“What happened to him?”
“We tried to interrogate him, and study him, but . . .” She shook her head.
“You killed him?”
“No! He was our friend. It wasn’t his fault. No, the first chance he got, he committed suicide. We think it was part of the programming, so we couldn’t find out anything.”
Mitch sat back thoughtfully. “Right, so we got a bunch of whack-jobs out there with a ray gun that can melt my brain and my best defense is a spooky ice Princess who belongs on the X-Files with a ouija board.”
“I’m not spooky!”
“You’re a little spooky. And as I see it, if they catch you, and zap your brain with their gizmo, you could tell them plenty, providing you’re not one of the unfortunate seventy five percent who turns into a cabbage. So that makes you a mighty big security risk. You shouldn’t be here, and what’s more, if you’re caught, and if you’re a good candidate for brain melting, you could give away me and my guys.”
Christa shook her head. “It won’t work on me.”
“You said you can’t tell who’s susceptible. You could be one of the lucky ones.”
“I have an implant.”
Mitch sat up, eyes wide. “You have a what?”
“An implant. It’s a small device implanted in the base of my skull, just there.” She touched the back of her head, a few inches above her neck.
“That’s what you were feeling for before, after the thing with the helicopter?”
“Yes. I wondered if it'd been damaged, but it's shielded against radiation. That protected it.”
“Why does it need shielding? In fact, what the hell is it doing in your head?”
“The implant is shielded because it needs to withstand the ENP process, so it can determine if the electrical patterning in my brain becomes abnormal. If it detects abnormalities, it will kill me.”
Mitch was dumbfounded. “You’re off this mission! As of right now.”
“I know the risks, Mitch. I volunteered for this assignment. I accepted the implant, knowing what it would mean. For the implant to kill me, they will have to capture me, then take me to a secure facility where they can attempt to control me. The chances of that occurring are pretty low, especially as I’m now packing heat on two coasts.” She smiled as she patted her purse.
“Does everyone who works for Knightly have one of those things stuck in their heads?”
“No, only me. It’s a prototype, the first of its kind. In time, maybe everyone will get one, but so far, I’ve got the only one we’ve been able to build.”
“So what was the thing that flattened you?”
“It was a directed energy weapon. Judging by what it did to your phone, it was designed to short out electrical systems. I haven't seen it before, but it must have come out of the original antimissile program. It wasn’t an ENP device.”
Mitch had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. “We’re calling Knightly, and telling him you’re going back.”
Christa shook her head. “No. If you get anywhere near succeeding, you’re going to need me. That’s why Gus sent me on this mission.”
Mitch was silent for a long time. “If we get this ENP technology, then what?”
“Then we eliminate whoever is controlling this thing. Not a word of it can ever get out.”
“Oh, did I mention I charge extra for assassinations?”
* * * *
Mitch fed coins into the public telephone while Christa waited outside the phone booth, keeping a look out. Mouse answered the telephone almost immediately.
“We made it,” Mitch said. “They’ve probably traced me already, so assume your location is no longer secure.”
“We’re way ahead of you. We’ve already emptied the place. I was about to set up a remote relay on the phone when you rang.”
“Good. Some of these guys are ex-NSA, so be careful.”
“Ouch,” Mouse said. “We’ll use contact plan B.”
“Agreed, but stay mobile. These guys are using technology none of us has ever seen before.”
“I got it on DVD, from the hotel security cameras. G and I are working the data. It doesn’t look good. We have to assume they can short out anything electrical.”
“They might try to trace the scrambler, and some of the other stuff I had to leave in the hotel room, so–”
“Shit!” Mouse declared as the scanner beside his phone began beeping, warning him of a frequency variation in the telephone signal. “They just tapped the line.” Mouse said, then hung up.
Mitch spoke to Christa as he fed in more coins and dialed again. “They’ve found Malibu already. Mouse and Gunter are abandoning the beach house.”
Christa gave him a worried look as Mathew Prescott’s machine answered the call.
“Mat, pick up.” Mitch commanded, but there was no answer. “Mat, those friends of mine in the photos dropped in for a visit. They probably saw us in the car together, so expect them. Their conversation is boring, so don’t be around when they arrive. See you later, buddy.”
Mitch hung up and dialed again quickly, speaking to Christa without looking up. “They had to be watching the hotel this morning. By now they’ve traced his car and know all about him.”
Lieutenant Commander Hayes answered immediately.
“Don, it’s Mitch.”
“Hey man, I was about to call you. I’ve been analyzing that sound you left me.”
“Have you spoken to anyone about it?”
“Nope. Just logging computer time.”
“Good. Stay low, there’s some nasty people around. I don’t want them tracing you.”
“Sure thing, Mitch,” Hayes replied confidently. “Can we meet? I’ve got something for you.”
“Anything you can give me over the phone? Meeting could be dangerous.”
“Nope.”
Mitch knew at once whatever he had was classified. “Do you remember that shore leave we had, just before my court martial?”
“Aye.”
“Remember how we got out of town, where we left from?”
