Book One: Reckless Faith
Prologue
October 6, 2003
It was a beautiful early fall night in Chelsea, and the man in the black trenchcoat wasn’t looking forward to another disaster. He stood on the edge of an ancient wooden pier, looking downward into a dark river. A crisp but gentle breeze passed through his slightly graying hair, and he sighed, hoping fervently for a quick resolution. So far, it didn’t seem likely, and he had a five-alarm headache that seemed immune to aspirin.
Thirty feet away, a looming metal monstrosity, barely recognizable as the ship that it once was, jutted from beneath the calm waters. Behind him, a small army had descended on the pier, ready for anything from a catastrophic accident to a terrorist attack. Already, a small rowboat was on its way back from the wreckage, manned by two Massachusetts State Troopers. They tossed up a line to a few of their colleagues, then carefully handed them what looked like a sheet of metal. The man in black approached them, making sure his ID was visible on the cord around his neck. He located the highest ranking cop within the group got his attention.
“Trooper, I’m Major Devonai of the Central Intelligence Agency. I hear you’re missing a boat or two.”
The man, who wore the rank of sergeant, looked at him with barely concealed surprise. “The CIA? What’s your interest in this?”
“We have a field office quite near here. We’re authorized to respond to unusual incidents.”
“How come I haven’t heard of it before?” asked the sergeant, scrutinizing Devonai’s ID card.
Devonai cocked his head slightly. “Very unusual incidents.”
“Well, whatever,” he replied. “If you’re local then you should already know what this was. The USS Portland, a Navy support ship, decommissioned earlier this year and left here in mothballs. There was little of value, so they only had one night watchman. He was asleep when it happened.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. We got a report of an extremely loud crash by nearby residents. When local law enforcement arrived, this was all that was left.”
The trooper handed Devonai the piece of metal. It was far too light for normal steel. Devonai tried to bend the sheet and it broke into several pieces.
“What the hell? It feels like a tortilla shell.”
“We’re planning on putting some divers into the water for a closer look,” the trooper said, pointing to a van parked nearby. “I don’t know about you but this looks like the practical joke of the century.”
“You think somebody made off with the ship and left this stuff behind as a joke? You don’t just turn a key and drive off a fourteen thousand ton ship, you know.”
“I know that,” said the sergeant, annoyed.
“Well, go ahead and put your divers into the water. Be careful. Meanwhile, I need to meet with your field commander.”
“That’s Lieutenant Bradley, over there.”
“Thank you.”
Devonai walked a few yards to where the austere lieutenant was standing. He displayed his ID to the tall, thin-faced man.
“Lieutenant, I’m Major Devonai with the CIA. I’ve been asked by the DIA to start up a preliminary investigation into the disappearance of the Portland.”
“News travels fast, I see. I’m Lieutenant Bradley. I just got briefed on your new field office last week. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Actually, we’ve been here for a few years now. Anyway, I’d like to set up a command post.” Devonai pointed at a nearby building. “Let’s see if we can gain access to that structure. We’ll work out of the first floor. Until then, my Humvee will be the CP. I also need you to make sure that the local police department understands the sensitivity of this situation. Everyone here is being exposed to information that will without a doubt be classified.”
Bradley nodded. “I understand.”
“Nobody leaves this pier without being debriefed by a member of my staff. My guys are wearing woodland camo. I need to know how many officers are involved and I need a list of their names.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Now then, are there any witnesses to what happened?”
“Not that we know of. The security guard was asleep. There aren’t any residences within the line of sight from the pier. Anybody who saw what happened would have had to have been on the river or on the pier. According to the responding officers, the pier was deserted, other than our narcoleptic caretaker.”
“Okay. Send your guys over to the gate now, I don’t want anybody slipping by and leaking information to the press. I want every person and every vehicle accounted for. So far we have what, the Chelsea Police Department and the State Police here?”
“Yeah. There’s also some scientists that showed up just before you did.”
Devonai looked surprised. “Scientists? From where?”
“SETI, I think. They’re over there in that Bronco.”
“What the hell is SETI doing here?”
Bradley shrugged. “I don’t know. Why not ask them?”
“I’ll do that. Are my instructions clear, Lieutenant?”
“Yes.”
Devonai nodded. He walked briskly over to the Bronco. There were two occupants, a bearded male and a demure female with light brown hair. They looked anxious at his approach. Devonai walked up to the driver.
“I’m Major Kyrie Devonai. Who are you guys?”
The man spoke, attempting to sound casual. “Hi. I’m Levi Marks, and this is Dana Andrews. We’re with the American Space Transmissions Research Association.”
“ASTRA? I’ve never heard of it.”
The woman chimed in. “It’s like SETI, but without the money.”
Devonai felt like miners were tap-dancing on his head with lead shoes. “What are you doing here?”
“What exactly is going on here, Major?” asked Marks.
“I’ll ask the questions for now, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay. We’ve been tracking a signal of interest. We haven’t been able to identify it, and it’s been moving all over the place over the past couple of days. We finally got a strong hit on these coordinates.”
