The Nightfall Billionaire: Serial Installment #1 (Scarlet McRae)

by Vanessa Blackstone

  The fences were shown for a moment on the screen, and then the footage violently flickered and went black.

  “The camera inexplicably stopped recording at 02:07:01, then resumed its recording a few moments later,” he continued.

  The footage resumed on the screen. With as violent a flicker as the camera had cut out, it blinked back to life, and a warped hole could be seen in each of the two security fences it observed. The time-stamp showed 02:08:22.

  Less than 90 seconds later.

  “In the intervening time, two holes were made in the outside perimeter. Each hole is approximately four feet high,” Abrams explained.

  “How were the holes made?” asked Rodrigo Perez, a veteran member of one of the PIR Units present, and Scarlet’s second-in-command. “Were they cut?”

  Abrams looked to the generals. Polinsky nodded, so Abrams continued, “They appear to have been ripped open, Agent.”

  “Ripped? By what?” Rodrigo asked, incredulous.

  “You’ll see the likely culprit,” Abrams answered. “Just sit tight.”

  Scarlet felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. To rip a security fence of that strength, and in that short amount of time, was a feat that no human could have performed. At least, no ordinary human.

  The footage cut to a different camera. Now the screen in the room showed a large, metal door to a hangar.

  “This,” Abrams explained, “is one of the main entrances to one of our research facilities at Quincy. Time-stamp is 02:16:33 this morning, roughly nine minutes from when the holes in the fences were made.”

  A bright security light shining into the camera had unfortunately blinded much of its field of view, but there, in the bottom-left corner, shambled what appeared to be a young girl, no older than ten. Her dress, such as what was left of it, was dirty and torn. She was barefoot, and a sordid mop of stringy, unkempt hair hung over her head. She calmly turned a pair of piercing eyes to the camera.

  Her staring eyes glowed with a strange, ominous light that grew ever brighter—until they released a sudden flash like a burst from a dying sun. The camera abruptly flickered and died.

  “Christ Jesus,” someone whispered, “What the hell was that?”

  Zanoria looked out upon the attendees and calmly took another, slow pull from his cigarette. Polinsky, an old man whose painfully narrow face was furrowed with many wrinkles, sat with his hands folded on the table, saying nothing, but had his head slightly tilted down and pointing away at an angle. He made eye-contact with no one.

  Breaking the silence, Abrams said, “We don’t know. This is all the footage we could salvage. This camera never came back online. All others’ had their footage for the night purged.”

  More silence.

  “What was in the hangar?” asked Rick Watanabe, the technician for Scarlet’s PIR Unit. In a room that had been shocked into soundlessness, his soft-spoken question was not difficult to hear.

  “Sensitive technological components. Experimental in nature,” Abrams said quietly. He let out a sigh. “Some of them went missing, along with the girl or this entity, this… whatever this was.”

  “Did she take them?” Watanabe asked.

  “We presume this to be the case,” Abrams answered. “The components are unaccounted for at this time, and there are no signs of anyone or anything else having come unauthorized onto the base.”

  Then Jed Tombling, the technician for the other PIR Unit present, asked a question of his own. “What can you tell us about what was stolen?” His British accent graced the otherwise heavy air in the room, but he did not sound impressed. “We understand it’s something you’ve got to be mum about, but it would really help us if you chaps could provide, you know… a bit.”

  Abrams again looked to the generals. When the generals neither responded nor moved, Abrams appeared to be searching for something he could say. His answer came at length as, “It’s technology that, according to mainstream science, can’t exist. Technology that, for the record, Agent, doesn’t exist.”

  Jed, one eyebrow arched in surprise and dismay, searched the faces of the others in the dim light.

  Cute, Scarlet thought of Abrams’ answer. I suppose I should have expected as much.

