Cosega Sphere (The Cosega Sequence Book 4) Page 7

  The assistants had become like family to Savina, and yet they did not know of the Judge’s mission. They believed the secrecy was to protect the Eysen from exploitation by nefarious people or governments until it could be fully dissected. They each took their charge of secrecy very seriously because they had seen things in the Eysen that made them understand the world was radically different than they, and all other scientists, had previously believed.

  Chapter 15

  At NSA Headquarters in Fort Meade, Maryland, a high level videoconference, which included the Directors of the CIA and the NSA, concluded with a renewal of the Scorch and Burn, or “SAB,” order given seven years earlier. SABs were so rare that none had been issued since the first hunt for Gaines and Asher. In fact, only two others had ever been initiated. One concerned Edward Snowden’s leaks, and the other, no one left alive outside the secret committee which dictated NSA tasks could remember.

  The two lead agents, Claude Rathmore of the NSA, a gung-ho super-patriot who always appeared ready for a fight, and Quinn Murik of the CIA, a man who thought every event in life, no matter how tragic, could be turned into a joke, left the meeting together. Murik thought Rathmore looked like he had perpetual indigestion, but imagined Rathmore thought himself determined looking. The CIA officer believed one could tell a lot by personal appearances. He noted Rathmore’s slits for eyes, straight, narrow lips, and a small, but noticeable scar on his cheek. Add to that a close-cropped head of gray and brown hair he might have cut himself, and it all totaled lack of warmth and an uptight personality.

  Murik, however, still used mousse in his hair, ensuring that it was always perfect. He was handsome, with twinkling, aware brown eyes and a comical smirk, constantly looking for the next punch line. Rathmore didn’t appreciate Murik’s junk food habit, or his proclivity for using his INU to the point of distraction.

  The two polar opposite agents would answer to Tolis King, the head of the NSA’s Veiled Ops. The invisible division, a blind budget entry, enforced what other agencies could not. Although King technically ranked lower than the NSA Director in the government’s hierarchy, his authority actually exceeded that of his public boss.

  King could call on the power and authority of every civilian and military asset of the US government. Most agencies had a MONSTER, “Mission of National Security Transfer Every Resource,” point person, a secret post, even within top-secret clearances. The MONSTER could access all the resources of an agency, department, or any military branch instantly, and often invisibly, for the Veiled Ops unit, known to the MONSTERs simply as “the Unit.”

  The MONSTER structure was put into place as part of the Patriot Act following the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. MONSTER, like so many other provisions, was hidden from public knowledge and withheld from Congress. Even within the government, the few who knew about it believed it to be a resource-sharing plan which could be used to cut through red tape in times of national emergencies and threats to national security. MONSTER was unique because the program had been created by the NSA without input or oversight. Not even the President was aware of its full extent. MONSTER really existed only for a single reason: to make the Unit the most powerful force in the world. With that, it would ensure the NSA agenda was implicitly followed.

  Rathmore, a take-no-prisoners patriot who had an odd habit of punctuating orders with rabble-rouser’s clichés, didn’t much like Murik, first because he didn’t think he was serious enough, and second because he was CIA. Rathmore had initially discovered the personality conflict when the pair had worked together once before on a case when a foreign leader needed to be “corrected.” Rathmore’s perpetually angry look and his never-without-a-cup-of-coffee habit were well known in the NSA, and translated to a simple rule of stay out of his way.

  Murik saw it more as a challenge to find humor in the dark. He teased Rathmore for having two cups of coffee in his hands as they walked. “Both for you?”

  To his surprise Rathmore nodded and grunted, “Yes.” Then, upon seeing Murik’s grin added, “What? I believe in always having a backup plan,” one of his mottos that apparently applied to consumption of his favorite beverage. They continued down one of the underground corridors toward a situation room.

  Murik shook his head, laughing, then changed the subject back to the assignment. “A real life Scotch and Brandy.” As usual, Murik was staring into his INU. Rathmore assumed the guy had a porn addiction or something.

