by Brian Tyree
The airmen and Marines felt the gravity of mission in Trest’s tone. He nodded to a pallet of stacked wooden crates outside. “These are Taiwanese munitions. We’ll use them. Nothing American-made.” Trest nodded to McCreary.
Baldo hit a button on the keyboard and the main screen lit up with a PowerPoint presentation of their mission strategy.
“The box is HQ,” McCreary said. “This…” He pointed to the Hilton New York Grand Central Hotel, two blocks southwest of UN Headquarters. “…is base camp. Ghost Two will be the point…”
♦ ♦ ♦
“You ladies smell wonderful!” Weng said in Chinese as he drove the loner ‘82 GMC pickup down the dusty road toward the ranch. Dirt caked his face, and sweat soaked through his ranch style long-sleeved shirt. Charlie and Matt looked equally weathered after a long construction build in the blistering sun. Charlie fished a pebble out of his work boot while Matt tried to extract a shovel-splinter from his hand. Not an easy task as the truck jostled around on the dirt road to the ranch.
Weng pulled up to the bunkhouse with only one thing on his mind: a hot shower. The bunkhouse amenities were far from luxurious, but one comfort they enjoyed was piping-hot water. The three entered the bunkhouse, kicking their shoes off at the door. The soles of Matt’s socks were charcoal black—better off thrown away than washed again.
Weng forced his aching bones up the loft stairs, on his way to a clean towel and fresh change of clothes. He froze in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “Get up here!” He shouted to the other MSS spies. They dropped everything and rustled up the ladder-stairs. The tone in Weng’s voice told them it was bad. Weng was already in the bedroom, flipping over tables and shoving a bunk bed away from the wall, looking for any shred of their gear. The room was completely stripped.
Charlie dropped to his hands and knees, peering under the other bed. Hoping to grab hold of a rugged shipping case, but only saw the back wall.
“They took everything,” Matt said. Putting a finger into the hole they drilled for the pinhole camera.
Weng threw open the old cupboard doors, revealing stacks of folded clothes. Relieved the thief left them a shred of dignity. He pulled down fresh clothes and a towel.
“What are you doing?” Matt asked.
“Taking a shower. Then I’m going to call for an immediate extraction. We’re useless without our gear.” Weng was grateful he took his encrypted cell phone to the Habitat build—to even have the option of calling for extraction.
Weng sauntered down the stairs and pulled the bunkhouse door open on his way to the bathroom and shower around back. He stopped cold—looking down the barrel of his own QBZ-95 fully automatic assault rifle. Its targeting laser pointed at his heart.
“Lose something?” Hal asked.
Weng angled his head, about to yell back to his brothers upstairs—
“—Call them and you’re dead.”
“What do you want?” Weng asked.
“What do you know about Henry Banks?”
“Who?”
“He was killed last night. Strangled. Execution-style, by men trained to do it.”
“I don’t know who Henry Banks is or what he does. We had nothing to do with it.”
Hal pondered the reply. It made sense. The Chinese MSS wouldn’t leave a body behind when they’re trying to maintain a low-profile. Weng’s answer only convinced Hal who the real killers were.
“Where is our equipment?” Weng asked.
“It’s safe,” Hal said. “I’ll give it back… in exchange for a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Is one of your men a computer specialist? A programmer?”
Weng nodded.
“You’ll get all your gear back, weapons and everything, if your man can hack a…” Hal searched for the words. Not sure how to describe it. “…mobile device.” Weng looked beyond Hal to Barrett’s old pick up, wondering if their gear was in it and what it would take to subdue Hal and get it back. Hal picked up on his glance— “It’s not here, but it’s safe. Nearby.”
Charlie and Matt heard the men talking and arrived behind Weng.
“Do we have a deal?” Hal asked.
“Shi,” Weng replied, nodding. Chinese for “yes.”
“Go ahead, clean yourselves up,” Hal said. “I’ll wait for you upstairs.” The three men proceeded around the back to the showers. Hal lowered the assault rifle and went to the back of the truck, pulling out the large suitcase he bought in France. He pulled a new burner phone from his pocket and texted a four digit code.
