Dead Wrong

by Richard Phillips

  “Solution sequence two complete.”

  This time the hologram stayed centered on the orb. Bones could see the complex patterns of symbols had rearranged themselves into something that felt like a more satisfying equation, but she failed to discern its meaning.

  One at a time the orb’s rings turned, skipping around in a seemingly random pattern, back and forth. What took only seconds for the hologram to complete would have taken human hands several minutes. And that was if the person made no mistakes when performing the sequence. When Cubee announced the completion of the third sequence, there was no pause before it started on the last and most complicated set of manipulations.

  “Final solution sequence complete.”

  Bones halfway expected some mystical event to happen, but it didn’t. The image of the golden orb atop its silver staff merely stood in space before her eyes. It was beautiful, but except for the pin-like protrusions from the silver staff’s base and the new arrangement of the golden orb’s symbols, it wasn’t significantly different from when she’d first beheld it.

  Bones replayed the four solution sequences in her mind. Though it was unnecessary, she took the extra time to validate her memory against Cubee’s recorded session. Then, in a voice that trembled with excitement, she issued a final command.

  “Dump solutions to file name Sunstaff.”

  To Bones’s tired mind, Cubee’s response seemed fraught with satisfaction. “File Sunstaff save complete.”

  Bones leaned back in her chair and smiled. All her years of study and dedication had led to this one glorious moment of conquest. Without her and her Cubee brainchild, this solution wouldn’t have been possible. It was the code that would forever alter the world.

  A tear leaked from the corner of her left eye to trickle down her cheek. Catching it on her index finger, Bones stared down at it in surprise. She hadn’t cried since her mother’s funeral, that dreary October day in Innsbruck. Today, her mother would have been very proud.

  Bones rose to her feet and looked around her windowless lab as if seeing it for the first time. What time was it? Crap. Bones couldn’t even remember what day it was. The only thing she was sure of was that she looked like hell and smelled worse. But filthy or not, Admiral Riles would be very glad to see her.

  It took her seven minutes to close up her laboratory, verify the classified safes were properly locked and logged, sign the classified verification checklist, and make her way up to Admiral Riles’s office. Only when she stepped up to Admiral Riles’s administrative assistant’s desk and looked out the windows did she realize it was daylight outside. The admin, Frederica Barnes, regarded Bones with a disapproving look.

  “May I help you?”

  “Admiral Riles will want to see me immediately.”

  “He’s in a meeting.”

  “You’d better call him.”

  Again Bones saw Frederica’s eyes narrow. But the tall woman pressed a button, spoke into the phone, listened, and then nodded at Bones.

  “You may go in.”

  As Bones made her way past the desk, Admiral Riles’s office door opened. Levi Elias ushered her in and closed the door behind her.

  Admiral Riles fixed his gray eyes on her, his look expectant.

  “Sir, the QB4096 just cracked the codes on the Sun Staff.”

  “And the orb?”

  “It turns out that they work together. There are four separate solution sequences. Each sequence requires that the previous sequences have already been entered.”

  “And do we know what they do?”

  “Only that the first one causes a number of pins to extend from the staff’s base. Absent access to the complete staff, there’s no way to tell what those codes actually do. I’ve made the solution files and recorded simulations available to you under the file name Sunstaff. You will find a link in your private messaging.”

  Admiral Riles rose to his feet, walked around his desk, and extended his right hand.

  “Exceptional work, Bones.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Without releasing her hand, the admiral studied her face, a look of concern creeping into his eyes.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been home and gotten some sleep.”

  “What day is it?”

  Both Admiral Riles and Levi Elias laughed. The admiral released her hand from his grip.

  “Go home. Get some rest. You deserve it.”

  Bones hesitated. His response to her next question would be critical.

  “Sir, I would like your permission to take three days off. Not that I need that much recovery time, but I’m afraid I’ve fallen behind on a number of personal errands that require my attention.”

