The Illuminati

by Larry Burkett

  “I don’t know who he is,” Rutland said, showing his irritation. “Find out!”

  “If it’s Ku Chow Li, I know who he is,” Randall said. “Ku Chow is the head of the Chinese Mafia in Chinatown. He ran the drugs there until Data-Net shut him down.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Rutland muttered, more to himself than to Randall. “Just put a close watch on him, including phone taps. But don’t let him know. This is important. Don’t screw it up!”

  Razzak will be pleased, Rutland thought as he hung up. I’ll hand him Wells’ head on a platter. That prospect brought a smile to his face.

  At Livermore Bill Eison was wrestling with his indecision. He knew Jeff and Karen were still alive, because Jeff had left him a note in the Data-Net file. Then several weeks later, Karen had left him a new telephone number. The area code looked to be in southern Mississippi. He desperately wanted to communicate with his daughter, but he feared using the Data-Net link, lest he somehow tip off their enemies.

  But finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. Karen is my only family in the world, he rationalized to himself. I have to know she is all right. He dialed the number through his computer modem. When he heard the telltale tone signaling a computer hookup, he knew he had access to Data-Net. He left a simple message: “How are you Karen? I love you. Dad.” Then he punched in the number Karen had given him. Data-Net would automatically dial that number and transmit his message. The phone hook-up would be no more than ten seconds; then Jeff’s program would remove all traces of his call. He quickly shut down the terminal link and exited the routine.

  In the main AT&T terminal building, Robert Hawn recorded the call from the Livermore facility, just as he had been instructed by Li. He pocketed the small paper tape that contained the numbers for that day, including one to the Data-Net computer in Washington. Later that evening he met Li in a bar and handed the tape over to him. In return, Li gave the telephone engineer a small package of white powder.

  As Dr. Loo sorted through the calls made from the government facility, he scanned the files in the main computer. He had programmed into the machine all known locations and phone numbers for other facilities that regularly interfaced with Data-Net. It was a simple process to sort out the common calls from the uncommon.

  Within seconds the computer had sorted through the files and matched most of the numbers. Only three numbers failed to match that day. Since each call made from the facility carried an ID code matching it to the phone number selected, a seldom-used number was easily matched to the time Dr. Eison placed his call.

  Ah, Dr. Loo thought as the printer spewed out the single number that matched all of his criteria. A phone hook-up was made to area code B-601. That is in southern Mississippi. I believe we have located Mr. Wells, or more correctly, Miss Eison.

  Although he hated to do so, Dr. Loo had to use the Data-Net system to isolate the phone number down to a precise location. He called the locator routine and typed in the area code and phone number.

  The Data-Net system records every phone call made to any modem in the country, Dr. Loo said mentally as he punched in the instructions to initiate the search routine. The trace file contains a record of every electronic telephone terminal used to transmit the signal. It is a simple matter to trace any call from its origin to destination, thanks to Wells’ creative brain.

  The printer in the central office where Dr. Loo was working came alive. It sounded a single burst of data as the trace information printed out.

  As he reviewed the data, Dr. Loo muttered, “Wells is smarter than even I have given him credit for. He has found one of the old mechanical telephone systems from which he enters the system.”

  No wonder I haven’t been able to trap him, he thought. The old relays take several seconds to provide the trace information. In the meantime he simply instructs the system to ignore his entry. Clever, but not clever enough, thanks to Dr. Eison. I can’t locate the exact spot where he is hiding, but perhaps Rutland can.

  Unknown to Dr. Loo, Cal Rutland had already issued the order to have the telephone engineer picked up and interrogated. He quickly provided an additional copy of the report that had been transmitted to Dr. Loo. Within ten minutes, Rutland had instructed Randall to have Dr. Loo arrested.

  Dr. Loo was just finishing his analysis when the two agents came through the door. Whirling as he heard the door open, he said, “Who are you, and what do you want here?”

  “Dr. Kim Loo, you are under arrest,” the agent in charge said with authority.

  “Under arrest!” Loo shouted. “What is the charge?”

  “I was directed to arrest you,” the agent responded without elaboration. “You will have to ask the director.”

  Rutland! Loo said to himself as he felt a chill. The agents proceeded to handcuff him.

  “Wait, you fools!” Loo commanded while they were handcuffing him. “I need to shut down the terminal I am using.” Loo knew that Wells might have a means of monitoring his search program.

  “You’ll have to take that up with the director,” the agent said as he shoved Loo toward the door. “My orders are to arrest you—nothing else.”

  Loo was shouting obscenities as the agents hauled him toward the waiting elevator, where they shoved him inside. Once they reached the office level and the doors opened, Loo saw Rutland standing in the hallway.

  “You fool!” Loo shouted at Rutland. “I found Wells. Now he may be warned.”

  The normally placid Rutland felt a small tinge of panic within. But he hid it as he answered, “You have been trying to deal with Wells. I have a copy of the phone report you received. You were going to sell us out.”

  “You pathetic fool,” Loo replied. “Wells doesn’t need my help. I was trying to locate his headquarters so that you can shut him down. Now if he discovers the program I was running you’ll never find him again.”

