Time Frame (Split Second Book 2)

by Douglas E. Richards

  “Yes,” seconded the Blake at his side. “Good luck.”

  “Luck?” said Blake to his alter ego. “You of all people know that when you’re an Aaron Blake, you don’t need luck.”

  “Very true,” said Blake. “You’re as wise as you are talented.”

  Cargill rolled his eyes. “Really?” he said in mock exasperation. “You guys are enjoying this way too much.”

  26

  A holographic image of Major Long He appeared in Colonel Li’s office.

  “Did you find him?” snapped Li curtly in lieu of a greeting.

  “No sign as of yet,” replied Long. “Almost two thousand men have been activated. They’re manning roadblocks and watching airports, train stations, and waterways. If he’s within our perimeter, we will find him.”

  Li couldn’t hide his anxiety. Every minute that went by increased the area they needed to cover exponentially. “Has Director Chang finished his inspection of the plane?”

  “He and his team went through every millimeter. They are satisfied that it is just a plane. They are now certain that the cargo was responsible for the dark energy signature they detected.”

  “I assume you’ve gathered all cell phones and electronics from the airport?”

  Long nodded. “All of them that weren’t incinerated in the explosion. We haven’t looked at every file on every device, but our initial analysis suggests these won’t be helpful in identifying our mystery Caucasian.”

  “Send every last file to my computer here,” ordered Li. “And keep pressing. I’m counting on you to net this prize.”

  “I won’t let you down, Colonel Li.”

  27

  Colonel Henry “Hank” Vargas sat in a relatively cramped office in CIA’s Langley headquarters and studied the man who had just entered and was now seated across from him. To all appearances, Vargas appeared to be a mid-level CIA employee, even though he didn’t work for the Agency and arguably wielded more power than its director.

  No one who ever visited this office would possibly guess that Vargas headed up all black site secret weapons programs in America, and that’s just how he liked it. He had numerous other offices at black sites across the country, but Virginia was where he made his home, and this was his primary office.

  Vargas had served in the army in numerous capacities over the years, working his way through the ranks with startling speed. And why not? He was bright, shrewd, and brave, with extensive combat experience as an elite commando, an instinct for being in the right place at the right time, and an aptitude for politics.

  It also helped that he looked the part. Handsome and serious, with dark, brooding features and a stern expression that seemed to be forever plastered on his face, suggesting he would never be frivolous with the grave responsibility his nation had given him. His hairline was receding, and the hair that did remain, once black as a crow, was showing hints of gray throughout, which he immediately dyed to its original color.

  In other positions a bit of gray might be an advantage, a proxy for experience and wisdom, but not in his line of work. Leading-edge secret weapons programs were science and tech heavy, and a comprehensive knowledge of the state of technology was critical in his job. These days, nothing said out of touch like advancing age. He was in his early forties—plenty young in his mind—but in the era in which the public had far more confidence in a fourteen-year-old to solve a tech problem than they did in a sixty-year-old multinational CEO, gray was out.

  Matt Mueller, on the other hand—the man who had just entered the colonel’s office and taken a seat—was in his late twenties. Confident and energetic. But at this moment, also noticeably intimidated. This was only his second face-to-face audience with Vargas, and the colonel’s perpetual scowl didn’t make any visitor feel comfortable, let alone a young up-and-comer.

  “Thank you for seeing me in person, sir,” offered Mueller after Vargas made no move to shake his hand.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” said Vargas bluntly. “I did it for me. I saw video of the results of the tests you did yesterday. So I wanted to see the man responsible for wasting four billion dollars of the taxpayers’ money.”

  Mueller stared at the colonel in confusion, studying the older man for any indication he was joking. But the fierce glare that remained on Vargas’s face made it clear that he was not.

  “Are you sure you saw the same tests I did?” asked Muller in disbelief. “We aren’t where we want to be, true, but this is an incredible start.”

  “Four billion dollars,” continued Vargas as though Mueller hadn’t spoken. “Down the drain. The government throws around the B word so much that four billion doesn’t sound like all that much, does it? Sounds like a much bigger amount when you say four thousand million dollars.”

  The colonel shook his head in disgust. “So, instead of funding your program, we could have given four thousand people a million dollars each. Or we could have given four million people a thousand dollars each. That’s about sixty football stadiums filled with people, each getting an extra grand.”

  “The orbital laser system performed brilliantly,” protested Mueller, his professional pride overcoming any feelings of intimidation he was experiencing. “We weren’t even sure it would work at all, and it surpassed our every expectation.”

  Just the day before the first prototype of the orbital laser system had been flown into space in the cargo hold of a private rocket.

  “Performed brilliantly?” repeated Vargas skeptically. “Define brilliantly.”

  “You saw for yourself. First, allow me to remind you that the satellite is compact enough that we’ll be able to build and launch enough of these to reach every square inch on Earth. The laser reached all ten targets we aimed for, six on land and four at sea, including one the size of a baseball. The beam was extraordinarily accurate, held its cohesion all the way to the ground, and was able to burn through a quarter inch of steel in twelve seconds. Hell, we could use it to kill a fly that landed on your picnic table.”

