by E. R. Mason
“Fantastic, you’re back!”
Rogers looked tense. “It’s not what you think, Cass. Come take a look.”
An unmarked black van waited in the driveway, backed up to the front door. Streetlights reflected eerie swirls off the side and black-tinted windows. She led Cassiopia to the double back doors and opened them. Inside, a heavy tarp covered something. Rogers grabbed a corner of it and flipped it back. Beneath lay an unconscious man. He had dark hair, a short beard, and wore loose-fitting gray silk clothing with no shoes. He did not stir.
Cassiopia stepped back abruptly. “What…who is it? Is he dead?”
Rogers carefully covered the man back up and shut the doors. “Let’s go inside and talk. Is your father here?”
Cassiopia was too stunned to speak. They walked inside with Rogers looking nervously over her shoulder. Cassiopia shut the front door and locked it. In the den, the Professor looked up from his reading in pleasant surprise at the sight of Rogers.
“Ann! Welcome back.”
Rogers remained somber. She motioned Cassiopia to sit, and took a seat facing them, then leaned forward with her hands folded. She glanced at the shiny Tel standing inertly in the corner. A heavy silence followed.
“Do you two remember how I was to tell no one at all about the doorway?”
The Professor sat up straight. Cassiopia looked anxious.
“No, no. It’s okay. I would not break a promise. Your secret is safe. But, I must now ask you to do the same for me. You must never reveal what is happening here tonight, to anyone, ever.”
No one spoke.
“The case I have been on is highly classified. I am violating the law big-time by telling you, but it is necessary, and I need to give you all the details so that you understand.”
“Terrorists are not wealthy people. They are always financed by others who enjoy lives as legitimate citizens, though they are actually some of the worst scum of the Earth. Many times, the financing of terrorism is for the purpose of making themselves even wealthier, while at the same time, the terrorists have their own agenda, which usually involves political power. So what you have, are two kinds of people, the greedy and the violent, working together to achieve two separate goals. That’s what this case is all about. We have been tracking a certain terrorist cell for several years. They’re up and comers, if you know what I mean. They seem more intent on hurting the U.S. than actually overthrowing any particular mid-eastern government. Some of the plant explosions and fuel storage explosions you’ve seen in the news have been their work, though cover stories have been used to avoid adding to their notoriety.
“Something changed about a year ago. A group of financial backers suddenly jumped into bed with these guys. We now know it wasn’t out of a desire to oppose U.S. policies. It’s much uglier than that. These financial backers suddenly converted everything they had in U.S. currency, into Euros. They began shifting their holdings into investments that were all based in Euros. At the same time, they began funneling money into this particular terrorist group, kind of like a rich person suddenly hiring a hit man.”
“We had a good line on the communications within the terrorist cell. It was an elaborate crypto-system. Their messages were in plain text. Within the text was a simple algorithmic code that would yield a meaningless jumble of letters. Those letters were then converted into math, and from there, decoded by a machine that reminded me of the German Enigma decoder. But, even the decoded messages used code words. The single word ‘nuclear’ was the most difficult to verify, but fortunately they slipped once, and that combined with the stuff the group was buying, and the places they were buying it from, made it clear these people had parts of a nuclear bomb and were fabricating the rest of what they needed.”
Wide-eyed, the Professor could not hold back. “But the fuel source? How could they…?”
Rogers sat back. “It was the first thing they got their hands on. It started the whole thing. One of those slimy investors I mentioned owned the security company at a breakaway nation from the old USSR regime. It was no problem to walk off with it. They did all the monitoring. They kept the records, or at least what there are of them. And, it’s enough, by the way. Have no doubt about that.”
Rogers paused to breathe. She looked in earnest at them both. “So you now know where I’m going with this, and it only gets worse. We know the bomb has been planted. There was no way to absolutely verify where, but we strongly believe it is Washington, D.C., downtown. We have some very elaborate detection systems, airborne and terrain scanning, but we have not been able to pick it up. There’s a good chance special shielding has been used, and it’s blocking us just enough.”
“When?” asked the Professor breathlessly.
