“I smell Victor’s fingerprints on this,” said the general. “The tech is much too sophisticated for ISIS. We know from recent intel coming from his implants that he’s severed ties to the caliphate. But last fall he had extensive dealings with them.”
“Which was before we were inside his head,” said Plaskett in frustration.
The Yukon pulled onto runway four and several personnel were there to greet them. The jet and pilots were almost ready.
“We have about three minutes before we’ll need to board our flight, General,” said Briarwood. “At that time we may need to put you on hold for a few.”
“Understood,” said Girdler.
“I get that Nick will read minds to try to fish out the terrorists on the ground,” said Guest. “But given our lack of time, we’ll have to assume the bad guys are in or near the threat perimeter. The problem is, those guiding the drone could be fifty miles away from the kill zone. Maybe more.”
“True,” said Girdler. “But I think it’s more likely they’ll be fairly nearby. The shorter the flight, the less chance of something going wrong. They don’t care much about escape, or even survival. Wouldn’t surprise me if they had some martyrs at the target site who volunteered to keep the crowd trapped, to maximize fatalities.”
“Are you planning to evacuate any of the possible targets?” asked Briarwood. “Or at least alert them to the possible threat?”
“I’ll have to think this through, but I don’t think so,” replied Girdler. “Any alert will panic all of San Diego County, and will make national and worldwide news in minutes. We’d have stampedes to get out of stadiums, and you can bet some people would be trampled to death in the process.”
He paused in thought. “Also, any attempted evac could prompt ISIS to disperse their payload early, over whatever population center is closest. I’m sure they’re trying for something splashy and symbolic, but they’ll take mass casualties as a win, even if they don’t strike where intended.”
“One other potential issue,” said Megan. “Nick is at the end of his endurance. He can get an hour power nap on the jet, but fishing out one or two minds from the many thousands sure to be in his range won’t be easy. Even if he was totally fresh.”
Girdler sighed. “Megan’s right, of course,” he said. “Nick, I can only imagine how drained you must be right now. You think you can do this?”
“I know I can do this,” said Hall with absolute conviction. “I know I’m going to do this. No matter what it takes.”
Girdler loved this man’s attitude and determination. But no matter how impressive his capabilities, he was still only human.
“I know you will,” said the general, but with more conviction than he actually felt.
Nick Hall was human. And humans often failed, despite their best efforts.
12
Coronado Island was technically not an island. It was connected to the mainland by a strip of land called the Silver Strand, a narrow, sandy isthmus seven miles long, which, along with Coronado and the edge of downtown San Diego formed the third largest bay in California. The Naval Air Station was located at the north end of the Coronado Peninsula and served as the home port for several aircraft carriers, among other duties.
“Nick,” said Megan gently into her fiancé’s ear as the jet finished screaming to a halt on one of the naval base’s landing strips. He didn’t respond, which was not surprising. If the multiple G’s of the hard-braking jet hadn’t managed to wake him, she could hardly expect one softly spoken word to do the trick.
She glanced at her phone. It was just after six p.m. in San Diego. Seemed impossible. Surely it must be midnight at least.
She was so out of sync with the time that she forced herself to do the math.
Up at seven a.m. and out the door at eight to make it to Hill Air Force Base by ten. Six hours of interrogations, an hour more at Hill wrapping up and leaving, another hour to handle Poole and Abu Patek, and yet a third hour in a military jet. So ten in the morning plus nine hours to get here would make it . . . seven p.m.
She frowned. San Diego was an hour behind, so six was correct, after all.
She was exhausted. Not physically, of course, because all she had done was sit around all day like a sloth. But mentally. Worrying about Nick. Worrying about terrorism. And even worrying about a woman she had never met before named Sandra Girvan.
But Nick Hall had all of these worries and more, magnified a thousand times. He had done all of the backbreaking heavy lifting. His hair was still jet-black, but at this rate she was sure it would turn white before his next birthday.
It was going to take slightly more than a single word to get him up.
She raised her voice considerably and tried several times more, but it wasn’t until she shook him violently that his eyes finally fluttered open. “Are we here?” he whispered groggily, as though he had been sedated along with Abu Patek.
“We’re here,” she affirmed. “Time to get up. We have to go.”
She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. “I love you so much, Nick,” she thought at him, not wanting the hardened special forces commandos with her to know she was going sappy right before what they would consider a combat mission. “I wish you could rest. But you have to go be the hero that everyone knows you are,” she added, still telepathically. “Yet again.”
“I love you too,” he thought back. “And don’t worry. Having you in my life gives me strength. More than I thought was possible.”
A tear rolled gently down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away.
Hall forced himself fully awake and only then realized the words he had just sent to her, which had brought a tear to her eye. He had been in the twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness and the words had just formed in his mind. But as was often true about thoughts that bubbled up from the subconscious, he realized they couldn’t have been any truer. She inspired him. Gave him strength. Filled him with joy.
She had such a zest for life, an irresistible vibrancy. And while she was cuter than any human had a right to be, he hadn’t fallen in love with her because of her looks. He hadn’t fallen in love because she was great in bed, either, or because of what she might think of him.