“What do you mean, a strong hit? What kind of signal are we talking about?”
“A repeating waveform with distinctive patterns,” said Andrews. “The kind of thing ASTRA is looking for all the time. This one originated in lower orbit and ended up here.”
“Are you sure?” asked Devonai.
“Quite sure,” said Marks. “We’ve been crunching the numbers from three different locations. Almost all of our staff is working on this one.”
Devonai put his hands on his hips. “Well, there’s been a major incident here. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’ll have to do your scientific readings somewhere else.”
Marks smiled. “You’re sure you can’t give us a hint of what’s going on?”
Devonai smiled back wanly. “I’m quite sure.”
“All right. Sorry to bother you. I guess we’ll hear about it on the morning news.”
“Probably.” Devonai keyed his radio. “Richter, this is Devonai. Please inform the gate that we have one vehicle, a Ford Bronco, with permission to exit the cordon. It’s heading out now, over.”
“Roger out,” said the radio.
“Have a nice day,” said Devonai.
Levi turned on the Bronco, put it in gear, and pulled away. Devonai headed back over to the CP. Richter, the picture of a professional soldier, was waiting for him. The younger man was wearing a camo field jacket devoid of any name tapes or patches, and a black watch cap.
“Divers are in the water, sir,” he said.
“Good.”
Richter gestured toward the gate. “Who we
re those guys?”
Devonai put his head in his hand and took a deep breath. “Just scientists out for an evening drive. They don’t know anything.”
Ten minutes later, Devonai let loose a string of expletives so vile that he surprised even Richter. The corporal stood up from examining a metal fragment and looked at his boss.
“What the hell, sir?” Richter said, astonished.
“Those scientists! Damn it, they knew something about this! They were tracking a signal and they said it led them here.”
Richter looked at his supervisor in astonishment. “And you let them leave? Have you lost your mind?”
Devonai shook his head. “I’m distracted, damn it. This whole mess is really bad timing for me.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’d better get your head out of your ass. Whatever destroyed that ship is probably going to be a serious problem for us.”
“I know,” said Devonai. “We have to track those two down. I got their names, and I’m assuming you got their license plate number.”
“I’m not the one making amateurish mistakes tonight, sir,” said Richter, smirking. “I’ll call Brockway.”
“Please do. She’ll be tickled pink on this one, Richter.”
“No doubt. Can I have your office after you’re gone?”
1. September 25, 2003
Eleven Days Earlier
John Scherer pulled up on the parking brake, and turned off the engine. He had arrived, at long last, home. Working late was tolerable, but working long past sunset on a perfectly good fall evening was not. Wrestling with bad traffic that seemed to mock his efforts, and the fact that the traffic was entirely unusual for the time of day, had left him drained. He paused before exiting the car, as if to try and recapture the peaceful place the vehicle usually was on his drive home.
John walked up the path to his house. His girlfriend Rachel was sitting on the front steps. She was dressed in a sweat shirt and scrub pants, and her brown hair was tied back into a ponytail. She looked exhausted.
“Hey, honey,” he said, “It's good to see you.”
“I'm here to break up with you, John,” she replied without a hint of sadness.
John sighed. “I thought we were going to talk about this.”
“I think we've talked about it enough. As long as you're going to continue to be unresponsive to my needs, and let your career languish...”
“I already told you,” interrupted John, “I'm looking for something better. You just need to be patient.”
“And yet you won't even consider going back into the Air Force.”
“Do you have any idea how boring avionics was to me? I need to do drafting, and it's only a matter of time before I can find an aircraft company that will hire me.”
“You think your current job is boring, too.”
“Yes, but it's a means to an end. Frankly, Rachel, I'm surprised that my career path is so important to you. It's not like I'm pulling in chump change right now, and my earnings will only increase.”
John's cat, named Friday after a Heinlein novel, leaped onto the nearest window sill and yelled at her human through the glass.
“None of that is my point,” said Rachel, standing. “It's your unwillingness to take risks. I don't understand how you can spend so much time playing flight simulators but have no desire to become a pilot.”
“Flying for real is far more challenging, and besides, I'm too old for that kind of career path.”
“Oh, bullshit, John. Are you going to have a mid-life crisis at twenty-seven? See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. If you really wanted it bad enough, you'd do it, no matter the risk.”
“And that's a deal-breaker for you? What if I applied the same logic to your career? I've never had a problem with your place at the hospital.”
“That's the other thing. You don't invest yourself in my life. It's like I'm just Girlfriend Mark Two and you expect me to be the same, all the time.”
“That is not fair.”
“Last Saturday when I met you here, you never asked me about my day, but you were more than pleased to tell me all about the Focke-Wulf 190 variant that you'd supposedly mastered on your stupid computer.”
“I didn't think you were paying attention,” said John detachedly.
Rachel began walking down the driveway. “I was. You weren't. I already got my stuff out of there. The key is in an envelope in your mailbox. Say goodbye to Friday again for me.”
