“If I lie.”
“Prove it.”
Fritz took a moment.
He needed to tell a lie.
A mundane fact would do.
“My dog is named Spot.” His face twitched. Fritz knew he lied. He did not own a dog. Or any pet.
Fritz knew he was done.
He was compromised.
If he could not lie, how could he do his job.
He could see Monitor knew this as well.
◆◆◆
Monitor sighed as he pulled the Colt M1911A1 from his shoulder holster. He had hoped Fritz would still be useful to the Cabal. But, without the ability to lie, the man was a liability. Whoever did this was clever, he thought.
The Colt had not been used for many years, though Monitor cleaned it regularly. Most of the time, he did not even carry a weapon.
This particular weapon held significance to Monitor. The Colt M1911A1 had been his father’s. It had seen war. World War II, to be exact. And the Cold War. Monitor thought of all the hotspots that defined that period.
The United States and the Soviet Union facing off through proxies. Both had been attempting to gain influence and dominance around the world. Things have changed little, Monitor thought
It was still about influence and dominance.
Only now, the battle raged in a virtual world and the enemies were not always external threats to America.
The fear on Robert Fritz’s face was evident as Monitor pulled back the slide on the Colt, chambering a round. Monitor then cocked the weapon as he aimed. His target was the space between Fritz’s eyes. “I really am sorry about this. You’re of no use to the cause now,” said Monitor, “you’ve risked exposure for too many.” Monitor maintained his aim as he applied the necessary pressure to squeeze the trigger. The Colt erupted and Robert Fritz was no more.
Monitor turned to leave the room. He instructed the guards to dispose of the body in a manner that it would be found. As he made his way to a black GMC Suburban, Monitor slid the Colt back into his shoulder holster. The rear door was opened by the driver and Monitor climbed into the vehicle. He opened the briefcase on the seat next to him as the driver was accelerating away.
The report from Indianapolis troubled Monitor. His newest asset was gone, willingly taking part in her extraction.
The modifications to Project Aurora moving forward would be changed immediately, he thought. Too much of the old personality had remained in the asset.
This would be corrected in the expansion of Aurora.
A reach into his interior suit pocket produced a cell phone. Monitor pulled up the message he prepared before his conversation with Fritz. It was an encrypted blast message to all cutouts working in the private sector.
A one-word warning.
“Compromised.”
This was the fallback plan. All cutouts were to abandon their positions immediately.
Consider their current covers blown.
Hide.
Await further instructions.
An email would be sent from Monitor to Director of the Central Intelligence Agency as well.
His retirement.
Monitor himself was blown.
He could no longer operate within the confines of the Company. His back-up plan was different, though. He would not go into hiding.
Monitor would assume a new position.
And a new legend.
Malcolm Cross would be the new Chief Executive Officer of NorthBay Conglomerated.
◆◆◆
Robert Fritz’s body was found near Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area outside Las Vegas, Nevada. The CIA had monitored the tip line setup to help locate him. They also placed a wiretap on Agent Hector Ramirez’s phone.
The Company intercepted Ramirez’s call to the Las Vegas field office. Ramirez thought he spoke with the Senior Agent in Charge, but it was a CIA operative instead.
By the time Ramirez arrived in Las Vegas, an exfiltration team had plucked Robert Fritz from the hotel room he had been dumped in.
PART VI
FORTY-FIVE
Hope Novak thought she would get more time to figure out who she was. Her abduction by the Cabal and subsequent transformation as an unwilling participant to Project Aurora left Hope reeling. It had been three months since Zoe Mills rescued her. Time had been spent at the Ranch, the facility that had done similar experimentation on Mills.
The Cabal and by extension the CIA thought they could make Hope into what Zoe had not become, a ruthless operative that would follow orders without hesitation.
They misjudged a second time.
Hope Novak was the outcome of her Project Aurora transformation. Before her abduction, she was Katie Sikora. It was Katie’s dissociative identity disorder that saved Hope from the plans of the Cabal.
When Mills arrived to rescue Katie, that personality had been locked inside Katarzyna, Sikora’s other personality.
The protector.
Katarzyna came out when Katie became upset or frightened. Though, it was Katie who ended up being the protector. She shielded Katarzyna from the control commands the CIA attempted to embed in her mind. Katie’s rage and fury at a scientist commanding her to kill Mills melded her two identities together.
It also released years of suppressed memories.
The revelations of these memories caused Katarzyna Sikora to choose a new identity for herself, Hope Novak.
Between knowing the truth of her life and new physical appearance, Katie Sikora no longer existed.
Her time transitioning and spent at the Ranch showed Hope she was not alone in her experience. Zoe Mills became a genuine friend. They had a shared origin.
There were others too.
Everyone on her rescue team, except JR Lewis, had been changed by Project Aurora, latest in a line of experiments to create more effect intelligence operatives.
Or spies.
And assassins.
Project Aurora combined nanobots, mental conditioning, and genetic manipulation to create these operatives.