For once in his life, he had fallen in love because it was impossible not to do so.
He had thought he had been happy before Megan, but he now knew what true happiness was. She was a force of nature. Funny and alive. She had taught him not to put on airs, to stay grounded and humble. To retain a sense of joy, of optimism, each and every day.
She was short and slightly built, but she had enough personality to fill a room, a spirit of kindness that could fill a stadium. Had they both been married to other people when they met, Hall knew he still would have fallen in love with her. She was gravity, and he was a piano pushed out of a skyscraper.
The fact that she had fallen in love with him, too, was nothing short of a miracle. He had met her when he didn’t know himself, when his memory was gone, when he had the chance to see the world clearly, without any baggage. Rediscover what was important in life. Had he met her as he was before, he wouldn’t have given her a second look, or a first chance.
He had been a good man, but too arrogant, too self-involved, too superficial. She would not have loved the man he was. But he had been reborn in her presence, and she had given him the balance to use his newfound abilities without ego, to stay positive on humanity, despite the darkness and hidden evils he found in far too many minds.
He would do everything in his power to make her proud. To never disappoint.
“Pick up the pace, Nick!” said Briarwood brusquely, oblivious to the emotions the soon-to-be married couple were wearing on their faces. “Our ride awaits, and you’ve got an attack to stop.”
Hall glanced at Patek. “What about him?”
“He’ll be moved to a prison cell on base long before he wakes up,” said the captain.
“Have him stay in the jet, under guard,” said
Hall. “That will make it easier for me to find his mind if I need to.”
“I’ll see to it,” said Briarwood.
Hall nodded and followed the captain and the other four members of the team as they piled off the jet and onto the runway. He drew in a deep breath. The air was clear, the sky a brilliant blue, visibility out to infinity, and no humidity or wind. Another day in paradise.
Perfect conditions to rain poison from above.
Hall had researched the effects of sarin gas as he was boarding the jet in Utah. If inciting terror was the goal, a sarin attack was surely the way to achieve it. Those afflicted died as horribly as a human could possibly die. Being blown apart or shot to death was horrific, as well, but at least tended to be mercifully quick.
Sarin was in a class of drugs known as cholinesterase inhibitors, which wreaked havoc on the body’s neurotransmitters. Within seconds of exposure, a victim’s chest would tighten, his or her vision would blur, and the gas would begin to wring out every secretion the body could produce. Mucus would pour from a victim’s nose and down his or her face, adding to uncontrollable tears and the drool and vomit pouring from a victim’s mouth. The bowels and bladder would evacuate. Depending on the dose, convulsions, paralysis, and death would follow. But not immediately. In some cases, not for five or ten minutes.
Before Hall could dwell on these horrors further, four navy officers approached and greeted the team. After the military personnel exchanged salutes, a bald admiral reached out to shake hands with first Hall, then Megan.
“I’m Larry Dinkoff, the base commander,” he said by way of introduction. “I was told you two are John and Jane Doe.” He raised his eyebrows. “So I guess you two are brother and sister,” he added wryly.
Megan shook her head. “Husband and wife. With two kids at home,” she added with a grin. “Play Doe and uh . . . Tae Kwon Doe.”
Everyone groaned as the group was ushered toward a large helicopter, twenty yards away, and Admiral Dinkoff introduced them to the two pilots who would be taking them up.
“Both have been given clear orders to follow your every command,” he told Hall. “Secondarily, the commands of anyone in your group. No questions asked.” Dinkoff paused. “I’ve been told the same thing. To carry out any orders from you as if they came from the commander-in-chief. Any idea who told me this?”
Hall shook his head.
“The commander-in-chief,” said the admiral. “President Cochran himself.”
He studied Hall for any reaction, but the man seemed unsurprised by the president’s involvement.
“I also have the base on full alert,” continued Dinkoff. “I was told to be ready for any eventuality regarding a possible terrorist threat involving drones and sarin gas.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” said Briarwood.
As the pilots boarded the helo to begin preparing for takeoff, one of the men standing with Dinkoff, a lieutenant who had not been introduced, removed a syringe from his pocket with a long needle and expelled a drop of liquid from the tip.
“This is Dr. Paul Mulwitz,” explained the admiral. “I was told to have an elephant-sized dose of a stimulant administered to Mr. Doe here before he took off. Enough to wake the dead. Whoever you are,” he said to Hall with the hint of a smile, “looks like you’ll be flying higher than the helo. Or at least you’ll be more charged up.”
Hall held out his arm without protest. When Mulwitz slipped the needle in, he was too tired and preoccupied to even notice. He had told Megan earlier that even IV coffee wouldn’t help him come to life, but at the time he was just being ironic, having no idea this never-ending day would continue past his interrogation of Abu Patek. Girdler hadn’t heard this comment, but was putting Hall’s theory to the test.
Hall was relieved that the general had thought of it, since this stimulant was likely to be the difference between success and failure. His admiration for the man continued to grow. Justin Girdler didn’t miss much.
“I was told to supply you with a Pave Hawk and two pilots, Captain Briarwood,” said the admiral. “Period. I understand that you and Lieutenant Guest are competent to act as flight engineer and gunner if necessary.”
