Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1)

by David E Stevens

  Toto cocked her head.

  Nodding at her, he added, “Yup ... we’re totally screwed.”

  Elizabeth woke up in the middle of the night. She normally slept very well, but this night had been an emotional roller coaster. Her clock showed a little after three. She heard someone talking quietly. The furnace had shut down, and the condo was very quiet. She held her breath and listened. It was Josh.

  She heard, “... I’m not qualified to do any of this. I’m sorry. You made a mistake choosing me. You need to give this to someone else.”

  There was a pause. Elizabeth knew she was hearing only one side of a conversation. The furnace came back on, and she could only hear bits and pieces of what followed.

  She was impressed and frightened. Either Josh was some type of modern-day prophet with a direct line to the Big Guy, or he was textbook schizophrenic. She wasn’t sure which was worse, falling in love with a lunatic or an apocalyptic prophet. She sighed. It didn’t usually end well for prophets or those around them. At least schizophrenia was treatable. She should have listened to her mom and dated accountants.

  After a short fitful sleep, she got up early the next morning and made a pot of coffee. Josh was sitting in front of the computer as usual, but he was just staring at a blank screen.

  She brought him a cup of coffee, put her hand on his shoulder and said brightly, “So, how do we start?”

  It seemed to break the spell. He turned to her with a small smile. “Thanks.” He took a big sip of coffee, set it down and rubbed his hands together. “I guess I need to put together a team of experts.”

  She nodded. “OK.”

  He paused and then looked directly at her. “This is going to sound a little strange, but I had a former life. I was a Navy test pilot.”

  She just nodded, but when he looked away, she smiled and said under her breath, “A test pilot prophet?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So who do you need on your team?”

  “I’d like to start with some of my past military colleagues.”

  “Can you call them?”

  “Uh, they wouldn’t ... recognize me.” With the expression of a child asking for a third piece of cake, he added, “I mean, I don’t look like I did ... then.”

  She nodded thoughtfully as if what he said actually made sense.

  Encouraged, he pressed on. “Homeland Security and the FBI have taken an interest in me due to my rather odd arrival. Accessing some of the military websites might bring additional attention. I could use your computer expertise.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you make sure our visits to certain websites can’t be tracked back to your computer?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I can use an IP masking program.” Slipping into the computer chair, she added, “Took a course in ethical hacking.”

  He frowned. “Ethical hacking?”

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Can’t stop the bad guys if you don’t know how they do what they do. It was fun and I was actually pretty good at it.” After a minute, she said, “OK.”

  He jumped on the keyboard. After a few attempts to sign into a site, he sighed. “They took me out of the Navy system.”

  She watched him go to a different website. It was Boeing.

  On his first attempt, he said, “Yes! We’re in! They should have shut down my email account a long time ago. Thank God for the glacial speed of bureaucracy.”

  Looking on, she said, “I thought you said you were a Navy pilot. Why are you trying to get into Boeing’s site?”

  “I was assigned to oversee the development of the next generation of UCAVs there.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles or robotic fighters.”

  She frowned. “Wouldn’t they kind of put you out of a job?”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She nodded. “But at least it keeps our military pilots from getting killed?”

  He shrugged. “From a State Department perspective, they’re less concerned about dead pilots than captured pilots.”

  With narrowed eyes, she asked, “Are you trying to get access to classified information?”

  He shook his head. “No, this is an unclassified site. It just allows me to send and receive email from inside the system. Despite Hollywood, seriously classified stuff isn’t put on computers connected to the Internet.”

  “Then, what are you trying to do?”

  “I’m not going to break into a classified program.” He looked up with a mischievous smile. “I’m going to create one.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Classified programs, also known as black programs, are ‘need to know.’ No matter how high your clearance is, you only have access to information you need for your job. That protects programs if someone talks, but it also means no one can ever know about all the black programs out there.”

  “Aside from why you would want to create a black program; how could you do it?”

  “I just need to read people into the program.”

  She shook her head again. “Read into?”

  “That’s how you bring people into classified programs. They sign a sheet that says they’ll have access to secret information, and if they divulge it, they go to jail.”

  “So you’re going to read people into a program ... that doesn’t exist?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if they ask someone else about it?”

  He grinned. “They can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a security violation — not to mention bad etiquette — to ask about a black program you’re not already a part of.”

  She frowned. “That’s kinda weird.”

  He nodded knowingly. “Welcome to your federal government.”

  “Are we going to get arrested?”

  “I don’t think there’s a law against creating black programs.” He shrugged. “At least not yet.”

  “But how are you going to create it?”

  Looking serious, he asked, “Do you have PowerPoint?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  After breakfast, she watched him create his counterfeit classified program, hoping she was doing the right thing.

  After inhaling his eggs, he said, “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I could really use more of your expertise. I need to reestablish my security access at Boeing so I can get in to see the people I need.” He paused. “But now we’re talking about doing something that could get you in trouble.”

