by A. W. Mykel
“Can’t be done,” Elizabeth answered. “They couldn’t find SENTINEL to start with. It’s not here. This is only one of its seven branches. It could function independently of its branches, so that, even if they could all be knocked out, which they can’t, it could still defend this country and attack its enemies. Its power sources are independently located at the SENTINEL site—which even the Pentagon couldn’t find, by the way. That’s how well kept the secret is. It’s installed in a site originally constructed for the storage of radioactive waste products. Naturally, it’s deep inside of some nameless mountain. Even the technicians who worked on the installation didn’t know where they were. There are over a hundred such storage sites located all throughout the Rockies that no one even knows about.
“And there’s also one more source of power that could never be knocked out, even if, against all possible odds, the others could. That’s the sun. SENTINEL has designed incredibly advanced solar-energy converters and intensifiers, which are located in its satellites orbiting the earth. They collect the sun’s energy, convert and condense it, and transmit it, with virtual pinpoint accuracy, to energy receivers right at the SENTINEL site.”
“Why couldn’t someone just knock out the satellites?” Justin asked.
“Sensor shields,” Elizabeth answered. “The satellites can’t even be detected or tracked by normal tracking devices. To the rest of the world, they’re not even there. We use a special tracking system to monitor them and to communicate back and forth. We use a signal that is almost like a polarized beam of light. It’s totally unlike any conventional system. Only a specially designed receiver can pick these signals up. Even if someone did manage to build one, which isn’t likely, they still wouldn’t be able to get a fix on the source or the target. Part of the system allows that the frequencies change every one-fiftieth of a second. The tail segment of each timed transmission tells the receiver which frequency to use for the next one-fiftieth of a second interval. So, the decoder would also be needed. It’s highly unlikely that anyone could build both the receiver and the decoder without a SENTINEL intelligence to design it,” Elizabeth explained.
“One-fiftieth of a second? How much could it transmit in that short a time?” Justin asked.
“Cranked up to maximum it could transmit…let’s see… about the equivalent of the entire Bible, cover to cover in that time period,” Elizabeth answered.
Justin’s head was spinning. He couldn’t follow it anymore.
Just then, the white light on the SENTINEL console snapped on.
“Gentlemen,” SENTINEL’s soft voice began, “it is now time to go to the special ordnance lab. Everything is ready for you. Sorry to have kept you waiting,” the voice apologized.
The voice gave Justin an uneasy feeling. It sounded so real, so human. It was like hearing it for the first time, with a new significance bound to it.
“Thank you, SENTINEL,” Elizabeth said. “We’ve just finished in here. They’ll be right there.”
The light clicked off.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for your time and attention. You will be able to get to ordnance by going left in the corridor outside and taking the first right that you come to. It’s room number three-forty-four. It says ordnance lab right on the door.”
The two men rose, exhausted and spent from their experience. They walked toward the exit. Justin stopped short of the door as Fanning went through. He walked back to Elizabeth and extended his hand.
“Thank you, Dr. Ryerson,” he said. He looked into the attractive, sharp eyes behind the glasses. There was an incredible genius behind those eyes. He admired it.
“You’re welcome,” Elizabeth said, taking Justin’s hand. A hot, electric sensation shot through her at the touch of his hand. There was something about this man that broke through the barrier of distrust she felt toward men. The man was a killer. A hunter. He was savage masculinity. There was a disturbing chemistry boiling inside, which she fought to control. She despised him…yet…
“You’re welcome,” she repeated, trying to control the obvious flush crossing her face. “You had better get started to ordnance. Pegasus will be waiting for you.”
Justin held the soft warm hand for a moment. There was an attractive woman behind that cold exterior. But there was no warmth in the eyes.
He released the hand and went through the door to catch up with Fanning. An interesting new picture was taking shape, a disturbing new picture.
TWENTY-ONE
Collective guilt—it was both a curse and a blessing. It was the bond that cemented the survivors of the catastrophe. The cause never died.
Our best had fallen in the war, the very cream of our youth was gone. But the Aryan seed had not been crushed. From it could grow another magic race, to fulfill the lost dream. Two, perhaps three generations later would see the beginnings. Two generations more, and they would be ready to follow a new leader, a new Führer.
Entry No. 36 from the partially
recovered Wolf Journal
Scotch ran down the side of the glass and over the hand of Edward Bridges.
“Shit,” he said, reaching for a towel. That was the second time he had partially missed the glass in the past hour. His nerves were strung tight.
Where in the hell are they? he wondered. It was already 5:15. He had expected them early that morning. The valuable lead time was slipping away.
He paced back and forth nervously, belting down half of the contents of the glass. He looked impatiently at his watch.
Something’s going to go wrong. I know it! Oh, why did I ever do this? I must have been insane. I mean, how much better could it get for me? I had a pretty good deal where I was.
His brain was racked with alternating bouts of optimism and doubt, eased by conviction, flogged with guilt—and the Scotch did little to help his mental state.
