“Wait, did I hear you right?” Edge asked, perplexed. “You took us off the investigation, and now we're back on it?”
“Once again, I’m the DCI; I get paid to make those calls. Just so we’re clear, you and Tucker are on this investigation so long as you get my permission to go anywhere outside of this building. Understand?”
Tucker and Edge nodded, but Edge’s displeasure at the caveat was evident to Winford.
Winford relaxed a bit. “As you can see, the past few days have been my worst nightmare. I have to debrief the President and his cabinet in a few hours on the situation. He wants answers and so do I and that means you’re responsible for finding them. Now go down and talk to Agent Xuxa and find us a goddamn lead on who these bastards are that decided to attack this country’s soil.”
Tucker went to leave and stopped to ask one more question. “Sir, if we do find anything that we need to act on, we’re going to need agents ready to go at a moment’s notice. How many men do we have at our disposal?”
“At this moment, it’s just you and Sergeant Pierce. Find me something of substance and I’ll make something happen. Until then…” He let his words trail off.
Tucker and Edge made their way towards the Department of Technology and Weaponry to speak with Ramona Xuxa. Tucker did not like hearing that they had no other agents to help speed up the process. He and Edge would just have to make do. We’ve done fairly well on our own so far. He then thought of their next instructions to meet with Ramona with a smile. There’s always a bright side.
Chapter 7
Tucker and Edge wandered through the halls of the Technology and Weaponry lab in search of Ramona Xuxa. Tucker told Edge that Xuxa was the go-to person for information on all kinds of exotic weaponry and that if anybody knew about the weapons used in the attack against Miami, she would be the one.
As they looked in each passing lab, Tucker caught himself checking and tightening his tie in every window that they passed. It is a professional meeting, not a date. We need her expertise, connections, and resources. She is the best the CIA has to offer. Otherwise, I would ask Chad with the Fu Manchu beard; Tucker kept telling himself.
He thought about the number of times he had visited this floor in the past decade he had worked for the agency: the answer was in the low single digits. Close to nothing, he thought. I finally have a good reason to be here.
Tucker stopped at the door that read “Lab 150,” where another employee they had encountered suggested looking for Xuxa. He peered in the window and saw a woman sitting at her desk, intent on her work. As she lifted her head to roll her neck and loosen some kinks, her sleek black hair slid back from her face revealing the Ramona Xuxa. Tucker took a deep breath, admiring her irresistibility.
“You alright man?” questioned Edge.
“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine, just a… just a little warm in the building today, that’s all,” Tucker said with a laugh as he loosened his neck tie.
Edge raised a brow as he picked up the nervousness in Tucker’s voice; he had learned that not too much made Tucker nervous, outside of getting shot at, that is. Edge had been around many people that were difficult to figure out and Tucker wasn’t one of them. He could read Tucker like a book, and he could see that Tucker’s mind was elsewhere at the moment.
“Yeah,” Edge agreed, “Probably a good thing you undid that tie you spent the last five minutes tightening.” Edge looked through the window. “That her?”
“Oh yeah,” Tucker said with a hint of fascination, “I mean, yeah, that’s her,” changing his tone as he saw the expression on Edge’s face. “Let’s, uh, let’s go in.” Tucker grabbed the door handle and pushed.
BLAM! Tucker’s forehead hit the glass. The man was stunned, and he knew his face showed it because Ramona looked up and began laughing.
Bad Shakespeare, Edge thought of the show.
Edge pointed at the door. “You need to use your, uh… key card there, chief.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Tucker replied, grabbing his card firmly. The beep signaled as the door opened. Tucker entered the room with as much dignity as he could muster.
Ramona pulled her silken hair up into a ponytail as she walked over to greet her guests. Her lab coat fit her body perfectly, causing Tucker to wonder if she looked good in everything. He knew that Ramona worked hard, not allowing her physical appearance to determine her success, but damn if she didn’t look good doing it.
The lab was not a large one, big enough for only a handful people. As Tucker walked into the room, he noticed the counter she was leaning on was a computer screen with tons of images on it. Some images looked like blueprints for missiles, others photos of Miami. On the counter next to her were stacks of books, folders and a lot of pens.
“Sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you,” he apologized, absently rubbing his head.
“Not at all. Actually, I think that door startled you by the look on your face,” she said with a smile. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods, Mr. Tucker?” She emphasized the ‘mister’ with a wink.
“Hello, Ramona… I think we can just go with Tucker today,” he responded with a wink of his own.
“You know how it is; force of habit,” she said with a smile and a slight shrug. “Anyway, how can I help you, gentlemen?”
“I would like you to meet Sergeant Nicholas Pierce of military intelligence,” Tucker introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Sergeant Pierce. I’m Ramona Xuxa. I head up Technology and Weaponry analysis. I’m sure you’ve probably seen a few of the things I’ve analyzed during your tenure.” Ramona figured he had to be some special operations soldier. The man was in too good of shape to sit behind a desk all day.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you and a possibility to have met your work previously,” Edge replied.
