The Cosega Sequence: A Techno Thriller

by Brandt Legg

  “Sean, come take a look,” Rip said. “You won’t believe what incredible things you’re about to see.”

  Sean walked over casually and sat next to Gale. “Keep in mind,” she said, “it’s eleven million years old.”

  As Sean gazed inside what appeared to be a crystal ball of impossible age, a thing that ought not to exist, the object responsible for his brother’s death, he couldn’t help but cry.

  Gale put his arm around him. “Who is it?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

  “It’s my parents, it’s me,” he said, looking up. “How is this possible? They didn’t film it.”

  “It’s your birth?” Gale asked. “How do you know it’s not Josh’s?”

  “I recognize the shirt my dad was wearing from the snapshots, his lucky team jersey. But, I don’t understand, no one filmed me being born,” Sean repeated.

  “We just watched a scene of Rip as a teenager, reading the papers that would lead him to the discovery of the Eysen.”

  “But how?”

  “We don’t know,” Rip said.

  “I thought you said this was a computer,” Sean said.

  “That’s the best way I could describe it before today. Now I don’t know what to say.” Rip looked back at it. “Jesus!”

  “Oh my God,” Gale yelled. It showed moving images of Gale, Sean, and Rip huddled around the Eysen, in the exact spots where they now sat. “It’s the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen. How could it? Rip, how is it doing this? Where is the camera?” She looked up trying to see the camera that was filming them.

  Rip stood up and tried to block any incoming signal, all possible camera angles. But the movie continued to show them there, projecting every move they made. “I don’t know how it can do this. It must have some kind of reflective camera in there; maybe it uses the curved glass as a lens that’s capable of . . . hell, I don’t know.”

  “And what about the footage of you as a teen; of Sean being born? The Eysen wasn’t there,” Gale said.

  Sean had not been expecting anything like this. “This is some kind of UFO, supernatural, sci-fi thing. What’s it mean? What else does it show?” Sean swallowed hard. Sweating and nervous, he thought of Busman and what he was supposed to be doing.

  Before Rip could answer his question, the Eysen shifted to an aerial view of the Canyon. It was too high up to see any specific movement, but it appeared to be a live moving image of Canyon de Chelly on that day. Sean tried not to panic. He feared that at any moment the Eysen might zoom in on Busman and reveal his betrayal.

  “What’s it doing now?” Gale asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rip answered. “But Sean, do you see what all the fuss is about? Like I said, even if you don’t believe it’s millions of years old, how does it do these things?”

  “Can it show me my brother’s murder? I mean, if it could see me being born; how about Josh being killed?”

  Gale looked at Rip. The question had profound implications.

  “Why did the Eysen record Sean’s birth, Clastier writing his papers, and me reading them as a teenager? All those images are connected to this moment in time,” Rip asked.

  “Were they the only ones?” Gale asked. “If so, why preserve those times? And if those weren’t the only recordings, what else could we see? What, or who, determines which scenes are obtained and stored in the Eysen?”

  “Maybe we do,” Rip said.

  “How?” Sean asked.

  “Maybe by our thoughts,” Gale said.

  “That seems a little far-fetched,” Rip said.

  “As if the Eysen isn’t already very far-fetched. Don’t you remember, even back in Asheville, it seemed to answer our questions?”

  “Maybe it’s voice-activated, but I can’t imagine how it could read our thoughts,” Rip said.

  “But it can film us from above, right now,” Sean said softly.

  “Yeah,” Rip said, looking into the Eysen. The aerial view was shot as if a helicopter were hovering high enough to capture the whole canyon.

  “I’d like to see Josh’s death,” Sean said.

  They waited. Nothing happened.

  “Maybe you have to say it, Rip.” Sean looked at him. “Show me my brother’s final minutes. Are you willing to do that?”

  Chapter 38

  Barbeau stared at the FBI Director, trying to understand the implications of his words as the two men stood in the sage and scrub; a hundred and fifty feet away from the Taos headquarters of the New Mexico State Police.

  “How can the Eysen be both the history and the future of the planet?” Barbeau’s eyes burned, a headache beginning. The gravity of the situation made him worry about his daughter’s future. It was the first time his job had made him concerned for her. Perhaps when this ended, he could break away and get out to Los Angeles. Would she be willing to see him?

  “DIRT has uncovered information from inside the NSA and Vatican sources. The Eysen is an electronic device.”

  “So, its purported age is totally invalid?”

  “No, we think it is actually eleven million years old.”

  Barbeau didn’t buy it. No one would believe that an electronic device had existed millions of years ago; let alone survived, but it was obvious the Director, the President, the Pope, Booker, and the NSA had all drunk the Kool-Aid, and those folks were all a lot smarter than he was. “No wonder,” was all he could say. No wonder everyone was willing to risk everything. If true, a device like that would literally be priceless. The technology alone had to be beyond imagination.

  “Yeah. Imagine if a competing nation or our enemies got hold of it,” the Director said.

  “Imagine if the NSA gets it, that could be just as bad. I’m beginning to believe that the greatest threat to our country is from within the government. Maybe we should let the Vatican have it.”

