That was a loaded question. Matt wasn’t sure how to answer it. “I think they’d like to come out. Mike has a family somewhere. I know he must miss them. But they had demands, President Ellis. Demands that I’m not sure you can meet. Maybe not even if you wanted to.”
“What demands?”
Matt smiled wryly. “World peace. That’s what they want and, where they’re located and with their abilities, they have the capacity to bring it about—but not in any way you’d like. Remember that old biblical verse about beating swords into plowshares? If you and other world leaders are unequal to the task, the Alpha-Zetas may do it for you.”
The president nodded. “The anomalous failures at the air bases. Yes. If they did that, then we have a problem.”
He nodded again. “But that’s not your biggest problem.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Your biggest problem is that these are smart people. They’ve killed . . . hundreds of men. Yeah, they were bad men. They were working against the good of the American people, against the good of the world, but they were people. You’d be bound by international and national law to consider the Alphas war criminals or thugs or traitors—to arrest them and indict them and put them on trial.” Here Matt shook his head. “They are not likely to let that happen.”
“We can’t just kill them,” said Ellis. “They’re American citizens who—given your description of events—have been wrongfully imprisoned and even abused by a rogue paramilitary organization.”
“And yet, they’re now vigilantes. Waging their own war, usurping the people’s prerogative to elect people to make those decisions,” Chamberlin noted.
“I have to agree with your chief of staff,” said Matt. “But I still think that’s a technicality that I’m sure some politician could work around. This is something different.” He looked at Ellis. “Madam President, this country has never faced anything like this before. I know these people. Up until they developed their zeta capacities, they were as normal as anyone in this room. Well, except for Tim, maybe, but that’s a subjective judgment on my part. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think you can go by the book on this one.”
“Negotiate,” said Admiral Hand. “You’re saying we need to negotiate with them.”
“Yes, and in good faith. No tricks. No promises you aren’t able to fulfill.”
“The United States does not negotiate with terrorists,” Admiral Hand said.
“And that’s part of the problem,” Matt said.
“No offense, Dr. Streegman, but who are you to change a policy that has been in place for as long as this nation has been around?”
“No offense taken, because that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is the problem is you consider them terrorists.”
“Aren’t they?” the president asked.
“No—they’re another species.” He took in their shocked expressions, but felt he needed to press on. “And this is first contact.”
The president took a deep breath and looked Matt in the eye. “Then it sounds like the first thing we need to do is find out what they want. Since you know them, I’d like you to help us do that, if you would.”
Matt nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“You realize, of course, that some elements within Congress are going to fight this tooth and nail.”
Margaret looked up into Curtis Chamberlin’s boyish face. She’d been on the phone for what seemed like hours, consulting with DHS, FBI, CIA, NSA—her mind was swimming in acronyms—and informing congressional leaders that they had just uncovered a clandestine paramilitary organization operating within U.S. borders. She’d had Curtis schedule a series of internal briefings for legislators and knew that Curt was right—there would be elements within Congress that would label the people holding the Pine Ridge facility terrorists and demand they be forced to relinquish it. This would be complicated by the fact that some members of Congress would be unable or unwilling to accept the reality of the situation, regardless of how many hours of video they watched or how many photographs they saw of the aftermath of Deep Shield’s destruction or how many interviews they conducted with Matt Streegman.
There were still members of Congress who didn’t believe 9/11 happened, either.
She rubbed her eyes, remembered her eye makeup too late, and swore softly. “I want to establish a timeline with milestones. We talk with these people in the mountain; we see what they want; we work toward some sort of . . . mutually agreeable accommodation. If that seems hopeless, then I’m willing to consider a military . . . option.” She snorted. “I was going to say ‘solution,’ but to paraphrase a favorite old song, ‘there is no military solution to our troubled evolution.’”
Curtis raised his eyebrows.
“The Police. ‘Spirits in the Material World.’”
“Ah. Well, Madam President, your first congressional briefing is in two hours. Which leaves us some free time to figure out what to tell the public. The conspiracy theories are already in full swing.”
“Of course they are.” Margaret shook her head. “When are they ever not?”
Ted Freitag told himself he wasn’t nervous. His constant toying with the ragged corner of his photo ID belied that. He stopped himself for the fiftieth time and considered what he’d do if the senator simply blew him off. Go home; go back to work at the Pentagon; forget any of this ever happened.
Yeah, that was good. Safe, even.
He had strong enough second thoughts about what he was doing to make him stand and glance at the door . . . just as Senator Roman Bluth stepped through it. Curiosity and annoyance warred in the legislator’s expression.
“Senator,” Ted greeted him.
“I don’t have much time,” Bluth told him. “I wouldn’t be seeing you at all if my aide hadn’t said you might know something about all this—” He waved at the window of his office.
Ted knew what he meant. “We have a mutual acquaintance—General Leighton Howard. I’ve worked with him over the years to provide intel that has proven invaluable to him . . . and to you, as I understand it.”
“Intel?”
“Information that might normally have been collected by the Pentagon only to stay in the Pentagon.”
Bluth sat behind his desk and waved Ted to a chair across from him. “Continue.”