“I don’t remember much once we got there,” he said with a grin, remembering long nights of hard drinking. “But I know where you mean.”
“Be there in one hour.”
“On my way.”
Mitch hung up and turned to Christa. “How much cash have you got?”
She shook her head. “No money, no nothing. Remember?”
“Remind me to tell Knightly to give you a pay rise,” Mitch said as he stepped to the curb and flagged a cab down. “I hope this guy knows a short cut.”
Chapter 6
Mitch and Christa climbed out of the taxi at the entrance to the Friendship International Airport south of Baltimore. On the drive out, they'd slipped their guns under the front seats without the driver noticing, knowing that they would not get them through security. As soon as they were inside, Mitch telephoned Mouse on one of the numbers they'd set up for emergency contact, the number they all knew as Contact B which used the relay in London to bounce the call back. Mouse could remotely instruct the London computer to call any number so they could constantly change locations and still remain in contact.
“You’ll have to pay for the tickets with offshore money,” Mitch said. “I can’t risk using credit cards, they’re bound to have a trace on them. Book them ten minutes before boarding, so even if they trace you, there is no way they can get to the airport in time to stop us. I’ll pick them up five minutes from boarding. You’ll have to use my name, as I’ll need to show ID to collect them.”
“Understood,” Mouse said.
“I’ll re-establish contact when we get there.”
“You don’t want us to meet you at the airport?”
“No. They may be watching LAX. I’d rather make sure we're not being followed, then you can bring us in.” Mitch hung up and glanced at his watch. “Knowing the way he drives, Don’s already here.”
“Where are we meeting him?”
“He’s a sea dog. There's only one place he’ll be.”
They found Commander Hayes waiting in the bar, sitting at a table far from the door. They slid into the chairs opposite him while Hayes downed the half shot of whiskey still in his glass and sighed contentedly
“Perfect timing, Mitch,” Hayes declared, indicating to the waitress to bring three more. “I thought I was going to have to have the next one alone, and you know what a sociable fellow I am.”
“Yeah, much to my regret,” he said, wincing at the thought of past misdeeds.
Hayes waited until the waitress placed the drinks on the table, watched her appreciatively as she walked away, then turned businesslike to Mitch. “Okay, here it is. Whatever you’re into, drop it. You’re playing with fire.” Hayes took a sip of his whiskey. “Good thing I know you so well, or I’d suspect you were spying on the U.S. military.”
Mitch’s eyes widened. “That bad, huh?”
“I ran that sound you gave me through the library. I got a ninety two percent match on a thing called an AM-X particle accelerator. That sucker is above top secret. Like I said, if I didn’t know you so well . . . anyway, it’s not something you should be fooling with.”
Mitch glanced at Christa. “Ever heard of it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’d be surprised if you had,” Hayes said. “I had to stretch my own security clearance to get the dope on it. Apparently, the navy experimented with one about a year ago, trying to figure how accelerated particles act under water. Some egghead thought it might have applications in submarine warfare, jamming torpedo guidance systems, or disrupting enemy sub’s electronic systems. Crap like that. Anyway, they never could get it to work, but the sonic trace was still on file just in case some other country sent one to sea.”
“It sounds like it’s the kind of technology we’d expect,” Christa said thoughtfully. “The military application fits.”
Mitch rubbed the blister on his hand where his cell phone had burned him. “Yeah, I can see how that would work. So what exactly is an AM-X particle accelerator?”
“It accelerates charged particles to incredible velocities. It’s heavy on juice, but once you get a particle up to super velocities, you’ve got the potential for a lot of energy. You know, E=MC2. A tiny mass traveling at a great velocity has enormous energy. The particles can have a screwy effect on electrical fields and electronic devices. The problem was finding a useful application for it.”
“Shorting out a submarine’s electronics sounds useful to me,” Mitch said.
“Sure, except the water density diffused the particles, and it made a God awful racket. Not exactly what you want when silence is the name of the game.”
“So it’s like a laser?” Mitch asked
Hayes paused. “Kind of. A laser focuses light, this thing focuses sub atomic particles, and apparently it can modulate particle velocity. The trouble is there’s not much information available on it, just enough so if one of our subs heard it, they could identify the sound in their report. All the really secret stuff is hidden of course.”
“This is very useful information, Commander,” Christa said. “It’s the first clear piece of the technological puzzle.”
“So what’s the puzzle?”
Mitch was going to answer, but Christa cut him off. “Commander, we cannot discuss it with you.”
Hayes looked disappointed, but nodded his understanding. “Figured you’d say that.”
“Is there anything else we should know about this particle thing?” Mitch asked.
“I’m still digging. But there can’t be too many of them, this isn’t something you buy at Wal-Mart. What I don’t understand is how you got close enough to record it. This kind of hardware is normally locked away inside a military base, usually some place remote. Los Alamos maybe.”
“It was no military base.” Mitch glanced at his watch. “We have to go, Don. Thanks for coming out.”
Hayes nodded, threw down the remains of his whiskey, then noticed neither Mitch nor Christa had touched theirs. “You going to let those go to waste?”
