by David Roys
‘No, having dinner with you.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Chris went to help Michelle finish getting dinner ready whilst Wyn was in the shower. She was setting up plates and he walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist. It felt good to hold her and he kissed her gently on the neck. Michelle moaned softly and then grabbed his hands and pulled them away.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘That’s not helping.’
Chris grabbed the wine bottle and started with the corkscrew. ‘I met up with Joshua today,’ he said. ‘The guy who’s been sponsoring my research project.’
Michelle was cutting a crusty French loaf into thick slices and dropping them into a cloth bread basket. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Everything OK?’
If only you knew the half of it, thought Chris, but he wasn’t going to get Michelle worried. If he was well behaved he was sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. He wants to take things in a new direction.’
‘I remember from your last meeting, they were going to put some new guy in your team to help transition the project out of research mode.’
‘That’s right. Well things have changed a bit. Instead of Maynard coming to work with me at Foggy Bottom, I’m going to be working at their offices over in Arlington.’
‘Wow, that’s great news. They must really like your work. But what about your teaching time?’
‘We didn’t really discuss that, but I’m pretty sure that Joshua will arrange things with GWU.’
‘So is this some kind of promotion, will you be on more money?’
‘No. No more money. But Joshua made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You could call it a lifestyle choice.’
Wyn came into the kitchen. He was wearing different clothes but his tee shirt was crumpled. He sat at the table. His hair was still wet from the shower and he had shaved, but still, he was one of those guys that never really looked clean.
‘That feels better,’ he said. ‘Thank you for putting up with me Michelle.’
Michelle smiled. Wyn didn’t seem half as bad as she’d remembered him. Maybe he’d mellowed over the years, or maybe she’d become more self-assured and now found him less threatening, or annoying. Whichever it was, Chris seemed to like having him around.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
‘Starved,’ he said.
They ate dinner and chatted about old times. Some of it about Chris and Wyn’s time in the army, but mostly about when they’d all three been together in London. Happy times. They drank too much wine and Michelle started to get a headache. She excused herself and went to bed. Chris decided to open a bottle of port and make a night of it. Wyn didn’t resist. Chris was in no hurry to go to bed. The sooner he gave up on the night, the sooner he’d be starting his new job, and that was something he wasn’t looking forward to.
‘What are your plans for tomorrow?’ asked Chris.
‘You mean today?’
Chris looked at his watch. ‘Shit. Today,’ he corrected.
‘Not sure. Why don’t you ask for some time off and we could hang out? What’s your boss like?’
Chris liked Wyn but he had a funny streak that was wide and deep, and often when he was being sarcastic it was hard to tell. ‘He’s a real asshole,’ said Chris. He tried to keep his face straight but couldn’t.
‘Do you remember,’ said Wyn staring at the light through his glass of port, ‘when we were in Bosnia together?’
‘Of course I remember.’
‘Remember those bodies we found?’
‘In the burnt out wreck, sure. What’s your point?’
‘I have nightmares about them Chris. I see their faces with blackened crispy skin stretching tight across their skulls. Their grizzly, toothy grins.’
Chris didn’t speak.
‘We wedged cigarettes in their mouths, between those damned teeth, and posed for photographs. Do you still have them?’
‘It seems sick now,’ said Chris.
‘It was just the way things were. You took the piss or you went crazy. That’s how it worked. It’s a fucked up world, Chris.’
Chris topped up their glasses and set the bottle back on the table. ‘Wyn, I want you to do something for me.’
‘Name it.’
‘Look after Michelle for me? When I’m working? I’ll ask her to show you around D.C., but I want you to look after her. Can you do that?’
Wyn knew what Chris meant. ‘Sure mate,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep her safe.’
Chris finished his glass and stood.
‘I’m done,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Wyn grunted and topped up his glass.
When Chris got to his room he found Michelle already asleep. He stood for a moment just watching her in the glow of the lamp. She looked beautiful. Chris took off his clothes and climbed into bed. He slid up to her and put his arm over. I won’t let anything happen to you, he told himself. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, then fell asleep.
Maynard walked into Joshua’s office. He looked tired; he’d been working long hours. Keeping the country safe was a serious business.
‘You said you wanted to see me,’ said Maynard.
‘Take a seat,’ said Joshua. He looked up from his computer and smiled. ‘Our friend Mr. Sanders is going to be working here tomorrow. We had a little chat and came to an understanding. I think it could work out.’
‘Does he know about Jasmine?’
‘He knows it was an accident.’
Maynard nodded. There were all types of accidents and this certainly was an unplanned event, although it hadn’t occurred by chance.
‘He’s going to work on the facial recognition routines,’ said Joshua. ‘I want you to be his mentor, show him the ropes, help him get set up.’
Maynard nodded again. ‘And I suppose you want me to keep an eye on him too?’
‘That would be prudent don’t you think?’
‘We could just make him go away.’
‘I’m quite aware of our options. I think that there’s a lot of use left in Chris and we certainly have a lot of work to do before we’re fully operational. He can’t do a lot of damage to us. We need to keep a low profile and let things die down a bit. How are the modifications to Horus coming on?’
