The Director stood and said, “One thing I don’t quite understand is the formation of an electromagnetic shield over the Americas by these satellites. What do you think is going on?”
Benson stood also. “I’m going to the control room now, sir. I’ll report to you as soon as I get a handle on what has happened.”
Benson took his seat in the viewing section of the amphitheater control room and studied the monitors before him. The monitor displaying the four satellites had overlays displayed in a variety of colors. A blue overlay that looked like a spider web represented a growing net of an electromagnetic shield over the region of the Americas.
Benson noticed that both the Control Manager from yesterday and also the evening Control Manager were at the control room’s main console. The evening Control Manager came over and sat next to him.
“My name is Roger, sir. I was asked to assist today in light of our issues.”
Benson was grateful for the extra help and noticed a man sitting across the room at a computer station now talking with the Control Room manager from yesterday.
Benson tilted his head. “Is that Dr. Nobel?”
“Yes, sir. He arrived moments ago. Dan is bringing him up to speed on the algorithm canary findings report.”
*****
Elliott had a hard time concentrating on what Dan was telling him. His eyes were drawn to the monitor of the four satellites aligning and the blue net projected from them. His gut clenched at the thought that this might be related to DIANA.
“Dr. Nobel?” Dan had noticed Elliott’s loss of interest in their conversation.
Elliott tried to ignore the thoughts flashing through his mind. The aligning satellites, the electromagnetic shield……this can’t be happening. He answered as calmly as he could, “I’m sorry. This is all so different from the lab I’m used to working in.”
Dan nodded. “I understand completely, sir. We are hoping you can assist us in identifying the purposes of the code anomalies we found in DIANA.”
Elliott was desperate to get a message to Chris. His only hope was to use the chat room they had established in the DIANA code.
Elliott looked at Dan. “I must be able to independently enter the DIANA code through my mainframe in Lead. Could you please obtain the necessary connection for me to use this station?”
Dan glanced toward Benson who was talking to Roger at the control console. He looked back at Elliott. “I’m going to need special authority to arrange that, sir.”
Elliott leaned back and answered, “Then I suggest you get it.” Elliott crossed his arms on his chest to make it clear he was not cooperating without access to his code.
Dan returned after a brief consultation with Benson, made some entries on the computer station of Elliott’s and said, “Directorate Anders has asked for your cooperation and patience while he completes his briefings. He has given his permission for you to access your code in Lead.” Dan cautioned Elliott, “Your every keystroke is being monitored, Dr. Elliott. Please do not take advantage of the Directorate’s kindness.”
As soon as Dan walked away, Elliott entered the DIANA code and opened the chat room. He knew they would find it and close it as soon as they reviewed his activities. Elliott had thought about what to message to Chris the entire flight to Langley. It had to be short, firm and clear. When the chat box appeared Elliott typed; I am alive. If you cooperate without proof that all passengers on our jet survived, we will all be destroyed. I am in Langley…. there are serious issues. I need your help. Please be firm and clear.”
Elliott closed the chat box and opened the canary comparison on the Malaysian code and DIANA. He knew this code like he knew his own body. The changes made by Kyser were immediately noticeable. Elliott isolated the strings of altered code, printed them, and sat back in his chair as he studied the pages. He was sure this first anomaly’s purpose was for ordering a split communication to a remote host. He was midway through the third page when he sensed someone standing behind him.
Benson took a seat next to Elliott and frowned. “You have now put me in a very unpleasant position with your communication to Chris. I’m going to ask you to trust that your best interests are my concern.”
Elliott defiantly responded, “I’m going to trust that you listen carefully when I say, I do not trust the CIA. We have a history that supports my position. I have every intention of helping you. I just prefer not to do it as a dead man.”
*****
Chris busted from the bedroom door into the kitchen screaming. “He’s alive! Elliott is alive!”
Nick and Dalton had been talking at the kitchen table. Dalton nearly poured coffee on himself when Chris yelled.
Nick asked, “How do you know?”
“He just sent me this message.” Chris turned his laptop around to show Nick and Dalton.
Dalton asked, “How did you get Nick’s laptop to access your computer at Lead?”
A guilty expression immediately washed over Chris’ face. He had violated every security protocol there was, with Angel’s assistance. “I’m not telling you. I’m not cooperating either. I demand to see on the TV news that Elliott’s jet has been found and that all of the passengers are okay and coming home.”
Dalton’s mind raced. He had no idea what was going on. He excused himself to step outdoors to call Directorate Anders.
*****
Benson was listening as the Control Room manager, Dan, explained the satellite activity to Elliott. He watched Elliott refer back to the printed code pages once or twice. Dan stated that they were still puzzled as to the purpose of the shield.
Elliott interrupted, “The purpose of the shield is obvious. The original patent #5,038,664 was for the creation of this very shield. It is openly available for anyone to review with a simple Google search. U.S. Defense contractors have owned this patent for years for a variety of theories. Code for those early applications is still within the basis of DIANA for implementation, if needed. This is a communication shield. When the satellites complete the electromagnetic field, it will be activated by a beam for a specific time period. During that timeframe it cannot be penetrated by radio or light waves. At least, that is the theory.”