  “No. Remember, the people who actually run the Church aren’t your friendly neighborhood priests. We have to win this.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. All I can do at this point is figure out a way to beat the bad guys to the prize.”

  “And do we know who all the bad guys are?”

  “Everyone but us.”

  That sinking feeling returned to Barbeau. He could not dream up a worse situation. What would the classes at the Academy do with this? What would Hall say? Could he even trust him? “We’re outgunned,” Barbeau finally said.

  He replayed the drama of the past week and a half. The case had grown too large, the deaths had mounted, and there were many regrets of what could have been done differently, if he’d only known all this at the start. But investigations didn’t work that way; it was one piece at a time, trying to avoid going over a ledge. Damn it, he should have been a park ranger, that’s all he ever really wanted, taking care of wildlife, and babysitting happy campers, no stress, no fate-of-the-world on his shoulders. His marriage might have lasted; he would have seen more of his daughter’s childhood. Screw it! He should quit right now. Otherwise, he might be dead in a week.

  “There’s a real chance we won’t survive this,” Barbeau said, as the Director squatted to inspect an elaborate, red anthill more than three feet in diameter.

  “The only way to guarantee our survival is to resign now. I thought a lot about it on the flight. Like you, I’ve got a family.”

  “Yeah, well, yours is in a little better shape than mine.”

  “Maybe so, but do you want them to have a future that is left behind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are two possible futures. One has freedom expanding. The other takes us back to 1984. The novel, not the year.”

  “Only worse.”

  “Yeah, a lot worse. Over the course of history, people have regularly sacrificed themselves for freedom. It’s kind of the longest running battle. It’s freedom, the ultimate good; repression and control, the beginning of evil. Good versus evil. What do you do, Barbeau? Do you fight? Or are you compliant?”
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br />   “This isn’t a simple matter. The Church, our President, the Community. I could die and then what?”

  “Do you know there are something like twenty thousand different species of ants, an incalculable number of the little buggers, ten billion to the seventh power? A colony can have millions all working for the good of the colony. This one here . . . ” the Director pointed at the large hill he’d been watching, “It could have a few hundred thousand ants.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Think about World War II; stopping Hitler was more important than a single life. In fact, the great leaders decided that it was a mission ultimately worth millions of lives. And the people agreed, as millions of them sacrificed their lives to defeat tyranny.”

  “You’re telling me that safeguarding the Eysen is worth my life?”

  “I believe it is worth all our lives, as many as it takes.”

  “And if the Chinese or the Russians find out about it, what will they do for this technology?”

  “It was long predicted that World War III would be fought for oil, and recently the Defense Department has shifted its assumptions to disputes over fresh water causing the next major global conflict.” The Director shook his head. “But some of our brightest thinkers believe it will be a technology race that will ignite the final war.”

  “And you think this is the technology?”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “Where’s the Director?” Hall asked.

  “On his way back to Washington.”

  “The Director flew two thousand miles, in the middle of the night, just to speak with you for twenty-five minutes?” Hall asked.

  “I’ll explain on the way. Leave your phone here.” Barbeau gave Hall a don’t-ask-questions look. Hall checked his phone quickly, and then dropped it on the desk. Barbeau told him the latest intel on the Eysen.

  “The Director also brought us a couple of these,” Barbeau said, handing Hall a new cell phone. “They’re the latest thing – scrambled, untraceable, completely secure.”

  “Really?” Hall asked, starting to check out the functions. “How long will it take the NSA to crack them?”

  “There’s a good chance we’ve got a few weeks, maybe thirty days, before they’re compromised. But the truth is, they may already have a way; we have to be careful.”

  “Can we talk now?”

  “Yeah, let’s just be careful about what we say and where we say it.”

  “So, what was his meeting with the President about?” Hall asked, shuffling his stack of photos, which depicted all the parties in the case, so that the President was on top.

  “The President and the Attorney General are under extreme pressure. I have no idea how much longer the Director will keep his job. But our bigger problem at the moment, is that the NSA probably already has Gaines.”

  “In custody?”

  “No. As I guessed, they’re helping him avoid capture.”

  “And, do we know why?”

  “Because they know what the Eysen is, and they need him to decode it.”

  “What is it exactly?” He pulled Gaines’ photo from the case and studied it.

  “It’s our new mission. We’re to obtain the Eysen at all costs.”

  “What the hell does that mean? We’re Federal law enforcement agents; our job is to investigate crimes and make arrests. Tracking down specific assets that the CIA – ”

  “We can’t trust the CIA.”

  Chapter 39

  The Vatican had nearly two hundred agents working the case from inside the U.S. government. They reported rampant rumors of power struggles and competing interests within the Community. Booker Lipton’s name swirled around a long list of potential parties seeking to secure the artifacts.

  “How dire is it?” Leary asked Nanski as they ate breakfast from a fast food joint in Gallup, New Mexico. They’d spent the night in another cheap motel room near the Arizona border. Now they waited for a call.

