by Brandt Legg
Chase looked at Wen, and then around at the vast National Mall they were walking across. “So many trees,” he said, trying to imagine where Hayward might have hidden the watch on that dark night, pursued by assassins. “The Vietnam wall, various statues . . . This is going to be a daunting search.”
“It’s there.”
“Can you give us a little more to go on?” Wen asked. “We’ve got to narrow it.”
The Astronaut continued scrolling through more windows and data. “Hold on . . . ” He zoomed in on a new clip. “Hayward’s arm moves. That’s when he did it.”
“Where?”
“The reflecting pool. It’s hard to tell, because even with the layers and filters I’m applying, I’m dealing with shadows in the dark, but I think he threw the watch in the water.”
Chase and Wen jogged forward. “Can you give us an approximate location?”
“Near the northwest corner, closest to the Lincoln Memorial.”
They reached the spot and immediately began scanning the water. The sun’s glare cast thousands of reflections, making identifying a little watch difficult. After several minutes, Chase thought he saw something almost ten feet from the edge. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think that’s it,” Wen agreed.
Chase took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his khaki pants, and waded in. “Cold. Cold. Cold!” he said, as the water came up to just below his knees. Finally he reached the thing they’d seen, and was able to use his toes to lift it out of the water. “Got it!” he yelled triumphantly to Wen.
“Is it the watch?” she yelled back.
He nodded.
“We have the watch,” she told The Astronaut.
By the time Chase reached her, Wen had ended the call. While Chase put on his shoes and socks, she explained that The Astronaut wanted the watch, the flash drive from Hayward’s apartment, and Skyenor’s phone as soon as possible. They’d arranged to meet at The Astronaut’s favorite pizza place.
“Pizza, this early?” Chase asked.
“We’re meeting him at nine. It’s a twenty-four hour place. You know how much he loves pizza.”
“I do, too, and I’m hungry, but nine still seems too early for pizza.”
“Might be our last meal.” She was joking, but neither of them laughed.
Forty-Two
Vienna, Virginia
After immediately briefing the White House and the Director of National Intelligence, Tess called an all-hands-on-deck meeting of CISS.
“This is going to take a massive effort,” she told them. “CISS is the elite of the elite. We can hope another agency stops this horrific attack, but we are in the best position to do it.”
After some questions, she sent them all to work. “Do whatever it takes,” Tess said. “The only rule is Do. Not. Let. This. Happen.”
Walking back to Mission Control, several close aides updated her.
“It’s bad,” Linda said. “Six top scientists have died under mysterious circumstances in the past twenty-four hours.”
“And we think it’s related to Blackout?” Tess asked. “What do they all have in common?”
“Lasers.”
“Of course. Who’s behind it?”
“It appears to be Russian agents operating inside the US, but we’re still in an early, early stage in the investigation. Each case has been carefully orchestrated to appear accidental. Pros are doing this.”
“Where are the scientists based?”
“All over. Two from Stanford died in a single vehicle crash. One from the University of Chicago, apparent home fire, University of Colorado, University of Maryland—College Park, Cal-tech.”
“They must all be working on something more specific than just lasers . . . Factor in space and see if that gets us to a common thread. They’re being killed because they can somehow stop the attack by stopping the weapon. There must be more to know. Find them.”
“On it.”
“And don’t forget, Skyenor knew something,” Tess said, wondering again what the DARPA director was going to tell her. “He’s the key. Get the Deputy Director on the phone.”
Tess checked the clock, then joined the team trying to narrow down the target. “The big question, what’s the target?”
“We’re throwing darts in the dark,” one of the analysts admitted.
“Not good enough. Find out if there have been any unusual movements anywhere. An exodus.”
“Of Russians?”
“Of anyone. This is too big an operation. People know about it. Our enemies are not better than us. They only operate under the protection of secrecy, but that protection has cracked now thanks to Hayward Hughes. He died to give us this chance.”
One large screen on the wall was playing out destruction scenarios of city after city. “The AI is trying to find the most likely target,” a woman explained as they all stood in silent horror while a simulation wiped out Philadelphia.
“We can’t evacuate every city,” Tess said. “And we can’t let that happen.”
She walked away, her mind distracted by the images.
It must be nukes.
This could be the last day . . .
Tess didn’t have time to travel to Bunker W at Langley. She and Gatewood held the first ever CHAD meeting outside the secret CIA underground via video.
She sat in Secure, looking out at Mission Control, the large room buzzing with more urgency than it had ever operated under. The meters on the screen showed the level of encryption and protection meant no one could intercept her communications with Gatewood, but she didn’t really ever trust that. She knew too much. Today there’s no choice, she told herself.
“Who is the terrorist?” she asked as Gatewood came on screen. “Who is doing it? What is the weapon? Where is the target? And how do we stop it?”
“Good questions,” Gatewood said, his normal smugness completely absent.