Benson had thought that the satellites were maybe part of a project of HAARP, the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program of the government’s in Gakona, Alaska.
Benson asked, “Have we ever tested this theory to your knowledge? With HAARP, perhaps?”
“I suppose it’s possible. You’d have to ask someone else that. They must have a transmitter somewhere to have sent the beam. It would have to be at least as powerful as HAARP.”
Just then a man’s blurred silhouette appeared on every monitor on the wall. His mechanically distorted voice boomed from the speakers. “Good morning, gentlemen. You may refer to me as Mason. I have waited some time for this moment. I am the face of the New Order. Our organization now controls everything on Earth.” Mason chuckled. “That sounds quite audacious, doesn’t it? But I assure you, it is true. I will be presenting our initial demands at exactly 11:05 this morning. At 10:00 a.m., all satellite communications will be blocked from North and South America. This will interfere with everything, including your power grids to some extent. We don’t want to cause you too much inconvenience, however. This evidence of our power will begin precisely at 10:00 a.m. Eastern time and end one hour later.”
The monitors all went back to what they had been displaying. Everyone in the room looked at their watches. It was precisely 9:45 a.m. They had fifteen minutes. The Control Managers shouted for trackers and defense satellites to ready. Dan ordered the ‘Mason’ transmission be sent to their European information centers.
Benson looked at Elliott. “Can they do this?”
Elliot was terrified at what he had just heard. “To be safe, you may want to have some old fashioned phones that work on landlines handy. That’s probably the only way you’ll be able to communicate.”
The Control Room managers both bega
n speaking into their headsets.
Elliott asked Benson, “May I print out more of this code before our computers go black?”
Benson said, “We have generators, our own feeds….” Benson then realized they were useless without their satellite communications working. Benson looked at Elliot, briskly turned and headed for the Director’s office.
He yelled behind him, “Send a priority alert to all offices to secure some old phones!”
Elliott took advantage of the moment and went back into the chat room on his computer. He sent a second message to Chris. Communications in both Americas going black at 10:00 am for an hour. I am witnessing chaos. Get old phone to work on landline. Warn Nick it is the only communication that will work.”
*****
Chris startled Nick a second time. “Quick! Do you have an old phone? Not cordless, not cell phone. It has to work on a landline. Call everyone you know to get one ready. At ten o’clock the entire western world, both Americas, will lose all wireless for an hour.”
Chris ran outside to tell Dalton. Nick called the precinct. He was sure they were going to think he was crazy. Dalton’s office had just been warned. Nick called Agent Phillips at the FBI and told him. Phillips said they had just received a similar alert. It was real. How was it possible?
Nick called his dad at the University and he called his fiancée, Lacey, at her work. He hoped he could limit their concerns if they knew it was only for an hour. That was all he could do. All hell would break loose if power grids were affected and there was no communication. He was locked up babysitting Chris and they were about to experience hell hour.
*****
The Director listened to Benson in disbelief as he watched his assistant run into the office with an old phone, cord twisted and plug it into a wall outlet.
The Director looked at Benson, “How has this happened without our knowledge? How do I explain this?”
Benson realized heads were going to roll fast and far. He had to trust that one of them wouldn’t be his.
The Director asked, “Is this just the beginning?”
Benson had another flashback of his hospital nightmare. He wished he was wrong, but his gut told him otherwise. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Fifteen
FBI Special Agent Phillips dialed Travis Cummings’ cell phone. Travis answered, “Hey, I was just getting ready to call you. What a coincidence.”
Phillips looked at his watch: 9:59. “Travis, there’s going to be a communication outage for about an hour starting in a few minutes. I want you to get yourself over to the 107th Precinct sometime this morning and wait for me. If you can, call me when you get there.”
Travis agreed and asked, “What’s up? Why do you want me?”
Phillips answered, “I don’t have time…”
The line went dead.
Phillips looked around his office. He still had power. His computer had lost internet connection and his cell phone was dead. The power blinked, the generators must have kicked in. He didn’t understand how the power grids were structured, but he did know that parts of it relied on wireless communications from satellite bandwidths. Certainly there would be public risks associated with any large scale blackout.
He walked to the window to observe traffic. There was unusually heavy congestion at the intersection indicating the likelihood of traffic light interference. In the sky he saw the red lights of a jet heading for O’Hare. Phillips imagined the horror of the pilots and air traffic control personnel. They had no way to communicate. The pilots would need to switch to manual controls in the absence of GPS and other wireless controlled systems.
He wasn’t sure what to do. What if this lasted longer than an hour? There had been four corded phones located in the basement storage rooms that sat silent while techs searched for the landline identification number. No one had needed to reference the landline numbers for years. He had been ordered to stay in the building until further orders could be communicated to him.
Phillips located a yellow legal pad and began drafting a report on his investigation into the dumpster at Bruno’s Bar and the subsequent discovery of Dominick Guioni’s body. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of problem would affect all communication satellites at precisely the same time?
