The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  “Man! They've got phasers in there!” Mouse exclaimed. “Look at those freaking blast burns!”

  Gunter grunted agreement, adding, “They appear to be miniaturizing the technology.”

  “They’re x-ray lasers,” Christa said.

  “You recognize them?” Mitch asked.

  “I’ve seen photographs. The glass tubing acts as both a focusing device and a vacuum simulator.”

  Gunter grasped her meaning at once. “Ahh, so they are test beds for orbital weapons. They are simulating effects of firing in the vacuum of space.”

  “Orbital weapons?” Mitch said, surprised. “You think this is a Star Wars research center?”

  “Maybe once it was. Not now.” Christa looked closely at the image on Mouse’s screen. “There’s no way to tell when they fired those things last. The x-ray laser was never perfected. They had to blow up a satellite to generate enough energy to fire it, which hardly made it a practical weapon.” She studied the image of the four machines. “They could be leftovers from SDI, the star wars program, which they’re adapting for a new purpose.”

  “Like brain melting,” Mouse said. “I wonder if that’s what made the sound G recorded?”

  “We know they’ve got an energy weapon,” Mitch said with growing conviction. “I’ve got two fried cell phones to prove it. And that weapon I saw in the helicopter outside our hotel in Washington was a lot smaller than those machines, so they’re far ahead on the miniaturization path.”

  “That device they used on us wasn’t an x-ray laser, not powerful enough,” Christa said. “If it was, they'd have cooked us alive. It must be a spin off, a low power weapon that shorts out electrical devices.”

  “Low power?” Mitch sounded incredulous. “It killed our car and sent you spinning.”

  Christa smiled, rubbing her temple. “I remember, but that was from twenty feet away. No way it would take out an ICBM at five thousand miles.”

  Mitch blinked. “Hmm, guess not.”

  “Want me to deploy the minicam here?” Mouse asked.

  “Can it watch those machines down there?”

  Mouse swiveled the crawler’s camera back and forth. “Yeah, if I hook onto the louvers.”

  “Do it.”

  Mouse activated the robotic arm again, extracting a small battery powered camera from the crawler’s cargo bay. After ten minutes of painstaking tweaking, the minicam was in place, with a clear view of the laboratory below. He switched to the minicam’s signal to test it, then rotated the crawler and started it along the ventilation tube. After twenty feet, the tunnel turned to the left. When the crawler rounded the bend, the shaft angled downwards at forty five degrees.

  Mouse halted the crawler. “It’s going to be slippery. If the crawler rolls, it’ll be noisy. You sure you want to risk it?”

  “If we don’t get Gunter’s package in there,” Mitch said, “This will have been for nothing.”

  “You’re the boss,” Mouse said, as he eased the crawler forward onto the incline. The little machine crept down, silently skidding a few inches at a time, every few seconds. After several minutes, the vent leveled off, allowing them all to breathe a sigh of relief. He crept the machine forward more confidently until it reach an intersection, where four vents joined at right angles.

  “Which way?” Mouse asked.

  Christa leaned forward. “Can you get the minicam’s view on screen again?”

  “Sure,” Mouse said as he switched back to the camera he'd mounted on the louvers. The extreme right of the picture showed where four orange tubular cooling vents intersected some way below, still well above the floor of the laboratory.

  “It's there,” she said.

  The right shaft disappeared off screen while the central vent stretched across the room, curving around parallel to the far wall. The left shaft ran straight across the lab, disappearing into the distant wall.

  “Go left,” Christa said.

  “Why left?” Mouse asked uncertainly.

  “Because . . . I feel we should go left.”

  “You feel?” Gunter asked confused.

  “Yes, go left.”

  Mouse glanced at Mitch for confirmation, who nodded.

  The crawler rolled silently into the left shaft and made its way across the width of the laboratory to the far wall. Emerging out of the gloom was a wire mesh blocking the vent.

  Mouse tried using the crawler’s arm to push it aside, but the wire was too strong. “Go left, she said!”

  “Go through it,” Christa said firmly.

  Mouse gave her a disparaging look, then leaned close to the screen to study the image. “I'm going to have to cut.” He said, throwing a warning glance to Mitch. “That'll waste a lot of gas.”

  “Do it,” Mitch said. “But keep switching to the minicam. Don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.”

  Mouse activated the tiny acetylene torch’s control arm. It had less movement than the robotic arm, due to the need to mount the heavy torch and its gas tube. On the right side of the screen, a thin cylinder graduated with horizontal lines appeared, indicating the remaining gas supply.

  “We've got three hundred seconds burn time, then the torch is out of gas. Let's hope we don’t have to cut through too many of these things,” Mouse said as he edged the crawler up to the mesh, lined up the torch and ignited it. A narrow hot blue flame shot out and began cutting through the mesh. Several times, he flicked back to the minicam view of the laboratory, watching for anyone who might enter the lab and hear the torch hissing. The thin graduated cylinder on screen fell rapidly as the crawler cut a rectangle in the mesh. When the mesh was almost fully severed, he killed the torch, wincing at the fuel display. “Damn! Close to one hundred and twenty seconds! Too long.”

