by Brian Tyree
Hal thanked him and left the office. Dr. Morris picked up the phone. “Is Stuart Elm in?” He waited until Dr. Elm picked up the other line. “You were right. Hal Sheridan came in to see me today.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Exactly what you told me say.”
CHAPTER NINE
FUZHOU
A stocky man with a flat top and chiseled physique sat eyes closed in a chair against the wall in Hangar 302. He wore tight-fitting workout gear and electrodes attached to his temples. Trest and Dr. Elm hovered over him along with another man in a lab coat.
“Lee Brunell.” Elm said. “Former PJ, Combat Control Tech. Thirty-two years old.”
“Is he asleep?” Trest asked.
“Yes. Induced REM sleep,” Elm said. “He’s cleared all our SomnControl tests and is ready to go.” Elm’s associate removed the electrodes from the man’s temples.
“You have the comm on Ghost Four,” Trest said to McCreary, who stepped forward wearing a lightweight wireless headset.
“Initiate control sequence.”
Baldo, a few yards away in the box, typed at the computer. Playing the familiar sequence of high pitched notes. Brunell’s eyes opened, looking forward in a daze.
“Beacon to Ghost Four, rise. On your feet.” Brunell stood up. “Proceed forward.”
The assistant in the lab coat escorted Brunell forward to the VR OmniTrainer. “Step up to the surface.” Brunell took a big step onto the metal floor of the trainer. Disposable shoe covers kept his feet from gripping the aluminum surface. The handler in the lab coat put the VR headgear on him, cinching it down tight. “Load Fuzhou sim.”
“Roger that. Loading.” Baldo replied. Fuzhou bay appeared on the monitor from high above in rough computer graphics.
“Pause for drop,” McCreary said, watching Baldo and waiting. Baldo hit a button and the graphics display was now visible in 3D on Ghost Four’s VR headset.
“Dropping now,” McCreary said to Brunell. “Look for the target, Ghost Four.” They watched CG lights and harbor enlarge on screen as the program plummeted, simulating a parachute fall. The drop zone target flashed with an icon, but Ghost Four was motionless. His head failing to turn and look for the target.
“Repeat,” McCreary said. “Find the target, the drop zone.”
The target—a highlighted area on the beach slowly enlarged on screen, but off center. Brunell was drifting way off target.
“Look for the target!” McCreary commanded. Lean your body toward it.” Brunell shook off the stupor and noticed the target. He assumed a parachuting stance and shifted his weight, leaning toward it. There were no controls on the chute cables and the only way to guide it was to lean. The city and shiny obsidian bay zoomed up as he parachuted in the direction of the target. Getting back on track.
“Avoid the water. Lean to the target.” Brunell did as McCreary commanded, guiding his chute toward the beach.
“Well done. Land at the drop zone.” The virtual world rushed upward and Brunell simulated a landing. The VR animation seamlessly continued after the jolt of the landing, and now showed Fuzhou from Brunell’s eye level. “Good.” McCreary said. “Now stand still for chute retraction.”
“Auto retraction,” Baldo said, simulating the time it took for the chute to reel up into the backpack.
“Look for the escort vehicle.”
An SUV appeared. Its bright headlights raking across the screen as it turned and pulled up next to Ghost Four. “Proceed to vehicle and enter.” A CG figure emerged from the computer graphics van, opening the back doors wide. Brunell climbed in. “Good. Now, sit down and wait.” Brunell sat down on the OmniTrainer. Following orders.
The sim skipped ahead as the car pulled into an urban area with tall buildings.
“Beacon to Ghost Four. Exit the vehicle. You’re on your own. Place your back against the wall and stay there. Hold still for the duration of the checklist.
McCreary and Baldo methodically went down each item on the check list. Ending with the final one—Activate. “Ghost Four, proceed to the target building,” McCreary said.” A red highlight flashed in the distance, glowing through the computer-generated buildings—skyscrapers in downtown Fuzhou.
Brunell slogged toward the flashing target on the VR OmniTrainer. His hospital shoe covers slipping on the metal floor enabled him to walk in place.