  “Hey, real life here!” he snapped startling the CIA agent, who stopped walking and looked at Rathmore.

  “Relax, Claude. INUs are part of life too,” Murik said smugly. “I might even be able to find a date in here for you. I think you could use a little warmth and charm.”

  “No thanks,” Rathmore replied. He couldn’t imagine that other people didn’t admire his reputation as a hardliner the way he himself did.

  “Relax,” Murik repeated, giving his shoulder a friendly shove.

  Rathmore shook off as if ready for a fistfight. “Relax?” he asked. “Tension is how I relax.”

  Murik laughed and shook his head. “Yikes.”

  “Gaines loose with that Sphere is pure tension.”

  “It’s difficult to believe, after all this time, that Gaines is really alive,” Murik said, moving again, his eyes back on his INU.

  Rathmore, who had been assigned the Gaines and Asher case years earlier as part of an ongoing investigation into Booker Lipton, had, like everyone else, assumed that with the passing of each successive year with no traces or clues surfacing, Gaines and Asher were most likely dead. It was now the biggest case in the world. He wondered how a frat boy like Murik had drawn such a critical assignment for the CIA.

  “I didn’t even think Scotch and Brandy cases were real,” Murik said. “Well, it made sense for Snowden, but a dead archeologist and some chick from National Geographic‒‒”

  “Murik, how did you land this case?”

  “I’m dating the Director’s daughter.”

  Rathmore stopped walking. “Are you kidding?”

  Murik laughed. “Of course, I’m kidding. The Director doesn’t even have a daughter, and anyway, I’m married.”

  “Even that doesn’t make sense,” Rathmore said. “SABs are not safe assignments. Plenty of single agents could take the risk. We may have to go into the field.”

  “Maybe they figure I’m dispensable,” Murik replied, grinning. “But I doubt we’ll ever get out of the situation room.”

  “Yeah,” Rathmore halfheartedly agreed as they reached the entrance to one of the highly secured mission-critical situation rooms at NSA headquarters. Rathmore slid his ID card into the reader, then both took turns placing their hands against a screen which authenticated their palm prints. The steel door slid open to reveal a tiny room, which they entered. Once the door behind them closed, they were subjected to door retina scans. The final barrier glided noiselessly out of the way and revealed a wide, dark room full of large monitors, blinking with maps, images, and data. Three technicians were busily attending to the machines, downloading all the information.

  One of the technicians stood and briefed the two senior agents. “Here’s where we are,” the technicians began. “It appears as if Gaines might not have been in Fiji at the time of the accident.”

  “Where was he?” Murik asked, surprised.

  “Possibly, Hawaii. We’re running that down now.”

  “Wait,” Rathmore said. “He travels? To the United States?”

  “Apparently, although we still don’t know how often, or even for sure,” the tech cautioned. “We don’t even know for sure if he’s actually alive.”

  “Well, he sure as hell survived the helicopter crash in Arizona seven years ago. It’s his DNA in that six-year-old girl in the Fiji hospital. Think people, think!” Rathmore snapped. “Let’s have someone pick up that FBI agent who was on the scene. What was his name?”

  “Barbeau. Dixon Barbeau. He’s no longer with the Bureau, but he’s around,
” Murik said, punching the commands into his Eysen-INU.

  “Word just in that Gaines’ daughter was discharged,” the tech said.

  “What? I thought we gave orders—” Rathmore began.

  “It seems the Fijians don’t know we run the world,” Murik offered with a slight laugh.

  “Damn it, Murik, this is serious,” Rathmore barked. “The girl is how we found them. She’s the only lead. Where did she go? We gotta do this!”

  “We’re just getting that data in now,” the tech said. “Look.” He pointed to another monitor, which showed images of Gale, Kruse, and Cira leaving the hospital.

  “Thankfully they took a chopper,” Murik said. “Cars are much harder to track from space.”

  The tech nodded their agreement. “You can see this is from about two hours ago, but now that we’re onto them, we’re catching up and moving closer to real time.”

