The Sector

by Kari Nichols

  The Sector, HQ

  Bailey sat at her desk reviewing the data that Emily had sent her. Tate’s suggestion that Emily’s relay system could be used as a method to jam the self-destruct signal on the new locators was an intriguing one. Bailey had spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours in her office trying to determine if the relay would work. One major dependency was the connection to the locator. Emily’s system had to be able to connect with a locator before it could jam it. That would work fine for all but the missing soldiers. Their signals were already being jammed and, so far, Emily hadn’t been able to break through it.

  Another dependency was the computational power required to jam 1000 locators. Active signals sent out GPS data at a rate of one ping every thirty seconds. That data had to be received and sourced to a real world location. The new locators had been designed to send out two signals, in case one encountered trouble along the way. The secondary signal was spaced fifteen seconds apart from the main signal. One thousand pings every fifteen seconds was a lot of data to be sourced. To then add a command to jam those signals meant a heavy burden on The Sector’s already overloaded system.

  Bailey picked up her telephone and dialed an internal number. When Tommy answered, she explained the test she wanted to complete. She had three locators left from the new batch. That gave her three chances to test Emily’s relay, before the tests would have to go live.

  “I don’t want Signals to know about these tests. If there’s a mole inside, we can’t let them know we’re trying this.”

  “Agreed,” Tommy replied. He spent the next few hours creating a blind that would transfer the GPS signal from the three locators to his terminal. When the system was ready, they tested it. Tommy watched his system and he watched the main Signals system. His tests successful, he then ran Emily’s relay system and tested the self-destruct.

  The tiny locator on Bailey’s test bench exploded. Bailey gave Tommy the bad news. They worked together for another hour, Tommy in his lair and Bailey in her office, until they were ready to perform a second test. When they ran the self-destruct, the locator on Bailey’s test bench didn’t explode. They were ecstatic until Tommy deactivated the locator beacon and turned off Emily’s relay. The locator on her bench exploded. Bailey, who had been reaching for the locator when it exploded, suffered some minor burns on her left hand.

  “How can a deactivated locator still receive a self-destruct signal?” Tommy asked.

  Bailey thought about the secondary signal that she’d asked McMaster to implement. They’d accounted for both when she and Tommy had done their tests. She looked at the last locator beacon on her table. If they ran another test and it failed, they’d have no way of testing Emily’s relay system before it had to become operational.

  “I’ll have to pull apart this chip.”

  “Be careful,” Tommy warned her. “You never know what other little surprises McMaster hid in there.”

  Bailey donned her magnifying goggles and hunched over the little chip on her test bench. This close to the chip, if Bailey triggered an anti-tampering device the explosion would blow off half her face. It took three hours and two near death experiences for Bailey to find the problem.

  “There’s a second receiver on the chip,” Bailey confirmed. She cursed McMaster and his thoroughness. “The second receiver is active when the locator is inactive. You shut down the locator and then you shut down Emily’s relay, correct?”

  “Yes,” Tommy confirmed.

  “So the self-destruct signal was still running. When the second receiver became active, it picked up that signal and destroyed the chip.” Bailey looked at the mess on her test bench. She couldn’t put the chip back together and hope for an effective third test.

  “The relay works as long as we don’t ever shut it down,” Tommy replied. “It’s not a foolproof plan, but it’s better than nothing.” The Sector hadn’t had a major power outage in over two years. They had backup generators for any problems, but the delay would be well over ten minutes before they’d have functioning computers. The self-destruct signal would find that second receiver long before then.

  “Next problem,” Bailey began. “How do we activate one thousand signals and keep it blocked from our own Signals department?”

  “Let me work on that,” Tommy said and signed off.

  The buzzer outside her office door chimed and Bailey checked the camera to see who was there. She pressed the release and her assistant, Schwartz, stepped in. He carried a clipboard in front of him. “I don’t have much time right now,” she told him, rising from her desk. Whatever she needed to sign, could wait.