  “We've still got three minutes left,” Mitch said encouragingly.

  Mouse peered at the dark tunnel that vanished into shadows. “Straight ahead, I guess,”

  “Wait,” Christa said, pointing to a vague shadow on the screen. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Pan up,” she ordered.

  He tilted the crawler’s camera up, then switched on a weak light, revealing a narrow pipe running along the vent, next to the laboratory wall.

  “What do you think?” Mitch asked.

  “Could be anything,” Mouse replied doubtfully. “Hot water . . . cold water . . . halon gas for the fire extinguishers. Who knows?”

  “Could be an electrical duct,” Gunter suggested. “For power lines.”

  “No, that’s it.” Christa said certainly. “That’s our best chance.”

  Gunter looked puzzled. “Why is that our best chance?”

  Christa seemed to listen to something they couldn't hear. “I’m sure that’s what we're looking for.”

  “Is that women’s intuition?” Gunter asked skeptically.

  “You can call it whatever you like.”

  Gunter snorted his disgust. “I say we continue looking.”

  “No! Cut into it. I know it’s something.”

  “Are we professionals?” Gunter demanded. “Or palm readers?”

  Mitch looked from Gunter to Christa, studying her uncertainly.

  “Trust me,” she said. “That’s the best shot we have.”

  Mitch sighed. “Okay Princess, we’ll put your intuition to the test.” He nodded to Mouse. “Cut into it, but keep an eye on the minicam.”

  Mouse lit the torch again and began cutting a rectangular piece out of the duct. The graduated cylinder ticked down past each line as the torch ate through its fuel, while every few seconds Mouse switched to the minicam, ensuring the lab was empty. “Almost there,” he muttered, as the torch worked its way back to its starting point. The fuel display crept down to empty, then the torch flickered out, with the final cut incomplete. “Shit! Nearly had it.”

  “Try the main arm,” Mitch suggested.

  “This is going to be noisy, if it’s strong enough,” Mouse said as he maneuvered the
telescoping arm around until its pincers were lined up with the near complete rectangular cut. When the pincers pushed into the cutting, the crawler’s microphone picked up a metal on metal squeal as one of the claws penetrated the duct.

  “Minicam,” Mitch ordered.

  Mouse flicked back to the laboratory, ensuring it was still empty.

  “It sounds louder to us, because the microphone is right there,” Gunter said.

  Mouse returned to the crawler's view, then ensuring the arm had a good grip, instructed the arm to pull as the crawler backed away. There was another metallic squeal as the last sinew of metal holding the rectangular piece in place tore off. He checked the laboratory camera again, without waiting for Mitch’s command. Two guards carrying assault rifles stood between the four test beds, turning around trying to find where the noise came from.

  “Our luck just ran out,” Mitch said. “They were under the minicam, out of its view.”

  One of the guards walked off to the right, pointing in the wrong direction, while the second guard shook his head and moved toward where the air vent met the wall. They held their guns ready, moving as if they were stalking a target.

  “The air vent muffled it,” Gunter said. “They are not sure of the direction.”

  The guard on the left walked toward the air vent, looking up and down listening for another tell tale sound, but not particularly focusing on the vent. The other guard passed out of view, off in the wrong direction. The guard near the vent stopped, almost directly beneath the crawler, listening. Mouse switched back to the crawler camera to check the telescoping arm. It held the rectangular piece in its claw by a fraction of an inch. The piece rocked back and forth slightly, each movement working it free.

  “If it drops it, we’re out of here,” Mitch said, knowing the clang would give the crawler away.

  “If they get the crawler,” Gunter said. “They will find the minicam and the roof camera.”

  “And they'll quadruple security,” Mitch added.

  Mouse switched back to the minicam to see the guard begin to relax, showing no sign of moving. The second guard appeared in view, his weapon slung on his shoulder. Mouse flicked back to the crawlercam's feed, showing the metal rectangle hanging precariously from the claw. He edged the claw left, starting the rectangle rocking again.

  “It’s going to fall,” Mitch whispered.

  Mouse brought the claw over one of the crawler’s rubber wheels, lowering the arm until the rectangle rested on the wheel. He pressed the arm down harder, pinning the rectangle between the rubber wheel and the arm, then switched back to the minicam view. The two guards were discussing the noise, then one guard went right, followed a moment later by the other. He waited until both guards had been out of sight for several minutes before switching back to the crawler. He raised the claw arm, and the rectangular piece fell with a clank onto the vent's metal floor.

  “Clunk, I’m here!” Mouse said quickly switching back to the minicam view, but the guards didn’t appear again. After a few anxious minutes, he aimed the crawlercam into the freshly cut hole, discovering a single black insulated cable inside.

  “Let's see what we've got,” Mitch said.

  The telescoping arm retrieved the last item from the crawler’s cargo bay, a small silver cylinder with aerials attached and four multi jointed clamps. Mouse rotated the cylinder until it was lined up with the rectangular hole he'd cut, then inserted the device.

  Gunter moved to his control console near the front of the van and triggered the robotic clamps, which attached themselves to the cable. “Secure.”

  Mouse retracted the crawler’s arm, revealing the metal cylinder, now sitting snugly in the rectangular hole.