  Somewhere inside, Cal Rutland knew Dr. Loo was speaking the truth. For the first time in his life Rutland had made an error in judgment about someone’s character. His confidence faded.

  “Let him go!” Rutland snapped at the agents.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the agent in charge responded timidly. “I take my orders from the director.”

  “Take those handcuffs off him,” Rutland snarled as his eyes narrowed and his face turned dark. He knew he had only one chance that Loo might be able to give him Wells’ location before Wells discovered the trap.

  The agent started to object again but the anger on Rutland’s face stopped him. He knew, as they all did, that Randall was a flunkie for the White House. Rutland was in charge, not Randall. He stepped behind Dr. Loo and unsnapped the cuffs.

  Loo rubbed his wrists. “I must get back to the computer center. Perhaps Wells has not used the system yet.” With that he stepped back into the elevator, with Rutland close behind.

  In Mississippi, Karen Eison had been working on an update to Jeff’s program to shut down the government’s funds. The channel into Data-Net had been left open by Jeff before he went off to get some rest. At Agent Shepperd’s insistence, only Jeff knew the codes to enter the Data-Net system. Shepperd knew the risk of only one person knowing the codes, but he figured that if Wells was captured or killed, their operation was over anyway. He didn’t want other people trying to activate the system and perhaps tipping off the authorities to their location.

  As Karen sat down at the computer console to reassemble her program, she noticed the mixture of symbols on the screen. “Daddy!” she shouted as she recognized the jumbled mess as being the same data she had seen when she heard from him before. She hurried to get Jeff. Even though he was resting, she knew he would be glad to assemble the message for her.

  She leaned over the cot and said softly, “Jeff, Daddy has sent us another message. I need your help.”

  Jeff had heard her come into the room. He hadn’t been able to sleep, but he didn’t need much sleep. Mostly he needed to let his mind relax. When he heard what Karen said, he quickly sat up in be
d and said, “Your father sent a message. How?”

  “Through the Data-Net channel he used before, I think,” Karen answered. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Probably not,” Jeff said calmly. No sense in getting Karen upset, he thought. But inside, his heart was doing flip flops. He always closed the loop into the system when he dialed it, but someone calling from the outside would leave a traceable series of codes. Dr. Loo just might be sharp enough to trace their location.

  Jeff hurried to the terminal, sat down at the console, and typed in several commands. He never had been a great typist, but his large fingers literally flew across the keyboard as he searched all the Data-Net files for any indication that a trace had been run. When he found what he hoped would not be there, his head dropped. The duplicate file showed a trace had been run and, in fact, was still open. He did what he could to scramble the results, but he knew that Dr. Loo would already have his information. He didn’t understand why Loo would leave the trace routine activated, but he wasn’t about to wait around to find out. He closed the Data-Net channel to their location and instructed the system to make one more output. The printer beside him burped only once before shutting down.

  “Is something wrong?” Karen asked when she saw the despondent look on Jeff’s face.

  “No, nothing,” he said as he retrieved the printout. “I’m just a little tired, I guess. Here’s the message from your father. He sends his love and wants to know if you’re okay.”

  Karen accepted the printout with a smile, but inside she knew something was troubling Jeff. He wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings.

  Jeff was troubled. Both Donald Shepperd and Pastor Elder were away meeting with members of the CRC. He wasn’t sure what to do.

  At Data-Net headquarters in Washington, a fuming Dr. Loo hurried into the computer room. He sat down at his terminal and began to search the system files for any indication that Wells had discovered his search routine.

  Relieved, Loo sat back in his chair. “It doesn’t appear that Wells has been in the system,” he said to Rutland.“However, his cloaking capacity is beyond anything I have ever seen. I would suggest that you move quickly.”

  After learning the location of the suspected headquarters, Rutland called Razzak to inform him.

  As Rutland outlined the details of what Loo had been able to uncover, Razzak said, “Splendid,my friend. You have done well. Now we will put a stop to his rebellion.”

  Rutland wondered what Razzak would do if he knew about the search file being open so long on Loo’s terminal. Well, there is nothing that can be done about it now, he told himself. The task is to kill Wells before they can relocate again.

  “We can’t use Data-Net to schedule any of our people,” Rutland told Razzak. “Wells would intercept the activities and warn his people.”

  “How will you handle it?” Razzak asked, his eyes flashing with the hate seething inside of him. He wanted Wells dead, along with Elder and the others. He had erred by not having Elder killed when he had the chance, but he would not make the same mistake twice.

  Rutland had already devised a plan. After the incident in Atlanta, he would not try to draw in outside agents to attack Wells and the others. He would use four agents from New Orleans to locate and destroy the camp. Loo didn’t have the exact location, but it wouldn’t be hard to find. There was no way they could operate a camp housing several dozen people without leaving some telltale signs.

  Rutland called the detainment center in New Orleans to talk with Ralph Butcher, the area director for the secret service. The secretary could hardly believe it was really Rutland who was calling. “I’ll get him for you, sir,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. Talking to Rutland was almost like talking to the president.

