by E. N. Abel
It was early afternoon, so all shops were open and the briefcase could be forwarded to the science department, there to be disarmed and have the message extracted. Any attempt to open this special carrying case other than in the prescribed manner would end in smoking ruin and destroyed content. In spite of all the care this happened occasionally anyway and resulted in a covert signal back to the field officer, requesting a re-transfer. But this time it all went well: the watch officer took the case from the courier's hands and relieved him.
Neither courier nor watch officers knew what was in that case. Not that they cared; they just followed the commanded procedures.
Chapter 25
Beijing
Wednesday, 02.11.2016
A knock at his office door startled Xao from reading the afternoon report. This was very unusual, an unannounced visitor? Unthinkable. ''Enter.''
His assistant, Lieutenant Li, came in. He was excited and anxious at the same time and waved a paper envelope in his hand: ''General, a priority-one message from Sig-Int. Someone has used one of our communication satellites as a data relay.''
''So?'' Xao turned back to the report, feeling anger about the disturbance. ''That happens all the time. Damned hackers.''
''Yes, General,'' the assistant agreed hastily, ''I know, but the outgoing antenna points away from Earth. The receiver seems to be located in outer space.''
That caught Xao attention: ''We have the message copied?''
''Yes, General. It's not an email, it's a video stream, and it's encoded.''
''To be expected. Forward it to our decryption group.''
''I've taken the liberty to do so already.'' The lieutenant was clearly uncomfortable with his - unauthorized - action. ''They said it's ... difficult.''
That again meant something to Xao. Difficult spelled heavily encoded in his IT department's lingo, usually pointing to CIA or NSA traffic. ''Well done,'' he allowed graciously, waving the man away: ''You may leave now.''
While the aide cleared out of his office, the General leaned back. A relay in outer space ... what had the last report from Switzerland revealed? Not CERN had come up with the antigrav technology, but an unknown group who wanted to develop an interstellar drive system? And that their communication ran through one of our satellites? With the receiver in deep space? A first trail ....
That was all he needed.
Chapter 26
Geneva/CERN
Wednesday, 02.11.2016
Things progressed rapidly. The morning following the video conference, Kaiser and Whitewater had officially declared themselves as project board, put together a new project, named it 'Task-Force AM' and dropped its management into the lap of one Dr Randolph Jennings, an external American master of business administration, specialising in high profile projects.
Twenty years younger than both Kaiser and Whitewater, he held a time-proven kick-ass reputation and had been involved in practically every important project in the last five years - at the latest when they threatened to come apart. His word was gold: if he named an end date, the project was ready by it. If he called it doomed, it failed. No exceptions.
Under Jennings' scrutiny Kaiser and Whitewater had drawn hand-selected scientists and engineers from other projects and allocated them to five work groups: evaluation, verification, construction, operation, logistics.
After assigning an eight-figure budget to Jennings, the two older men just had to say ''Go'' and lean back.
Following that, Jennings immediately held a kick-off meeting late in morning of Day One, project time calendar, pointing each of the teams to their tasks and making sure everybody understood what was at stake. At the end of the conference he downloaded the parts list from the web site - it contained neither supplier references nor prices - and dropped it with a laconic 'How much?' onto his logistics team.
The evening meeting at ten o'clock brought the first results. The team leader logistics, a sturdy Swiss woman with the name of Margaret Mayerling, slid a small, stapled document over to Jennings, displaying just one fat number and two words on the title page. Surprised he looked up at her, then read the text out loud to the breathlessly waiting group: ''Four hundred forty five thousand dollars, seven days. Tolerances: budget plus-minus twenty percent, time plus-minus ten.''
That caused an uproar. Compared to the price tag attached to even a small high energy experiment, four hundred fifty thousand was just pocket change, not even enough to cover the coffee-and-cookie costs.
It took Jennings nearly fifteen minutes to cool things down, then he turned to Mrs Mayerling - nobody called her Margaret - with the more important question: ''Why seven days?''
''Most of the stuff we can buy in local DIY markets here in Geneva and its neighbourhood.'' She held up her hands, waving away the upcoming objections, ''I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it's a fact. Mostly plastic boards and drainage pipes, electrical cords in several sizes, metal tubes, lots of Scotch tape, varnish, loads of glass fibre mats and glue. A few kilometers of copper wire. Only one speciality: we need about twenty tons of pure, raw iron. Now, that's a rarity and we have to order it from Sweden. And fly it in. That will take a total of seven days.''
''What do we need it for?'' someone threw in.
Mrs Mayerling shrugged, nodded over to the Head of Construction, CERN's chief engineer Martin Hastings.
''For the creation chamber, the magnet tunnel connecting it to the injector filling station and the filling station itself,'' Hastings explained. ''Pure iron is very helpful to focus the magnetic forces.''
''Fly in? Twenty tons?'' one of the teams physicist asked critical.
''Shipping takes too long,'' Mrs Mayerling explained. ''I'm planning to use one of the smaller airfreight carriers. We've done that before, no problem there. Also customs has no interest in that metal. Just that you guys,'' and she nodded to the construction crew, ''have to turn the raw iron into pipes and plates ...''
