Jürgen frowned. An internet dongle? How was that related to missing veterans?
“The dongles have what is probably best described as an extreme range,” the agent continued. “To put it in perspective, they are capable of reaching access points located within thousands of miles of the dongle – we don't know where - and logging on. Once they have logged on, they have a very high rate of transmission and access to the internet, allowing downloads to be completed faster than ever before. Finally, the signals they use are almost completely undetectable except at very close range.”
He paused for effect. “What this means,” he said, “is that anyone using one of these systems can browse the internet without being traced or monitored by our systems.”
“Anyone,” one of the unnamed officers said.
“Anyone,” the agent confirmed. “The packaging claims a considerable degree of improvement over previous designs, but some tests have revealed that the claims are ... well, understated. Heavily understated. But the geek communities have already figured out how to use the dongles to surf the internet without any restrictions at all. The results have been interesting – and quite worrying.”
“I see,” the National Security Advisor said. “Where are these things coming from?”
“Wilhelm Tech,” the agent said. “They’re a small company, incorporated in both the States and Switzerland, with a good reputation for producing pieces of advanced technology at reasonable prices. We’ve asked the Swiss to investigate, but they’re stalling. They see no reason to enforce our laws for us, nor to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. By being incorporated in two places, they evade most of our laws governing technology transfer.”
He hesitated. “Something like this should have been born secret,” he said, referring to the government’s rule that certain pieces of technology, no matter who produced them, were automatically considered classified. “Instead, the news is out and spreading.”
One of the unnamed civilians leaned forward. “Can’t you duplicate the technology?”
“Not so far,” the agent admitted. “So far, we have acquired two dongles and tried to take them both apart. They both shattered on the table, leaving us with a pile of debris and a mystery. But we can tell you some odd things about the tech. For a start, while Wilhelm Tech is on the cutting edge of computer software, these devices seem an order of magnitude more advanced than anything known, even to us.
“This led to an investigation of Wilhelm Tech,” he continued. “We discovered that they purchased a considerable amount of supplies from various produces in the States ...”
“That’s a good thing, isn't it?” The civilian asked. “It’s far better to plough the money back into the States than send it to China.”
“It may be,” the agent said. “But their shopping list is rather odd ... and it’s all being shipped to a ranch in Montana. The same ranch where a number of veterans seem to be going – and then vanishing from sight.”
He nodded to Jürgen. “Tell them what you told us.”
Jürgen took a breath. He’d never had to brief such a high-ranking group before; hell, he’d never had to brief anyone more senior than his boss. His throat felt dry, but there was no time to take a sip of water.
“To summarise a complicated issue,” he said, “a large number of veterans, some of whom should have been unable to move, have transferred themselves to the Stuart Ranch in Montana. Since then, there has been no trace of their existence on Earth, nor does there seem to be enough facilities on the Ranch to take care of them. We have been unable to determine what might be happening there.”
He sat down. The agent stood again.
“We researched the ranch extensively when we realised that it was involved in the growing mystery,” the agent said. “There were some worrying signs. Steve Stuart, the current owner of the Ranch, resigned from the Marine Corps in 2013, following an ... incident in Afghanistan. Since them, he has been a regular commenter on conservative and liberal blogs, arguing in favour of the Second Amendment, small government and consistent law enforcement. He was involved, politically speaking, in a successful attempt to recall a local politician and force him out of office.
“Furthermore, his uncle was actually the target of an ATF investigation in the wake of the Oklahoma City bombing. Apparently, he and his family knew McVeigh personally, although the investigators concluded that they'd known nothing about the plot. The uncle in question was an army explosives expert, who would have made sure to produce a proper bomb that would have taken out the whole building.”
There was a pause. One of the civilians finally broke it. “Has Steve Stuart himself come to ATF’s attention?”
“Not directly,” the agent said, “but he’s on a watch list.”
Jürgen sighed. Anyone who supported the Second Amendment publically was on an ATF watch list. It didn't matter how they supported it, or how many guns they possessed; hell, there were pro-gun campaigners who owned no guns who were still targeted for observation.
“He isn't a member of the NRA, for what it’s worth,” the agent said. “He was a member, but resigned two years ago, claiming that the organisation had allowed politics to impede its primary purpose for existence. Some of his family are members, however, while others are members of other pro-gun groups. One of them is even a member of Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership.
“He’s also a licensed instructor in small arms, particularly concealed carry, with an enviable safety record. So far, we have been unable to locate any complaints against him, save a report that he insisted on someone using a gun more suited to her hand. It never went any further than grousing.”