  Schwartz ignored her and gestured to the vault. “I need you to open it for me.” He dropped the clipboard to reveal the gun he’d been concealing. Squeezing the trigger, he shot her in the belly, just above her waistband.

  Bailey crashed to the floor on her back, her arms spread wide. The pain coursed through her, robbing her of her breath. Her body refused to function the way she needed it to. She stared up at the ceiling as tears clouded her vision.

  Schwartz approached her and saw that she was still alive. Good, he didn’t know if her latest upgrades to the retinal scanner would allow it to read a dead eye. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her across the floor to the vault. Hooking his hands under her arms, he pulled her up to the retinal scanner and forced her right eye open. The scanner’s laser pulsed back and forth as it made a digital copy of her eye and compared it to the one loaded into its memory file.

  When the scanner’s light switched from red to green, Schwartz placed her left palm into the immersive scanner and allowed the gel to enfold it up to the wrist. It beeped at him, unable to take the print. The burn she’d received from the locator explosion had altered the surface of her hand too much. He knew her system would allow a retry with the other hand. Schwartz dipped her right hand into the gel. The immersive scanner accepted her print and other biometric readings. Schwartz removed her palm and let go of her. Bailey dropped to the floor and didn’t move. Blood, which had left a trail across the room when he’d dragged her, started to pool at his feet.

  Holding a recording of her voice up to the voice print reader, he played the audio clip and waited for the vault to accept this final authorization. There was a small delay, which set his heart racing, but then the final green light clicked over and the vault unlocked. Schwartz pulled it open and searched through the racks for what he needed. Bailey’s vault was similar in style and size to a bank’s vault. She needed the room for some of her larger projects.

  Like a kid in a candy store, Schwartz wanted a little of everything, but knew he’d have trouble getting it out undetected. Pulling the sign-out sheet off the inside wall, he read through the inventory list. It detailed where inside the vault each item was stored. He grabbed the lab notes for the new locator beacons. Consulting the inventory, he noticed an item that Bailey had been working on, alone. He’d seen it in there before. Schwartz had already read the notes on the device. He used to have complete access to the vault, until things had gone missing. Then Bailey hadn’t trusted anyone else to have access to the vault when she wasn’t around. She’d never suspected him.

  Finding the item on the shelf, he pocketed the tiny device and stole the notes that went with it. He exited the vault and closed the door, engaging the locks once again. Realizing he still held the inventory list, he dropped it on the ground.

  Schwartz stepped over Bailey and headed out the door.

  Chapter 15

  The Sector, HQ

  Ogilvie strode down the hallway, his shoes reflecting the shine from the overhead lights. The hall was empty. Not unexpected at this time of night. He’d been trying to reach Bailey for over half an hour and hadn’t received a response. General Spalding, as well as reps from the Navy, the Marines and the Air Force, had expressed a desire to put their own people on the investigation. They outright threatened Ogilvie that they would get the US President involved if he didn’t cooperate. Ogilv
ie knew that was bullshit. The President wouldn’t hear about this problem until all other avenues had been exhausted.

  Ogilvie didn’t want four other covert teams hampering his own team’s movements. If Bailey had an alternative that could forestall the US’s action, he needed to be brought up to speed on it.

  Ogilvie stopped at the lab, but it was dark and the doors were locked. Most days, Sector scientists worked regular hours. He continued on toward her office, which was at the end of the hall, past the lab. Halfway there he noticed the blood tracked along the concrete. It led away from Bailey’s office.

  Ogilvie sprinted up to the door and pressed the handle. When the door wouldn’t budge he slammed his palm on the security panel and ordered an emergency bypass using his code as authorization. An alarm sounded throughout the complex before the locks had even disengaged. He pushed the door open and followed the blood to Bailey’s crumpled form near the vault door.

  Two guards appeared at the door. Ogilvie ordered them to call the medics and to lock down the facility. He didn’t want to touch Bailey. He couldn’t tell how much blood she had already lost. Her white lab coat was soaked in it and her blonde hair had turned red at the ends. Pushing her hair aside, he held a finger against her neck. Her pulse barely registered against his fingers.

