Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  "Profitable?"

  "Five million dollars up front, five more when it's done."

  Meyer sat back and crossed his arms. "When people start quoting numbers like that, I get nervous. What's the catch?"

  "As I told you, Montaña de la Serpiente is a top secret installation. It is also known as the Physical Containment Facility."

  "What does it contain?"

  "Stuff nobody is supposed to know about," Blake said. "Officially, the mountain doesn't exist. You can't even find it on a map. When you start spreading rumors about the place, the government will take a very keen interest. Such minor organizations as the FBI and the NSA will get involved. Military operatives will be ordered to find the source of the rumors."

  Meyer stared at him with a poker face.

  Blake continued, "But you can pull it off. Your operation is state-of-the-art. You have moles inside major news organizations and social networking companies. You employ hackers all over the world."

  "You seem to know a lot about me."

  "I've done my homework. Do we have a deal?"

  "What happens if I get caught?" Meyer cocked his head.

  "Armed men in cheap suits will come for you. They'll question you until you tell them about me."

  "I never give up my clients. If I had any kind of reputation as a rat, I'd be dead the next day. I have too much dirt on too many people."

  "Never is a strong word in this case," Blake said. "Regardless, you don't know anything about me, so I'm not too worried."

  Meyer worked his jaw for a moment. "I want all the money up front."

  "That's not reasonable."

  "As you say, I don't know anything about you. Why should I believe you'll pay me the balance when the job is done? And it seems like I'm taking enormous personal risks. I could end up in federal prison. You should share in the risk."

  Blake thought for a moment. "Fine. Done." It's Panetta's money anyway.

  Meyer nodded. "Of course, nothing will happen until I see a deposit in my Cayman Islands account. Now, what rumor am I spreading exactly?"

  "I have a whole game plan in mind, but we'll start with an obvious ploy." Blake smiled. "A mountain full of biological weapons."

  * * *

  Andrew looked at the lunar module in the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. The gold foil was beautiful, and he wondered if the museum used real gold in the exhibit. It was hard to believe men had landed on the moon in such a clumsy, primitive contraption. The astronauts had truly been brave men. He also felt a certain sadness. The lunar missions had begun and ended before he had been born, and it was possible he would never see people on the moon again in his lifetime.

  Andrew turned to Charley. "I'm hungry. Let's eat lunch."

  She was wearing a sweater with a black and white checkerboard pattern. It wasn't one of his favorites. The design made her look like a game board.

  "I hate museum cafeteria food," she said. "It always tastes like salty mush."

  "Maybe we can find a nice restaurant outside. We can come back and finish the exhibit later. It's not like we have much else to do."

  Andrew turned to Tungsten who was trailing behind them. He wore the standard blue suit of a federal agent.

  "Fine by me," he said with a shrug.

  The three of them made their way out of the museum and reached the sidewalk of Independence Avenue. The road had four lanes in each direction, and without the street lights, it would've qualified as a full-blown highway. Traffic was relatively light in the middle of the day, but there were still plenty of cars on the road.

  The group headed off in a random direction hoping to find food. It was a cool, sunny day, so Andrew didn't mind wandering for a while.

  They passed a newspaper vending machine. He glanced at the headline and read, "Pentagon Denies Huge Biological Weapons Stash."

  "Yeah, right," Andrew said. "I'm sure the Pentagon is lying as usual."

  Tungsten knelt down to read the headline. He used four quarters to buy a newspaper so he could see the full article.

  "You're wrong," he said. "I know for a fact the United States military has very few biological weapons in its inventory. We signed a treaty in 1972, and we abide by it."

  "So you say."

  "Are you calling me a liar, too?" Tungsten glared at Andrew.

  "Sorry." Andrew shrank back. "I'm too hungry to argue. Let's just find somewhere to eat."

  That task turned out to be harder than Andrew expected. The area around the National Air and Space Museum was all government buildings. They eventually found a Chinese restaurant in a luxury hotel.