“Sergeant Pierce is currently working in collaboration with us to track down an organization calling itself the ‘Order.’ We suspect they’re responsible for what happened in Miami yesterday,” Tucker continued, looking only at Ramona. “We’ve run out of leads on our end and were hoping you might have something we can work with. The director gave us your preliminary findings, but we haven’t had a chance to read through it yet.”
“Frankly it’s a lot of information and time is short. We were hoping you could give us an abridged version,” Edge added.
“I had a message sent to me from the Director telling me you were on your way,” Xuxa said. “Where do you want me to start?”
Edge nodded over to the computer table. “How about the type of missiles that hit Miami? We did see when we scanned your analysis that you said they were not standard weapons.”
“Ah, yes. Come over here,” she said as the group walked over to the tabletop computer. Like an oversize electronic tablet, she placed her hands on top the smooth glass and started moving all non-essential pictures off the screen. Tucker had to admit it was amazing watching the images slide across the bright screen as if they were physically on the table. She then maneuvered a blueprint center screen and, using her pointer and thumb of both hands, she stretched the image out, so it was as large as the tabletop screen.
Edge had already started to study the contorted blue lines carefully. He could not believe his eyes; what lay before him on the LCD screen was a weapon; a weapon that had come to be a legend in the military. He had never seen one in person but had once come across a drawing like the one displayed before him.
“Gentlemen, this is the Acoustic Munitions – Pulse/Ballistic missile, AM-P/B for short,” she said, pronouncing it ‘Amp B.’ “When properly applied it is one of the most destructive weapons on the planet, after nuclear armament. This is what I have concluded were used in the attack, but I can’t understand how they got into the hands of whoever used them. These missiles are completely off the grid. Only a handful have been built. Most people in the military don’t even know they exist and those that do believe they are still in their experimental phase. It’s one of the deepest Black programs aro
und.”
“Never heard of it and I’ve been with the agency nearly a decade,” Tucker observed.
“Top Secret Compartmented… and none of us would have heard anything about it if our clearance hadn’t just been upgraded due to recent events.”
“So how’s it work?” Tucker asked.
“The missile is just the delivery method for the AM-P technology, which causes almost all of the actual destruction. It emits a pattern of acoustic pulses that break down the molecular lattices of metals, non-polymeric materials, and other semi-crystalline materials,” she said, glancing slyly at Tucker.
“I’ll need a translation of that later,” Tucker said.
“How is this thing capable of causing the destruction it did?” Edge asked.
She broke it down to a simpler level or understanding.
“Metals have a granular structure and each grain is a crystal-like lattice. The grains bond strongly to each other, giving metal both its strength and flexibility. Concrete is similar but much more rigid. AM-P technology works by hitting the granular structure with a series of acoustic pulses that vibrates the individual grains in ways that cause the bonds between grains to fail. Metals become soft and weak and concrete basically turns to gravel.”
“That explains why the buildings in Miami collapsed so quickly,” Tucker commented.
Xuxa nodded in agreement. “It would be devastating against metal-framed structures, which most modern high-rises are. The pulses would also be damaging to any electronics or electrical equipment in the kill zone.”
“It still seems like it would require a much bigger device to do that much damage,” Edge said.
“Remember the Seattle earthquake of 2001? That was a test of the basic function of the AM-P technology. Just the basic function. It was supposed to be a tiny, tiny tremor that most people wouldn’t notice, but the program head wanted to be sure that he got good readings, so he had the device set for more powerful emissions than planned. He wasn’t aware that Seattle is one of the most geologically active areas in North America and after the event, seismologists discovered that the area is in a rock basin several miles across which reflected and amplified the acoustic waves from the earthquake. The result was a 6.8 quake and all kinds of damage. It certainly proved the concept of the weapon but the program head was removed for negligence and reassigned to some base in Greenland where he’s in charge of counting zebras; I’m told.”
“I didn’t think there were zebras in Greenland,” said Edge.
“Oh, there aren’t,” Ramona confirmed airily, “so I’m sure he’s very bored.”
“Humans aren’t made of semi-metallic poly-unsaturated whatever, but it seemed to do a number on them,” Tucker noted.
“It also works on fluids and since the body is mostly water…” she trailed off.
“How could sound do that kind of damage to a human?” Tucker asked incredulously.
“Ever seen the ads for a hi-fi speaker breaking a wine glass? Just multiply that a few thousand times, like the Saturn V from the Apollo program. The sound of those five rocket engines at take-off was so powerful that if you were caught out in the open within a certain radius of the launch pad, the acoustic pressure would pound your internal organs into jelly and cause them to hemorrhage fatally. Of course, that was sheer overwhelming wide-spectrum noise, and it took a three hundred sixty foot tall, six million pound rocket to make it. The AM-P/B is the missile-mounted version of the AM-P technology. The AM-P/B is a lot smaller than a rocket and more efficient, but if you’re within its range, it’s just as deadly.”
“How would it kill?” Tucker asked.
