The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  Mitch didn’t resist, ducking quickly back down and giving Gunter a curious look.

  “Camera,” he whispered, pointing to the cliff wall thirty yards ahead.

  Mitch followed Gunter’s gaze to a rectangular recess in the rock, twenty feet above ground level. It sheltered a swiveling camera, encased in a metal box, that was synchronized with the movement of the searchlight beam. If they'd started across the desert toward the south east tower, it would have seen them silhouetted against the searchlight's beam.

  “We’ll have to disable it,” Mitch said. “But in such a way that they won’t rush someone out here to see what’s wrong.”

  He glanced back, ensuring the searchlight was now well away from them, then together they darted across to the cliff wall. Once in the safety of the shadows, they edged along the cliff face, below the field of view of the hidden surveillance camera. When they were beneath the rectangular shadow, Mitch slipped out of his pack and climbed the creased face of the cliff to the camera recess. The camera completed its rightward arc as the searchlight illuminated the south eastern perimeter fences. In unison, the beam of light began drifting back toward the cliff, while the camera swiveled slowly to the left, away from the perimeter fences.

  Below, Gunter picked up Mitch’s pack and hurried past to a suitable hiding spot at the foot of the cliffs further north.

  Mitch marked Gunter’s new position in his mind as he drew his knife, then hung one handed from the ledge while the camera finished its outward arc. His shoulder ached from the strain placed on his unhealed wound, but he ignored the pain, focusing instead on the searchlight. When the beam was almost to the cliff, he wedged the knife into the swivel mechanism the camera was mounted on, confirmed the camera mount was jammed, then scrambled back down the rock face. He jumped as he neared the ground, rolled to his feet and sprinted the short distance to Gunter’s hiding place, taking cover as the searchlight washed over the base of the cliff.

  “They’ve still got pictures,” Mitch said. “Hopefully they’ll think the gears are jammed and wait for the maintenance team to fix it.”

  “Or at least wait until dawn.”

  When the beam began its inexorable sweep back across the desert, they started working their way through the shadows shrouding the foot of the cliff until they were due east of the perimeter tower.

  “How long?” Mitch asked.

  Gunter checked the old mechanical wrist watch he'd purchased the day before, which remained unaffected by the base’s energy weapon defenses. “Ten minutes.” He held the watch against his ear, to confirm it was still ticking. “If this antique keeps good time.”

  The outer perimeter fence was only two hundred yards away, with the intervening darkness broken by a few slivers of light emanating from the flood lights placed around the main building. There was no sign of guards patrolling the fences or of people moving between buildings. Only a handful of cars occupied the car park on the western side of the complex, and while the other structures on the far side of the base were alive with light, the area seemed peculiarly deserted.

  “Maybe they're in the accommodation block on the other side.” Mitch hadn't ruled out the possibility that the desert heat kept the base's inhabitants indoors, protected by air conditioning.

  Gunter studied the facility’s grounds with the binoculars. “Or most of it is underground?”

  They waited until the searchlight beam had passed over them again, and was moving away, then they started toward the south east tower. They approached cautiously, using boulders and gullies for cover, until they heard the unmistakable beat of rotors. They both went to ground, lying motionless as the helicopter approached. It was a Blackhawk, painted in desert camouflage, with its navigation lights off. It swept south over the main building, was briefly illuminated by light from the base, then it skimmed over the double line of fences, and vanished into the night. When the sound of the chopper died, they crawled to within twenty feet of the outer fence, where they studied the slender corner tower. The big searchlight was mounted on top, in a housing with doors that locked during day, concealing its presence. Cameras mounted on the tower watched the fences and the open ground beyond, while bulbous motion detectors covered the inner perimeter. Suspended in front of the tower was a trio of infra red sensors, that would become increasingly dangerous as the ground cooled. Mitch and Gunter exchanged knowing looks, as they pointed silently to the sensors, certain that to approach closer would result in discovery.

