Operation Indigo Sky

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "All right –"

  I was speaking into a dropped connection. I shrugged off my irritation and called Markus, telling him where I was. I took my time finishing my meal, trying to relax and let my digestion do its thing while my brain was churning with anticipation.

  I purchased a newspaper and ambled out to the parking lot. I didn't have a car to wait in, but found a bench on a sidewalk with a clear view of the parking lot entrances. I figured I'd be conspicuous enough for her to see me while not standing out. I ruffled open the newspaper and started reading, wondering if I'd missed anything earthshaking in the last couple of days.

  Cars entered and exited the parking lot, but none of them held single women. Then a grey Lexus sedan rolled in, a long-haired woman at the wheel. It headed straight for me and parked facing me across the sidewalk. Bingo.

  I got up, casually folding my newspaper in keeping with my newly minted spy status, and strolled over to the passenger side. The doors unlocked. I opened the front passenger door and slid in. For a surreal moment the woman sitting beside me seemed to be an extension of the luxurious latte brown interior with her tanned jeans and blouse and dark golden brown hair.

  My first impression was that she was stunning – but no, she was merely a decent-looking lady in her mid to late-forties: good straight nose, strong chin, and intense grey eyes. What made her seem hot was her air of no-nonsense authority and the "take no shit" attitude.

  "Mr. Jones, I presume," she said.

  "That's me."

  "You're young."

  "Thanks?"

  She stared through the windshield, her lips tight, ignoring me as if she were weighing the possibility of aborting our meeting. But after a long moment and a quick shake of her head she seemed to resign herself to dealing with a middle school intermediary.

  "I'm Elaine Waters." She didn't offer her hand, but kept her eyes on her rearview mirror.

  "I didn't see anyone following you," I said, "for what that's worth."

  "Very little. There are many ways to follow someone now that don't involve a physical presence. My car's GPS and Lexus Link system, for instance."

  "Is it possible to turn that off?"

  She shook her head. "Not without disabling a number of critical systems. My mechanic told me that even with no GPS input the system will still know your location."

  "Neat trick." I'd looked into that some time back when Bill 1813, which made GPS tracking mandatory for all new cars, was passed by the Senate – happily, it didn't pass the House – but I'd forgotten most of the technical details. "They can also track you by cell, of course, even when it's turned off."

  "Which is why I'm carrying one purchased with cash without indentification."

  "So am I. And not only does my car not have GPS tracking, even if it did it's currently registered to someone else and it's at a hotel a half-mile away. I walked here." I'd asked Sergeant Markham to delay filing the paperwork for a couple of weeks, which he was happy to do. "And I'm paying cash for everything. No one knows where I am at this point – not even the all-seeing NSA."

  "Good."

  I waited for her to say more, but she was still weighing her options.

  "Are you ready to tell me more about yourself and what you have?" I heard a thin note of impatience in my voice which I resolved to weed out. "Feel free to ask me more questions, of course."

  "How long have you been working for Dr. Killian?"

  "For a while. Not too long."

  "What is your principal line of work?"

  "Computer programming. I own a software development company." That sounded impressive enough, I thought, but I had a feeling it wasn't going to match her resume.

  "How did you connect with Dr. Killian?"

  "I contacted him with information about a, uh, friend." I decided to leave out the blogger part, thinking that would sound "dilettante." "A whistleblower in the Air Force about the military spraying program."

  "Chemtrails are real?" She sounded more surprised than skeptical.

  "Something about them is." I shrugged. "Anyway, after we talked about that, Professor Killian made me an offer to work as an investigator, which I maybe foolishly accepted."

  "Computer programmer doesn't exactly cry 'private investigator,' except perhaps in the hacktivist sense."

  "You're afraid you might be entrusting your career to an amateur."

  "Perhaps more than merely my career." She turned to face me. "Dr. Killian said that my identity would be absolutely protected. Are you prepared to do that?"

  "Of course."

  "When you're in chains in a room full of federal agents threatening you with life-imprisonment?"

  I smiled, though I was squirming inwardly at that image.

