the path of judgement
Isaiah 40:14
As night started to fall Jack submerged himself in the solitude of his office, his body illuminated blue-green by the light of a television screen mounted high in the corner closest to the glass wall. The campus had fallen silent again, the halogens bursting back into life as one by one their sensors failed to detect enough sunlight for them to remain inactive. It had been one hell of a day and he had still not slept since the previous morning. His eyes felt heavy, as though he might fall asleep at any moment. Both he and MaryBeth had been dealing with the press for hours and now she was scheduled to appear on ‘America Live’. Jack had declined the offer to attend. Not only did he feel too tired, but he also wanted to be on hand if any of the sites did start throwing the mildly expected his way.
The screen cut back from an out-in-the-field reporter interviewing an LAPD Sergeant about the ongoing problem of gang warfare to Sharon Kirby, America Live’s anchorwoman. Her perfect blond hair fell onto the shoulders of a Gucci jacket and her pearly white smile leapt out from the screen as she spoke.
“The apparent murder of Presidential Candidate Andrew McKinnock yesterday has sent shockwaves not only through the country but also, somewhat surprisingly through the computer industry,” she said. “As Senator McKinnock was attending a press day for IntelliSoft’s soon to be launched FireWorX system and as it comes hot on the heels of a poison gas attack which killed two IntelliSoft employees, many are speculating that the Senator was not, in fact, the intended target of the bombing. Some say that there are people who are committed to dampening IntelliSoft’s seemingly unstoppable domination of the computer industry. People who are opposed to the company’s development of artificial intelligence systems which they claim will ultimately remove the power of human thought. Well, I have with me here in the studio, MaryBeth DeLaine, IntelliSoft’s Relations Director.”
Whilst she had been speaking, the screen had switched to the shock footage caught by the CNN cameraman who had been there to film Jack’s speech. He was concentrating on the crowds occupying the beach when the first explosion was heard off camera and the image shook violently. When it had recomposed, the pictures showed the burning wreckage of the Senator’s car, Jack and Frank laying in the foreground where they had fallen on their way from the café. The camera focused momentarily on Jack before turning its attentions to the car once more, desperately trying to get a shot of the Senator’s burning body through the flames. The audio, turned low to accommodate Sharon’s introduction, had become a mass of hysterical screaming.
The scene switched back to Sharon as she turned to face her guest. “Miss DeLaine, how do you respond to claims that your company was the true target of this recent bombing?”
MaryBeth looked her usual beautiful self, Jack thought. She wore a black trouser suit to demonstrate publicly her condolences towards the Senator’s death, and her hair was tied tight into a formal bun. Though she too had not slept for over thirty-six hours, there was no sign of tiredness in her eyes. In fact, she looked as fresh as if she had just risen from a long night’s sleep.
“Well, many people are looking to link two unrelated events,” she began, “because it makes for a far better story. What people tend to forget in these instances is that the bomb was housed inside the Senator’s car. There is no doubt that it was an attack aimed squarely at him alone.”
Sharon looked sceptical. “But surely, with the attack coming so soon after the deaths of two IntelliSoft employees, are we not correct in assuming that the company is facing some kind of terrorist threat?”
“Not at all,” MaryBeth said, folding a loose wisp of dark hair behind her ear. “David Clearwater’s death was totally unconnected with his employment and Jerry Hanson, the unfortunate security guard, had merely stopped by on his way home. The two were friends and it seems that Jerry was also overcome by the effects of the gas.”
“You say David Clearwater’s death was unconnected with his employment?” Sharon probed. “Can you offer any details then as to the true motive behind his murder?”
“Not at this time,” MaryBeth said. “The matter is currently in the hands of the Sheriff’s Department and I am unable to divulge any information relating to the crime whilst their investigation is ongoing.”
“And is it true that the F.B.I. are involved?”
MaryBeth nodded. “Of course, due to the nature of the crime, specialists have been brought in. They are much better equipped to deal with situations such as these.”
“So, can you tell us why IntelliSoft have chosen to cordon off all one hundred and thirty eight NetCenter Sites worldwide whilst a security search is undertaken. And, I believe, they are to remain sealed until the day of the launch.”
“That’s correct,” MaryBeth said. “But it was always our intention to secure and close the sites following the press days. We have a lot of very important people attending the sites on launch day and this security precaution was always a part of our agenda. Obviously, when trying to protect VIPs, we do not announce our plans in advance. To do so would merely aid would-be assassins who might seize the opportunity to use our launch to attack a state leader or a government official, whether on United States’ soil or abroad.”
“Like Senator McKinnock?” asked Sharon with a wry smile.
MaryBeth smiled broadly. “Not at all,” she replied. “I believe that the device in the Senator’s car was actually designed to detonate as he left the airport. It was extremely unfortunate that the device detonated the second time the vehicle was started.”
That was a lie and MaryBeth knew it. Sharon and her fifteen million viewers, however, did not.
“So can you tell us if the current security operation has uncovered anything unexpected?”
The phone on Jack’s desk rang and he lowered the volume on the television accordingly.
“Jack Bernstein,” he said, having pressed the speakerphone button.