  Riles grinned at her. “It’s Friday afternoon. I won’t expect to see you back at work until Tuesday.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As Levi Elias opened the door for her to leave, Bones hoped she hadn’t sounded too relieved.

  “And Bones, one more thing.”

  She turned back toward the admiral, her heart catching in her throat.

  “Yes, sir?”

  The admiral’s final order culled the worry from her mind.

  “Take a bath.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Nightfall found Janet Price sitting cross-legged on a brown leather couch in the living room of Conrad Altmann’s Cochabamba house, with a laptop balanced on her lap, appreciating the fact that she wasn’t outside in the lingering rain. She didn’t care that the laptop was one that Altmann’s foreman, Renaldo, had assigned for her use; didn’t care that every keystroke was being monitored and recorded as she surfed the Web.

  Going from news site to news site, Janet scanned the headlines, as she did at least once per day, looking for a single keyword phrase. When she found it on CNN’s main page, Janet felt her breath catch in her throat. Finally.

  For the last couple of days, she’d been worried that Tupac was approaching the end of his endurance, worried even that he might be headed for a complete nervous breakdown. Hope was a person’s best defense against torture, but as torture wears someone down, time drags and hope fades. She had seen the hope fade from Tupac’s eyes, and that sight left her cold.

  Although she wanted to shut down the laptop and head directly down to the dungeon, Janet pushed that impulse aside, forcing herself to spend a full hour visiting all her usual websites, trying to lose herself in the fine details of the daily news feeds. When she finally put the laptop away, Janet made a routine security sweep inside the house, something the ceiling-mounted cameras had watched her do on every night since she’d been staying here, before heading for the shower and then bed.

  Janet awoke to her alarm just after midnight, dressed in darkness, and stepped out into the hallway. Admiral Riles had posted the CNN message that meant Tupac’s time was up. Now she had a one-hour window during which the NSA would maintain complete control of Altmann’s Cochabamba security system, providing live feeds to the guards from cameras that didn’t show Janet and providing loopback footage for any that could see her.

  She turned right and walked down the hall to the living room. The only light came in through the large windows along the front of the house from the gate guard shack. That light would only serve to rob the guards of their night vision, insuring that they could see nothing happening within the lightless main house.

  Janet passed the kitchen and dining room, reached the closed study, and turned left into the L-shaped hallway that would take her past the master bedroom and to the stairwell. She stepped through the door, closed it, and descended the stairs in total darkness, counting the thirteen steps that took her to the basement level.

  Even though she knew for a fact that no one could hear it, the squeal of the iron-bound door on its hinges made her grit her teeth. Leaving it open behind her, Janet continued down, opened its sister door at the bottom, and stepped into the clammy tunnel beyond. Only after she’d closed it and let its groaning echoes die away into darkness did Janet flip
the switch that lighted the string of bare bulbs that stretched away from her in a straight line down the curved ceiling.

  Janet stood still, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, thinking that another owner could have turned these tunnels into a fabulous wine cave. But even the greatest wine aficionado could never have gleaned as much pleasure from that as Conrad Altmann got from its present usage.

  Tupac’s cell lay twenty feet down that passage, the first one on the right-hand side. Janet walked to the door and stopped. The man sat up, shielding his eyes with a huge right hand, his jaws clenched as he prepared himself for another go on the waterboard. Janet could feel the dread and determination in that gaze.

  “Admiral Riles sends his regards.”

  Her words brought a sudden look of shock to Tupac’s face, quickly replaced by distrust.

  Janet knew what the man must be thinking, having heard the words he’d been waiting for come from the lips of the neo-Nazi bitch who’d spent the last week torturing him in Conrad Altmann’s presence.

  “Tupac,” she continued. “I’m sorry for what I’ve had to put you through, but the NSA has broken the Sun Staff codes.”

  When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “You’re NSA?”

  “Yes. My name is Janet.”

