EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum

by Shane Stadler

  He made a call and gave the order.

  Cho smiled. Maybe he’d try his hand at dental work.

  2

  Monday, 18 May (9:59 a.m. CST – Chicago)

  According to the professor’s web page, he held office hours Monday and Wednesday mornings from ten to noon. Daniel and Sylvia had arrived promptly at 10 a.m., but the hallway was already filled with students. From the chatter, it was apparent that a graded exam had been handed back to them before the weekend, and it hadn’t gone well for many of them.

  Daniel thought Sylvia, at 36 years old, could still pass for a law student, although many of the students looked at both of them with suspicious eyes. They most likely recognized everyone in their class, and identified Sylvia and him as outsiders.

  At 11:10 a.m. it was finally their turn. Daniel followed Sylvia into the large office and closed the door. Sunlight from large, southeast-facing windows lit up the room, and bookshelves lined the other walls from the floor to the high ceiling. A spherical light fixture hung over a large, wooden table near the center of the room, and another cluster of furniture was arranged at the far end. The faint scent of pipe tobacco deepened the ambience. The office seemed comfortable – important for a place where one came to think.

  Daniel directed his attention to a man sitting behind a desk, typing away on a laptop computer. He was mid-sixties, with thick gray hair and bushy eyebrows.

  “Name?” the man said without looking up.

  Sylvia and Daniel glanced at each other but remained silent.

  The man looked up and shook his head. “I told you, one at a time.” It was then that McDougal must have realized that Daniel wasn’t a law student, and then his suspicion seemed to transfer to Sylvia.

  “Who are you?” McDougal asked, and then stood and walked around the desk. He was dressed like a professor, business casual and a jacket, and was taller that Daniel by a few inches.

  “I’m Sylvia, and this is Daniel. We’re investigating Red Wraith,” she said softly. “We need your help, Mr. McDougal. Can we meet with you today?”

  McDougal’s eyes widened, but he kept his composure. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

  “We can discuss that when we meet again,” Daniel said. He nodded towards the door. “You seem to be busy at the moment.”

  McDougal seemed to disarm slightly. “Yes,” he said and nodded.

  “Can we meet tonight?” Sylvia asked.

  McDougal stepped back behind his desk and looked them over. From Daniel’s perspective Sylvia looked to be of no threat, and he thought he didn’t appear to be, either. They were both skinny, casually dressed, intellectual types. But he knew that looks could be deceiving – either of them could be carrying a gun. Hopefully McDougal got the idea that the time, location, and conditions of their first meeting were chosen to be as nonthreatening as possible.

  “Fine,” McDougal said at last. “Seven o’clock. I’ll have a colleague with me.”

  “Thank you,” Daniel said, and then followed Sylvia out of the office. They pressed through the students scattered throughout the narrow hall. It would be an interesting evening.

  3

  Monday, 18 May (6:36 p.m. CST – Chicago)

  After eating pizza at the Capstone Bistro, Daniel and Sylvia walked the half-mile to the law school. At 7 p.m. sharp they knocked on Jonathan McDougal’s door.

  Jonathan brought them in and led them to a cluster of furniture at the far end of the room. It was a set of two chairs and a couch surrounding a coffee table, not unlike the arrangement in Room 713 of the Space Systems building. Already seated in one of the chairs was a woman Daniel recognized from his research. He and Sylvia took the couch.

  Jonathan set a carafe of coffee and four cups on the table while he introduced the fourth participant, Denise Walker. He then poured coffee for everyone and took his seat next to Denise and across from Daniel.

  “Now, how can I help you, Mr. …” Jonathan asked, obviously fishing for a name.

  “Call me Daniel,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Our anonymity is crucial.”

  “Who do you work for?” Denise asked, directing the question to both of them.

  Sylvia nodded to Daniel to take the question.

  “Sorry, Ms. Walker. Again, I cannot say.”