♦ ♦ ♦
Hal removed the two Chinese laptops from the suitcase, setting them on the tables in the bunkhouse loft. He unzipped a side pouch on the suitcase, removing an array of cables, connectors and chargers of different shapes and sizes.
Weng was the first to arrive. Hair wet and in clean clothes. He spotted the QBZ-95 leaning against the wall behind Hal. Charlie and Matt trod up the creaky wooden stairs, following Weng. Did they all shower together? Hal thought, but resisted asking it aloud.
“Harold Sheridan, Special Tactics Officer, 49th Fighter Wing, United States Air Force,” Hal said. Extending his hand, shaking each of their hands. “But you probably knew that already.”
“You left out Imagery Analyst,” Weng said.
“It’s a desk jockey title. You’d drop it too. Just call me Hal.”
Hal motioned to an empty chair in front of the laptops for their programmer. Charlie took it, eyeing the pile of chargers and cables next to it. Weng and Matt each sat on a bed facing them. “I’m sure you know about the project,” Hal said. “The black op. There are some things you may not know. For one, I am not a willing participant. In fact, I’m wanted by those in charge of Project Cloudcroft—for stealing this…” Hal removed the helmet from the suitcase. Setting it beside the laptops. “...one of their ghost suits.”
Hal pulled the ghost backpack from the suitcase, setting it between the helmet and the laptop computer. “Problem is— it also comes with a GPS tracking device that I have no way of disabling.” Matt looked to Weng, wondering how safe they were in a room that could be leading the Americans to them right now. For all they knew, Hal Sheridan could be setting a trap.
Hal rotated the backpack, flipping up a small rectangular panel, coated in the shimmering SCIROC surface. “It’s a universal USB port. I’m thinking they wanted the operator to be able to charge the suit in the field.” Hal angled the port toward the laptop and nodded to Charlie. Charlie sifted through the cables and found a USB cable. He plugged one end into his machine and gave Hal the other end for the backpack. Charlie typed in his password and unlocked the computer. The backpack appeared as an external drive on-screen. Charlie clicked on it, but the screen froze.
He leaned back to Weng, speaking in Chinese. “It’s encrypted. I can crack it, but it will take some time.”
Weng nodded. Then turned to Hal, “We’ll get something to eat while he works on the password.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Mrs. Barrett always made sure the bunkhouse boys were well fed. She kept their kitchenette refrigerator fully stocked. Weng removed a plate of meatloaf sandwiches she prepared the night before. Each one neatly wrapped in cellophane. Hal and Matt sat at a wobbly card table in the tiny dining area. Weng put the sandwiches on a plate, delivering them and a bowl of potato salad. He returned to the fridge for three beers and joined the two men.
“Not my cooking,” Weng said. “The rancher’s wife. They’re both very generous.”
Hal agreed and thanked Weng. Comforted that the men appreciated the Barretts. It let Hal know the Chinese MSS would avoid hurting the older couple if it ever came to that.
Hal mowed through half a sandwich and noticed Weng’s eyes rise to the window facing the driveway. A snaking dust cloud trailed a vehicle en route.
“The rancher is back,” Weng said.
“No, it’s a friend. It’s okay. I invited her.”
The her stayed with Weng. He co
uld only assume Hal meant the woman from their earlier encounter, which almost cost the Chinese agents their lives. His assumption proved correct, as Jenny’s car emerged ahead of the dust cloud, pulling up to the front of the ranch house. The text Hal sent was a prearranged code for the rancher’s house, having no idea the bunkhouse would be a factor.
Jennifer emerged from her car and opened the white picket-fence gate, crossing a patch of grass to the ranch house. Hal opened the bunkhouse door and shouted her name. He grabbed the QBZ-95 leaning up against the kitchen wall, and went outside to meet her.
