"That's great information, Ricks. I'll use it. Anything else in his apartment, habits, parents, friends, etcetera, I can use?"
"Not much else; I was only on location for two days. The place was neat, but he had several passports in a sock drawer," Ricks offers, taking them from a jeans back pocket. "I was surprised one is for the States," he says passing the trio of books. "It appears he comes and goes right under our noses based on Chicago, Dallas, and New York stamps. I've asked for help to see who he meets, but there's a big gap our bureaucrats missed. I think he has money and connections based on fancy digs across from Independence Square."
"Hiding in plain sight; go figure. What computer equipment did you see in his apartment?" Bullocks presses to trip images, recollections, and latent memories from the government agent with cut marks and abrasions on face and arm. "Did you take disks or thumb drives lying around."
"These days, hackers use the cloud, but I snapped photos of his apartment, possessions, photographs, equipment, and bodyguards on this burner phone," Ricks says passing an Alcatel smart phone. "You can route it to the right people."
"An early Christmas; did he speak Russian, English, or another language when you grabbed him?"
"Mostly broken English, but he didn't talk much. He probably knows Russian and Ukrainian, but other than that I'm not sure."
"What about the apartment; you said it was an expensive location in downtown Kiev."
"Yep; art work and furnishings suggest he has money or connections."
"Who's handling the apartment?"
"Langley sent cleaners."
Tom nods, accepting the answer. "When do you leave?"
"Once you take possession, I'm in the wind," Ricks replies.
"Then consider it done; I appreciate the input."
Extending hands, the men shake then Tom and Audie leave to meet the hacker shackled to an old metal chair in middle of a stark interrogation room decorated to make guests nervous.
Black Site, Montenegro
Sgt. Tom Bullock and Audie Murphy enter a dimly lit room where a native Polish guard watches the handcuffed, blindfolded captive. When the purported black hat hacker hears and smells a large canine brushing against his leg, the accomplished techie begins sweating as blood pressure rises. When the dog sniffs, snorts, and yips, his deep voice indicates toughness, ferocity, and size. Putting heavy paws on the captive's lap to assess his new assignment, Audie presses a wet nose on a cheek to evaluate his sweat.
"My partner doesn't like you," Tom begins casually in English, testimony to his comfort handling interrogations. "He has the ability to sniff liars based on sweat glands and nervousness. What can you tell us that will get you on Audie's good side? The last interrogation didn't go well when he took out frustrations after many lies."
The street-smart hacker, a Russian citizen with long black, greasy hair, numerous tattoos, and distinctive gold front tooth, stays quiet though apprehensive of the fierce animal. Without responding, he implicitly challenges Bullock. "Dogs love me," he murmurs with thick accent.
"Nauczcie tego creepa lekcji," Tom commands Audie, a command exciting the animal. Almost immediately, the heavy, loud, trained canine lunges at the victim with fangs dripping drool. Barking close enough for the hacker to smell Audie's hot, stinky breath, he struggles keeping his face away beneath the blindfold.
"W dół, Audie," Bullocks snarls after a long pause. Yanking off the black head cover, Tom waits as the captive gains bearings. Looking at stark surroundings with the dog ready to tear his face off, the bold Russian thinks it's a game despite Audie's fierceness and the giant person standing nearby.
Holding an 8x10 of the hacker's presumed girlfriend, noting a sexy greeting, Bullock applies pressure. "You can see we've been in your apartment, one I'm surprised you can afford. Too bad, you'll never see it again. Showing another color photograph lifted from the edge of an ornate Kiev bathroom mirror, Tom reads a personal note written on the back. "I miss you, Katya. Gosh, Miss Nevena will have to find another lover, but I'm sure she won’t have much trouble. Did you pay for her enhancements?" Bullock points out on the revealing photo. "She's pretty special. Maybe, the Berkut team watching her house will want to visit or date her at some point. Is there a good-bye message you want to convey? Did you know Katya works for Mother Russia?"
