Free Halon-Seven by Xander Weaver Page A

wilderness.
    Finally the GPS indicated a right turn. Cyrus left the wide, deserted blacktop in favor of a dirt and gravel driveway. The path was well maintained and free from potholes that were common to such unpaved surfaces. It was also about a car and a half in width, more than enough room for his four wheel drive Ford pickup.
    The driveway wound deeper still into the wilderness until, after nearly a mile, he finally reached a clearing. The woodland had been driven back to accommodate a large single story house with a giant front yard and a wide circular drive. The driveway looped through the yard allowing vehicles to approach and depart the house without having to turn around. The loop joined with the house at a large portico wide enough for two large SUV’s to park abreast.
    The house itself was a sprawling single story ranch layout finished with a combination of beautiful rustic siding and indigenous rock. Large windows overlooked the front yard that was comprised mostly of flat river rock since grass was not common at the high elevation. The yard at the far right of the house ended at an eighty-foot cliff which yielded a breathtaking view of the untarnished valley beyond.
    Cyrus took all of this in on the slow advance up the drive before parking under the overhang. He parked immediately in front of a pair of oversized french doors marking the home’s entrance. After retrieving a large duffle bag from the bed of the truck, he glanced back the way he’d come. The yard pushed back the wilderness about 250 yards. From there, impossibly dense forest surrounded the property from the west as well as the south—the direction he had come. To the east was the sheer ledge overlooking the valley. To the north, behind the house, the mountain rose at a seemingly impossible grade. Somehow nature had found a way to laden the incline with yet more forest.
    To call the scenery beautiful would be an understatement. Standing still he could hear nothing but the wind gently sweeping through the clearing and the occasional sound of something skittering through the brush beyond the tree line. This was a far cry from Chicago. He could see why Meade found the location so appealing.
    For all of its charms, it was still the commute that Cyrus found puzzling. Berton was a very small town. It barely had a post office let alone an airport. There had to be an airstrip somewhere nearby. It was the only explanation for Meade’s ability to live here while still visiting Chicago, London, and Washington D.C. so regularly. He would take a closer look at a map once he was settled and had a chance to get online.
    Pulling a key from his jacket pocket, Cyrus released the deadbolt on the front door. He entered a 12-digit code into the security panel just to the right of the doors.
    Inside he could hear the beeping of the home’s alarm system. He tapped another 12-digit code into the touch panel on the wall inside. A pair of different 12-digit codes just to disarm the alarm system? He’d never seen anything like it—at least not on a residence. Not on anything short of a high value military installation. He idly wondered where one draws the line between security conscious and paranoid.
    If the outside of the house was paradise, the inside was warm, tasteful and sparse. The entry way led into a large open floor plan with a substantial living room to the right and a short hallway on the left. A formal dining room was directly ahead with an expansive industrial grade kitchen off to the right. Beyond the living room was a hallway leading to the home’s four bedrooms.
    The floors of the entryway, kitchen and hallways were tiled in large pewter color ceramic while the living room was carpeted in a thick berber. The living room was wide and spacious with a pair of plush couches near the set of large front facing picture windows. Four oversized, cushy matching chairs were scattered throughout the room along with a series of end tables. The far wall of the living