Weng and Matt watched as Hal met her halfway between the two structures. It was the first time he had contacted her since being back from France. Weng couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from Jennifer’s reaction it wasn’t good news. Her head dropped and she hugged Hal, the way someone comforts a friend when a loved one passes. Hal turned and mouthed something about the bunkhouse. Jennifer wiped tears from her eyes and was taken aback at whatever Hal told her. She seemed wary. Hal appeared to assure her and then escorted her to the bunkhouse.
Hal opened the door for her, introducing Weng and Matt. Jenny was apprehensive. There was a long, awkward silence. Her presence and involvement in the project was a mystery to Weng. A shout in Chinese from the upstairs loft broke the silence. “Wǒ dédàole!”
“He’s in,” Weng said. “He’s cracked it.”
Weng and Matt ascended the ladder-stairs. Jennifer was hesitant to go up. “It’s okay,” Hal said quietly to her. “They’re helping us.” Hal motioned for her to go up, following her—still clutching the Chinese assault rifle.
Hal and Jennifer arrived at the loft. Weng and Matt huddled around the computer, hovering over Charlie. Weng moved aside, giving Hal the chair next to Charlie. Hal leaned the rifle against the table beside him, looking at the computer screen. He noticed Charlie had hard-wired one laptop to the other. Jennifer saw the suit helmet and backpack for the first time.
“The login page,” Charlie said. “It opens automatically when you connect. It asks the username and password.” Charlie gestured to the computer on his right. “This computer has a hacking tool that enabled me to decipher both.” He typed in the username, CloudcroftNM49.
Jennifer watched over Hal’s shoulder.
Charlie typed in the password, QH//,7Xy482. “Case sensitive,” he said, looking back at Hal. Waiting for him to make a note of it. Hal dug out a new burner phone and navigated to the notepad. Texting both the username and password in.
Charlie hit enter. “It takes you directly to the menu screen.”
The menu appeared in basic digital text on black, identical to the avionics text in an F-35:
CONTROL MENU
CLIMATE
COMMS
HELMET CAM
FLIR/NV
REBREATHER
GPS
ENCRYPT
PARACHUTE
BATT
MAP
SECURITY
The features appeared for all to see. Hal was reluctant to delve into the inner workings of the stealth suit—releasing untold classified information to one of America’s superpower rivals. He didn’t have much choice. Hal scanned through the list, unable to find the feature he was most concerned about—disabling the self destruct mode. He lied to them earlier about hacking in to turn off the GPS tracker, although they would need to do that too. “Will you open Security please?”
Charlie did and the screen read FIREWALL ON/OFF. Hal shook his head. Not it. “GPS?” Thinking it must be the way they tracked the ghost via satellite. Charlie navigated back and opened GPS…
TRANS/REC ON/OFF SD
Hal remembered the map from the menu screen. If he was right, transmit and receive GPS signals were an option. Better to turn it off for now to be safe. “Click off.” “Try SD, please.”
A screen came up, requesting a new username and password. Charlie tried the previous one and received anINVALID PASSWORD prompt.
“The suit has a remote activated self-destruct,” Weng said.
Hal nodded. “Do you mind?” Hal asked Charlie. Implying he’d like him to hack this password too.
Charlie pulled up the decryption tool on the other laptop, but stopped when he felt Weng’s hand on his shoulder. “Not until we know everything you do,” Weng said. His eyes drilling into Hal’s. “Starting with her involvement. What is she doing here?”
Hal pondered the request and how they were changing the arrangement. They didn’t have a leg to stand on, he thought, knowing he owned all their gear. Hal’s better senses prevailed, realizing the help they were giving him far outweighed the value of their gear. “You got any coffee?” Hal asked Weng.
“I’ll bring some up,” Weng replied. Raising an eyebrow to Charlie—granting permission to run the decryption tool.
Matt laid down on one of the beds, eyeing his watch and closing his eyes. Hal got up and stretched and went to the other bed, sitting down. Jennifer sat beside him, saying in a low voice, “I never told you about Doctor Elm…”
♦ ♦ ♦
Weng returned with a tray of five steaming cups of coffee. He set it on a table, serving his guests first and then his countrymen. Hal moved two of the folding chairs to face Jennifer. He sat in one and motioned for Weng to take the other.
