The Windchime Legacy

by A. W. Mykel

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I didn’t see his name on the ledger at security. Maybe he came in after we left each other.”

  She knocked on the door and waited.

  There was no response.

  She knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  “Maybe he’s in the inner office,” Geisler suggested.

  Elizabeth opened the door. There was no coat on the hook. She walked to the sliding door that connected with the inner office and inserted her ID plate into the slot. The door opened. The room was empty.

  Elizabeth shrugged again and shook her head. “He probably just closed the door when he left. You go ahead in, Warren. I’ll be in the outer office. Let me see that report.”

  Geisler handed the report to Elizabeth and started into the inner office. “I’ll be right out with the schematics,” he said.

  Elizabeth began poring over the figures in Warren’s report. They were most impressive. Then she began looking over the conclusions that Dr. Geisler had put together.

  A few minutes later Geisler stepped out of the inner office with a puzzled look on his face. “Hey, Elizabeth? I was only able to find the oh-oh-eight. The oh-nineteen isn’t there.”

  She looked up at him. “It has to be there. You must have looked in the wrong place,” she said, as she got up from Bridges’s chair and followed Geisler into the inner office.

  She went to the index and looked up the volume and page number of the 019 schematic. She pulled the appropriate volume down and went to the page. It wasn’t there.

  “Are you sure that the schematic was finalized? Were there any last-minute changes to be made in it?” she asked.

  Geisler shook his head. “I saw it the week before last. I didn’t authorize any changes. We just played with the settings this past week—I’m certain none of the components was changed,” he answered.

  Elizabeth walked back over to the log and checked the entries. “Last entry for the oh-nineteen was nine days ago. Signed out to you at fourteen twenty hours…and returned sixteen thirty-six hours.”

  She pursed her lips. After a few moments of thought, she pressed the white button on the SENTINEL console.

  “Yes,” the soft voice responded.

  “SENTINEL, what is the status of the UFF sixteen-point-oh-oh-nineteen schematic and project?” she asked.

  “Schematic is finalized. Project completed. A meeting has been scheduled for thirteen hundred hours on Monday, for final review.”

  “Where is the schematic copy?”

  “Volume thirty-four, section UFF sixteen X, page twenty-seven,” the voice replied.

  Elizabeth checked it against the index sheet. It was the same. Her eyes narrowed. A terrible sensation shot through her.

  “Check the memory-mass schematic for mass composition, Warren,” she said.

  Geisler checked the index sheet and turned to the row of volumes. He pulled down the appropriate one and began going through the pages. He stopped, turned back one page, then forward one more. “It’s not here,” he said, as he looked up into Elizabeth’s eyes.

  The color drained from her face. “Check the memory-mass-synapse-function schematic,” she said, with a dry swallow.

  Geisler repeated the procedure. He looked up again. “Gone, Elizabeth.”

  Her teeth clenched tight. “Was Ed in all day on Friday?” she asked through the bite.

  “All day. He was still here when I left.”

  “SENTINEL,” Elizabeth called out.

  “Yes,” the voice responded immediately.

  “This complex is on yellow alert. I want it closed tight. No one in or out. Who is in the complex now?”

  “Besides yourself and Dr. Geisler, only Dr. Martin Bibbey, Dr. Marion Woelk, and Richard Smalls. Security is at half complement.”

  “Seal it off. And get in contact with Dr. Clark. Tell him to get in here immediately. I want SSC-six security classifications for Doctors Clark and Geisler.” She turned to Geisler. “Assuming that SSC-six clearance comes through, and it will, I want you to tell Dr. Clark everything. I want every volume checked and a complete list of everything that’s missing.”

  Geisler nodded.

  The light on the SENTINEL console snapped on.

  “Yes, SENTINEL,” Elizabeth said.

  “SSC-six security classifications for Doctors Clark and Geisler have been established. All systems will extend SSC-six status to their SSC-five identification plates until new ones are issued. All security checkpoints have been alerted to close off the complex to all personnel, with the exception of Dr. Clark upon his arrival. Yellow alert has been instituted,” the soft voice said.

  “I want Dr. Bridges located immediately and a security team dispatched from Alpha for him,” Elizabeth ordered hoarsely.

  “Working,” the computer said.

  Elizabeth turned to Dr. Geisler. “You’re SSC-six now, Warren. You don’t need me here anymore. If you weren’t completely capable or didn’t deserve it, you wouldn’t have it. Is that clear?” she said to the confused young man.

  “Yes…yes, I understand,” he said.

  “I trust your abilities and your judgment completely, and so does SENTINEL. Get busy, and let us know how bad this thing is,” she said.

  Geisler nodded and went right to work.

  “I’ll be in my office. Let me hear the minute you know more,” she instructed.

  “Right,” Geisler said, as he pulled down Volume 1 of the schematics. “SENTINEL,” he called out.

  “Yes, Dr. Geisler.”

  “I need a sequential schematic listing, page by page, volume by volume. Project it onto the viewing screen.”

  The image was immediately on the screen. Volume 1, section 1.

