The StarSight Project

by S. P. Perone

  She grabbed Gerry under the armpits, and began to drag him out of the office and into the hallway. She strained to haul the dead weight, and made slow progress. Fortunately, the hallway floor was hardwood, and offered little resistance to the movement of the body. Ellen cringed as she noticed the trail of blood behind the Senator’s body.

  Having moved only about five feet down the hallway, she saw Carothers stumbling out of the office doorway, one arm on the manager’s shoulder. When he saw Ellen’s struggle with the Senator, he pushed the manager aside, ordering him to help Ellen, as he grabbed the wall for support.

  The manager did as he was told, and relieved Ellen of the hold on the Senator’s armpits. He began to drag him toward the exit, and the dense smoke-filled front room. Ellen noticed that the isolated fires had begun to merge, and knew the inferno was not far behind. She stood up, leaning against the wall as the shock began to set in. She stared blankly as the Senator’s body was dragged past her down the hall.

  Suddenly, incredibly, she felt Carothers stumble past her, the knife handle sticking out from his chest. He bent down, lifted the Senator’s feet, and helped the manager quickly move him towards the exit.

  Simultaneously, Ellen saw one of the firefighters burst into the suite, a firehose in hand. Immediately, there was a spray of water directed at the several points of fire in the front room. She breathed a sigh of relief, and stumbled forward through the smoke, following her husband out of the suite.

  Out in the corridor, they carried the Senator down towards the elevator, and set him down on the floor. Carothers instructed the manager to get the paramedics up to the sixth floor as soon as possible. Then, he turned his attention to his wounded friend. Removing her coat, and placing it over her husband, Ellen tried to arouse him.

  “Gerry. Gerry. Honey, speak to me! Please!” she whispered urgently in his ear. “Please, Gerry. Wake up. Don’t leave us! Please!”

  The Senator remained motionless, his eyes closed. His breathing barely detectable. As the tears began to run freely, Ellen threw herself on him, holding him close, trying to will life back into him.

  Gently, Carothers placed a hand on her shoulder. He feared that his friend was mortally wounded, and he knew he needed to preserve his strength so he could share it with Ellen. She would be devastated. He looked down at the dagger handle protruding from his chest, and wondered why he was still alive. He knew one thing for sure; he had better not try to remove the blade.

  Unexpectedly, the Senator opened his eyes, looked at Carothers, and began to speak. It was a barely audible whisper, but Ellen heard it. She lifted her head from the Senator’s shoulder, and looked into his face. “What is it, Gerry? What did you say?” she asked.

  “Nathan,” he croaked, “did you…stop…the missile? Did…the…plan …work?”

  Carothers could barely hear him, but he understood the question. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he knew the answer. But, he knew the answer he had to give. “Quiet, old friend,” he replied. “Take it easy. Yes…the plan worked, Gerry. Everything’s OK. The missile is till in the hole.”

  With a pained smile forming on his lips, the Senator seemed to relax. He turned his gaze towards Ellen. “What are you…doing here…sweetheart?” he whispered slowly. “I sent you…home.”

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Ellen looked down at her wounded hero. She knew she had to be strong for him right now. Smiling at him, she said softly, “I spent too much time away from you last night, Gerry. I don’t plan to ever let you get away from me again. I love you, sweetheart…with all my heart.”

  Feeling she might lose it again, Ellen leaned over to embrace her husband, and buried her head in his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his arms to return her embrace. She felt his cold hands on her back, using his waning strength to pull her close. “I love you, Ellen,” he whispered, as his hands slid off her back, and his arms fell back to his side.

  Alarmed, Ellen held him more tightly, trying to keep him warm. But, she got no response. She couldn’t sense his breathing. She felt him slipping away. And she panicked.

  Sobbing hysterically, she shouted at him. Ordering him to wake up. To speak to her. To hold on. To stay with her. Finally, she turned to Carothers, eyes pleading for him to do something.