"Go to hell," the hacker snaps, accent thick and pronounced. "I own her."
"You go to hell first." Tom snaps his finger as Audie topples the hapless victim backward on the chair, the heavy, muscular dog landing atop Taras on the dank cement floor. As Audie handles his valuable role with zeal and skill, Tom waits until the hacker has struggled enough.
"Wycofać się," he tells Audie. "I doubt you understand your situation, Taras. Hacking days over; you now belong to Uncle Sam, the Great Satan."
Taras is licking bleeding lips as Bullocks lifts him back to the starting position with his massive arms. Thinking how fast this situation eroded so quickly has him concerned for what comes next.
"What do you want, Yank?"
"I want simple things; who pays you; who you send information; basic stuff, nothing fancy."
"If I talk, I die."
"If you don’t talk you die; it's your choice. I can arrange safe passage if I'm satisfied with answers. Otherwise, I'll let Audie do the dirty work. It takes him about two minutes based on past experience once blood starts flowing from your throat. If you decide to go that route, let me know beforehand who will want your body for burial. If not, it gets burned."
"I don't know who pays me; it comes from an anonymous source."
"You mean to tell me a gifted hacker like you didn’t figure it out; I don't believe you and Audie suggests you're lying again. Do you see how he's antsy? He knows you're lying and is waiting for me to react."
"Ok, I traced it to a Russian bank; the money bounces but it ends up in an account set up for me."
"Which bank, Taras?"
"VTB; the one on Marshala Tymoshenko Street."
"That's Putin's bank; isn't it?"
"Probably, but I don’t care where money is sourced. Getting paid is all that matters to me."
"What's your current assignment?"
"I don't talk about my work."
"Is that right? You had better start talking soon or I'll ask Audie to loosen your tongue and rearrange your face. Tak nie jest, Audie?"
Audie woofs, edges closer to Tara, then barks and growls as trained.
"Keep that mutt away or I won't talk."
A backhand slap knocks Taras off the chair as Audie snarls next to his face. After picking him up, Bullock restates his demand. "Don't think Audie is your only problem, punk. Now, tell me about your work."
Taras takes extra time but relents. "Anything I can get on Area-51 or employees. The Russians are eager to steal secrets about your Andromeda robots. Payments were tripled."
"What have you given them so far?"
"Nothing important; names and addresses of scientists and license plates using Groom Road."
"How do you gather this intel?"
"Satellites."
"Which satellites?"
"Russian, Chinese, and Americans; whatever I can gain access depending on time of day and position."
"Are these commercial or military assets?"
"Mostly commercial but not always; I prefer U.S. military assets for better clarity, but hacking them is often hit and miss."
"Do you get help getting satellite access?"
"No help; I hack it until security realizes it's compromised; then I move on to the next orbiter."
"Which American satellite network can you hack?"
"Motorola's Iridium network is the easiest for me. It has 66 L-Band satellites for my viewing and listening pleasure."
"Don't get smart with me, boy," Bullock growls. "Do you hack directly into the Pentagon or NSA?"
"Of course, the Pentagon uses the same satellites. The security isn't state of the art."
"Which satellites have you not
been able to hack?"
"How should I know? Until I get inside the motherboard, it's hard to know, but I'd guess the NSA is hardest."
"Since we're recording this conversation," Bullock advises, "if I get any feedback that's off, I'll personally dish out punishment beyond belief. Do you understand?"
"Dah," Taras murmurs dejectedly.
"Any statements you want to revise; now's the time, punk."
Taras hesitates then gulps. "I eavesdrop and jam conversations when I'm in the mood for a little fun," he smiles, his gold tooth prominent.
"Have you hacked into Echelon?"
"What's that?"
"Naucz go lekcji, Audie," Bullock snarls.
Immediately, the heavy canine leaps on his victim until both hit the floor again, this time with Audie prepping the victim's neck.
"Get him off," Taras pleads.
Tom bends down next to Taras. "You lie again and I'll let him sink his teeth into your ugly neck. I warned you about Audie. He can sense lies better than your whore."
