Iris Rising

by Charles Hubbard

  ‘This is national security, get rid of them.’ Spits mists into the windscreen. ‘Put some lights on.’ And looks around for the switch. ‘Where are the damn lights and sirens?’

  Lights and sirens promptly spark to life.

  Get the data and finish the tests back at the San Francisco facility, Mooney thinks. The test will data dump back at the Barn and I’ll have everything. Then a quick exchange with Mr Shào at Oakland International. Four years condensed into a day at most. I warned Black not to think it’s in the bag.

  The Director can’t argue the army’s claim on the data, since it was his suggestion Black be handed the keys to the Barn and Morgan seconded the decision back at the time Pascal shot himself. They won’t survive this. Should be enough of a distraction with the countless Senate enquiries and Congressional hearings to follow for him to slip away.

  ‘Just exactly why are you doing this?’ Morgan implores. ‘Your entire career goes to shit. You’ll just be another lunatic terrorist. All those people.’

  ‘You career types, just like those in Washington. You don’t see the big picture. Too scared to act, too weak to fight. I saw the promise of this technology when no one else wanted anything to do with it. Now everyone wants a piece. Well, they have to go through me.’

  ‘If they have the cash you mean.’

  ‘Don’t worry Chuck, you’re serving your country. Every terrorist act needs a face to pin the blame on.’

  The building is a few blocks ahead. Flanked by security, the surrounding area is sealed off with the tops of temporary tents becoming visible as a passing tanker pulls over to the right and drives into a gas station.

  ‘Imagine the wars that will be started,’ Morgan says.

  ‘Give men the stick and they hit each other over the head. Give them steel and they fashion arrows, blades, bullets and tanks.’

  ‘So this is just another tool for people to kill each other?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Soon they park outside the building and Mooney orders the driver to cover Morgan and Sparks.

  ‘Nash, you’re coming with me,’ Mooney says. Out of the car, Mooney takes a second to compose himself. They walk casually towards a guard. ‘I need you to verify the data. And remember, you’re already dead, so play ball.’

  ‘General!’ a guard snaps to attention and salutes.

  Mooney salutes and grabs Nash by the arm. ‘This man is with me captain. Looks like you boys will have this mess all wrapped up soon.’

  ‘Minor damage to the building, mostly contained to the parking lot.’

  ‘Ever find Masen’s body?’

  ‘No, Sir. But they found a John Doe near the car.’

  Rodriguez.

  Nash and the Mooney take a few steps past the raised gate.

  ‘Assistant Director Black hasn’t been located,’ the guard says. ‘I’m supposed to warn everyone who goes in.’

  The general taps his leg. ‘Duly noted.’

  52

  Boston

  The cell phone stops ringing. A voice answers. ‘Hello.’

  Masen exhales composing himself, hoping by the sound of his calm voice his innocent will hitch a ride.

  ‘It’s John,’ Masen says placing a finger in his ear and bows his head to the carpeted floor to block out everything, to concentrate only on what the person on the other end has to say. ‘John Masen.’ He sits up and stares out the window.

  ‘Who is this?’ Meagan Treagle’s voice cracks. ‘Why would you say such a horrible thing?’

  ‘Pl-’

  Hangs up.

  Masen grips the cell with both hands and stares at it. I have to get through to her. But he’s not surprised she hung up. He hopes she’s thinking about him so the next time he calls it might turn out differently.

  They aren’t far from the Barn, yet despite Bozeman’s guess that Mooney’s plane hadn’t touched down before they did, there’s no guarantee anything they do will work. It might just temporarily keep the information from falling into Mooney’s hands. But what the forward momentum gives Masen is the feeling of being useful, of fighting back. Of doing something.