  “Not if the fly felt a little toasty in the first fraction of a second and flew off,” said Vargas in disdain. “Because the system is shit when it comes to moving targets, right? Can’t shoot down a missile, or even a plane, can it?”

  Matt Mueller’s eyes were now burning even hotter than his laser. “You already knew that going in!” he barked. “No, we can’t maintain an unwavering lock on a single point on a fast-moving target. Not for long enough. At least not yet. But we can kill a man who’s in motion. Even one who’s running.”

  “Taking how long? Twelve seconds?”

  “Less. Probably five or six.”

  “And would a bystander see the beam?”

  “Unlikely, but maybe.”

  “And can you spread the beam to take out larger targets?” pressed Vargas in obvious contempt. “Buildings? Terrorist training camps? Cities?”

  “We already have weapons that can do that,” protested Mueller. “I know you included in the program specs that the system should be able to take out buildings and other massive targets, but you’ve acknowledged these are stretch goals. Extreme stretch goals. What we’ve done is a remarkable first step. A total triumph. Think about what this system will be able to do. Our orbital cameras can already read the label on the underwear of every human being on the planet. Now we can pick off anyone we choose from space with absolute precision. Like the fist of God, striking from above. In what universe is this not a brilliant success?”

  “In this one,” snapped Vargas without hesitation. “Because if we use this system as a personalized assassination device, we can’t hide the fact that we’ve weaponized space, that we have a ring of lasers pointed down at every living person. You can only drill so many holes through the tops of the heads of enemies of the state before intelligence agencies around the world figure out what’s going on. Our potential targets already know how to avoid being seen by our satellites, so they don’t get a drone strike up their ass, but they’ll be even more caref
ul. And you can bet the major powers will spend their every last dime—or whatever the hell currency they use—putting up orbital laser systems even more powerful than our own.

  “It’s not worth triggering this kind of worldwide panic,” continued Vargas, shaking his head. “Not worth triggering this kind of arms escalation among major powers, just so we can deploy a half-measure like this. Or more accurately, a tenth of a measure. And that’s being generous.”

  “So you’re saying you’d only consider using this system once it’s able to meet all of the mission goals you set up initially?”

  “Very good,” said Vargas, his tone scathingly condescending. “Glad I was able to make this simple enough for even you to be able to understand.”

  Mueller ignored the insult. “I thought you knew that many of these goals were all but impossible,” he said. “Something to strive for, like a three-minute mile. But unrealistic. We’ve just shown that we can power a laser from low Earth orbit all the way down through mile after mile of ever-thickening atmosphere. With enough energy to kill! This is one of the greatest breakthroughs in history! Surely you can appreciate that. To use the system to take out an entire building, let alone a city, you’d have to widen the beam a hundred- or a thousand-fold. You’d be looking at many orders of magnitude higher energy requirements. Even at the rate technology is improving, it could take decades to get there—if ever. I know your ultimate goal, but you never told us that you consider all intermediary steps to be worthless. You have to walk before you can run. This system is performing beyond our wildest dreams!”

  “Are you done?” said the colonel icily.

  Mueller was still seething and looked like he wanted to rant for another ten minutes, but visibly stopped himself. “Yes,” he spat. “I’m done.”

  “Good. Because I’ve made my decision. I want you to use the thrusters on your prototype satellite to push it into deep space, headed for the Sun. And I won’t authorize the testing of another one until it’s able to take down the fucking Kremlin. Do you understand?”

  Based on Mueller’s expression a visitor might have thought that the colonel had stabbed his first-born child—which wasn’t far from the truth. Several long seconds passed before Mueller’s rage had subsided enough to allow him to speak. “I urge you to reconsider, Colonel,” he said, biting off each word. “Think it through. The current capability is far more valuable than you realize. And its deployment will lead to steady, incremental improvements, making it more and more valuable as time goes on.”

  “I agree it has a limited utility,” allowed Vargas. “But not nearly enough to risk showing our hand.” He shrugged. “And since you think what I really want it to do isn’t possible, I’m going to kill the program entirely. Effective immediately.”

  Mueller looked ill. “But you knew what this test was designed to show,” he whispered. “Why even test it if you knew this was your position?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel Vargas,” said the feminine voice of Marga, his digital assistant. “But you have an incoming call on your private line, audio only. You asked me to alert you whenever you received such a call.”

  Vargas nodded, not needing to be reminded of his standing orders. “Tell whoever it is that I’ll be with them in a moment.”

  He turned to Mueller. “To answer your question,” he said, “my thoughts weren’t fully crystallized until I saw the system in action. That’s when I realized just how relatively useless it is, even when it was successful. This test drove home how far it has to go before it can become the game changer I wanted.”

  The colonel gestured toward the door, indicating it was time for Mueller to leave. “Not many people have access to my private line, so I need to take this. Get this program shut down immediately. And I’ll expect you to come up with a proposal for an entirely new project by this time next month. Am I clear?”

  “You’re making a mistake, sir,” said Matt Mueller bitterly.