  Kneeling down beside her, Carothers placed both hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ellen. He’s gone.”

  She was still sobbing silently, holding the Senator tightly, when the paramedics arrived.

  The taxi deposited Sharif at theHauptbahnhoff , the central train depot of Zurich, where he could catch an express train to any of the main cities of Europe. But, he knew that he could not wait until six o’clock when the first express train to his destination would depart. Instead, he decided to take the first train departing to Geneva, even if it were a local. He would depart within the hour. He had not been intercepted yet, but he didn’t know how long that would last. Once he reached Geneva, he could take the express train to his destination. Once there, he would rent a car, take care of some business, and then head for his Villa on the Italian Riviera. Owned through a dummy corporation, he would be able to stay there indefinitely, until he could assess if and when he could return to the world as Ahmed Sharif. In the mean time, he would need to contact Ali-Sheikh. The Bear needed his help; and Ali-Sheikh would want an explanation for why the missile attack had not happened.

  As the Gulfstream V jet streaked towards its first stop in Halifax, Nova Scotia, its inhabitants were oblivious to the fact that they had just been spared a horrible, wrenching plunge from the sky to certain death on impact with the earth. Likewise, a hundred thousand or more air passengers over the northeastern United States at that hour had been spared from similarly horrible deaths. Included among them were Sharon Carson’s young daughter and her mother, on a late flight to San Francisco so that they could enjoy a Thanksgiving reunion. Nor was anyone aware that a United States Senator had given his life in the successful ploy to abort the terrorist attack.

  For the past hour Max had been seated in the forward section…steaming. Shane had gotten the better of him, and he was angry. It was clear, now, that the CIA had figured out some of his methods. And, Shane was using this to shake him up.

  Max had hoped that Shane would have been killed in the explosion at the winery. It would have been a satisfying resolution to the malice and hatred that Max had carried with him for the past five years. It was Shane who had been most responsible for his being discharged from the faculty at the University of Toronto. Shane’s scathing review of his research grant proposal to the Canadian Research Foundation had effectively scuttled his research program at the university. With only six months funds remaining in his previous grant, he had sought a renewal. When it had been turned down, Max had been forced to release his research students. Turn loose his postdoctoral associates. Reduce his research program to rubble.

  Although the identities of proposal reviewers were held confidential, Max had hacked into the CRF’s computer network. Shane’s name and review had been extracted easily, along with the other reviewers’ names and comments. It had clearly been Shane’s review that tilted the balance towards rejection.

  Shane had not known Max personally. Their paths had never crossed. And, of course, Shane would not recognize this defrocked professor today…with his new name and altered appearance. Although Max could not see it, Shane’s review had been objective and professional…but it had been devastating to Max’s program. Max turned his fury towards Shane, and swore his revenge.

  But, reducing his research program to shambles was not the reason Max had been discharged. As a tenured Associate Professor of Computer Science, he could have retained his faculty position. And, as many others had before him, he could have recovered from the loss of research funds. Prepare new proposals. Send them to various funding agencies. Persevere.

  Instead, Max wallowed in self-pity. His teaching suffered. Students complained to his department head. One student in particular had been in
censed by Max’s cavalier, negligent attitude. This attractive, intelligent young lady, a junior Computer Science major in Max’s Systems Analysis course, had filed a formal complaint with the Dean of Students. And, a hearing had been scheduled.

  Before the meeting could be held with the Dean, the young lady had suffered a brutal attack by an unknown assailant. Left for dead, she had remained unconscious for several days. It was clear that she had not only been beaten and sexually assaulted, but had been tortured mercilessly. As the prime suspect, Max had been arrested, but released on bail.