  “The object within the bowls, what everyone now refers to as ‘the Eysen,’ is to the Church, the very embodiment of hell.” Nanski downed his remaining orange juice from a plastic cup. “There are those within the U.S. Government who either want it for themselves or, at the very least, don’t want us to have it.”

  “But we have many friends in the government,” Leary said. “The Attorney General has assured Pisano they’ll turn it over to us.”

  “That will never happen. While it’s true we have friends, there are also countless foreign intelligence operatives who have infiltrated federal agencies. Rome thinks we have only a matter of days before the Chinese, the Russians, and the Israelis get into the hunt. Behind them, Middle Eastern nations, the French, the Germans, and the British; then God forbid if any number of terrorist groups get involved . . . It’ll be the end of the world.”

  “We aren’t going to let that happen.”

  “The Vatican has mobilized at every level; virtually all of their resources around the globe are in this fight, but you and I are on the front lines and unfortunately, as of now, we’re nowhere.”

  “No, we will not lose. God is with us. It doesn’t matter if the feds beat us and get this Eysen first. We’ll start a holy war to defend our church.”

  “Harsh words will not get the deed done.”

  “My words are not empty!” Leary pounded the table. His tin of mints bounced off onto the carpet. “I’m talking about bombing the Capitol building, assassinations, raiding, burning, whatever is necessary. We’re a quarter of the world’s population. No godless government Bureaucratic greedy scumbags are going to deny the will of God.” He stooped to pick up the mints.

  Nanski knew Leary meant every word. Extreme didn’t begin to describe his views. Normally, that kind of rhetoric made him nervous; might even warrant a report to higher-ups. In this case, it was welcomed because the Church must be saved, and if the Eysen were lost, then a war would be the only hope.

  “There is a plan in place. The prophecies have long been clear about the End Times. It is to be a bloody war unlike any other.”

  “The Vatican has a plan to win World War III?”

  “I don’t know about winning, but each Pope has lived with the knowledge that the final war will be started by the Church. The Vatican has a plan to begin it, and a plan to fight it; but winning it, is that even possible?”

  “God is on our side,” Leary repeated.

  “Yes. Let us pray that God helps us win before it has to begin.”

  “I swear, I’ll kill Ripley Gaines when I see him. He works for the devil!”

  “Pisano should call any minute with direction.”

  “God will lead us to Gaines.”

  “When you’re lost in the darkness, you have to believe there is light. Even if you can’t see the light, the knowledge that eventually you will; is enough to create the light.”

  “The Pope?” Leary said, raiding his eyebrows.

  “Clastier.”

  Pisano called, and his news could have been worse. “The NSA is also after the artifacts, and they appear to be close to capturing Gaines, but details are sketchy,” he said. “Obviously, if they get the Ater Dies before we do; they’ll hide it, deny its existence, then dismantle it, in order to learn the technological secrets it holds.”

  “Not just the tech secrets,” Nanski said. “The data it contains would be irresistible to them.”

  “We need to have faith,” Pisano said.

  “Faith? Do you really believe the NSA just wants to reverse-engineer this thing to come out with better computers; use the tech to advance the defense industry and communications? And they’ll just ignore the contents?” Nanski scoffed at his superior’s naïveté. “This is the NSA. They deal in information, using secrets to every advantage. They use intelligence on levels we cannot even imagine.”

  “Then, get it before they do, because we’re running out of time!” Pisano almost screamed over the phone.

  “You don’t even understand what you just said!
” Nanski ended the call and turned to Leary. “The NSA wants the Ater Dies, Pisano doesn’t get it, but you know what that means, don’t you?”

  Leary nodded. “Prepare for war.”

  Chapter 40

  Barbeau and Hall sat in a small room at the Taos Pueblo Tribal Police station, across from the old Pueblo shopkeeper who had assaulted Gaines. His granddaughter, the tour guide, was also there to be questioned.

  “So, you knew Gaines before yesterday?” Barbeau snapped.

  Hall couldn’t be sure if the shopkeeper was shaking from anger or fear.

  “He killed them all,” the shopkeeper shouted. “Then, the murdering coward came back here, as if we might have forgotten his crime!”

  “Wait, who killed who?” Barbeau asked, not sure how they could have missed another murder in this case.

  “Conway,” he jammed his finger at the photo of Gaines. “This evil man massacred them in the church!” The shopkeeper grabbed the photo and tore it in four pieces before Hall could grab it.

  “My grandfather sees things,” the tour guide said. “He sometimes sees several lifetimes at once.”

  “Like a psychic or something?” Hall asked.

  “I don’t know what you would call it; he lives in many worlds.”

  “So, he’s crazy,” Barbeau said.

  “It makes some people crazy, but not him. He is strong; he can see the differences, knows which part goes to which time.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between our suspect Gaines and some guy named Conway,” Barbeau said.

  “They are the same!” the shopkeeper growled.

  “Back up. Tell me who Conway is,” Barbeau asked.

  “Conway was the man who organized and authorized the attack on our church, which resulted in the death of more than one hundred fifty innocent people, who were trapped inside,” the tour guide answered.