  Gunter activated the package, which forced a needle like contact through the insulation into the wire beneath. “Connected. Running diagnostics.”

  Mitch glanced at Christa, seeing the anxiety in her face.

  “It is not a power cable, voltage is too low,” Gunter said. “Negative on the camera feed. We have no interior pictures.” He cursed silently under his breath, shaking his head, “It is not a sensor line, current is too variable.”

  Christa’s face showed her disappointment. “I was sure there was something there, something we could use.”

  “Next time, let us try a séance,” Gunter said. “That might get a better result.” He glanced toward Mouse. “Take a look. There's data flowing through the line, maybe you can do something with it.”

  Christa watched hopefully as Mouse produced a cable from his bag, handing one end to Gunter and connected the other to his computer. In a few seconds he had a program running that was analyzing the data flowing along the cable. After a minute he laughed.

  “What is it?” Mitch asked.

  “It’s the air conditioning system.”

  “Damn!” Mitch said, disappointed their search had come to nothing and Christa’s abilities had been proven to be fallible, if not imaginary, in the eyes of Mouse and Gunter. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. He knew she was having trouble believing she could have been so wrong.

  “No, that’s good,” Mouse declared excitedly. “Their air conditioning system is high tech. They have multiple rooms, with temperature regulated environments. Give me some time, and I’ll back end this baby all the way to their central computer.”

  Suddenly Christa brightened. “So it’s useful?”

  Mouse sobered. “Yeah, it’s useful”

  She smiled, relieved, then glanced at Gunter who looked uncomfortable.

  “Do you need to be here to figure it out?” Mitch asked

  “Nope, I’m taking a copy of the data stream now. In another couple of minutes, I’ll have enough info to build a worm, then we can start playing.”

  “How long will the worm take?” Christa asked.

  Mouse shrugged. “Can’t tell yet.”

  “How much endurance have we got left on the crawler?” Mitch asked.

  “Walking or talking?”

  “If we leave it where it is, all systems shut down.”

  “Twenty hours, maybe a bit more in reserve.”

  “Park it for now. We’ll bury the recorders here to record off the roofcam and the minicam.”

  “And a data recorder. I might need more of this signal.”

  “Okay, a data recorder too.”

  Mouse shut down the crawler’s systems, while Gunter reached for a shovel. Lying on the floor of the minivan, tightly wrapped in waterproof coverings, were several receivers attached to long play digital recorders. Mouse hooked a data recorder up to a receiver for Gunter’s signal snooper, slid it beneath the waterproof covering, then he and Gunter went to bury the receiving units.

  When they were out of earshot, Mitch turned to Christa. “I’ve never seen a look like that on G’s face . . .” Mitch chuckled. “You just rocked his world.”

  “He’s got a scientist’s mind, skeptical of everything he can’t put under a microscope.”

  Mitch nodded, then slowly a troubled look appeared on his face. “Are you a hundred percent certain, those things were SDI lasers?”

  “Yes, old ones. Why?”

  “I’ve been thinking ... do you have any idea what it takes to hijack something like that?”

  “I know,” she said soberly. “It’s a big operation.”

  “It’s not like Chinese spies slipping a computer disk into their pockets and walking off with the secrets to the H-bomb.” He looked thoughtfully through the van’s rear window at the lights of the Newton Institute. “I can’t even begin to think how many government agencies would have to be screwed to do it.”

  * * * *

  Mouse laid a set of blueprints of the Newton Institute’s main building before them. “As you can see, there’s nothing in these plans resembling that room or the cooling system we saw, and there are no plans anywhere showing what the six outbuildings behind the main building are for. Originally, the building was designed as an office complex. According to county records,
the Newton Institute set up there about five years ago. The first thing they did was rebuild the interior, without letting anyone know what they were doing.”

  Mitch ran a practiced eye over the out of date plans Mouse had extracted from the local government authorities. “Do we know who installed their security systems?”

  “No,” Gunter replied. “County records show a simple alarm system was installed in the original building, but it is certain that was replaced long ago.”

  “It’s probably a military or intelligence community set up now,” Mitch concluded.

  “Or both together,” Christa suggested. “Getting those technologies took a lot of cooperation.”

  Mouse ran his finger over the blueprint thoughtfully. “These drawings should be correct structurally, so no change to fire escapes, elevators, major concrete and steel structural work. Otherwise they’d have had to tear down the building. It looks the same from the outside as it did when it was originally built twelve years ago.”

  “Except for the six little outbuildings,” Christa corrected, sorting through the pile of photographs Mitch had taken on their first reconnaissance. She selected a picture of one of the squat windowless outbuildings at the end of a narrow concrete path and placed it on the blueprints. A single metal door on the side of each building was the only distinguishing characteristic of otherwise featureless concrete blocks.

  “No windows,” Mitch observed. “There’s a good chance no people work there.”

  “Unless it’s lined with computer screens,” Mouse suggested.

  “Or maybe they are prison cells,” Christa said, “Holding people until they're ready to condition them.”

  Mitch shook his head slowly. “Too easy to spot prisoners being taken to the main building. If they have prison cells, they'd be in the main building, probably underground.”