The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1)

by Andrew Updegrove

  Jong Kim-Lo felt concerned. What could he say? He nodded slightly and strained to make sense of what he would hear once the General had resumed his place at the rostrum.

  “We must test the Taepodong III before we know that we can credibly threaten the West with our nuclear weapons. We must also know whether America’s anti-nuclear defenses can truly destroy our rockets mid-flight or not. Their Joint Chiefs claim they can, but their own civilian experts say they can’t.

  “Of course, we will not really allow our missiles to pass a point in flight at which the U.S. might retaliate in kind. But that point is beyond the line at which the American’s anti-missile interceptors will destroy our missiles if they are capable of doing so. And it is also past the point in the flight plan at which the third stage of our missiles will fire, so we will be able to perform the full test.”

  General Bach Choy extended a congratulatory arm towards Kim-Lo. “Your idea, Beloved Father, of destroying our own missiles just before the point of retaliation is a stroke of pure genius. If our missiles fail, or if the enemy destroys one or both of them, we can still claim to our people that we destroyed them after having proven their capabilities, and we can use the test results to perfect our designs.”

  “But if even one of our missiles is destroyed by us, then Washington will know fear. And the Yankees will have no choice but to come to the bargaining table.”

  The Beloved Father nodded. Now he understood everything. It was a good plan indeed. One of his best plans ever.

  * * *

  Frank was sitting in a folding chair in his clearing, enjoying an unexpectedly warm midday sun. The ground was bare – all of the snows of the recent blizzard had been swept away by the fierce rains that followed a few days later. Like the weather, Frank’s plans were once again in a lull, with nothing technical left to do. He was desperate to hear from Marla whether or not the Alexandria Project culprits had been flushed out and captured.

  Too wired to work, and with no real work to do anyway, Frank sat in the sun. He hoped that the sound of the scrub jays, the sun, and the mild breezes would relax him.

  It wasn’t working. He forced himself to sit there, grimly determined to make himself relax, or bore himself to death trying. Steadfastly, he looked out over the valley until a far away sparkle of light on the mountain ridge to the south caught his eye. That was strange; he had followed the Jeep track up in that direction once when he was lost in thought, trying to work out a particularly difficult issue. Eventually, the track had faded into not much more than a livestock path. He couldn’t remember encountering anything at all in that direction – no collapsed cabin with broken glass windows to catch the sun; not even a discarded beer can.

  A minute later, he saw a flash of light again. This time it seemed slightly closer. Without thinking much about it, he shifted his chair so that he could watch more comfortably. No longer tense, he watched, fascinated, as the flashes of reflected sunlight appeared and disappeared, ever so slowly creeping along the mountainside and heading generally in his direction. He remembered that he had seen a pair of binoculars hanging inside the truck, and went to fetch them.

  Settling back into his folding chair, he rested his elbows on its arms and searched the rocky slope where the light had last appeared. To his surprise, he saw what looked like a Jeep laboriously picking its way across the slope, its fenders rocking up and down and from side to side as the driver eased the vehicle across the uneven terrain.

  Frank cradled the binoculars in his lap. What might this be all about? He hadn’t seen a soul in more than a month. Could whoever this was be looking for him, and if so, why?

  Frank felt suddenly self conscious. He realized that his clearing was a mess. Beer cans, water bottles, and random bits of camping equipment were scattered everywhere. He began tidying up. If he was going to have company, he might as well not look like a total slob.

  Then he returned to his chair to watch and wait.

  * * *

  Carl and Marla parked their car on a side street a half a block from the Alexandria Antiquarian Book Store and walked towards the alley that ran behind it. Just as they reached it, a man stepped out to meet them.

  “George! What are you doing here?”

  Carl tried to look innocent. “Sorry, Marla – I guess I forgot to mention this part of the plan to you.” Actually, it had been simple payback. He wanted to regain some measure of control over the situation and was determined to keep Marla in the dark as much as he possibly could. “We needed someone in a hurry to hack whatever systems we might find here, and since no IT expert has more experience dealing with the Alexandria Project than George, we thought we’d see whether we could enlist his help. Luckily for us, he said yes.”

