Dash growled, “That’s disgusting.”
“She agrees, particularly since she’s Vietnamese-American with degrees in marketing and computer science.” Yifei chuckled. “Someone’s going to get suuuueed,” she sang.
“Hope she takes them for all they’re worth.”
Yifei sneezed, then asked, “Want to meet up for lunch? I can tell Nancy I’m meeting up with you to bring you in from the cold.”
“It’s a little late for lunch, isn’t it?”
Yifei made a noise. “I started at ten this morning. Let’s grab some shawarma.”
Dash’s mouth watered as he thought about savory meat and flatbread. “Okay. Let me make another call and I’ll meet you at Saffron Road.”
“Deal!”
The call ended, and Dash dialed a new number.
“Good afternoon, the Olympus Initiative. How many I direct your call?” A cheery man answered the phone.
“Sandy Irving, please.”
“One moment.”
Uninspired piano music took over. It sounded jazz-like, but more generic.
“This is Doctor Irving.”
“Hi there. My name’s Dash, I work with Ishani Nayyar. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Um, all right.”
Irving possessed a deep baritone, which wasn’t what Dash had expected. He didn’t want to give him too much time to think, so he launched into his questions.
“You’re a nuclear engineer?”
“Me? No.” Irving laughed. “I’m a flight engineer. I specialize in landing payloads.”
Dash frowned. “Really?”
“Sure. I worked on the InSight rover and the first ARRM mission.”
Remote sensing was a major part of terrestrial science, so it wasn’t odd that the Olympus Initiative employed people connected with JPL. However, very few companies ever needed to put something back down from space.
Fewer still needed to deflect an asteroid—that was the point of the ARRM project.
“Wow. You must be bored at the initiative,” he said.
Irving chuckled. “I wish. My team is working around the clock.” He paused. “Can’t really give details, of course. Classified stuff.”
“No problem,” Dash assured him.
“What did you need?”
Dash softened his tone. “I wondered if you could look at something for me I got from a classmate’s memory card. I, uh, can’t seem to identify it and Ishani said you were the best at this sort of thing.”
“Sure. Send it over. Let me give you my number.”
Dash texted him his brother’s images, then put his phone back to his ear. “I’m kind of curious to know why NASA would need, uh, soldiers to protect some nuclear stuff.”
Irving whistled. “Holy shit! Where did this come from? Is this real?”
“What is it?”
“Well, I mean, I can’t be certain, but it looks like a pusher plate and shock absorber assembly.”
Dash paused. “A what?”
“A pusher plate. It’s all theoretical, but basically the theory is you use nuclear explosions to propel a vehicle in space.” Irving sounded giddy. “Look up Project ORION, from the 1960s. They did some early mockups and even a conventional test, as I recall.”
Dash’s heart sped up. “Do you know a lot about this?”
“No, not really. I mean, I’ve heard of it, of course. It’s a cool idea, but unless we scrap a treaty or two, it couldn’t happen. This probably isn’t for an ORION engine, but it certainly reminds me of one.” Irving paused for a moment. “What ship is that in the background?”
“Um, Enterprise, I think.” Dash injected a bit of uncertainty into his tone.
“Okay. That makes more sense.” Irving let out a sigh of relief. “It’s probably a bulkhead and fittings for the reactor area. The thickness and pipes would fit that function well. Cooling and radiation shielding. Mm-hmm.”
“And the NASA box with the soldiers?”
“No idea,” Irving admitted. “Maybe NASA is testing something aboard the carrier, a sensor package or something.”
Dash injected a bit of perky into his voice. “Thanks so much, Doctor Irving. You’ve been a big help.”
“Glad I could. Give my best to Ishani!”
Wei Yifei squatted on the sidewalk outside of the Saffron Road restaurant, her arms held out as she stared at her phone. Petite in every way, she looked like a young girl playing dress-up. Two years younger than Dash, Yifei was a clever writer and a damned good investigative reporter.