Novak found it slightly distasteful.
She liked her outcome, but also understood how dangerous tampering with a person at such a fundamental level was. The Cabal and the CIA had almost turned Sikora into their asset.
It was only the burning fury within Katie that saved Hope Novak. Others may not be so fortunate, she thought.
After Zoe Mills completed and released the article James Lewis started, the Cabal crumbled. Investigations began on the big tech companies behind the Cabal. Mills had left out certain information, though. The involvement of the Central Intelligence Agency and Project Aurora did not make the news. Mills was afraid of what would become of them if the public, the wider government, or worse foreign powers knew.
Hope shared this fear. She could feel the remnants of Katie stir when she felt fear.
Likewise, Katarzyna would be there if Hope became angry.
But unlike the past, Hope was always in control. There were no longer other identities coming to the surface.
Her sessions with Dr. Calvin Stein helped Novak understand that her new personality was based on her past. She could deal with that, but still needed time to learn who Hope Novak was.
In her memories that came back to her, Novak learned her aunt abducted her. Spirited away from her mother in Poland at the age of three, Novak had no knowledge of her true identity.
The manner in which she was raised had given Novak a moral latitude that most people do not possess. This latitude made the mental conditioning Novak was subjected to easier to implant. She was not bothered by this, because she also knew Katie’s sacrifice would make further mental manipulation much harder.
Hope knew there were people that needed to pay for what had been done to her and Mills and countless others.
Acts that were committed in the name of intelligence gathering.
Acts that were really based on pure greed and a lust for power and control.
Control over people.
In simpler terms, acts committed by bullies.
Hope Novak preferred to look at the world in the simpler terms. She saw bullies attempting to frighten and control others.
Novak did not like bullies.
During the Novak rescue, Zoe Mills realized she did not possess that moral latitude to complete many of the functions needed to stop the Cabal. Novak told Mills she would carry on with making them pay. The bullies created her to be an enforcer.
Hope Novak would use those skills against her creators.
Without doubt or hesitation.
Her moral latitude gave her that ability.
◆◆◆
Hope Novak raced her Ducati XDiavel Dark through traffic. When she saw the motorcycle, she knew, she had to have it. The all black finish with matted chrome suited her personality. Dark, with glimmers of light. Novak found herself exhilarated while riding it.
Shortly before releasing Mills released her story, the Ranch was abandoned. Good thing too, thought Novak, as she weaved through the morning snarl of San Antonio, Texas. The I-410 was usually busy this time of day. Novak rarely went into the office, but yesterday Mills called her, asking Hope to come in.
The move to San Antonio had been rushed. At first, everyone hunkered down in the offices in Brooks-City Base, formerly Brooks Air Force Base.
This only lasted a few days though.
Once housing arrangements were made, everyone scattered. Novak realized she would need transportation because she lived across town, near the University of Texas-San Antonio.
She laughed at first.
She had lived near Indiana University in Bloomington before. But, Novak understood, this place was chosen to give her anonymity. She looked like someone who might be a student, and the rent was reasonable.
Her excess was the Ducati. All paid for with money from the Cabal.
Charlie Smith had siphoned that away without their knowing. He had taken years to do it. Novak thought, he’s, I mean, she is a genius.
Novak remembered Charles Smith had willingly undergone a Project Aurora transformation shortly before they left the Ranch.
He had had a rough life.
Thrown out by his parents at sixteen, because he came out as gay.
Arrested by seventeen and sent to live at the Ranch.
The world thought Charles Smith dead, and no one cared. Charlie saw an opportunity to have a new life and took it. He became Charlotte Smith, still went by Charlie, and had a passing resemblance to Zoe Mills.
Mills said they looked like sisters. And that’s how they presented themselves to everyone, as half-sisters.
Hope smiled at the memory.
Charlie had cried.
She had a loving family.
Finally.
Novak found an open stretch of highway and gunned the Ducati. It was almost twenty miles from her apartment to the office, Novak did not want to be late. Mills said it was important. A visitor from the government was going to be there. Novak did not care where they setup. She wanted to get to it. Find the stragglers from government justice.
Or better yet, find the one who ordered her abduction. Novak had something special in mind for that poor soul.
FORTY-SIX
Hector Ramirez did not like the forced administrative leave. He had botched up one thing in the missing person case involving Robert Fritz.
The man died because of it.
As a probationary agent, his employment could be terminated during the first year of service. If I had only called ahead to the Las Vegas field office, Ramirez thought, I wouldn’t be here today.
The administrative hearing served as a formality.
Ramirez understood that.
The army had been the same way. He knew process had to be followed. Ramirez expected this result.
His time as a Special Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation was at an untimely end.
What Hector Ramirez did not expect was to see the Deputy Director for Counterintelligence, Michael Greenway, at his hearing.
Greenway had come in part way through and sat in the back of the room as an observer. At the hearing’s conclusion, Ramirez got what he expected.
Walking papers.