  Elizabeth walked out of Bridges’s office and headed up the hallway. She had a sick feeling inside—as though her own child had just been kidnapped or raped. The violation was personally painful—SENTINEL was hers. Like a child, she had conceived it, watched it grow and develop. And now… suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by the image of the creased red folder and the personnel folders that Gina had left on her desk.

  She broke into a run back to her office. Unlocking the drawer again, she carefully lifted out the red folder and laid it on her desk. She looked at the folder’s condition again, then touched the white button on the SENTINEL console by her desk.

  “Yes, Dr. Ryerson,” the voice responded.

  “SENTINEL, I want a Division Two team in here, immediately. After they’ve passed through security, I want them to come directly to my office. Has Mr. Honeycut called in on the yellow alert yet?”

  “No, he has not. I have not been able to contact him. He is not at home and does not have his portable unit with him. A signal has been sent out to his beeper. He should be calling in momentarily,” SENTINEL advised.

  “I want to know the minute he calls in. Have you made any progress in finding Dr. Bridges yet?” she asked.

  “He has not been located. A Class One search has been implemented. Working on your Division Two request.”

  The white light on the console snapped off.

  Elizabeth sat at her desk. Tears of anguish began to form in her eyes. This was all unbelievable.

  The console light popped on again. “I have Mr. Honeycut on his personal phone,” the pleasant voice informed her.

  “Thank you, SENTINEL,” Elizabeth said, as she reached for her phone.

  “Hello, Irv. This is Elizabeth,” she said into it.

  “What in the living hell is going on there, Beth? Why are we on yellow alert?” Honeycut demanded. He had just come in from his morning jog. A quick glance at the tiny portable communications unit on his dresser top told him the story. The sight of the flashing yellow light had turned his heated, perspiring body suddenly cold.

  “We’ve got a real problem, Irv. We’ve discovered some of the schematics missing from Bridges’s inner office. He’s gone, too. We don’t know how many or which ones are missing yet, but it’s going to be bad�
��the memory-mass schematics are gone.”

  Honeycut’s face went instantly crimson, as his blood pressure shot off scale.

  “Will you please tell me how in the hell he could get out of that complex with those schematics?” Honeycut frothed angrily into the phone.

  Honeycut had a way about him that could strike fear into the heart of any person alive. He was a very demanding boss, who expected hard dedicated work with a minimum number of foul-ups. Especially big ones.

  Elizabeth was slightly unnerved and was totally without an explanation. “We don’t know how he got them out, yet. I’ve got a Division Two team coming in now and have instructed SENTINEL to dispatch a security team from Alpha to pick up Bridges once we locate him.”

  “Cancel that security team,” Honeycut barked. “He’s obviously got customers, or he wouldn’t have moved. They’ll eat up those security people like nothing. They’ve obviously used the weekend to gain the two days’ extra time. Knowing that is our only advantage at this point. We can’t let them know that we’re on to his being missing yet.”

  Honeycut thought for a moment. “Get Pilgrim and Badger into Chicago immediately. I’ll be there in less than three hours. And I want answers when I get there.”

  “We’ll have them for you,” she said.

  “I’m going to bring Pilgrim and Badger into Alpha with me,” Honeycut said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Irv,” Elizabeth protested.

  “I don’t care what you think,” Honeycut snapped. “I’m bringing them in. They’re going to be responsible for getting Bridges and that information back. You can bet your ass that it’s not going to be a picnic. They’ll need to know exactly what they’re after and what they may be up against.

  “I want every unassigned SENTINEL agent put on alert. Everything is at stake now, and you know exactly what I mean,” Honeycut said.

  “Okay, Irv. Take your portable unit with you. I’ll give you the facts as we learn them,” she told him.

  “All right. Get SENTINEL to patch this line into the White House. I have to inform the President of the yellow alert,” Honeycut said.

  “I’ll get it going for you,” she said.

  Honeycut waited impatiently with the phone to his ear.

  BEEP! The tone sounded into the phone receiver.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked.

  “The President is aboard Air Force One, headed for Los Angeles,” the soft voice informed him.

  “Who is on the plane with him?”

  “Besides security and crew, Russel Fulton, Harold Winston, and Roland Morse.”

  Honeycut thought for a moment. Russel Fulton was the secretary of state and a member of the five-man SENTINEL advisory board. Harold Winston was also on the board. Morse was not.

  “We’ll have to chance it,” he said. “Put it through.”

  The President’s personal phone rang on board Air Force One. He put down his coffee, excused himself from the conference, and walked over to the small desk. He picked up the phone. “Yes, what is it?”

  “Patch through to SENTINEL security line,” the soft voice said. “Thirty seconds.”

  The President lowered the phone.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he began. “Roily, would you step into the lounge for a few minutes, please. Russ, you and Harold stay put.”

  He glanced to his secret service bodyguards and motioned with his head. “Get some coffee, boys.”

  They filed into the lounge compartment behind Morse. The President waited until the door was closed.

  “Yes, this is the President speaking,” he said.

  “This is Irv, Mr. President,” Honeycut began.

  Russel Fulton and Harold Winston watched as the President’s face fell and he sat down, listening in attentive silence.

  After a few minutes, he spoke. “You get back to me when you’ve got a clearer picture, Irv. And by all means, do whatever you think necessary. You have full authority.”