  “They went to that?” Rathmore asked, indicating an area on the giant monitor which appeared to be a field. “Is that a developed airstrip?”

  “Yes,” the tech answered. “We had the airport closed by then.”

  As the system continued tracing Gale’s race via chopper, then plane, the agents sped through time until they caught up with the synch.

  “There they are in-flight,” the tech said.

  “Can you project their trajectory?” Murik asked, emphasizing the words dramatically. When a few of the techs laughed, he was temporarily content.

  “Obviously they didn’t file a flight plan,” Rathmore said. “Or at least not a legitimate one. What’s the range of that plane?”

  “The simulations are kicking in,” the tech said. “There seem to be three possibilities. The Philippines, Indonesia, or possibly Malaysia.”

  “Cross-check those destinations with Booker Lipton holdings,” Rathmore said. “Come on, people, crank it up!”

  “As if that will help,” Murik said. “Booker has more things hidden than—”

  “What the hell!” Rathmore yelled as they all watched the plane crash into the sea.

  “Are you kidding me?” Murik said.

  “I don’t believe it’s real,” Rathmore snapped. “I’ve seen this movie before.”

  “What?” Murik protested. “Do you think they staged that?”

  “It’s Booker Lipton. Of course they staged it.”

  “It looks mighty convincing,” the tech added.

  “Very,” Murik agreed.

  “I’m not buying it,” Rathmore said. “This is the Canyon de Chelly copter explosion all over again. How quickly can we get someone to that crash site?”

  “Let me see,” the tech replied, checking various monitors. “If you can get a MONSTER to move the Navy, I’d say ETA seventy-five or eighty minutes.”

  “Seventy-five minutes?” Rathmore barked, slamming his fist on the table. “Unacceptable!”

  “If we had anyone closer, we would’ve been able to stop them at the hospital,” Murik said as Rathmore started a conversation with the Navy MONSTER.

  “Okay, we think we can be there in sixty-four minutes,” Rathmore said, shooting a look to the tech as if his estimate had been way off. “Meantime, keep everything we’ve got all over that site. Any boats or planes come within a mile of it, I want to know. Let’s do this!”

  “What about Gaines?” Murik asked. “He wasn’t even on that plane.”

  “Right,” Rathmore agreed. “What do we have on Gaines?”

  “An address,” the tech said, looking at a screen.

  “Seriously?” Murik asked.

  “Not where he is now, but where he was yesterday,” the tech replied.

  “That’s a hell of a lot more than we had five minutes ago,” Rathmore said. “Rock and roll!”

  “A hell of a lot more than we’ve had for the past seven years,” Murik added.

  “I want someone there fifteen minutes ago,” Rathmore ordered one of the other technicians. “Talk to everyone who might have even had coffee with him, arrest them if you have to. Anyone who recognizes his face should be in custody. Clear?

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Asher and their daughter don’t even matter if we can find Gaines first.” Rathmore downed another gulp of hot caffeine.

  “I’m already tracing everything that moved out from that address,” the first tech said. “But, as you know, it can be a slow process.”

  “Not if you have additional inputs,” Rathmore said. “Cross everything with Booker Lipton, his companies, known associates, properties, any assets, everything. Burn down the town!”

  “Are you sure Booker is still helping them?” Murik asked.

  “How else have they stayed under the radar for seven years?” Rathmore shot back.

  “The artifact,” Murik offered. “If it’s everything they say it is, Gaines and Asher might not need Booker Lipton, and we may need a lot more than a MONSTER to bring them in.”

  Chapter 16

  Stellard snapped up his down vest as he listened to the report from Wattington in audio text mode. The NSA had renewed the Scorch and Burn against Gaines and Asher. That was not unexpected, but upon learning of the MONSTERs, Stellard realized the Foundation was in a much weaker position than he’d previously thought.

  “The SAB and MONSTERs change everything,” Stellard said, his INU instantly converting his voice into scrambled text. “Can you get a list of MONSTERs?”

