“I don’t have a lawyer! I haven’t been offered one. I haven’t been read my rights. I need my phone call.”
“Well let me take care of that. You not only have the right to remain silent, I insist on it. You’ll get a public defender lawyer as soon as we can round one up. Things are working a little more slowly these days. As for a phone call, ours don’t work, so it looks like you’re up that creek without a paddle. Now go to sleep or something.”
The guard walked away and Jana heard the outer door open, then clank shut, its metallic tones reverberating through the halls of bare concrete and cold steel. She walked back to the bunk and sat down. Things weren’t exactly going her way, but at least she was safe here. When her lawyer arrived, maybe she could get a message to Great Central.
5:03 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
HART COMPLEX
Hart bounced along the narrow farm road in the Hummer, headed for the airstrip on the backside of his sprawling property. The pilot was staying in the small apartment inside the Gulfstream’s hangar, ready to leave with little notice. Without telling anyone, Hart had radioed ahead and the engines were at a low hum when he arrived. He hated to leave without his whore, but such was the unfairness of life.
“Where to, sir?” the pilot asked when Hart stepped on board.
“Moscow.”
“Russia?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll take me a little while to plan the flight, get clearances, find a qualified co-pilot—”
“There will be no co-pilot and no flight plan.”
“Sir, I’m not happy about a transoceanic solo flight, but I’ll do it. Doing it without a flight plan is another matter altogether. With no commercial traffic to clutter the skies, an unauthorized private flight will draw a lot of attention. If we don’t file a flight plan, we’ll pick up an Air Force escort within a hundred miles.”
Hart closed his eyes and breathed deeply, summoning control. The pilot deserved to be shot in the groin and fed through one of the turbine engines, but Hart could not fly the aircraft himself. “Plan your flight, and have me out of here in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes sir.”
43
5:05 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
YELLOW CREEK
Andrea was working the phones hard. In addition to trying to reach Alpine Village for me and Abdul’s family for him, Tark had her trying to reach someone at headquarters to get the info on the call from Jana. I had also sent an email requesting the trace, but there had been no response. Tark was in the lounge going over all the communications that had come in from AC during the week. “You have new mail,” my laptop said.
Mr. Decker:
My name is Larry Bond and I have been instructed by the director to liaison with you. I will keep you posted on all significant developments and of course ask that you do likewise. For the sake of expediency, my communications will be informal as opposed to official reports which take too long to prepare.
We just received a bizarre report from a town in Texas called Earth. A number of men showed up in this small town (pop. ~1000) and had plans to “exterminate” one fourth of the town’s official population, half with VX nerve gas and half with swords. Several dozen townspeople were killed, along with all but one of the intruders.
Will forward more details when I have them. Please let me know if you and your people can make any sense out of this.
Best ...
Larry
I printed the message and headed for the lounge. “Tark, take a look at this,” I said.
He read the message and shook his head. “Lord help us. He figured he couldn’t kill a fourth of planet Earth, so he went for Earth, Texas instead. He was cutting some corners in another way too, though.”
“Explain.”
He peered at the big Bible. “Verse eight calls for a fourth of the Earth to be killed through sword, hunger, and the beasts of the earth. Looks like they had the sword part covered. The beasts of the earth passage is theorized to be some kind of plague or pestilence.”
“The poison gas could be pestilence.”
“Yep, but he missed the famine altogether. Hard to figure why he’s so meticulous on some things and sloppy on others.”
Andrea ran into the room. “I finally got hold of headquarters. They’re having generator problems and can’t access the phone computers until morning.”
“Any luck reaching the other places?” I said.
She shook her head. I suddenly couldn’t keep my eyes open and laid my head down on the table. “Just keeps getting better,” I said into the table.
“Andrea, it’s five o’clock but we need you to stay if you can.” Tark said.
“I’m here as long as you need me.”
He thanked her and I pushed myself upright. He was readying the pipe for another session, tamping tobacco with furious purpose.
“Tark, you’re onto something. What is it?”
He flicked his lighter and sucked the flame into the bowl. “I’ve figured something out, but I don’t know that it’s any help to us now.”
“I’m listening.”
He puffed and studied a sheet of paper. “We’ve already spotted the antichrist theme, so this part is sort of irrelevant.”
“Come on, out with it.”
“Hold those ponies, Matthew, I’m getting there. You remember your first email, when I said the first line sounded familiar?”
“Sure, the ‘Never more horror’ line.”
“That came from one of Nostradamus’ quatrains.”
“Meaning?”
“Generally thought to be part of an end-of-days prophecy, which fits right in with the antichrist stuff.”
“I agree, that’s irrelevant. We already—”
“I’m not through.” He was power-puffing now, sweet billowing clouds. “Once I figured that out, I looked at the rest of the emails. Here, take a look at the one he sent to the White House.” He shoved it in my face.
