Copyright © 2017 by Miles Goodson
First Published in Great Britain in 2017
The right of Miles Goodson to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is the work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is completely coincidental.
The Shadow’s Code
Prelude
In 1983 a fledgling professor by the name of David Ebton was busy searching through the dusty archives of his university’s library.
The book he was looking for was jammed in a corner of a shelf; he reached forward to grab it. The book was limp at the binding but was just about holding together. He grumbled to himself, then returned to his office. David had just become a professor; after years of study he had reached his lofty goal of becoming an academic. He had a particular interest in the psychological testing that the United States had done during the First and Second World Wars. The young professor had begun growing a beard to make him look older; mixed with his thick-rimmed glasses and unkempt hair he was achieving his desired look. He gazed out of the window for a moment, then looked down and sighed at the boxes that surrounded him. He had only just been given an office and the moving process was going slow. A tap at the door signaled the arrival of his first visitor in the new office.
“Come in,” he called as he sat down and grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk and looked at it with a frown. A well-built man with dark features poked his head around the door and said, “David!” Professor Ebton looked up. To his surprise it was an old friend from his college days.
“Gomez, how are you, my friend?” David leapt from his seat with his arms wide; the two men hugged, then shook hands.
“I am well, and you?” Gomez asked as he looked at the professor’s bare looking bookshelf.
“Yes, yes, my gosh! It must have been five years since we last spoke, what are you doing with yourself these days?” David asked excitedly.
“Actually that’s what I came here to talk to you about…how about lunch…I’m buying. I parked right out front.” Gomez’s demeanor was much calmer than the professor’s.
“Yeah sure, why not, let me just grab my coat,” David replied as he walked over to his coat rack and retrieved his dark blue suede jacket.
The two men walked to the car, making idle chat about sports, the weather (which had been unseasonably windy) and the university’s architecture. They reached the car, a black Chevrolet SUV, which was nearly new and still had the ‘new car’ smell. The leather seats were supple and the stereo seemed to emit sound from every direction. Gomez turned off the radio as they pulled out of the parking space.
“Nice car Gomez, obviously you didn’t decide to go into academia by the look of it,” David said with a smile, which Gomez mirrored but didn’t answer.
“I’m gonna go to Henry’s diner, a few miles down the freeway, they’ve got good burgers there. That OK?” Gomez asked.
“Yeah, no problem,” David said.
“David, I need to talk to you about something, but it’s just between us, OK?” Gomez instructed. David shrugged, “Sure”. Gomez turned left and accelerated onto the freeway. “I’m in the CIA, have been now for four years, I got recruited shortly after graduation.” Gomez looked over at David who was surprised but didn’t say anything. Gomez switched lanes and accelerated past an old van.
“So anyway, I’ve come here to see you for a specific reason, stop me if I’m going too fast,” Gomez paused but David didn’t reply. “One of the senior guys, and I mean, one of the very senior guys, asked me to head up a project a couple of weeks ago. After I began reading the brief I realized that it referenced a paper you had written in your post grad years and once I told my boss I knew you…well…I’m sure you can work the rest out.”
It was a lot of information to take in, David’s cool demeanor masked his confusion.
“Well…OK. I mean…well, I’m glad you’ve got this job Gomez. I’m sure it’s a dream come true for you, but I’m really not sure how I can help,” David said, scratching the edges of his beard.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous. Look, I just need you to explain your work to me, strictly academic. I’m not gonna take you for dinner and conscript you into service, I just need some help understanding something, OK?” Gomez said in a reassuring tone.
“OK, well on my wages I can’t afford to turn down a free lunch,” David joked.
Gomez and David talked avidly for hours. Eventually the professor brought the meeting to an end when he realized the time.
“I must get back to the office, I’ve got my first class tomorrow,” he said. On the drive back very little was said. Gomez pulled into the campus and stopped by a tree that had an array of colored leaves falling from it.
“So do you think you can do it?” Gomez asked.
“Yeah, I think so, can I call you?” David asked, reaching for his suede jacket on the back seat.
“Yeah, here’s my card,” Gomez said, handing over a black card. It had the name Romero Johnson, a phone number and an extension number. David stepped out of the car and walked to the driver’s window staring at the card.
“What’s with the name?” David asked as he looked at the card.
“What? You think I hand out cards with my real name on them, you gotta watch your back doing what I do…. call the number, say the extension to the operator. They will ask you for a name, give the one on the card and they will put you through.”
Gomez rolled up the window and drove away. David watched him turn on to the road and past the prominent flagpole. The American flag waved in the wind that was pushing and pulling the rope’s clasps against the pole, the metal on metal contact creating a clanging sound. The professor rushed back to his office and digested what had just happened.
As the months passed by David grew comfortable in his new job and so decided to help Gomez. After helping him with the first project, he continued to work with the CIA where he forged a close relationship with several different operatives.