“I keep asking myself those questions over and over.” Tess pointed to a wall of monitors. “It could be any of the cities. It might be impossible to narrow it down.”
“It seems DARPA has progressed farther than we thought on lasers,” Gatewood said, now appearing self-conscious.
“Do you have something?” Tess asked, pouncing on what she perceived to be a weakness, rare for the secretive HITE director.
“Possibly,” he admitted. “I have enough information to know, or, at least, to suggest that Skyenor was near the final phases of a substantial laser weapon.”
“Who else has it?”
He shook his head. “Tess, I believe they can destroy a city.”
She had never seen Gatewood look so pale, so threatened, almost defeated. It scared her. If the man who held the keys to the most advanced weapons and technology on the face of the earth was this worried, then it was even worse than the apocalypse she’d been imagining. “How would they deliver such a weapon?”
“I have a team working on it. I’m not certain, but it must involve space. My best and brightest tell me it is possible if there’s enough power.”
“Where would they get power like that?”
“Humans are good at producing power. There are plants all over the world, and there are extraordinary new technologies—mass battery, Low-Energy Nuclear Reaction, E-Cat, nanotubes, fusion, solar sails, expanded kilo power, and . . . ” His hesitation made her even more nervous.
“What?” she prompted.
“Nuclear power.”
She looked at him aghast. “Are you telling me they can deliver nuclear through laser?”
“Yes.”
Forty-Three
Washington, DC – April 3rd – 8:53 am
Anatoly, a stocky Russian, who was still arrogant over his successful killing of the most prized target, The Astronaut, made sure the incoming video call was encrypted.
The assassin was strong as an ox, and someone once said he looked like one, with his pockmarked face and thick neck. The person who’d made that observation had
died painfully very shortly after uttering the insult.
“This is good job I did,” he said upon seeing Tolstoy’s face on the small screen in his large hand.
“A little messy,” Tolstoy said curtly.
“Some time death is not pretty.”
“There are now three jurisdictions investigating the death because it took place at the Lincoln Memorial—US Park Police, Washington Metropolitan Police Department, and for some reason the FBI,” Tolstoy said.
“But man is dead. That was what you wanted. He is dead, and we have his phone.”
“Yes,” Tolstoy conceded, having no intention of engaging in a debate with the thug she didn’t even like the sight of, and certainly didn’t consider worthy of any more of her valuable time. “However, we have a new problem.”
“New?” the man asked, as if he were a cat and there might be a new mouse to “play” with. “Tell me this problem and I will solve it for you. I am the problem solver.”
“There is a couple—an American man and a Chinese woman. I sent you the dossiers. He is Chase Malone, a wealthy tech entrepreneur, she is a former MSS agent, extremely dangerous.”
“As you know, I am former KGB. We sometimes laugh at MSS agents.”
“Things have changed,” Tolstoy said. “Back when the KGB still existed, maybe you could take the MSS lightly, but that would not be wise today.”
“It’s no matter. I am to kill them, and without caring who they work for, or who they used to work for.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“I’ll show you what KGB does to MSS.”
“Yes,” she said, annoyed. “These two could be a real problem though. They have resources, weapons, training.”
“I’m not afraid,” Anatoly said.
“I know you’re not afraid. That’s why you were given this assignment, because you are fearless,” she said, while thinking stupid and reckless. However, there was no arguing with the results that Anatoly had provided thus far. “You are to spare no resources.”
“Perfect.”
“There will be a sizable bonus if these two are eliminated by the end of today. I repeat, eliminated by the end of the day.”
“Then they will be.” Anatoly had more than thirty personnel available. “I can take over a small country with my men.”
“I’ve transferred another twenty.”
Anatoly laughed, surprised. “Then you want me to take over the medium country.”
“Just kill Malone and the woman.” Tolstoy did not like the unplanned appearance of Chase and Wen. However, every contingency had been anticipated.
After the unpleasant development of that Astronaut breaching their secrets, causing them to have to eliminate the scientists, the final hours were going to be messy. “Nothing can go wrong, do you understand?”
“Yes. Of course. I am professional.”
“I don’t care how many die,” she said as she thought of Chase, the Chinese woman, the director of DARPA, and the others. Tolstoy’s superiors may have been concerned, but Tolstoy knew there would be surprises and unknowns to deal with. That’s why more than two hundred sleeper cell agents and mercenaries were on alert and now in action.
Tolstoy was one of the best because every detail was planned for, and the ones that could not be planned for were addressed by throwing large numbers at any issue that might arise—numbers as in plenty of cash and plenty of operatives.
Anatoly checked his tablet. “I see the dossiers. This pretty girl does not look so dangerous to me.”
“She is beyond dangerous.”
“I will take your word for it. But this Chase Malone, he looks like boy scout. Surely he cannot be dangerous.”
“Surprisingly resourceful for someone out of his element.”
“We will remove this problem for you.”
“I have complete confidence.”