  “Until you’re promoted to my position,” barked Vargas, “it’s my mistake to make. So either do what I say, or look for another job. Just don’t expect it to be in the tech sector, for the government or otherwise. By the time I finished blackballing you, you’d be lucky to get a job as a bag boy in a grocery store. Have I made myself clear?”

  Mueller was so enraged he didn’t even trust himself to speak. He managed to nod before giving the colonel one last look of thrilling hatred on his way out.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” said Vargas smugly. He waited until the door to his office closed, and then turned to take his call.

  28

  “Hank Vargas,” said the colonel into the receiver of an untraceable phone he pulled from his desk. Marga had been programmed to stop listening in once he answered. Not only would his intelligent digital assistant not monitor the conversation, it would make sure that it was routed through an enhanced encryption system so no one else could either.

  “Hello, Colonel. It’s been a long time.”

  Vargas recognized the voice immediately and almost dropped the phone. “Edgar Knight?” he whispered in disbelief.

  “I’m honored that you remember me.”

  “Impossible!” insisted Vargas. “You can’t be Knight.”

  The colonel hadn’t spoken to the man in years, and unless Knight had discovered how to communicate from beyond the grave, Vargas wasn’t speaking to him now.

  Knight had worked in the colonel’s orbit on a number of occasions over more than a decade as both men were rising through the ranks. Knight was a brilliant experimental physicist and inventor, maybe the best ever, even if he did have an annoying habit of saying so himself. The last time their paths had crossed, Knight was working with Lee Cargill at Q5, an initiative that had originally been under Vargas’s auspices. During its first year, the colonel had met with Cargill and his star inventor a number of times.

  Then, inexplicably, the group was pulled away from him with little explanation, other than some hand waving that the attempt to exploit the mysterious force known as dark energy should technically have never fit under his purview in the first place, as it was never solely a weapons program.

  He learned later through back channels that Cargill had been given a civilian rank and authority equivalent to Vargas’s own, even though Vargas was responsible for all black site weapons programs and Cargill was only running one.

  Not only was Q5 taken from him, but he was no longer authorized to know anything about the group’s activities. Given the wide range of secret information he was given access to without hesitation, this was truly extraordinary. Every attempt he had made to investigate further had led nowhere. His boss, Kate Johnson, the Secretary of Defense, told him that the order to change the status of Q5 had come from President Janney himself. She insisted that she had nothing to do with it, and that Janney hadn’t felt the need to explain his rationale when she had questioned him about it.

  And that was that. Until now.

  “You say I can’t be Knight?” the voice on the line repeated in amusement. “Why is that, Colonel? What have you heard?”

  “You know damn well what I’ve heard. That you died in a freak accident about nine or ten months ago, along with several other members of Q5.”

  Knight laughed. “You know better than anyone that you can’t trust everything you hear. I’m afraid this was fake news, Colonel. A fairy-tale to cover up what really happened. Only Cargill and the president know the truth. And me, of course.”

  “So what is the truth?”

  “Turns out I wasn’t killed last year, after all. Go figure. It’s a long story, but I’ll be happy to share it with you. Here’s the thing, Colonel. I’ve always liked you.”

  Knight paused. “Okay, maybe that’s going a bit too far. But I have always respected you. I’ve seen your potential. You don’t put up with bullshit. You’re bright for a military grunt, and more visionary than most people I’ve known. You think big. I need that. So maybe it’s time I tell you what’s really going on with
Q5. Why the rumors of my death have been so exaggerated. And, oh yeah . . . the real reason a man-made island near the Las Vegas Strip turned into a fireball last week. Interested?

  Vargas’s eyes widened. “You could say that,” he replied evenly, making sure not to sound overeager. “Go ahead,” he added, his tone so casual it almost sounded bored. “I’m all ears.”

  Knight laughed once again. “Over the phone, Colonel? Really? I’m afraid we’ll have to do this in person. There’s an abandoned warehouse at the corner of Mercer and Twain. Meet me in the lot behind the warehouse at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “I can be there in thirty minutes,” offered Vargas.

  “No, no. I just arrived in town after a long drive from Wyoming. Tomorrow will work just fine.”

  “You drove all the way from Wyoming?” said the colonel. “Suddenly afraid of flying?

  “Driving was a necessary evil.”

  “What is it, about a thirty-hour trip?”

  “Twenty-five, but who’s counting? But don’t worry, Colonel. I had a colleague of mine drive through the night while I relaxed in relative comfort. I’ll explain everything when we meet. If you tell anyone about this call, I’ll know it, and you won’t learn a thing. By now, you have to be dying of curiosity, so don’t blow this. And there’s a huge opportunity for you here, as well, in addition to just satisfying your curiosity.”

  “Who am I going to tell?” said Vargas innocently. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  29

  Vargas found sleep to be elusive and welcomed the dawn of morning. He took a bracing cold shower to get his blood flowing and contemplated the meeting he would soon have with the ghost of Edgar Knight.

  Cargill’s project had gone as dark as a black hole, almost literally. Information could enter Q5, but none ever exited, not since the moment Vargas had been relieved of command. The secrecy Cargill had managed to keep was truly unprecedented, even for a black project. Vargas hadn’t even heard a rumor about what might be going on there, not a single conspiracy theory among the ranks.