EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum

by Shane Stadler

  He considered not bringing her along on this one. He had a bad feeling about it; she’d only been on the job for a year and needed more experience. But he knew it would never fly. She’d appeal to his wife, and he knew how that would turn out – in Denise’s favor.

  He smiled and sighed. He turned his chair around and opened up a safe hidden behind a wooden panel in the wall behind his desk. He retrieved his and Denise’s passports, a DNA Foundation credit card, and his gun.

  4

  Tuesday, 9 June (9:28 a.m. EST – Weddell Sea)

  Will took a sip from a bottle of water and looked to Cho. “So let me get this straight. The Nazis deciphered some ancient script on a stone – ”

  “ – the White Stone,” Cho added.

  “And it gave them instructions on how to find this mysterious object located in the ocean near Antarctica,” Will rehashed. “The object makes noise. Surely submarines and science vessels would have detected it long ago.”

  “It doesn’t beat continuously,” Cho said. “We’re not clear on what makes it come out.”

  “Come out?”

  “It periodically goes dormant and retracts into the seabed.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “You must separate and go inside it.”

  “Not sure what you mean.”

  Cho stared at him in silence for a full 10 seconds. “So, is it going to be like this?”

  “Like what?” Will said. “I’m not a diver.”

  Cho shook his head. “Mr. Thompson, I suggest you cooperate. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Please, explain it to me.”

  “We have seen the videos of your … events,” Cho said. “You’re the only successful conversion of the Americans’ project.”

  Will stared at him blankly.

  “It’s interesting how history repeats itself,” Cho continued, his expression turned smug. “The United States creates the atomic bomb, expending an astounding amount of resources, and China just takes it after you’ve figured it all out. Then there was the nuclear test ban treaty. Your country develops a computer code that allows you to design new devices without testing, and China just steals it – just one person properly placed.”

  “Los Alamos,” Will said. He recalled the report of a Chinese man, a Los Alamos employee, who had set up the electronic transfer of the computer code to China. The U.S. never learned about security.

  “And they let the guy go,” Cho laughed. “A true Chinese patriot and hero.”

  Will’s eyes burned and he pressed a finger on in his temple.

  Cho continued, “And we’ve just introduced the world to our improved version of your latest stealth fighter.”

  Will hadn’t heard that one yet – but it didn’t surprise him. The world would be a much different place if the United States could hold onto its secrets.

  “And now we’ve stolen Red Wraith,” Cho said and smiled broadly. “It has all been absorbed into China’s project, Red Dragon.”

  Will was grateful for the project name. Now he had a new target.

  “And now,” Cho said, with an arrogance that made Will want to rip his face off of his skull, “we have you.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Will said, although he understood perfectly.

  “Please,” Cho said, smirking. “We know you’re well informed about Red Wraith. Why else would you try to take down Syncorp? I saw you on the security tapes. So just end your feigned ignorance.” Cho leaned on the table. “Your pathetic country spent more on Red Wraith than it had on the Manhattan Project, and they continued to expend great resources on it since its inception at the end of World War II. And, once again, we have it all.”

  “I wouldn’t say that you have it all,” Will replied.

  “If you are referring to the technical aspects,” Cho said, “we most certainly do. We have all of the mechanical plans, the people, and we’ve purchased the most important industrial partners. If, on the other hand, you’re referring to yourself, I’d surmise that you are certainly in our custody.”

  “That assumes I’ll cooperate,” Will said, staring Cho directly in the eyes.

  Cho leaned back in his chair. “We’re prepared to exhaust every means we have to make sure that you do.”

  “Such as?”

  “We could always start with … well … physical tactics.”

  “You can’t really believe that that’s going to work,” Will said. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”

  “We’d start with less gentle means than what Red Wraith had imposed on you,” Cho said. “You obviously haven’t suffered amputations or permanent damage. But we could also impose such things upon your friends – or your family. We’d just need to bring them to visit our Baton Rouge facility.”

  Will thoughts turned to a place devoid of light. He could kill them all.

  “But we’ll start with something that appeals to your humanity – love of country,” Cho said. “We have tactical nuclear weapons at our disposal. We’ll take out your carrier group if you don’t cooperate. They’re in our way as it is.”

  Will’s mind whirred. “What carrier group?”

  Cho laughed loudly. “Your navy has cordoned off the seas near the beacon – a carrier group and a multitude of submarines. We’re on the verge of war.”

  “You drop a nuke and there will be war,” Will said. “You willing to risk that?”

  “Absolutely,” Cho replied without delay.

  “What do you think is inside the beacon?” Will asked. “What could be so important that you’d sacrifice your country?”

  “It’s more than just my country, or yours,” Cho replied. “The entire world will fall into war. Russia has its finger on the trigger as well.”

  “Again, why is the beacon so important?” Will repeated.

  “We don’t know.”

  “You’ve done all of this – killed people – over an unknown?” Will asked, almost yelling.

  “The White Stone came from the pyramids, Mr. Thompson,” Cho argued, “and it predicted the location of the beacon. These things are before their time – they’re out of place – and must have come from somewhere else.”

