The Agenda, page 15
Rick Kane turned toward him, blood caking the side of his face from where Medina had coldcocked him earlier. “Why are you doing this?”
Medina’s stared at each of them. “Because your sons are in our way. When this is over, you’ll be released.” He turned to leave then stopped, raising a finger. “Assuming they don’t do anything stupid.” He stepped outside and pulled the door shut, the electronic lock beeping, the indicator turning red.
He peered down the long corridor, door upon door lining both sides, the underground storage facility converted in the eighties for Assembly purposes. He and his team strode toward the Watchman’s office, a quick rap on the door prompting a buzzer to sound. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the lone occupant putting down a half-eaten sandwich.
“All done?”
“Yes.”
“Papers?”
Medina motioned and one of his men handed over two files. The Watchman quickly scanned the bar codes on the coversheet of each file, the computer pulling up their info.
“Anything I should be aware of?”
Medina shook his head. “No, they won’t be a problem. None have any medical conditions that require active treatment, and none have any special training. Just ignore them. If anything happens, just contact me, I’ll deal with it.”
“You want me to Code Nine them?”
Medina thought for a moment. Code Nine meant the security monitoring would be disabled. It was used in special cases where the Assembly didn’t want even the Watchman knowing what was going on inside a cell. He nodded. “Let’s.”
The Watchman tapped a few keys, one of the security monitors going blank, a white on red message appearing, “Code Nine.”
Medina’s eyes narrowed and he motioned to another display with the same message. “You’ve got another Code Nine?”
The Watchman glanced over at the other monitor. “Yeah, it was like that when I came in.”
“Who’s in there?”
He shrugged. “No idea. Once it’s declared Code Nine, the monitors are off, and the files are sealed.” He motioned toward his terminal. “Do you want me to set an expiry?”
Medina shook his head. An expiry entry could mean multiple things. Either the time left before you wanted the occupants killed, or the time you wanted them automatically released. This, of course, didn’t mean the opening of their cage, it meant a humane gassing, then removal, where they’d be placed in some public location where they would wake and move on with their lives.
In his case, his orders were to hold until further orders were received. Nothing more. “Negative.”
“Okay.”
Medina gestured toward the other Code Nine. “Does that one have an expiry?”
The watchman tapped a few keys. “Yup. End of the day.”
Medina nodded. “Okay, we’re out of here.” He turned, exiting the Watchman’s office, and strode down the corridor, his men following. He eyed the cell with the Code Nine.
And shuddered.
One of these days, that could be me.
Sobbing hugs were exchanged before Rick Kane sat on one of the two beds, his wife beside him, the Lerouxes opposite.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” asked Mark Leroux.
“It has something to do with our boys.”
The Leroux’s exchanged nervous glances.
“What? Do you know something?”
Mark looked at his wife who nodded. “Our son works for the CIA.”
Rick batted away the offering as if it were worthless. “Bah! Everyone in town knows that. It’s not exactly a State secret.”
Liz Leroux appeared almost hurt. “Oh, well, we were told not to talk about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”
Rick shrugged. “Don’t remember.”
“Dylan told us.”
Rick nodded at his wife. “That’s right, it was Dylan.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he do that?” His eyes widened. “And how would he know?”
Rick leaned against the wall, trying to get comfortable for what he feared would be a long wait. “Like I said, it’s not exactly a secret.”
“You mean others know?”
Mark shrugged then thought back. Had he ever actually heard anyone else mention it? Had he mentioned it? The Lerouxes weren’t exactly a topic of conversation. They knew each other through their boys when they were friends in high school, but other than that, there hadn’t been much contact beyond the occasional encounter at the grocery store or Home Depot. “I…don’t know. Come to think of it, maybe I only ever heard it from Dylan.” He shrugged. “Sorry, maybe you’re right. But I doubt your boy has anything to do with this.”
Mark stared at him. “We’re here, and they told us it was because of him, so obviously he has something to do with it.” Mark jabbed a finger in the air at him, pissed for some reason. “What does your boy have to do with any of this? He’s just an insurance agent.”
“He is not an insurance agent!” cried Jenn. “He’s an insurance investigator. Big difference!”
Rick held up a hand to quieten her. “No, he’s not. It turns out that was just a cover story.” His chest swelled with pride. “Our boy’s a spy.”
The Lerouxes exchanged glances then burst out laughing. “Dylan? A spy? I think someone’s been pulling your leg, Rick. Don’t you think if he were, Chris would have told us?”
“If he wasn’t allowed to tell us, why the hell would you think your son, the minor analyst, would be authorized to tell you, or even be privy to that kind of intel?”
“Privy to that kind of intel? Do you hear yourself? And I’ll have you know, my son is not some minor analyst, he’s an Analyst Supervisor now, with his own team of ten. He runs ops and everything for the CIA. Why, if your son is a spy, my son is probably ordering his narrow little ass all over the place!”
Rage flared and Rick leaped to his feet, his opponent doing the same. The wives intervened, his own shouting at him.