  Soft golden light illuminated the interior of the restaurant. Stone pillars supported a very high ceiling. Diners in formal business attire sat at tables with white tablecloths, stone plates, and yellow cloth napkins. The chairs had plush, embroidered cushions.

  "We're a little underdressed," Andrew said, "and the prices must be ridiculous."

  Tungsten shrugged. "Who cares? The BPI pays us well. Let's spend some money."

  Andrew turned to Charley. She had an embarrassed look on her face but kept quiet.

  The maître d' seated the three of them at the worst table next to the kitchen. Just see if we leave a nice tip, Andrew thought.

  They looked at their menus. He quickly found his usual, safe choice: beef with broccoli. A waiter arrived to take their orders. Charley asked for spicy prawn, and Tungsten ordered roast duck.

  After the waiter was gone, Tungsten went back to looking at the newspaper and frowning.

  "Still bothered by that?" Andrew said.

  "The stash is supposedly at Mumford Army Base. I've been there, and those are good soldiers. They don't deserve this kind of crap thrown at them." Tungsten slapped the paper with his palm. "It's all rumors and denials. There isn't a speck of substance in this article."

  "Where is the base?"

  "Southern New Mexico," Tungsten said, "way out in the desert. Nothing but rocks, sand, and dry grass as far as the eye can see. It's a good place for live weapons training."

  Andrew's phone rang. He checked the display and saw Director Frank Webster was calling.

  Shocked, Andrew took the call. "Yes?"

  "I need to have a meeting with you and Charley," Webster said.

  "It must be important if you're calling me directly. What is it about?"

  "You'll find out when you get here."

  "We're at a restaurant," Andrew said. "We just ordered lunch."

  "Go ahead and eat, but come straight here afterwards."

  "Sure."

  "Bye," Webster said.

  Andrew put away his phone and delivered the news to his companions.

  "Now I'm worried," Charley said. "I didn't know he even had our number. Somebody else always calls for him."

  "Yeah. It can't be good news," Andrew said.

  * * *

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked into Webster's office. The director was sitting behind his blue metal desk with a troubled expression. Paperwork was stacked in neat piles, but he showed no interest in it. A row of four phones was on his desk, and one phone was red. Andrew saw no family pictures and wondered if Webster even had a family.

  "Should I go, sir?" Tungsten said hesitantly.

  "No," Webster said. "You can listen, but close the door and lock it."

  Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise. Tungsten closed the office door and slid a deadbolt into place.

  "What's going on?" Andrew said.

  "I have information which may or may not be pertinent to the Blake Blutstein case," Webster said.

  "Great. What is it?"

  "The problem is I can't tell you. Federal law forbids me from communicating the information to you."

  "Oh," Andrew said. "That's annoying."

  "It's worse than that. You're not allowed to have this information. If I discover concrete evidence that you possess it, I'll have to put you in prison. Same goes for you, Charley."

  Charley gasped.


  Webster continued, "Concrete evidence could be written or electronic communication. It could be a recording." He emphasized the last word strongly.

  Andrew looked around the room, and the shelves full of manuals seemed innocuous. "Is there a microphone in here?"

  "It's safe to assume microphones are everywhere in this place."

  Andrew swallowed.

  "That phone in your pocket was issued by the BPI," Webster said. "The government owns all data on it including emails and texts. Even your browser history could be used as evidence against you. If you call Charley to discuss the forbidden information, an agent will listen, and I'll get a report."

  "So, you want to tell us something we're not allowed to know."

  "And if I officially know you know, you'll be in deep trouble."

  Andrew nodded. "I get it."

  Webster stared at Andrew and Charley for a long moment. The apprentices waited silently.

  "Did you see the news today?" Webster said finally.

  "Which news?" Andrew said.

  "The troubling story about biological weapons being stored at Mumford Army Base."