Stunned, John watched Rachel walk down to the street. She turned a corner and jumped in her car, which he hadn't noticed on his way in.
Friday greeted John at the door, showing her typical enthusiasm. Immediately, John lost a small percentage of his frustration. Shedding his belongings haphazardly, he left a trail of debris in the hallway as it led to the kitchen. Friday’s bowl was empty, but John had another priority. After a sufficient amount of bourbon had been poured, John turned his attention to Friday's needs.
John looked in the refrigerator, almost out of habit rather than hunger. He cooled his shins for a few seconds, then grabbed a beer and headed into his living room. He flopped into a recliner and thought about what had just happened. His relationship with Rachel had never been particularly serious, but he wasn't expecting it to end so abruptly. While he believed she was being too hard on him as far as his career, he couldn't argue that he had been neglecting her as a girlfriend. As he considered the last few weeks, he realized that he'd been treating her more like a drinking buddy than a lover. Still, he hoped that something might be worked out in the future, maybe as soon as next week.
It was in this confused haze that John finished his beer and bourbon. He had relinquished his lap to Friday, and was falling asleep when the phone rang. He unceremoniously ejected Friday and crossed to the phone. He slipped slightly on the hardwood floor, grabbing the receiver in a gesture to keep himself upright. The floor was always a little slippery when wearing only socks, as John was, due to it (and the rest of the house) being cleaned regularly. It was a simple two-story ranch, but it was his, and unlike the apartments that had come before, John actually cared about keeping it neat.
“Hello?”
“Hey John! It’s Ray.”
“Ray! Hello! God, how long has it been? A year?”
John already knew that it had been a year. July fourth was a hard date to forget, and for this particular college friend, it had been far too long ago.
“Yeah. God, I guess so. I didn’t mean for so much time to pass before I called you.”
“Well, it’s not like I couldn’t have tried to track you down. The last I heard you were still at the academy.”
“Yup. I got finished six months ago.”
“Where are you living now?”
“Manchester.”
“Is that the same town that hired you?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that the one you wanted?”
“Actually I wanted a smaller town, but coming from Massachusetts, Manchester is small enough to suit my tastes.”
“Oh, good. How is the job itself going?”
“Okay. I’ve only been out on my own for a month. My supervisors thought I needed more time for training, so before that I was still on probation.”
“On probation?”
“In this context it means that I was still considered a rookie, riding along with another officer.”
“Oh.”
“Then, just when I think I’ll be on my own, the department decides that certain beats require two-man teams. I have kind of a rough neighborhood, but in comparison it’s really quite all right. No high speed chases, shoot-outs, or anything.”
“That’s in the other part of town.”
Ray laughed. “Right. The other side of the tracks.”
“Hey chief, we got another portal to hell opening up.”
“You want us to send Bailey? Nah, he’s still on that domestic disturbance.”
John and Ray laughed. They’d quickly fallen back into th
eir usual banter, which often involved fantastical scenarios and ridiculous dialog. It was so familiar that John almost forgot about Rachel.
“So, what prompted you to call on this particular night?” John asked.
“I read about your promotion in the alumni magazine.”
“Promotion?” asked John, scratching his head. “To what? I didn’t get promoted. Or do you mean in the Air Guard?”
“In the magazine, it says, ‘John Scherer ‘99, living in Woburn, Mass, was recently promoted to project manager at Breakbeat Design Corporation.’ At least that was the gist of it.”
“Oh. You know what happened? I got assigned to a new project and I happened to be the primary engineer on it. I told my parents about it and they must have sent in the blurb to the alum magazine. It sounds like they either took some liberties with the actual significance of what happened, or they misunderstood it. Either way what happened is unremarkable.”
“Well, congratulations anyway. I didn't even know you were out of the Air Guard.”
“Yeah, I felt like my military career was going nowhere, so I decided to switch to the civilian side of things. Thanks, by the way.”
John, unfettered by the cordless phone, walked into the kitchen to obtain another drink. This time, he chose a hard cider.
“So anyway, we should get together. This once-a-year crap ain’t cutting it.”
“Definitely,” Ray said. “Perhaps there’s a nice halfway point where we can meet.”
“How about the 99 in Lowell? You can scoot down 93 to 495 and I can scoot up.”
“Okay. How’s Sunday look for you?”
“Fine. I was going to start mastering the Ta-152, but I think I can squeeze you in.”
“Still playing those flight sims, eh?”
“You know if World War Two breaks out again and they need pilots, I’m going to get the call, right?”
“Right. Sorry, I forgot. How is one o’clock?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
“Cool. Bye.”
John plopped back down in his chair. So Ray Bailey had at last become a cop. With some effort, John could see Ray as a police officer. He had the commanding presence for it. Last time they’d seen each other, Ray weighed 240 pounds and was 6’2” tall. He might weigh less now, or more, but his height would forever guarantee him a certain impression. Ray was always good to have around for a night on the town. They never had trouble of any sort.
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