The agent looked from face to face. “But we are faced with a disturbing mystery,” he said. “We have a large number of men, experienced with weapons, who have vanished off the face of the Earth. We have pieces of technology that could easily be used against us, seemingly connected to the disappearing men. And we have a ranch owned by someone who cannot be counted a wholehearted friend of the government. I believe, sirs, that we should act quickly to counter this threat.”
But you don’t even know there is a threat, Jürgen thought. He had to admit it was odd – where were the men going? – but it didn't necessarily mean it was a threat. Maybe there was a retirement home on the ranch for the veterans. Or perhaps there was a perfectly innocent explanation, one that might be lost if the DHS troopers charged in like stormtroopers and started a fight. Somehow, he doubted the ranchers would come quietly. There were too many horror stories about ATF task forces shooting the wrong people for anyone to be complacent about surrendering themselves to their custody.
He listened as the debate surged backwards and forwards. None of the senior officials seemed inclined to rule out a raid, even though a couple of them suggested talking openly to Wilhelm Tech first. After all, maybe a deal could be made. The technology could be controlled or put to work serving the government, if enough money was made available. But instead they seemed inclined to stampede towards a fateful choice.
They need a win too, he realised, suddenly. NSA had been entwined in scandals for the last five years, ever since Edward Snowden had fled the USA for Russia, carrying with him a whole series of uncomfortable revelations about the NSA’s domestic spying program. If NSA couldn't keep itself relevant, Congress and the Senate might load new restrictions on its activities ... or they might simply close the agency down altogether, throwing out the baby as well as the bathwater. No, whatever was going on with Wilhelm Tech and the Stuart Ranch – and the missing veterans – they couldn't afford to talk. They had to be seen to be taking action.
***
“The Department of Homeland Security will be supplying the SWAT team,” the agent said, afterwards. “You’ll be riding along with them, as will I. We’ll drop a mass of troopers on top of the farm and take everyone into custody, then sort them out later. The warrants are broad enough to allow us to hold them for weeks, if necessary.”
&nb
sp; Jürgen stared at him. Years of bureaucratic infighting had finally given the DHS teeth, without having to rely on the FBI, but the SWAT team had never actually been deployed for real. “Is this even legal?”
“We have a search warrant for the ranch, based on the information you supplied,” the agent assured him. “We even took a look at it through satellites and discovered no trace of any veterans. Indeed, there was hardly anyone in sight, apart from a handful of ranch hands. No kids, no women, no nothing. Between you and me, this is starting to look very sinister. It could even be another Branch Davidian compound.”
“Maybe,” Jürgen said, doubtfully. “What religion are these people?”
“Nothing registered, as far as we have been able to determine,” the agent said. He reached out and slapped Jürgen on the shoulder. “Whatever is going on, someone is trying to keep it a secret and that generally means trouble. And I really don’t like the presence of that advanced technology.”
He strode off towards the small jet that would be carrying them to Montana. After a long moment, Jürgen followed, gritting his teeth. What the hell had he started? Armed stormtroopers were about to crash into a ranch on suspicion of ... what, exactly? They could have poked around the edges of the compound, sent in a couple of agents, or even walked up to the door and asked, keeping the SWAT team in reserve. Instead, they were about to attack with loaded weapons. It was far too possible that innocent civilians were about to be caught in the crossfire, further undermining the reputation of both the DHS and NSA.
The NSA will blame it on us, he thought, coldly. If this goes to shit, it will be our fault and our fault alone.
And he couldn't escape the feeling that they were about to make a very big mistake.
Chapter Ten
Montana, USA
“All right,” Steve said, as he strode into the starship’s makeshift CIC. “What do we have?”
“Nine helicopters,” Mongo said. “Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, to be precise.”
Steve swore. Black Hawks had been designed for the military, but they were also used by both the FBI and the DHS. “They’ve found us.”
“They’ve found something, all right,” Kevin agreed. “I checked the records. They’re DHS helicopters.”
“Right,” Steve said. Clearly, operational secrecy had come to an end. Somehow – and they’d figure it out later – the DHS had cottoned on to something. There was no time to worry about it now. Instead, they had to get everyone out of the ranch and then prepare a reception. At least they had a rough contingency plan for discovery. “Send the emergency signal and recall everyone on the ranch, then prepare the combat team for deployment.”
He gritted his teeth. Abandoning the ranch would be the simplest solution, but it was part of his family’s history. He couldn't let the DHS goons – or anyone – just take it from him, no matter the cost. And besides, he had heard more than enough horror stories about how the DHS treated veterans and their families. Giving them a taste of their own medicine would feel sweet.
Kevin looked up. “You do realise that whatever we do will almost certainly be noticed?”