Jennifer started from the beginning… How she became involved, her role in the project, and how she was also in the dark as to the true nature of the project that resulted in the assassinations of so many. When she got to the mind control aspects, Matt rose forward in his bed, intrigued. Charlie turned around from the computer to listen, reassuring them that the laptop was busy doing its thing.
Jennifer’s story convinced Weng that Hal was indeed innocent, as was Jennifer. He was about to ask Jennifer if she witnessed any missions, when the computer issued a BLIP sound, meaning the search had completed.
The group gathered around the laptop screen as Charlie typed in the newly hacked username… MajBillTrest. The password was the same. Charlie hit enter, opening…
DEACTIVATE GPS TRACKER
DEACTIVATE SELF-DESTRUCT
Hal was relieved. Charlie clicked both and deactivated them. Weng could sense Hal’s elation. He shook his hand, and Hal gave Charlie an appreciative pat on the back.
Charlie hit a back arrow on the screen and went back to the menu page. He clicked on BATT and opened a page that showed battery life and power options. He plugged a USB charger into the backpack and plugged the power cord into the bunkhouse wall. A charger icon appeared on the display—the backpack was successfully charging. “That’s the one,” Charlie said to Hal, identifying the correct cord out of the half dozen Hal provided.
“Thank you,” Hal said. He shook hands with the three men then loaded the helmet, backpack and cords into his suitcase. “I’ll go get your weapons and ge—”
“—I didn’t tell you everything,” Jennifer said, continuing her story. Hal sat back down. “When Doctor Elm was dying, he said something to me. I thought he was delirious and—just nonsensical. Maybe it means something to you. His last words were Trest… China next and U-N.
The UN part sent a brisk shiver up Weng’s spine, but he didn’t show it. He observed it meant nothing to Hal and Jennifer. They didn’t know. Jennifer looked at Weng, as if expecting a response or reaction from him. Any reaction.
“I don’t know,” Weng said, keeping his cards close to his vest. “You would know more about it than me.”
“I’ll get your gear.” Hal hoisted the suitcase up and headed down the loft stairs, followed by Jennifer.
By the time Weng and the others made it down the stairs and peered through the window, Hal was opening the double doors to the barn and Jennifer’s car was blazing down the dirt road away from the ranch. Moments later, headlights rolled out from the barn, making the sagebrush in front of the driveway glow bright white. Hal pulled his rental out and drove to the bunkhouse.
He unloaded the black crates of weapons and spy-tech gear fro
m the trunk. Weng and the others arrived to help. Weng carried the QBZ-95 assault rifle from inside. Hal popped the latches on the rifle case. Weng ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber and put the mag and rifle in the case. Hal latched it shut. The last case. He handed it to Weng, thanking him and his men for their help.
Weng refused the assault rifle. “Keep it,” he said. “It looks good on you.”
Hal froze. At a loss for the gesture.
“Besides,” Weng said. “Now, I have a favor to ask of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ACT OF WAR
A white iPhone with pink trim buzzed. Rattling a rickety Formica night stand. Jenny’s eyes slowly opened and the phone came into view. The heavy drapes of her hotel smothered all light from entering. She picked up the phone, expecting it to be the wee hours of the morning, but jolted awake seeing 11:05 a.m. on the screen. More shocking than that were the stack of repeated texts sent by Hal in code. Jenny’s initial thought, he probably thinks I’m dead!
She scrambled around in the dark, looking for her purse. She located it and fished out a thick wallet. Pulling out a metal business card holder. She popped it open. Fanning through the cards to her own psychology practice card. Looking at the white backs, stopping when she saw one with scrawl marks. The key to the codes Henry created for the three of them.
She matched her codes up to Hal’s repeated texts of seemingly random letters and numbers. It translated to SITREP. She had to remind herself what it meant. Report your situation. The bunkhouse coffee had taken its toll on her, keeping her up all night, and the opaque drapes kept her from waking by natural light. She looked for the “I’m okay” code and keyed it to Hal as fast as she could. She noticed his previous string of texts, most of which were the ranch location code, sent over and over.