  It felt like forever, but the medics arrived inside of two minutes. Ogilvie got out of their way and allowed them to prepare Bailey for the evac helicopter that was already spinning her blades on the helipad outside.

  “Sir,” one of the medics called him over once they’d moved Bailey onto the backboard.

  Ogilvie stepped away from the desk and approached. The medic pointed to the clipboard that lay just beyond the pool of blood that had formed beneath her. A few bloody fingerprints spattered the page. Halfway down the list of signatures one name had been circled in blood.

  Schwartz.

  Ogilvie left the clipboard where it was and waited until Bailey had been taken away before allowing the investigative team to enter. He picked up the phone on Bailey’s desk and dialed reception. Checking her computer to be certain, the woman confirmed that Schwartz had already left the complex for the night. He’d clocked out thirty-five minutes earlier.

  Ogilvie left Bailey’s office and headed down to sub-level seven and Tommy’s lair. He waited while Tommy’s security system checked him out and the door unlocked. Evan opened the door for him and Ogilvie stepped inside.

  “It was Schwartz,” he said. Tommy already knew what the alarm was about. His fingers were in every aspect of the complex, including emergency protocols. “I want to know where he is right now. He’s not onsite.”

  “He doesn’t have a locator,” Tommy reminded Ogilvie.

  “I know that. He uses a company car. Activate the lo-jack.”

  Every Sector vehicle that was company property had a lo-jack installed, ostensibly to ensure it gets returned if ever stolen. It had, on rare occasion, been used to trace an employee’s movements. Tommy accessed the list of cars and determined which one Schwartz had used. He opened a proprietary program that followed an active lo-jack signal. Inputting the ID for the car Schwartz had registered, the system initialized and then located the signal.

  Tommy confirmed the coordinates with Schwartz’s personnel file. “The car is near his house and right now it isn’t moving,” Tommy declared.

  Ogilvie picked up Tommy’s phone and called upstairs to Carmichael’s office. Lennox Carmichael was Head of Deployment for Sector Agents. Given the void that Walter Freemantle had left, he was also Acting Head of Deployment for Sector Task Force teams. Apprising Carmichael of the situation, he ordered a Sector Agent be sent after Schwartz. He was carrying Sector property unlawfully and he was wanted in connection to the attempted murder of Bailey Rhodes.

  Ogilvie wanted the man brought in alive.

  Less than ten minutes later a lone man left the complex, his car heading north. His onboard GPS unit had an active feed showing him Schwartz’s car’s current position. The Agent estimated his arrival time to be twenty minutes in decent traffic. Given the lateness of the hour, there was very little traffic on the roads. He’d gone less than twenty kilometers when his GPS beeped a warning. Checking the readout, he saw that the signal had started to move.

  Schwartz had left his home and was heading further away, to the east. His car was moving at a quick clip at ten kilometers faster than the posted speed limit. The Agent pressed his foot a little harder on the gas to make up some of the distance.

  Blackburn sat behind the wheel of his car, using a small flashlight to review the notes that Schwartz had collected. He couldn’t be certain, but he doubted the information that Godin wanted was in the file. There was some evidence that Bailey was working on a way to determine the null codes for the locator, but not on a way to activate it.

  “You’re sure she’s dead?” he asked again.

  “Yes, I’m certain of it. I checked before I left,” Schwartz lied. Bailey had lost too much blood to have survived for very long.

  “We’ll take my car to the airport. Drive yours off the road and into the trees then grab your suitcase.”

  Schwartz nodded and got out of the car. He hustled back to his own car, but stopped when Blackburn called his name. Schwartz turned around and Blackburn shot him in the chest. Walking around behind his car, Blackburn approached Schwartz and shot him again, in the forehead. Rifling through Schwartz’s coat pocket, he found the car keys and popped the trunk. Blackburn hefted the larger man into the trunk, arranging his limbs to allow the lid to close.

