Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  "This is more important than your job," Andrew said in a low voice.

  "To you," Miranda said.

  He clenched his jaw in frustration. He wished he could read her mind, but that was illegal and required a seam. It would be so easy though. She would never even know he was in her head.

  "I have to admit," she said, "I had my doubts about the story at first, but all this government attention has convinced me I was right to report it."

  "There are no biological weapons on that base," Tungsten said firmly.

  "Are you willing to swear that in front of a camera as a representative of the United States?"

  He blushed.

  "I didn't think so," Miranda said. "Get out of here. I have work to do."

  "Please," Andrew said.

  "Go!" She pointed to the door.

  He looked at the gathering crowd. Cameramen were showing up with cameras in hand. Creating a scene in a newsroom was a very bad idea.

  Tungsten walked off with a huff of exasperation. Andrew and Charley followed.

  They went back downstairs and left the building. A few clouds dotted the sky, but the weather was otherwise perfect.

  "She knows something," Charley said.

  Tungsten nodded. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

  "What are we supposed to do about it?" Andrew said. "This is so aggravating!"

  "I don't know." Tungsten said. "We can't beat the truth out of her."

  "You had no problem beating the truth out of that White Guerrilla. You dislocated his arm and crushed his nose."

  "He shot at us with an assault rifle first. Different rules apply."

  Andrew couldn't argue with that point.

  Tungsten's phone rang. He answered the call and listened. He was using a black phone provided by Weasel which hopefully, the BPI didn't know about.

  After a moment, Tungsten said, "Thanks. We're on our way." He hung up.

  "Who was that?" Andrew said.

  "Weasel. Protestors are chanting in front of the White House."

  "Are they protesting biological weapons?"

  "No," Tungsten said. "Space aliens. Let's check it out."

  * * *

  Andrew looked at the White House from a distance. He decided the name wasn't really appropriate. The building was white, but it was hardly a house. Even the word "mansion" didn't really capture the scale of the structure. The President of the United States lived in a palace worthy of a king.

  Andrew was more interested in what was happening in front of the White House. An unruly crowd carrying protest signs had gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue. The Washington, DC police were standing by in riot gear, ready to intervene.

  Andrew was walking with Charley and Tungsten across Lafayette Square which was on the north side of the White House. The park contained plenty of immaculate gardens and impressive statues. A bronze statue in the center showed General Andrew Jackson riding a horse. The inscription read, "OUR FEDERAL UNION MUST BE PRESERVED." The amount of detail in the man and the horse was amazing.

  "Keep a low profile," Tungsten said. "The police and the Secret Service are watching closely. Just politely ask questions and move on."

  Andrew and Charley nodded.

  The protestors were sloppily dressed. Long hair and dirty clothes were common. One man wore just a T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, and he had to be cold. A woman wore a coat with disgusting yellow stains.

  Their signs had slogans like, "Free the Aliens!" and "Stop Hiding UFOs!"

  "Let's split up," Andrew said. "We'll be less threatening and cover more ground."

  "OK," Charley said, "but stay where I can see you. Don't run off."

  He nodded.

  He chose one man at the edge of the crowd to interview. His sign read, "Tell the Truth about Roswell." Black hair went all the way down his back, but his head was bald on top. His pudgy face was deeply tanned which looked odd in the middle of the winter. He had a gun belt with a holster, but he didn't have a gun.

  Andrew walked up to the protestor. "Hi! What's going on?"

  The protestor turned. "Who are you? You look like a fed."

  Andrew looked down at the blue suit he was still wearing from the visit with the reporter. Changing back into regular clothes would've been a good idea, but it was too late.

  "I don't want the authorities to know I'm one of you." Andrew winked. "I'm sort of a double-agent."

  "Oh." The protestor appeared dubious.

  "What's your name?"

  "Infrared."

  "Huh?" Andrew said.

  "That's what people call me. I'm obviously not going to tell you my real name."