  “Admiral Riles sent you?”

  “Yes.”

  “To torture me?”

  “To make sure Altmann didn’t seriously injure you with his torture.”

  Tupac paused, taking several shuddering breaths.

  “Do you have the codes? Do you know them?”

  “No. But I will when the time comes.”

  Janet followed Tupac’s gaze out through his cell bars to where the waterboarding table waited, slightly farther down the central tunnel.

  “So. One more session?”

  “The last one. We have to make it convincing.”

  “You mean I have to act scared?”

  “I need you to resist for one more hour, possibly two. Do you think you can manage that?”

  Tupac’s laugh rumbled out of his throat, growing in volume until it echoed through the tunnel, carrying with it a note of hysteria. He was still laughing when Janet switched off the lights and closed the dungeon door behind her.

  CHAPTER 68

  When Conrad Altmann stepped off his helicopter, a soft leather valise in his right hand, the morning sun had just broken through the clouds, holding out the promise of a nice day. Accompanied by Dolf, he walked out of the rotor wash, surprised to find that Janet Mueller was not present at the helipad to meet him. Instead, Renaldo escorted them across the driveway and through the double doors into the foyer. Janet Mueller was visible across the open space that transitioned from dining room to kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  Janet turned toward him, her blond hair secured in a tight bun, looking like she hadn’t slept at all. She raised her cup, inhaling the fragrance before taking a slow and apparently satisfying sip.

  “Good morning, Herr Altmann.”

  The fact that she made no offer to pour him a cup further irritated Altmann.

  “This was why you couldn’t be bothered to meet me at my helicopter?”

  She took another sip. “I’m not your footman. I meet you when it suits my needs. This morning I needed coffee.”

  Beside him he could feel Dolf tense. Altmann ignored him, switching his gaze to Renaldo.

  “Renaldo, take a couple of men and prepare Señor Inti for our morning session. I would like to speak to Fraulein Mueller in my office.”

  Without comment, Renaldo stepped outside, raised two fingers to his lips, and issued a whistle that could be heard over the dying helicopter noises.

  As Altmann turned toward the living room and the office door beyond that, he noted that Janet held her cup in her left hand. Though she appeared relaxed, she had the subtle posture of a highly trained killer.

  Altmann entered his office, followed by Janet, with Dolf bringing up the rear. As Altmann seated himself behind his desk, Janet slid onto the rightmost of the two leather chairs that angled toward the desk. Watching Dolf’s pale eyes follow her every move made Altmann uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was to have Dolf’s temper incite an unfortunate incident that might cause Janet Mueller to go for the Glock holstered beneath her left arm.

  With a flick of his right hand, Altmann motioned Dolf toward the other chair.

  “Have a seat.”

  Altmann removed a folder from the valise and flipped through its contents until he found the page he was looking for. Reaching across the desk, he held out the page. Raising an eyebrow slightly, Janet rose from her chair, stepped forward, and took the paper from his hand.

  “I’ve had my people do some checking. It seems that Ammon Gianakos neglected to provide some important information when he sent me your file.”

  Janet glanced at the page as she took another sip of coffee. When she finished reading, she set the paper down on his desk and returned to her chair, crossing her right leg over her left.

  “Ammon omitted many important things. He provided everything he deemed pertinent.”

  “And he didn’t think your encounter with The Ripper at Baikonur was pertinent?”

  “Why would he?”

  “Because The Ripper is here.”

  Janet smiled. “I didn’t learn The Ripper was here until I saw him in the jungle. If you remember, Ammon sent me to kill Tupac Inti, but you told me to wait. Say the word and I’ll walk downstairs and cut his throat right now.”

  “Why were you and The Ripper both at Baikonur six months ago?”

  “The Ripper was there to kill Rolf Koenig. Gianakos sent me there to kill The Ripper.”

  Altmann leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the desk. “Your failure in that regard is becoming a bad habit.”

