by John Carrick
“Sir, I forwarded a data package to your office a couple of days ago. I’d like to move forward with that proposal today.”
“I thought you were moving forward?” Conway asked.
“They are moving forward,” Phillips called out, off screen.
“Sir, I’m referring to my suggestion that Doctor Fox be taken into custody immediately. The Attorney General can schedule a hearing...”
“A Hearing? I thought this was just a briefing, Joe. Don’t you also have a massive interagency mole-hunt going on? I thought that’s what you were calling about.”
“No, sir. I mean, yes sir. That operation is still going on, but the aim was to find out who’s leaking intelligence from us, not so much to us.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Conway asked.
“Sir, the mole hunt is not what I’m concerned with.”
“Oh, that’s right, you want to arrest Fox. You think he’s a threat.” Conway rolled his eyes, as if indulging an obnoxious child.
“Sir, I believe that allowing Dr. Andrew Fox into a room with almost a dozen of the countries’ most influential lawmakers could be a disastrous mistake. If we had a repeat of Epsilon…”
“Joe, I was made to understand that this detonation would in effect consume an entire metropolitan area. Is that correct?”
“We believe so, sir, given the discussion between Dr. Fox and Dr. Te, yes sir, that is a distinct possibility.”
“So, if we have a repeat of Epsilon, only in a more densely packed area, the kill radius could be a hundred miles, instead of ten. Correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then what difference does it make? There is no safe zone. In fact, arresting Dr. Fox might very well be the event that triggers this sort of cataclysm, don’t you think? It seems to me, the last thing we should want to do, is rock his boat. Don’t you agree?”
“Sir, I believe that if we separate him from his personal amplifier, by whatever means necessary, that will neutralize his ability to detonate the pure terillium contained within.”
“What do you base that assumption on? We’re talking about a device that can be detonated with a thought, Director. How can your men be faster than a thought? It seems to me that, at least for right now, even giving this Fox fellow a dirty look could be a tragic mistake. I don’t recommend bringing the full weight of the Federal Government to bear, as you suggest in your memo. You really do enjoy the flowery language don’t you? I had to have John translate half of what you were saying.”
President Conway raised his hand. “This is what I want you to do. Secretary of Defense Croswell is down there, along with a few other guys I trust. And I still trust you, Joe. I’ve had my doubts at times, but you’ve made a few friends here and there. And you’re a man with a reputation for being able to keep a secret and that’s worth something in this town.
“But Dr. Fox is a golden goose, and that is a damn sight more valuable than someone who can keep their mouth shut. Without people like Fox, people like you have nothing to keep your mouths shut about.
“So, when Secretary Croswell joins you, I want you to keep everything we just spoke about to yourself. That’s the intelligent thing to do, and you are the Director of National Intelligence.
“Jim is the Secretary of Defense. See the words in his title tell you what he does, he Defends Our Secrets. That means he’s liable to get Defensive if you start talking about things you shouldn’t.
“Now, the investors are bringing a considerable amount of money to this briefing. I want you to take responsibility for these funds and forward them to Treasury, as usual.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was there anything else?” President Conway asked.
“Well, if um… If Fox shows signs of becoming emotionally unbalanced, in that case… I’d like permission to at least immobilize him, for his own safety, not Kill him… just, say, shoot him in the knee?”
“If he goes nuts, sure, treat him like any other crazy person. But if Fox doesn’t lose his shit, don’t you go losing yours, Director.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the knee, huh?” Secretary Croswell asked as he entered the office. Croswell arrived without assistant, attaché or bodyguard, as was his preference; he’d always kept his own counsel.
Stanwood waved but didn’t break eye-contact with the President.
“Hiya, Jimmy. Keep this joker in line, will you?” President Conway called out, having heard Croswell’s voice.
“My pleasure, Mister President,” Croswell answered.
“Thank you, Director Stanwood.” President Conway gave a backhanded wave and switched off his terminal.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Croswell said, shaking his head. He took a seat on one of the two facing couches in the less formal section of the office.
Stanwood sighed but didn’t answer.
Chapter 14 – Instigators
Fox and Kendrick had arrived near the docking coordinates some time ago. It was only a twenty-minute flight from his home. King had found them while they were riding the halo, the highest set of cables, a freeway roundabout, anchored above the center of Angel City.
The city itself was composed of five interlocking districts, around a sixth central hub. The hub, also known as Executive District Zero One, was a cylindrical assemblage of the tallest buildings, anchored together at the center of the anti-gravity metropolis.
ED served the higher functions of the city-state. It housed the most exclusive restaurants and hotels. It was designed for and populated by the richest of the rich. Simply appearing out of place was enough to invite investigation by the hyper-alert security guards. Having the wrong answers to their questions guaranteed a quick ride down the gravity well.
Around the central hub, the other districts were composed of rolling sheets of terillium, stacked above and below, and then programmed to hold to specific coordinates and elevation, resembling steel and glass petals of some massive urban flower.