  "OK. What's the story here? What's going on?"

  "A secret prison for aliens is on Mumford Army Base," Infrared said. "It's under a mountain called Montaña de la Serpiente."

  "I thought biological weapons were there."

  "That's what they want you to think. It's another government lie."

  "But the government denied it," Andrew said.

  "Which means it must be true. They always deny the truth."

  "That makes sense." Andrew worked hard to keep sarcasm out of his voice.

  "Aliens are trying to bring peace to the world. The government locked them up to protect the military-industrial complex. War is too profitable. Capitalism is evil."

  "But the aliens must have very advanced technology if they can fly between the stars."

  "Right," Infrared said.

  "Then how could the government lock them up?"

  "Using technology stolen from other aliens."

  "There is more than one kind?" Andrew said.

  Infrared nodded eagerly. "The worst are the Nibiruians. They've been trying to destroy the human race since the time of the Ancient Sumerians. They are walking among us right now, but they use mind-control to prevent us from seeing them. They have brains the size of basketballs and are nine feet tall." Infrared glanced nervously to both sides.

  Andrew sighed. The conversation was heading into the weeds. "Where did you get the news about the alien prison?"

  "From the internet."

  "Naturally. What site?"

  "The news is everywhere," Infrared said, "but I found it on real end times dot com."

  Andrew was tempted to take out his phone and lookup the site, but he was afraid the browser history could be used as evidence. On the other hand, the information was public knowledge. He could hardly get into trouble for investigating the news of the day. He decided not to anyway.

  "Thanks for the tip," Andrew said. "Keep up the good work."

  He moved on.

  He talked to more people and heard similar stories. He couldn't believe how gullible they were. He was learning how easy it was to fool the public. Mass delusions were possible even without any sorcery.

  Eventually, Andrew rejoined Charley and Tungsten.

  "Same M.O. as the biological weapons story," Tungsten said. "The captive aliens rumor hit the internet everywhere at once."

  "Blake is trying to draw as much attention as possible to Montaña de la Serpiente," Andrew said.

  "Let's talk to Weasel again."

  They walked to a secluded spot in Lafayette Square where low trees provided a little cover. Curious tourists were watching the protest and taking pictures with their phones.

  Tungsten took out his own phone and made a call. He put the phone into speaker mode.

  "Hey," Weasel answered.

  "Any progress at your end?" Tungsten said. "The alien conspiracy nuts weren't very helpful."

  "I'm not having much luck either. The opposition is using Russian and Chinese onion routers to hide their trail. I can't trace the connections using my setup. I left a note with a good buddy in the NSA to find out if they're having better luck."

  "That sounds risky."

  "It probably is," Weasel said, "but I've known the guy a long time. He won't rat me out. Either way, he won't respond until he gets home from work and can talk on a private line.
"

  "So what should we do in the meantime?"

  "I don't know. I'll call you back when I have something."

  "Thanks. You're a great friend." Tungsten hung up.

  He looked at Andrew and Charley.

  "What's next?" Andrew said. "No reason to go back to headquarters. Nothing to do there but worry. Besides, Webster told us to take a vacation. I don't think he wants us in the building. We're stuck until Weasel has another lead for us."

  "Let's see a movie," Charley said. "It might take our mind off our troubles."

  "Why not? I wonder what's playing."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andrew watched the closing credits. The movie had been a howler about cowboys fighting vampires. Under normal conditions, he would've had fun, but he was too distracted by the events of the day to enjoy anything right now.

  He, Charley, and Tungsten stood up and left the theater without a word. All three of them shared the same foul mood.

  Andrew zipped up his jacket. The cool day had become a cold night which turned his breath into mist. The lights of Washington, DC washed out the stars leaving only the brightest still visible. He recognized Venus by the color.

  "What a coincidence seeing you here," a man said.