  As the authorities waited for the girl to regain consciousness, and identify Max as the assailant, Max was placed on administrative leave from the university. It was then that Max decided to abandon ship. His disappearance, and the simultaneous mysterious demise of the young lady, without ever regaining consciousness, convinced the university to discharge Max. He was still being sought by the Toronto Police Department, and had been profiled onAmerica’s Most Wanted. But they had been hampered by the mysterious disappearance of crucial data in their computer files. And Max had successfully altered his appearance and covered his trail.

  Now, Max was taking stock of where he was. Greed was not his only motivation, he reflected. The thirty million dollars he would collect from Solomon and the Bear would provide comforts beyond his wildest dreams…but he also needed resolution to the festering thorn in his side inserted by Tony Shane. He had been drawn into the StarSight affair because of his obsession with bringing Shane down. He had planned to use his hacking skills to sabotage Shane’s research. Substitute fake reviews for Shane’s papers and proposals. Disrupt Shane’s professional life in every way he could. Finding on the internet the solicitations from Solomon and the Bear targeting Shane was a bonanza he had not expected. And, now, he was very close to collecting on this contract. The last thing he needed was for Shane to get the best of him one more time.

  With an intensity that only a brilliant warped mind could generate, he pored over the events of the past few weeks. Could Shane’s statements be true? Could they have manipulated him? Was the stolen StarSight package a fake?

  After considerable reflection, Max concluded finally that most of what Shane had said was bluff and bullshit. Most importantly, he was sure that Shane’s claim that he had been fed afake StarSight package was not true. Max had picked it up from the Lab’s internal network, which the idiots had all believed was secure. He was certain that a fake package had not been planted there.

  Feeling much calmer now, Max smiled once more…as he reflected that soon he would be free of his problem passengers. Shane and Sarah would be in Solomon’s hands. And he knew that their mutual need to protect one another would hold them hostage to whatever their new masters desired. The prospect of their bleak enslavement was becoming even more satisfying to Max than if Shane had perished in the explosion.

  Lying on a bed in the Emergency Room in the Zurich hospital, Carothers was being prepared for surgery. No one had been foolish enough to try and remove the knife, thank God. Despite much of the conversation being conducted in Schweizer-Deutsche, the strangely melodic Swiss-German dialect, he was able to pick up on the amazement of the medical staff that he was not dead.

  Carothers was likewise surprised at his survival. The only thing he could figure was that his 275-pound frame was too thick to allow the relatively short shaft of the dagger to penetrate to where it could cause a mortal wound. That some serious damage had been done, was not a question. Something had caused him to collapse when the knife had plunged into his chest. But, the bleeding had been minimal, because the dagger had not been removed. And, miraculously, no vital organs or arteries had been pierced. Speaking to him in perfect English, the doctors had assured him the surgery would repair all the superficial damage, and restore any internal plumbing that had been injured.

  He had not seen Ellen since they took him to the ambulance. He was sure she had stayed with the Senator as long as she could, and was probably still with the authorities, providing whatever information they needed. He recalled, sadly, the bloodstained silver dress, and the pale, drawn look on her face. He wished he could be with her; but he knew she was a strong woman. She had survived a horrific baptism of fire this night.

  While waiting to be wheeled into surgery, Carothers had made several phone calls. The first was to the American Embassy, informing them of the situation he and Ellen were in. He requested that they send some of their staff outpronto to give him the resources he needed, and to help them both deal with the authorities.

  It was going to be a nightmare for Ellen. Soon, she would be bombarded with questions from local reporters. CNN would be on top of it quickly, and then there would be representatives of the American Press. She would need help dealing with all of it; and he was helpless. The Embassy would help, but he hoped she would get in touch with the Senator’s staff back in Washington, and get someone out here to act as a buffer for her. That there would be a police investigation was inevitable. Interpol would be involved, and so would the FBI. Agents would be here as soon as the flights could be arranged.

  As soon as the Embassy staff had delivered a portable scrambler phone to him, Carothers had called the President, to be sure he was the first to know that the missile attack had been stopped, and to tell him the circumstances of the Senator’s demise. They needed to have a cover story, and Carothers had been instructed on that matter.