  Still in her bathrobe, she sat down at the computer.

  He gave her his username and password.

  After studying the site, she said, “There’s nothing we can do here. It only allows basic updates. We’ll have to talk to someone who can make entries for us on the security server.”

  Josh gave her a questioning look.

  She smiled. “Everyone thinks cyber bandits hack into networks by cracking the encryption. It’s not impossible, but it would take weeks of supercomputer time.”

  He frowned. “Then how do they get in?”

  She laughed. “The same way every system is cracked — person-to-person.”

  Josh looked skeptical.

  “Here’s a classic example. You’re at work. You get a call, apparently from your IT department. They tell you they have to shut down the network for a software upgrade. Of course, you’re right in the middle of a big project and your email and presentation programs are network-based. You can’t afford to be down that long. The IT person, trying to be helpful, tells you they can keep your computer up while the rest of the network is down, but of course, to identify your computer, they need your username and password. Voila, they’re in!”

  Josh nodded. “So, what do we do?”

  She winked. “Get me another cup of coffee and my phone.”

  He sat next to her watching and listening nervously.

  She eventually convinced a
Boeing computer administrator that Josh’s identity got confused with someone who died, making his life very complicated.

  In the process, Elizabeth had to ask him multiple security questions from his background. Putting the pieces together, she said, “So ‘Fuze’ was your pilot call sign?”

  “Fuzed.”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  He shook his head. “It’s a long story.”

  She shrugged and then shooed him away so she could work.

  After another hour on the computer and phone, she announced, “Commander Josh Fuze has a Boeing badge!”

  He came back and gave her a huge hug, saying, “You totally rock!”

  Still in her bathrobe and nightgown, she felt his hands and arms holding her tightly through the thin silk. He suddenly released her, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  She smiled, enjoying his discomfort.

  Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “To recruit them, I’m going to have to meet with some of these people, but—”

  Before he could finish, she said, “I have zillions of airline credit card miles. You can use them, but you can’t go looking like that.” She waved her hand at him. “I’ll need to dress you.”

  He gave her a half-smile.

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean get you some real clothes.”

  Looking serious, he said, “Elizabeth, I can’t—”

  “Shut up.”

  16

  CAPTAIN

  Success hinged on finding a strong, effective leader to pull a team together, a team that would include high-level scientists and engineers. Josh needed an insider with credibility. He needed Navy Captain Joe Meadows. Meadows had been the Squadron Commander of VFA-146, the Blue Diamonds, Josh’s first fleet squadron. He’d led them into combat against sophisticated fighters, but later in his career, had also successfully led aircraft development programs into combat against the General Accounting Office.

  Having commanded the USS Gerald R. Ford, one of the newest aircraft carriers in the fleet, Meadows was on the fast track for admiral. Less than a week after he had taken command, however, an AMRAAM missile accidentally detonated on the flight deck, destroying three new F-35 fighters. The Navy was one of the last bastions of accountability. The old saying about ‘going down with your ship’ still applied. Despite completing an outstanding tour as the Ford’s Captain, the fire had eliminated any chance of admiral. Meadows could have retired, but they asked him to stay and take over critical classified programs at Naval Air Systems Command. His office was at NAS Patuxent River, Maryland, but he spent much of his time at the contractor facilities where they did the development work. He had satellite offices at the Lockheed Skunk Works in Palmdale and the Boeing Phantom Works in St. Louis, where Josh worked before the crash.

  He called him. “Captain Meadows? This is Commander Josh Fuze. We haven’t met but I worked closely with Andy Logan on a special project before he died.”

  “Hi, Josh. What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, the reason I’m calling is that Logan recommended you for involvement in a very important program, one that I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “What type of program?”

  “We’ll have to talk in person.”

  “OK, but we’ll have to meet tomorrow. I’ll be leaving NAVAIR for St. Louis the day after tomorrow.”

  Josh smiled. “Actually, St. Louis would be great if you can fit me into your schedule.”

  “Sure. Can you meet me at the Phantom Works around noon on Thursday?”

  “Yes sir. I’ll see you there.”

  His next call was to Washington, D.C. He knew the effort would eventually be global and he would need international and legal expertise. Carl Casey had been the intelligence officer in their squadron and had a degree in International Law. They’d been good friends. After a few tours in the Navy, he left and joined the CIA, not uncommon for intel officers.

  After a similar conversation, Carl also agreed to see him. Hanging up, he realized he was about to invite a CIA agent into a counterfeit black program. Smiling, he said to himself, “Oh what a tangled web we weave.”

  Josh had a moment of déjà vu as his flight touched down in St. Louis. Thirteen months ago, a happily married Navy test pilot took off from this runway on a simple delivery mission. Under his breath, he said, “I’m back ... minus one jet and a body.”