  Getting in behind the wheel of Schwartz’s car, Blackburn drove the car into the trees. He wore gloves to ensure he didn’t leave any fingerprints behind. On the seat beside him was a small suitcase. Blackburn grabbed it and brought it back to his own car to review the contents at a later time. Pulling out onto the road, he drove south and west, toward the airport.

  The Agent pulled over to the shoulder, his headlights already doused. The lo-jack signal had been stationary for ten minutes. The car was fifty feet ahead, nearer to the trees. He stepped from his car and used his sunglasses to read the area. The car, though cooling, still showed as a hot zone in IR. Nothing else in the area registered larger than a rabbit. His gun pressed against the side of his leg, safety off, he approached the car.

  The driver’s door was unlocked. The car was empty and the keys were still in the ignition. Opening the door, he removed the keys and walked around to the back of the car. Standing off to the side, he raised his gun and pressed the button to release the trunk lid. It popped open and the Agent stepped around the edge to peer in.

  He pulled out his cell phone and called his handler. While he waited for the connection to be made, he closed the lid on the trunk and stepped away from the car. When his handler came on the line he summarized the situation.

  “I’m going to need a truck out here. We don’t want the police alerted to this mess.”

  Chapter 16

  Severny Island, Russia

  Tate’s crew readied to depart the mainland. Having followed Vlad’s plane to the edge of the Kara Sea it had then taken Gibson ten minutes and $50 to determine where Godin’s newest lair was located. The island was over 400 kilometers long and 100km at its widest point. The number of potential insertion points was discouraging at best.

  Tate had hand-picked a few men to join her team. Sent from Sector offices located throughout Europe, they had arrived in Russia an hour behind Tate and Emily. Tank and Jimmy had beaten her there by over four hours. They’d had less distance to travel.

  Druid and Cisco were her demolitions experts. Druid had three years experience with The Sector; Cisco, two. Braddock, Hancock and Worthington were added muscle. Intelligent and quick on their feet, Tate trusted them to get shit done. Fargo was an extra pair of long eyes. He was Gibson’s suggestion. Gibson had worked with the man for six months, pushing him to increase his distance shots. At every drill, Fargo outshot and outdistanced the other snipers in his corp.
After close to two years in, he was one of their best snipers.

  Without having to ask, Tate knew that each soldier had been outfitted with the new locator beacon. She explained their mission to them, including what she knew about the bomb inside each locator. She kept her tone brisk. She didn’t dwell on the implications of having a bomb in her neck and didn’t want them to, either. She didn’t have to tell them to block it from their minds. They were soldiers; it was a part of the game.

  Tate had vetoed bringing on a full Task Force team. She’d added six people to their current contingent. Another ten on top of that and they would have been tripping over one another. She outlined the multiple directives she needed her team to accomplish. “We need to find Godin’s escape hatch and cut it off. We need to find Warp’s crew. We need to destroy all data on the self-destruct mechanism for the locators as well as any hardware they may have on hand. We need to shut down this operation using any means necessary. Understood?” She looked around at her team and received their nods.

  “By ‘any means necessary’, do you mean–” Druid began.

  “If we have to blow that entire island out of existence, so be it,” Tate elaborated.

  “Sweet!” Druid grinned. As one of two demolitions experts now on her team, he was hoping for just such an opportunity. “I haven’t blown anything up in well over a month.”

  “Not on purpose, anyway,” Braddock corrected, making Druid’s grin widen.

  Tommy, who would be patched in until they left for Severny, stopped her before she could continue. “You’ll want to rethink blowing that island out of existence. Godin has created a meteorological research facility at the northern tip that is playing host to a group of Norwegian scientists.”

  “Fuck me,” Tate said. “Any chance you can get them out of there quietly?”

  “They’re scientists,” Tommy reminded her. “You can’t move them somewhere they don’t want to go, and hope to keep it quiet. It’s a theoretical impossibility.”