After getting Taras back sitting, Bullock restates his question. "Have you hacked into Echelon?"
"Yes, I got in twice last month for about five minutes," Taras admits concerning NSA spy software and satellites.
"Tell me what you know about Ghosthunter and Ghostwolf."
"They're capture and kill programs run by Britain and America. Main targets are terrorists and hackers."
"Ok, we'll get back to that subject later. I want to know about Area-51 information. Besides, the names of scientists and license plates, what have you stolen?"
"A design."
"Be more specific, Taras, so I don't have to get help from Audie."
Taras eyes Audie with its intent eyes focused hoping for a new command. "I got a schematic sent to Kratos Company of a laser weapon inside the alien robot's arm."
"Who sent it to Kratos?"
"Somebody at Area-51; I don't know his name but I can get the computer's URL."
"Who bought it?"
"Russia, of course, that's my customer."
"Who in Russia?"
"I don't know names, but I believe she's an official from Putin's bank."
"What this woman's name?"
"She goes by a call sign; that's all I know."
"What call sign?"
"T-31-7."
"What's it mean?"
"My guess is special forces, probably Spetsnaz. The seven likely is her unit identification code."
"How do you know it's a woman?"
"I hacked VTB security cameras with software that can reads lips and match voiceprints."
"If I bring your equipment from the apartment, will you show us your work?"
"Do I have a choice?" Without getting feedback, Taras follows up. "How much will I be paid?"
"How about keeping all ten fingers?"
Chapter Thirty
Several months later
rea-51 employees stand as President Wilford enters the massive subterranean cavity, a secret space begun in 1955 by the CIA for U-2 spy development. Moving to a makeshift stage atop the polished cement floor, Wilford brings levels of excitement and positive reinforcement the scientists and engineers appreciate. Before beginning a brief prepared speech, he provides updates on finances and business matters unrelated to the expected October launch. When the large body of workers, contractors, and military personnel hear what he has to say, they erupt with patriotism and fervor.
"Before talking about the launch next week, I want to convey a couple housecleaning items my team has been working on your behalf. First and foremost, everyone stepping onto this magnificent spaceship sitting behind us," he says pointing to Navi resting behind them, "will receive one million dollars tax free. Your families will not be forgotten by this grateful nation. It should be enough cash, in addition to normal pay, so your loved ones are financially secure until you get back."
Wild applause, whistles, and howls ramp as the unexpected income news fully registers. "In addition," Wilford continues finally holding up hands to quiet them, "everyone working this project on the ground and seeing it through, receives double-pay starting next week." One again after hoots and howls dwindle, the hands-on President restarts. "Most of this money comes from wealthy donors and businesses, not taxpayers, who started contributing last month." After noise dwindles, he pivots to the main topic. "Ok, enough about money. Let's turn to the important business at hand. Ladies and gentlemen, Operation Andromeda is a go based on an unscheduled and secret Congressional vote taken last night. Next week, we'll launch Navi from this base with a full crew of two hundred members including medical and military personnel, scientists, engineers, and flight control experts. It's the most exciting space adventure ever conceived, one intending to save Andromeda Creators from destruction by bringing them safely to Earth as their new home. I won't delve into far-reaching implications of what this could mean to the United States. However, preparations are underway to design and construct an enormous compound using portions of New Mexico and Arizona, specifications edited and improved by Cyborg and Zote for Creators. In order to give more operational detail, I'd like Dr. Metz and staff to come on stage and answer questions about topics on your minds. While your leaders come up, I want to do a shout-out and congratulate Dr. Billy Goddard. Stand up, Billy; where are you sitting, young man?" Once finding him in the large audience on a folding chair near the back, Wilford touts the teenager's accomplishments. "Not only is Billy an extraordinaire engineer on loan from Global Space Company, he's also the requested selection of Cyborg and Zote to accompany them to Andromeda. As side note, I'm told he's the only one that beat Cyborg and Zote at chess. I also understand Billy's high-top black sneakers are to be worn by several NBA teams, all expressing interest in wearing them during games until you return. This unusual shoe contract is part of the money being donated that will fund education of your children while away. For his generosity, let's give Billy our thanks."