  Carothers had asked whether the U.S. and Russian Navies were cooperating to track down and destroy theSkibirsk , but he did not get a straight answer. One thing he knew. The Navy would not be happy that they had had to reveal the power of their super-secret submarine tracking methods.

  Finally, he contacted the CIA hot-line back in Langley. This was the kind of situation that needed their immediate attention.

  The long flight from Halifax to Milan had been uneventful so far. The required passport document had been obtained in Halifax. The aircraft had been refueled. And some food had been brought on board. For the first two hours of the flight, Shane and Sarah were left alone. Finally, Salomé walked back to them, asking if they would like something to eat, and if they needed to use the lavatory. They responded positively to both questions, and Salomé proceeded to unlock and escort each of them individually to the rear lavatory. As before, she stood watch with the door open, for each of them.

  When they had each returned and been handcuffed to their seats, Salomé went to the galley immediately behind them, and fetched two trays with sandwiches and soft drinks. Attaching each tray to their individual seats, she made sure they were able to manage with one hand, and returned to the galley. Obtaining a tray of food for herself, she returned and took the seat directly across from Shane.

  “You two really pissed him off,” she said casually, taking a large bite of her sandwich. After chewing for a while, she followed with a query. “What did you tell him? He’s been downright anti-social.”

  Salomé continued to work on her sandwich, giving the impression she didn’t care whether or not they responded. Shane wondered what she really wanted from them. She had made no previous attempt to be friendly. Was there some advantage for them to engage her in a conversation? Ultimately, just as he had felt about the confrontation with Max earlier, he concluded they had nothing to lose, and everything to gain by talking with her. He certainly had a lot of questions for her. Perhaps she would let something useful slip out.

  “We just informed him that he had overlooked a couple important details in the big deal he’s trying to work,” Shane replied finally. “I guess he took it pretty hard, huh?”

  “Uh huh,” she responded, nodding her head, and continuing to give full attention to her sandwich.

  “So, are you and Max partners in this caper?” Shane inquired, trying to make it sound like a casual question. Like Salomé, he made a show of focusing on his meal.

  Taking a final bite of her sandwich, and washing it down with a swig of her soft drink, Salomé removed her tray and placed it on
the seat next to her. Crossing her long legs, she sat back in the seat, and looked directly back at Shane. “We’re notpartners . At the moment, we happen to be working for the same client. I was asked to help Max out with his caper today in California.”

  Her curiosity aroused, Sarah asked, “What do you mean by ‘at the moment’? Do you have other ‘clients’? Will you be working for someone else tomorrow? Or the next day?”

  “It’s very simple, Sarah. I’m a free-lance agent. A mercenary, basically. I have skills that are very marketable in certain circles. And, I take on projects from different sources from time to time.”

  “What kind of ‘clients’ do you work for?” Tony asked.

  “I’d rather not get into that, Tony. Let’s just say that the market for my talents is international, and I usually work for very legitimate organizations. As you might understand, the work I do doesn’t get publicized. One day I may be working for one organization and targeting their mortal enemy; and the next day I may be working for the ‘enemy’.”

  “That doesn’t sound like very good business practice,” Sarah stated. “How can your clients trust you?”

  Shaking her head and snorting, Salomé considered her answer. “In my business, it is expected that your loyalties can change with the wind. But, my reputation is based on absolute loyalty to my client for the duration of our contract. They can rely on that. And they know that there will be no carryover loyalties from a previous or to a future client.”

  “Your line of work,” Shane stated solemnly, “involves the taking of innocent lives, doesn’t it?”

  “Rarely areinnocent lives taken,” she responded flatly, “but…yes…sometimes I am required to kill. Does that bother you?”

  “Of course it does,” he responded. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Never.”

  Shaking his head, Shane persisted with his questions. “Were you responsible for the death of the FBI agent back at the winery in Livermore?”