  "I saw the headline. Tungsten thinks it's a lie."

  Webster leaned forward. "Lies of that sort can shine a bright light where it's not wanted."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That's all. You're dismissed."

  "Huh?" Andrew said.

  "Go. Take the rest of the day off. In fact, take the rest of the week. You deserve a break after so much training."

  Tungsten unlocked the door. He, Andrew, and Charley hurried out of the office.

  "We can't talk in here," Charley whispered. "Let's go outside."

  They walked swiftly to the elevator, rode it to the surface level, and made their way out of the building. BPI headquarters was located in one of the nicest suburbs of Washington. Two and three-story houses stood behind expansive lawns. Big, mature trees created plenty of shade. A pretty young woman was pushing a baby stroller.

  Tungsten, Andrew, and Charley kept going until they were completely out of sight of headquarters. A long-range camera wouldn't be able to read their lips.

  Andrew was breathing heavily when they finally stopped walking. "What the hell was that about?"

  "I have no idea," Charley said. "Why would the BPI care what happens to an Army base?"

  "Maybe a seam is there."

  "Then it wouldn't be a secret from us. Tungsten, tell us more about that place. What did you do there?"

  "I was an instructor for a year," Tungsten said. "I taught desert warfare tactics. It's one of the biggest bases in the United States covering three thousand square miles. They do a lot of missile testing. The training areas are enormous, and the artillery range could be the best in the world. The 3rd Armored Division is stationed there."

  "How many soldiers?" Andrew said.

  "An entire brigade of infantry, almost four thousand men and women."

  "Sounds like a good place to hide illegal biological weapons."

  Tungsten shook his head. "No way. Something else is going on, and if Webster is spooked, it must be bad. I hate it when commanders start speaking in code."

  "Obviously, we need to do more research." Andrew took out his phone to use the browser, but then he remembered Webster's warning. "We'll need a public, anonymous computer."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked into a copy and print store. Clerks stood at a counter on the left, and giant copier machines filled the space behind them. Smaller machines suitable for customers had slots for cash or credit cards. A bewildering variety of pens and pencils were for sale even though Andrew couldn't remember the last time he had written a document by hand. He preferred typing.

  Public computers were on the right. Long tables held four computers each, and vertical partitions provided some privacy. Chairs made of hard red plastic didn't look inviting, but hopefully, he wouldn't be using them for long.

  Each person sat at their own computer. Andrew didn't want to pay for time with his credit card because the purchase could be traced. Webster had made it clear Andrew needed to keep his activities covert. Fortunately, the payment device took cash, and he stuffed in a twenty dollar bill.

  Andrew first brought up a satellite image of Mumford Army Base. Even when seen from outer space, the land was depressingly desolate. The arid desert was shades of tan and yellow without any green, and darker streaks were mountains. He had to scroll across vast stretches of emptiness to find evidence of human habitation. Around a hundred buildings were built around an airstrip.

  "Where is the biological weapons stash supposed to be?" Andrew said.

  He leaned around a partition to see what Charley was doing. News reports from many different web sites were on her computer screen.

  "Someplace called Montaña de la Serpiente," she said. "It's supposedly a mountain in the northern part of the base."

  "Hey, Tungsten, you ever heard of it?"

  "Nope." Tungsten shook his head. "But there are lots of mountains around there, and most have Spanish names."

  Andrew used mapping websites to search for the name, but he got no hits.

  "I'm coming up empty here," he said. "Charley, what else do you got?"

  "The story about biological weapons is all over the internet," Charley said, "but it's the same everywhere. Just rumors. No witnesses. No hard facts. Nothing we can check out."

  "I told you," Tungsten said.

  "Wait, I found the coordinates of the mountain."

  She read off a longitude and latitude, and Andrew typed them into his computer. An image of landscape popped up, but it was empty. He didn't even see a hill, much less a mountain.

  "Are you sure that's right?" Andrew said. "It's blank."