On a sunny Tuesday David had just taken the first bite of his ham and cheese sandwich when he heard a knock at the door. A man that he hadn’t met before walked in without speaking. He was much older than most of the young gun CIA operatives David had met before. The man had slick hair, a sharp suit and suspicion in his eyes.
“Professor David Ebton, my name is Donald Felix. We haven’t met before, but you’ve worked with several of my men,” Felix said whilst he checked his Rolex watch for the time.
“OK, yes, nice to meet you,” David said, confused as to why this man was in his office. He extended his hand towards the man who vigorously gripped David’s palm and squeezed.
“Professor, I need your help. I’ve seen your previous work and I must say, it was very good, some of the best I’ve seen outside of the agency.” Felix looked around the office as he spoke.
David nodded. “Yes, I’m still working on a project with Agent Foster, but as soon as that’s done I would be happy to help.”
“Agent Foster no longer needs your assistance as he was given a new team this morning,” Felix said abruptly.
“Oh,” the professor replied. David looked down at the knot of his shoelace.
“David, I’m going to level with you. The project I need
you to work on is top secret, it will be classified and any knowledge of it would be denied by the agency. It’s something new that we haven’t tried before, but I’m sure you’re the man for the job, and it comes with some enviable perks,” Felix said, staring at his reflection in a glass cabinet on the wall. He combed his hair back until every hair was perfectly in place. David sat with a lot of questions in his mind.
“What would you need me for and what would I get?” David asked, placing his index fingers together just below his chin.
Felix walked over to the bookshelf that was three quarters full. “Meet me in my office. Tomorrow at 9am”.
“I have class at 9am,” David replied.
“Cancel it. Trust me, it will be worth it,” Felix said, walking out the door.
The professor arrived at the office of Donald Felix at 8.55am; it was on the top floor of the CIA headquarters. David was nervous and struggled to contain a tremor as he knocked on the door and walked in. The office was monochrome and minimalist. Everything had its place and everything was symmetrical.
“Good morning, professor. Feel free to sit down, but I’m gonna make this short and sweet,” Felix said as he adjusted his tie in a mirror. “You will work with me and me only. You will take a sabbatical for one year and work on my project. In return, I have secured you a job as a senior professor at MIT. The sabbatical is already approved. You will have an office there from Monday and you can come and go as you please. The project we will be working on is for the protection of the entire American nation. You will create a program that is able to secure several codes. The way you will store them must be impenetrable to intruders. Only a few people will know about these codes. Do you understand?”
Felix looked at David straight in the eye. It was a lot to take in. David was still processing what he had just been told when Felix asked again, “Do. You. Understand?” in a gruff tone that raised the hairs on the back of David’s neck.
David stumbled through a response, “Yes…I think so, but what-“
Felix raised his hand and huffed before David could finish his answer. “You wrote a paper that a friend of yours, err, Gomez, got you to do some theoretical work on. We will advance the theory and put it into practise,” Felix said confidently as he picked up a cup of steaming coffee from his desk.
David thought to himself, and then muttered, “That was just a theory.”
“Yes, and a good theory. Now, I need you to take your theory and make it a reality. I know it won’t happen overnight. Storing codes in organic matter like the brain, without the subject being aware of it, is not going to be easy. But you have every resource you could ever need and, most importantly, an endless supply of good whiskey,” Felix said as he took a small bottle from the side and poured a healthy shot into his coffee. He held the bottle up to David.
“Oh, no thank you, I try not to drink before the end of a work day,” David said, staring at the bottle.
“Ah yes, I remember when each work day and its hours were clearly defined. They all just roll into one these days,” Felix replied with a smirk. David managed to hide the excitement of a job at MIT and the promotion to a senior lecturer. His elation was tempered by the fear that he couldn’t practically do what Felix was demanding. Felix got a refreshing kick from the coffee and walked quickly towards the door. “So… deal?” he asked, holding out his hand.
David didn’t have time to think of anything to say, so he just answered, “Deal.” They shook hands and Felix disappeared out the door.
February 15th 2015.
David was scheduled to take his weekly lecture in the afternoon. Six years had passed since the professor had made his theory a reality. It had taken over a decade but Felix had got what he wanted and the professor had achieved something beyond belief. Sadly for him, he couldn’t tell anyone about it. The two men had barely spoken since 2009, when the project had become active and the professor was no longer needed. He had happily worked in academia ever since his permanent post at MIT.