The Head of Construction waved off: ''No sweat, Mrs Mayerling, we already possess a grinder and a small blasting furnace from other experiments and my crew has started building some casting moulds. We don't even have to melt the stuff, the specs say sintering is enough. Easy as pie. Just get it here.''
''But seven days,'' Jennings nagged.
''Sorry,'' Mrs Mayerling held her place. ''Nothing to be done about it.''
On the other side of the conference table a man lifted his hand, like in school. It was Professor Dr Charlton Reeves, a British nuclear physicist running a high-energy experiment for his university here at CERN and attending this meeting on Kaiser's personal invitation. This move had made Jennings wonder at first, as the whole project was kept under a very tight lid, but he knew Kaiser well and assumed that there was a reason behind it. So now he just nodded towards Reeves: ''Sir?''
The professor turned to Hastings: ''Would it matter if the iron was heavily magnetised and slightly polarized? ''
''Nope. It will have to encompass a very powerful magnetic bottle anyway, with fields a few thousand times stronger than any natural magnetism.'' This explanation wasn't meant for Reeves's benefit, and both knew it. ''And the polarisation will be lost during the sintering process.''
''Good, I thought so. Maybe I can add something to your cause after all.'' He tilted his head a bit. ''We do have an old neutrino collector in our wing, you know, constructed of four inch cubes of highly pure iron. It was used for years during the Neutrino-Mass experiments, but now it's only sitting around, wasting space. You would just have to come and get it - and to grind it up, of course. Want it?''
Hastings nodded eagerly: ''Oh yes, sir, absolutely!''
''And I can throw in some isolated copper wires too, about five or six kilometers, if I remember correctly. We used it as wrapping for our old conductor coils, but besides that they are as good as new. I can have some helpers reel them up for you by day after tomorrow.''
The head of construction smiled broadly: ''Christmas in October. Looks like I'm buying the beer tonight. Thank y
ou, Professor Reeves.''
The man just nodded.
''Three days,'' was all Margaret Mayerling had to add.
Taking a deep breath, Jennings turned to his assembled team: ''Not bad for starters, people, not bad at all.'' He looked at his watch and continued: ''But our chief engineer is wrong about one thing: I'm buying the beer tonight. Lets adjourn to the club.''
Chapter 27
Beijing
Thursday, 03.11.2016
General Lian Xao was dissatisfied, a condition considered gravely dangerous by his staff members. Sitting at the head of his conference table, he let his hawk eyes pass over the assembled group: his division's heads, their assistants and assorted specialists, and not one dared to look into his face. Even without a preliminary report or quiet leak their failure was obvious. As was their fear.
''What is it,'' he grumbled. ''Have we gone soft? Have we lost our bite? Where is the information I requested?''
After a longer moment of silence a petite, pretty woman in her mid-twenties, rose. Xao remembered seeing her at one of the desks in the IT division's open-plan office - obviously a top computer scientist - they all were - in a minor position. Eyes on the table top in front of her she admitted: ''Sir, we've been unable to decode the video stream.''
''Why?'' Knowing how it worked and suspecting her to be the selected scape-goat of the IT division, the General demonstrated anger anyway.
''We are not sure,'' the young woman replied, ''but we believe the encoding was done in a fractal algorithm.''
The word fractal jogged something in the General's memory, but he didn't recall it in detail: ''And we cannot break it?''
''No, sir, up to today no-one can break it.''
''Nonsense. An encoded message no-one can decode is senseless.''
''That's not entirely correct, sir,'' the young IT specialist dared to contradict, ''For one thing the sense of the message does not have to lie within the message text, but in the existence of the message itself. And second: decoding is not breaking.''
The assembled group held their collective breath. Lecturing the chairman like that was utterly dangerous.
Xao, stone faced, smiled inwardly. He knew exactly what this girl meant, and it was this approach that made her interesting. This was the thinking of an intelligence professional, not that of a third-row IT puke. ''You think that's the case here?''
''No,'' the young woman finally looked up to her superior, shook her head. ''Actually I think it's encrypted with a fractal code and only the holder of the key can read it. The receiver probably holds a plug-in for his video player software that does the decoding while loading the message .'' She paused, turning her eyes down to the table again.
''Continue.''
''Yes, sir. After I was positive that I couldn't break the code, I took a closer look at the traffic pattern.''
The Head of Intelligence noticed her unconsciously changing from we to I. Just as he suspected, she had been set up by her boss: probably had that job thrown into her lap, expecting her to fail.
''My analysis has shown that this is not just a clip transfer,'' she continued, ''but a two-sided communication, a video conference of sorts. This implies that the encoding/decoding had to take place in real time. That's very advanced stuff.''
''And we are not able to do the same?'' Xao amusedly recited the ever-present mantra of Western superiority.
The young woman looked up again: ''Granted the resources, of course we can, sir. And the transmission would be just as illegible by others as this one is for us.''
''So what do you suggest?''
''The possibilities of IT are at an end, sir. No key, no decoding. Use other means - I'm sure you have them.''
