by Robert Graf
"My dear Ann:
I have to leave at 5. I'll be in the area for a few weeks and hope to hear from you.
You make me feel like a young man again, and I don't want to lose that. Please see a doctor about your injuries. I wouldn't worry about any fallout from last night. Gang fights over turf and drugs are all too common here. I blame myself for letting you walk back alone, but that's water down the toilet. That said, do NOT go out by yourself.
Alex,(6505663336)
Ann could taste his kisses, and a warm feeling spread through her belly. She anticipated interesting weekends in her future. With that pleasant thought she limped back to the bathroom. Washing with her swollen hand proved awkward and painful. After an unsatisfactory sponge bath, she donned a motel robe and switched on the TV.
She brewed a cup of the motel’s attempt at coffee, then made herself as comfortable as possible on the bed. The local news channel had no mention of last night; despite the lack she worried. The weather announcer, a brunette who’d be at home at Hooter's, predicted Northern California and Oregon would be clear and cool. Good, should be an easy drive to Philomath. The bedside clock showed eight, time for the launch.
Ann felt a thrill of excitement as the show cut back to the anchorman, "We're switching to NASA's moon camera for the historic launch of the Jove Explorer."
The silver gourd-shaped spaceship, silhouetted against the utter black of space, hung motionless above the gray cratered moonscape. A hidden announcer counted the seconds,"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, ignition!"
There was no thundering roar as at Canaveral, just a sudden, brilliant blue flare from the engines that set her heart pounding. The silver ship barely seemed to move as it accelerated, shrank to a dot, and vanished.
Ann blinked. The whole operation had taken seconds, far quicker than Earth-based launches. There went her entire life's work. She prayed the EntComs would prove their worth. Would she have had the courage to be on that ship? There were eleven crewmembers, including two women. If something happened there was no backup, nothing capable of performing a rescue. The tiny shuttle/landing craft it carried held three people, good for short trips to asteroids.
She'd felt the entire project was a throwback to the macho days of 'The Right Stuff'. Jon had dismissed her concern about what she considered a foolhardy lack of safety precautions.
"Have you forgotten Challenger and Columbia?" she demanded, angry at his refusal to listen.
"You're overreacting. Those lessons have been learned, those mistakes won't be repeated," he’d answered with that infuriating smug tone.
She stared at the now empty blackness above the lunar surface. There would be new mistakes, possibly fatal ones. How could there not? The engine technology was in its infancy. Short hops about the moon proved nothing. "Bon voyage," she said, saluting with her cup.
Time to get moving; Philomath was five hours away. But first breakfast at Denny's if she could make it down the stairs.
Ann easily found the River Inn, right off the two-lane Main Street. With the stonework, large wooden columns and beams, it resembled Yosemite’s Ahwahnee. She parked next to the entrance. A cool breeze carried the pleasant scent of pine and fir. She was stiff from the long drive and tried to stretch, then quit when her knees wouldn't obey, and her hand complained. She limped through the double doors to the registration counter where a smiling woman in a white blouse and dark slacks, name tag Doris, greeted her. "May I help you?"
"You have a reservation for Ann Grey?"
The woman tapped her display. "Yes, Mrs. Grey. We have the Rose suite ready for you." She studied the screen a moment. "You'll be with us for two months?"
"Approximately. I'll know better in a couple weeks."
The desk clerk pushed a form and a pen across the counter. "If you'd fill this out?"
Ann filled out the form.
”Oh, there's a message for you," she said, handing Ann a white envelope and a key-card.
Ann opened the envelope and read the note: "I'll get you at 7 for dinner. I."
The wall clock showed 3:15. Plenty of time to unpack, relax and ice her injuries.
"Thank you. Where do I park?"
"Around back, by your building. Just follow the yellow arrows on the pavement. Do you need help with your luggage?"
"No, thank you. I'll manage." She hoped she could.