*****
Dalton sat at the kitchen table opposite Nick. Chris was taking a shower and obviously happy to know that Elliott was alive. Nick wasn’t as optimistic. Just because Elliott was alive now didn’t mean he would stay that way. By telling Chris not to cooperate, Elliott was admitting he and Chris had something that the CIA wanted, or worse, needed. Nick knew that Elliott was negotiating for his life.
J.T. was still snoring on the couch. Nick offered to pour Dalton another cup of coffee which Dalton quickly refused.
Dalton pointed to the living room. “I think our friend in there just became more valuable. His assignment to sequester the DIANA team can’t be a coincidence to whatever Elliott is messed up in. What are you thinking we should do with him?”
Nick said, “He’s just the hired help. It’s what he knows about Mason that’s probably valuable. The CIA should hire him.”
Dalton considered Nick’s statement. Contractors like J.T. worked for the highest bidder. They seldom had any interest or knowledge of the consequences of their assignments. It would depend on how bad the CIA wanted information on Mason. “His people killed two CIA agents in Lead.”
“His people, not him.”
Dalton knew his first call when communications became live again would be to Directorate Anders. If he was concerned about Mason for any reason, J.T. could name his price. “What do we do with him for the next hour?”
Nick stood, “I say we feed him breakfast. I’ll start cooking and you try to wake him up.”
*****
Benson sat next to Elliott and waited for him to complete his reading of the code papers he had printed. Elliott finished and glanced at Benson. Benson felt as if he could read Elliott’s thoughts through his eyes. The two men sat silent for several moments. Benson felt a familiar wash of dread spread through his body. “It’s quite serious, isn’t it?”
Elliott rubbed the area between his brows and mumbled. “It may mean nothing; it may mean the situation is hopeless.”
Benson was startled at Elliott’s frankness. He didn’t know why, but that was exactly the feeling he had: hopelessness. “Give me something solid I can take to the Director, please. I want to help you, but I am one man. There are several issues of importance the Director is concerned with this morning.”
Elliott exhaled heavily. “Have you ever watched a movie and right at the crucial moment the power goes out?” Elliott waved the printed pages of code. “I need about three more pages to really know what has happened.” Elliott didn’t appreciate being pressured for an analysis without having the necessary information.
Benson asked, “Can you guess the worst case scenario?”
Elliott answered, “At 11:00 a.m., I want an announcement that our plane was discovered and all passengers are safely being returned home. I want it on the national news by 11:30, so Chris can see it in Chicago. We are going to need him.” Elliott touched Benson’s sleeve. “Please, I will tell you this much: it’s possible we haven’t much time.”
*****
Sophia had been awake all night gutted with anticipation. She had testified for the FBI because it was the right thing to do. She knew in her heart that it meant giving up all that she loved. For 25 years she had lived as a ghost, weaving through Nick and Martin’s lives undetected, praying for the day she could safely enter their lives without fear of the mob harming them. Nick had only been ten years old when she left. She attended every event in his life she could manage without him knowing. Once, he had given her his seat on the bus without realizing it was her. She had become the master of disguises in her relentless pursuit of bringing down the Chicago Westside crew and Dominick Guioni.
Dominick, the man who had ordered her murder and believed she w
as dead. Dominick, who had kept her from the man she loved and her son for all of these years. It seemed surreal that he was dead. Finally, Dominick was stretched out naked on a cold, steel table splayed open by the point of the coroner’s knife.
Sophia wanted to speak to Martin in person. She needed to see his face, even if all she saw was contempt. He had every right to send her away. He had every right to be angry. She didn’t want to waste another hour. She was finally free.
She waited in the hall outside of Martin’s classroom. He was the only one in the room, bent over his desk reading papers. The university, like everywhere else in Chicago, was in limbo until communications could be restored. The halls were quiet, deserted. She slowly twisted the knob and opened the door. Martin looked over, expressionless.
Sophia slowly walked toward his desk. “Martin, I…”
Martin rose and faced her. “Sophia?”
He took one step toward her and opened his arms. Sophia ran to him. They both cried as they clung to each other. Twenty five years vanished in mere seconds. Martin gently pushed Sophia a few inches from him so he could study her face, look in her eyes. When Sophia had left them, she had told Martin she was going to the store for milk. He had found out later she had entered the FBI witness protection program alone, had nearly been killed by the mob, and then later stayed on as a spy. She had refused to put Martin and Nick at risk by staying with them. He had prayed for 25 years that she was safe and would come home.
Martin wiped his tears, cupped her faced with his palms and whispered, “You forgot the milk.”
*****
Benson knocked on the Director’s office door and then entered. As expected, a number of the Director’s other advisors circled his desk, urgently vying for his attention. They all stopped talking when Benson entered the room. The Director only had to look at Benson’s face to know that Benson had come with a serious request.
Zero Margin: Nick Stryker, Book Three The Shallow End Gals (Nick Stryker Series 3) Page 13