  “What are you talking about – extraterrestrials? Gods?” Will scoffed. “Ever think that it might all be a hoax?”

  “Impossible,” Cho replied. “The beacon had been detected centuries ago. It is composed of a material beyond current technology.”

  It was intriguing, Will admitted, although he hadn’t actually seen any of the evidence himself.

  “Hitler thought the beacon was the source of great power,” Cho continued.

  “And you want to give that power to me – let me pass through its wall and claim what’s there,” Will said. “You think I’ll follow your orders once I’m all-powerful?”

  “Your body will be in our hands,” Cho said, his face reddening. “If you don’t follow our orders, we’ll kill you. If you don’t get into the beacon, we’ll kill you. If there’s nothing of value in the beacon, we’ll kill you. And if you don’t do what we tell you to do right now, we’ll kill everyone in that carrier group – and your family and friends. Does that sum it up well enough for you?”

  Will stared at the man and didn’t break eye contact. After an awkward span of time he said, “Who is in charge of this project?” He was going to decapitate Red Dragon.

  Before Cho could answer, a Chinese officer entered the room, whispered something in Cho’s ear, and left.

  “I want to talk the person in charge, or I’m not going to cooperate,” Will said.

  “It seems that your location has been leaked,” Cho said blankly. “American destroyers are headed this way.”

  Will smirked. “Looks like the jig is up.” He was relieved someone knew where he was.

  “I don’t think so,” Cho said. “This is an all or nothing game. And they don’t realize what we are willing to do.”

  Cho spoke in Chinese to Will’s guard detail and th
en left the room. He was then escorted to another, smaller room located nearby, and locked inside, alone. They had no idea of the threat he was to them. They would have been better off keeping him out in the open, where someone could get a shot at him.

  He didn’t know what they were going to do, but he couldn’t allow them to launch a nuclear strike on the American carrier group. He’d have to make the first move.

  5

  Tuesday, 9 June (9:43 a.m. CST – Chicago)

  Jonathan and Denise slogged their way through security at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. He passed his gun, which was packed in a locked case, to a woman he knew in security who would put it in his checked luggage after it was scanned. It always paid to make contacts.

  With an hour to burn at the terminal while they waited to board their flight to Baton Rouge, he walked to a Starbuck’s kiosk to get coffee. Denise stayed behind with their bags.

  While in line, searching through email on his phone, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and faced a dark-complexioned man whom he didn’t recognize: mid-fifties, dark hair, dressed in khakis and a navy-blue polo shirt.

  “Can I help you?” Jonathan asked.

  The man put his right hand on Jonathan left arm and squeezed gently. “We have to talk, Mr. McDougal,” the man said in a slight accent. “It’s urgent.”

  “Who are you?” Jonathan said and pulled away gently.

  “A friend,” the man replied.

  The man was Israeli, probably Mossad, Jonathan thought. He’d dealt with Mossad agents on two occasions – they’d saved his ass both times. But it was always a gamble trying to figure out who to trust. By their very nature, intelligence services were deceptive – especially those that dealt with human resources. Operatives were trained to earn the trust of people from whom they were to extract information, or to get them to do things.

  They walked to an empty terminal and took a seat close to a wall of windows with a view of a runway. The Israeli sat in silence as a jet took off and then began. “I am Avi,” he said. “Your friend, William Thompson, has been captured by Chinese agents and taken to Argentina. We lost track of him there.”

  Jonathan was flabbergasted. “How do you know this?”

  “The same way I know that there are two Chinese agents following you right now,” Avi replied. “They booked the same flight to Baton Rouge. Your communications have been compromised, and your office is bugged.”

  Jonathan immediately recalled the visit from the so-called Chinese diplomats. Perhaps their belligerent behavior was a distraction; their objective was to bug his office.

  “You were to continue to Argentina once you had Thompson,” Avi continued. “Go there now – skip Baton Rouge. You must get the message to the CIA Director that they’re taking Thompson to a Chinese aircraft carrier in the Southern Sea. He’s probably already onboard.”

  “What about our tails?”

  “I managed to obtain their names – at least as they appear on their passports,” Avi said and smiled. “My agency put them on the international no-fly list. They weren’t able get through your security, even though they have diplomatic immunity.”

  “Clever,” Jonathan said in approval. “They’ll have a backup plan.”

  “They already have operatives set to pick up your trail in Baton Rouge,” Avi said. “Take a direct flight to Buenos Aries. The CIA wants you on the USS Stennis as soon as possible.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “The aircraft carrier?”

  Avi nodded. “They need you to help with Thompson”

  Jonathan nodded. “What can we do?”

  “He trusts you,” Avi replied. “My government warned your leaders about this situation months ago, and how crucial it was to protect the man. They didn’t heed the warning, and now it might be too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Jonathan asked, confused.

  “I better be going,” Avi said and stood. “Call the CIA director.”

  “How do you know I – ”

  “We’ve bugged you, too,” Avi said and shrugged. “You need to get up to speed on security.” He winked and then turned and walked out of the terminal, disappearing into the crowd.