After finishing the call with Tolstoy, Anatoly reviewed the last known sightings of his new targets and mumbled, “Hell is with me,” to their pictures, as if this might intimidate his prey. He stared at the photos a little longer, perhaps thinking they might deteriorate under his threat, but really he was memorizing every detail. To some, Anatoly might have seemed to be a big clumsy Russian oaf, but he was, in fact, a stunningly efficient operative who had an uncanny ability to recognize his targets from far distances and under any disguise. He liked to think of himself as a wolf, able to track and hunt his prey from miles away, then kill them in a blinding moment of terror.
“They will not be a problem.” He picked at his face, “No,” he chuckled, “not a problem.”
He called his second in command with orders of where to place units around the city. The dossier indicated it was unlikely Chase and Wen would be leaving Washington before the end of the day, but if they did, it would be to Baltimore, Philadelphia, or Virginia Beach via helicopter.
“I have helicopter, too,” Anatoly said to the file. “You are already dead.”
Forty-Four
Vienna, Virginia – April 3rd – 9:00 am
Tess studied the stream of reports coming into Mission Control. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said to Linda. “We’ve got three previously unreported Russian cells killing American scientists. Does the FBI have anything on this?”
“Just what’s in the reports,” Linda said.
Tess scrolled through a few screens. “I’m talking about prior activity for many of these?”
“Nothing, this is the first.”
“How do you explain that, then?”
“We got another one,” one of the technicians announced.
“Four cells now,” Tess said, frustrated. “A couple more and it will be a full-fledged invasion.”
“Could the Russians really be planning to take out an entire city?” Linda asked.
“Get me Tim Hyland in Moscow, and I want Ren Havens in Belgium. If the Russians are doing something this drastic, our CIA operatives must have something.”
“Nothing is in the report,” Linda said.
“After what we’ve learned from the reports, these incidents, and sightings, perhaps now something will come into focus. They’re going to an awful lot of trouble to make sure we don’t unravel the particulars of whatever Blackout is.” She flipped through another screen, bringing up live images of the top ten potential targets based on their AI algorithms. “This is after processing inputted data and projecting strategic advantage results.”
“Too broad with the time we have left,” Linda said, checking the clock.
“They don’t seem too intent upon maintaining secrecy,” an analyst commented, as he pointed to a screen indicating a fifth cell.
“This is indeed bold action,” Tess said. “The Russian president is definitely looking to shake his domestic trouble.”
“Taking a page out of the old Soviet playbook?” the analyst replied. “Trouble at home tends to go away once there’s trouble abroad.”
Tess stared at a map of the United States, projected on Mission Control’s largest screen. “Study the cities most likely to be targeted,” she said. “Cleveland, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Norfolk/Virginia Beach, Manhattan, Newark, Indianapolis, Raleigh, Houston. That’s the most likely bunch, but there are dozens more just below that, and the percentage difference in probability between them and the primary is in the single digits.”
“It could be anywhere.”
“It’s difficult to know what to do,” Tess agreed. “And I alone cannot authorize the evacuation of an American city, let alone ten or more of them. The economic fallout, public relations disaster, international sign of weakness and embarrassment, means that’s not going to happen.”
“The Russians must know that,” the technician said. “We’re screwed either way.”
Tess thought of the president. It was an impossible decision. “There must be a weakness,” she said, a sudden surge of inspiration in her voice. “They’re trying too hard to cover it up.”
“How?”r />
“By killing all those scientists.”
Linda reappeared. “Hyland is holding from Moscow.”
“I’ll take it in Secure,” Tess said. “In the meantime, I want a list of any related scientists that might be the next targets. Crosscheck everything they’re working on. Whatever the Russians are doing, the link is the scientists. Find out why they’re killing these people.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” Tess said, a dire expression on her face. “Protect the ones that are left. Get IT-Squads, FBI special teams, the secret CIA domestic dark ops out there. The next scientist that dies is on us. Make sure it doesn’t happen!”
Once closed inside Secure, Tess took a deep breath.
Tim Hyland, the CIA station chief in Moscow, was one of the top people in the agency. “Average doesn’t get you an assignment in Moscow.” However, more than that, Tess had always liked him; a nice guy and straight shooter who reminded her of a Midwest farmboy. Not the typical type you saw in espionage, but it worked for him. Hyland had earned the loyalty of those above and below him with ease. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t like Tim, and she wouldn’t be surprised if some of his counterparts on the Russian side likewise enjoyed his friendly, mild-mannered ways and easy sense of humor. Hyland was also a brain. If the Russians were making a move, he would have a sense of it, particularly a move that hadn’t been made since the days of Brezhnev.
“Tess,” the warm, raspy voice greeted her. She could tell he was smiling. She was, too.
“Timmy,” she said, “I wish I had time to catch up, but we’ve got a big one kind of shaking things up around here.”
“What can I do to help?”
She gave him the background of the cells, the scientists, and sent him photos and data files of who and what they had. “We’re coming up empty. Can you shed any light?”