by Fiona Quinn
“The senator said he called off his wolves. Levi shouldn’t have been in the picture at that point.” Titus said.
“Well, since we have him cuffed in our holding tank, I’d say he didn’t understand that directive. Actually, I’d say he’s probably playing double agent, and Levi was still handing information to someone.”
“Nutsbe’s holding up a sign that says that Lily didn’t have a car.”
“If you have her phone number, check her GPS routing. Maybe Special Agent Prescott can help you with that.”
“Why do you think she was in the gardens?” Prescott called out from his seat across the way.
“I have a guess. But it might be one hell of a stretch.”
“Okay, we’ll take that under advisement,” Prescott said.
“Did any of you see the Washington Post this morning?”
Titus looked around at the shaking heads. “That’s a negative.”
“One of their reporters was found dead in that park. A heart attack. The front page is dedicated to his twenty years of reporting. I’m not sure if there’s any way to find out why he was in that park around the time Lily was there, but he was a government corruption specialist, and Lily was acting as a whistleblower, according to Senator Billings.”
“Hell of a coincidence,” Gage muttered.
“I’d check out that story, and if by any chance he’s connected to Lily, see if anyone has notes on what he was working on,” Lynx continued.
“You think he was murdered?” Prescott asked.
“I’m not willing to speculate. I already feel like that’s thin ice.”
“Okay, you’ve got one more point,” Titus said. They were all huddled around the phone like it was a camp fire on a winter’s night.
“I do?”
“You said three.”
“Huh, hang on, let me think—oh, before we leave the topic of the reporter in the park, another way you can trace that down are the recent calls that Gage took from Lily’s phone at the morgue. See if any of those numbers go to WaPo or this guy.”
They could hear tire squeals and horns honking in the background.
“His name is Colin Bunsinger,” Lynx said, her voice fading and then growing louder. “Ah, yes, the third thing. I can’t remember where I’ve seen the symbol that was on the business card and the tangos’ tattooed wrists, but I’ve seen it somewhere. Not recently, but probably something I studied as a child. I remember looking at it in a book with my mother, so that tells me it’s old, maybe ancient, and probably has something to do with art. Sorry, I can’t tune that note for you, but it might give Nutsbe some parameters for his search. Okay, I’m going to be battling traffic from here to the airport. I need to focus. Margot gave me the trackers so that ploy’s a go. Good luck, everyone.”
The men each called out their thanks and goodbyes to Lynx before the line went dead.
Damion Prescott sat back on the table. “She got all that from her session with Billings? I didn’t get any of those connections”
Nutsbe laughed. “Yeah, she’s kind of like the Iniquus magician, pulling rabbits from thin air.” Nutsbe typed on his keyboard. “I sent a message for forensics to check the guy’s phone to see if there was any audio or video recorded on Thursday morning. Shall we lay bets on who’s on the tape if it’s there?” He tapped a button. “Are you ready for some follow up with what Lynx suggested?”
“Yeah.” Prescott moved to the computer station. “What’ve you got?”
“Here you go.” Up on the screen came side by side pictures of their prisoner and a professional photo of the same man in a suit and tie. “This is off his PI webpage.”
“He looks better without the scruffy beard and broken jaw and nose,” Brainiack remarked.
“I’m pulling up his DMV records. Okay, I have his license plate…and the parameters of Thursday zero hundred hours to Friday zero hundred hours, so we’ll see where his car went in the city.”
“How does Iniquus have this information?” Prescott flared his nostrils. “My understanding is that this data is under government control.”
“That’s right, and we contract with the government to do this kind of legwork and free up their staff. Right now, this is an FBI contracted job. Obviously, this series of events and crimes has national security ramifications. I’m sure the FBI will be appreciative of all of our efforts to keep America safe,” Titus remarked.
“I’m sure they will,” Prescott responded dryly.
Titus picked up his phone and pressed a number. “Margot? I need you to go by Ruby and Sal Leibowitz’s house and pick up Ruby. She may need a little convincing to come along for the ride… I don’t know, you’re going to have to go with your gut. Tell her something about her friend, Lily Winters, leaving a package for her or something. Something plausible that Ruby would want to get her hands on… Yeah, well, if she’s not there, you’ll need to track her down. I need her here ASAP.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
GAGE
“Sir, I have more information.” Nutsbe changed the pictures on the screen. On the top were the two men whom Gage killed wearing uniforms, sans black face paint. On the bottom were the man they held prisoner and another man no one recognized. Three of the men had red Xs on their faces. “Honey took ear photos and fingerprints of the target he neutralized at the safe house. This is his picture, bottom right, when he still had a face. Our forensics department was able to get his identification pretty quickly, because they all have an association.”
“Let me guess,” Gage said. “They were all in the same Israeli unit, and they were all MIA, presumed dead.”
“Bingo. And what’s more, Levi Schulz is not the PI’s real name. His birth name is actually Ido Mandel. Here’s a picture of their unit shortly before the bombing that forensics just sent over.” Nutsbe put up a photo on another screen.
