Second Contact
Page 21
She handed the sheet to him without another word and went back to work on her computer, while he walked back into his own room, broke the connection with the Library of Congress, and dialed an access number to the space service's central computer. He checked the menu that appeared on the screen when he punched in Roth's personal code, and found that he had many more options than when he accessed it under his own code.
He tried to follow Provost's military career, step by step, from his induction to his murder, and found only one unusual sequence, a ten-month period when he had been hospitalized for serious injuries after a plane crash somewhere over New Mexico.
Otherwise, Provost seemed to be an average member of the military, no better, no worse. He had been promoted twice, demoted once (for drunkenness, not drugs), had not found a sponsor for Officers’ Candidate School, and just seemed to drift along, probably content to serve his time and take his pension. He had put in twelve years when Jennings killed him.
Becker then turned to Greenberg—and discovered, to his surprise, that he, too, had been involved in the New Mexico crash, and had been confined to a military hospital for almost eleven months. His path never crossed Provost's again until both were assigned to serve aboard the Theodore Roosevelt.
Becker stared at the screen for a moment, then began typing again:
Give details of plane crash over New Mexico, November 12, 2056.
A SMALL JETLINER CARRYING 203 PASSENGERS CRASHED IN THE VICINITY OF TAOS, NEW MEXICO, ON NOVEMBER 12, 2056, EN ROUTE FROM HOUSTON, TEXAS, TO SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA. INCLUDED AMONG THE PASSENGERS WERE 52 MEMBERS OF THE SPACE SERVICE WHO WERE BEING TRANSFERRED TO THE SAN DIEGO SPACE SERVICE BASE.
How many survivors were there?
THERE WERE 14 SURVIVORS.
How many of the 14 survivors were members of the space service?
ALL 14 WERE MEMBERS OF THE SPACE SERVICE.
All the civilians died?
YES.
And 38 members of the space service died?
YES.
You're onto something here, Becker told himself; now think clearly before you continue. Don't go too fast or you might miss it.
Please list the survivors.
ALGAUER, HORACE, CPL.
BASKINS, LEWIS JAMES, SGT.
BILLUPS, ERIC Q., PVT.
BRANNIGAN, WILLIAM M., M.D., MAJ.
CRANE, JASON GREELEY, SGT.
GILLETTE, WILLIAN FRANKLIN., M.D., LT.
GREENBERG, ROBERT, PVT.
KELLY, PATRICK A., M.D., CAPT.
MORRIS, JEROME H., PVT.
NAISMITH, JOSHUA JAMES, PVT.
PRETORIUS, LOUIS ROBERT, M.D., LT.
PROVOST, JONATHAN, JR., CPL.
SMITH, QUENTIN Q., CAPT.
WAYMAN, MARSHALL, SGT.
Becker read the list, blinked twice, and read it again.
Is the William Gillette listed here the same William Gillette who later served as Chief Medical Officer aboard the Theodore Roosevelt?
YES.
Repeat: pilot, crew, and all but these 14 passengers died in the crash. Is that correct?
THAT IS CORRECT.
He was so close now he could taste it, and he paused for a moment to consider his next question.
Were all the survivors career military men?
YES.
He stared at the list again, and shook his head. Too easy; he had worded it wrong.
Was there any way to ascertain at the time of the crash that all the survivors would be career military men?
NO.
He was right: he had asked the wrong question.
Were any of the non-surviving members of the space service career military men?
15 OF THE 38 WERE CAREER MILITARY MEN.
All right; that wasn't the connection. He tried again.
Did all of the survivors spend the same amount of time in the hospital?
NO. THE SHORTEST STAY WAS 8 MONTHS 17 DAYS, THE LONGEST WAS 12 MONTHS, 4 DAYS.
What were the nature of William Gillette's injuries?
CLASSIFIED.
Classified? Even to a general who was in charge of the space service's Covert Operations branch? Just to be on the safe side, Becker asked the computer to list the injuries of the other 13 men; all were classified.
“Woof!” exclaimed Jaimie, walking into the room. “I've got to take a break. I'm going blind reading computer code.”
“Have a seat,” said Becker. “I'm getting close.”
“To proving they were human?”
“I don't know.”
She pulled a chair up next to him. “Let's see what you've got here.”
He explained what he had discovered thus far.
“All right,” she said. “You need to find a common factor among the survivors.”
“I'm trying to.”
“How about age?”
“No. Gillette was much older than Provost and Greenberg.”
“Race?”
“We can try,” said Becker, feeding the question to the computer.
It replied that there had been eleven Caucasians and three blacks among the survivors.
“Point of entrance?” suggested Jaimie.
“You mean, did they all join at the same place?”
“Right. Or did they maybe take the same schooling after they joined?”
“How could they? You've got officers, enlisted men, and a doctor.”
“Ask anyway. It doesn't cost anything to confirm it.”
He asked, and the computer responded in the negative.
“Damn!” muttered Becker.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then turned to Becker. “Narrow it down.”
“I don't understand what you mean.”
