The Harbinger of Change

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  “Point being, Beck was so far outside the lines that the kid sent a message that we weren’t getting. Beck had a dark criminal mind, and Hurst wanted us to know that. I think he believed killing him was a favor that circumstance allowed. He removed a cancer from us, at least in his mind. He could have disabled Beck easily at that range, but he didn’t, because Beck’s behavior disgusted him to the point of no return. I believe I know why he was released from the Sheriff’s Academy now. We just need to get a hold of the cadet he got into a fight with so we can find out the truth of why they argued that day. I have a hunch, Bob, that this kid has an over-reaction in situations where he sees great inequality. This kid’s no dummy, Bob. He made all these calls on the fly, and I’m convinced that he did them with as much forethought as the moment would allow.”

  “You’re not going to be popular, Ray,” Bob replied. “As a matter of fact, your job has been threatened more than mine today.”

  “I don’t care about my job here, Bob. We have a man inside there, damn it! And he’s a bloody good man to boot. Now I reiterate, if they don’t kill him, he’ll find a way to get to us. It might be a year for all we know, but we better be listening.”

  “That’s if they don’t kill him, Ray—that’s a big if. So he saved the girl,” Bob argued, “she might have been expendable anyway for all we know, and both of them are sitting in a warehouse with air-conditioned heads.”

  “Certainly a possibility, but if this were a mission, and we placed an agent in that situation with these results, we would be hopeful his survival skills would see him live.”

  “He’s not trained, Ray.”

  “Well, he doesn’t need the special language skills in this scenario, since they know who he is up front—they took him. So they won’t think he’s a spy. Plus he saved the girl and brought out the plans, so he’s not an enemy. It sounds like he played everything right to get inside, if it’s possible. If not, Matt Hurst just sacrificed his life for his country.”

  “Yeah,” said Bob, “and gave them who knows what?”

  “We don’t know what he gave them now, do we, Bob?”

  “No, Ray, but this is thin—very thin.”

  “Maybe, but the people who did this might never be brought to justice. Hurst might have put into play our only hope of one day finding out who they are.”

  Bob couldn’t fight the logic anymore. “Okay, it is what it is, I guess. There’s nothing we can do now. Hurst chose this path and we’ll have to wait and see how that works out. God help us if he was wrong, Ray.”

  “God help him, Bob. Either way, he’s got balls.”

  * * *

  Kim Sullivan was going over the newest rewrites her staffer was bringing. She had already sent back four. “Look Karen, we go on in thirty minutes, you guys have got to do better than this. He’s trying to take a stand here. Stop looking so weak!”

  Bob was behind her and spoke her name: “Kim.” She turned,

  surprised.

  “Bob, what brings you down here? I thought you would have some pressing things going on.”

  “We all do, but you and I need to talk.”

  “Now’s not exactly the time. Besides, I think his stand is pretty clear with you.”

  “He’s wrong, Kim.”

  “I see. Well that puts you in a real tough spot, now, doesn’t it?”

  That’s what he loved about this girl: instant assessment. “Yes it does, but not if you believe, too.”

  “Okay, look. I like you Bob, you’re one of the fair players, but this is a very unpopular opinion around here right now. As a matter of fact, this conversation is blasphemous.”

  “Take a minute after the press conference and hear me out. If you don’t agree, I will never bring it up to you again. I trust you that much, Kim.”

  Kim Sullivan knew a huge compliment when she heard one. Bob Thompson was a legend, and not known for blowing smoke up peoples’ asses.

  “Okay Bob,” she replied. “I will hear you out off the record. But this is not my norm. Then again, you’re not the normal customer either.”

  * * *

  The sun was setting as Pablo looked at the headlights coming down the highway. The only cars that traveled on the quarry road at night were the security cars they employed. Outside security was fairly light, as they had a commercial agency that patrolled the outer fence several times a night. Other than that, they just used good fences and dogs to keep people off the property, since no one knew of the hidden complex. It wouldn’t be wise to advertise things by having a visible army stomping around. The entire complex was dug out of the mountain, starting in the giant warehouse that housed all the dump trucks.

  Of course, that’s where the fortifications started and ended. The entrance was a downward-sloped driveway that hit a series of tank-proof steel passageway doors. Pablo had left it as simple as that, since they were in a mountain, after all. The complex wasn’t really built to be defended against ground troops anyway. It was designed to be untouchable.

  If someone actually got here, then the game was already over. No, this base could only be removed by nuclear annihilation or a bunker buster. But they would need guidance systems for that, and by now they were starting to figure out what they were up against.

  When Vera had told him her back-up plan, he had liked it and bought a couple of properties in key locations on the exit routes near the Mexican border. She had fronted the company and acquired the plane, so all was going according to plan.

  Then their time frame had gotten moved up. They had learned that Dr. Cooper’s funding was about to be reduced. Vera was the least-senior employee, so she was susceptible to being laid off.

  If they had let her go, it would have ruined everything. So even though he’d already set up the strategically placed houses for a potential military attempt, it appeared he wasn’t going to be using them. She had never learned to fly the plane. Like so much about this whole thing, he had left things in play on a hunch. Pablo had known her training. She had known the resource existed. He had been pleased to see that Vera had been able to find a way to make it happen.