  “They may have seen us already,” Gunter whispered. “We should be within the detection radius of the IR and optical systems already.”

  “Optical might have missed us in the dark, but carrying these packs, we're both red hot for IR. How long until the deadline?”

  Gunter checked his mechanical wrist watch. “We are four minutes late.”

  Mitch studied the base, from the south east tower, past the flood lights mounted on silver poles to the buildings and the distant fences beyond. The light pole closest to the south east tower was faulty, blinking erratically, but otherwise, the base was spotless and deserted. He wondered why there'd been no response from the base's guards, as he agreed with Gunter, the tower’s sensors should have detected them by now.

  Far to the north west, a flare exploded high in the sky, then another. Two black Apache attack helicopters, lit by the flares, rapidly orbited the illuminated ground.

  “What are they searching for over there?” Mitch wondered, then realized what was right in front of his eyes. “It's Morse code!”

  “What is?” Gunter said, lowering the binoculars he was studying the Apaches with.

  “That blinking light! It’s Morse code.” Mitch watched the light cycle through its message, then chuckled. “It says ‘Hackers Rule’.” He pulled the bolt cutters out of his pack. “Let’s go.”

  “What about the helicopters?” Gunter asked uncertainly.

  “It's a diversion! Mouse sent them on a wild goose chase.”

  Mitch sprinted to the outer fence. He wasted no time testing for electricity or sensors, he just started cutting. He was certain, whatever tricks the fence had, were neutralized. When the hole was large enough, he crawled through. Gunter followed, while he ran to the inner perimeter fence and put the bolt cutters to work again. By the time Gunter had caught Mitch, he was already crawling through a freshly cut gap in the inner fence. Far to the north west, the air reverberated with a series of distant explosions, and the sky flashed repeatedly, as the Apaches fired rockets blindly at shadows.

  “Whatever Mouse has done, he’s really pissed them off.” Mitch said with a sly grin.

  Gathering up their packs, they jogged toward the south end of the main building, where the intricate system of pipes rose out of the ground and climbed the wall onto the roof. Behind them, the erratic light stopped blinking, and the outer perimeter fence sparked where Mitch had severed electrical connections, signaling the fence was live again.

  “Looks like Mouse has been kicked out,” Mitch concluded as he reached the corner of the building. “That didn’t take them long.”

  “Getting out will be harder than getting in,” Gunter said ominously.

  Mitch took a moment to study the vertical pipes, touching the nearest with his hand. It was mildly warm with heavy bolts sealing the joints. The pipe vibrated slightly from the liquid flowing through it at moderate speed.

  “What do you make of this?”

  Gunter moved along the row of vertical pipes, studying them, then shook his head uncertainly. “A circulation system? Perhaps it is part of the base’s power supply, or for temperature control?”

  Mitch stole a look around the corner of the building. The pipes rose from the ground to the roof like a row of trees along an expanse of wall devoid of windows and doors. After several hundred yards, the pipes ended, then windows ran along the remaining length of wall to a single door. The double fences to the right ran parallel to the building all the way north to another distant tower and a large square buildin
g a mile away. A small access road, flanked by evenly spaced light poles, separated the building from the inner fence.

  Another explosion rumbled in from the north, breaking Mitch’s fascination with the row of vertical pipes. He starting jogging along the side of the building, with Gunter close behind. When they reached the last of the pipes, he paused only long enough to ensure the windows ahead were showing no lights, then he ran to the solitary metal door at the end of the building. It was locked, and surprisingly sealed with rubber insulation. Gunter examined the door, while Mitch watched the northern sky warily. The two helicopter gunships were now circling to the east, taking turns dropping flares as they followed a new search pattern just beyond the fences.

  “Combination lock, and us with no functioning electronic equipment!” Gunter said, producing a crow bar. “I will have to do this the old Prussian way.” He rammed the crow bar into the door frame, and threw his weight against it, trying to force the door open.

