by Shawn Keys
Kyle suggested, “There are ferries that run in from different cities along the coast.”
“I used one myself to confuse anyone looking for me when I came into the region.” She explained, “They get forgotten often enough in normal times. But once security gets tightened, they can control traffic on and off the boats as easily as they do an airplane. We’d be found.”
“Can you just wave us through?” Kyle asked.
“Maybe, but the entire point of being here is to remain covert. As soon as I use my badge, the local authorities will start demanding meetings and cooperation and formal reporting; that’s everything you don’t want to be doing right now if a hidden organization is hunting you.”
Kyle knew Jackie was right. “We could hire a small boat to take us across Puget Sound from up near Bremerton. They can’t be watching all the smaller, private docks.”
Jackie nodded. “If you hadn’t noticed, Bremerton is on the Kitsap Peninsula. They won’t be watching it because we have to go through Seattle, Tacoma or Olympia to get there.”
Chloe turned her phone around, showing off the map app on which she’d been searching. “See this? There’s a small bush pilot company operating off this lake in the Okanagan national forest. They aren’t as heavily regulated on their flights as large, commercial airlines. They can hop from aerodrome to aerodrome and put us down in one of the inlets. I’m not saying getting into the cities will be a breeze, but at least we’ll be coming from the other direction.”
Kyle shrugged. “Think they’ll help us?”
Chloe shrugged back. “I figure there’s a decent chance a rough and tumble bush pilot would find it down-right funny to thumb his nose at the Feds. No offense, Jackie.”
“None taken.”
Chloe went on, “But honestly, no need to overcomplicate things. Pay him well, hint that it’ll be fun, and that’ll win over pretty much anyone.”
Kyle glanced at Dazz, seeking her opinion.
It was Dazz’s turn to toss her shoulders in a shrug. She wasn’t an expert on any of it, and she wasn’t one to toss off random opinions when she didn’t know better.
Kyle said, “Well, then. We have a plan. About a dozen things could go wrong with it all, but at least the number isn’t in the hundreds anymore. I’ll take those odds.”
* * *
Reggie Fisher had a small, red LED installed under one corner of his desk at his public office. Positioned as it was, even with a dozen other people in the room looking at him from nearly every angle, he would be the only person who could see it blinking.
Even if a person did see it blinking, there was no indication as to what it meant. You’d just have to know what to do next. Only Reggie did.
He tapped it three times. No verbal cues. Electronic locks sealed his door. Perimeter scramblers and white noise generators filled every conceivable space around his office. A gnat-drone could be loitering inside his ventilation duct, and it wouldn’t hear anything except static.
That done, he twisted the LED’s base. His fingertips could feel the vibration of the clicks behind it, like he was turning a vault door’s combination dial. There were no numbers posted. He did it purely by feel. Six left, two right, three left, seven right. The balance brought him back to the same starting position, but he had activated all the proper tumblers. Pushing the base into its seat, it depressed only an eighth of an inch. That was enough to close the circuit and activate the wall screen on the far side of his office.
Up until then, that wall screen had been mimicking a painting. The dimples on the screen had enough texture that a casual eye would think it was real paint on a canvass. The border was far too ornate for any normal video screen. Reggie smiled. Hiding in plain sight. People see what they expect and want to see. Not the truth. Especially if the truth would threaten their whole world view.
The screen shifted to a simple black background. The white text declared the incoming call was Rita Marks, Director of the FDPC. In the real world, she was far more powerful than him. She had the ear of the President. She worked in tandem with similar organizations in other countries around the world. In her one person, she merged the normal operations of the FDPC with the shadow operations of the Dawn. Since the earliest iterations of their plans, the Council had known two things with abundant clarity. When the FDPC was created, they knew they would have to control as many field agents as possible. They also knew they would have to be the Head of that organization. Not the deputy or the assistant. The Head. They needed to make sure official declarations, policies, and legal advancements made were in tune with their hidden agenda and didn’t derail them. Holding this position was only slightly less important than control over the Center for Disease Control itself.