  Marla nodded to George and blew her nose. “Okay. Now what?”

  Carl looked up and down the street. “Just keep chatting while I find the right door and unlock it. When I wave, walk naturally up the alley until you reach me.”

  Carl waited until the main street at the end of the block was empty of pedestrians, and then strode off into the shadows of the alley.

  “How are you, George? I haven’t seen you since that wonderful Christmas party.”

  George looked uncomfortable. “Fine, Marla, just fine.” Now what should he say? “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how’s your father?”

  Now it was Marla who wasn’t sure how to reply. What would her father want her to say? With relief, she saw a dark shape step out of the shadows down the alley and wave to them. “Let’s go,” she said and began walking.

  Three buildings down, they found Carl with his hand on the knob of a door. He held his index finger to his lips, and then silently swung the door open. As they entered, he turned on a pen-sized flashlight that cast a pale red circle of light on the threshold of the entrance. Then he closed the door behind them.

  The three stood silently just inside as Carl cast his light in every direction. Finally, he pointed his flashlight at a door in the corner of the room and whispered, “We’ve already had someone check out the rest of the first floor today, posing as a customer. Unless there’s something in the attic, whatever’s here to find must be down the stairs behind that door. Follow me and test every step as you go.”

  Carl crossed the darkened room, opened the door, and began to descend slowly and gingerly, placing his weight gradually on each stair tread as he crept downward, holding his flashlight in one hand and sliding the other along the wall to steady himself. After a few steps, he stopped and listened, turning to face the other two, a question on his face.

  Marla strained to hear; yes, she heard something as well – muffled voices, almost certainly. She nodded affirmatively. More carefully than ever, they eased their way downwards until they reached a closed door. They could all clearly hear voices now, but it was difficult to catch more than the occasional word with certainty. Carl knelt down and set his flashlight on a step, taking care not to allow its light to shine under the door. Then he took a slim package from his coat pocket, opened it, and removed a device the size of an iPod. Silently, he unwound the two wires wrapped around it. At the end of one was a suction cup, which he licked and pressed against the door. Then he pressed the bud at the end of the other wire into his ear, and moved a switch on the tiny recording device.

  What he heard was both bizarre as well as much better than any data he might have hoped to lift off the computer server he had come to find. He listened intently, watching the sound meter on the recorder.

  “What is your conclusion, then, Callimachus?”

  “The public cannot be expected to put up with these cyber attacks much longer. With each wave, they become more furious and distrustful. Some are starting to withdraw their money from banks, fearing that their accounts may be falsified and their money disappear. If the attacks continue much longer, the entire financial system will be in danger of collapse.”

  “And you, Aristarchus?”

  “I agree. A few more well-publicized attacks, a
nd entire segments of commerce will begin shutting down as people realize how vulnerable they are when computerized systems are compromised. Oil, food, and gasoline supplies have already been disrupted. Soon, airlines will begin canceling flights for lack of traffic because people are growing afraid to fly; hospitals will empty out because patients will worry that their medical records may have been altered without their doctors’ knowledge. When elections are held this fall, voters won’t trust the results.”

  Then a voice asked, “Zenodotus, what shall we do?”

  There was a pause. Then a tired voice said, “Who would have imagined how dramatically and quickly our most dire claims would be proven? The plan we put in motion a few short months ago has succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. Who could have expected what has happened?”

  And that’s a wrap, Carl thought as he disengaged the microphone and confirmed that the recorder had worked properly. Excellent! Time to get back to the street as quickly and quietly as possible and call in the boys with the body armor to arrest the culprits, whoever they might be.

  All the three of them needed to do now was watch the doors from the outside in case the meeting ended too soon.

