sets and it had been sent out for overhaul over a month ago after reaching its limit of three thousand operating hours.

To accumulate that number of hours took about eight months. Four months spent as the primary running unit and four months acting as a standby backup to the primary. With the three units rotating through these cycles, one was leaving for an overhaul every four months. I slowed my tractor at the unmanned outer gate. The ninja must have been watching through one of the numerous pole-mounted cameras as the gate started opening before I had to stop the tractor completely.

This gate was simply a standard chain link gate and much lighter than the main one back at the compound. The fence on either side was just a normal six strand barbed wire fence but it was well constructed and strong with every other post being a full wood post instead of the simpler steel ones. The outer fence stretched off in each direction almost a mile until it disappeared over the rolling hills. The total length of the perimeter fence was almost seven miles.

How did I know that? Well, once a week on average I walked the entire perimeter inspecting each post and wire. Yes, I walked it. My smart phone instructions were clear on that. Absolutely no ATV or tractor usage was permitted during the outer fence inspections. Only if I found major damage was I allowed to take a work vehicle to do the repairs. Otherwise, I hiked the seven miles with a heavy canvas backpack containing the basic fencing tools. I had grumbled for a month about it at first. When I noticed myself growing stronger and getting in much better shape, I realized the ulterior motive behind the strange requirement.

At the parking area I backed up the tractor to the hitch of the generator trailer. I dismounted and went to insert the attachment pin and connect the brake controller cabling. While I was there, I gave the generator a quick inspection and checked all six trailer tires. Everything looked good but I had a few more tasks to do at the outer gate area before I could return to the compound.

The first was to give the cameras and gate hardware a quick inspection, cleaning or greasing. The second was to inspect the fuel unloading station. This was a small enclosure containing a pump and filtering unit. It was the start of the underground diesel fuel line which ran back to the compound and terminated in the large underground tanks buried there. Periodically (I guessed, as I never got to observe actual fuel deliveries) a tanker truck must arrive here and offload a load of fuel.

The last task I performed was to use the small cordless trimmer I had brought to take care of any weeds or grass around the gate structure, the fuel unloading terminal and the small, locked shipping container that was kept here for receiving packages and deliveries. There was little trimming needed due to the lateness of the year, but I did the task anyway. Trimming a few weeds was much easier than having to shovel snow as would probably be needed to be done in a few months’ time.