  Far to the north, the two Apaches swept past the north east tower and began scouring the desert between the double chain link fences and the cliffs. Mitch knew the new search pattern would lead the two Apaches right to them.

  “Hurry,” Mitch said urgently.

  Gunter crashed the crowbar into the door frame again, tearing through the insulation, then pulling with all his considerable strength. “Almost got it,” he groaned as the door frame creaked and metal twisted away from the locking bolt.

  He rammed the crowbar home again, placed his foot on the wall, and leaned back with all his might, wrenching the door open. Electrical sparks flashed as the lock tore free of its connecting wires and fell half out of the door. A few hundred yards away, one of the choppers began circling back to the outer perimeter fence, toward them. Gunter shouldered the door aside, as a cloud of condensation wafted out into the warm night air. Mitch darted in behind him, then slammed the door shut and listened as the Apache passed overhead without stopping.

  Mitch breathed a sigh of relief, shivering as the freezing air clawed at his skin. He turned to find himself in a darkened room, lit only by the pale light filtering in through a single frost coated window. The Cool Room was a large square laboratory, filled with shiny stainless steel surgical devices, steel refrigerators, narrow metal tables and white spotlessly clean tiled floors. Gunter stood a few feet from him, mesmerized.

  On every table was a human body, face down, all with rectangular sections of their skulls removed, exposing the naked human brain tissue within.

  * * * *

  Mouse swore under his breath as the screens displaying the satellite feed went blank for the third time in four hours, as once again the NSA recaptured their satellite. He launched his recovery routine, timed to coincide with the program he'd uploaded onto the satellite. Nervous seconds passed, then the screens flashed back to life as he regained control.

  “Yes!” Mouse declared triumphantly, then immediately hacked his way back into the Sincom system.

  Just before the NSA had kicked him off the satellite, a hacker tracker from Sincom had detected his intrusion into the base’s computer and had begun shutting down systems in an attempt to lock him out. When he re-established contact, it took him only seconds to bypass the now familiar security lockouts and reach the operating system. He quickly discovered the programs he’d loaded into Sincom’s main computer had been isolated from the rest of the system, giving someone time to study them and determine their purpose.

  “Nice work,” he admitted, admiring the speed and skill of his adversary.

  Mouse rapidly uploaded instructions to launch the last trick he had left to escape quarantine. He knew Mitch and Gunter were inside the base, having seen them on the south east tower’s security camera and infra red scanner. He’d jammed both sets of signals, sending instead false data indicating intruders were approaching from the north west, hoping to draw any guards away from their entry point. The instructions were seventy percent loaded when the console in front of him sparked and burst into flames. He recoiled backwards from the panel as the four screens shorted out and went black.

  Mouse crawled back confused, raising his hands to shield his face from the small naked flames that licked the console. He went up on one knee, peering through the smoke, realizing at once the mobile ground station's delicate electronics were destroyed. A moment later the cabin lights went out as the satellite truck’s engine spluttered and died, leaving the control room in darkness.

  Energy weapons?

  It was then he heard the sound of rotors approaching, and in an instant knew he'd lost the satellite and had to escape. He launched himself out of the truck's rear door, into the cooling night air, hitting the ground hard and rolling clumsily to his feet. Off to his right, he sensed the dark mass of the Blackhawk helicopter descending out of the night sky. The beat of the rotors was deafening as the chopper came in, kicking up a whirlpool of dust that swirled toward him.

  Mouse ran from the shadowy forms of soldiers jumping from the helicopter, toward the low hills and shallow gullies of the open desert. Behind him, soldiers fanned out, raking the ground with flashlight beams that formed solid pillars of light through the swirling dust. A beam of light touched him and the air filled with voices yelling excitedly.

  “There he is!”

  “Over there!”

  “Take him alive!”