As the hearing panel left the room, Greenway asked Ramirez to stay for a moment. This was out of the normal, he thought.
Greenway would say nothing else.
He waited until only he and Ramirez were alone.
“Tough break.”
Unsure where this discussion would go, Ramirez remained guarded. “Yes. Is there something you wanted, Deputy Director?”
A smirk appeared on Greenway’s face, “Hector, call me Michael, or Mr. Greenway. “This conversation is off-the-record.” Ramirez noticed the cameras and microphones in the room. All administrative hearings like his were subject to recording for future use.
Again, part of the process, he thought.
Greenway then said, “all the recording devices are off. When we walk out of this room, this conversation will never have happened.”
“Why have it then?” asked Ramirez.
“Hector, I know this is an odd time. I have an opportunity for you.” Greenway seemed to evade answering the question. Ramirez preferred straight-shooters. So far, he had not gotten that from Greenway.
Ramirez played along. “What type of opportunity?”
“I can’t reveal that here. While the recorders are off, there are others that may be listening. Follow the instructions. You’ll be satisfied if you do.” Greenway handed him a large manila envelope and turned to leave. But Ramirez had one more question.
“Why, sir?”
Greenway smiled again, and said, “follow the instructions. That’s the last directive I can give you, agent.”
He continued out of the room. Ramirez knew something was up. Greenway still referred to him as an agent.
He waited until he was home to open the envelope Michael Greenway gave him. Inside were a passport, driver’s license, credit card, cell phone, and an address with a date and time to be there. None of the items were in his name, and at first, Ramirez thought this was a joke. But he looked at the photos on both the passport and driver’s license.
They were of him.
Greenway had an opportunity for him, all right.
Ramirez turned on the cell phone. It rang within a minute. He answered. “Mr. Gonzalez?” a female voice asked.
“Yes, this is Juan Gonzalez,” answered Ramirez. He used the name listed on the passport.
“Please be at the designated meeting location in two days.”
The call ended.
The phone then pinged three times.
Ramirez saw email confirmations for an airline ticket, hotel, and rental car.
FORTY-SEVEN
Ramirez thought back over the last two days. He lost his job at the FBI. But somehow a new opportunity presented itself. From the Deputy Director for Counterintelligence, of all places. Though, it seems shady with all the cloak-and-dagger, thought Ramirez.
He had nothing else to do. The FBI had been his dream, and now that was over.
The Southwest Airlines flight to San Antonio arrived in the late evening. Ramirez made his way to the Avis counter for his rental. He planned to get some dinner at one of his favorite restaurants.
While in the Army, Ramirez spent time at Fort Sam Houston. Then, he would head to his hotel in Brooks-City Base. He traveled using the identity provided by Greenway. Ramirez had no trouble with airport security or his reservations. Everything was as if he had always been Juan Gonzalez.
As he was no longer an FBI agent, though, he could not fly armed. Ramirez had felt uneasy.
At first.
He realized quickly that the days of flying armed were over.
He sat in his rental, a Mazda CX-5, outside the nondescript building in San Antonio. It turned out to be near his hotel. He could hear the planes in the background. San Antonio possessed a large military presence and the approaches for civilian and
military airports were overhead.
Ramirez arrived forty-five minutes early. He wanted to observe the building before he went in.
As he watched the people arriving, he noticed most of the building appeared unused.
Fairly new construction, he thought.
Brooks-City Base was a burgeoning economic zone created when the last Base Realignment Committee listed the former Brooks Air Force Base as no longer essential.
Only a portion of the parking lot had any vehicles in it. He had parked on the outer fringe of the parking lot, but still close to the doors. His goal was to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
At one point, a Suburban with blacked-out windows approached a rolling door at the side of the building. It rolled in before the door was fully up. All Ramirez could make out was a sentry just inside to ensure no one entered as the door closed.
He waited.
Five minutes before he decided would be the opportune time to make his entry, he heard a motorcycle.
It entered the lot.
A Ducati XDiavel Dark, a beautiful machine, Ramirez thought.
The rider parked near Ramirez. He noticed a bulge on the left side of the jacket, under the arm. Shoulder rig. Sure sign the rider is armed, thought Ramirez.
As the rider dismounted, Ramirez could make out that a woman rode this bike. The full helmet then came off to reveal shoulder-length blonde hair.
Ramirez was close enough to see her face. Her eyes drew his attention.
Grey with a hint of blue.
Cold, calculating eyes.
Ramirez decided this was not a woman to cross.
What have I gotten myself into, he thought. Ramirez wanted his Glock 17.
The woman walked with a purpose towards the same door Ramirez himself would soon enter. He watched her reach into her pocket.
A cell phone was brought to her ear.
The woman turned, looked directly at Ramirez. She motioned for him to join her.
Ramirez found the experience unnerving. The entire time he was watching the building, people inside had been watching him. And the woman who gave him pause worked for them too.
Project Aurora (Hope Novak Thrillers) Page 14