A search light appeared, shining down from the right. McCreary expected it. Part of the test to see how Ghost Four would respond. “Avoid the light.” McCreary commanded. Brunell continued toward it. “Avoid the light! Avoid bright light!” Ghost Four stepped into the light for a moment then changed direction toward the target. McCreary looked at Trest, shaking his head. Ghost Four wasn’t working out.
“Proceed around the building, to the west side. Look at your compass. Follow the marker.” A digital compass swiveled in the lower left of the HMD, one of the permanent interface widgets. Brunell marched toward the flashing target. He rounded the corner of a building and a Chinese security guard appeared into view. “Avoid the guard. He can’t see you, but stay away from him.” Brunell continued toward the guard. “Beacon to Ghost Four. Avoid the guard. Move to the building.” He bumped square into the computer-generated guard, who instinctively drew his sidearm and radioed for backup. The screen froze and went black. Bold red letters appeared—MISSION FAILURE.
Brunell kept walking on the treadmill. He seemed lost. His head looking all around, trying to see around his black screen.
“That’s enough,” Trest said. “Shut it down!”
Baldo turned the computer off and restored the overhead lights in the hangar. The lab assistant quickly removed the VR headgear from Brunell. He stood motionless on the OmniTrainer. Still asleep.
“What the hell was that?” Trest asked Elm.
“He’s not ready, sir. He needs more training.”
“I can see that! What does it mean?”
“He’s not accustomed to the SomnControl commands yet, sir. We have to work with him more, until he’s more responsive.”
“How long will that take?”
“It depends on the individual. Everyone is different.”
“And what if he never gets it? What if he’s never responsive?!” Trest asked.
“That’s a possibility, sir.”
“We can’t have any more delays. This op has to happen NOW. Bring in Sheridan. Tomorrow night. Prep for full sim workup.”
“But sir—” Elm said.
“—Do it!” Trest barked to McCreary.
“Yes, sir.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Dr. Elm insisted on being there for the simulation training of Ghost One, which began the following night and continued for two weeks. It was the most complex mission to date and Trest would have asked Elm to be there, had Elm not demanded it.
Hal was responding well to the new medications. He was being closely observed around the clock, and had not exhibited any new signs of visions or nightmares.
Ghost One picked up the training like an SF pro. Much more responsive than the failed training of Ghost Four. Elm’s confidence in his readiness for the mission grew day by day. He marveled at Hal’s abilities. Wondering if he could respond at a level this high fully conscious—where the concept of fear wasn’t chemically sanitized from his mind.
Trest ordered Elm’s team to continue working with Ghost One—and to begin the process of finding new ghost candidates.
♦ ♦ ♦
Fuzhou H-hour had finally arrived. Trest called Dr. Elm in to Hangar 302 while Ghost One was en route to China. Elm observed the entire mission, from the Aurora flying Ghost One inside the MQ-10S at speeds of over Mach 6 to the detachment of the drone and release of Ghost One, where he parachuted over the bay of Fuzhou.
The drop zone was the Xianqi Jiaoshan Park. Just inland of the Fuzhou Bay and near the S1531 Airport Expressway. Their route from the bay to downtown Fuzhou. Local time was 10 p.m. Ghost One parachuted safely near a side road whe
re a green delivery van waited. It had markings in English and Chinese that read China Post. The driver, an undercover asset of Chinese decent, fit the bill—looking like a humble, chain-smoking newspaper delivery man. A cigarette fell from his lip as Ghost One marched toward him through the thick smog and haze of Fuzhou. The asset knew he would be receiving a Special Forces operator, but had no idea the operator would look like this. He was expecting a Navy SEAL—not someone dressed head to toe in black, wearing fatigues made of a material that he could only describe as “other-worldly.”
“What are you waiting for?” Trest’s voice barked over the asset’s hidden earpiece. The CIA agent snapped out of it and quickly opened the rear double doors of the newspaper van. Ghost One stepped in amid stacks of China Post newspapers. Robotically using a large stack as a stool. Eyes straight on the opposite wall of the van as the asset closed the doors.
The asset drove down the side road from the park and entered the airport expressway for a fifteen-minute drive into downtown. There was mild traffic this late at night, and what traffic did exist was from late commuters going the opposite direction.