“Sit the hell down, Rick! We’re in this together. This isn’t a competition. Obviously, both our boys are important, and both are in the CIA.”
“Exactly,” agreed Liz, pushing her husband back onto the bed. “We need to all calm down and figure out what we’re going to do. Now’s the time for us to come together, not tear ourselves apart.”
Mark nodded and rose, extending a hand. “I’m sorry, Rick. I’m just angry, and I took it out on you.”
Rick shook the hand then pulled Mark in for a thumping hug. “Forget about it. I was an asshole.”
“Yes you were, but so was I.” Mark grinned. “Two assholes locked in a room together can be dangerous.”
They both sat, and Rick glanced around at the plain room, his eyes settling on the door. A door with no handle. “What the hell is this place?”
Mark shook his head. “No idea. Our heads were covered when we were brought in. It sounded kind of closed in though, like a narrow hallway or something. Our footsteps echoed, you know?”
“Yeah, I noticed the same thing. We arrived in a car or something, and it was parked inside. We went through a security door—”
“How do you know it was a security door?”
“I heard a buzzer sound then the door opened.”
“Oh.”
“Then we walked. Somebody asked where the ‘other two’ were, somebody else said ‘Cell Sixteen,’ then we walked some more, and here we are.” Rick flicked his wrist at the Lerouxes. “I guess you were the ‘other two.’”
“Yeah, same thing with us, except when that same question was asked, they were told you hadn’t arrived yet.”
Rick closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly realizing how tired he was. They hadn’t slept all night, and it had to be morning by now. He checked his watch, only to remember it had been removed. “Does anybody have a watch?”
Everyone checked, head shakes the response.
“I guess they don’t want anyone knowing what time it is.”
Mark grunted. “Or they think we have some sort of fancy James Bond type watches that can send secret signals to our sons.”
Rick chuckled. “Something tells me it isn’t like the movies.” He sighed. “So what do we do now?”
“I think we sit and wait. If our sons really are involved, then they know we’ve been taken, otherwise, why would they take us?”
Rick looked at Mark. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re obviously some sort of leverage or ransom play, right? That only works if the other party knows we’ve been taken. Didn’t that guy say something like, ‘because your sons are in the way?’”
Jenn nodded, and she jabbed at the air between them. “Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly what he said. Then he said that we’d be released, assuming they didn’t do anything stupid, or something like that.”
Rick pursed his lips as he drew in a breath. “Okay, that could be a problem.”
Liz’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because my Dylan is an idiot who is always doing something stupid.”
“I always thought Dylan was a fine young man,” said Liz.
“Who quit college and quit the military, who quit everything he ever started.”
Rick’s wife turned on him. “Rick! You know that isn’t true! He left college to fight for his country! And now you know he never quit the Army, he joined the CIA to become a spy!”
Rick frowned, nodding slowly. He was still processing this new bit of history-redefining information. Everything he knew about his son for the better part of the past decade was a lie. And he had treated his son like shit because of it. He was an asshole, an asshole of the worst sort. He had shunned his own son.
You’re a horrible father.
His wife squeezed his hand, staring up at him, as if she knew what he was thinking.
Mark broke the awkward silence. “So your son’s a spy. You must be so proud!”
Rick squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the burn, allowing only a quick nod.
“Yes, we are,” replied his wife for him. “Very proud. Shocked too, to be honest. I always knew something was going on. He could never really look me in the eye when I’d ask him about his job. He seemed distant, almost ashamed. I had always assumed he was ashamed of what his crotchety old father felt about it, but now I guess he was ashamed of having to lie to his mother.” She sighed, and Rick opened his eyes, knuckling them dry. “The poor dear.”
Rick sucked in a deep breath. “So, back to the question of the hour. If we’re being held because of what our sons do for a living, what do we do about it?”
Mark shrugged. “What can we do about it?” He motioned at the room. “We’re locked in a room with no door knob, with a camera watching us at all times. I think we should sit tight and let our boys deal with it. If they’re good enough to piss people like this off, then they’re good enough to save us.”
Rick felt another surge of pride at the words. Mark was right. Their boys would save them. And then they’d have a long overdue conversation.
Father and son.
44
Assembly Command and Control Facility
Unknown Location
Roger Croft entered the control center, a smile on his face, well-rested for the first time in too long. The operation was on near autopilot now, his team well trained, having rehearsed this operation for over a year, and performed mini-dry runs to test their abilities to penetrate government and private systems, for even longer. With Internet hacks, it was far too easy to make it appear someone else was behind it, and when those looking for someone to blame were involved, they almost always jumped at the first piece of evidence they found.
He and the others had enjoyed a good chuckle when the Americans had blamed the Russians for hacking a power plant because a remnant of code once used by the Russians was found. That was akin to blaming Japan for a car bomb because a Toyota was used.
Laughable.
Yet convenient.
Everyone was hoping it was the Russians, Chinese, or North Koreans. It wouldn’t have fit the narrative if it were the Iranians, since there was a shiny new treaty with them at the time.