A quick double knock woke her from a doze. She got up from the lounge chair and glanced out her window towards the river, just visible in the dusk. "Just a minute," she called, her mind fuzzy from sleep. Must be Ian. She yawned; better be an early evening. A quick comb through her hair, and she was ready. She hadn't changed from her comfortable pants and shirt and running shoes. Good enough for around here.
She pulled on her windbreaker, stuffed her wallet and phone in her pocket, limped to the door and pulled it open.
"Good evening, Ann. I hope you're hungry."
Ian wore a light tan jacket over a button-down shirt and khaki pants. Other than the overalls after the lab disaster, she'd only seen him in a suit and tie. She approved; in fact he was quite handsome. But he wasn’t Alex.
Her stomach growled. "Yes. Do you have a place in mind?"
"There's a little steak house a couple blocks away. Is that alright? I'm sure you'll get enough of the Inn's cooking. Anything better and we'd have to go into Corvallis."
She could hobble that far. "Sounds fine," she answered, trying to follow him down the stairs. "Can you slow down?"
Ian stopped. "What's the matter?"
"I fell at the motel in Yreka and banged up my knees."
His face wrinkled in concern. "Do you need help? Banged up your hand, too, I see."
"Just clumsy," she lied, catching up to him. "How's the site? I presume you haven't hooked the prototype up yet."
Ian laughed. "No. Jim got everything unpacked into organized piles. The entangled units are plugged into local power. No generator I’m afraid, it was destroyed."
Which reminded her of her last view of the bombed-out lab; she shivered. "Sounds good, and security?"
His expression turned serious. "Please don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way. There are a couple rules I insist you follow. First, never discuss what you're doing here. I know you wouldn't anyway, but I have to state the rules. I told the real estate agent we're testing some new communication equipment. Second, never discuss security with anyone other than me or my staff, including your husband and Roger." He held up his hand. "That sounds heavy-handed, but Friday's disaster changed everything. Not to sound too melodramatic, this is war."
Ann's stomach clenched at his matter-of-fact pronouncement. She was in the exact situation she vowed she wouldn't put herself in. She could blame Hooper, but that was dishonest; she chose to go.
"You know how I feel. I'll try not to do anything stupid." Except almost getting raped. "Now, let's eat."
[Monday, Cairo]
Abu Omar watched the live feed from the moon on his tablet with mounting frustration and anger. NASA had made no mention of problems with the communication systems. Abdul had reported the lab successfully destroyed. The team was certain the EntCom had been inside. And Naliah had told his informer that Hana's brother had told Hana of a major tragedy at his work. So why hadn't NASA delayed the launch? Missing such a vital piece of equipment had to be a major setback. He had to conclude the EntCom had miraculously survived.
More diabolic devices would be sold as their success became known. He had to stop them, but how? He knew nothing about the manufacturing process, though that was easily remedied. Something as widely publicized as the EntCom had to be thoroughly described in the appropriate literature. That he could find out and then attack the weak links. There always was at least one, and he excelled at finding them. He'd put the same team to work on ferreting out the link. If that didn't work, he'd approach other groups, much as he distrusted them. As for the unbelievers who created the abomination, it was God’s will that they should pay.
&nbs
p; His thoughts were interrupted by "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, ignition!"
In seconds the silver, gourd-shaped spaceship vanished into the black emptiness of space. He was astonished at how quickly it moved. One second it hung above the moon's gray pitted surface, the next it was gone. It was in God's hands now, the EntComs were in his.
[Tuesday, Philomath]
Ann’s first impression in the morning sunlight encouraged her. The single-story, stucco building squatted in the midst of grass-covered fields surrounded by scattered pines and firs. A blue SUV sat in front. A six-foot-high chain link fence, maybe fifty yards from the building, surrounded it. The sole entrance was a sliding gate, controlled by an electric motor connected by a chain.
Ian stood by his car before the closed gate; she stopped behind him, left the motor running, and joined him.
"You operate the gate with this remote," he explained, handing her a phone-size device.