“Finally! I’m starving!” Yifei stood up and straightened her short skirt.
Dash sketched a penitent bow. “So sorry, your majesty. Like I said, it’s been a terrible day.”
Yifei waved him towards the door. “Tell me over food. The smell of naan is killing me.”
The two reporters stepped inside, grabbed a booth, and placed their orders. After the server brought them rosewater lemonade, he scurried back to the kitchen.
“You look tired,” Yifei said.
“If that’s all, then I’m doing okay.” Dash gave a half-chuckle. “Today’s been...” His voice trailed off as tears welled in his eyes.
Yifei frowned. “Hey, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
Dash’s hands trembled and his chin quivered.
“What’s going on?” Yifei asked. “What happened?”
Dash didn’t know where to start. Nothing that had happened today made much sense. His brother’s cryptic images pointed at seemingly unrelated things. An aircraft carrier, nuclear material, and a non-governmental organization with ties to the biggest names in aerospace. What did all of that have to do with his brother and why was it worth killing for?
“I’m in trouble, Yifei. It’s bad and I’m scared.”
Yifei reached out and squeezed Dash’s hand. “How much trouble?”
Dash grabbed his glass and took a sip. “A lot. Do you have your laptop?”
“Sure.” Yifei jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “In my trunk. Why?”
“Need to back some data up. Can you grab it?”
“Of course.”
Dash waited as Yifei hurried out to her car. He grabbed his new phone and entered his mother’s phone number. His thumb hovered over the dial button as he thought of Rasul’s call earlier. He’d been scared. If he called their mother, that might put her in danger, too. Still, her son lay dead in some morgue, and she didn’t even know yet.
Be patient, but act without hesitation.
His foster father’s words jarred their way into his thoughts. Dash blinked as he wondered where they’d came from. He hadn’t thought of him in years, yet he’d come up twice in one day. Dash set the phone on the table and held the cold glass, wet with condensation, up against his forehead.
Yifei returned just as the server came back with platters of shawarma. The smell of spiced meat made Dash salivate.
“Oh, that was fast!” Her eyes widened in delight.
The two writers tore into their meal without another word. Dash couldn’t find the words to tell the tale. He didn’t even know how to begin it. A pause to take care of his body might just be what his mind needed to muster the strength the task ahead required.
“So good,” Yifei groaned as she dipped a chunk of flatbread into a spicy sauce.
Dash savored a bite of spiced meat and pried Yifei’s laptop open, then took his brother’s memory card and slipped it into a USB stick.
“What’s that?” Yifei wanted to know.
“Something worth killing for,” Dash said as he glanced out the window.
Outside, a silver sedan pulled in front of the restaurant and two men in sunglasses and gray suits got out. The car drove off, but the men walked into the restaurant. The hairs on the back of Dash’s neck stood up and his hands trembled.
Silver sedans were as common as hairs on a cat, but Dash’s instincts were flipping every fight or flight switch he had.
The men never looked in his direction. They smil
ed at the server and pointed toward a table on the opposite wall. They sat down, placed their orders, and took off their sunglasses. They could have been real estate agents, office workers, or minor bureaucrats in any number of government agencies. Ubiquitous.
Dash knew better.
Augmented reality goggles had come a long way since Google Glass introduced the concept to the public. Most people agreed the glasses could be useful, but their obvious and ostentatious differences called too much attention to their presence. Users were dubbed “glassholes” by the derisive public and the project died a quiet death.
The newer models, like Dash’s own IRIS-3 glasses, looked unobtrusive. The frames were thicker, but not unusually so. The cameras and projectors were miniaturized to the point that most people couldn’t tell the user was using augmented reality or recording high-definition video. Dash had done a story on the next generation of augmented reality wearables and the Peregrine Corporation’s had blown the competition away. Their newest prototypes, at least a year away from production, looked like aviator sunglasses, sleek and shiny.