Mitch smiled, and pushed his toward Hayes. “Be careful, Don.”
Hayes gave him a wink, then reached for Mitch’s still full glass of whiskey.
Christa picked up her drink and clicked glasses with Hayes. “Thank you, Commander.” She threw down the whiskey in one gulp, and placed the empty glass on the table in front of him with an attitude indicating she could drink him under the table any time.
He smiled appreciatively, and downed Mitch’s whiskey. “You’re welcome, Ma’am.”
They left Hayes considering whether or not to order another whiskey and made their way to the check-in counter. The airline computer system informed the flight attendant on duty that there were two prepaid tickets waiting for them. After collecting the tickets, they hurried toward the departure lounge, expecting to arrive just in time to board. Rather than joining the end of the boarding line as they had planned, they discovered passengers sitting with their hand luggage showing no sign of movement.
Mitch approached the flight attendant by the aerobridge entrance. “Excuse me, can you tell me when we can board the plane?”
“There’s a twenty minute delay, sir,” she replied. “Engine trouble.”
Mitch hid his irritation, guiding Christa to the side of the departure lounge. “I don’t like this,” he whispered.
“They couldn’t track down those tickets and get here in twenty minutes,” Christa said uncertainly.
“I’m not so sure of that, but I guess we can wait twenty minutes.”
They spotted two empty seats in the departure lounge with a view of the runway. The space next to the aerobridge was occupied by a passenger jet. Half a dozen ground crew on a vertical lift platform worked on an engine at a leisurely pace. Mitch glanced at his watch and began a nerve racking countdown, willing the mechanics to finish what they were doing. Ten minutes passed and still the mechanics remained gathered around the engine.
Mitch went over to the flight attendant again. “Any news of the departure time?”
“Nothing yet, sir. If there is a further delay, there'll be an announcement.”
“Could you find out please, I’m in kind of a hurry.”
She smiled politely and picked up the telephone. “Certainly, sir.” She made a brief enquiry, then hung up. “No change in our boarding time, sir.”
Mitch returned to his seat beside Christa. On the tarmac, the elevated platform began to descend away from the engine and the ground crew dispersed.
“Finally,” Mitch whispered.
As if to allay Mitch’s fears, an announcement sounded over the public address system informing the waiting passengers that boarding would commence, and asked first and business class passengers to board. After what seemed an interminable delay, the rest of the passengers were asked to board. There was a general surge forward to form a line, with Mitch and Christa finishing two thirds of the way back. Slowly the line crawled forward. Mitch looked around restlessly, studying the nearby faces but not recognizing any of the ex-NSA squad hunting them. He glanced out to the plane, seeing the mechanics were now gone. Only some ground crew waited to help guide the jet back from the terminal. Mitch noticed a flashing reflection on the window’s glass of the arrivals and departures television screens. He turned curiously to read the message blinking on all four screens:
TELEPHONE CALL FOR JOHN MITCHELL
The words blinked repeatedly, yellow letters against a red background. Mitch nudged Christa and nodded to the screen. Surprise showed on her face as she read the message. There were less than twenty people between them and the flight attendants processing passengers.
“What do you think?” Christa whispered.
“It’s Mouse. He’s hacked into the terminal's computer system. Stay with the line, but don’t board without me.” Mitch hurried across the long terminal walkway to an airport telephone. When a polite voice answered, Mitc
h said, “I’m John Mitchell, I believe there is a call for me.”
“One moment, sir,” a man replied, then a few moments later, “I have no calls waiting for you.”
“My name is flashing on the TV screens saying there’s a call for me.”
“What TV screens?”
“Arrivals and departures.”
The man’s response was edged with disbelief. “Those screens are only used by scheduling and security, sir. Telephone calls are not advertised on them.”
Mitch slammed the phone down, spinning around to see who was watching while silently cursing himself for being a fool. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, answer the phone and give yourself away. He saw the other TV screens scattered along the walkway weren't flashing the message, only the screens facing the boarding lounge for his flight. He waiting, but none of the people hurrying in the terminal paid him any attention.
“What the hell?” he muttered to himself.
Christa watched him, confused, as her turn came to board. Mitch motioned for her to wait. He looked up and down the walkway again, trying to figure what was going on when the airport telephone started ringing. Mitch snatched it up.
“Yes?”
A man with a familiar central European accent spoke to him. “Do not board the flight to Los Angeles, Mr Mitchell. They have traced the tickets Curtis Szilinsky purchased for you.”
“Who is this?”
There was a pause, as the man considered how he could identify himself. “You may refer to me as EB.”
“How do you know they’ve found us?”
“There are no secrets from me.”
Mitch had no idea who was helping him, but obviously it was someone on the inside. “Can we meet?”
“No, I cannot leave here.”
“Are you Dr Steinus?”
“Use nothing related to your identity, or you will be detected. While Miss Malleson has no electronic identity, they know who she is.”
“How much time would I have if I used a credit card?”
“A few seconds. Every database in America is compromised.”
The Siren Project Page 9