“In ways the guys from the Spanish Inquisition would have loved,” she said pausing for effect. “The entire body would be compromised. A person would become disoriented because the acoustic pulses would just overwhelm the inner ear and the brain would become concussed. Body fluids would start to boil as the acoustic energy was absorbed and converted to heat. Massive bruises would appear on the skin as blood vessels burst, and blood would begin seeping out of their pores. They would essentially experience being liquefied alive.
“However, the actual cause of death would be cardiac arrest. The acoustic pulses would interfere with the propagation of nerve signals within the body, and the heart would go into a fatal arrhythmia. If they’re lucky, the person will lose consciousness before everything stopped.”
Edge chuckled, noticing how squeamish Tucker became the more Ramona piled on the gruesome details.
When she was done describing the excruciating theoretical death, Tucker swallowed hard. “I’m glad I asked. And how long would the process of internal liquefaction take?”
“That depends on their position relative to the warhead. If they’re mere feet from it, I give the individual ten to fifteen seconds before the heart gives up,” she replied. “That, by the way, is one significant limitation of AM-P/B weapons: the intensity of their vibrations decreases with the square footage of the distance they reach. They have about a forty to fifty meter radius of lethality. Within that distance, death and destruction are fairly certain but beyond that, the danger reduces fairly quickly. By about three hundred meters they can cause pain, but not permanent damage. Our standard cruise missiles are accurate to within five meters of a target point. For maximum effectiveness, these weapons need to be within about two and a half meters.”
As she briefed them, Tucker was amazed by the thoroughness of her knowledge. He began to see why she had risen to the position of authority she held within the agency. That she had accomplished it as a woman in a male-dominated workplace was also remarkable. Tucker had heard the water-cooler gossip from various detractors that she succeeded because she was either an attractive female or because she was “so smart” that she didn’t have to work hard. Very few gave her credit for being smart and for working hard to make the most of her knowledge.
“The AM-P/B is multi-platform based,” she added. “Meaning that it can be fired from just about anywhere, a fixed or mobile launcher on land, sea or air, and strike its target before anyone was aware it had been discharged.”
“A good air defense radar would pick it up, right?” Tucker wondered.
“Maybe? The missiles are stealthy, so it’s hard to say exactly.” She paused to hit buttons on the screen. The image morphed into a different blueprint, one that showed sections of the missile fuselage. “It’s a low-altitude, ground-hugging, sea-skimming vehicle. Its propulsion system has a low heat signature, and the body is carefully designed to reflect radar signals away from the source. Think B-2 bomber. If radars did manage to pick up on the missile’s signature, it would probably be too late, hence Miami.”
Tucker understood that nuclear weapons had political baggage which limited their usefulness to terrorists; the blow-back onto any organization that used one would be enormous and would come from all quarters. These weapons, on the other hand, were nearly as destructive as a small tactical nuke and could be used much more freely. On the black market, they would present an entirely different global threat.
“Great; highly destructive and easily transported. And it is just what we need our enemies to have,” Edge commented. “Okay, so you launch a bunch of missiles that cause buildings to move like a Zumba dancer and collapse. It’s impressive, but most missiles will already shake things and are probably way cheaper. Why use these?” Edge asked.
Ramona pushed the blueprint off the screen and brought up a new file. It was the layout of Miami. After a few more presses to the screen, the image changed to a series of lines all leading to one area. “Whoever set off these missiles knew exactly what they were doing. Yes, they took down the other buildings, but the key to this attack was the power plant.” The graphic on the screen made sense.
It’s the power grid for all of Miami, Tucker thought to himself.
“A nuclear power plant is very solidly built with a pretty standard design for containment purposes. Regular missiles with conventional explosive warheads could kn
ock the plant out, but they may cause only superficial damage. However, when you send in one of these babies, the structural integrity of the plant is completely compromised. The time to return the power plant to operational status changes from weeks to months; maybe even never.”
“So now you get all the benefits of an electric, magnetic pulse, but more controlled. Like using a scalpel as opposed to a dull ax,” Edge surmised.
“Possibly, but you have to keep in mind that these weapons have never been tested in the field. Miami is the first recorded results of their use. The people who got these missiles had to have had access to detailed test data to know what they were capable of.”
Tucker looked to Edge, who went to open his mouth.
“Don’t say it,” Tucker stopped him. “I already know what you’re thinking, and I’m there already.”
Edge put his hands up as if to say “about time.”
Ramona looked between the two of them, waiting for someone to explain. After a few seconds, she realized she needed to press the issue. “Umm... I don’t know what he’s thinking,” she pointed out.
The two men spoke at the same time saying the same thing in different words. Ramona put her hands up. “Pause. One at a time. Sergeant Pierce, since this is apparently your idea,” she gestured. Tucker went to speak, and she snapped her hand up in a ‘shush’ gesture.
Edge recounted, “My theory is that somewhere we have members of the government knowingly or unknowingly helping this group. All the evidence is pointing to this group having the means to pull off stunts that require too much inside info to be simply tapping phone lines or hacking into emails. They also seem to have near real-time access, which means a mole or moles somewhere close to this case.” Edge crossed his arms, waiting for her denial.
“Well then you’re just going to love this next bit of information,” she replied with a smile.
Rise of the Pheonix: Act 2 Page 8