  Janet shrugged. “The man is more dangerous than you imagine. Eventually, I’ll kill him or he’ll kill me.”

  She pointed toward Altmann’s lieutenant. “In the meantime, I helped Dolf, over there, take Inti away from The Ripper. Two nights ago, I prevented The Ripper from taking him back. Maybe if you get off your high horse, we can go downstairs, and I’ll make Inti tell you what you want to know.”

  If she meant to anger Altmann, she failed. The woman projected such complete self-assurance that it was going to be a real shame to kill her. For now, though, she remained useful. Altmann suspected Janet Mueller would retain some degree of usefulness right up until the end.

  Locking a restraining gaze on Dolf, Altmann rose to his feet.

  “Fine. Let’s go have our morning chat with Tupac Inti.”

  CHAPTER 69

  The grinding squeal of the dungeon’s outer door was something Tupac had spent the last several hours anticipating and dreading. He was almost through this hell. It would be great to throw up his hands as soon as Conrad Altmann walked into view and just give up. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a good option.

  The blinding lights came on. The footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Then, as his pupils fought to adjust so that he could see more than shadow figures behind the bars, the key ring rattled against his cell door.

  Two men dragged him from his cell and once again strapped him to the table, pulled the cloth hood over his head, and applied the tilt that positioned his head lower than his feet. Then Janet’s voice sounded close to his left ear, asking her questions, the same as every other day, but with a couple of small differences. This time he knew her name. This time the end was in sight.

  When it started, he didn’t have to fake it; his automatic drowning reaction was as bad as ever, possibly worse because the end was within reach, but he had to resist grabbing it. He was a drowning man, forced to avoid the lifeguard buoy that bobbed against him in the waves.

  Knowing Janet’s name, knowing that she was NSA, should have helped, but it didn’t. She was far too good at what she did. While Altmann obviously got off on the torture, Tupac’s mysteriously beautiful torturer pulled his sputtering sc
reams from his lungs with clinical precision.

  The time came when Tupac could go no further. With no air in his lungs and no strength left to struggle to inhale, he managed to utter a single word.

  “Enough!”

  The water stopped flowing. Someone jerked the hood from his head. Great glorious gulps of air filled his lungs. Tupac found himself sobbing uncontrollably and didn’t care. It was a natural physical and emotional response that he couldn’t have prevented if the world depended on it.

  Tupac felt the bed being cranked back into a horizontal position. Then Conrad Altmann leaned over him.

  “Are you finally ready to tell me where the silver staff is hidden?”

  Tupac cleared his throat. “I have to show you.”

  “And the Altar of the Gods?”

  “That too.”

  Altmann stepped away from the table, his strident command voice echoing through the dungeon.

  “Clean him up, get him dressed, and get him fed. Dolf, start assembling the team. I want them fully prepped and ready to move out first thing in the morning. We’ll be taking three helicopters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dolf’s heavy footsteps echoed loudly as they retreated to the exit. Then Altmann leaned over Tupac one more time, his voice a low growl.

  “Make damn sure you don’t disappoint me.”

  CHAPTER 70

  Bones opened her eyes to the incessant buzz of her alarm clock, having slept through the night for the first time in recent memory. As much as she wanted to roll back over for a few more hours, she had a tight schedule to keep. She could catch up on her sleep on the two flights that would carry her to her final destination.

  By the time she applied the black hair dye, allowed it to set, and rinsed, the clock’s digital numerals told her it was already past 9:00 A.M. Bones dressed quickly in jeans, a navy turtleneck, and hiking boots, and then picked up her passport, holding it up in front of her as she carefully studied her appearance in the mirror. Not a perfect match, but what passport photo was? It was close enough to the Mary Davis passport picture not to arouse the suspicions of TSA or customs officials. Sliding the passport into the inner pocket of her handbag, Bones packed her toiletry travel kit and a change of clothes into her carry-on bag.