“My communications with General Howard were severed immediately after the—uh—the Washington Monument incident. I believe the parties that he was in negotiation with escaped his control.”
“Obviously. Although, he was certain he could rein them in.”
Ted took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he was unable to do that. General Howard is dead, along with everyone who was on-site at the Pine Ridge facility. Deep Shield was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed yesterday afternoon.”
Ted watched the blood drain from the other man’s face. It was an interesting phenomenon, really, and until this moment he’d thought it merely a figure of speech. Apparently not. The other man’s obvious distress put him more at ease. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“The general’s units were massacred,” he told Bluth. “The video taken by the forestry people and DHS of the aftermath is pretty grisly. It looked as if they’d killed each other. Had a friendly firefight. Howard seems to have committed suicide in the aftermath. It was . . . creepy. Probably the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He realized he’d been toying with his ID again and put his hand on his thigh instead.
“Why? Why would they kill each other? How could that have been related to Howard’s project?”
Ted shrugged. “How much do you know about what Howard was doing up there?”
“How much do you know?” Bluth countered.
Ted just kept from rolling his eyes. “Look, Senator, we don’t have the time or luxury of a Mexican standoff. I know about the Zeta program. I know that Howard basically took over an outfit in Baltimore called Forward Kinetics and appropriated their technology fo
r military purposes. I know that you and Howard had been working closely on the project for political reasons—”
“My reasons for wanting to raise the sort of fighting force that Howard proposed have nothing to do with politics. They have to do with the current administration’s weakness when it comes to national and international threats. They have to do with protecting this country from enemies I’m not sure Ellis is even aware of.”
“Fine. I’m not going to argue with you, Senator. Whatever your reasons, I’m here to tell you that Howard and the greater portion of his military assets are gone.”
“Then the Pine Ridge facility was destroyed?”
Was there relief in the senator’s tone? Ted shook his head. “It’s still in the control of the Zetas.”
Bluth stared at him, face devoid of expression as he processed this. “You’re telling me these . . . people caused mass insanity among highly trained U.S. military personnel—”
Ted raised his hand. “I didn’t say that, Senator. I said, it looked—”
“What else could it have been? If not insanity, then what—mind control?”
Ted swallowed the sudden tightness in his throat. Was that what happened? Had the Zetas—whoever and whatever they were—exerted some form of mind control over Howard and his troops?
“You’re telling me,” Bluth went on, “that these people have control of a large, heavily armed installation.”
Ted Freitag laughed as the absurdity of the situation hit him squarely between the eyes. “Senator Bluth, I think it’s ridiculous to worry about them having weapons. They are weapons. And yes, it appears they are in control of the Pine Ridge facility and the wildlife preserve it sits in. And, as far as I know, we have no way of reaching them unless and until they want to be reached.”
Bluth got up from his desk and paced the perimeter of his office. Ted watched him pace. After three circuits, the senator stopped and looked at him.
“What’s left? You say these Zetas wiped out the units Howard had on the mountain. What didn’t they get?”
Ted sat forward in his chair. “They didn’t get Forward Kinetics.”
The senator’s face brightened. “Then we—”
“No—DHS is all over that. I heard this morning that they brought in one of the scientists behind the tech Howard was developing. But they didn’t get his partner. Just before the situation at Michaux went south, the other scientist—Brenton—took off with half his team. Howard followed them to California, but they managed to slip away. They’re still at large as far as I know.”
“Those people are also Zetas?”
“Well, I think a couple of them might be. Howard gave me five identities to keep an eye out for. You know, credit card use, phone records, Internet activity—that sort of thing.”
“And?”
“Wherever they are, they are well and truly off the grid. The last credit card use for any of them was in the days prior to the Pine Ridge fiasco.”
“What is your intention, Mr. Freitag? What do you plan to do?”
“My job. I’m a documentation specialist at the Pentagon. Nobody you would expect to have knowledge of this.”
“Would you be willing to continue to moonlight?”
Ted shot the senator a speculative look. “You aim to put Humpty Dumpty together again?”
“If I can find the pieces. Howard must have had staff at Forward Kinetics. Can you track them down?”
“Well, I have the contact info of the guy who tipped me off. I can start there.”
“And this Brenton and his people—can you find them?”
Ted laughed. “Senator, what did I just tell you? Even Leighton Howard couldn’t find them.”
“You’re in a position—”
“I’m in an administrative position that allows me to see a great deal of the intel and documentation that passes through my organization. The only way I can find Brenton and his Zetas is if someone else finds them first—hopefully without realizing it.”
Bluth returned to his desk and sat down behind it. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it across the desk to Ted. “That’s the number of a phone I used only for communication with Howard. Use it if you find out anything about anything. In the meantime, I’d like as much intel as you’ve got on any surviving members of Deep Shield and the Forward Kinetics people—missing or otherwise.”
Ted stared at the paper, committing the number to memory. He then pressed it down to Bluth’s desk with his fore and middle fingers. “Burn this. Incinerate or dissolve the phone this is connected to immediately.”
Bluth reclaimed the scrap, tucking it into his pocket. He maintained a poker face while realizing this documentation specialist had just sent him to spy school.