Both men had set theirs on the table facing Dash and Yifei.
“What’s wrong?” Yifei asked.
Dash blinked as he turned back to his friend. “Sorry. I, uh, zoned out there for a moment.”
Yifei spun her laptop around and looked at the files. “What are these? You’re blowing off the McCann story for an aircraft carrier?”
“Keep looking. It’s more than an aircraft carrier.” Dash’s stomach fluttered, but he forced himself to eat. A short night and long day meant he needed all the energy he could get.
“Hey, I’ve heard of this group—the Olympus Initiative.”
Dash looked up from his plate. “What? Really?”
“Sure. They are the darlings of the tech scene. They’ve poached some top talent from around the country and raised a ton of capital.” Yifei’s eyebrows jumped twice.
“I thought they were a charitable organization.”
Yifei’s head bobbed. “Absolutely, but Terrence McConnell’s the brains behind their outfit.”
Dash smirked. “‘The next Elon Musk?’”
“Yup.” Yifei winked. “And he’s super hot.”
Dash rubbed his temple. “Wait a minute. What about this?” Dash pointed at the metal disk and pipe structure. “What does this look like to you?”
Yifei’s dark eyes widened. “Nothing. Metal mechanical stuff. Part of the ship?”
“Do me a favor, then. Head somewhere with public Wi-Fi and put all this in a new cloud storage account—you can send me the account information later—then see if what you can find out about something called Project ORION.”
Yifei opened her mouth, but Dash held up his hand to forestall her retort.
“Not the Mars mission one. Something older. See if you can find an expert on it. I need someone to authenticate this image before I can take the story to Nancy.”
“Before she fires you, you mean?”
Dash sighed. “I know, I know. The McCann story. This is way bigger than a dirty congressman, though. Do me one more favor and see if there are any reports of a homicide at the Crowne Plaza today.”
Yifei leaned over her plate. “What’s going on, Dash? This sounds really weird.”
“I know.” He stared at the ceiling to keep the sudden tears from running down his face. “I need your help, Yifei. Please?” Dash dabbed his eyes with a napkin.
“Of course!” Yifei reached out and squeezed his hand.
Dash sniffed. “Do you have pepper spray? A gun? Taser? Angry chihuahua?”
“Pepper spray, why?”
Dash slipped his bag over his neck and adjusted it. “You’re not safe. Don’t move your head, but there’s two guys watching us from across the room.”
Yifei grinned. “Well, we are gorgeous.”
Dash squirmed. He looked handsome and Yifei possessed a beauty that could go from pop idol-cute to sexpot in the blink of an eye, but the men watching them had zero romantic interest in them.
“Be serious, Yifei! People have already died for this!”
“Okay, okay!” Chastened, Yifei took a drink and blushed.
Dash stood up and walked across the room to the two men. As he approached, they stiffened and exchanged awkward glances.
“Hey, I’m heading over to the police station and then back to my office.” He looked them in the eye in turn. “I’ll see you there, yeah?”
Their faces reddened.
The bulkier one said, “Not sure what you mean, buddy. We’re just trying to enjoy our lunch.” His accent sounded like Boston.
Whoever they were, they had shitty poker faces. His remark had struck a nerve. Dash snorted as he walked away from the table. “Sure, you are. Make sure you take something for the guy in the car.”
Nine
IN SHORT, THIS NEEDS TO be handled quickly, Colonel.”
The words sounded benign, but Castillo heard the iron in the admiral’s voice.
“Understood, sir. My agents are tracking Riordan now. As soon as we have an opportunity, we’re going to scoop him up and anyone he’s been in contact with. Containment is my top priority.”
The admiral’s voice turned cold. “No, Colonel. There’s no time to wait. Operation LONGHAUL begins in mere hours. Take Riordan off the board and plug any remaining leaks. This is critical if our cover story is going to hold up to scrutiny.”
“Yes, sir.” Castillo stood ramrod straight, despite being alone in the room.