She turned it over in her good hand. One black and one white button comprised the controls. She pressed the white. The gate slowly slid open, the motor humming quietly.
"Couldn't someone who knows this technology open it?"
Ian shook his head. "My IT man assures me the encryption is unbreakable. It's very short range so a bad guy couldn't hide in the woods." He got into his car, drove through and parked next to the SUV.
Ann followed, closing the gate with the black button. She parked behind Ian and got out. She couldn't hear any traffic noise from the highway, a half-mile of gravel road away, just the breeze rustling in the trees. The piney scent invigorated her.
To the side of double metal doors a small grill pierced the wall, a camera perched above. Ian proffered a thumb-size remote. "This unlatches the doors. You have to pull them open. Point it at the little panel."
At this rate she'd need a bag for all the remotes. She pressed the remote’s button; a sharp 'click' sounded from the doors.
Ian pulled a door open and motioned for her to enter. "You have ten seconds before the doors relock. After three tries they’re locked for fifteen minutes, and an interior alarm notifies the guards. They monitor the outside cameras. You can speak to them through the grill."
She stepped into the lobby. The walls were eggshell white, the ceiling light tan, the floor light brown tiles. The back wall had a windowless door. Two men dressed in long-sleeve plaid shirts, jeans and work boots watched her. Each wore a holstered gun partially concealed by their shirt tails. Both appeared relaxed but poised, cats ready to pounce.
"Dr. Grey, this is Allan and Douglas; Allan is in charge. There's a third guard, Elgin. You'll meet him later."
She extended her good hand to the stocky, black man. "Pleased to meet you..."
He smiled and shook her hand. "I'm Allan, Dr. Grey," he said with a distinct southern accent. He motioned to his taller, blonde partner. "This is Douglas."
She shook the muscular hand. "Pleased to meet you, Douglas."
"Call me Doug, Dr. Grey."
"Dr. Grey," Ian continued, "There are always two guards on site when you're present. They manage their own time, usually four hour shifts. Each has a secure phone. I'll give you their codes before I leave; they have yours. They're staying at the same inn. They'll help you assemble the equipment." He pointed to the windowless door. "The lab and kitchen and bathrooms are through there."
"Just a minute. I need some things from the car." She limped back to her car, retrieved the bag with her notebooks and returned to the lobby.
Ian pushed the windowless door open, and Ann followed into a short hallway. To her left an open door exposed a kitchen with a table and chairs. Next to it were two doors marked with stylized cartoons of a man and woman. To her front was a door labeled Restricted, same as her old lab. She pushed the painful memory aside.
Through the Restricted door and up a short staircase led to a raised floor. Rows of overhead fluorescent lights provided a harsh illumination. Against the far wall racks of electronics reached halfway to the ceiling. In front were benches and tables with flat screens. On the floor next to a large table lay her prototype. Each pair of lasers and gas cylinders, locked in its respective cradle, glowed green. The rest of the components lay in neat piles.
"This used to be a computer room, servers for a network startup." Ian handed her several sheets of paper. "Jim made prints of your Petaluma installation."
Ann put down the shopping bag, trying not to think of its owner. The prints portrayed her prototype from several angles. "This is great. Please thank him for me. I never thought of photos."
No smile. "Will do. Now, a couple more items."
She tensed.
"If anything seems weird to you, any strangers, noises, unsolicited calls, anything, you contact the guards instantly. That goes for here and anywhere else, especially the inn. Doesn't matter, day or night. Their charge is your safety, the prototype is secondary." He flashed her a thin smile. "It’s not what Roger thinks, but that's the way it is."
"Is he coming up here?"
Ian shrugged. "He didn't say. One other thing. At night there are two large dogs loose on the grounds. Their kennel's in back. They don't know you or me; they answer strictly to the guards."
Her positive impression was rapidly fading. The more she heard the more anxious she became. What had she gotten into? Should she forget the whole thing, plead some excuse and go home? No, she had to give it a couple days.