‘Good. We’re about six months away from a field trial.’
Joshua had known at the start of this project that it was not practical to deploy a fleet of UAVs in the mainland United States that would be killing their targets using conventional weapons. No matter how covert he made the drones and how great the effective killing distance, there was always the problem of forensics. They’d been lucky so far. The few trials had been successful and whilst a mystery to the police, the cases had eventually gone cold due largely to the lack of evidence and witnesses. The new weapons system would change all of that, and when it was fully operational his dream of a safe America would finally be realized.
‘What do the results of the lab tests show?’ asked Joshua.
‘Initial indications are good. Obviously we have no measurements of our effective range as all tests have been in the lab, but we have some good evidence on the lethality. So far we’ve seen 90% of tests cause a fatal brain hemorrhage within five minutes of a weapon strike. The other 10% took anywhere up to three days to cause death, but the results are quite astounding, once the victim is hit by the concentrated high-frequency radio beam, they’re dead, the only question is, how long it takes.’
‘And what do the autopsies show?’
‘It varies and we haven’t figured out what causes the differences, but every victim was determined by the coroner to have suffered either an aneurysm or a hemorrhagic stroke. By all accounts Joshua, when this is fully operational we will have a fully-automated killing machine that can take out any target, anywhere on the planet and make it look like the victim died of natural causes.’
‘You’ve done well Maynard. The whole team has. Concerns?’
‘Well, there is a worry that an
increase in brain hemorrhages could cause unwanted investigations. Because of the precise nature in which we’re able to target our victims, we’ve been coming up with scenarios that help disguise the cause of death.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as vehicle accidents where the driver is incapacitated at a critical point in time. By varying the strength of the signal we’ve found we can cause black outs. A black out on a country road could cause a fatal accident that would, by all accounts, appear as though the driver had simply fallen asleep at the wheel.’
‘Marvelous,’ said Joshua. ‘It makes me pleased I’m on the side of the good guys.’
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Maynard.
‘Just make sure that Chris has access to the facial recognition routines and nothing else. I’m not sure if he can be fully trusted.’
‘Don’t worry boss. By the time I’ve finished locking him down, he won’t even be able to post to Facebook.’
THIRTY-NINE
Ben didn’t get back to his apartment until gone 2:00 AM. Margot had suggested he stay the night but he wanted to be able to put fresh clothes on before work; it was just easier to go home for the time being. He really liked Margot and they were having a lot of fun together, maybe it would get more serious, but he was in no hurry.
He walked into his apartment that was still warm from the heat of the day and flicked the light on. He ran a cold glass of water from the faucet and wondered whether he should simply go in to work or try and grab a few hours of sleep.
As he walked through from the kitchen to the bedroom, he noticed he had new messages on his answer machine. He set the messages playing and listened to twenty seconds of silence before the first message stopped. Whoever had called clearly didn’t have anything urgent, or they just didn’t like leaving messages. He pressed the delete key and the second message played.
‘This is Special Agent Eric Salter from the FBI, I’m calling about the email you sent. Please call me as soon as you get this, I don’t care what time that is, just call.’
Damn, thought Ben, what had gotten his panties in a wad? He checked his watch. Did he really mean call at any time? He phoned the number and it was answered on the second ring.
‘Special Agent Salter speaking.’
‘Yes, hi, this is Detective Ben Naylor from Metro PD. Listen, I’m sorry about the time, I just got your message and it sounded pretty urgent.’
‘It is. We need to see you right away. I’m sending a car. Don’t open the door to anyone without seeing an FBI badge.’
‘What the hell is this about?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
The phone went dead and Ben took a few seconds before hanging up. This had to be about the shootings, but why the urgency? Some of these cases had been cold for a long time.
There was something about the urgency of the message, the tone of voice, and the warning that made Ben think he was in danger. He thought about Margot and wondered whether he should call her and warn her. But warn her about what? He didn’t know what the hell was going on himself, and he was pretty sure she’d be trying to get some sleep. He decided to find out what he was dealing with first.
Ben grabbed a quick shower and changed into his work clothes, it looked like this was shaping up to be a long day. He looked in the fridge for something to eat and found a slice of cold pizza. He only managed two bites before he heard a knock at the door. A voice called out.
‘Detective Naylor, your car’s here.’
Ben didn’t reply. Instead he walked quietly to the door and looked through the spy hole. He saw one agent holding his credentials up and another with his back to the door watching the hallway. The badge looked real enough and the photo on the ID seemed to match the guy holding it up.
Ben unlatched the door and opened it; he still had his pizza slice in his hand.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked.
The agent with the badge said, ‘Detective Naylor, my instructions are to collect you from this address and deliver you to Salter’s office at the Hoover Building. No detours and no delays. Will you come with me now please sir?’
Damn, that was the first time he’d been called sir by an FBI agent. He held the pizza slice in his mouth as he pulled the door closed and locked it. He followed the agent to the waiting SUV. The other agent brought up the rear.