Everyone around the table gasped, knowing that the woman's fate was on the brink of destruction. The Head of IT was amazed: that smart-mouth had done it again, lectured the chairman.
Inexplicably Xao did not explode but demonstrated a wholly unexpected leniency. Leaning towards her, he just asked: ''What makes you think that?'' The General was a hard ass, but in no way stupid; he urgently needed clever people; this meeting had just turned into a talent search.
''We discovered a trap door in one of our satellite's software.'' she replied. ''It had a signature, but no known one, like from CIA, NSA or SVR. Someone else planted it there. Very advanced, I couldn't remove it without endangering the satellite. And that wasn't worth it: in the end it doesn't matter. The software doesn't hijack the satellite, just ensures that a video stream with a specific header is routed to an outward pointing antenna. And pick up the return signal from out there, relaying it back to Earth.''
''So?''
''Sir,'' she looked directly at him now, ''we have never suspected anything, would never have looked into that satellite's code. No reason, you know. It behaved absolutely normal and the automated test programs showed nothing. But someone ordered us to look, and told us where to do so. My guess: the order came from you. And I also suspect you know the content of the video conference already.''
That made the participants look at each other in horror: nobody dared talk to the General like that and survived.
But Xao, still stony-faced, merely followed up: ''So you do, eh? Why is that?''
''Someone must have told you about the hijacked satellite in the first place, and it wasn't us, that much is sure. Also people who use such elegant communication methods usually don't discuss their secrets in the open. So I bet that you have someone inside their inner circle. Telling you more than just the satellite's name.''
''You think so?'' The General clearly was amused. ''Would you like to take a closer look into what you called 'other means'?''
The young woman found herself trapped somehow: ''If you think I can be of help, of course.''
''What is your name?''
''Chan Li, General.''
Xao nodded decisively at his Head of Analysis: ''Move her over to your department, give her a desk and brief her on the matter. I want her to see everything we have on this case.''
''Yes, General.'' The division chief, caught off guard by this unexpected development, traded a quick look with his counterpart from IT. He understood perfectly: in a private conversation earlier that day his colleague had revealed to him that this girl was a smart-mouthed nuisance and had only been brought to this meeting to take the blame for the department's failure, as a scape-goat. But now the chairman had decided to take her on board - without consulting his subordinates and without knowing anything about the woman's past. This was intolerable and had to be corrected - carefully. The woman's fall wasn't off the table, just delayed a bit. He would see to that.
Xao noticed the quiet exchange between the two head-men and saw his initial suspicion confirmed. That was one of the main problems in China's administration nowadays: the constant plotting. Well, probably not only in China. It acted as a brake to progress and caused a massive suppression of the urgently needed new, mostly young, talents. Displeased, he decided to give his new apprentice a fairer chance. Turning back to the woman, he said: ''You report to me directly, Chan.'' That made her factually a member of his personal staff and would caution the lurking wolves. ''One piece of advice, though:'' he added, lifting a finger in a stern warning. ''Distrust everyone and everything.''
''Yes, General.'' Chan nodded her gratitude. ''Thank you.''
Chapter 28
Spangdahlem
Thursday, 03.11.2016
Mike was standing in front of his project plan and scoring off the finished events. Not many remained open, but they were the most important ones: after the successful pressure-test of the sphere yesterday, only the stress and performance tests of the absolutely vital antimatter driven parts remained: AM reactor, photonic converter bank and the antigrav unit itself. Not that Mike feared they would fail, he just wanted to be one hundred and fifty percent sure.
Think about it: flying around in deep space enclosed in a fifteen meter plastic balloon with a four inch wall comprised of multiple layers of fi
breglass and aluminium rescue blankets, propelled by a garage-made anti-gravitational drive, energized by a DIY antimatter plant and then trying to slip through a fucking hole pierced through the fabric of space/time - now, that was wild enough for Mike's taste. You had to be more than slightly nuts to pull off such a stunt, and he didn't really feel the need for any additional uncertainties. And speaking of uncertainties: there was the star drive of course, a totally different animal.
That was the one, massive problem that really pained him: to perform a proper test, you needed the completed system and - time. Plenty of time. But Mike suspected their time was running out fast. Half an hour ago his Intel guys had dropped a paper titled 'intelligence estimate' on his table, and its content had added to Mike's sorrows: the Chinese had discovered the misuse of their satellite. They had tried - in vain - to remove the trap door patch and to regain full control. Not that it mattered (there were other ways of communicating with CERN now) but that document also predicted a ninety five percent probability for an in-depth investigation by the Chinese intelligence service to follow.
That was less pleasant, but had also been anticipated beforehand and classified as an acceptable risk by the steering committee. It didn't even matter that it was the Chinese who turned on them now; with an American or Russian satellite it would have been the same. Just planting the trap door might have been slightly harder.
But the real bad news was that the Chinese must have acted on a hunch - the patch was far too deeply buried in the satellite's operating system to be found by any test software. That meant the hint must have come from outside to them, and considering their situation, Mike thought it most likely it came from inside CERN.