"All this security makes me uncomfortable. How am I supposed to spot somebody watching me? They're not going to advertise."
Ian’s expression didn't change. "Ann, trust your instincts. If something doesn't feel right, it isn't." He smiled. "I'm probably overreacting, but that's my job." He looked at his watch. "I have a flight. Any questions?"
She shook her head. "After you've gone I'll have lots."
He handed her a slip of paper. “Here are the guards’ codes; they have mine. I'll be in touch.” With that he left, leaving her alone.
She studied the prototype. No way could she reassemble it with her injured hand and knees. She limped to the stairs to get an assistant.
They stopped around noon while Ann returned to the Inn to eat. The guards offered to share, but she needed a break. Assembling the prototype was taking much longer than taking it down. Doug and Allan were smart and quick. Still she had to supervise every detail.
Finally the last cable was connected. Ann compared the photos to their creation. The flat screens and printer rested on a table with their respective computers underneath. The visible lasers glowed green, the IR invisible. She trusted herself enough to feel confident, even hopeful. If not she’d figure something out.
"Looks good," she told Allan. "Thank you for the help, and tell Doug I appreciate his help, too."
"No problem, Dr. Grey. Need anything, just ask."
The digital wall clock showed nearly four. That's enough for today.
Call Alex? Tempting, but too soon. Wait a couple days. It was weird; they hadn't exchanged last names. It didn't seem important at the time. She should do a search on him and couldn't. No matter, her instincts told her he was a good man. She would see him again.
[Wednesday, Vatican City]
Curia Congregation meetings were traditionally held in a windowless room. Today Cardinal Balsamo longed for a window to let in real sunlight instead of the dull yellow radiance cast by the central chandelier. Cardinals sporting scarlet zucchettos, seated in high-backed, upholstered chairs circled the round conference table. Their black cassocks contrasted with the broad scarlet sashes and silver crosses suspended from slender chains around their necks.
After all the years it still amazed him that these nine old men, himself included, had such enormous power over the billion plus of Church faithful. None were under sixty-five; at seventy-five, Giuseppe of the Congregation for Catholic Education was eldest and due to retire. The one who concerned him the most was Gustav Meyer of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Meyer was the only prelate with formal manage
ment training. Everyone else, including him, were priests risen through the ranks. Balsamo respected the sharp intellect hidden in Meyer’s portly frame, yet he was too traditional.
Balsamo sensed a palpable tension in the eerily quiet room, an energy ready to explode. He cleared his throat. He never felt nervous, though today was an exception, and he dared not let it show. He began without the customary opening prayer.
"I convened this meeting to discuss an event that has grave consequences for the Church. Monday, America's NASA launched a space ship to Jupiter. Ordinarily this wouldn't concern us except for one item. The ship is equipped with a quantum communication device that has the unbelievable ability to distinguish lies from truth. I have tested it, and it functions as claimed." He paused. “It is the devil’s own.”
A silent shock ran through the group. Expressions ranged from puzzlement to disbelief. Then the room erupted in a clamor as everyone tried to speak at once. Balsamo made no move to intervene. Finally the stout Cardinal Meyer stood, drawing everyone's attention. The room quieted.
"Your Eminence, that is a most extraordinary statement. You are not known to waste time on frivolous matters, so I won't comment on what at face value is impossible. You claim to have tested this machine. How? Did you test this to the same standards as you would for a supposed miracle?"
"I submitted ten statements about Church history known only to a Church historian to the scientist who invented the device." Balsamo opened his folder and passed copies of the list around the table. The only written notes would be what he provided. He hoped that everyone obeyed the dictate forbidding electronic devices of any kind, though it was on the honor system.
The Cardinals studied the questions, frowning, then gazed at him with skeptical expressions.
"All were answered correctly. The information is not available on the Web."
The jowl-faced Cardinal Carlo of the Congregation for the Clergy interrupted, jabbing his finger at the list. "This number seven is wrong; worse, it's blasphemy."