Ted fixed Bluth with a speculative gaze. “Financial arrangements?”
“We’ll work it out by phone. I’ll . . . take care of you.”
“This phone, a burner. It has only one number in it, and that connects to me.” Ted produced a gray flip phone and placed it on Bluth’s nicely polished desk precisely perpendicular to the edge. Bluth’s desk intercom beeped just then. It was his admin with a call from the White House. He took the burner, stared at it a moment, then signaled Ted out of the room with a wave of his hand.
Ted let himself out.
Chapter 6
To See the Wizard
The first thing Chuck did when he was finally able to get Lorstad to agree that he, at least, should be allowed access to the Internet was to check LinkedIn for messages. He’d made a logical case for it, arguing that someone on his team needed to monitor what the Alphas were doing to see if there was a pattern to their behavior and to assess whether it was escalating. Lorstad insisted that Chuck, alone, have that access. So he was the one to see Matt’s semicryptic message, which he’d posted the day before.
You see the news? Big badaboom in Washington, courtesy of our friends in the Emerald City. If I may make an active quantum observation, it’s quiet out here at the ForK in the road, now that everyone’s gone. Deep in trouble, believe it or not. Miss you and the team. Wish you were here or wish I were there. Need to figure out next steps. Like Dorothy, I’m trying to figure out how to see the Wizard. By the way, a pretty blond lady says she loves dice. Weird, huh? Signed, Tin Man.
Chuck was jotting the first message down when the second one came in.
Ding dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch? The Wicked Witch of the East. Read the news. May have found a way to see the Wizard. Not some bulk-rate Wizard, the Powerful One That Uses Spears. Path leads through the Wild Hedges. Why am I talking like this? Not sure I need to, but you never know. What cat’s got your tongue? Signed, Tin Man.
Chuck sat perfectly still for several long seconds, hands hovering over the keyboard. Then he glanced guiltily out through the lab into the main hall. This was insane. He was afraid to answer the messages. Afraid that he was being monitored and that Lorstad would catch him. Why should he be afraid? Matt was their mole, their man on the inside—or on the outside, depending upon how you looked at it. If the messages meant what they seemed to mean, Deep Shield was history and Matt had found a possible way to get to the Alphas.
He scanned the message again and the words Wild Hedges leapt out at him. He knew from the messages he and Matt had exchanged during his team’s flight from Maryland that capitalized letters were to be taken as an acronym for something else. Hence, ForK was “FK”—Forward Kinetics. That made Wild Hedges “WH.” There was also Powerful One That Uses Spears, “POTUS.”
“White House, the president,” Chuck murmured.
“White House what?”
Lanfen’s voice from virtually on top of him made Chuck jump nearly out of his skin. He spun in his chair to find her perched—quite literally—on the arm of the side chair next to his desk. She was in a full lotus position, balanced on one hand, her arm extending down between her crossed legs. Beneath her, the rolling swivel chair did not so much as wiggle. As he watched, she grinned a
nd lifted her hand to fold it into her lap.
She was floating. Above the chair. In the air.
“How are you doing that?”
Again, the grin. “Atoms, dear sir. See the atoms, manipulate the atoms. Gravity doesn’t press so forcefully then. What about the White House?”
“It’s in this message from—”
Lanfen’s sleek, black brows winged upward and she put a finger to her lips, tilted her head to one side for a moment, and held very still. Chuck just watched, puzzled.
“Clear,” she said after a moment, then said, “You were saying?”
“It’s a message from Matt. Apparently, he feels he’s still being monitored. Not sure by whom . . . wait, what do you mean ‘clear’? Can you sense . . . ?” He gestured at the fire alarm out in the lab that they’d already ascertained was a surveillance camera.
“Surveillance devices, yes. I figured if Mike could do it, maybe I could, too.”
“Mike could also block them,” Chuck observed.
Lanfen smiled sagely, then asked, “Does Matt think it’s the Benefactors monitoring him?”
“He doesn’t know—”
“You know what I mean. None of us can assume that the only surveillance will be at his end. What’s he say?” She descended silently from her lofty position and rolled her side chair over to Chuck’s desk to peer at the screen with him.
“I think he’s trying to tell me that . . . the Witch of the East—that has to be Howard, right?—is dead.”
“Howard is dead?” repeated Lanfen. She was silent for a moment, then said, “He says ‘Read the news.’ Maybe he means that literally.”
“Okay.” Chuck opened a new tab in his browser and surfed to the Reuters newsfeed. He began scrolling down through the breaking news stories. And there it was. He clicked on the headline: Michaux Forest Fire Follows on the Heels of Toxic Spill.
Lanfen let out a slow breath. “Is that the Alphas, too?”
“Or maybe it was Deep Shield trying to get their mountain stronghold back.” He went back to the LinkedIn feed. “Look. There are two messages here. The way I read them is that after the Washington Monument was destroyed, Deep Shield was in trouble. Not clear why or how those two things connect, but I could guess. It sounds as if he’s also saying Deep Shield has left Forward Kinetics. See, he says everyone’s gone.”
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