“Don't bother with what the survivors have in common as opposed to the rest of the world. Find out what they had in common compared to the 38 who died.”
“I've tried race, and length of service, and—”
“You're not thinking clearly, Counselor.”
“Oh?”
“A plane crashed. Everybody should have died. Fourteen men didn't. Why not?”
“I don't know,” he said helplessly.
“Me, neither. So why not assume that they did die?”
And suddenly it all fell into place. Becker leaned forward and began typing again.
For purposes of definition, an immediate member of a family is a parent, grandparent, full or half-sibling, spouse, or offspring. Do you understand?
UNDERSTOOD.
How many of the 38 dead space service members were survived by immediate members of their families?
38.
How many of the 14 survivors would have been survived by immediate members of their families if they had died in the New Mexico plane crash?
CHECKING...
“Come on!” muttered Becker.
NONE.
“Bingo!” said Jaimie.
“That's it!” said Becker excitedly. “There were no survivors of the crash! The space service chose the fourteen members who had no families, nobody who could spot the change, and secretly replaced them with doubles who have been in deep cover for a decade.”
“Makes sense to me,” agreed Jaimie.
He stared at her for a long minute, then grimaced.
“It doesn't make any sense at all. Do you realize what I just said?”
“That there are fourteen aliens in the space service, disguised as fourteen men we know to be dead.”
He shook his head. “That's just the tip of the iceberg. Somebody had to set this up. If they're aliens, he's an alien. People who knew their origins had to train them to pass for human; probably some of those teachers are aliens. They could never pass a physical examination, so every doctor who has examined them during the past decade is an alien.” He paused. “Just how the hell many of them have infiltrated our military? Hundreds? Thousands? Are there any humans left?”
“Don't let your imagination run away with you,” she cautioned him.
<
br /> “And what about all those scientists who say that no alien race could possibly look like us?” he continued. “Could they all be wrong? Or are they aliens too?”
“Of course they're not aliens,” replied Jaimie. “And it would hardly be the first time scientists were wrong about something.”
“How can you sit there so calmly?” he demanded. “There's every possibility that we've been invaded and aren't even aware of it!”
“If we're right, they've been here for at least a decade and they haven't tried to take anything over yet,” she said. “Maybe they're peaceful.”
“I'd have a lot more confidence in their peaceful intentions if people would stop shooting at me,” he said. “If you think they're peaceful, why don't you take a walk down Fifth Avenue and see if you live to the first stoplight?”
“If we get shot, it won't be by aliens.”
“No, it'll be by humans like Roth who don't even know who's giving them their orders.” Becker forced himself to be silent for a moment while he sought to regain his composure. “Have you found out anything more about Wild Card?”
She shook her head. “Not much. I still don't have a name for him.” Suddenly she sat upright. “But maybe I have a job for him. Pass me the keyboard.”
He did as she ordered, staring at her with open curiosity.
Where were the 14 survivors taken for medical treatment and recuperation?
SPACE SERVICE MEDICAL OUTPOST #1.
I thought the space service didn't have its own medical facilities. Please explain.
SPACE SERVICE MEDICAL OUTPOST #1 EXISTED FROM 2053 THROUGH 2057, AND WAS THEN DISBANDED. THE SPACE SERVICE NO LONGER HAS ITS OWN MEDICAL FACILITIES.
Where was Medical Outpost #1 located?
CLASSIFIED.
How many medical doctors were on the staff of Outpost #1 in the year 2056?
ONE.
She turned to Becker. “Doesn't that strike you as odd? Only one doctor in an entire medical facility?”
“We already know that it couldn't have been a medical facility,” he replied. “It was just a front.”
“But the computer doesn't know that—or at least, not in those terms,” she explained to him. “I know it seems slow to you, but I've got to ask precise questions to get precise answers.”
Please supply the name of the highest-ranking non-medical officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1.
GENERAL BASIL KINDERBY.
Where is General Kinderby stationed today?
GENERAL BASIL KINDERBY (2003-2058) DIED OF HEART DISEASE SEVEN YEARS AGO.
Please supply the name of the highest-ranking non-medical officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1 who is still alive and active in the space service.
CLASSIFIED.
“We're on the right trail, all right,” she said, shooting Becker a triumphant smile.
“Now what?”
“Now we do it the long way.”
Please supply the name of the second highest-ranking non-medical officer at Medical Outpost #1.
BRIGADIER GENERAL RONALD WALINSKY.
Is he still alive?
BRIGADIER GENERAL RONALD WALINSKY (1999-2060) DIED OF CANCER FIVE YEARS AGO.
“Two generals to look after fourteen patients,” she said. “What do you make of that?”
“You know what I make of it.”
Please supply the name of the third highest-ranking non-medical officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1.
CLASSIFIED.
“Wild Card?” asked Becker, and Jaimie nodded.
Please supply the rank of the third highest-ranking non-medical officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1.
COLONEL.
Is he still an active member of the space service?
CLASSIFIED.
Is he still alive?
CLASSIFIED.
“That's our boy, all right.”