  But as Carl turned around to motion the others upstairs, he saw that Marla’s face was bizarrely contorted. And one of her hands was rolled up in a fist, pressed against her lips. Carl’s eyes widened as he wondered what the hell was wrong with her.

  Then the reality of the impending disaster hit him. He threw up his hands in a silent gesture of “Stop!” just as Marla unleashed an explosive sneeze.

  All three of them froze and listened. There was a sudden silence on the other side of the door.

  Damn! No choice now! Carl spun around, drawing his Beretta from his shoulder holster at the same time as he slammed his other shoulder against the door. Bursting through, he hit the floor in a shooter’s crouch.

  “Freeze!” he bellowed, in the loudest and most threatening voice he could muster. Blinded by the sudden light of the room, he gripped his gun in both hands, jerking it from side to side in order to cover however many people might be in the room he was struggling to see. Behind him, George and Marla crouched on the bottom-most stairs.

  As it happened, Carl could hardly have asked for a more docile audience to obey his command. Still blinking, he realized that six startled, elderly men were seated around a table. Two wore beards. Four wore tweed jackets. All wore expressions of shock and awe. In front of each was a small stemmed glass, and in the middle of the table stood a crystal decanter containing a brown liquid.

  A man with the voice of Zenodotus was the first to collect himself. “I presume you’ll be reading us our Miranda whatevers now?”

  Carl could not yet speak. Which was just as well, as CIA agents didn’t have authority to read Miranda rights anyway.

  Zenodotus continued helpfully. “Perhaps a glass of sherry, then?” With that, Carl recovered his wits, and sternly instructed them, “Everyone put your hands on the table where I can see them.”

  Twelve hands were immediately placed on the table. Each dignified gentleman laced his fingers together and sat straight up in his chair. Carl felt like he was addressing a Sunday school class.

  The man they called Zenodotus sighed. “Why don’t you all just have a seat and make yourselves comfortable? Clearly, we have a bit of explaining to do, and then you can take us to wherever it is that you should. To tell the truth, it will be quite a relief to all of us if you would.”

  * * *

  Frank was actually relaxing, fascinated by the slow approach of the tiny, distant vehicle as it worked its way around boulders, across depressions, and finally onto the Jeep track he had explored a few weeks before.

  Although he was the polar opposite of a social animal, Frank had been in isolation for a long time. He was also very out of touch, he realized. Not once had he used the satellite dish to pull in a TV or radio signal, and the only online news he’d pulled up related to the Alexandria Project. For all he knew, the world had ended and he and the mystery driver were the last men alive.

  Eventually, the vehicle reached the treeline and disappeared. Perhaps a little news from the outside wouldn’t be a bad thing to hear, Frank thought. He set out a second chair, and a cooler with a six-pack of beer on ice in between. Why not? he thought, and opened one up to help pass the time.

  Not long afterward, he heard the distant growl of an engine in low gear, and soon he glimpsed a vehicle as it lurched into view between the Ponderosa pines. It was an ancient, boxy car with a high wheelbase, a spare tire mounted on the front hood, and a tubular roof rack the length of the four-door body. At last, the odd vehicle wheeled into Frank’s clearing and came to a halt.

  It seemed only polite to stand up, so Frank did. When the driver swung open the door and stepped out, Frank saw to his surprise that it was the desert rat he had met at the Little A’Le’Inn.

  “Howdy,” the old man said as he walked in a jerky fashion across the clearing. “Ah me! These old bones just don’t handle a rough ride like they used to.”

  Frank motioned to one of the folding chairs. “Have a seat, then. Beer?”

  “Don’t mind if I do; don’t mind if I do.” With another loud, “Ah me!” he settled into the chair.

  Frank opened the cooler, and handed him a cold one. “What brings you up here?”

  “Well, I reckoned that if I sent a city boy like you way the hell up here, p’raps I ought to come check in on ya once’t to be sure the bears hadn’t et ya up. Here’s to ya!”