  Jonathan walked back to the gate for their flight to Baton Rouge.

  Denise looked up from her phone. “Where’s the coffee?”

  “Change of plans,” he said, grabbing his bag and indicating to Denise that she should do the same.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she stood and pulled her knapsack over her shoulder.

  “We’re going directly to Buenos Aires.”

  6

  Tuesday, 9 June (7:39 p.m. EST – Weddell Sea)

  Cho’s men left Will caged in the room for many hours, during which Will separated multiple times to spy on what was going on. Now things were happening and he knew he had to move.

  Will separated, passed through the ceiling into a storage room, and continued into a large bay where scores of men tended to aircraft. They were fueling, and attaching missiles to the undersides of their wings. It seemed they were going to follow through on their threat to attack the American ships that were confronting them.

  He rose to the ceiling of the bay, and pressed through it and into open air. He sensed the change of temperature and the wind, and could see despite the darkness. He ascended to a point 150 feet above the deck. Now at the greatest distance he’d ever separated from his body, weakness invaded him, and he fought hard against the urge to recombine with his body.

  A group of men rolled two fighter jets into position on the launch deck. He scanned the horizon in all directions: no sign of the US warships.

  He returned to his body and analyzed the situation. If those jets launched to intercept the U.S. destroyers, it was unclear whether they would attack, or just threaten them. If they attacked, people would die. He couldn’t allow the planes to launch. He had to get his body closer to the launch deck.

  He separated and passed through the wall, into the corridor. Two plain-clothed men stood guard, one on each side of the door. He pinched an artery in the neck of the man on the right, just as he’d done to the ex-CP inmate. The guard collapsed, and Will repeated the action on the second man. He unlocked the door, returned to his body, and was out and running down the corridor. He had to get close enough to the planes so that he could maintain his separation. He was already fatigued.

  A hundred feet down the hall he came to a steep stairway leading up to the next floor. He climbed two steps at a time, turned left into a corridor, and passed by two of the Chinese crew. They glanced in his directions but otherwise ignored him. He knew that carriers held crews of a few thousand, so most of the people he’d cross would have no idea who he was. Even though he stood out by appearance, there were other Caucasians in civilian clothes on the ship who were not prisoners. If he remained cool and acted like he belonged there, he’d be okay.

  He climbed another flight of stairs and emerged in the large bay where men readied the fighter planes. He crossed to the wall on the far side of the bay, which was lined with doors. Men walked in and out of the rooms, and on a steel-grate walkway just above them. He checked the rooms until he found a small custodial closet. He ducked in, closed the door behind him, and snapped on a light switch. The door had no lock.

  He rummaged around and found a plastic tarp riddled with splotches of dried gray paint, and then dragged it to a corner behind a shelf. He pulled a few empty cardboard boxes around him and covered himself with the tarp.

  He separated and pressed upward, through deck and above the carrier’s runway. Just a few yards from him, two jets pulsed their engines and seemed to be ready to launch. As he tried to determine how to damage the first plane in line, its engines blasted and the steam-powered catapult engaged. The fighter accelerated down the runway.

  Will, panicked, reacted entirely upon instinct. In an instant, he was in the cockpit with the pilot, accelerating along with the jet – the distance from his body increasing quickly. The je
t blasted off the edge of the deck and lifted. Will did the only thing he could do; he grabbed the stick and jammed it forward. The screams of the pilot seemed to ring in his ears as the plane plunged into the sea.

  Next thing he knew, he was back in the closet, light-headed and weak. He pulled the tarp from over his head and found a bucket just in time to avoid vomiting on the floor. Having almost nothing to eat in the past day, not much came up except a burning concoction of mucus and stomach acid. He spent the next few minutes dry-heaving. When it had finally subsided, he went to a small sink and rinsed out his mouth with cold, brackish water. He’d separated from his body by more than 250 yards.

  He sat down behind the boxes and tried to determine whether what he’d just experienced had really occurred. If so, the Chinese captain probably wouldn’t launch another jet until they’d determined what had happened. They wouldn’t figure it out.

  A feeling of darkness and dread hit him hard. The pilot hadn’t had time to eject – he was dead. He’d killed him. It was too easy.

  Another bout of nausea overtook him, but he didn’t use the bucket – there was nothing in his stomach. He dry-heaved for a full minute before it subsided. His hands trembled and his nausea turned to a sickly exhaustion. Although he was famished, he knew the weakness was caused by the extreme separation. It was like stretching a rubber band beyond its limit, causing an irreversible distortion. Although he was already recovering, he couldn’t help thinking about what might’ve happened had he separated beyond his limit. Would he be dead?

  He wondered now about Cho. If he’d been aware of his abilities, why did he leave him alone? The answer was that Cho didn’t really understand. If so, he would’ve known they were in danger from the beginning.

  His thoughts turned to what to do next. First, he’d disable the mechanism that launched jets down the runway. After that, he’d sabotage the lift that took planes from the bay to the deck. Finally, he’d destroy the propulsion system of the carrier. He wondered if the ship had a nuclear reactor. If so, he’d render the vessel a floating radioactive ruin.