Stuart nodded. He’d hoped for months, perhaps a year, before they were discovered, but it was clear that there had been a slip-up somewhere. One month ... at least they were on their way to establishing Heinlein Colony and preparing plans for Mars and the asteroid belt. But it would ensure a rougher meeting with the federal government than he would have preferred.
Perhaps we should have gone ahead with the plan to introduce a fusion reactor, he thought, sourly. But there was no point in crying over spilt milk. Instead, it was time to mop it up.
“I’ll be taking the lead down there,” he said. The combat team needed to see him in command, just in case they had doubts about firing on fellow Americans. Sure, they were DHS stormtroopers, but that didn't make them the enemy. “Maintain teleport locks on all of us. If things go badly wrong, yank us out of there.”
“Understood,” Mongo said. “And good luck.”
Steve nodded. They were going to need it. Not to dispose of the incoming helicopters – it would have been childishly simple to destroy them before their pilots knew they were under attack – but to push them back without actually killing anyone. Dead pilots and stormtroopers would make it harder for the government to come to terms with Steve and his buddies. They’d have to react harshly against such an overt challenge to their authority.
Shaking his head, he made his way to the teleport chamber. One way or another, the world was about to become very different.
***
Jürgen cursed under his breath as the helicopter rocketed southwards. He’d never been in a helicopter before and the experience was killing him, by inches. It didn't help that the remainder of the team, men wearing black suits and carrying assault rifles, seemed to find his near-panic hilarious. Every few seconds, the plane rocked violently, stabilised and then rocked again. He was starting to wonder if the pilot was deliberately crashing them through the worst of the turbulence.
“Just hold on in there,” the NSA agent called. Despite sharing a flight, he still hadn't shared his name. “We’re almost there.”
Jürgen nodded, keeping his eyes firmly closed. It made it easier, somehow, if he didn't see the ground below the helicopter. Almost there? They’d been saying the same thing ever since they’d landed at the airfield they'd turned into a staging base and then transferred to the helicopters. He reached up and covered his eyes, adding to the darkness. Maybe that would make it easier still.
The helicopter rocked again, violently. “Whoops,” the pilot called, in a thick southern drawl. “Hit a nasty spot there!”
Jürgen silently cursed him to hell.
***
“All present and correct,” Edward Romford said.
Steve nodded, inspecting the first combat team. They were all veterans who had been repaired and rebuilt by the alien technology, then trained endlessly on captured alien weapons. There was still some roughness in how they acted, Steve saw, but they were getting there. It was just a shame they didn't have many combat cyborgs or powered combat suits. The ones they did have were designed for creatures the size of preteen children. God alone knew what the Hordesmen had been doing with them.
“Try not to kill anyone,” he warned, once he’d finished his inspection. “You have your shield bracelets and teleport locks. If worst comes to worst, we will beam out and leave the bastards scratching their heads. Any questions?”
Romford smirked. “Phasers on stun?”
“Definitely,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. The alien stunners worked surprisingly well, although the results tended to vary. A strong man might be out for a few minutes, while a weaker man or a child might sleep for nearly an hour. He still wished he’d had them in Afghanistan, though. They could have stunned everyone and then sorted the innocent from the guilty afterwards. “We don't want to kill anyone.”
He ran through the tactical situation as the helicopters came into view, their rotor blades chopping through the air. It looked as though they intended to try to hover over the ranch and rappel down to the ground, a tactic that did make a certain kind of sense if they expected a hot reception. Or, perhaps, they wanted to surround the ranch and then move in. It didn't really matter, he told himself. They were in for a very rude surprise.
“Launch the screamers,” he ordered, quietly.
***
Jürgen heard the alarms as the helicopter shook, more violently than ever before. What was wrong? Even the strong men were starting to panic as the shaking grew worse, followed by a faint crackling sound that left the air feeling ionised. There was a series of loud bangs from underneath the helicopter, then she dropped like a stone.
“We’re going to have to make an emergency landing,” the pilot said. He no longer sounded amused by his own daring. Instead, he sounded almost fearful. “Brace for impact!”
“They’re all going down,” another voice said. It took Jürgen a momen
t to place it as the team’s commander, a smug man who’d laughed while Jürgen had been trying not to be sick. “Every last helicopter is going down ...”
The noise of the craft’s engines grew louder, then stopped. Seconds later, there was a thunderous crash as they hit the ground. Jürgen’s eyes snapped open, revealing two of the stormtroopers forcing open the hatch and jumping out of the craft. The agent caught his arm and dragged him forward, practically throwing him after the stormtroopers. He landed badly, but there was no time to hesitate. The entire craft might be about to catch fire and explode.
“My God,” the agent said. “What happened?”
A Learning Experience Page 10