King and Fox invisibly descended toward the central hub, where Fuji Dozo would be docked.
Fox had requested a secure ground route to the meeting, as well as isolation of the prerequisite docking lanes. Consequently, the access streets and the local cafes around Executive Suites West were packed with black-suited professional thugs.
Unseen, Fox and King landed on the main street, a short distance from the circular canyon separating the central hub from the media district.
“Looks like everyone here is gee-oh-vee,” King said. “The regulars are smart enough to get the hell out of dodge on a day like Mama Said.”
King gestured at the mercenaries infesting the area. “I will give you a hundred dollars, if you can get one of these ass-clowns to fire a shot in anger.”
Fox laughed. “How much time do we have?”
“An hour, at least,” King answered.
The well-dressed but heavyset young men had deliberately parked their expensive cars illegally, up and down the block, ready for a quick getaway. They laughed and joked amongst each other, mock-fighting and teasing. There were few females among the mercenaries, but those present appeared more dangerous than their comrades.
Fox caught sight of a few execs stepping out of one of the parking structures. They stopped on the sidewalk and silently looked at the mercenaries occupying the benches and chatting in small groups.
The executives had been heading for the closest coffee shop, but seemed to be considering turning away and heading toward their building instead.
One of the men pushed forward, while the other two waved their goodbyes and headed for a business-building lobby.
“Here we go,” Fox said, invisibly falling into step behind the young executive.
King laughed, which prompted the exec to look around, but seeing nothing, he proceeded into the coffee shop.
The invisible Fox followed him, holding the door briefly, for King.
King whispered to Fox, “A hundred bucks if you ca
n start a fist fight, doesn’t even have to involve gunplay.”
“Coffee first,” Fox whispered. He made his way over the drink bar and waited in an empty corner.
King powered up his gravity harness jumped to the ceiling, where he could watch without worrying about accidentally bumping someone.
The executive who’d come in before them found himself bullied at every turn. He was bumped, jostled and openly pushed, all before he even got into line. The mercs then left the man in peace, until his pocket was picked as he exited the shop.
Fox and King watched as the group of thugs went to work on the executive’s credit chip, ordering drinks for themselves and their friends.
Fox easily swiped a couple of the upcoming drinks and delivered one to King, floating above the chaos.
“Okay, watch this,” Fox said, as he descended again, into the fray.
Fox inverted himself between two sets of occupied booths.
Given their more expensive suits and lazy haircuts, the men at the table to his left were most likely private security officers, ironically hired by the very corporations whose employees they had been terrorizing all morning.
While the table on his right looked to be feds with the bureau, given their uniform haircuts and cheap suits.
One of the private security guys was telling a joke, and just before the punch-line, Fox reached over and flicked a fed’s ear.
The agent looked over his shoulder, just as the other table burst into laughter. The ear-flicked agent didn’t even hesitate, but slapped the long-haired security man hard enough to bounce his head off the table; blasting through his cup of hot coffee and splashing his friends in the process.
Fox leapt away from the table and heard King laughing above.
Together they followed the arguing mercenaries outside, where a vulgar-epithet-filled fistfight commenced.
The fight ended when the security man, whose face had been burned, beat the ear-flicked man unconscious.
Their comrades had drawn their weapons, but no one fired.
Floating above it all, King handed Fox a hundred dollar bill, laughing as the regular civilians fled the area.
As they sipped their still steaming coffee, King took advantage of the opportunity to question his old friend. “How long have we known each other now,” King asked.
“Since eighty-eight,” Fox answered.
“I was still a corporal back then.”
Fox gestured and they ascended on a slow arc toward Fuji Dozo.
“Twenty years, Tarn.” Fox addressed First Sergeant King by the abbreviated version of his call sign, Tarnung.
King laughed. “And in all that time, I never once suspected that we would end up filching coffee and causing trouble, like seventh-graders with a death wish. I mean, we’re an hour from being found out. And when they open those files, they will arrest every one of us and have us put down. You know that. And we’re out here, clowning around.”
“Hey now,” Fox said. “You think I have a death wish?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah, well, don’t we all?”
“Look, seriously, I need to ask you, what the hell are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m letting things happen as they happen. One day at a time.”
“Epsilon?”
“A tragedy, complete tragedy. But I didn’t do it. I wasn’t even there.”
“What bomber you ever met, sticks around to see the bomb. The whole point of a bomb is you ain’t there.”
“That’s not exactly proof of guilt.”
“How many cabinet ministers and politicians have lost their minds, due to Micronix exposure?”
“On record, zero,” Fox answered.
“Clever,” King replied. “Stanwood ain’t buying it though. And that call to Dr. Te didn’t help your case any.”
“Hey big boss-man, don’t worry so much. They can’t do anything to us. Trust me on this. Would you, please?”
“Ross is on his last legs, and correct me if I’m wrong, but so are you, and so is Ana.”
