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“No, the domestics are local.”
“How do they get in and out of the place?”
“They drive or take the bus to the service gate; there’s a parking lot for them there. Then they walk or are driven in vans to their work.”
“How do they hire the domestics?”
“I don’t know. I guess they run ads. The pay is good, so there’s not much turnover. There’s an employment office in Orchid.”
“What sort of arms do you have at the security station?”
“We all carry nine-millimeter automatics, then there’s a supply of AR fifteens.”
“Anything heavier than that?”
“Not at the station.”
“Elsewhere?”
Mosely suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Come on, Cracker, or I’ll be talking to your parole officer.”
“There’s some stuff scattered around the place. I don’t know exactly what.”
“You’ve got to do better than that, Cracker.”
“I’ve never been close to it, but there are some…places around the property.”
“Are they camouflaged?”
Cracker looked surprised. “How did you know that?”
“We’re talking about what you know, Cracker.”
“Yeah, they’ve got netting over them.”
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“Who mans them?”
“There are certain employees who’re trained for that, a couple of dozen, I think. If there’s an alarm, they go to their positions.”
“What kind of an alarm?”
“There’s a siren on a pole at the security office. If we get three blasts, we’re to go to our preassigned positions.”
“What’s your position?”
“Backup at the front gate, unless I’m already on service-gate duty.”
“What are they afraid of out there, Cracker?”
“I don’t know, exactly, but I know that they don’t want anybody from the outside there, unless they’re invited and escorted.”
“What kind of aircraft land at the airfield?”
“Corporate jets, mostly, and some support airplanes that bring in stuff.”