On the secret Council of the Dawn, they were peers. She might have more public influence, but she was trapped by that placement as well. Her two personae were integrally linked, whereas Reggie’s public work was completely different from the covert surveillance mandate given to him by his responsibility within the Dawn. He was their watchdog, including on the Dawn itself. If Rita ever had a traitor in her ranks, it would be Reggie who knew it first and warned her.
Reggie didn’t share the same disdain for VTCs as Andrew Lark. He found them eminently useful, especially when required for an emergency link to one of his Council peers. “Accept call.”
Rita appeared on the screen. As always, she was dressed in a conservative pant-suit that clung to a body that had no business being on a woman nearing sixty; her hair might show waves of grey, and there were crinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth from a life spent laughing and scowling in equal measure, but she had the trim physique of a woman half her age. Like Reggie, they were both from the highest end of the Superior standard pool, something referred to them in their highest circles as the ‘Platinum’ standard. With access to advanced health care combined with meticulous diet and physical fitness regiments, none of the Council expected to live any shorter than 120. Rita’s hair was flowing, short to her jawline, bouncing free with a soft wavy volume. Her eyes were a piercing grey that seemed to reach through the screen.
Without preamble, she said, “Heard you subverted my hub HQ in Seattle.”
Reggie leaned back in his chair, accepting the challenge without real concern. “Didn’t subvert anyone, Rita. I passed information and recommended a certain action to make the problem go away. I’m sure Lark advised you to the level you have required of him whenever he makes a decision. Keeping control of him is your job. Passing out critical information is mine. If he isn’t keeping you up to date, I suggest you tighten your reporting criteria.”
She scowled. “Oh, enough games. I know you’re very clever. You don’t have to keep proving it over and over.” She leaned against her desk in the video pick-up. “This has the potential to blow up a lot further than our original estimates. Lark was hinting that he is afraid this rogue anomaly might have gotten limited Task Mail access. Not live access, but a snapshot.”
“That’s trouble. Are we shutting down and shunting to secondary servers?”
“No. Not yet. Like I said, whatever damage was done is done. Rolling out the second wave of dongles would cost millions and take months of service interruptions while we iron out the problems. Can’t afford that right now.”
Reggie considered that. “Actually, I think switching might be even more dangerous. You’re saying this kid got a peek inside. Lark must be afraid he’ll try to get better access. If you start doing a swap-out, one might get lost a lot easier in the mix. And once done, we don’t have another back-up. Jenna’s people are still coding the second redundancy. Not surprising, considering we’ve never even come close to activating the back-up.”
Rita nodded. “I’ll encourage her to light a fire under her people. I want the secondary ready for the summer. We’ll do the swap then, if only to practice it.”
Reggie nodded, then switched back to what they had been talking about earlier. “This glimpse into Task Mail is probably ho
w the anomaly got the DOJ’s attention in the first place. Just enough to tempt them with some real facts. I was right to get Lark moving.”
“He isn’t the only one moving. Two more agents are dead.”
That made Reggie sit up a little straighter. “When?”
“Recently. Within the last few hours. Full reports are still coming in. Hasn’t even been picked up by national news, yet. It was reported first as a possible roadway accident. Then someone on the scene pointed out the bullet holes in the FDPC SUV with the crumpled hood, and the police on scene cordoned off the site immediately, then called us. Out people are there for spin control, but we’ll need to let some details out. Some of the locals heard the gunfire.”
Reggie frowned. “This kid is resilient; I’ll give him that.”
Rita nodded. “Not much to do at our level. Lark is on this. We can’t strip away from other divisions. They have their own work to do. I’ll have a word with Ben and have a couple strike teams repositioned from Montana and the Dakotas to improve our response time across the Northwest. Not having a better intervention time cost us today.” She growled. “Too much wilderness up there.”