  He imagines Treagle, pen behind an ear as she answered the phone and upon hearing his voice looks behind to his empty desk. Maybe she felt her skin crawl knowing she sat so close to a terrorist, breathed the same air, shared the same space, the same bathroom with someone who blew up the building. People died and many wounded. She would have read the newspaper reports. The allegations were shocking: another attack in Shanghai, of selling secrets to the Chinese. Frankly it did seem a little over the top, fanciful, but what does she know. She saw for herself, heard the blast queuing at Starbucks around the corner. Only minutes later she would have been in the building.

  Bozeman’s plan is the only one they have. Without a viable alternative, it’s the default option. They’re on cruise control, careening towards the building.

  ‘No luck?’ Bozeman asks looking in the rearview as the car pulls over and slows into a diner’s parking lot. He’s spotted an ambulance. A smile beams in his tired face. Looks to Tagan. ‘Looks like we’ve bagged out on this fishing trip.’

  Tires crunch on loose rocks as they pull up next to the ambulance. Two men in paramedic uniforms are seated on a bench, sipping coffee and talking amongst themselves, look up at the ominous black SUV and go back to their conversation.

  ‘Just finishing the graveyard shift,’ Tagan notes. ‘Don’t hurt them.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bozeman says with a hand on the car door handle.

  He knows exactly what Bozeman means when he flexes his knuckles and cracks his head.

  ‘I’ll try again,’ Masen intones unaware the reason why they’ve stopped. ‘She won’t listen unless I give her something.’

  The phone rings.

  ‘Megan Treagle.’ Her tone is to the point.

  ‘Have you finished filling out Travis Sparks’ mainframe access security form?’ Masen asks casually. It is a blindsided question designed to kick her out of the chair and unwedge that pen of hers.

  Light spills into the SUV as Bozeman opens the door.

  There is a brief pause as if Megan is toying risking serious sanctions by answering, given the crackdown in security since the explosion and the still fugitive Assistant Director Zane Black.

  ‘I would never…wait a minute…who is this?’ Treagle asks.

  ‘Look behind you and to your right. Nick and Niccola will be busy typing away.’ And waits hoping Megan is looking. ‘To your left Sparks’ terminal is empty, and behind him is George, and since it’s Wednesday, he’ll probably be wearing a blue sweater.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Sparks is alive. I drink too much Red Bull and pop too many Pistachios… it’s me….John.’

  ‘But…but you bombed this building.’

  Masen imagines her leaning low in her chair when she mentioned the word ‘bombed.’

  ‘The car was used to make it look like it was me. I need you to do something.’ Masen looks outside and watches Bozeman approach a table. ‘It’s important. You have to make the Barn secure from an attack.’

  ‘All data contained here is safe. We have protocols in place.’ Her tone skeptical, curious.

  ‘Listen, has anyone queried about DUST?’

  ‘We’ve only been granted access to the Barn this morning.’

  Masen knows she’s skirting around sensitive information and avoiding revealing anything she shouldn’t.

  ‘The attack is not a breach in the network. He’s about six feet tall, old, a four-star army general who holsters a large cannon.’ Oh, and he’s a psychopath. But decides it’s best not mention that part.

  ‘My god…is that you, John?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her voice lowers still. ‘If you didn’t bomb the building, who? Travis is alive? But I saw them pulling his car—’

  ‘Listen to me. General Sloan Mooney. You can’t let him walk out with the da
ta.’

  ‘The protocols won’t allow access.’

  Masen takes a deep breath. More surprised than grateful she hasn’t hung up. He hadn’t prepared to be talking on the phone for this length of time and is becoming conscious he might spook her with too much detail. He has to giver her options.

  If only I kept the USB in my drawer. Then remembers the secret hiding in Pascal’s drawer. Could it be a USB? He looks absentmindedly at Bozeman.

  ‘All you need to do is to simulate an attack on the network and it’ll lockdown long enough—’

  ‘Long enough for what?’ Treagle asks.

  He can’t risk asking more of her. Her voice is become pitchy, nerves stretched to the point of utter panic. He’s afraid she might lose it. Despite her flaws, Treagle is the only other person he has faith in helping to secure the data. But a faith built on shifting sand. He needs Bozeman’s plan to work.