  Jonathan rubbed his face and exhaled impatiently. “So you come in here and tell us nothing and expect us to give you information?”

  It was a question that Daniel anticipated. “I can tell you that we are part of a government entity that is investigating the Red Wraith project.”

  “FBI?” Denise asked.

  Daniel shook his head.

  “CIA?” she asked again.

  “Not exactly,” he replied.

  “We’re lawyers, Mr. … Daniel,” Jonathan said, “and ‘not exactly’ is not a valid answer. Yet it reveals something.”

  “We’ll have to stop with this line of questioning,” Daniel said. “Depending on what you have for us, we could provide you with useful information in return. We don’t expect something for nothing.”

  With that, Daniel saw a change in Jonathan’s eyes to something more amenable. Although, he thought, the exchange might be asymmetric. Daniel had mostly historical information that, although it laid the foundations of the project, might not be useful to Jonathan’s current objectives.

  “I hate to disappoint you, Daniel,” Jonathan said, “but we handed over all of our information to the FBI over six months ago.”

  “I requested files from the FBI three months ago,” Daniel said. “I was told they hadn’t received new information on Red Wraith in a decade.”

  For an instant, Daniel saw an expression of alarm on Jonathan’s face as he glanced over at Ms. Walker, whose expression was even more pronounced.

  “You must not have clearance,” Jonathan said.

  Sylvia laughed, and covered her mouth as if she started to cough.

  Daniel smiled and nodded. “No one has a higher clearance than we do.”

  “That would imply that you are an Omniscient,” Jonathan said, raising his eyebrows.

  Daniel spilled his coffee on his pants. He stood quickly and put his dripping cup on the table, almost dropping it in the process. Jonathan handed him some napkins and Daniel patted the coffee spots, but they had already soaked in. Denise cleaned up the coffee pooling on the table.

  “How do you know about Omniscients?” Daniel asked. He was horrified by the idea that they were known to anyone outside the CIA. The mortified look on Sylvia’s face perfectly expressed the same degree of alarm.

  “We can get information, too,” Jonathan responded, smiling, convinced he’d hit his intended target. “Our investigations lead us to many strange places. I take it then that you’re CIA.”

  Daniel nodded. He felt violated in some way. He wasn’t good at this.

  “Not to worry. Your secret is safe with us,” Jonathan reassured. “Now, let’s talk about Red Wraith.”

  4

  Monday, 18 May (8:25 p.m. EST – Antarctic Circle)

  They’d followed the trench all the way to the coast. At that point it became a tunnel, and the ceiling turned from ice to rock. They followed it a kilometer inland, and then backtracked and communicated their findings. McHenry awaited instructions.

  He could hardly contain his concern that another sub would get in there before he did. He alleviated his anxiety by meeting with a supply ship and restocking. After a few more nervous hours at communication depth, Naval Command gave him the order to explore the cavern.

  “There’s our dead U-boat,” Finley said and pointed to its image on the screen.

  McHenry hoped the North Dakota wouldn’t suffer a similar fate.

  “Take it slowly,” McHenry said. “When we start going inland, map everything – floor to ceiling. We’ll want to make it back out.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Finley replied in a voice that didn’t conceal his tension.

  Thirty minutes later they’d penetrated as far inlan
d as they had the first time, about a kilometer. At this point, the trench was about 100 meters deep, and just as wide. Since the North Dakota was over 100 meters long, this was unidirectional territory – they’d have to go backwards to reverse course.

  Three more kilometers and the trench deepened to a 150 meters. In all his time as a submariner, this was the first time McHenry had ever felt claustrophobic. He left Finley to his mapping, and went to the conn.

  The control room was quieter than normal even though the usual contingent was present. The sailors concentrated intently on their jobs. Displayed on banks of wall-mounted video monitors were live feeds from various onboard sonar and imaging systems. McHenry was most interested in the images from the forward sonar sphere, which was functioning in active mode and providing the details required for tight navigation.