  The old man took a long pull on his bottle. “Ah me!” he said once again, this time smacking his lips loudly. “Yup! That hit the spot.” Then he looked around the clearing. “But it looks like you’re doing okay up here, so I guess I was worrying about nuth’n. Glad to see it. Hate to have had somethin’ unfortunate on my conscience. It’s got enough to keep it busy already.” He gave Frank a grin and said, “Here’s to ya!” again.

  Quite a character, Frank thought to himself. Straight out of central casting for a Western movie. “That’s some car you have there. What is it?”

  “Land Rover – ’58. Back from when they could go anywhere, do anything. Not like them bogus sedans that set ya back a fortune that they’re push’n out now. Huh! Bought it in ’69 used and I’ve kept it on the road ever since. Noth’n else like it. Body’s aluminum – lasts forever, if’n you don’t wrap it around a tree. I hoisted her up and put a new chassis under her in ’93. Hope that one lasts longer than I do.” He grinned at Frank again.

  “Well, you certainly know how to drive it. I’ve been watching you work your way over that ridge and down here for the last two hours. Why didn’t you just come up the way I did?”

  “Well, you know, I remembered as how you didn’t want any company up here, and if I’d a laid a new set of tire tracks up from the road down below, it’d kind of advertise that someone’s up here, now wouldn’t it? Anyway’s, it’s a nice day for a Sunday drive, now ain’t it?”

  Some Sunday drive, Frank thought, as he realized he didn’t have the foggiest notion whether it was Sunday or not.

  “Well, I guess,” was all he could think of to say as he began to worry: why should the old man have gone so far out of his way to protect Frank’s privacy? He couldn’t think of a good reason.

  “So I see ya found yourself a real nice place to settle in under them trees you was a-look’n for.” He paused, and gave Frank another sideways look. “Say, what is it about them pines, anyway, that speaks to ya?” Frank shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, you see, I was somewhere out here before, a long, long time ago. Coming from back East, I’d never seen country like this before. And those trees, so tall and straight and set out at a distance from each other like it was some kind of well-tended park just seemed, well, sort of majestic, I guess.”

  Frank turned his head and pointed to a stand of shorter trees. “And I remember trees like those over there, too, the ones with the light gray bark and the fluttery leaves.”
>
  “Aspens,” the old man said quietly, watching Frank closely as he picked up speed.

  “And I remember the bright sunshine and the clear, crisp air and the endless, blue, blue sky out here – it was like everything was in a Kodachrome picture. I’d never seen anything like that before. Once I got back home, I never saw anything like it again.” Frank stopped abruptly, lost in memories.

  The old man sat for a little while, and then asked gently. “Out here alone, was ya?”

  Frank watched the setting sun, mesmerized by the sudden flood of memories he’d been suppressing ever since he had arrived. “No, no, not at all. I was just eleven, you see. I was out here with my dad. It was in the summer and the garage he’d been working at had gone out of business, so one day he just said, “Let’s you and me go see the U.S.A.” And that’s what we did. Just him and me, we loaded up this old Jeep he had – he was a hell of a mechanic – with a bunch of camping gear, and off we went.”

  “We drove non-stop till we hit the Mississippi, me sleeping half the time in the back seat and him driving all the time in the front. Once we crossed the big river, he gave this big sigh of relief. He’d woken me up just a few minutes before so I wouldn’t miss the river as we crossed it, and when we reached the other side, he broke into this big grin, and said, “At last I can breathe again!”

  Frank had forgotten that moment until just now. I wonder what he meant by that, he wondered?

  The old man rolled his beer bottle slowly between his weathered hands and didn’t look up. “You still get together with him when you can?”

  “Hah!” Frank spat the word out. “I wouldn’t walk across the street to get together with my dad – assuming he’s still alive. That fall, the one after we went out West, he skipped out on my mother and me and I never saw or heard from him again. Left us high and dry. No warning. Just like that.”

  There was silence for awhile as the sunset dimmed before them. Finally, the old man said quietly, “Not meaning to pry or nuth’n, ya know, but why you figure he did that?”