The drive to Pennsylvania Avenue was easy at this time of night, he saw only one other car, an unmarked police sedan Ben recognized from the precinct.
‘I don’t suppose we can stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee?’ asked Ben.
‘No detours,’ came the reply.
They sped up Pennsylvania Avenue and turned into an entrance to an underground garage. Ben figured they must have called ahead as the doors were open and the guard seemed to be expecting them. The Chevy Suburban pulled up in a clear spot and the agents opened the door and escorted Ben to the elevators. The ride up to the sixth floor was quiet. Ben tried to make eye contact with the agents but neither of them spoke. They walked the corridor and Ben was surprised to see lights on in most of the offices.
‘I guess I’m not the only guy in this city that can’t sleep at night,’ he said.
No answer. They slowed and opened a door. Ben stepped inside. There was a smell of coffee in the room and a man stood in front of a desk and held out his hand in greeting.
‘Detective Naylor, thank you for coming so promptly. I’m Eric Salter, from the anti-terrorist and monetary crimes division. Tell me, what do you know about terrorists?’
Chris woke and his first conscious thought was that his head hurt like hell. His next thought was whether he had managed to wake early enough to make it into work on time. He could hear Michelle in the shower, which was probably what had woken him. She was singing.
Chris sat up slowly trying to stop the world from swishing. He squinted at the alarm clock—it was 6:40—time to get ready.
The cat jumped on the bed and meowed noisily. He figured it wanted feeding.
He shuffled his way to the kitchen, the cat trying to trip him the entire way. A large drink of water and a couple of paracetamol would help. The cat could wait for Michelle; he didn’t think he could face the smell of cat food at the moment.
The glass of water made him feel better almost immediately and he rinsed and filled the coffee pot, then set it going. He’d need at least two cups of strong coffee before he could face the day.
He opened the fridge door in the hopes he would find something greasy, but all he found was fresh fruit and yoghurt. Damn.
Michelle came in wearing her bath robe with a towel wrapped around her wet hair.
‘What time did you get to bed last night?’ she asked with a teasing grin.
‘Not sure, but I feel like crap. Have we got anything unhealthy I could eat?’
Michelle somehow managed to look sympathetic with overtones of I-told-you-so. ‘I think the soda contains artificial sweeteners that will probably kill you over time,’ she said. ‘Just how unhealthy do you want?’
‘Never mind,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll grab something on the way in.’
He put two cups on the kitchen side next to the coffee pot and poured one for himself and one for Michelle.
‘I was wondering if you would do me a favor. Could you look after Wyn today? Maybe take him on a tour of the sites of D.C.?’
‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘It could be fun. I was going to pop and see dad today, he’s out of hospital now. I’ll leave a note for Wyn.’ She picked up the empty port bottle and examined it, ‘I’m guessing he’s not going to surface for a while yet.’
Chris took a sip of coffee and then went to get showered and shaved.
The shower felt good and the headache tablets were starting to kick in, thank God. He got dressed, grabbed his keys and wallet and then walked through to his study. He opened a couple of drawers and rifled through the contents looking for his USB key logger. He’d bought it to help with his user interaction studies over a yea
r ago. It was less than two hundred dollars and he’d bought it mail order from a web site that sold all manner of spy gadgets. The device looked like a regular extension cable that added about twenty inches to the wire that ran from a keyboard to a computer. He pulled out numerous cables and phone chargers until he finally found it in the third drawer and put it in his inside jacket pocket. The key logger did what the name suggested. From the moment it was connected, it started recording key presses to an internal memory chip before passing the signal on to the computer. To access the results he had only to open some kind of text editor and press his password key combination. The device would then write a list of options in the form of menu, similar to the old-style computer terminals. He figured that his first job today would be to get himself some elevated security privileges and, in order to do that, he would need to steal some passwords. As long as he didn’t get caught swapping the cable in and out, it would be a piece of cake.
Chris went back to the kitchen and finished his coffee.
‘Where do you think I should take Wyn?’ asked Michelle.
Chris was amazed at the question, Michelle had grown up in D.C. but to her it was just home, not a place of interest. Chris had spent his first year here dragging Michelle to the National Mall, the Smithsonian, the Lincoln memorial, and of course, the White House. D.C. was a goldmine of tourist attractions, how could she possibly not know where to take a visitor?
‘I’m sure you’ll find something good, just don’t let Wyn pick where to go or you’ll end up in a strip bar.’
Chris gave Michelle a kiss and headed to the door, then turned. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said, ‘the place I’m working has lousy cell phone coverage so you might not be able to get through. Give my love to your folks.’
Chris wanted to take the Metro but the nearest stop to his destination was over five miles walk. He took the car instead, which had the extra advantage of heading him past a McDonalds drive-thru which would provide the sausage and egg McMuffin he desperately needed. The traffic was good heading across the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge and he turned up at around 7:30. Maybe there’d be no one here. He walked in to the reception area and was greeted by Maynard who appeared to have been expecting him. Chris suddenly felt uneasy. Had they been watching him? Were they watching Michelle?