  “How are the currents?” he asked, not directed toward anyone specific.

  A young officer replied, “We’re bucking a weak flow, sir. Nothing complicated.”

  “Keep it less three knots relative to the floor,” McHenry ordered. “Have you tried for a visual?”

  “Yes, sir. Clear as a bell out there,” the officer responded. “Wanna look?”

  McHenry nodded, and a second later another screen lit up with an aerial view of the floor. It was as clear as he’d ever seen. So clear, in fact, that it seemed as if they were flying.

  “One more thing,” the officer continued. “Our detectors indicate we’re in low-salinity water.”

  That was an interesting detail, McHenry thought. With the current pressing against them, it seemed that the trench funneled low-salinity water out to sea. There must be a freshwater source somewhere.

  His attention turned back to the visual of the floor. The white light illuminated large, jagged terraces covered with brown sand.

  “Have you looked at the walls and ceiling?” McHenry asked.

  “Not yet,” the man replied. “Having a look now.”

  Two monitors switched to live images of the portside wall and the ceiling of the cavern, both of which looked as if they had been chiseled out of solid rock. Just as he took a step to get a closer look at one of the monitors, a voice rang out from the navigation station.

  “Sir, there’s something ahead,” a man said, his voice either panicked or excited.

  “What do you see, ensign?” McHenry asked.

  “Look at display number four,” he replied

  He found number four, took a close look, and shook his head. This was something he feared: it was a fork in the tunnel.

  “All stop,” McHenry ordered. “Hold position.”

  There was no obvious choice – both openings seemed to be about the same size.

  He spoke loudly so that everyone could hear his instructions, “Study our options. We’ll have to make a decision –”

  “Something else you should see, sir,” a voice broke in from behind him.

  He turned around. It was Finley, away from his station.

  “Have a look at monitor seven,” Finley said.

  McHenry walked closer. He saw it, but didn’t believe what his brain was telling him. There it was, in the left fork: another dead sub. It had settled on its side, revealing its mortal wound – a gaping hole. The identification numbers on its conning tower were faded, but clear enough to read: 193. It was an American, Sargo-class submarine – World War II-era.

  McHenry stared at the screen, his mind reeling. What did this mean? It meant that the cave they were exploring with such urgency had been discovered long ago, and by the United States. Someone, somewhere, had more information about this place.

  “Hold position,” McHenry ordered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  McHenry went back to his quarters. He had to think it over.

  He sat down on his bunk and put his hands over his face. He hadn’t been given all of the information. He’d detected no deception during his conversations with the commander of the carrier group or with Naval Command. So it was likely that they, too, had no idea what was going on. But, long ago, someone had.

  5

  Monday, 18 May (7:31 p.m. CST – Chicago)

  Daniel filled in Jonathan and Denise on what he knew about Red Wraith. “But one thing I never understood: what was the purpose of the program.”

  “What?” McDougal scoffed. “You mean you don’t believe it was designed to improve our penal system?”

  “That façade emerged only recently,” Sylvia said, “when the facilities went active and they needed an official cover.”

  Jonathan pulled out a pipe and filled it with tobacco. “Mind if I puff a bit?” he asked.

  Nobody objected, and Jonathan lit the pipe with a silver lighter. Soon a rich scent filled the air, like cherry incense.

  “We might be able to help you,” Jonathan said between puffs. “What do you have in exchange?”

  Daniel had been prepared for the question, but didn’t quite know how to play it out. “What would be useful to you?” Daniel asked.

  Jonathan squinted his eyes and puffed slowly, either trying to read Daniel’s angle, or thinking about the question. Daniel assumed he was doing both.

  “What do you have?” Jonathan finally asked.

  Daniel laughed, and then tried to squelch it. “Please, Mr. McDougal, be specific. We have access to many things that may be of use to you.”

  “Can you get us the identities of former Red Wraith victims?” Denise asked. “And their locations?”