And when this operation was over, the proper breadcrumbs would be laid, and there would be someone to blame, someone who could never be forgiven, and Cold War 2, already underway with Russia’s renewed belligerence, would coalesce into something that would last decades, every bit as fierce as it had been from the 50s to the 80s.
And in the ensuing decades, mankind would advance by leaps and bounds, peace would once again be reached, and this time the annoyance that had helped destroy it this time, would be eliminated, or at a minimum, dramatically curtailed.
He stared at the displays, the chaos continuing. “Status?”
“They’re starting to organize.”
“As expected. Status of the Offutt Air Force Base op?”
“Unknown. Until they’re finished, our operatives have no way to communicate with us. We expect late afternoon, early evening, before we can trigger the endgame.”
Croft drew in a quick breath, unable to suppress his excitement. “Things will never be the same.”
His senior controller smiled broadly. “Agreed. And mankind will never know who they have to thank for their next great leap forward.”
Croft put a hand on the man’s shoulder, pride washing over him. “The Assembly is eternal.”
45
Temporary Quarters, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“Are you ready?”
Katz remained seated, trying to assess Kane’s mood. His tone was curt, and the tautness of the muscles in his neck and face suggested annoyance, if not outright anger. She was leaning toward anger. After all, she had made them wait almost half a day.
But there was a method to her perceived madness, for it was never madness with her.
Madness implied emotion, something she was never driven by. To say she wasn’t extremely motivated, would also be false. She was. Though death was something she didn’t fear, it wasn’t something she welcomed. She enjoyed her life, such as it was. There was satisfaction in doing a job well, of accomplishing something she had set out to do.
And there were the small pleasures. At times, she did find herself not driven by emotion, but driven to experience it. They were there, buried deep within, and those rare occasions they did surface, they were enjoyable, even if they were negative.
They were something, a distant memory from her childhood that part of her yearned to experience once again.
And to do that, she had to remain alive, and to ensure she did, the Assembly had to be removed from the equation so hit squads the world over would stop searching for her. And a motivated American government would be her best hope of achieving her goals.
She rose, tugging her skintight leather jacket down slightly, her man-distracting cleavage bouncing with a pop. “Yes.”
Kane motioned toward the four-inch heels on her boots. “You’re going to fight in those?”
She clicked one on the tile floor, the metallic sound giving away her secret. “I always train in what I’m going to wear. They’re solid metal. One kick and I can crush a man’s skull in.” She stared at him. “Care to test them?”
He gave her a look. “Let’s just keep those puppies on the floor, shall we?”
She smiled slightly. “I’ll need my weapons.”
“Out of the question.”
She sat. “Then I guess your girlfriend dies.”
He glared at her. “Why do you need a weapon?”
“Weapons.” She stressed the S.
“Okay, weapons.”
“Because, Special Agent, we’re going to be kidnapping someone. Someone who is very well-guarded.”
46
Seattle FBI Field Office
Seattle, Washington
“Any luck with that number yet?”
The FBI tech shook his head, and Special Agent LaForge frowned. “How hard can it be to trace a phone number?”
“It’s VoIP, so the number can be from anywhere.”
“What do you mean? It still has to link back somewhere, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but when you create an account, you can pick what area code you want to use. You can be sitting in Pittsburgh, and make it look like you’re in Kansas City.”
LaForge exhaled loudly, dropping into a chair. “So the number’s useless?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m running a trace on it now. I’ve got a buddy at the NSA who’s running it through their system. We should know pretty soon every single call made to or from that number.”
LaForge’s eyebrows rose. “Is that legal?”
“Hell no. Is that a problem?”
“Not according to my orders. Apparently, the word from the top is to not worry about the courts, and worry about the country.”
The tech grunted. “We’re all going to lose our jobs when this is done.”
“Yup. But if this doesn’t stop, we’ll be losing them anyway.” His partner entered the room. “Anything?”
Alfredson shook her head. “No, like you suspected, there’s no way Bixby was running anything from there. He’s got dial-up Internet, for Christ’s sake. I ran his home phone records, and we’re rounding up the people he called. Mostly just locals, a few out of state that might be related to the Utopians, but I don’t think he has anything to do with this beyond what his letter said.”
LaForge sighed. The letter had been detailed though brief. He claimed responsibility in that he had come up with the kernel of a plan, communicated it with some unknown person, then been told to leave Seattle. He felt responsible, couldn’t live with what he had done, and wanted his wife and kids to know he loved them, and was sorry. Beyond leaving the phone number he had been communicating with, and the single Gmail address he had sent his plan to, there were no other details that were of use.
The Gmail account had been opened by Tiberius Kirk the day of the initial communication, and closed the day after the final email was sent. The address was 24-593 Federation Drive, San Francisco, the apparent address of Starfleet Headquarters, and the account’s security question had a mother’s maiden name of Uhura. They were clearly meant to think some über-dork had created the account, though he wasn’t so sure. So much of what they had uncovered to this point was misdirection. The Utopians had been a red herring, meant to waste valuable time. The email address was a dead end, and this phone number would likely end up the same.
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