  Distrust between military and civilian intelligence was already rampant, and any cooperative efforts they might agree to tended to be fragile, short-lived, and fraught with tension. Each side saw every move of the other as at least somewhat suspect. Bad blood was, furthermore, not easily forgotten or washed away. Distrust of the other had practically been baked into the bureaucratic structures of each side.

  However, if the Air Force weren’t willing to divulge the nature of the technology despite the high stakes, then, whatever the information was, it must have been classified at above UMBRA-4, the official classification level for this briefing. The information may have been UMBRA-5, -6, or -7… or perhaps at a classification level that Scarlet was not even aware of. She considered this. What was the Air Force really up to on that base? Who were they ultimately taking orders from?

  She set these questions aside, however, to concentrate on what little data was being shared with the Bureau.

  “Who purged the camera footage?” asked a feisty Spendrick. “I assume it was someone who could have had access to your security systems. And who knew about this technology? Specifically, who knew that it was being kept at Quincy? If it’s so secretive, there couldn’t have been many who knew about it: some scientists, maybe a few engineers, a handful of officers. Our list of suspects and leads ought to be pretty damned short, I’d say.”

  “That information is classified,” the colonel said. “This is part of the investigation that we can and will handle ourselves. And we are handling it, even as we speak. We are grateful for the NSB’s assistance in this investigation, but there are pieces of it that only our people should be involved in. We—”

  “Cut the crap already, Colonel Abrams,” Spendrick interrupted. “Give us some goddamned answers already!”

  Abrams looked at Spendrick and blinked several times. He gave a calm tug to the bottom hem of his coat, then continued, “National security, as I was about to say, dear Chief, demands our strict containment of what was stolen. We can’t bring about that containment if you get your people involved with the investigation at the same level our people are.”

  A smoldering Spendrick took his glasses off and glared at the colonel. Abrams’ unspoken censure was like a slap in the face. He may as well have told the section chief, We’ve got fewer leaks and more professionalism than you do. Take a seat at the kids’ table and do your job—or butt out.

  The colonel, looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks, looked back at Spendrick with bleary, defiant eyes, but then turned his attention away, back to the room at large.

  “What about the base’s security personnel? Surely they must have seen something? Heard something?” Smerch asked. “They must have some record of events.”

  “They were killed on-site,” Abrams said. “Three of our airmen are dead.”

  Chapter Five

  Then Rodrigo spoke again. “How did they die, compadre?”

  “That is yet to be investigated,” Abrams admitted. “We don’t have the full picture at this time, but an initial inspection of their bodies indicated brute-force trauma at or near the time of death. There were also some severe burns to their bodies produced by an unknown mechanism or substance. Beyond that, we don’t know—yet.”

  Abrams reached for a remote control, pressed it once, firmly, then held his hands together in front of him.

  On the screen appeared the images of the dead men.

  One was shown with his eyes and eyelids as black as coal, apparently having been incinerated. His body was on its side on the floor, and his head was sharply bent at an unnatural angle. The second airman was missing his lower jaw, and there was a deep hole in the middle of his chest, at his solar plexus. The third was decapitated. He lay chest-down, his head a few feet from his body, an
d his back raked with what appeared to be three, claw-like burns, each dark as obsidian.

  Scarlet’s attention latched onto this third airman. “It looks like he had been running away.”

  “That was our initial assessment, too,” Abrams said. “We think he saw the death of one or both airmen, then tried to flee the scene.”

  “The burns, though—where did they come from?” asked Rick. “I mean, it seems important to know.”

  Abrams again looked to the generals.

  Ahhh, Scarlet thought, so they do have an idea.

  Polinsky looked blankly at Abrams but said nothing. Zanoria tapped his cigarette over an ash tray in apparent unconcern.

  But it’s something that even their science and technology might not explain, Scarlet reasoned, even as esoteric and advanced as it must be at that level of classification. And if it’s something that even their best science can’t explain…

  “They’re being investigated,” Abrams said to Watanabe. Then, addressing the whole room, he said, “But this case isn’t about the dead bodies. Not primarily. Don’t get us wrong. We love our airmen, and we will fully investigate their deaths, but there’s a bigger issue here. And it’s why we came to you.”