Gage moved over to look at it. His brow drew together. “Huh, interesting.”
Titus moved stand next to him “What are you seeing, Gage?”
“No tattoos on the left wrists.”
Prescott pinched at his lower lip. “Son of a gun. You’re right. So the team goes MIA and at least four members show up years later on American soil with affiliation tattoos. And what’s more, this guy’s services were suggested to the senator by a DARPA director.”
“It’s possible Colonel Guthrie could only be aware of his work as a PI under the name Levi Schultz. He’s well-established here in the DC area if you look at his website. There are court cases listed in which he gave testimony. They aren’t small potatoes hearings either,” Nutsbe added.
“Who does that?” Brainiack asked. “Gets a tattoo of their group’s icon? Besides military, of course.”
“I once saw a guy with a tat of a barcode on his wrist. He worked at a grocery store.” Nutsbe kept typing as he spoke.
“And what was the barcode for?”
Nutsbe glanced up from his keyboard to catch Brainiack’s gaze. “Doritos.”
“Ha.” Brainiack laughed.
“I’m wondering if the CIA has any intel on this symbol.” Prescott hiked his thumb at the photo. “If Lynx remembers it from a book she saw in her childhood, it’s obviously not a corporate logo.”
“Perhaps it was once something else and some group jacked it for their own reasons.”
“True.” Prescott let his hands rest on the back of his head. “You have two CIA business cards. We could reach out to them. Keep this in the family, so to speak.”
“I’d rather not,” Gage said. “I didn’t get a good vibe from these guys, and I don’t want them involved until we know what role they’re playing in all of this. Zoe can probably answer some of our questions about that role. Where is Zoe, by the way?”
“Margot said she ate, took a shower, and as soon as she laid her head down, she was passed out,” Brainiack said. “We all know how that feels. Adrenaline can kick the shit out of you.”
“I’ll send someone to wake her up in
a little bit, if she doesn’t get up on her own,” Titus said, moving back to the table. “Then we can have a chat with her about why she thinks she’s being hunted internationally.”
“You mean besides the biomarker research?” Gage asked.
“Sir,” Nutsbe called. “Forensics sent me an audio file off of the PIs phone. They said that the phone was equipped with an app that allows for sound amplification. They’ve put the audio file through a scrubber to take out the ambient noise. Shall I play it?”
“Go ahead.”
The room grew still.
A nervous girl’s voice said, “Hi,” from the speaker system.
“I’m Colin Bunsinger.”
“Yes, I recognize you from your picture in the paper.”
“And your name is?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I protect all of my sources. I would never share your name with anyone. But for the sake of our conversation, what shall I call you?”
“Nothing. You will call me nothing.” The tension in the woman’s voice ramped up.
“Does that sound like Lily to you?” Prescott asked Gage.
“Yeah, it sounds just like her.”
“I usually don’t meet with folks when they call and say they have a story for me. I’m not in the gossip business. I wouldn’t be here except that I got a call right before you rang from Senator Billings saying that he was sending someone my way. I’m assuming that’s you, since no one else contacted me. How do you know Senator Billings?”
“I don’t know him. Well, I know he’s working on a Senate hearing about Montrim Industries, and I have information from Montrim to share with you.”
“How did you get it? Are you a Montrim employee?”
Silence followed and Gage imagined Lily nodding.
“What’s in this envelope? It feels pretty thin. Is this all of your evidence?”
“Three pieces of correspondence. The first one is about an apocalyptic weapons system currently being developed. It’s based on a DARPA funded study into the use of soundwaves to destroy animal cells. DARPA was interested in developing a way to kill humans in a conflict area without incurring the expense of rebuilding infrastructure and not contaminating the land with toxins.”
“So the technology could be implemented one day and the invaders could move in the very next?”
“That’s my understanding”
The reporter let out a long low whistle. “The letter contains proof of your allegations?”
“The letter talks about the technology and how we’re in a race with China to develop the system. As a matter of fact, one of Montrim’s employees, George Matthews, was implicated in sharing data with China. George disappeared a couple of months ago. I have no idea where he went. I wasn’t able to find any information about him, and his house is empty and listed for sale.”
“Billings knows all this?”
“I’ve provided the same emails to his office I’m sharing with you.”
“The sound technology is mind-blowing.” There was a string of coughs. “You said two other items?”
“Yes, the next is a letter from a man with the Mossad. I think the Mossad is Israel’s version of our CIA?”
“That’s right,” the reporter confirmed.
“The Mossad sought to purchase a copy of BIOMIST. BIOMIST is an above top secret initiative. I don’t have access to what it is. But I can tell you that it’s a DARPA project that’s been implemented since 2010, and is similar to the FBI’s CODIS system.”
“And the Mossad want a copy. Was this a letter written to DARPA?”
“Nutsbe,” Titus whispered. “Is that MIA Israeli unit Mossad?”
“No sir, Sayeret Matkal, Special Forces,” he replied.