Rogers wiped her hand across her mouth. “Three days.”
No one spoke. They sat staring at each other in frightened silence.
Cassiopia said, “But, you’re up to something.”
Rogers nodded. “It’s time to break every rule in the book. If they put me up in front of a firing squad, that wouldn’t be as bad as what’s about to happen. The unconscious man you saw in the van is Kammadad Alaman. He’s one of them. He was my assignment. He’s been just jubilant the last few days, buying drinks for everyone in bars, dancing the day away. The ass-hole even got up and sang karaoke. He knows. He knows everything. But, there’s no truth serum or water-boarding in the world that’s gonna get it out of him. We are out of time and there’s only one way I can think of to stop this thing from happening, and that is to get inside his brain and find out where the bomb is.”
Cassiopia understood. “Was there violence involved in bringing him here? Did you fight with him, or argue, or anything like that?”
“No. I knew better. It was an old trick, completely illegal, but very slick. Old Alaman drank himself to sleep after another celebration. That’s why he’s dressed in sleepwear. I let myself in, and gassed his room to be sure I wouldn’t wake him. Then a good stiff injection of the right stuff and he’ll be out cold for several more hours. When it gets near time, I’ll stick him again. He will not wake up while we have him. When we’re done, I’ll make the twelve-hour drive back to his place, put him back to bed, and he’ll wake up thinking he drank too much and slept for a couple days. Of course, if we are unsuccessful, none of that will matter much. The financial backers of these people are hoping to disrupt the U.S. government and its financial structure so badly, that the dollar crashes and the value of the euro goes sky-high and becomes the world standard.”
The Professor sat up straight. “You two have lost me. Bringing who, where?”
“The man she is referring to is outside in the van, unconscious, Father.”
“This is a plot to give me heart failure. Cassiopia was bad enough. Now the two of you together have elevated the effort to a global level. Of all the insidious things that could happen to an old man….”
“We shouldn’t move him until we’re completely ready. How long will he remain unconscious?” asked Cassiopia
“Another two hours. It should be plenty of time to get in there. Then I’ll dose the bastard again.”
Professor Cassell interrupted. “I see what the two of you are thinking, that if you bring this man into Dreamland, his subconscious will create an environment in which you might see what he has been working on, but there are problems with your proposal.”
“Well, you guys are the experts. Can we do it?” asked Rogers.
“There are no experts, Ann. There are only we amateurs,” answered the Professor. “But let me ask you something. How did you come up with this? Where did you get the idea of bringing an unconscious person into Dreamland to create a specific environment?”
Cassiopia winced. She wondered if her father had already guessed. Rogers squirmed in her seat, trapped between being dishonest, and betraying Cassiopia’s secret plan.
Cassiopia interceded. “I mentioned the possibility to her, Father.”
The Professor took pause. He rai
sed an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “A very interesting hypothesis, Cassiopia. I think you and I should discuss it more later.”
Rogers tried to refocus. “What will happen? What will we find in there?”
Cassiopia replied, “There is no way to know. We can only say that whatever he is dreaming or feeling will be created in Dreamland. Machines like the Tel, do not affect it, only humans, and possibly animals. When we enter, it will still be his dream, but our knowledge and experience will be added to it, enhancing it. That is all we can say. Ann is right though, Father. This may be the only chance. What other concerns do you have?”
“Time, my dear. To follow someone, or eavesdrop on someone, you may need to remain in Dreamland much longer than we ever have. We don’t know what new effects that might bring. We’ve already seen how dynamic the time association is.”
“You remained in Dreamland for an extended period once, Father. I don’t see any other choices in the logic table. Do you?”
The Professor sat stalemated. He had no argument to offer. He looked down and shook his head. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Cassiopia turned to Rogers. “He’s right about the time it might take. We’ll need to bring some extra things like food and water. We can use backpacks, and then maybe find a place to set up.”
Rogers said, “I’ve brought some surveillance things in case they work in there, and since we can’t use photography, we’ll need to keep a record of what we find.”
“How long before you will be ready?” asked the Professor.
“We need to go now,” answered Rogers. “We’re already out of time.”