The point of no return hadn’t been reached for him, yet, he thought. The information could still be put back as easily as it had been taken. The car was just outside. Get in it, drive back, he told himself.
Then he thought about the red folder—Operation Raptor. He couldn’t go back with the knowledge of what that meant. It wasn’t a matter of what he wanted to do anymore. It boiled down to what had to be done.
He took another long swallow, and almost choked when the knock sounded on the door.
He wiped away the liquor from his chin and put the glass down hurriedly, almost knocking it over. He rushed to the door, his temples throbbing. This was it. The point of no return.
He pressed his eye to the tiny peephole in the door. There were two men outside. “Yes, who is it?” he asked.
There was no answer, only another gentle knocking.
He unlocked the door, still leaving the chain lock attached. He opened it a crack and placed an eye to where he could see the two men.
“Yes?” he said.
The first man looked into his eye. “How are you, Dr. Bridges? May we come in, please?” the voice asked.
“I don’t know you. Who are you?” Bridges asked nervously.
“Yes or no, Dr. Bridges. Just answer yes or no,” the voice said.
Bridges immediately recognized it as the voice he had spoken with at the Playboy Club. “Which phone?” he asked, just to make certain.
“The one on the end,” came the reply.
The door closed, so that the chain lock could be removed. Then it opened.
The two men passed quickly into the room. Bridges eyed them cautiously, as he pushed the door shut. He double-locked it again and turned to face them.
They weren’t exactly what he had expected. They were both so small. His massive six-foot frame easily dwarfed them. The smaller fat one was only about five-foot-five or six. The other one, the thin one, was only slightly taller. The skinny one was the leader, Bridges decided. He could tell. The fat, sweaty one had taken a position just off the other one’s right shoulder and was surveying the room with careful, observing sweeps of his eyes. The thin one looked
only at Bridges, right into the eyes.
“Shall we sit down?” Alexi Kuradin suggested.
“Yes…yes, please,” Bridges said nervously. He gestured to the two chairs by the small round table near the window. He hurried over to the table and took away the bottle and glass. He put them on the long, low dresser.
The two men moved to the chairs. Ten Braak made a quick check of the drawn drapes, to be certain that there were no gaps through which someone might be able to see from the outside. Then he sat across from Kuradin.
“Would you like a drink?” Bridges offered shakily.
“No, thank you, Dr. Bridges,” Kuradin said. He saw the half-filled bottle on the dresser and the partially filled glass next to it. “But go ahead,” he said with a slight gesture of his eyes in the direction of the bottle.
Bridges went over to the bottle and poured out about half a glass. There was no ice to put in it, as he hadn’t left the room since the time he had gotten there. Kuradin noticed the slight trembling of the hands, as Bridges walked back toward them.
“I was beginning to worry,” Bridges said with a nervous little laugh. “I thought that maybe you guys weren’t going to show up.”
“You needn’t have worried, Dr. Bridges,” Kuradin began. “You’re very important to us. We would never forget about you,” he said. His English was perfect, without even the slightest trace of foreign accent.
“Shall we get down to cases?” Kuradin asked.
That was okay with Bridges. He wanted to get the hell out. Fast.
Bridges hurried a gulp of his Scotch. “I’ve got everything right here with me,” he said. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
“I would like to see the information first,” Kuradin said with a wary smile.
Bridges’s eyes quickly played back and forth between the two men. The fat one was still looking around the room. Bridges didn’t like that one, and he didn’t trust either of them. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’re wasting time. We should be getting out of here. Time is getting short.”
“We have plenty of time, Dr. Bridges. Your absence won’t be discovered until Monday. Now, may I please see the information?”
Bridges didn’t like it. He wanted to keep that information in his possession. Why should the Russian want to see it? “I don’t know…I—”
“Dr. Bridges,” Kuradin cut in, holding up a hand to stop Bridges’s flow of words. “Let me put you at ease. We’re not going to harm you or steal your information. We have to take certain precautions to ensure the success of the mission. One of them is to make two microfilm copies of your information. This is only an added measure to guarantee its getting into our country safely. You will be permitted to carry the original information and one of the microfilm copies with you. I will carry the other one. That is, unless your information is already on film, then I’m afraid that I must insist that I carry it,” Kuradin said.
Kuradin’s explanation made Bridges feel somewhat easier. “No, it’s not on film,” he said, looking into the Russian’s penetrating eyes. “I…I understand,” he nodded. He turned and walked over to the small, open closet area and picked up a thin attaché case. He walked back toward Kuradin, as he opened it and took out a packet of sheets held together in the upper right corner by a round-head fastener. He had attached this at his apartment after typing over the condensed notes he had made from the contents of the red folder. With the blank cover sheet, there was a total of twenty-six sheets.
He held the packet out to Kuradin.
Kuradin looked at Ten Braak and motioned toward the sheets with his eyes. Ten Braak held out his hand and Bridges handed them to him. They were placed on the table in front of Kuradin. Ten Braak then turned on the overhead swag lamp.
Kuradin removed his hands from his coat pockets for the first time since entering the room and placed them on his knees, as he leaned forward to the table.