“No, you can read it for yourself,” Lily was saying. “Apparently, a Montrim board member brought the project to Mossad’s attention and offered to sell them a copy of our data for forty-million dollars. They will update the data bi-monthly for an additional million dollars per update.”
“Montrim initiated the sale of DARPA project data to Israel?”
“That’s what it says,” the woman whispered.
“And the last piece of information?”
“The CIA offered Montrim a contract to get data on a DARPA project and have a team of MONTRIM microrobotic engineers reengineer the project for immediate field use by the CIA.”
“How would Montrim get ahold of DARPA project plans?”
“The scientist working on the project rents laboratory space at Montrim and uses the encrypted computer systems there. Much of the information there is top secret and above. The computer system passes DARPA security standards. Montrim is not supposed to have access, but when they built their computer system, they built a back door so the board could access all of the scientists’ information, whether they worked for Montrim or DARPA. I have that information there for you too.”
“What is the project that the CIA wants to take over?”
“RoboSphecius. The documents are in this folder. I’m not a scientist. These things don’t make sense to me. But the letters should give you the information you need.”
“You have no idea what the RoboSphecius project is about?”
“Wasps,” she said.
“Wasps?”
“I’m really uncomfortable talking to you about this in public. I need to go. The documents are in the envelope.”
“Look, I just—”
“Sorry,” her voice called out. “I can’t do any more.”
The room sat quietly.
“I think we need to have a conversation with this PI guy,” Prescott said. “Where is he right now?”
Nutsbe punched a button and brought up the image of the prisoner sitting in a well-lit white room complete with a white table and white chairs. The man sat with his cuffs attached to the table top. His feet were visibly shackled to the floor. “We put him on ice for a while, sir. It seems to help to give them some time to reevaluate their life choices. Makes them more talkative.”
Gage looked over at the whiteboard that listed the name of the top-secret project that the CIA wanted to get their hands on. BIOMIST. That sounded ominous as hell. “Titus, Lily said her project was similar to the FBI’s CODIS.”
“CODIS stands for Combined DNA Index System. BIOMIST could be Blood Marker Indexing System or Biomedical Indexing System.”
Gage nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
“And wasps?” Titus tapped the board beside the word. “We’ve heard that one before.”
There was a ping at Nutsbe’s computer. “Sir, Zoe’s on her way in.”
Titus turned toward the door. “Good. Now maybe we can get some context for all of this.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Zoe
From the same flower the bee extracts honey and the wasp
~ Italian proverb
Zoe followed her guide to the Panther war room. She still felt a little bit like she had been sucked into a virtual reality game and was looking for the eject button. The meal had helped. The sleeping pod had been a revelation. She wondered if she couldn’t get one for her own home. She felt human again—even though she felt like she was plopped into some weird new dimension. She gave the men a wave as she entered the room.
Gage moved toward her, his eyes a turbulent blue with only a few specks of green. “We were hoping you’d come.”
She let her gaze move around the room, taking it in. This was obviously a space where strategizing was done. There were three screens along a focal wall. One contained the faces of four men, three with Xs on their faces, and one displayed a photo that looked like a military unit in the desert. A photo like those her dad used to send home to her and her mom. Nutsb—–er—Tad was sitting at the computer console. Titus was glowering, as usual. Prescott looked at her like she was some kind of bacterium on a petri dish.
“Are you doing okay?” Gage put his hand on her arm, pulling her attention back to him.
“Why don’t you come and sit down. We’re making some strides in figuring things out. Is it okay if I ask you some questions? We’re to the point where we need more information from you. Then I can catch you up on what we’ve learned.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” She moved to a seat and laced her fingers and crossed her ankles, compressing her body into a tight package.
“Do you know the term BIOMIST?”
“Yes, that’s the name of the indexing system I was telling you and Titus about.”
“Who owns BIOMIST?” Prescott asked.
Zoe pulled at her fingers nervously. “I own the intellectual property of how the biomarkers work to create unique profiles. I also own the software that analyzes the data. DARPA owns the software that stores the data and makes it searchable, since this application was their brainchild. Montrim is the collection and housing unit for the data.”
“We know how DARPA became involved. How did Montrim get on board?” Gage asked.
“My understanding is that the United States military didn’t think it would be successful getting foreign citizens to cooperate with the project. The best way to do that was to go in as a charitable medical group. The goal was to include every human in a particular area. They dipped each person’s finger in dye to indicate that they had gone through the process and gave them gifts at the end.”
“Gifts?”
“I heard something in passing. I was told that it depended on the village. In some cases, for example, if the chieftain was over forty and had several wives, they would offer him Viagra in return for his people’s participation. Sometimes they rewarded participation with things like chocolate bars or small solar lanterns.”
“But despite their active participation, Montrim doesn’t own and cannot therefore sell BIOMIST data to a foreign entity.”
“No, absolutely not. Nor can I. The data was bought by the US government and is regulated through the DoD. Almost no one knows about its existence. Just the CIA, mainly.”