  Half a dozen flashlight beams flicked onto him, tracking him as he ran. Behind the soldiers, the beat of rotors picked up speed as the Blackhawk lumbered skyward and began to circle toward him.

  How did they find me? So fast!

  The ground dropped away in front of him as he stumbled into a dry creek bed, and for a moment, escaped into the darkness. He cut to his left, racing across the path of his hunters as the sound of an approaching helicopter grew louder. Mouse dived to the ground beside several small boulders and lay still as the chopper flew over the gully. Its searchlight blinked on, flooding the desert with light, but missing him as it drifted off to the right. He jumped to his feet and sprinted along the creek bed, around a bend in the dry water course and ducked down again behind a small rocky outcrop. First one soldier, then others reached the embankment and raked the gully with their lights, but the bend in the creek bed and rocks shielded his hiding place, giving him time to think.

  They tracked my signal, back to the satellite and down to the truck! How?

  Several soldiers crossed the dry creek bed and headed toward the gully beyond, while others tracked left and right along the creek bed. The sound of the Blackhawk faded, as it moved off ahead of the soldiers, sweeping the ground with its brilliant searchlight. Mouse started to creep along the gully, knowing he had a chance if he could put distance between himself and the truck, when the silhouette of a soldier appeared, blocking his escape. He charged forward, swinging a wild punch at the soldier’s head, but too late, he realized his mistake. The soldier jabbed a long metal rod into Mouse’s ribs, discharging a massive surge of electricity that caused every muscle in his body to spasm, paralyzing him. His limp body hit the soldier harmlessly, then he fell face down onto the ground, while his muscles continued to twitch uncontrollably.

  “Over here! I’ve got him,” the soldier yelled.

  Mouse felt the toe of a boot dig under his shoulder and roll him over onto his back. A man appeared above the creek bed as the soldier removed one of his leather gloves and felt for a pulse on Mouse’s neck.

  “He’s alive. Want me to finish him?”

  “No, we can use him,” the man replied as he approached. “Anyone who can steal a NSA satellite and break our security belongs on the Neural Net.”

  Mouse knew he’d heard that voice before, but he couldn't recall where, his mind still spinning from the electric shock. He grappled against rubbery lips for words. “Never . . . help . . .you.”

  The Blackhawk appeared overhead, flooding the dry water course with light as the man stopped to look down at his helpless captive.

  “Yes, you will,” McNamara said
with certainty. “Whether you want to or not.” He turned to the soldier. “Knock him out for the trip back, I don’t want any mistakes.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, then casually jabbed the end of the metal tube into Mouse’s chest, unleashing another jolt.

  Mouse’s body convulsed as one last thought flickered through his mind before he lost consciousness.

  What's a Neural Net?

  Chapter 17

  Christa regained consciousness slowly, sensing the strange immobility of her arms and legs. Gradually, the sounds of movement and voices nearby filtered through to her. As the anesthetic wore off, she realized she was lying face down on a bed. Cushioned pads supported her forehead, chin and cheekbones, while her face was open to the air. When she opened her eyes, she saw there was an opening through the bed, revealing a white tiled floor. The bed was supported by stainless steel struts mounted on thick rubber wheels so it could be easily moved from room to room. Nearby, a nurse’s white shoes and stockings walked in and out of view as the nurse made her preparations.

  Is this what it feels like?

  She tested her capacity for self will, but found no obstructions to her thoughts. She wondered whether she'd even be able to recognize if her thoughts had been forced on her by the repatterning of her brain's electrical pathways.

  Maybe you can’t tell when you’re conditioned?

  She tried to conceive of a test that would let her know if she was still herself, but realized she may not be able to judge the results if she was conditioned.

  My implant? I should be dead!

  While her mind spun in circles of self doubt, the last traces of the anesthetic dissipated, and the throbbing in the back of her head began to drum its warning note to her. The pain never rose above a mild headache, but its presence sent a shiver of dread through her as she realized her golden locks had been shaved down to her naked scalp.