  Andrew turned towards the familiar voice. Director Frank Webster was standing on the sidewalk, but he wasn't wearing his usual nice suit. Instead, he had an old green parka, loose-fitting jeans, and tennis shoes.

  "The coincidence is remarkable," Andrew said dryly. "We're nowhere near headquarters."

  "Have you eaten dinner?"

  "Not yet."

  "Then let's eat together," Webster said. "It's been a long time since we shared a friendly meal."

  Yes, Andrew thought, like never, and it probably won't happen tonight.

  He looked around for a place to eat. The theater had twenty-two screens and occupied an entire city block. A stone office building and a parking garage were across the street. A commuter train on an elevated platform was further away. He didn't see a restaurant.

  "Where?" Andrew said.

  "This way," Webster said.

  He led the group through a quiet commercial neighborhood. He obviously knew where he was going, but his route wound back and forth. Whenever they turned a corner, he glanced over his shoulder as if checking for a tail. His paranoia made Andrew nervous.

  Along the way, Webster took out his phone and turned it completely off. He let everybody else see him do it. Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten followed his example.

  After walking for about fifteen minutes, they came to a street lined with small shops. Most were closed because it was late in the evening, but a few restaurants were still open. Webster chose one specializing in ribs.

  They went inside. The dimly lit interior was filled with the aroma of roasted meat. The tables were made of plain blocks of unpainted wood, and each had a roll of paper towels in addition to regular napkins.

  Webster insisted on being seated in a back corner. Andrew took a chair against a brick wall, and Charley sat next to him, almost touching him.

  "Enjoying your break from work?" Webster said with an insincere smile.

  "Sure," Andrew said. "Very relaxing."

  "Sadly, I can't say the same. My job is very stressful these days."

  "Oh?"

  Webster nodded. "We've been looking for Blake for months without success. That was tolerable before he started killing my agents and using mind-control on them. Now, it's becoming a crisis. I'm sorry to report my own people are showing disconcerting signs of panic."

  Andrew didn't like the direction the conversation was going.

  Webster went on, "Being the Director of the Bureau of Physical Investigation is difficult even under good conditions. Sorcerers don't have many friends. Some powerful members of the government want to see them all imprisoned for the sake of public safety. It's my job to resist such rash, paranoid thinking. I have to balance many conflicting interests and keep an eye on the big picture. This situation with Blake is making that impossible. The reactionary forces of fear are gaining strength."

  Andrew shivered and squeezed Charley's hand.

  "We understand, sir," she said softly.

  "I'm curious. Do you have a theory about the sudden publicity around Montaña de la Serpiente?"

  "Not really," Andrew said.

  "This is off the record," Webster said.

  "You told us we would go to prison if we knew the secret. You were very clear."

  "That was for the benefit of anybody who happened to be listening. Nobody is listening now. There will be no record of this conversation, and it will never be repeated. You're my ultimate weapon against Blake. You'll probably be the one who takes him out in the end. I have to make sure you're aimed in the right direction even if it's completely unofficial. This situation is bigger than any rules or regulations. Tell me what you know and what you think you know."

  Andrew swallowed. He looked at Charley, and she nodded.

  "We think Montaña de la Serpiente is the Vault," he whispered with his eyes down. "Blake is spreading rumors about biological weapons and aliens to force your hand. If you have to move the stuff somewhere else, he'll have a better chance to snatch it."

  Webster stared silently for a moment. "You came up with that on your own?" he said finally.

  "We all did." Andrew glanced at Charley and Tungsten.

  "I concur with your analysis, but how did Blake find the Vault to begin with?"

  "We think he planted a tracking device on the armored truck that went to the encampment in the woods, the one where we found Phillip. That was Blake's plan from the beginning. The business with Serkan was just an elaborate gimmick."

  Webster narrowed his eyes, and his face turned red.

  "We were all fooled," Andrew said.

  "Being one idiot among many still makes me an idiot. You're right. In retrospect, it's obvious, but I read those reports five times and still missed it."