  He put the phone down and looked soberly at the two men.

  “Gentlemen, we are on yellow alert.”

  NINETEEN

  When the justice had finally been dispensed, the winners had become the world’s majority. But winners do not stay forever winners. History is not made by inert, lazy majorities; it is the iron-willed minorities that rise to challenge them who chart the course of the world. And time had not come to an end, nor had the world’s history been finally written.

  Through our failure, we were led back to our guiding principles, regaining confidence and commitment to our purpose. From its ashes, we planned our greatest victory, out of which would arise a new world order.

  We called this plan “Operation Raptor.”

  Entry No. 33 from the partially

  recovered Wolf Journal

  The Lear was airbound for Chicago, barely ten minutes following notification to report for assignment. Fanning had been right in his guess. Their midcourse correction had brought them to St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, where Chakhovsky was taken for examination, to assess the extent of his heart condition.

  The two agents had spent the night on St. Simon’s and were scheduled to depart for their respective homes on Saturday morning. Then notification to report with maximum possible haste had arrived via implant.

  Justin managed to phone Susan to cancel the plans with his son for that evening. He spoke to his son explaining that an emergency had come up. Susan cast one biting remark about people not changing after all. He let it go by. Then he called Barbara and his father, to reschedule the dinner. His father was disappointed, but understanding. Barbara just rolled with it, as usual.

  They were on the ground for only two minutes when a limousine bearing the registration plate AZTEK–1 came for them.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Honeycut’s graveled voice began, as they entered the darkened passenger compartment. They recognized it immediately as belonging to Pegasus. He was in the car waiting for them.

  The break from usual procedure alarmed Justin greatly. They were expendable, he knew that. That meant either another dirty job, or worse. His senses became instantly alerted. The survival instinct was taking over. There was only one kind of “retirement” he planned to enjoy.

  “I apologize for having to keep you boys so busy, but something has come up. I’m afraid it’s rather serious,” Honeycut began.

  For a long moment a nervous silence filled the compartment. Honeycut sensed their apprehension.

  “Perhaps I should introduce myself first,” he broke in. “I am Pegasus.”

  There was no response from his two agents.

  “Does it regard the journal?” Fanning asked.

  “No, that still hasn’t been found. What we have is significantly more important than that, right now,” Honeycut answered.

  “It seems, gentlemen, that one of our top SENTINEL Program scientists has decided to pull a reverse Chakhovsky on us. And he’s taken very, very valuable information with him. We’ll know more about what it is that he’s taken when we get to our destination. But, for now, what I know will have to do.”

  Honeycut filled them in with what few facts he had been given. It wasn’t much, but both men got the picture of what they could be up against.

  At 1530 hours, they reached the Aztek Corporation complex. A large garage door opened as they approached. Moments later they were inside, the big door closed behind them. The entire floor of the garage began to move. They were going down. With the darkened windows, everything was difficult to distinguish.

  Honeycut stared into the curious expressions on the faces of his two agents.

  “You are now at Alpha, gentlemen,” he said. “This is a research and development center and the primary branch of the SENTINEL complex. This is where most of the new systems are created and tested. This is also where our bird skipped from.”

  The elevator stopped, and the car pulled into an area large enough to house many vehicles. The car made a complete U-turn and stopped. The automati
c locks popped up, and the doors were opened from the outside. There were armed military police all over the place.

  Justin felt acutely uncomfortable about the situation. He began a quick mental assessment of his surroundings, with regard to number of personnel, weapons, and possible avenues of escape. He was in no danger, but his paranoia was working overtime. So was Fanning’s. His mind clicked rapidly, too, making the same observations and mental calculations.

  Honeycut watched their eyes and faces and smiled inwardly. He knew what they were doing. It was second nature to them—they trusted no one. That’s why they had stayed alive so long. They were like magnificently trained animals, whose actions were triggered by an instinctive response. They were trained to survive.

  “This way, gentlemen,” Honeycut said.

  They followed him through a set of sliding black doors, which led to a security checkpoint. It had all of the same security apparatuses found at the main complex entrance.

  Five minutes later, they had cleared security and were following Honeycut down a long corridor that led to an elevator. Justin noticed the lasers and sighting systems. He saw the almost invisible gas entry-ports along the junctures of the walls and ceilings and the air evacuation vents at the base of the walls. The entire corridor could be flooded with nerve gas in mere seconds. The floor was conductive, no doubt, to deliver a lethal electrical jolt. This complex was as sound as a rock against intruder penetration.

  They descended to the third level and entered the security checkpoint through the black doors. They were passed right through into the complex.

  After a short walk down the red and white corridor, they entered a room marked seminar two. It was a big room with semicircular rows of chairs rising steeply to the back of the lecture theater. At the bottom was a big black desk similar to the ones at the security checkpoints. On the wall behind the desk were three large panels, also of a black glasslike substance.

  Honeycut motioned to Pilgrim and Badger to sit in the first row of seats, directly in front of the desk. He then disappeared through a door at the other side of the room.

  Elizabeth was waiting for him in the conference room.

  “How bad is it?” Honeycut asked.