  I’m just buying time with her. Confronted with the General, will she trust me or him?

  ‘There’s a USB stick in Pascal’s desk drawer…or there should be. Put it into your computer and download the contents into the storage folder, DUST. It should detect an unauthorized access and shut everything down.’

  The phone goes dead.

  Masen holds the phone out in front.

  Did I just do something stupid? ‘All we need is a Hail Mary,’ Masen says.

  Black watches the blond put down the phone and walk towards Pascal’s office, opens the door, looks around drumming her fingers on the glass as if contemplating to go in, but after a few seconds walks back and sits down at her desk.

  53

  Another checkpoint up ahead.

  Mooney tugs Nash’s arm. ‘Keep your mouth shut.’ And continues forward into the shadow of the building, stopping just outside the entrance. The guard puts one hand on his side-arm and steps forward with the other raised. ‘Sir, I need to check everyone going into the building.’ Picks up his radio strapped to his shoulder and looks past them both to the black SUV with dark tinted windows then back to Mooney and Nash as if questioning them about the car.

  Inside the car, the driver has a hand slung over the steering-wheel and a gun with silencer concealed between the front seats pointing back at Morgan. ‘I will shoot.’ And lowers his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose looking directly at Morgan. The other man with scared eyes and twitching leg is of little concern. ‘Top of my weapons class at West Point, three years in a row.’

  I’m sure you would, Morgan thinks. He doesn’t doubt Mooney’s choice of men despite the lie about having someone tailing his daughter, which under the present circumstances takes solace in.

  A man walks out of the building and down the stairs, his stare lingers on Nash. Nerves are bound to be stretched and anything different, anyone new, a source of suspicion.

  Nash takes in the scene as the guard talks into his radio. But it’s not the waiting that makes his heart race. He makes out a faint whiff of smoke mixed with dust and looks up at the building. Windows where glass had been are shrouded in black plastic lightly crinkling in the breeze. Tapering off to the right and left the damage dissipates towards both ends of the building where some windows held. And to the parking lot, where a large black stain smudges the building.

  Scaffolding is being erected and workmen in hardhats are busy inspecting and tending to the business of repairing the building which on the surface appears to not have suffered much structural damage—all under the protection of a small army of men patrolling the perimeter lined with razor-wire.

  All this for Zane Black, he thinks. All this destruction for a person I worked for. For what I created. ‘How many?’ Nash mumbles.

  The guard clips the radio to his person. The unheard conversation confers Mooney’s authority to enter the facility and the guard backs down, takes a step back and waves the men through.

  ‘People.’ Nash’s eyes widen raising his voice as Mooney takes Nash by the arm and pulls him forward. ‘How many people dead or injured?’ His head fully extends back.

  ‘The Barn,’ Mooney asks looking clearly annoyed. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nash says. ‘I’ve never been here.’

  Gathering pace they march towards the entrance and in the foyer make out a set of stairs. ‘Focus,’ Mooney snarls looking for a non-existent sign to point the way. ‘I need you to fix any problems with access. And don’t do anything to piss me off. That includes failing.’

  Still in shock from what happened in Japan, Nash nods unprotesting. Shoulders slump and the look of defeat is worn like a robe covering his entire body. His gaze falls to the floor as they enter the stairwell.

  ‘There’s nothing here.’ Treagle throws up hands and pushes aside Pascal’s chair surprised she’s even doing this. Surely they searched the desk, she thinks and gets angry with herself. The computer is gone, not even the monitor is left. She steadies her hand as her foot kicks the bin making a shrill sound against the desk and looks up and out to the room.

  She moves in close to the desk and cracks opens the drawer and places a hand inside expecting to find the hard plastic USB stick John mentioned. Fumbling for a few seconds it alludes crawling fingers. She pulls the drawer out further and looks inside.

  Nothing.

  She slams the drawer close. A noise; muted. She remembers Masen’s urgency in his voice and pulls out the drawer for one more look. Buried at the very back of the drawer she finds something.