  With all the unknown variables, and struggles to live, she had kept the whole board in view and made the right moves at the right times. Pablo really couldn’t have been more proud of her. Now she was coming home.

  But according to Felipe, he must brace himself for two things. First, “She won’t let the gringo go no matter what,” and second, “we’re bringing the gringo.”

  * * *

  Kirk Rogers walked into his subordinate’s office and sat down. “What have you got, Greg?”

  “Something out of a sci-fi novel,” Regional Director Bird answered.

  “Come again?”

  “First, we found the farm they used,” Greg said. “It was rented under a blind that was a dead end, of course. The barn was converted into a silo and had four slide tray launchers. The roof had breakaway slats that the drones exited out of. They had a Mexican family living there for free, and the only rules were, ‘never go near the barn, and call a number if anyone ever came around.’”

  Kirk asked, “Did we get the number they were left?”

  “Yes—another dead end.”

  “So they were drones, huh?” Kirk said.

  “Yes, looks like Colonel Prior was right for not putting any more birds up after what he saw.”

  “So where’s the sci-fi part, Greg? We have this technology now.”

  “We found no accelerant,” Greg explained.

  “What do you mean?” Kirk asked.

  “We found no accelerant, Kirk. We found battery acid and some kind of coolant. It’s a mixture that we’ve never seen before. Not only that, but the report of the lightning going off prior to the EMP is also a new scientific development, apparently. Our EMP devices do nothing of the sort.”

  “Batteries?” That sent his head spinning—it had so many avenues that it brought into play. Maybe overcharging the battery causes it to explode.

  “It g
ets worse, Assistant Director. The drones were stealthed.”

  The silence was long, accentuating the gravity of the last statement. “Okay, so we have a lot of evidence we can break down here right? What did the 1100 LC spectrometer tell us? Did we get any info on the drones that brought the Hornets down outside of El Centro?”

  It was Greg’s turn to pause before answering. “We’re working on it,” he said, “but there was an explosive detected on the drone that destroyed the Hornet on takeoff, so that might kill your first thought. It was the same compound as the one used at Conceptual. It’s octanitrocubane.”

  “That’s hard for me to believe, Greg.”

  “Sorry, Kirk, but the 1100 LC doesn’t lie. We identified it both in ESI and APCI. It’s real.”

  Kirk was almost talking to himself as he muttered, “We haven’t perfected that compound ourselves. I even heard we abandoned it for heptanitrocubane, which despite its poor oxygen concentration seemed to carry a higher yield.”

  Greg added, “Bob Thompson has already requested the info on the compositions as soon as we get them, Assistant Director.”

  “Give them to him,” Kirk said. “LaRue says right now we have to be above reproach in our actions, more than ever. I’m just puzzled, and maybe Bob can shed some light, seeing he’s so interested. Let’s get him on the line here, Greg.”

  Two minutes later, with their secretaries’ assistance, the three were talking live.

  “So Bob,” Kirk said, “we have the compounds used on the door at Conceptual and the first bogie that felled the Hornet outside of El Centro. Apparently the EMP drones self-detonate after their burst wave. We can only assume that’s to stop us from exacting their weaponry and propulsion methods. We found out that the payload is octanitrocubane.”

  Bob shot back, “Come again?!”

  “We ran it in the Agilent, Bob. At first we were not getting a clear picture, but then we reduced the testing field to eliminate noise, and the results were immediate.”

  Troubled, appreciative of the honesty, he thanked them and feigned that this was confusing information and he was just as perplexed as them. He thanked them again for their interagency cooperation and ended the phone conference numb.

  The body blows just kept coming. He wondered when they would stop. He hit his comm button. “Get me Bill Westinghouse, Carol.” He thought about that, and buzzed back, “please.”

  * * *

  Pablo longed to see her, but the trepidation was there. He had heard the concern in Felipe’s voice. He knew at the very least, she was in shock.

  There were no lights from any cars right now, just the lights over the grounds of the quarry. Lightning shot out of the east, and just like that, it was raining. The water rolled down the glass. Pablo found himself following a single drop’s path all the way to the point where it didn’t have enough mass to keep going and it trailed off.

  Is that what I am doing? Giving it my all until I have no more energy or mass to keep it going? And then what? How many people have succeeded in such a massive undertaking? The few that tried weren’t the best examples.

  Every now and then, Pablo would see black shadows skirting about down below. He loved dogs, and had decided long ago that a dog army was good enough to protect the front of the compound. Someone might be able to sneak by a dog or two, but not a pack of them traversing their own labyrinth.

  He had the TV on in the background tuned into CNN. The press people had a reason to live again. In the past thirty hours, he’d heard more theories than could be believed. “It’s the Russians.” “It’s the Chinese.” “It’s the Arabs.” Finally, today, he had heard that it could be the work of the North Koreans. Perfect.

  It was just the response he had wanted. Now that she actually made it out, he would finally have what he was seeking. They would only find out who it really was when it was time. Until then, they would chase their tails.