Reggie restrained a smile. Rita was not an outdoors person. “I’ll back you up at the next Council meeting when Jennifer starts complaining about the costs of the training farms. Our rate of production needs to increase, from the sounds it.”
“Thanks.” It came out sarcastic, but Reggie knew there was sincerity behind it as well. Her expression softened. “Are you coming up the coast tonight?”
He gave a tired smile. She was at the FDPC HQ in Baltimore, while he was in Washington D.C.’s downtown core. Not a horrendous commute, given their access to helicopters, but…
He sighed. “Sorry. Need to be at the White House at first light.” Real regret tinted his reply.
“Save me your next Friday, then.”
“I’ll try.” They made the same promise every time they spoke. He still hadn’t been to her place in nearly two months. Their promises never evolved into firm plans, much less action.
She ended the VTC on her end, and Reggie leaned a little further back in his chair, leaving the privacy seals on for a little longer. He looked up at the mosaic on the ceiling, letting its calming pattern wash over him.
Balancing act. Always a balancing act. One on side, ultimate power and control of the whole world. On the other, an electric chair, if he was lucky.
One didn’t overthrow the world without playing dangerous games.
He let himself stew on the problem a few more seconds.
Then, he sat straight again and moved on to the next. It might not be as immediate as the Hutchings case, but there were always a dozen issues floating below the surface of society waiting to drag them all under.
It was his job to find the bombs before they exploded. He couldn’t ignore his search while the bomb squad was busy defusing the one that he had already handed them.
Chapter 4
The float plane took a rough hop as it touched down on the choppy water. Their pilot, Rick Mane, gave a rough laugh, flipping his long, white hair out of his face. “Told you we were right on the limits to set down.”
Kyle grabbed onto a bracing handle in the co-pilot seat, trying not to get shaken out of his chair. “We good?” Another wave made the plane skip a couple dozen feet before skimming back into contact.
Rick kept throttling down, giving a rough laugh as he rode the bucking machine and killed their speed before they were shaken to pieces. He knew his business. Bush pilots specialized in dropping into spots in the middle of the wilderness, especially at times when you really didn’t want to be going there if you were sane and normal. Landing in a bit of chop in an inlet off Puget Sound was a walk in the park for Rick.
Revving the prop, Rick taxied them into a sheltered bay. He pointed out the window at a thirty-five-foot, beamy boat covered with fishing gear bobbing at anchor. “There’s Jim, right on time.”
Kyle saw the grey-haired man in the baseball cap wave at them from the mid-sized fishing troller. A half dozen lines were propped on the boat’s side, drifting in the water in hopes of catching a bite while waiting for what he was hired for: bringing a small, unidentified group down the sound and dropping them off near Tacoma. The fishing boat was rocking with the lapping waves rippling off the circling plane.
Rick pointed at the small dinghy tied up outboard of the fishing boat. “He’ll be rowing that over to us. I’ll get you as close as I can. Get you and your friends ready. I’ll get the cargo hold open so we can unload your gear.” He took all power off the prop, setting them drifting. He pushed open his door, then slid out to walk down the pontoon toward the cargo hatch.
Kyle had been on a plane precisely four times in his life, but each time had been larger commercial variants. He had to admit, the hopping trip across the countryside dodging bad weather pockets wasn’t nearly the same thing. At first, he thought for sure the constant drone and hum was going to drive him mad, and he had balked every time the small airframe shook as it transitioned between air columns. Maybe he would get used to it in time, but he wasn’t regretting that trip was over for now.
He turned to look at the three women nestled in the back seats. “Everyone alright back there?”
Dazz looked nonplussed, her feet kicked up on the one empty seat. She didn’t get airsick, and from the blasé way she was looking out at the choppy water, she wasn’t scared about seasickness either. “Ready, ready.”
Jackie wasn’t shaken either. Kyle imagined she had seen a lot worse in her training and life of duty. Either that, or she was hiding it well. “I got a good feeling off Rick. Hope this Jim character is just as shady.”