“Report in when this is handled,” the admiral ordered.
“Yes—”
The admiral hung up on her.
“—sir...” Castillo glanced at the phone and let out a long sigh. Her muscles relaxed, and she swiped her thumb across the screen until all her icons were hidden, leaving the wallpaper. Two grinning boys stared up and her heart melted.
She brought up the video call app and tapped the icon. A moment of ringing later and a tan, cherubic face grinned back at her—Oscar, her youngest. Castillo spotted the missing incisor and smiled back. “You lost your tooth!”
The boy’s head bobbed. “Hi, Mama! Yep!”
Castillo’s investigator eyes took in the details in the background. “How is the camp? Are you okay?”
Oscar’s face seemed to split as his grin widened. “It’s very cool here. We can see all kinds of airplanes. I saw two fighters earlier today.”
“Bueno. Where’s Tomas?”
Oscar’s cheery demeanor vanished, replaced with a petulant sulk. “He’s talking to some girl.” He made it sound like a dirty word.
“Oh? What girl?”
He shook his head and glared. “I don’t know. Some redhead. He’s older than him, too.”
Castillo wished she could see her boys, hold them in her arms, but the mission had to come first. Right now, that meant doing as the admiral ordered and plugging the leak before LONGHAUL started.
“I’ve got to go, honey. Work.”
“Are you going to catch a bad guy?” Oscar asked.
“I am, actually. He stole some information and I need to get it back.”
Oscar looked intrigued. “Is he a spy?”
Castillo chuckled. “No, honey. Just a thief.”
Theft just wasn’t as glamorous. Oscar’s disappointment showed.
“I’ll call you tonight, mijo,” Castillo promised. “Watch out for your brother and take care of each other.”
“Hurry, Mama! We miss you. Also, the cots aren’t comfortable here. Can we go to a hotel instead?”
“Afraid not. You’re on an adventure and those almost never have hotels in them. Be brave for me and I’ll see you soon!” Castillo blew her son a kiss.
“Bye!
“I love you,” she said, but the screen had already gone dark. The abrupt end sent a bolt of pain through her heart and she allowed himself a minute to feel grief, fear, and worry for her children. When the moment passed, she slipped the phone into her pocket and put her work face
back on.
Dash Riordan stood between Castillo getting back to her children and protecting them. Castillo didn’t have anything against the young man, but the admiral had ordered his death and that was that.
Castillo opened the door to her temporary office and poked her head out, barking, “Mosley!”
Ten
IRIS SHOWED DOZENS OF news stories as Dash drove across town. He knew driving with active AR wasn’t safe or smart, but he needed information and could feel the shadowy figures on his periphery edging closer. Focusing on the driving and the articles helped him remain calm.
Most of the reports clung to the narrative that the organization was building a better future for the poor, that technology could suddenly redress centuries of inequity. Very few hard news stories were written about the initiative. Dash could understand that. Feel good organizations made for excellent features, but they didn’t draw lots of attention. Softer profiles that might well have come from public relations specialists painted a rosy picture of the company.
Dash didn’t believe it for a minute.
For one thing, capitalism was built on a foundation of exploitation. For better or worse, that was how the system—and much of the modern world—worked. No technology could silence the demands of shareholders for more profit. The initiative’s story sounded great, of course, but it had been crafted to do just that.
Don’t pay attention to us; we’re doing good things.
His foster father would approve of the misdirection. Dash’s expression darkened as his face drifted into his memory.
“No. Focus!”
“Nani?” Iris looked puzzled. “Please say the command again.”
“Never mind. Continue search.”
“Okay!” Iris jumped and resumed throwing news stories into Dash’s field of vision. One caught his attention—a small personal interest piece. An imam at a masjid in Garden Grove had joined the initiative. Faris Murad, active in local gang-outreach initiatives, stepped down from the masjid six months earlier.
Erebus Page 6