“Oh come on, that’s six months, a nap is all that is. Look around you. We are intergalactic my friend. We are stardust. We are everywhere and nowhere. The nine of us, we have nothing to fear from Stanwood, that mental midget, I wouldn’t let him wash my car. He’s not an authority over us. He is not an expert. He’s an alcoholic and an idiot.”
“He is going to unravel this whole thing if you don’t stop him. He’s got the bit between his teeth and he is working it. You need to put that dog down. Give the word and wham, he’s out of the picture, out of the park, have a nice ride.”
“No. Don’t,” Fox said as he sipped his steaming brew. “Damn this coffee is good.”
“So, if I may ask… Just what do you have lined up for this little meeting we’re going to?”
“Nothing special,” Fox answered. “I’m kind of curious about it myself.”
“Word on the street is… Stanwood has everything he needs to get the warrant to put you down.”
“There is no warrant. If he flashes one at you, it’s a fake.”
“Brother, he will never see me coming. Tell you that right now.”
“If there is an ambush, don’t fire until fired upon, I mean it.”
“If someone turns a gun on you, I will shoot that someone.”
“Let them get off one round, first.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. I’m making this a standing order, if anyone ever pulls a gun on me, let them get off one shot, before you intervene.”
“You’re the boss, but I’ll tell you, that is messed up.”
“Hey, look at me, everything I’m wearing is terillium threaded. Do you know how much this suit cost?”
“One-point-four?”
“Three, three million dollars in bulletproof material.”
“So they have to make it count, fine, I still think it’s a stupid idea.” King raised a hand, “Another question, can you use that instead of a gravity rig?”
“No. The coding would be too complex to manage it realistically. You’d be talking about a million different poles; it’s just way too hard to program that. You’d need some seriously refined threads too, and then you get issues with how brittle the material is, its just not feasible.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the harness works great.”
“It is something, isn’t it? You can’t even see mine, can you?”
“Not at all,” King answered.
The lines of Fox’s suit were not affected, despite the shoulder vest and gravity belt he wore beneath his jacket.
“I still don’t get why you don’t just take him out.”
“Because it’s the wrong thing to do. Besides, I’ve got you guys.”
“All right, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” King said.
“Heard and understood,” Fox answered.
Chapter 15 – Jim Croswell
Sitting on a couch in Director Stanwood’s office, the big, gruff and surly Secretary of Defense, Jim Croswell blinked in a shaft of sunlight. “Wow. I just realized something right now, just this moment.”
“What’s that,” Stanwood asked, rising from his desk and crossing to a small office bar where he fixed them glasses of premium scotch.
Holding a position usually reserved for civilians, Croswell was a heavily muscled veteran of three wars. He was gruff, surly and couldn't be rushed into anything. He was known for going against the grain, just for the hell of it. He helped the little guys, kicked the big guys in the shin, and laughed about it all the way to the bank.
Stanwood was under no delusion that he would get Jim to move from the couch until he’d said what he had to say. The two of them had an agreed upon ceasefire since their first fight in the third grade.
Stanwood was Croswell's complete opposite, both physically and personally. He was lean and wiry, he tended to strike
as soon as conditions became favorable, and the concept of mercy was alien to him. He was Caesar to Croswell's Pompey, the embodiment of ambition, as opposed to natural talent. A former lawyer and non-vet, he’d come up straddling the grey area between the political and intelligence worlds. After school, he’d been employed by all the strategic think tanks, at one time or another. For the second half of his career, he’d served as Senator Miller’s right hand. That had led to the pocket of the last intelligence director. Now, only five years later, he found himself serving as the interim director, and he was excelling at the position.
It was public knowledge that Stanwood and Croswell had known each other since grammar school. It had always been the three of them, really, Croswell, Stanwood and Fox.
The three of them had been the very top of their class, but Croswell was valedictorian and a gifted athlete. Croswell and Fox had been closer, while Stanwood stood alone.
Fox had plenty of natural ability but no interest in athletics, and could have beaten Jim's GPA with his eyes closed. Instead, throughout high school, he’d been tackling world changing medical breakthroughs. He only stayed in school because it was easy and the girls were beautiful.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Croswell said, smiling.
“Of course it wasn’t,” Stanwood paused. “Well, maybe, it could have been. What are we talking about?” Stanwood poured them both three fingers of scotch and carried the glasses over the table, setting one before Jim and holding his carefully as he took a seat on the opposite couch.
Von Kalt ignored them from across the room, staring out the window.
“Epsilon, I had nothing to do with,” Stanwood said.
Stanwood and Croswell knocked glasses. Scotch also happened to be another area where their tastes overlapped. A common interest, not shared with Dr. Fox, the only other guy they’d known as long, much to Stanwood’s delight.
Croswell gestured toward Von Kalt and raised his drink.
Stanwood shook his head.
“Oh come on,” Croswell objected. “Hey,” Croswell called out.
Von Kalt looked over.
“Fix yourself a drink and come on over here. You’re going to want to hear this one.”