He looked at the blank cover sheet and examined it carefully, then looked at how the sheets were bound. With the side edge of his right index finger, he raised the lower right corner of the cover sheet. Then he pushed the back of his fingers and hand along the underside of the sheet until it flipped over, revealing the first schematic.
Bridges watched the Russian, as he studied the first sheet. It appeared that he understood what he was looking at. It figured that they would send someone who knew computers, he thought. The other one looked like a gorilla. He was sweaty and greasy-looking, with black hairs all over his hands. Bridges wondered what role the fat one played in this. Maybe protection, although he didn’t look very dangerous.
Kuradin turned the next page in exactly the same fashion, being careful not to let his fingertips touch any portion of the sheets. He studied the second sheet.
Bridges took another swallow, draining the glass. He went to the bottle and poured another.
The second sheet was finished. Kuradin turned to the third one. Seeing that it did not pertain to the memory mass, as did the first two, he looked up at Bridges. “The memory system is quite extraordinary,” he said. He assessed Bridges for a long moment through a slight squint, then went back to the sheet in front of him. A few moments later he turned the page in the same careful manner. The pages began turning more quickly.
After turning several more pages, it became necessary to hold the turned pages in place. He used the back of one of his knuckles of the left hand. The pages turned and turned.
Then he came to the last sheet. He looked up at Bridges. “What is this?” he asked him.
Bridges could see that it was the last page. “Just a little something extra I was able to pick up on Friday before I left. I’m sure it will interest your people,” he answered.
Kuradin read it carefully, swallowing as he read. The stub of his finger began to ache, as it always did when he thought about that day in England. He had seen some of this information before, when the code had been deciphered on the information he brought back from that mission a year ago. That information had been important, but fragmented and incomplete. This was all of it. It fit together into an unmistakable picture now.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this in the earlier contacts?” Kuradin asked.
“I didn’t know anything about it then. I told you, I only managed to get this on the last day,” Bridges answered.
“Then they are unaware that you know about this?”
“That’s right, and there won’t be any way that they can find out that I’ve gotten it, either.”
Kuradin let his eyes fall away from the sheet and stared blankly into the tabletop. He let the significance of the last sheet filter through his head. Moscow hadn’t expected anything like this. They had to know.
It was of paramount importance that Bridges’s people not discover that he had delivered this information. It could drastically affect the final stages of his plan.
Kuradin let the last sheet flip over. Then, with the back of his fingers, he pushed the sheets to Ten Braak. “Remove the last sheet,” he instructed.
Bridges looked up from his glass with a start. “Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing, Dr. Bridges,” Kuradin said. “You said that they should not be able to learn that you’ve taken this information out. Should anything happen to this packet of information, and it ended up back in their hands, they would immediately know. We must, therefore, protect ourselves from that possibility. The best way to do that is to remove the information. It will not show up on the microfilm, either, just in case one of us should be taken and the film discovered,” Kuradin explained.
“What will you do with it?” Bridges asked.
Kuradin shook his head. “I don’t know, yet.”
Ten Braak tore away the last sheet. But a large portion of the corner remained under the fastener. He plucked at it several times until he shredded all but a small piece of it away. He turned the packet back over and placed it once again in front of Kuradin.
“What about this?�
�� Ten Braak asked in his thick German accent, holding up the last page.
“Give it to me,” Kuradin said. He took it from Ten Braak and folded it. Then he stuck it in his coat pocket.
Ten Braak then folded back the cover sheet, as Kuradin produced two very small cameras from his overcoat pocket. He placed one down. With the other, he snapped a picture of the first schematic. Then he placed that camera down, picked up the other, and again snapped a picture of the same schematic. Ten Braak then turned the page. The entire procedure was repeated, until all twenty-four sheets had been photographed with each camera. Then Kuradin nodded to Ten Braak.
Ten Braak handed the sheets back to Bridges, then walked to the door, unlocked it, and went outside, closing the door behind him.
“Where’s he going?” Bridges asked.
Kuradin removed the two tiny cartridges from the cameras. He placed one on the table. The other he put in the back of his watch, in a tiny compartment that looked like it was meant to hold a battery cell.
“Part of the precautions we must take,” Kuradin answered. “He’s gone out to the car to get a small aluminum capsule to store that cartridge in,” he said, pointing to the one on the table. “That’s the one you’ll be carrying out with you. It’ll be in the lower portion of your colon,” Kuradin said.
“What!” Bridges exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?”
“No,” Kuradin said, shaking his head. “It will be quite secure and comfortable, I assure you.
“He’ll be a few minutes, Dr. Bridges,” Kuradin went on. “I suggest you use the time to tell me exactly what they’ll do after they discover that you and the schematics are missing.”
Outside, Ten Braak walked to the car they had driven to South Beloit. He walked to the back and opened the trunk. He slid the black case he had carried with him from Newark to a position directly in front of him. He looked around before he opened it.
About six parking spaces to his right was another car. It had a flat tire, and its owner was attempting to fix it.