by C. F. WALLER
She nods, then the Dynasty Evolved logo appears, a bar moving from left to right as it loads. Spandex guy passes by, making a comment under his breath, but Kara doesn’t notice. She’s laser focused. Possibly I should be paying closer attention.
“So, what didn’t occur to you? Is he playing some long-forgotten war?”
“No, the scenario menu isn’t all historical recreations. There a half dozen that allow you to win by a specific scenario. In Domination mode, you have to take over all the other players capital cities. In that mode, you can’t win a Cultural or Financial victory.”
“So, becoming Overlord by a vote is out,” I grin, but she looks like she may cry. “I’m sorry. What am I missing?”
“There’s a scenario called Apocalypse. I think we might be playing that one.”
The map starts to render on the screen and Kara picks it up, holding it in both hands, the bottom pressed to her hip.
“Okay. So how do you win an Apocalypse scenario?”
“To reach a victory condition the world population has to drop under a hundred million,” she gulps, clutching the laptop to her chest.
“Is that a low bar?”
“Out of maybe 9 billion?” she stammers. “Yeah, it’s a ninety-five percent mortality rate worldwide.”
“Yikes.”
“Ah, ah,” she stutters. “Ah, apocalypse never occurred to me.”
“Why did it occur to you this morning?”
“You suggested that Darius might have wanted the smallpox all along,” she sobs, a tear on her right cheek. “I think you’re right.”
“Why?”
She turns the lap top around, holding the lid with a hand on either side. The keyboard dangles as she quivers from the weight. I scan the screen, but she’s opened a red menu box that covers the center of the map. I have to put a hand on top of hers to steady the screen.
DYNASTY EVOLVED GAME PROPERTIES
GAME CLOCK: 10,534.56 HOURS
DIFFICULTY: WARLORD
REMAINING PLAYERS: 2
GAME TYPE: SCENARIO
SCENARIO TYPE: APOCALYPSE
There’s more, but this would seem to be the pertinent information. This whole-time Darius was trying to get the smallpox and win a scenario victory. The question now would appear to be simple. Does he already have it and how does he intend to disperse it? I release her hand, then sit down on the hood to think. I gaze across the street and watch Hal and Agent Katz drinking coffee.
“We need to tell them,” Kara chokes out.
“We will,” I sigh. “Let them enjoy one last breakfast.”
…
Hal is visibly shaken by the news, but gets past it after a few minutes. We explain Kara’s location theory, but he insists that I not turn on the phone. As if this could get any worse. He makes a dozen phone calls while we watch the sun climb over the blue water. Kara drapes my blazer over her head with the laptop in her between her legs to shade the glare as she plucks away at the picnic table.
“Who is he calling?”
“Everyone,” Katz mutters, flicking ash in the sand.
“Where do we go from here?”
“If it were up to me?” she replies somberly, “an Island without an airport.”
She’s suggesting a geographically isolated spot would be the safest if the smallpox is released. I join her in this desire, but wonder if there isn’t a more proactive agenda coming from Hal. I join Katz in a smoke, and we burn three apiece before Hal closes the phone and rejoins us.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Unclear,” he replies, rubbing his forehead. “They don’t actually believe the video game angle. They got damage control issues and two members of the global atom bomb club squaring off. Their plate is extremely full.”
“By they?” I interject. “You mean?”
“State department, Joint Chiefs, Homeland,” he reads off some mental checklist. “Another dozen intelligence agencies no one’s ever heard off.”
“Can your precious satellite system find the Drone?”
“No, it’s invisible.”
“Nothing’s invisible.”
“To a satellite, it is. Electric, so no heat signature. The fuselage is translucent and the remainder is reflective. There isn’t enough metal in it to bounce a signal off.”
“You can see the bottom of the Indian Ocean, but not a rubber band powered kids toy?”
“One of the gadgets they were testing is a prototype stealth technology. Right below the clear skin of the top surface are wafer thin mirrors. They are all mounted to tiny motors that allow them to tilt in any direction.”
“Wouldn’t it look like flashes of light?”
“The mirrors are one way glass and several cameras on the bottom refract the ground image, displaying it on the top.”
“So, the top is like a flat screen showing a camera shot of the ground?”
“You can see now why it required a Quantum Computer to do all the calculations,” he sighs. “As it flies, the processer has to manage about a trillion commands at once.”
“Why not just put each system on its own computer? Isolate each function?” Kara suggests from under my blazer.
“Too heavy,” he contends, taping the tented clothing over Kara’s head with his finger. “It’s a solar powered electric airplane that never has to land. It had to be as light as possible.”
“Would be perfect for a Mar’s mission,” I remark.
“That was one of the applications.”
“What’s the range of the sea plane?” Kara asks, pulling off the blazer umbrella.
“Why?” Hal bristles, seemingly touchy about how much she knows.
“I got a dead spot on the map. Can you point out where the seaplane was last seen and tell me the range?”
Hal nods, but then can’t see the screen in the bright morning sun. We cross the sand swept road and pile in the car, with Kara in the front passenger seat and Hal and I in the back. Agent Katz pulls out and we roll down the Pacific Coast Highway. I peek over the front seat and listen, happy for the air-conditioning.