“What am I looking for in this one?”
“’You will tremble mightily.’”
“I see it.”
“Guess who else used that line?”
“Nostradamus?”
“Bingo.” He picked up an open book from the table. “I swung by the house on my last trip back from the hospital and brought back anything I thought might help. Peggy bought this thing at a yard sale years ago.”
I took it from him and looked at the spine. Nostradamus Complete. It was open to a page with a heading of Century Nine, Quatrain 83. Underneath was the verse itself, first in French:
Sol vingt de Taurus si fort de terre trembler,
Le grand theatre remply ruinera:
L’air, ciel & terre obscurcir & troubler,
Lors l’infidelle Dieu & saincts voguera.
Then in English:
Sun twentieth of Taurus the earth will tremble very mightily,
It will ruin the great theater filled:
To darken and trouble air, sky and land,
Then the infidel will call upon God and saints.
“So, AC uses a line from Nostradamus,” I said as I continued to read, “predicting an earthquake.”
“And the sixth seal involves a massive earthquake.”
“So the question is ... ”
“How do you fake an earthquake?”
44
MIDNIGHT DAYLIGHT CENTRAL TIME
0500 GREENWICH MEAN TIME
80 NAUTICAL MILES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST OF
REYKJAVIK, ICELAND
Hart burst into the cockpit and heard the pilot talking into his headset. “Roger that, Approach. Descending through ten thousand to three thousand. Expecting left base for runway zero-two.”
“Affirmative, two-one-six. Contact tower at outer marker on one-eighteen-point-three. Good day, sir.”
“What are you doing?” Hart said.
“I’m landing at Keflavik International to top off the tanks, sir.”
“You will do nothing of t
he kind. I know full well that this aircraft has the fuel necessary for the trip without stopping and you will fly it directly to Moscow.”
“No sir. I will not. After we land, you’re welcome to hire another pilot if you like, but I will not start across the North Atlantic with anything less than topped-off tanks.”
Hart wailed like a wild animal and scurried back to the cabin. The pilot made a mental note to seek other employment at the earliest possible opportunity, and checked the weather again. Conditions between Iceland and Europe looked good at the moment, but the North Atlantic tracks were notorious for changing their minds for the worse. He wasn’t a particularly religious man but he said a prayer anyway, and started working the pre-landing checklist.
DAY FIVE
SATURDAY
I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with a loud voice, saying,
How long, O Lord, holy and true,
dost thou not judge and avenge our blood
on them that dwell on the earth?
Revelation 6:9-10
45
4:30 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
YELLOW CREEK
I woke from a fitful sleep and a torrent of bad dreams to find myself on one of the mattresses, not remembering how I got there. The room was dark. So was the hallway outside other than the scant light that spilled into it from the control room at the other end. I couldn’t remember what I had dreamed, but its melancholy ambiance carried over into my conscious state. As I lay there in the quiet, hot dark, a dreadful realization settled over me so strongly that I said it out loud. “I have no life.”
I had no family beyond distant relatives whom I didn’t know. There were women I dated, but none I loved and to my knowledge none who loved me. My address book was filled with business acquaintances. I lived in a spectacular and absurdly large house on top of a mountain that overlooked the Pacific on one side and lush green valleys on the others. I had every toy money could buy and more money than I could possibly spend. My adulthood had been spent in the relentless pursuit of more. More money. More stuff. More “success” at what I did. I had it all. And I shared it with a dog. Something was wrong.
After washing my face in the bathroom I plodded and stretched my way into the control room. Abdul was at his station but sound asleep, head flopped back and snoring. I checked my laptop for email and found none, then slipped outside for a little air.
The night was crystal clear and the temperature had dropped enough to call it pleasant. I could hear the diesel emergency generator on the backside of the facility, clattering over the insect life of the summer night. The generator didn’t power the outside lights and the absence of light pollution made for a dazzling overhead show. A shooting star slashed across Orion and faded at Pleiades. The moon was a small crescent settling into the western horizon. I sat on the edge of a little pier on the waterway and gazed at the majesty of it all, feeling even more insignificant. After a few minutes I caught an aromatic whiff behind me. Tark and his pipe.
“Morning, Matthew. Hope you rested well.”
“I’m feeling much better, thanks.” Physically, that was true.
“Any contact from AC?”
“Not a word.”
“FBI?”
“I talked to Brandon himself last night, gave him the skinny on the earthquake prediction. He said they’d work on it, that he’d personally task the right people on it. Nothing since.”
“I think we should turn the power back on.”
“We’re into CEPOCS and I can fix it outright within a few hours, but that’s the President’s call.”
“Maybe he’ll have the courage to order it. Whoever we’re fighting is moving according to a plan that’s been in place a long time, not in response to what you or anyone else is doing. He’ll go for the fifth seal today, no matter what.”
