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“You need to go underground,” Fritz Zimholt said.
Alice didn’t realize he meant it literally.
She now followed the retired Air Force Major down a long flight of wide metal stairs into the well-lit cavern below.
Up topside was what presented itself as a private regional airport in the Wasatch Mountain Range of Utah, close enough to the ski resorts surrounding Salt Lake City that a limo ride could get you to any of them within an hour. One of the helicopters could carry an extreme skier to the top of an untracked ridge in even less.
But this airport wasn’t for tourists. That became clear as the jet approached a high set of snow-covered peaks. Alice watched with some concern as the jet seemed destined to crash into the mountain.
Instead the peaks disappeared, nothing more than an opti