  Sitting back down at her desk with the USB stick in hand she stares at it wondering how much trouble she’d be in if an attack is traced back to her. Her hand hovers in front of the small metallic intrusion wondering what’s stored on it. The USB stick feels heavy. What if this is the attack? It’s possible. Has John been compromised like Pascal? The small plastic object tumbles in the palm of her hand. But doing nothing is doing something. She talked to John—she is convinced its was him—and yet hadn’t told security. And not calling security is doing something. It’s concealing a fact that a suspected terrorist and America’s most wanted was just on the phone, moments ago.

  Out in the corridor, wet carpet has been ripped up and lumped to the side in small rolls for disposal, exposing the gray concrete underneath. There’s a musty odor and plaster walls are slightly bowing and have streak marks running down them like tear stains.

  ‘Stand aside, soldier,’ Mooney orders as they approach the end of the corridor—they’d covered the previous two floors trying to locate the Barn—figuring the security detail have all been informed of his presence in the building.

  ‘Sir!’ The soldier stands aside. Rifle held taught against his chest, turns and places his face to the scanner, and after a few seconds the door opens.

  Treagle looks up at the bulk of the man who nearly takes up the entire doorframe, lets the USB stick fall in her lap. She gulps. Her breath is short and restricting. Next to him, another man, smaller and hunched over slightly, like a child that’s been dragged to the principal’s office.

  ‘Good morning.’ His voice projects authority and confidence that is somewhat comforting. ‘My name is General Sloan Mooney.’ Behind him the man inches forward and stops in his shadow. ‘You are storing something of mine.’ Pauses and looks around the room at Tanaka, Niccola, Nick and finally Megan Treagle. ‘For that I thank you. The recent attacks both from within,’ and points to the door where the name Pascal once resided, ‘and from outside have proven your skills in data security. For that your nation thanks you.’ Hand to his heart. ‘I thank you. But now the army needs to take ownership to ensure it stays safe.’

  ‘This isn’t the normal process, general,’ Treagle announces and coughs. ‘We can transport the data to the location contained in the protocols.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, yes, but we’re getting nervous about security around here.’

  Tanaka having heard the request, and having no reason to question his authority begins searching through the files. Findin
g the only program the army has currently stored goes through the security protocols. General Sloan Mooney has almost complete authority given Assistant Director Zane Black’s authority has been cancelled. Seeing nothing against a hard copy withdrawal from the network says, ‘I can see only the one program.’

  Mooney walks down the steps. There is a pause as Tanaka double checks. ‘DUST…And the last activity was a complete dump of the data, triggered by the attack on this building.’ He leans into the screen and reads the small text of the time field slowly. ‘Completed approximately ten hours ago.’ And squints seeing another entry, a third test data dump was only updated three hours prior. But doesn’t say anything because it will all be handed over anyway.

  ‘Good initiative.’ Mooney passes Treagle with Nash close behind.

  Treagle turns her gaze to follow Mooney and sees a smirk grow on his face.

  The money is close now, Mooney thinks. It isn’t a clean shot for goal. The ball bounces off the backboard and runs round the ring a few times, teetering on the edge, undecided between the net and success or falling to the ground.

  ‘Maybe…,’ she intones. ‘Why is he so satisfied with himself?’

  Leaning forward she slowly lifts the USB stick and inserts it into her computer, still undecided but prepared. She freezes, the other man sees what she did and registers the look of shock and surprise on her face. Like a deer in headlights, having no idea what it means, she realizes the only reason she would freeze with horror was if she was doing something you weren’t supposed to do. However he looks away unconcerned and continues on. She questions her memory over how John and Travis have been acting recently.

  Those trips to the cafeteria together. That printout John thought I didn’t notice; the fake CIA communication that lead to a rescue she overheard someone taking about the other day in the elevator.

  ‘I just need a minute, just a few forms need to be signed and witnessed,’ Tanaka says. ‘Printing them off now,’