  Just then, the TV announced that the President of the United States was coming on. This should be good, Pablo thought. I wonder what lie the man will tell.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” President Caulfield began, “citizens of the United States, it is at this time I come to you with a heavy heart. Not only have we suffered loss of life as a country, but we also suffered an attack on American soil that has cost us dearly.

  “Whoever has perpetrated this attack on us believes they have come in here and stolen important military secrets, attacked our citizens and our military, and are now going to disappear into the night. But make no mistake about it, they left a god-awful amount of evidence, and we’re going to pore over every ounce of it for many weeks and months to come. We’ll find out who did this to our great country, and we will respond in kind to these heinous acts. This was an Act of War, and Congress and the Defense Secretary have already expressed that when the perpetrators are known, we will declare war immediately.

  “Are we safe? Yes, we are safe. This was, for lack of a better term, an armed robbery. We’re still assessing what exactly was stolen. The type of information would only be useful to a select number of countries.

  “What I ask of you, the American citizen, is, let’s get all the information we can on the suspects we know. Let’s get together and figure this out as I have urged all of our agencies to have unprecedented cooperation throughout this investigation.

  “This is new territory for us. New technology has brought new challenges for our country to keep its secrets safe. During the Cold War, there were many cases of espionage and several high profile defections, but no one incident has ever done so much, and in such a stalwart and aggressive fashion, as this.

  “For that, we must respond with everything we have! We must send a message to those who wish to place terror in our hearts. We’ve been through this before, and we have shown the world what we’re made of.

  “Well, it’s time to do it again, America. It’s time to show how resilient we are as a nation, and how one we are as a people—especially when you threaten the one thing that binds us together as a people more than anything else: our continued freedom.

  “So in the coming months, there will be much work to do, and we must get it done together. The thought of an unprovoked attack such as this going unanswered, probably sits as well with you as with me. Thank you, and may God bless us all.”

  Pablo took a deep breath. It was just as he had envisioned it would be. It was coming together as only he could have made it happen. They would chase their tails, and he would align his pieces for the final push! Really that’s all it would be: a simple push of the button, once he was done setting it up.

  He saw the lights of the chopper. It was a mile or so out. He felt like a nervous teen on prom night. His hands were sweaty and his heart rate was elevated. But was it for her or what she has for me? Regardless, she would be standing next to him after all, his final test fulfilled. Not that he really had any doubt.

  * * *

  It was late. God only knew how a sixty-eight year old man could run at this level. The odd part was that he felt great. Bob Thompson dozed off on power naps several times a day, and it worked for him. He could run around the clock in that mode for quite a while.

  He was shaking his head reading over a report when she walked in—the only other person he knew that had more energy than him. “Kim,” he said almost too casually, waving his hand for her to take one of four leather bound chairs.

  The chairs sat in a semi-circle that was positioned around the largest, oldest, black walnut desk that she had probably ever seen. As a matter of fact, Kim noticed that his whole office was an ode to large objects. Everything was giant-sized. I wonder what Freud would have to say on this one?

  “I got some disturbing news after we talked, Kim,” Bob said.

  “After we talked?” she replied. “That can’t be good, because I was pretty sure you weren’t bringing me good news in the first place.”

  “DHS identified the explosive compound used on the door at Conceptual Labs and on the jets in El Cen
tro. It is octanitrocubane.”

  “I’ve heard that name. I heard we were working on that, I thought?”

  “Yes, you always do your homework, Kim. We were looking at it because of its low shock properties, and the fact it has a 30 percent higher yield than HMX.”

  “So, I feel the gist coming.”

  “Yes, the gist. Well, the gist here is that we were specifically looking at this compound as an assassination tool. The key word is ‘were.’ One of the scientists we employed had told us that there was a better substitute; one in the same family, but with more yield and stability. So we went with heptanitrocubane and as far as we know, he still has all the notes on his octanitrocubane testing.”

  “And who would this scientist be, pray tell?” Kim seemed unimpressed so far.

  “His name was James Haberman,” Bob said.

  “You’re kidding me, Bob?!” Kim replied, stunned, jolted out of her indifference. “You guys were using Haberman?! Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  “It was a need to know basis, Kim. We had no reason to disclose.”

  “But this opens a whole new door. This means that one of your own has gone expatriate with a grudge and left a calling card. I thought this guy was assured to be a patriot and there was no way he would turn. This is a nightmare, Bob! This guy knows everything about our most critical defense systems. Plus, he obviously skewed his findings on octanitrocubane. This is devastating news of the highest order! Where’s Bill Westinghouse? This is the guy who we need to talk to at some length. It was his personal assurance to the President that this guy was no threat. That assurance led to the soft search we’ve been conducting.”

  “I got to Westinghouse immediately, Kim, he was of little help.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me to go fuck myself, and if we wanted to paint Haberman as a traitor, we wouldn’t be doing it with his sanction. And I quote, ‘I don’t care if you have a video of him confessing, James Haberman is no traitor!’”

  Kim asked a good question, as always. “Is it possible that Haberman is under some kind of mind control, not acting of his own accord?”