When the elderly, bearded Dr. Richard Metz and other senior staff come on stage, the gifted scientist is ecstatic about what's happening. Without making any formal speech, he opens the floor to questions, anxious for feedback from the total team rarely meeting at once. With Wilford's advance team listening to radio chatter from military units guarding the air space and surrounding area, the meeting begins with a bang.
"Yes Dr. Ray Amstead, our Director of Propulsion, you get the first question," Metz says pointing at him as other hands go up.
"Thanks, Richard; my question, however, is unrelated to propulsion. I'd like to know why I can't go along," the eighty-five year scientist asks. "I was the first volunteer, for pete sakes."
Metz chuckles, unsure if the question is sincere or a softball tossed his way. "First and foremost Ray, each candidate was chosen based on several criteria. Two of them, age and health, were primary reasons some volunteers won't make the trip. Concern is the ability to return within ten years, perhaps fifteen depending on unforeseen hurdles. In your case, that would make both of us ancient relics. As most know, traveling through time folds is dangerous, often leading to medical complications such as broken blood vessels and dizziness. In our case, we want the older folks, like us, sticking around so young bucks like Billy don't take over our world while we're gone," Metz grins as the crowd enjoys the light-hearted response. "Dr. Ben Savage, you're next."
The middle-age engineer, expert in mining, minerals, precious metals, and metallurgy follows. "Why's a large part of the crew military, Richard? What do you expect on the planet in Andromeda? I've seen heavy weapons being loaded."
Metz answers carefully, hoping not to guide scientists down that controversial path. "Zote and Cyborg suspect their enemies might have returned, possibly occupying Kelt-3ab that's home to Creators. It's precautionary, but our folks need to feel safe when on the planet."
"All right," Savage allows, "I don't want our military lacking anything they need, but this trip has taken on new meaning for me. Instead of rescue, it could be war before
any rescue happens. Is there a plan to find out before we land? Are you concerned about being trapped on the surface?"
"After extensive scans from safe distances, including drones, we'll shuttle fighters and material into remote areas," Metz explains. "It’s a huge planet so deploying forces won't be difficult. Key is understanding military capabilities of Andromeda enemies, if they're on the planet. Thus, recon will take time. I'm not sure how long you'll orbit before deploying."
Ben responds spiritedly, "Zote and Cyborg must know; what do they say?" he reasons.
"That's why we're taking Tier-1 operators and heavy weapons including armed drones, rockets, 50-calibers, M-16s, sniper rifles, Thermite grenades, javelins, mortars, and anything else we might need. It's a long list and I was told not to interfere with Commander Jacko."
"Who's Jacko?"
"He's a veteran Navy Seal Commander taking the lead on Navi. Jacko was on the ground against the war-bots. I'm told he's a great strategist and fearless warrior who the men will follow into hell."
"I never trusted the military establishment," Ben counters, shaking his head at the notion of Type-As on the journey. "They're all about killing."
"That's rather simplistic and not the impression I got talking to Commander Jacko, Ben. Think of his men as underpaid bodyguards who can take the fight to an enemy if we need them. When aboard Navi, you'll get briefings from Cyborg on potential Andromeda enemies. Believe me; you'll be glad to have them once hearing what Cyborg has to say about their enemies."
"Perhaps you're right, Richard. As a scientist, I didn't consider that part of the mission before volunteering. Why are aliens always hostile?" Savage follows, his statement raising doubts among many timid, largely naive, scientific types.
"Humans aren't ones to preach about hostility," Metz rebounds effectively. "Look at history, Ben. Every nation is or could be our enemy. Imagine Britain in the 1700s, Germany during WWII, Korea in the 1950s, Vietnam in the 1970s, Muslim extremists more recently, and so on."
The Alien Creator Page 22