  Daniel sat back and rubbed his chin. He played it as cool as he could, but he knew it wouldn’t be a problem. “Possibly,” he said. “I’ll have to run it by my boss. For what will we be trading?”

  Jonathan leaned forward. “We still have copies of the most important documents that we sent to the FBI. You’ll find the answer to your question in them.”

  “What kinds of documents are we talking about here?” Sylvia asked. “Recent or old?”

  “Both,” Jonathan answered. “Some as recent as last year, some from before World War II.”

  Perhaps it was because of McDougal’s accomplishments, or that he was almost a public figure, but Daniel trusted him. “Let me make some calls and see if we can make an exchange,” he said. “We’d like to get back home tomorrow – we’re under some time pressure.”

  “Really?” Jonathan said, surprised.

  It was a mistake, Daniel thought. Again, it was apparent that his field agent skills were rusty. But time was crucial, and giving up some information seemed inconsequential. He’d already made a huge leap that compromised his identity.

  Jonathan pressed on. “Are you saying Red Wraith is still active?”

  “No,” Daniel replied. “But it might be connected to something else that’s currently happing. I can’t disclose anything more.”

  Jonathan stared at him for a few seconds and then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You get us the contact information of Red Wraith victims, and we’ll give you what we have.

  “How much are we talking?” Sylvia asked.

  “More than a thousand pages,” Jonathan answered. “It will take you a while.”

  Indeed, Daniel thought. It was time to get back to the hotel, call Thackett, and set up the deal.

  6

  Tuesday, 19 May (6:33 a.m. EST – Columbus, Ohio)

  Lenny yawned and then glanced back and forth between his watch and his boarding pass. He hated being awakened at three in the morning, but a call of that sort usually meant a new job. The problem was that the new job preempted the one that was in progress. But it was okay – he’d gotten half of the payment for the lost assignment up front, and it was nonrefundable.

  The new job was going to be heavy – on risk, and reward. There would be multiple hits and at least one of the targets was former military.

  He sipped hot coffee through a plastic lid while he waited to board. They had him on a 7:30 a.m. flight from Columbus, Ohio, to New Orleans. From there he’d rent a car, drive to Baton Rouge, check into a fleabag hotel, and aw
ait instructions.

  There was something about the conversation he’d had with his handler that made his stomach tighten. It was clear that this new job was a reaction, rather than a well-planned operation. This was also evident in the cancellation and reassignment.

  He sensed of a change in leadership, and it just didn’t sit well. Of course his former boss, Heinrich Bergman, had been killed six months earlier, and someone had to replace him. But that wasn’t it. There seemed to be a change in global leadership. Things were starting to operate as they had when he’d worked for Russian intelligence, the origin of his professional life. The methods in which orders were given, mission tactics, and operational details such as weapon pickup locations and communication procedures were reminiscent of Cold War KGB protocols.

  A woman’s voice crackled over a low-quality intercom, and people started to board the plane. When his group number was called, he stood, dumped his cup into a trashcan, and walked to the gate with his carry-on suitcase. Even though there was an element of trepidation in every mission, he felt some excitement. Either he’d have a huge payday, or he’d end up dead.

  7

  Tuesday, 19 May (6:35 a.m. CST – Baton Rouge)

  Agent Jennings was dead.

  Natalie Tate had called Will around 3 a.m. to deliver the news. Jennings’ body was found in a small bayou on the outskirts of the city. All of his teeth had been drilled out – to the roots. Someone was sending a message.

  The morning traffic was light as Will drove down Perkins Road. He felt safer in his car, and the driving eased his mind. He turned left onto Bluebonnet Boulevard and into a large commercial area that included numerous restaurants and stores.

  He was confident that his identity hadn’t been compromised since he’d arrived in Baton Rouge. He never used his real name for anything, and even electronic communications had been conducted through an alias account. But Jennings might have given away everything he knew, about Will and otherwise, as they tortured him.