“If he's such a bigwig that he has access to the President, and even generals like Roth don't know anything about him, why is he still a colonel?” asked Becker, frowning.
She shrugged. “Who knows? We'll have to ask him when we find him.”
“He could be anywhere.”
“The odds are that he operates out of Washington,” she said. “Not only is the space service headquartered there, but anyone who has access to the President and has managed to remain anonymous probably doesn't fly into town for his meetings.”
“I wish there was a way we could know for sure.”
“Maybe there is.”
“How?”
“Let's ask the computer.”
“You'll just come up with a CLASSIFIED answer again.”
“Perhaps. But based on its answers, it seems like it was programmed to conceal rather than mislead.”
“So?”
“So let's give it a chance to mislead us,” she said, turning her attention back to the keyboard.
Is the third highest-ranking officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1 currently stationed in San Diego?
NO.
Is the third highest-ranking officer stationed at Medical Outpost #1 currently stationed in Washington, D.C.?
CLASSIFIED.
She chuckled. “See? Sometimes even an answer of CLASSIFIED can tell you something.”
“You're sure he's Wild Card?”
“How many colonels could keep their identity secret from General Roth?” she replied. “He's Wild Card, all right.”
Becker got to his feet and walked over to his closet, where he pulled out his suitcase.
“Let's start packing,” he said. “If Wild Card's in Washington, there's no sense staying here.”
“I told you: it's safer to wait here for a few days.”
He checked his wristwatch. “It's just after two o'clock. If we hurry, we can damned near be in Washington before Roth starts cordoning off Manhattan.”
“It's not safe for us in Washington.”
“It's not safe for us in New York, either,” replied Becker. He sighed. “It's not going to be safe for us anywhere in the world unless we can find Wild Card before he finds us.”
20.
It took them just under five hours to make it back to her abandoned building in Washington. They unloaded the computers, but then Jaimie insisted that they leave the car a few miles away in a train station's parking lot, assuring Becker that if he parked on the street within a mile of the apartment, the car would be gone the next morning.
“I'm exhausted,” panted Becker as she unlocked the door.
“Better than having some cabbie driving around with my address on his sheet,” she replied, leading him into the living room.
“What about all the people who saw us walking here?”
“They think I'm a hooker and that you're my John for the evening.”
“Doesn't that bother you?”
“Would you rather I told them that I'm a millionaire and that you're the most wanted man in America?” she asked with a smile.
“You don't have to do it for my sake,” he replied wryly.
“Want a drink?” she asked.
“Whiskey. Straight.”
“Coming right up,” she said, entering the kitchen and returning with a bottle and two glasses.
“You've never asked me if I wanted drugs,” he remarked as she filled his glass. “It's always liquor.”
“I know how to handle booze,” she replied. “Drugs make people crazy. You start messing around with military computers, or the system they've got over at Chase Manhattan, and you've got to have your wits around you.” She paused. “The two best computer hackers I ever knew got into drugs; now they can't even spell their own names. I made up my mind that I was never going to wind up like them.”
“So you've ended up running for your life instead,” he commented.
“We're all through running now,” she said. “Now we go on the attack.”
“Against who?”
“Wild Card.”
“Do you know something I don't know?” he ask
ed, frowning. “Like who he is, for example.”
“That's what we're gonna find out.”
“I'm game. How do we do it?”
“We don't do anything for the next half hour,” she said, seating herself at the largest of her computers. “I do.”
“What do I do while you're messing with your computer?”
“Lean back. Enjoy your drink. Read a book.”
“All your books are technical manuals.”
“If I'd known you were gonna have to sit around, Counselor, I'd have picked up a girlie magazine for you—but I didn't, so you'll just have to make do with what's here.”
He shrugged, got to his feet, walked over to a bookcase, and spent the next ten minutes browsing through the titles, hoping to find something mildly comprehensible. At last he gave up, returned to his seat, and activated a small holovision set. They were re-running a three-week-old African track meet, and by the time he'd watched the Kenyan runners come in first, second and fourth in the 10,000 meters, Jaimie deactivated the set and announced that they were ready to begin.
“I'd like to know what you've been doing first,” he said.
“Don't you trust me after all this time?”
“Of course I trust you. I'm just curious. You've been working like crazy for the past thirty minutes. Since my life depends on it, I don't think it's unreasonable to ask what you did.”
“Nothing much,” she said. “Just invaded the phone company, is all.”
“Why?”
“We're looking for Wild Card, aren't we?”
“You're not going to tell me that he's listed under W?”
“You're not being funny, Counselor.”
“All right, then, I'll be serious. How will invading the phone company help us find Wild Card?”
“You'll see,” she said, handing him the vidphone. “Here you are, Counselor. Time to make a few calls.”
“To who?”
“Start with your friend Magnussen.”
“I don't think he's part of this,” said Becker after a moment's consideration. “I believe him when he says he doesn't know why they're after me.”
“Makes no difference,” she said. “Rattle his cage. Make threats. And be sure you mention Wild Card.”
“But if he doesn't know what I'm talking about...”
She grinned. “Then he'll call somebody who does.”