  The Boeing Phantom Works was on the far side of the airport. Walking the two miles around the perimeter helped him conserve his limited funds and settle his nerves. He had good reason to be anxious. He was about to meet someone he knew ... wearing a new body. On top of that, Meadows was his only candidate to run the program. Josh, however, had an advantage. Working and living in close quarters, on multiple six-month cruises, ensured familiarity with the quirks, fears and dreams of squadron mates.

  He arrived at an inconspicuous-looking, windowless, two-story building. The only hint at the secrets inside was a tall fence topped with barbed wire and a gate with a guard. As the guard checked his ID and cleared him in, he silently thanked Elizabeth.

  Going straight to Meadows’ office, he knocked on the open door. It was a small office, made even smaller by the occupant. A six-foot-three, muscular, 250-pound, black man with a shaved head rose from his chair. Watching Meadows step carefully around his desk reminded him of the classic bull in a china shop. Countering his imposing size were eyes that perpetually smiled, combined with a frequent booming laugh.

  As Josh shook Meadows’ huge hand, he remembered a barbeque at his skipper’s house many years ago. Meadows’ three-year-old daughter had been perched on his shoulders. With crayons in each hand, she’d been trying to draw on top of his bald head. He never missed a beat, continuing to carry on conversations while handing her different colored crayons. A patient father translated well into an aircraft carrier captain of 4,000 mostly teenage sailors.

  After exchanging pleasantries, Meadows brought up Josh’s former self. “It was a real blow when we found out about Andy. We’re not supposed to have favorites in a squadron — kinda like kids — but we do, and he was.”

  It was surreal hearing someone talk about him posthumously.

  Meadows continued, “Since he wasn’t in a fleet squadron, we had to pull some strings for the missing man formation over the memorial service. It wasn’t hard to arrange considering what happened.”

  Years ago, Josh had flown in a missing man formation for a fellow pilot killed in a crash. Just thinking back on it created emotion ... but this one had been for him. He had to stay on task. Humor helped as he remembered his mom scolding him, “You’ll be late for your own funeral!”

  Meadows shook his head. “I was sure he’d make admiral someday.”

  Josh smiled. “He talked very fondly of his time in your squadron. In fact, he said he wanted to grow up to be just like you.” That was a true statement.

  Meadows chuckled. “Well, maybe up to the point where I blew admiral.”

  “We all know what happened.” Josh said with vehemence. “That fire was completely outside your control. I, uh, had friends who deployed with you and said you were the best skipper they ever served under.”

  Meadows, looking a little surprised, said, “Well, thanks, Josh, that’s good to hear, and that’s what’s important to me. After the accident investigation was over, that tour turned out to be one of the best of my career. Never been that concerned about promotion as long as I was having fun.” With a half-smile, he added, “After the fire, I was freed from ever having to worry about my career.” He shrugged. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Captain Meadows, I’m familiar with some of the programs you manage. Bottom line, we believe there may be an intersection between one of your programs and ours. I’d like to read you in, if you’re game?”

  “OK. Is NAVAIR aware of this?”

  Josh remembered Meadows’ habit of starting sentences with “OK.”

  “No sir. I’m sure Admiral Hendricks doesn’t know a
bout this one yet. It’s sensitive even for a black program. As you know, we rarely get recognition for anything we work on in the black world anyway.”

  Meadows nodded. “In my case, credit doesn’t matter. You have my curiosity, but unless it’s of strategic importance, I have a pretty full plate.”

  Josh nodded. “We understand.”

  Meadows frowned. “OK, that’s my other question, who is ‘we’? Since you’re not in uniform, who are you attached to?”

  He could have bought a uniform with the correct insignia and ribbons, but in addition to identifying him as a pilot, some ribbons were what they jokingly referred to as “been there, done that.” They would indicate operations he’d been involved with and places he’d been. He was walking a fine line. He had to be relatable enough that Meadows would accept him as a fellow officer, but distant enough that he wouldn’t expect to have common friends. The F-18 community was too small for him to show up wearing wings.

  “I’m on loan to another agency outside the Navy. As I mentioned, it’s a bit sensitive.”

  Meadows smiled. “Yeah, I know.” He recited the old joke. “You could tell me but then you’d have to kill me.” He paused. “I’d guess your uniform might have included a ... Budweiser? But I won’t ask.”

  Josh just smiled back. The Navy SEAL insignia, officially called the Trident, was nicknamed “Budweiser,” a corruption of Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL. With less than 2,500 active SEALS, they were arguably the most elite military team in the world. He felt deceitful by not denying Meadows’ assertion, but the ambiguity would help mask his background. He quickly moved on. “Here’s the paperwork and the usual signing-your-life-away stuff.”

  As Meadows glanced over it, he said, “Huh. Did you know Andy Logan’s call-sign was Fuzed?”

  Josh nodded. “Uh, yeah.” Shaking his head casually, he added, “What are the odds?”

  Meadows signed the paperwork and handed it back. “OK, what do you got?”