The booming voice resonated through the close confines of his office. “Jack, it’s Barry. Bad news I’m afraid.”
Jack sat bolt upright. “You found something?”
“No, that’s the thing, Jack. We got zip. Nothing. Thirty-nine sites have completed the first sweep. They’ve been checked top to bottom. All are coming up clean.”
“What about the others?” Jack asked. He had been so sure that somebody would find something. Anything that would put his fragile mind at ease. Since he had thought about the key phrases and seen the countdown board, he had had a gut feeling about the launch. Something inexplicably inherent. He was so sure that the sites were under threat that he would even be prepared to cancel the launch if nothing came to light. And that was the one thing that he did not want to have to do.
“Still checking,” Barry said. “Some have fewer staff than others, so it might take a while. Boston are still waiting, though. What with the water board fuck-up the electricians are still on-site. They claim they’ll be done in a couple of hours. It makes more sense to let them complete as opposed to sending them off-site and doing yet another sweep when they’ve been in again.”
Jack nodded to himself. Barry was right. Besides, there were ninety-eight sites still being checked. And somebody would find something. He was sure of it.
The thing was, in order to create any sense of ‘Armageddon’; in order to create the right environment to launch his grandson as a ‘Saviour of Mankind’, then Lara’s killers would need to use weapons of mass destruction. It would have to be big. Very big. It would probably necessitate a series of remotely operated devices. But at what range could they be triggered? The only way that they could activate a device and ensure their own safety was to have it activated by the launch itself. They could be hundreds of miles away. They could be anywhere.
Which meant that, even if the devices were off-site, the trigger mechanisms must be linked directly into the system. They had to be somewhere. But where?
“I want those thirty-nine re-checked,” he said desperately
. “I want them to check, check and double check that they’ve not omitted anything. There’s something we’re still missing, Barry. And I want it found.”
“It’s already happening,” Barry said. The connection was closed.
The news was now at an end; the screen now showing second rate advertisements. Jack picked up the family portrait and held it in his hands once more, reminding himself of what life used to be like. Easy. Relaxed. But was it? Even then Jack had known that there was an element of greed in everything he did. Every tournament he had played was designed to be another step up the ladder to becoming World Champion. When he had reluctantly accepted that it would never happen, he had moved his dream to IntelliSoft. It would be the largest computer company in the world. It would dominate because, with Jack at the helm, it would innovate.
Jack Bernstein had always wanted to be the best. It hurt to realise that he was systematically being beaten.
* * * * *
Six pictures came through in total. The United Nations Hercules had liaised with the Air Traffic Control Centre in Istanbul and had blamed a simple navigational malfunction which had caused them to drift one hundred and fifty miles into Turkish air space on their way back to Cyprus. The plane was immediately ordered to turn around and assigned a new clear track toward the Mediterranean. The damage was already done: three pictures as they passed over the north of Kozlar, and three on their return to the south, all taken from 22,000 feet. Cloud cover was moderate and a lower altitude would undoubtedly have resulted in better quality photographs but nobody was prepared to push their luck on the hunch of a Los Angeles based F.B.I. Agent with a penchant for wearing cheap coats and bad hats.
Warner scoured each one in turn, utilising every one of the fifteen seconds between downloads. Initially he saw very little.
“I could map them together into a composite if you like,” Tommy said as the sixth and final picture appeared and remained on screen. “They won’t be an exact fit, but it should give you a better overall view of the area.”
“Thanks,” Warner said.
Tommy scrolled his mouse to the top of the screen and selected the ‘MAPPING’ menu. Halfway down was the command ‘MERGE COMPOSITE’, and he let the mouse go. A small window appeared on screen which allowed the photographs to be loaded individually and overlaid to give the closest match. He loaded ‘C3722HCL-img.1’ and placed it to the left of the floating window, then selected ‘C3722HCL-img.2’. As carefully as he could he overlaid the second image, selecting a fifty-percent transparency ratio where the two images overlapped.
Using a small white shape, possibly a farmhouse, as a visual reference he dropped the picture in place and a timeline appeared on screen. The message read ‘MERGING COMPOSITE’. When the bar was complete the image adjusted, the computer rotating and recalculating the pictures based on the overlap information. The seams disappeared and the image became one long picture, almost twice as long as the initial image.
“I’ll do the northern three as one strip and the southern three as another,” he said. “There’s no way to merge the two, though. The perspective’s way out.”
He overlaid the third image and again matched the overlap visually before allowing the software to take over. Within five minutes he had completed the second strip which he placed directly below the first. It created a strange vista, the two opposing angles creating an awkward join but, as promised, it gave a fairly accurate impression of the area in and around Kozlar.
“These are at 2400 pixels per inch,” Tommy explained, “so if you need me to zoom in, just ask.”
The area as a whole was a combination of harsh scrubland and heavy forestation. Kozlar itself was not even a village, more a combination of a few semi-isolated farmhouses. Further away, other farms appeared as tiny dots, their outbuildings appearing as longer strips of white against the pale yellow-green of the grass. The Aegean coast was just visible to the left of the picture, forming a complex pattern as it carved its way along the rocks which bordered it.