  Wattington read the text and sighed. “Mission of National Security Transfer Every Resource” personnel weren’t called MONSTERs just because DC loved acronyms. MONSTERs were scary. They could override generals and command enormous resources. With that power came the need for extra-classified appointments. “You ask too much,” he texted back.

  Stellard’s early career had been spent in the CIA, so he knew about the unchecked power that both the CIA and the NSA possessed, in spite of the media-friendly illusion of congressional oversight. But back in his days with the agency, MONSTERs didn’t exist, at least not formally. Occasionally, a well-connected, well-liked official in one agency, department, or branch could trade favors with another. However, that was unusual. The typical behavior was one of competition, for credit, turf, or personnel, but primarily for budget dollars.

  “The Foundation simply has to reach the Sphere first,” Stellard replied. “Get the list. Do anything necessary. Do you understand? This is the time.”

  “We should not overstep now, or the future is in danger,” Wattington said.

  “You don’t understand. The future will not matter if HITE gets the Eysen. You’re authorized and ordered to take every risk.” Implicit in Stellard’s directive were bribery, espionage, and assassination, up to the highest levels, whatever it took.

  Wattington read the text and then clicked off. HITE, another acronym, belonged to one of the US government’s most guarded secrets. Even the name, Hidden Information and Technology Exchange, belied the science fiction world, which lay behind the gates of the top-secret HITE facility in the Nevada mountains.

  Impossible, he thought as he began a different text conversation with a Foundation operative who’d been working on cracking HITE.

  Stellard mumbled something even he didn’t understand after the contact with Wattington ended, hitting the thermostat remote to pump more heat, and then connected back to Taz.

  His INU projected images from the operation in Fiji, and he suddenly felt optimistic. Earlier his hopes had been dashed when initial police reports stated that Cira Bradley, aka Gaines and Asher’s six-year-old daughter, had been discharged. Now, however, they were talking about a fresh lead in the hospital.

  “While we’re waiting on the patient testimony,” Taz said, still aboard the plane racing to Fiji, “they’ve discovered hidden cameras at the Bradley residence. The cameras aren’t saving their recordings onto any devices on the premises, so we can’t access the footage, but the video is being transmitted across the Internet, so it’s possible we may be able to trace the link and find out who’s been monitor
ing them.”

  “I can already tell you that it’s Booker Lipton. He’s been monitoring them, and wherever you go, the trace will lead either to a dead-end or an Asian sweat shop,” Stellard said, raising his voice. “Is that all we’ve got?”

  “The residence is clean. They’ve been careful. Indications are they left in a hurry, but there isn’t so much as a scrap of paper with any adult writing on it, just some kid’s crayon drawings. The ‘I love mommy’ and ‘I love daddy’ type of stuff.”

  Stellard took a deep breath. He had to remind himself that when the day began, the odds said Gaines and Asher were long dead and the Eysen-Sphere destroyed. Now they knew that to be false. They’d come a million miles. Unfortunately, the miles were not in the direction of the Aylantic Foundation’s goals.

  Stellard thought about how they had arrived at this point. During the years leading up to the discovery of the Eysen-Sphere, and particularly those after, the world had become increasingly dangerous. Income inequality had grown horribly out of control with the five hundred richest people owning about eighty-seven percent of the world’s wealth. Terrorism was exploding around the globe, with the buzz of revolution in nearly every country, including the United States. The Foundation had been formed out of this environment and had only two objectives: one, solve the problem, meaning stop the uprising by any means necessary, and two, preserve the wealth and power of the members.

  A brilliant and controversial plan had been developed in secret. A core group within the Foundation decided it was the only way, the final option. They dubbed the plan the Phoenix Initiative, and embraced it completely. Although not all members were aware of the entire scope of the Phoenix Initiative, they signed off, believing in the leadership and concerned for their futures.

  The Initiative actually began with a simple idea —consolidate all the nations on Earth under a single government and force peace with a single, powerful, police-army-force. Turning the Initiative into reality was incredibly complex, but most of the membership didn’t worry about exactly how it would happen. The leadership had convinced them that there was a plan that could only succeed in secret.