The asset’s eyes were more fixed on the rear view, keeping an eye on the curious package in the back of his van. McCreary and Baldo ran through the check list, prepping Ghost One on the drive. The asset wasn’t on McCreary’s radio channel, but could hear the faint back and forth over his earbud to Trest’s channel.
The China Post van reached the downtown area of Fuzhou and pulled into a dark alley between towering buildings. The asset pulled in far enough to be unseen from the road. He scanned the alley for people before stopping. It was empty. He pulled in close to the building and brought the van to a halt. The asset got out, looked all around, and up high for potential dangers, the same way Secret Service cleared any urban area. He rounded to the back of the van, pulled open the double doors and froze. The SF operator was gone. Or so he thought.
“Do your thing,” Trest said to the asset. “Unload the papers and get out of there!” The asset looked all around the alley, wondering where the operator went. He grabbed bundles of tied newspapers and hurled them out. Tossing them at dank doorways lining the alley.
Ghost One trod deeper into the alley. Following the flashing target light in his HMD. The light appeared in augmented reality. Showing up as an outline behind buildings and solid red in line of sight. It grew in size the closer a ghost approached.
McCreary’s voice sounded over the bone phone implant... “In one hundred meters, go left.” Ghost One reached the next street, and the Fuzhou Railway Building appeared on his left. “Avoid the guards and proceed to the northern side of the building.”
Ghost One passed through a security checkpoint, avoiding direct contact with guards. He stooped under a heavy arm barrier, and easily side-stepped staggered rows of concrete barricades. He reached the north end of the building. “Ascend the building,” McCreary ordered. “Climb!”
The Geckskin pads on his fingertips, kneepads and toes allowed him to firmly grip the building’s concrete surface. He easily scaled the ten-story building. Mechanically raising a hand, knee and toe on one side to pull up the other side where he placed the other hand, knee and toe against the wall. He climbed so fast it was like there was a built-in ladder on the surface of the wall. Never once pausing to look below him. Eyes focused and climbing toward the AR target. He reached the top of the building, grasping a metal railing to pull himself over. The handrail jiggled in his grip. Loose. He hoisted himself onto the roof with caution and was blasted by gust of wind from the Taiwan Strait, pushing a soup of industrial pollution from the nearby hills back into the city where it formed. A cacophony of horns from di-ski—Chinese taxis, could now be heard on all sides of the building, creating an un-ending hum in the city.
“Approach the satellite dishes. Look for drop target.”
Ghost One silently stalked toward the forest of satellite dishes on the roof of the cyberwar facility. McCreary’s voice cracked again over the radio. “Look for the cable box.” It flashed in his HMD and he moved toward the box colored in night vision green.
A mass of insulated wires and metal tubes ran from the satellite dishes and radio towers into a central box, then merged into a few thick pipes that burrowed down through the roof. Baldo could see the entire roof on an IR monitor from MISTY hundreds of miles up. He watched for guards that would glow white in the IR view. “The roof is clear.” Baldo said.
“Beacon to Ghost One… Deploy the device and retreat to the extraction zone.”
Ghost One opened a pouch above his belt, removing a black box. He set it on the graveled roof and slid it snug against the pipes of cables running down to the building. He flipped a switch on the box, activating an infrared digital timer that could only be seen through night vision. It counted down from thirty seconds.
“What is that?” Baldo stood up, leaning to the large screen for a close view. Seeing the timer in green night vision through Ghost One’s helmet cam. Douglas tilted over from his seat, curious. Trest and McCreary were both silent. Keenly aware of the timer on the box.
“Beacon to Ghost One. Double time to exfil! Move!”
Ghost One back-tracked to the corner of the roof where he climbed up. The time on the black box reached zero, triggering an eruption of sparks that sprayed outward in all directions. The magnesium lining of the box burned white hot—igniting a core of thermite. It glowed a brilliant orange-white, heating up to four-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Twice as hot as molten lava. The box melted clean through the steel pipes insulating the satellite cables and their plastic coatings. Bursting in flames.