“Where did you lose it?”
Hal points to a spot West of Australia, about halfway from where the airplane graveyard was found.
“And the range?”
“Fifteen hundred miles if the fuel was topped off, but I don’t know if they got that much in.”
“That’s more than enough,” she replies, moving the game map closer to the Aussie coast. “It’s a little over a thousand to landfall. Now watch this.”
She launches a plane from one of her cities. A hum fills the car as what looks like an old B-52 pounds its propellers across the map, towards Australia. It takes what feels like forever as the game has to cycle through multiple turns. When the plane reaches the Western coastline, it disappears.
“Where did it go?” I ask.
“Good question. Remember when we first started. I flew the planes over the hidden map and it was revealed?”
I nod, then look to Hal, but he seems to follow the train of thought.
“This is doing the reverse. I fly in and the plane is hidden. Now wait for it.”
On the screen, several turns cycle through as we wait. Out of nowhere the plane reappears on the other side of Australia heading away toward the south pole.
“I think the sixth city is right there,” she declares, putting her finger on the dead spot. “I think he’s hiding it somehow. The scenario menu said there were only two players remaining. We only accounted for four.”
“Darius, Weiss, myself and who?”
“China, but that’s a computer-generated player,” she asserts. “I think Australia was the fifth player, but he must have conquered them before we started playing.”
“In the same way, you conquered King Doug of Canada?”
“Where is that on an actual map?” Hal butts in. “In the real world.”
She opens a browser window, the brings up a google map of Australia. When she zooms in from a satelli
te view, Perth is the only major city in the area. Where did John say he lived?
“Can you find a place called Two Rocks?” I ask. “I think it’s north of Perth.”
Rather than scroll and magnify, she simply does a search and snaps right to it.
“How far from there to here,” I ask, putting a finger where the Bombardier went missing, then Two Rocks.
“1,174 miles,” Kara reveals, looking over her shoulder at us. “Can your friend John fly a seaplane?”
“No,” Hal butts in. “He can’t.”
“And you know this how?” I demand.
“We checked him out when it first happened. Unless he’s some country’s very well hidden asset, he can’t fly a seaplane.”
“Can we get access to your satellite?”
“I don’t know. With all that’s going on them military has pretty much commandeered everything up there.”
“Plus, we have cried wolf so many times, the powers that be have stopped listening,” Katz remarks.
“Anyone else have one with no military application?” Kara inquires.
“Do you know anyone at JPL?” I throw out, recalling the article I read about the Space-X launch a few days ago.
“Maybe, Hal ponders aloud, sitting back. “How far?”
“Pasadena?” Katz eyes us in the rearview, the wheels in her head turning. “Three hours, less if the traffic’s light.”
“Is the traffic in Los Angeles ever light?” Hal complains.
“Give you time to make a few calls,” she suggests, putting her foot down and speeding up.
“And if we find the seaplane floating near Two Rocks?” Hal inquires, pulling out his phone.
“It’s probably not John,” I blurt out defensively, worried he might be caught up in this. “But if Kara’s right we should find it near Perth.”
“Let’s just hope I have enough juice left to get a few hours of satellite time.”
I nod agreement, then slide back in my seat. My assessment of John leaves me convinced he’s not a foreign government asset, let alone hell bent on stealing a bio weapon. Is it a coincidence that his place is near the hidden city or was he just a contractor hired for that job? Please don’t be John.
We veer onto US-5 and rush towards Los Angeles. Hal has a half dozen conversations over the next hour, but eventually reveals he can get us in the door, but no promise of the satellite. It would appear that’s good enough at present. Reaching in my blazer pocket, I pull out the phone and battery. Hal shakes his head, and I nod understanding. I squeeze the phone, desperately wanting to call Darius and offer ten turns of peace while we sort this out. Do I even have enough money now?
Chapter Thirty-three
We wait six hours before the satellite gets in position to show us anything. I’d have thought the place would have cleared out after dinnertime, but it’s nearly midnight and I can barely tell the difference between now and when we got here. Between satellites orbiting Saturn and several rovers driving around Mars, JPL is a bustling hive. Much like the people in Derby Kansas, they are paying almost no attention to world events, which is a shame. Who better to help understand how Darius manages to hijack airplanes than people who drive radio controlled cars around on Mars.
A dude in a hand-woven poncho and a knit cap sits in front of us. He’s sipping on some sort of green tea, while several cans of Red Bull are scattered around his workspace. Three huge flat screens line the wall end to end. The outside screens angle out, forming a curved cubby hole for the hippie to work from.
Hal’s contact, a straight-laced man in a white dress shirt stands with us, arms crossed. He looks like a typical NASA control room guy, but I doubt it’s intentional. In truth, the square dark rims on his glasses have come back in style of late. Kara and Katz didn’t come in with us. Hal’s guy, Nathan, wouldn’t let her use the laptop inside, so they went for milk shakes and remained in the car.