“Refresh me.”
“Martyrs, slain for the Word of God.”
11:10 AM GREENWICH MEAN TIME
(6:10 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME)
1500 MILES EAST OF REYKJAVIK, ICELAND
Hart had taken up residence in the co-pilot’s seat. “Why do you not go around this weather?”
“Too late for that, sir. All we can do is ride it out and hope we make it through.”
Hart’s voice had lost its earlier edge; the pilot was now his best friend. “What do you mean, you hope we make it through?”
The Gulfstream pitched violently into a sixty-degree left bank. No sooner had the autopilot leveled the wings than the altimeter spun counter-clockwise as the aircraft hit a radical area of low pressure and started a dive as lift deteriorated. It hit the bottom of the air pocket like concrete, shuddering hard enough to flex the wingtips several inches.
“Flying the North Atlantic in summer is a two-man affair. It’s a full-time job keeping up with the weather on radio and radar. You wanted a solo flight. You got it. Warmer air from the south hits cold northern air and creates mammoth disturbances in weather patterns. On top of that, we’re right on the axis of the jet stream.”
“What does that mean?”
“We have a wind blowing right up our tailpipe at three hundred knots. That kind of tailwind pushing us into this thunderstorm is not a good mix. I’ve never been in anything like this and I’m not sure the airframe can—”
A lightning bolt slashed diagonally in front of the small jet, accompanied by a thunder bumper that shook it so violently that oxygen masks dropped in the cabin. Then they hit the path of the lightning bolt, essentially a vacuum. The right engine sucked for air, and for a half-second, found none. The result was a flameout. Lights flashed and the plane’s computer spoke. “Engine failure. Engine failure. Engine failure.”
The pilot silenced the alarm, killed the autopilot, and stomped the left rudder pedal in an attempt to compensate for the tremendous yaw to the right caused by having only the left engine operational. He looked over and saw that Hart’s dark complexion was now alabaster.
“What now?” Hart screamed, sweat dripping off his nose.
“We keep trying to ride it out.”
“Are we going to make it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I really don’t.”
46
10:10 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
YELLOW CREEK
“Matt Decker, I think you should see this,” Abdul said. I walked to his station and he had two identical pictures of the white horse we’d put on the Fox web site, displayed side by side on his monitor.
“I set an alarm to let me know if this web page changed and the alarm did sound. When I looked at the page, I could not see a difference. I still had the copy of the page on my own hard drive from when we created it and inserted our horse picture, so I compared it to the current version online.”
“And?”
“The difference is in the picture.”
I looked it over for a half-minute and said, “I don’t see it, Abdul.”
“There is no difference to see, but there has been a change. Our picture was a JPEG format. Now it is BMP.”
That was curious. JPEG picture files are widely used because it’s an excellent compression algorithm that produces good quality with reasonable file sizes. BMP files, usually called bitmaps, consume a lot more disk space and thus more bandwidth when used online.
“Have you checked with Fox to be sure they didn’t make the change?”
“I have emailed them and they said they did not do anything since we uploaded our page.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Abdul?”
“If you are thinking steganography.”
Steganography involves hiding files within files. The technology got its first big public exposure after 9/11, when the government found out the terrorists were sending coordination messages to each other via pictures on the Internet. The secret file is embedded inside another carrier file–typically a picture or sound file–and the unlock mechan
ism that separates the single file back into its individual components is encrypted for security.
“It’s exactly what I’m thinking,” I said. “You got a decryption app handy?”
“I have Steganos.”
“Let’s try to bust it up and see what happens.”
He started clicking and after a few seconds said, “We were right. It is a steg file! It’s encrypted, but the password prompt looks like a clue.”
I leaned over his shoulder and studied the screen. The password prompt said:
VERY GOOD WITH THE FIRST. NUMBER THREE WILL LEAD YOU HOME. YOU HAVE THREE TRIES.
The cursor was blinking. Waiting.
Tark burst into the room. “I just got an email from headquarters. They traced the call from Jana. It came from a house outside Omaha, Nebraska.”
“Nebraska? You sure about that?” I said.
“Yep, they’ve called the FBI and passed everything on to them. You get a chance to check out your new contact yet?”
“Yeah, he looks clean.”
“Reckon you should contact him or Brandon on this Nebraska lead?”
“I’ll take a chance and trust Bond for now. Brandon doesn’t check his email regularly and it’s a monumental pain to get him on the phone.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Abdul, print that screen, please,” I said. He did and I gave it to Tark. “We’ve found a hidden file he posted on the Internet. We need to figure out the password to get inside it. Here’s what we have to go on. You mind taking a look at this problem while I work on something else for a little bit?”
Seven Unholy Days Page 21