  "I won't reveal who you are," I said, meeting her cool, grey-eyed gaze. "No matter what."

  "Brave words from a computer programmer. I wonder how long you'd hold up under waterboarding."

  "I've been waterboarded." A hint of anger invaded my voice – but it was more about the memory than her comment. It was good seeing her cool expression collapse with surprise.

  "Really? When?"

  "In SERE school. A little piece of heaven called Warner Springs a few hundred miles south of here."

  Her face relaxed in comprehension. "Military training. You were a SEAL?"

  "Marine."

  "I apologize. I hope you can understand why I might be concerned about your reliability."

  "I might understand better if you told me what we're up against."

  She nodded with grave reluctance. "I'm Dr. Elaine Waters, Chief Scientist for the FDA. I'm also D irector of the Office of Counterterrorism and Emerging Threats. I have a background in biosecurity, including being an advisor on biodefense programs for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services."

  I wasn't sure what exactly the Chief Scientist did in the FDA, but I was duly impressed.

  "Scientists from CBER contacted me about anomalies they'd discovered in recent vaccines." She noted my blank look. "Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research. It's a branch within the FDA that that regulates biological products for people."

  "What anomalies? Thimerosal?"

  "No." Her voice held contempt. "Thinerosal has either been removed or reduced from most vaccines – not that there was ever any scientifically sound reason to believe it causes harm. In fact, one of the anomalies is actually enabled by an absence of mercury: mycoplasma fermentans. To be accurate, what appears to be a mutated form of mycoplasma fermentans. From our samplings, this organism has contaminated virtually all vaccines from every major manufacturer."

  I swallowed, feeling the old familiar chill at the mention of "contamination" and an organism with a nasty-sounding scientific name.

  "But that's not all," Dr. Waters continued. "The scientists also discovered the presence of nagalase."

  "I – I've heard about that." I patted down some hairs bristling on the back of my neck. "It's a chemical produced by cancer cells and viruses, right?"

  "A protein/enzyme. It precisely targets and disables the GcMAF production facilities on the surface of your T and B lymphocytes."

  "Which isn't a good thing."

  "It's a very bad thing, especially for those lacking adequate Vitamin D."

  "Can I ask what a mycoplasma is?"

  "It's a type of bacteria that lacks a cell wall, which makes it invulnerable to many common antibiotics ."

  "I take it's dangerous to people."

  "It's been implicated in various auto-immune diseases, without any clear resolution. However, the e pidemiology of this new strain is unknown even to that extent."

  I frowned as I worked to process that. "So...what happened then?"

  "We were told, in military parlance, to stand down."

  "By whom?"

  "The Commissioner." She flipped her hair back, grim disbelief on her face, as if she were still struggling with that fact. "I also received visits from the DHS and the FBI confirming that I would take no action
regarding the contaminated vaccine. They encouraged me in the strongest terms to speak to no one about it."

  "What exactly did they say to you?"

  "That at a minimum I would lose my job and be detained indefinitely as an enemy combatant."

  "Whoa." I stared at her. "Did they say why they were doing this?"

  "The Commissioner didn't say anything other than that the order to drop any inquiries into the vaccines came straight from the Whitehouse. The DHS and FBI merely stated 'national security.'"

  "How in the hell could dispensing contaminated vaccines be about national security?"

  "Believe me, I asked that – more than once. I was told to stop asking."

  For a moment, I was speechless. That the top levels of our government would issue such an order... Suddenly I thought of Janine's description of the fungus they'd developed which appeared to link up with the massive spraying program. This vaccine business seemed to follow a similar theme, though I couldn't quite connect the dots.

  "That order wasn't something I could live with," said Elaine. "So here I am."

  "I appreciate your courage." I frowned, wanting to get this right. "How dangerous do you think this mycoplasma and nagalase contamination could be?"

  "Mycoplasma fermentans, as I said, is suspected of various rather vague autoimmune syndromes, including rheumatoid arthritis and chronic fatigue, and possibly as a cofactor in AIDS. What this new form might cause would be even more speculative." She shook her head. "Even minute amounts of nagalase would in theory be immuno-suppressive. I'm not aware of any studies of its effects directly apart from cancers or viral infection."