Chloe didn’t seem bothered, though she wasn’t looking thrilled about the boat bobbing at anchor. “I wouldn’t say shady. Call it a semi-justified reluctance toward trusting authority figures.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t go flashing him that DOJ badge of yours. Might be counterproductive.”
Jackie chuckled. “Yeah, I guessed.”
Rick appeared back at the window. “Alright, then. Jim’s on his way over. This spot is pretty remote. Not a lot of border patrols up this way, and the coast guard spends more of its time further north in the sound where people cross over from Canada. Still, no reason to hang around giving them excuses. I want to be back at the Spada Lake aerodrome before sunset.”
Kyle shuffled around, pulling himself out onto the pontoon as well. Standing there waiting for Jim to throw him a rope from the approaching dinghy, Kyle said, “Appreciate all the help. Especially with so few questions.”
Rick shrugged, leaning up against the side of his plane. The air was chilly, but he was still wearing canvass shorts, a deep green t-shirt with pro-marijuana advertising, and flip-flops that didn’t stop him from handling his plane with a deft touch. “Don’t worry about it. I have great asshole-radar. You ain’t one of ‘em. I get the feeling yer looking to rub some high-and-mighty types a little raw, and I’m just fine with that.”
The rope came across. Kyle tied it down to a bollard on the pontoon.
Jim tugged on his oars once more until the rubber rim of the dinghy bumped against them. He reached out a hand, which Kyle took and shook firmly. Jim grinned up at him. “Typical Rick. He always brings me the best troublemakers.”
Kyle actually laughed a little. “We’ll try not to be any at all on the trip down.”
Jim chuckled back. “That’s right. Save it all up till you’re in the city.”
The offloading was quick. Rick hadn’t asked them what was in any of their bags, even the two that were long and suspiciously perfect for carrying around a pair of rifles, nor any of the heavy ones filled with contents that Dazz had called ‘incredibly fragile’. Jim wasn’t any more curious, blandly accepting that certain things were necessary for making some serious trouble.
It took them three trips with the small little inflatable boat, but Rick had got them close before dropping his own sea anchor. It was less tha
n ten minutes before all their bags were over on the fishing boat, along with Dazz and Jackie. Chloe gave Rick a quick hug, then hopped into the dinghy with Jim. Giving Rick a final handshake, Kyle was the last off the pontoon. He said, “Take it easy. Don’t get on anyone’s threat radar, hear me? Things might get bad in the near future.”
“What, you heard something? Or is this more about what you’re going to be doing to piss people off?”
“Little of both, Rick. Keep your head down.”
Rick snorted. “Nah. That ain’t no fun. I’ll do what I can to help who I can till they shoot me out of the sky. If you crawl through my area again, maybe I’ll take you up again. Got my number?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, then. Don’t be afraid to use it. I like a man with a good taste in women and lots of cold, hard cash. My sort of guy. Go piss people off.” He clicked his tongue, shooing him off, then headed back for the cockpit.
Giving a last small laugh at the man’s rough humor, Kyle dropped into the dinghy and let Jim row him over to his boat. “How long down to the city?”
Jim shrugged. “Oh, we ain’t gonna hurry. Don’t want to look suspicious or nothing. Plus, there is a bit of chop out there. We’ll hug the coastline, chug on down, then cross under the shelter of the lower sound. This boat ain’t fast. I’d say it’ll be about five hours.”
Kyle nodded, figuring the guy knew his trade. He wasn’t about to argue, having been out on the water only a couple times in his life, and only on ferries or surfboards.
Chloe nudged him, “Something’s wrong. Look at Dazz.”
Kyle glanced over to see Dazz pacing up and down the upper deck of the fishing boat, a phone clutched to her ear. She didn’t look angry. Rather, she looked like she was getting news she didn’t like. Kyle helped Jim secure the dinghy alongside his boat, clambered out, then worked with him to get the inflatable up in the hand-cranked crane to get it clear of the water so they didn’t have to tow it behind them.