Warner looked dejected. “I’m missing something,” he said quietly. “I just know I am.”
“What’s that up there?” Berkeley asked, pointing toward a glint of light at the top right hand section of the screen.
Tommy creased his eyes and leaned forward. “It looks like the sun glaring off a truck, probably a tanker of some sort,” he said. “I’ll zoom in.”
He placed the cursor above and to the left of the relevant section and pulled down a square area. When he let go, the overview was replaced by a close up of the selected area.
“Yeah, it looks like a tanker,” he said, straining to see the sections visible at either side of the glare. “Could be milk... petrol... anything really.”
“That’s not petrol or milk,” Warner said suddenly, his face breaking into a smile. The small black and yellow shape on the side, the warning symbol, told him it was carrying a far more hazardous cargo than any of those suggested. “Can we follow that road?”
Tommy clicked to zoom back a little and moved the image across to the right, following the line of the road along which the tanker was travelling. He had to scroll three times but eventually the road came to an abrupt end. At four tiny groups of buildings almost obscured by the trees. It looked suspiciously like a compound, each group enclosed and separated by approximately two miles of heavy forestation. Small tracks ran between the groups, their pale ochre strips just visible through the deep green of the trees.
Warner stood up and walked to the map of the world. “Where are we on that image?” he asked.
Tommy took a co-ordinate reading from the screen. “Two-point-three miles north-north-west of Kozlar,” he said.
Warner checked the co-ordinates on the map. The area they were looking at on-screen was shown only as a large forest. There was no record on the map of a village, nor of the road which led to it, the one along which the tanker was seemingly making its delivery.
“Gotcha,” he said, returning to his seat and surveying the area again.
Tommy zoomed into the image again so that the four sectors filled his screen. The buildings were still hard to define. “I’ll check each area in turn,” he said, pushing his spectacles up and scrolling over the southernmost grouping.
The screen became a high-definition image of a small village. The buildings were all a pale sandstone and all appeared to be spaced evenly around a large rectangular open-air auditorium which, according to one long shadow, had a tower built into its eastern wall.
Warner smiled, his head involuntarily nodding. “A temple.”
The village was heavily populated, small dark figures visible against the pale brown in the scattered areas of exposed earth. Many seemed to be congregated in front of a small building with a square base and a domed roof. Warner was unaware that this building possessed only a set of stone steps which disappeared downwards under the village to the refectory. Nor was he aware that disciples in Bethlehem had just finished the noon meal and prayers and were now heading back to work. Had the photograph been taken ten minutes earlier, all two hundred and fifteen would have been out of sight.
“Shall I try the next area?” Tommy asked.
Warner nodded and he scrolled the image downwards, bringing a much smaller grouping into view. There were three buildings, all with domed roofs of carved stone and a much larger building. It was rectangular in shape with a Parthenon-style facade and eight pillars which ran down to meet a series of wide entrance steps. The area was almost totally deserted.
“I still don’t see what use this is,” Berkeley protested. His tone of voice indicated that he still felt as though he was going to be left with a lot of explaining to do. “It’s not illegal to spend your life praying. Or to live life like a weirdo.”
“I’ll try the next sector,” Tommy said. “It looked promising on the overview.”
“In what way?” Warner asked. Tommy did not even know what he was looking for any more than Berkeley did. As the third sector came into view, however, he
knew exactly what Tommy meant. There were five buildings in sector three. In contrast to sectors one and two, each was modern and extremely distinctive. Their layout belied their purpose.
“I take it you’re looking for a chemical facility, Sir,” Tommy said with a self-confident smile. “Possibly toxic gases?”
Berkeley, still less than fully briefed, narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are we?”
“Yes, Sir,” Warner offered. “We are.” He leaned back into his chair and folded his arms like a man who had just completed an exam paper in half the allocated time.
“Well sir, I think we’ve just found it.”
returned unto the pit
Genesis 37:29
Jon Walters looked at his watch for the fifth time and sighed. They had said two hours at the most. In ten more minutes that two would have become three and once again, Boston was the only site behind schedule. Granted, the others were still coming up clean, according to Barry, and the delay here was not his fault, but it did not make him feel any better. He was Head of Security on this site and that carried with it a burden of responsibility. If they said clear the site as quickly as possible then it was his responsibility to make sure that it happened.
Tom Howitt’s head appeared momentarily from beneath the long yellow desk as he reached into his toolbag, eventually retrieving a long-stemmed electrical screwdriver. Before he disappeared again he looked up and caught Jon’s look of annoyed impatience.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” he said, sliding onto his back and connecting a wire to the underside of the desk. His voice became muffled. “I’ve told ya; take it up with Boston Water. I’d have been well out of your face by now if it wasn’t for them.”
“I have a deadline to hit,” Jon said heavily.
“Yeah?” Tom said, his head appearing momentarily. “Well that makes two of us. You got yours, I got mine. And the world just keeps-a-turnin’. Anyway....” he double-checked his work. “I’m done. I’ll get outta your face shall I? Then I can get you outta mine.” He slid out from under the desk with finality.
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