  "What could possibly be gained by unleashing this crap on the public?"

  "I have no idea."

  "What would you say if I told you that the so-called chemtrails included a fungus that targets people with supercharged immune systems?"

  "I would say that doesn't make any sense."

  "But they have in common targeting a lot of people with microorganisms. I don't understand the purpose, either. It doesn't seem to be about population reduction, as some conspiracy theorists claim."

  "You're doing damage to the word 'theorist.' What conspiracy nuts think doesn't achieve the rank of 'theory.'"

  I laughed. I saw in her eyes that she didn't appreciate the tone. Screw her.

  "Did I say something amusing?" she asked.

  "I just think it's kind of funny that you're sitting here telling me a pretty fucking fantastic conspiracy while sneering at conspiracy theories."

  "In my case" – anger clipped her words – "it's not theory. I was there."

  "I've been there, too. So have others. And if I told others what you're saying, they might just see it as hearsay – another wild conspiracy theory."

  "Except for this." Dr. Waters removed a DVD from her purse and set it on the armrest between us. "And this."

  She placed two vaccine vials beside the DVD. I lifted one of them. INFLUENZA VIRUS VACCINE. FLUAVAL QUADRIVALENT. NO Preservatives. GlaxoSmithKline, manufacturer. The other vial read: MEASLES, MUMPS, RUBELLA VIRUS VACCINE, manufactured by Merk.

  "They both contain the mycoplasma," she said.

  "Okay." I cleared my throat. "What's on the DVD?"

  "A report on the mycoplasm contamination. Also, recordings of my meetings with Commissioner Marks and agents from the FBI and DHS." She noted my surprised gaze. "When Marks told me to cease and desist, I went to his office armed with a recording device. When the DHS and FBI requested to speak with me, I decided to record our conversations, too."

  "Good thinking. I take it you didn't trust your boss?"

  "When someone tells me to sabotage an investigation into a genuine threat to millions of people, that doesn't inspire much trust."

  "Good point." I stopped twisting the MMR vial in my hand and set it back on the divider. "Didn't your commissioner seem upset about this?"

  "Probably. But he didn't express any opinion to me other than that we need to follow orders."

  I nodded. Elaine Waters slipped the DVD and vaccine vials into a padded envelope and set it on armrest between us. After a moment, I picked up the envelope and stuffed it into my windbreaker. It seemed to give off some weird energy as I clutched it. Maybe it was just the idea that I was holding proof positive that our government was plotting against the people of our country. I was at ground zero of an incredible story but I didn't experience an ounce of triumph. I realized then how much I missed believing that our leaders, if misguided at times, were basically benevolent. It was, as Ethan Ellenberg had said, like losing faith in the tooth fairy.

  "I should go," she said. "I would appreciate it if Dr. Killian would contact me once he's watched the video and confirmed what's in these vials – before he does anything with the information."

  "I'll tell him. I'm sure he won't have a problem with that."

  "Good. I'll look forward to hearing from him then."

  "Thank you," I said, reaching for the door. "Good luck, Dr. Walters."

  "You, too, Mr. Jones."

  I gave her a parting smile and climbed out into the cool summer night air. I was starting to turn away when a black SUV turned into the parking lot, engine racing, and swooped across the lot straight for us. In nearly the same moment, another SUV roared up from an adjacent parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of me. Feds!

  I took off without further thought, sprinting toward the nearby Taco Bell in the opposite direction the car was facing. It backed after me. I sprinted across a two-lane road, and the SUV whipped around after me, bouncing over the curb, causing an approaching car to veer into the median. I raced back to Taco Bell, forcing the SUV to spin around again and bang back over the curb in pursuit.

  I raced in a straight diagonal through the parking lots, making it as difficult as I could for my pursuers to follow. At some point, assuming they weren't willing to shoot me or run me over, they'd need to jettison some dudes and pursue me on foot. I didn't rate my chances of escape as all that high, but to have any chance, I needed to stay cool, keep my wind, and keep moving. I had to create some distance between us. Enough distance to get to my hotel, grab my keys and laptop – maybe my clothes, which were mostly still in my bag – and then get to my car.