Once the satellite is in position, we get an overhead shot of Australia and the ocean all around. Nathan has his guy zoom in on Two Rocks, but after scanning the coast we don’t find a seaplane. Kara had previously suggested the seaplane could have been flown out to sea after stopping in Perth, but none of us can figure out how Darius would get the smallpox off the plane. He doesn’t have actual hands or feet.
We spend an hour searching out from the coast in a grid pattern based on the possible distance it could have flown on a full load of gas. We are about to give up, when the Hippie, whose name turns out to be Ricky, points out that we aren’t taking ocean currents into account. He corrects the search grid and within twenty minutes we find the seaplane adrift two hundred miles southwest of Perth. Hal instructs Ricky where to email the data, then steps out of the room with Nathan to make a phone call.
“Any chance you can aim that thing at Two Rocks again.”
“Sure,” Ricky yawns, repositioning the satellite camera. “What are we looking for?”
“A lighthouse.”
“You’re in luck,” he remarks, gazing up at a round schoolhouse clock over the screens. “Almost three AM here, so seventeen hours ahead of us. Makes it around eight PM. Should be dark enough to pick out the light.”
He changes a filter on the camera shot, then runs a red dot down the coastline. After a few minutes he hits on the lighthouse that fits the description. I wonder how many there might be, but doubt I have the time to look further. When Ricky zooms in a bit, I can see the triangle peninsula. This has got to be it.
“How close can you get? I’m looking for a house within a half mile.”
“This is about as much zoom as we got. The satellite isn’t really designed to look at Earth,” he leans back and winks. “Is this what you’re looking for? There isn’t anything else closer. Pretty much a wasteland for miles in any direction.”
The ratty beach house is fuzzy, but unmistakable. A wavy line runs into the water, ending is a long dark shape. I point at the shape, but he shrugs, unable to get closer.
“That look like a boat to you?”
“Maybe,” he squints, then changes the filter again.
Lights swap with darks on the screen, in an inversion of the spectrum. The dark shape becomes bright white, leaving no confusion as to what it is. John got paid and bought his cigar boat. The smallpox won’t be on the seaplane.
“Thanks Ricky, you can put it back on whatever you were looking at before we got here.”
“I was watching the new Star Wars flick on a drive-in movie screen outside of Abilene, Texas,” he mutters, zooming out the picture.
“You what?”
“Just kidding,” he snickers, winking at me over his shoulder. “Have a good one.”
“I’ll try,” I sigh. “May the force be with you.”
This draws an enthusiastic head bob from Ricky. I slip out and find Nathan marching down the hall going the other way. Hal, looking frustrated, starts to dial his phone, then waits for me to walk down to him.
“The Aussies are going to send a rescue team out and have a look at the sea plane, probably tow it back in.”
“It probably flies, just put gas in it,” I suggest.
“Let’s not fuel up anything your friend Darius might decide to drop on a building.”
“Good point,” I agree, then lean closer and lower my voice. “The smallpox isn’t on the seaplane.”
“Then where?”
“In my opinion,” I pause to consider my answer. “It’s either at John’s place or long gone.”
“I thought John was an innocent bystander?”
“Might still be, but he’s not missing. He’s home and you can verify that pretty easily.”
“How?”
“He purchased a boat in the last couple of weeks. I just saw it on the satellite while you were out here with the king of the pocket protectors.”
“Be nice.”
“He must have registered the boat somewhere. Make a few calls and check it out.”
“And you think he took the smallpox off the seapla
ne?”
“I think the people who wanted the smallpox in the first place paid him in full. That’s how he got the money for the boat. I assume you can check that as well,” I suggest, then wonder if it’s possible John got paid by Darius instead.
“If that’s true then it’s game over,” he laments, leaning his back on the wall. “No telling what they will do with it.”
“There’s one other possibility. The people who wanted the smallpox didn’t steal the sea plane, that was Darius. What if he paid John to remove the case and hang onto it for him? This had to have gone down within hours of the seaplane going missing. Mazio Lee and the other guys you arrested wouldn’t have had time to get to John, even if they knew he had the case.”
“Easy enough to tell. Trace the money. If Darius paid, then the case could be at John’s.”
“Could be, but it opens up another potential problem. If Darius is capable of paying living breathing human beings to aide him, then we need to keep a lid on this. There is no telling—.”
“There’s no telling who could be involved,” Hal groans.
“It’s food for thought,” I suggest, thinking of Dexter’s warnings about telling the good guys from the bad ones.
“Let’s get out of here for a start,” he declares, pushing off the wall and starting for the double doors down the corridor. “I can have my people chase down the money and we can go from there.”
“Where too?”
Where do you think? I don’t want to tell anyone where we think the case is so—.”
“So we will have to go look for ourselves,” I finish his sentence this time.
We pass through a security gate, then into the parking lot. Our car sits idling at the curb, Kara’s laptop making the tinted windows glow purple in the twilight of early morning. Katz rolls down the window.
“Anything?”
Hal looks back at me and nods, signaling he trusts Katz.
“Yeah, but we need to get to LAX,” he orders, opening the door and pointing for Kara to get in the backseat. “How bad is it going to be?”
“A nightmare,” Katz groans. “Almost everything is grounded.”
“The Drone’s not anywhere near here,” Kara gripes as she moves to the back.