The Dean of MIT was doing his usual morning rounds - saying good morning and making small talk - to professors and clerks. David usually left his door open until 10am, but today it was closed. The Dean knocked and then entered, holding a coffee mug and a sweet biscuit. David’s office chair was vacant; the Dean shrugged and began to pull the door closed. As he did, he noticed a figure in the near distance through the murky office window. He felt compelled to look closer, so he moved to the dim window and adjusted his glasses from the end of his nose to get a better look. Professor David Ebton’s body was hanging from the thick branches of a large oak tree with a noose around his neck. His body was limp and frost had collected on his hair, as well as the shoulder pads of his suit. His neck was folded forward looking down, bent far beyond its natural flex and facing his chest. His body had been there since the early hours of the morning.
The police determined suicide. The CIA and Felix knew better.
Someone had just taken out the genius behind a top-secret program that was spoken of in hushed terms and referred to as ‘Parasite’. The CIA started scouring the professor’s office before noon. Barely anyone dared question them. Those who did were given the cold shoulder and barked at.
“It is a standard protocol for anyone who has ever worked with us outside the agency. David Ebton did a small amount of work for us some time ago, his belongings will be returned in due time,” was the sole response.
All agents with high-level security clearance who were not overseas were recalled. The professor had worked on many different projects for the CIA over the last twenty years. Each one needed to be picked apart.
Six months after the professor’s death and all but one project had been broken through and reprogrammed. ‘Parasite’ was the only one that couldn’t be breached out of the fifty-eight that the Professor had created. Felix was not worried. Once he learned that the best agencies couldn’t even work out what the program was or what it achieved, he allowed everyone to filter back to their old posts. The investigation into David Ebton’s death turned up a lot of blanks. Project ‘Parasite’ continued to be a success; it was the work of a true mastermind.
Chapter 1
It was September 12th and at this time of year Lindon would usually have a light tan over his strong muscular physique. Instead, his annual vacation in the sun had been canceled. The sunny beach had been traded for a job that he was now ruing; tropical rainfall fell all around him.
Lindon was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes and his brown hair was ragged and long. His dark stubble was becoming a beard and his combat trousers were stained and torn at the pockets. He sat swinging backwards and forwards on the back legs of a chair, waiting for his next instruction. Boredom had set in hours ago - waiting on a phone call was not how he liked to work. The humid air was making beads of sweat drip from his head. He stood up and stretched his tall frame and wiped his brow.
He walked inside the gazebo that was serving as a temporary base and inspected his equipment - fiddling with it for the fifth time that day. The light had faded from above the jungle trees. The sun’s glow disappeared over the horizon and a damp, thin fog lingered in the air above, as the rain began to subside. September was the month of the year when Lindon stopped working and disappeared to a remote beach in the West Indies. Grenada was a favourite. September was a popular month for the vacations of mercenaries as it was the quiet season and so most ‘tradesmen’ (as they called themselves) escaped to their retreats.
Families were generally oblivious to their profession. No one talked about being a mercenary; it was an unspoken rule of the trade. Most mercenaries were professionals with a calm demeanor. They were not the merciless hate-filled killers, bounty hunters or charismatic live-fast-die-young types that the movies made them out to be. Many worked for large companies that concealed their true business behind legitimate front organizations. Logging firms and oil exploration were a popular choice.
Lindon chose to be a freelancer and never knew whom
he would work with next. He had a few preferred organizations that he procured work from, as they sent decent people and the work was generally ‘clean’. This meant no killing. Most of the work Lindon did was intelligence gathering and capturing people of interest or reconnaissance. Lindon also preferred these ‘clean’ agencies, because they mainly recruited retired marines, police officers or career mercenaries, who trusted only those that they had known and worked with before. As a freelancer, Lindon was treated like an outsider, but he was still respected for his skills.
Lindon was working with three men from a company called Dino Logging Brothers Co. They were Seth McGregor, Anthony Bellhouse and Liam Brent. He knew these were not their real names. Lindon had come up with his name a few years earlier. His birth name was Ben. They all referred to their work as ‘the trade’, no one ever said the word mercenary.
Lindon looked over at the three men as he walked out of the gazebo to glimpse the encroaching night sky. The first stars were beginning to shine.
“Who are we waiting on again?” Lindon asked.
“Dino Logging didn’t say much. Carón is the contact and he’s going to call with further instructions,” Seth replied.
“Man, five weeks we’ve been on this guy’s tail and nothing,” Lindon said, but no one replied. Lindon looked down at his scuffed and muddy boots, as the team huddled together to play cards.
Lindon had left the military several years ago. Since then mercenary work had been paying his bills. It was a job he begrudged, but like many jobs, he did it for the money. Lindon had met men who could kill, go back to base and eat a steak dinner without any further thought to what they had done. They astonished him, snipers in particular. They could go out, set up for 20 hours, put people in their crosshairs, and then fire a bullet. They were a necessity in the military and one of them had saved Lindon’s life in the first year of service. Neville Schmidt was a sniper with 4th battalion and a sharp eye. Lindon was forever indebted to him.
The Shadow's Code Page 1