  Charley confirmed the coordinates.

  "That's what you get for using public satellite images," Tungsten said. "They always erase secret government facilities. We don't want our enemies taking a peek."

  "So the mountain could be here?" Andrew said.

  "It's possible, or maybe it really is nothing. I don't know. I never worked in that part of the base."

  Andrew sat back on his hard chair feeling frustrated.

  An idea suddenly occurred to him.

  "Montaña de la Serpiente might be the location of the Vault," he said. "That would explain why Webster is so twitchy."

  Charley turned to him with wide eyes. "You could be right. We know the Army is guarding the Vault, and that location is very secure."

  "What's the Vault?" Tungsten said.

  "You don't know?" Andrew said. "The BPI didn't explain it during your briefing?"

  "Apparently, not."

  "You know what a portable seam is, right?"

  "Sure," Tungsten said. "Blake has one."

  "The BPI doesn't like them. They make sorcerers too powerful, and you get problems like Blake. So, the BPI locked all the portable seams it could find in a top secret location."

  "Makes perfect sense."

  "But the Vault has more than just seams in it," Andrew said. "There is a whole library of forbidden books. The BPI tries to control sorcerers by taking away our knowledge. Journals, diaries, notebooks, and historic artifacts are in the Vault. We're not supposed to know the location for obvious reasons." He looked at the blank spot on the map. "My grandfather's journals are there."

  "He was a sorcerer?"

  "A very powerful one, and he performed daring experiments. He was on the cutting edge of sorcery. He actually worked with Blake's father. They died together during an experiment."

  Tungsten looked down. "I'm sorry."

  "I never met my grandfather," Andrew said, "but I've heard stories. Anyway, if Montaña de la Serpiente is the Vault, the BPI would be very nervous about any kind of publicity. The stuff in there is even more dangerous than biological weapons."

  "Sounds like Blake would love to get inside."

  "Exactly. Any sorcerer would."

  "Hold on," Charley
said. "You're jumping to a lot of conclusions. Raiding the Vault sounds too ambitious even for Blake. I'm sure the security there is insane. It was designed to keep out hostile sorcerers. And how would Blake even know the location? How does bad publicity help his cause?"

  Nobody had a ready answer.

  Andrew looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody else in the store could overhear the conversation. A woman was looking at shelves full of bottles of glue and tape rolls, but she was far away. A clerk in a white and blue uniform was reloading the paper trays in the copiers.

  "I have a question," Tungsten said. "How did you know the Army is guarding the Vault?"

  "When we were at the survivalist camp," Andrew said, "an armored truck brought a portable seam to us. Army soldiers were guarding it."

  "What camp? Tell me the whole story."

  "Sure. It started when Serkan disappeared. He was Keene's apprentice. Charley and I were told to look for Serkan."

  "Why you?" Tungsten said.

  "Mostly because we were available, I think. We ran into dead ends until we were called away to investigate a banshee attack."

  "It was bad," Charley said. "Dozens of victims, most killed and the rest were rendered insane. We found Serkan among the dead. He created the banshee using a seam the BPI didn't know about."

  Tungsten grimaced. "Sounds like he got what he deserved."

  "No." Andrew shook his head. "Blake was responsible. He had used mind-control on Serkan, but we didn't figure that out until much later. We knew something was fishy though, and Tonya led an investigation. Blake came with us."

  "What?" Tungsten stared.

  "He claimed he wanted to be helpful, but he was actually making sure the investigation reached the conclusion he intended."

  "Which was what?"

  "When an apprentice breaks the law," Andrew said, "the master is partially responsible. Blake wanted Keene to go to prison for Serkan's crimes."

  "That doesn't sound fair."

  Andrew shrugged. "It's the rule. While under Blake's control, Serkan created a trail of clues which we followed after his death. The biggest clue was a journal written by a sorcerer and discovered by a soldier in World War I."