  I had no idea if they knew who I was. If they did, I probably wouldn't get far even if I reached my car, but I proceeded on the assumption they didn't know.

  The SUV suddenly slowed and disgorged two big dudes before resuming the chase. The two guys came after me at a full sprint, their hard shoes smacking the asphalt. I was wearing athletic shoes, as I almost always did. The guys running fifty feet behind me didn't look much like track athletes, but they were running flat-out, forcing me to do the same.

  We were approaching the Holiday Inn. A possible evasion course flashed in my mind. I pushed myself to my fastest sprint across the parking lot and burst through the front doors. The girl behind the desk gave me a startled and then frightened look, stumbling back from the counter as I charged toward and past her through a doorway on my right.

  I bounded up two flights of stairs and raced down the hall. Some older dude stepped out of his door oblivious to the Hayden Express coming his way. I shoved him back into his room with one hand and a hasty "sorry" and slammed the door as loudly as I could. I reached the end of the hallway and more stairs, shoving through the door and softly shutting it just as the two suited dudes appeared at the other end of the hallway – now slowing to a jog, indicating that they'd heard the slammed door as intended. I ducked my head and softly sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor. I eased through the exit door and made a final dash to my hotel two slim parking lots away.

  Looking back, I didn't see my pursuers, so instead of entering through the lobby where I'd leave witnesses, I jogged around the hotel to the nearest private keyed entrance, fishing out my keycard along the way. At the door, I slipped my keycard through. Of course the red light flashed on. Christ. I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and slid the card thr
ough again. The green light appeared, and I banged through the door. Fortunately, I was on the first floor, and reached my room in seconds.

  I resisted the urge to switch on the lights, and after hooking the security hinge tossed my clothes, computer, and toiletries into my small suitcase to the light of the outside lamps glowing through the drawn curtains. I moved to the window and peered out through a crack. No sign of the dark SUV or the Alphabet Agency dudes. My car was maybe sixty feet from the closest exit door. I saw a path straight to Highway 5 over a patch of dirt and across an off-ramp. Once I reached the highway I was gone.

  The knock on my door nearly made me drop my suitcase.

  "Mr. Jones?" A plaintive young woman's voice. "Are you there? We've had a report of a, um, commotion in your room."

  I heard the strain of fear in her voice. Which could only mean one thing. That was fast. I cranked open the window, thankful for being on the first floor, and popped out the screen. The screen dropped with a soft thud on soft grassy dirt.

  "I'm coming in, Mr. Jones," she announced.

  The lock clicked and the door opened, catching on the security hinge. I dropped my suitcase on the grass and squeezed out through the window.

  "Mr. Jones?"

  I hit the ground, grabbed my suitcase, and sprinted for my car, keying the Beamer's locks and ignition. I heard a crash and splintering wood come from my room. My car rumbled to life seconds before I threw open the door and tossed myself and my luggage inside. I slapped it into gear and eased over the parking lot curb through some brush. The ground wasn't especially rough or steep, but there was enough loose dirt to bog down some cars. Thank God for the Beamer's all-wheel drive.

  In my rearview mirror I saw my room light up. I gave the Beamer some gas and rolled down the embankment onto the off-ramp. Only then did I flick on my headlights and accelerate hard to the exit boulevard. I hung a left against a red light – no traffic to speak of – my goal Highway Five South. No cars in my rearview mirror as I drove a short distance to the south onramp. I didn't see any way they could get to where I was this quickly.

  Play it cool, I told myself as I merged onto Highway 5 and leveled off at seventy miles per hour. It was looking bad for the feds. I doubted they'd seen my car clearly enough, if at all, to identify make or model, not to mention license. I hadn't given any of those things to the front desk. Even glimpsing my car as it rolled out of sight over the hill wouldn't do them much good. What could they do? Tell the local police and/or CHP to be on the lookout for...a car that could be traveling on any road?