  “Yes, sir,” Butcher said as he tried to get his breath. He had literally leaped up the two flights from the detention area below. It was chaos, as it had been for weeks. The orders he had been receiving from Washington were a jumbled mess. Often the arrest orders were drawn up for the wrong people. Just yesterday he had sent men out to arrest the four-year-old daughter of a local official—as a terrorist no less! He was rapidly losing the confidence of his own people.

  “I want you to handle a very important job for me,” Rutland said as politely as his authoritative manner would allow. “It’s crucial to the president and to the country.”

  Butcher, a minor official in the State Department until a couple of years before, was flattered. Do something for President Alton! I didn’t even think she knew I existed.

  Rutland outlined the plan, without telling Butcher who the people at the camp really were. “I want everyone there killed,” he said emphatically. “No one is to escape!” He wished he could handle the job himself, but Wells had him isolated in Washington. But that would be over as soon as Wells was eliminated.

  “Listen carefully,”Rutland continued. “You must not use government vehicles or access Data-Net for anything until this is completed.”

  “How will we get to this camp then?” Butcher asked. He clearly wasn’t the most skilled agent in the world, and he thought only as he had been trained to think in the State Department: The government is the great provider of all needs.

  “Steal a car! And steal whatever you need on the way. But do not use Data-Net. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Butcher replied, though clearly he did not understand. He thought terrorists were the ones who stole stuff—not government agents.

  “Call me as soon as it’s over,” Rutland commanded as he hung up. Idiots, he muttered. The whole government is full of idiots!

  In spite of Butcher’s seemingly weak personality, he had one redeeming characteristic: the ability to select capable men. It was why he was tolerated by his superiors. Using that talent, he quickly selected four totally qualified agents for the task. Butcher knew they were ruthless . . . but intelligent. They would locate the terrorists and stamp out the vermin.

  The men he selected were well qualified indeed. All had been drug dealers, recruited by the government for terrorist roundup after drugs had been legalized. They were all anxious to get off the detention detail.

  It was menial work that had little or no prospects for profit. To these four, profits were all that mattered. They used their roles as government agents to maximum advantage. They had no respect for Butcher, but at least he knew enough to let them alone.

  They narrowed in on the area to be searched, based on the information provided by Dr. Loo. They were confident they would be able to locate the camp once they got close enough.

  Their first move was to steal a car from a nearby community, which they did with no difficulty. Armed with several automatic weapons, they knew they would have no trouble securing what they needed from citizens along the way. The leader, Andy Mowr, said to the others, “Maybe we can make this trip entertaining as well as profitable.”

  The team left New Orleans, driving toward the town of Dentville, Mississippi. The locator map they had showed Dentville to be closest to the area Dr. Loo had identified. They were glad to be back in their chosen profession: looting.

  The four had been able to supplement their incomes by dealing in some of the new drugs. But Data-Net made it difficult to convert the drugs to cash, so they had starting robbing locals for whatever they needed. But the pickings hadn’t really been that good lately.

  “Who do you think these people are?” one of the agents asked Mowr.

  “Who knows?” Mowr replied. “And who cares? From what Butcher said, they must have a pretty good racket goin’.We’ll just help ourselves to whatever they have. Once we’re done, they won’t have any need for it. Besides, dead men won’t say nothin’.”

  “You think there will be some women there?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised boys, so watch where you shoot. We wouldn’t want to hurt no ladies, would we?”

  The others laughed coarsely. Under Mowr’s direction, they had been raping and killing around New Orleans. Thei
r technique was simple; they used their credentials to force their way into homes and then looted them at will. They left no witnesses behind to identify them, including women and children. But the local authorities were beginning to close in. Only two nights ago they had almost been trapped in a home they were looting. One of the neighbors had seen them enter the home and had heard the screams from inside. The police arrived only moments after they left

  “By the time we get back, the heat’ll be off and we’ll be able to start havin’ fun again,”Mowr said, snorting at his own sick humor.

  They had been traveling about two hours when the agent driving said, “We’re runnin’ low on gas. We’ll have to stop soon.”

  “Find us a good out-of-the-way place,” Mowr said. “We’ll use our credit cards.”

  “I thought Butcher said not to use our cards.”

  “I mean our ‘thirty-caliber’ cards,” Mowr said, laughing like a snorting pig.

  The others laughed too. They always did what Mowr said. They were afraid of him. He seemed to have no humanity; he got pleasure out of hurting people.

  Pulling off the interstate, the driver followed a narrow rural road into a small farming town. “There’s just one station here,” he said to Mowr.

  “That’s all we need,” Mowr growled, as he armed his automatic weapon. “Pull in.”

  As the car rolled to a stop, an old man came out of the run-down building. “You need gas?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Naw, we came in here for lunch,”Mowr replied in his typically sarcastic manner.

  “I don’t cotton much to smart alecks, mister,” the unintimidated man retorted.“If you’re a comedian, you missed your turn. This is a gas station.”

  The others in the car started to snicker, but one glance at Mowr’s face told them that would be the wrong thing to do. The last thing the station owner saw was the muzzle of Mowr’s automatic poking out the window. Mowr pulled the trigger and sent a hail of bullets ripping through the startled old man.