Ghost One gripped the handrail and climbed over, positioning his body for a Geckskin descent. The loose hand rail broke free from its anchors. Ghost One slipped from the edge, dangling over the building, clinging to the loose hand rail. Putting strain on its support bolts. The thick handrail tube bent, lowering Ghost One even more, not designed to hold his weight. The railing creaked and the bolts broke free, dropping him another five feet. He clung to the handrail, swinging back and forth, putting even more strain on the metal rail. It started to crack.
♦ ♦ ♦
In the box, Ghost One’s helmet cam was a wild blur of images. “What’s going on?” Trest asked.
“Put MISTY IR on the main monitor,” McCreary ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Baldo replied. Typing a command that moved the satellite feed to the largest flat screen in the box. It showed a bright ball of fire blooming in the center of the roof. The fireball grew whiter and hotter as the incendiary device melted downward through the roof. Dropping inside and sparking an inferno on the top floor.
Baldo’s head snapped to McCreary. “I thought this was recon only, sir?” McCreary ignored him, watching the helmet cam monitor of Ghost One.
“Swing to the window,” McCreary ordered. “Grab the windowsill.”
Ghost One looked below to a large window frame within his reach. The bending rail swung him near window. He reached out to grab it and the rail broke free in his hand. Ghost One plummeted—passing that window and catching the bottom lip of the next windowsill down with his fingertips. The Geckskin gloves gripped tight. He released the broken rail in his other hand and it plummeted eight stories, clanging to the ground. A piercing sound heard blocks away. Ghost One gripped the wall with his other hand, and started to descend.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Here they come!” Baldo shouted. Noticing guards move in from all directions at the base of the building. Drawn by the sound of fire alarms and the thundering steel handrail hitting concrete.
“Climb around the building!” McCreary ordered. “Move to the south side.”
MISTY revealed guards surrounding the fallen handrail in infrared. Ghost One climbed laterally. Traversing a corner to a side of the building with no guards. “There. Descend now. Proceed to exfil.”
The fire alarms blared. Surrounding apartment buildings lit up like Christmas trees with onlookers peering out. A conv
oy of fire trucks stormed through the main gate of the Fuzhou Railway building. Across the street, the asset sat in the China Post van, watching the entire top of the building go up in flames. The burning building resembling a lit torch.
Ghost One released the wall ten feet from the bottom and hit the ground in a sprint. Racing away from the burning building. The flashing exfil target appeared in his HMD. He darted toward it, dashing past fire trucks zipping in from the gate, which was now heavily guarded with men wielding Type 85 submachine guns. Members of the Special Police Unit—China’s version of a SWAT team.
The asset watched from the driver seat in awe. A crackle of radio static blared over his earpiece. “He’s coming toward you,” Trest yelled. “Open the doors!” The asset leaped out, throwing the rear double doors open.
♦ ♦ ♦
Command and control watched from Ghost One’s helmet cam as he darted to the open doors of the cargo van—jumping in on the fly. Mystifying the asset who felt the van rock while it appeared vacant inside. “HE’S IN! GO!” Trest blared over his earpiece.
The asset slammed the doors, jumped in the cab and took off toward the Fuzhou Bay.
CHAPTER TEN
MSS
In 1983, the National People’s Congress of China created the Ministry of State Security—MSS—in response to a growing threat of sabotage and subversion. The mission of the MSS was to ensure “the security of the state through effective measures against enemy agents, spies, and counterrevolutionary activities designed to sabotage or overthrow China’s socialist system.”
The Second Bureau of the MSS-Foreign Affairs assigned one of its rising stars to investigate the fire of the Fuzhou Railway Bureau Building—Intelligence Officer Yuen Weng.
Weng’s military career began when he enlisted in the People’s Libration Army at the age of seventeen. He made a rapid ascension through the ranks into the elite Special Forces known as “dadu.” Weng served as a recon specialist in the Hunting Leopard Unit of the Chengdu Military Region (the Chinese military used animal names instead of numbers to identify units). The MSS recruited Weng, who was the equivalent of an Army Delta Force operator, offering him a position as an Intelligence Officer—one of the most coveted promotions in the military. Weng recently finished two years of intensive training through MSS Foreign Affairs and had been on active duty for several months.