  “You think something paranormal went down?” Rodrigo asked, addressing the elephant in the room.

  Abrams paused, glanced at the generals, then responded, “Yes. Yes, we do. Our security systems at Quincy went offline shortly after the girl apparently entered the hangar. There were more cameras at the base, naturally, but they were quickly shut off by means we’re not sure of as yet. We’ve shown you all the footage we have of her. God knows we wish we had more of it.” He shook his head. “Our security systems were shut off from a computer terminal within the hangar. All of them. There is even evidence, preliminary evidence, that she was able to access and erase some of our cameras’ footage to cover her tracks.”

  “Then there’s been a data-breach as well?” ventured Jed.

  Abrams paused and looked out thoughtfully at the agent. “That’s correct. Certain sensitive files were accessed, not counting the camera footage, but they were encrypted via CSA-4096 slip-hash. No one cracks that, Agent.”

  “Just like no one breaks into your base and steals your toys?” Scarlet asked. We’ve got to assume that those files have not only been accessed, but already decrypted. Or soon will be.

  Abrams, not looking amused, turned to her but did not address her remark. Instead, he looked back out at the room and said, “We need you to find this girl, whoever she is. She’s a clear and present threat to national security. The stolen tech and the breached data are our concern—not yours. You—you just find the girl.” He tugged briskly at the bottom of his coat again, straightening it, and looking for the first time to be unsettled.

  “Still,” said Rick Watanabe, “It’d be immensely helpful if you could at least give us a hint about this technology. It might be related to finding this person, maybe even necessary.”

  “As I said, we’re handling that,” Abrams said. “We know what to look for. We have our own assets on the ground to trace what may have happened to the tech. Just find this girl or this… whatever it was.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with Agent Watanabe,” Spendrick remarked, his voice getting edgier. “It’s a considerable handicap to our investigation if we don’t even know what was stolen. How do you expect us to piece together a motive? If we knew the tech, we might be able to infer a motive, for Chrissake. But if we don’t have that information, we’re left in the dark. And as for the data—what was the nature of the data that was breached? We’ve got to communicate. This is important, need-to-know info, Abrams!”

  “We’re not disclosing any of this information, at least not at this time,” Abrams insisted. “If it’s secret, you’re safe. If it’s not… then you’re not.”

  Spendrick stood up in defiance, his hands splayed out on the long table he shared with other attendees. For a man of small stature, he could present himself with considerable effect. “Was that a threat, Colonel? So far, you’ve kept us almost entirely in the dark, but, so help me God, if any of the secrets you’re holding back ends up hurting one of my men, I’ll smoke your starched-up, candy-puckered ass—and that’s God’s honest promise.”

  Zanoria, still seated, slowly stuffed the tip of his cigarette into his ash tray and, for the first time in this meeting, spoke.

  “Yes, it was a threat.” His voice was deep, slow, and gravelly, like that which a mountain might have if it could speak, yet there was a hint of violence in it. He looked stoically out at Spendrick from two, dark, steady, beady eyes.

  The attendees all turned their attention to the general.

  “If this technology gets out into the wild, everyone is dead.” He leaned back in his chair. “We’re looking at the end of all 16.7 billion of us. You. Me. Everyone in this room. The whole damned world. Gone. If we can’t get this technology back, no one is safe. You asked if you’re being threatened. That’s the threat, Chief.”

  Silence. Scarlet could hear the sound of her blood thrumming in her ears. Her thoughts centered on Jamison and what might happen to him if this technology, whatever it was, fell into the possession of a hostile state or corporation. Her hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

  After a very long moment, Spendrick, still frowning, pushed his black-frame glasses up, then said in a subdued voice, “I see.”

  “You find the girl. She’ll know what happened to it, if you must know,” Zanoria said. “Meanwhile, we’ll search for the missing technology using… other means.”