  The waitress arrived to take their order. Everybody asked for ribs just to make her go away.

  When the waitress was gone, Webster said, "What is the status of your investigation?"

  "I have a... friend, sir," Tungsten said. "A hacker. He's trying to help us."

  "Good luck with that. I have a whole team of hackers on the case, and they're stumped. Our ambassador in China is speaking to computer security officials in that country right now. We'll need their help to find the source of the rumors, but that will take time."

  "Will you move the Vault?"

  "What choice do we have?" Webster said. "The location is compromised. Too many people know the secret, including the most dangerous sorcerer of all: you." He looked at Andrew.

  "The convoy will be ambushed," Tungsten said forcefully. "That's why Blake is doing this."

  "I understand. We'll take extreme precautions. We have the resources of the entire Mumford Army Base to work with. One thing we don't lack is firepower and troops."

  Andrew frowned. Blake would have a plan for dealing with Webster's "extreme precautions." Blake hadn't made a mistake yet.

  "We talked to Miranda Torres today," Andrew said. "She's a news reporter."

  "I've seen her on TV," Webster said.

  "She knows something, but getting her to talk will be tough. She's 'protecting her source'."

  Andrew didn't dare suggest he use a seam to read Miranda's mind. That idea was out of bounds even now.

  Webster stroked his chin.

  "You're planning something, sir," Tungsten said.

  "Yes. The Senate Committee on Armed Services is calling a special meeting tomorrow morning. It will be a hush-hush, closed door affair. My presence has been requested, and I didn't need to ask why. Andrew and Charley, I want you to attend. You'll see exactly why we have to stop Blake quickly. Think of it as a civics lesson. You'll go as my assistants under assumed names. I'll send you detailed instructions in the morning."

  Andrew and Charley exchanged looks of surprise.
r />   "One other thing," Webster said. "Some kind of publicity event will occur at the Manassas National Battlefield Park tomorrow afternoon."

  "What event?" Charley said.

  "I don't know, yet, but Miranda Torres will cover it for her news show. I'll have an invitation sent specifically to her. She'll be close to the seam briefly."

  Andrew was shocked, but he kept his mouth closed.

  Webster stood up. "I should go."

  "What about your ribs?" Andrew said.

  "Eat them for me." Webster walked away quickly.

  After he was gone, Charley whispered, "I can't believe he wants us to use mind-reading on a reporter."

  "He's desperate," Tungsten said, "and that's not good. Not good at all. We'd better start coming up with answers."

  * * *

  Andrew and Charley walked into the Senate meeting room where the Armed Services Committee met. The twenty-six members of the committee were seated behind a huge, semicircular table. The gorgeous room had wood and stone paneling on the walls. Big wooden lighting fixtures were elaborately engraved. It had the feel of a place where important decisions were made.

  All the members of the committee wore very nice suits and had charismatic faces. Apparently, ugly people didn't win senate elections. Several were women, but their expressions were just as stern as the men. Andrew had rarely seen a more openly hostile group.

  A green table stood in the center of the room, and witnesses sat there to give testimony. An Army general had that honor at the moment. His crisp green uniform had two stars on the epaulets. His shirt was light green, and his tie was dark green. An impressive block of colorful ribbons decorated his chest. Wispy brown hair barely covered his scalp.

  Director Webster sat in the gallery directly behind the general.

  Several Army officers sat in the very back of the room, and Andrew concluded they were the general's staff. Webster had also brought some help in the form of agents in blue suits. Andrew didn't see any reporters in the room, and nobody else was in the gallery.

  Andrew and Charley found seats which were well separated from everybody else. They tried to make as little noise as possible when they sat down. Despite that precaution, they still drew some curious glances, and Andrew wasn't surprised. It was a closed-door meeting which had required a special invitation to attend. The apprentices had passed through a security gauntlet to get into the room. They were using false identities provided by Webster.