“That’s correct,” said the captain.
Hall studied the large, single rotor helicopter in front of him, which he now knew was a Pave Hawk, while information about the vehicle magically flooded into his consciousness. It was an aging cousin of the more famous Black Hawk, known for its advanced electronics and used principally for the insertion and recovery of special operations teams, and for search and rescue missions.
The current assignment certainly fit this latter mission. They knew what they were searching for, all right. If only they knew who it was they were trying to rescue.
The military possessed many newer and more impressive birds, but many of these might incite panic if they were hovering over downtown San Diego, and the Pave Hawk provided everything they would need to get the job done.
Provided Hall could do his part. Something that was far from a guarantee, despite his earlier bravado.
Just as they were about to board the Pave Hawk, Hall turned to Sergeant Plaskett. “Joey, I’d like you to stay behind with Megan.”
Plaskett opened his mouth to object, but given the base commander had been told to follow Hall’s every order without question, how could he do otherwise? “Roger that,” he said, his tone unable to hide his disappointment.
“There is no way I’m not coming with you,” sent Megan telepathically.
“There is no way you are,” replied Hall the same way. “I love you too much to keep putting you in danger. And there’s no reason for it this time. We have no idea what we’ll be facing. As much as I love your moral support, I won’t risk it.”
Like Plaskett, she wanted to argue the point, but he knew she wouldn’t waste further time when every second counted.
“Goddammit, Nick!” she thought at him petulantly as he boarded the helo. “You had better be careful. And report back as often as you can.”
“Roger that,” he sent back as the helicopter lifted off the runway and rose into the glorious blue sky.
13
Justin Girdler glanced down at the climbing shoes he still wore and wondered when he might find the minute or two it would take to change them. Not anytime soon, he decided.
“Nick and the team just took off from Coronado,” he reported from inside the operations center of THT’s headquarters.
The two men with him, Mike Campbell and Alex Altschuler, simply nodded, not taking the time to tear their eyes from a series of enormous monitors that covered the entire length of a fifty-foot wall. Along with Nick Hall, Megan Emerson, and Heather Zambrana, these two men formed THT’s core team. Heather was Altschuler’s wife now, although Girdler wasn’t certain this marriage would hold up in court. After all, the brilliant scientist was legally deceased, and the phrase, “I now pronounce you corpse and wife,” wasn’t often heard in marriage ceremonies.
When Altschuler had gone along with Girdler’s plans to bury BrainWeb, he may have thrown away hundreds of billions of dollars, but he was still worth billions. The technology and algorithms for the flawless translation of thoughts may have been thought lost, but the implants’ ability to convert external signals to sight and sound represented the cure for deafness and blindness, and Theia Labs was moving forward with this. His will had left all of his shares in Theia to Heather, who had already cashed out two billion dollars worth, in case she or her dead husband needed any petty cash.
THT had been gradually adding members, but only a select few knew the true nature of its charter. The warehouse offered many times more space than the secret organization would need for some time to come, with half being used as an indoor parking lot, hiding cars so as not to shatter the illusion that the structure was largely abandoned.
Those who worked at the warehouse would only enter and park when sensors and satellites monitoring the roads and skies indicated the coast was clear. While t
he outside of the warehouse was left an eyesore, no expense had been spared to convert the inside into a brightly lighted modern office complex equal to the nerve center of a major global corporation, with the most advanced computers and electronics anywhere, and communications that tied directly to President Cochran and the sixteen intelligence gathering agencies in America that collectively employed hundreds of thousands of men and women.
THT was a dust mite next to the mastodon of the US intelligence apparatus, but its power was unparalleled. Nick Hall’s contributions just that morning easily outdid months of work by all other intelligence agencies combined.
Military construction workers, hidden from the view of any road, had used marble and fine wood on THT’s floors and offices and huge panels of bulletproof glass, opaque and camouflaged from the outside, to create skylights and panoramic windows. A large open-air courtyard was carved out in the center, in which small trees and other foliage now thrived.
Girdler considered leaving the operations center to lie on his back in the courtyard, but decided against it. The change of setting might well spark the inspiration he so desperately sought, but he also needed to be where he was. Not only to stand shoulder to shoulder with two men he greatly admired, but because here he had instant access to communications and the NSA’s Expert System, nicknamed Nessie, which represented the most sophisticated supercomputer ever built.
Nessie was artificially intelligent, but not quite a full-fledged AI, thankfully, for those worried about a sentient Skynet destroying humanity.
But she wasn’t all that far off, either.
She might one day evolve further and destroy the world, but for now she was tasked with applying her considerable talents to protecting THT, overseeing security of the building and its tenants.
Think! Girdler ordered himself. What was he missing? What stone had he failed to overturn?
They had to find a way to stop the attack, even if Nick Hall failed. While Girdler was racing from the climbing gym back to headquarters he had brought his two colleagues up to speed and had tasked Nessie with searching through all of the data they had on Victor, and all other implant recipients as well. Victor may not have been responsible for the drone, after all, or someone else might be able to shed some useful light on its operation.
MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3) Page 8