  Beth Summers, the youngest member of the PIR Units present, turned her attention to Abrams and asked, “How much time do we have to find her?”

  “Do you want the truth—or a pleasant-sounding lie?”

  “The truth. Of course.”

  “It might already be too late, Agent. That’s the truth. I suggest you begin your investigation a goddamned month ago,” Abrams said. He looked dirtily at Spendrick, then sidelong at the generals, and then at the room at large. His voice made of ice, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, we have work to do.”

  With that, he dismissed the meeting, and the three Air Force officers strode from the room.

  Meanwhile, miles away, in a dark room of their own, the people of The Zodiac stopped listening in.

  “It sounds like her, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter Six

  Bend others to your will. This is the first law of top-tier bureaucracy. That which you do not control is your enemy by default, and the many gears of a robust bureaucracy can grind the enemy’s plans to dust. All it takes, ladies and gentlemen, is pressure, focus, and the inevitable peeling-away of calendar pages.

  —from an address by Derek Spendrick to a graduating class of new recruits to the NSB, May 7, 2074

  The jet from New Washington, D.C. rocketed into the air at a steep angle, pressing Scarlet and Rodrigo back in their seats. The jet’s giant, tortured engines roared, and the aircraft shuddered as it clawed its way into the damp, smoggy sky.

  Scarlet looked out the window, down at the vast, urban sprawl below, which stretched out to the eastern horizon, until it had been stopped by the Atlantic Ocean. Tangled highways lined with lights. Enormous, mile-high pillars of concrete tenement housing that each held the compacted population of an entire town inside a single, colossal structure: modern-day Towers of Babel into which congregated countless adherents of an exacting faith.

  Along the side of one such building, written in large, bright lights, was a common slogan used by both the people and their government: “AFE: Land of the Free.” The patriotic signage blinked at regular intervals, trying to draw attention to itself in a noisy sea of colorful, cacophonous lights. Scarlet placed her eyes softly upon the sign as she let her mind wander.

  What will we find at Quincy? By now, they must have cleaned up anything that would give us a clue to the nature of the stolen technology, but if there’s enough of a trail to trac
k down the girl…

  The blinking sign left her view, however, as the jet, aiming itself at Quincy AFB, turned inevitably away from it and left it far behind her and below.

  When the sounds of the jet’s engines had quieted at cruising altitude, she turned to Rodrigo, who was seated next to her. He was an older, Hispanic man, a veteran of the PIR Units, and her partner on many of the Bureau’s investigations. His long, black-and-white hair was tied in a ponytail behind him, and his face was pocked with acne scars from his youth.

  “A little girl breaks into an Air Force base by ripping through two fences,” she began, “disables their security systems, kills three airmen, steals sensitive equipment that she shouldn’t have known about in the first place, and then just walks out, scot-free. How does that scan to you?”

  “It doesn’t. I’ve seen a lot of mierda—a lot of shit—in my day, amiga, but this one…” He shook his head. The wrinkles in his face looked deeper and more numerous in the low light of the cabin.

  Scarlet understood. PIR Units dealt with paranormal or otherwise unexplained phenomena that were of security interest to the AFE, but seldom were the stakes quite this high. Vampire cults; hostile, extra-dimensional intelligences that had found a way to materialize a body here; UFOs of all sorts; various freaks of nature which science said shouldn’t be possible—all such things were routine for them. But she recalled the security camera footage she saw and noted how it haunted even her. There was something about that little girl’s penetrating stare that sent shivers up Scarlet’s spine.

  “Possessed doll?” Scarlet speculated.

  Rodrigo shook his head again. “Not likely. They mainly just communicate via telepathy. They get their way with threats, fear, and thought-invasion, not physical violence. It’s not unheard of for one to be able to move on its own, but it’s so rare, chica. And when they do move, it isn’t with a great amount of strength. Besides, you know of any four-foot dolls?” He cast her a skeptical look.