Professor Cassell stood and came out from behind his desk. “I shall leave the ugly side of this to you two antiterrorist terrorists. I will begin setting up in the lab. …Oh, my Lord.” He glanced at the Tel and left.
Rogers retrieved her bag from the van and changed into athletic shoes, black stretch slacks, a black turtleneck, and a black lightweight jacket. She bundled up her collection of support items and placed them in a satchel. Cassiopia, in jeans, a tan sweatshirt, and short lace-up boots, met her at the door with a carryall under her arm. Together they went to the Tel.
“Tel, please open a new program file; Alpha-Xray.”
“File is open.”
“Create a program to translate a human form from this floor level to the SCIP laboratory. The human form will not be ambulatory and will not be available for auditory input.”
“Cassiopia, please enter load factors.”
“The form is approximately six feet in height, and weighs approximately two hundred and twenty pounds.”
“Cassiopia, please enter orientation constraints.”
“Tel, there are no orientation constraints other than those required to protect typical human anatomy.”
Cassiopia leaned over and whispered to Rogers, “That part worries me a little. The Tel has been unexpectedly creative sometimes.”
Rogers stared back blankly.
“Cassiopia, Alpha-Xray translation program complete. Discard program when resolved?”
“Tel, no. Save program and additional data acquired during execution for later use in translation reversal.”
“Cassiopia, program ready for implementation.”
“Tel, open a new program file, Alpha-Yankee.”
“Cassiopia, file open.”
“Tel, create a program to translate the Alpha-Xray program objective through the SCIP Transformer.”
“Cassiopia, Alpha-Yankee translation program complete, ready for implementation.”
“Tel, standby for Alpha-Xray execute.”
“Cassiopia, file open.”
Cassiopia looked at Rogers. “We’re ready for the guest of honor.”
They went outside, being stealthier than was required. After standing around looking guilty for a short time, Rogers opened the back of the van and pushed the cover out of the way. Alaman remained unconscious and showed no sign of waking. Together they pulled the limp body from the van, and dragged him long ways through the front door, kicking it shut as they went. They braced him against the wall and called for the Tel.
The robot ambled up to Alaman and took a position facing him. It positioned its arms like forks and inserted one under each shoulder, lifting the dead weight and pulling it in so that the body rested against its chest, his face and head on its shoulder. The robot turned slowly and motored to the basement stairwell, adjusting its center of balance and stepping down more easily and faster than Cassiopia had expected. She nodded to Rogers, who replied with a shrug, and they followed the machine down to the basement elevator.
In the SCIP laboratory, the command for Alpha-Yankee was given, causing the Tel to reorganize its objective until it stood with one arm under the knees, and the other under the shoulders, carrying Alaman like a bride over a threshold. Cassiopia called “Pause,” and the robot stopped and waited.
The two women strapped on their backpacks and took positions behind the Tel and his charge. Cassiopia commanded. “Tel, pause at the primary door. Continue”
“Understood,” was the robots reply. It marched deftly up the ramp and stood waiting at the mirror’s sparkling surface.
“Any last instructions?” she asked.
Her father replied, “There is one other concern.”
“What is it?”
“The ghost effect. That man is a murderer and a monster. If anything from within him manages to exit Dreamland, we may be letting an even worse terror loose in the world. You must not call for the door until you are absolutely ready to come back through. It must not be open a second longer than necessary. We’ve just been lucky so far.”
Before Cassiopia could reply, the robot unexpectedly interrupted, “Professor Cassell, the canine support program must be executed at 16:30 hours.”
The Professor raised one hand in exclamation and shook his head. Cassiopia stifled a laugh. Rogers thought about it and coughed over hers.
“We’ll keep the inner door closed until we are standing at its coordinates. Anything else?”
“Yes. Be careful.”
Cassiopia nodded. Standing behind the robot, she held a portion of Alaman’s silk nightwear in her left hand. Beside her, Rogers did the same. With a deep breath, she commanded, “Resume,” and the foursome passed through the mirror, and into a terrorist’s Dreamland.
Chapter 23