Callsign: King - Book 2 - Underworld (A Jack Sigler - Chess Team Novella)
Page 9
“The mine looks completely shut down,” King observed. “But it looks like our friend is going to a structure north of the processing facility. If I’m not mistaken, the lightning we saw came down near here.”
Nina did her best to follow his reasoning. “You think maybe whatever they’re doing has something to do with the attacks?”
He didn’t answer her directly. “Do you know anything about the company that bought out the mine? A name?”
“No. I’m sure they mentioned it in the news reports, but it’s been a several weeks.”
“I’ll see if I can’t find out.” A subtle glow illuminated King, the display of a cell phone that he pressed to his ear. “Call Aleman.”
She listened impatiently to half of a conversation in which King asked Aleman—whoever that was—to look up information on the copper mine.
“Bluelight Technologies,” she heard him say. “Any connection to Manifold? Right…Well, you keep digging on your end. I’m going to go in for a closer look… Roger that, King, out.”
The glow vanished, returning Nina to near-total darkness as the Humvee continued along the uneven dirt road.
“You’re military, too, aren’t you?” Nina asked after a few minutes.
“What makes you say that?”
“The way you handled that gun during the attack.Your familiarity with this Hummer. And then there’s the whole ‘Roger that, King out,’ thing just a second ago.”
“I was in the army for a while.” There was a hint of embarrassed humor in his tone. “Some things you never forget.”
Nina sensed he wouldn’t reveal anything more on that subject, so she tried a different tack. “What’s Manifold?”
She saw the shift in his silhouette as he turned to look at her for a moment, then turned his eyes forward again. “Manifold is…or was, rather…a biotech company run by a guy named Richard Ridley.”
“Biotech? So you’re going with your theory that the creatures are mutants?”
“Right now, I don’t have a theory. I’m just putting the coincidences together. Manifold is very bad news, and my job is to find them, root them out, and shut them down.”
Nina knew better than to ask who had given him that job, but there were clues aplenty in the subtext. What was even more evident was his understated dedication to that mission. It was the kind of single-mindedness that drove a lot of the believers in paranormal phenomena—drove them, and sometimes blinded them to the obvious answers. And everything else that most normal people considered important.
Still, he didn’t seem crazy.
“And Bluelight Technologies,” she continued. “That’s who owns the mine now?”
Before he could answer, a familiar humming noise signaled an incoming call on King’s phone. Nina saw the glow of the display then to her surprise, heard King say: “Ale, you’re on speaker. With me is Nina…Raglan, was it? She’s a special consultant on local affairs.”
There was a brief lag, and then a weary voice said: “I understand. Ms. Raglan, I’m Lewis Aleman.”
“Umm…hi.”
“So, Ale, what can you tell me about Bluelight Technologies?”
“Quite a lot, actually…and yet, at the same time, not much. It’s a new firm, only a few months old. Founded by one Aaron Copeland. Copeland is a physicist, Masters from MIT. Worked at CERN for a while, then about a year ago, he dropped off the radar. When he popped up again, it was at the helm of Bluelight.”
“Physicist,” King repeated. “Narrow that down for me.”
“He’s published several articles on using phase states of matter as an alternate energy source. I can’t really tell you what any of this stuff means, but it sounds like science-fiction. The real kind though, heavy on the science, and without laser gun battles and green-skinned babes. Bluelight’s mission statement—and I’m quoting here— is ‘pioneering alternative energy sources for the 21st century.’”
“There’s no way a start-up would have the resources to shut down the mine operation,” Nina observed.
There was a brief pause and Nina wondered if she had said the wrong thing. “That’s a very astute observation,” King said, without a trace of insincerity. “Bluelight has some significant financial muscle behind them. Ale, can you follow the money?”
“Easier said, King. They’re not publically traded. I can tell you this though; right now, Bluelight has just one client.”
“The government?” Nina said.
“Ah, a point to the lady. Specifically, Bluelight has a contract with DARPA.”
Nina knew all about DARPA—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency—the military’s R&D arm. The agency had become something of a bogeyman for paranormal enthusiasts, particularly in the UFO community, who imagined DARPA scientists working feverishly in secret laboratories at Area 51, to reverse engineer alien technology from crashed spacecraft.
“‘Who’ isn’t as important as ‘what,’” King said. “Forget the money trail for now, Ale. See if you can figure out what Copeland is trying to do out here. Go through his published work again; there’s got to be a thread we can pull on to unravel all this. Something tells me Bluelight isn’t just trying to build a better solar panel.”
“Meanwhile, what will you be doing?”
In the glow of the phone, Nina could see the determined grin on King’s face. “I think I’m going to go have a look around.”
22.
Pierce gazed down at the still form and marveled at just how human it looked. There were differences of course, most notably, the heavy brow ridge, similar in many respects to depictions of Neanderthal man, to say nothing of the enormous size and the hard looking bumps covering almost every square inch of the creature’s body. All but the area between the forehead and the end of the strong aquiline nose, were covered in the bumps.
If not for the bumpy skin, Pierce thought, you might not give him a second look walking through the mall.
Oops…make that her.
The archaeologist carefully, almost reverently, extracted the coin from the creature’s mouth and held it up for inspection. It was a silver Mexican peso coin, dated 1977. He was almost disappointed that the beasts, intelligent though they were, had chosen such a common and geographically proximal coin to use as anobol. He put the peso back, exactly as it had been and moved to the next body in line.
He winced as everything in the objective lens grew painfully bright, and lowered the monocular, blinking away the bright spots. De Bord had entered the chamber, using his flashlight to show the way.
“Damn it,” the soldier complained, keeping his voice low in spite of his irritation. “You call this takin’ a look? Those things won’t take kindly to you violatin’ their dead.”
“I don’t know if they’d care.” Pierce slipped the coin from the second corpse’s mouth and checked it.
It was most definitely not a peso.
“Well, I’d just as soon focus on gettin’ outta here. If they ain’t comin’ back, then we should keep movin’ forward. There’s bound to be another opening back to the surface.”
Pierce barely heard him. He showed De Bord the coin. Even without being able to translate the strange pictographic writing, the square hole punched in the center of the bronze circle was enough of a clue to identify the coin’s country of origin.
“Holy…is that Chinese?”
Pierce nodded. “It’s a banliang coin, from the Qin Dynasty. This coin is more than two thousand years old.”
“How in God’s name did it get here?”
Pierce grimaced. “You were right about there being another way out.” Pierce said, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “I just hope we don’t have to walk that far.”
23.
King had done more than his share of covert infiltrations, some more successful than others. Luck played a role, but what really made the difference between an effective sneak-and-peek and a clusterfuck of epic proportions was advanced planning based on reliable intel. With Deep Blue guiding
them remotely, updating them with real time satellite imagery or infrared surveillance from an unmanned drone, Chess Team had become masters of stealthy insertion into potentially hostile environments.
King had none of those advantages tonight. No Deep Blue, no eye in the sky, no backup. And perhaps worst of all, no time.
He spent several minutes studying the area surrounding the cinderblock structure that had been the final destination for the driver of the SUV. There didn’t appear to be any security cameras or motion sensors, and he saw no evidence of a security patrol. Although he could have been wrong about any one of those observations, there was nothing more to be gained through further surveillance.
“I’d much rather do this alone,” he told Nina, then forestalled her immediate protest with a raised hand. “I think we both know that it’s not a good idea to split up. But you’re going to have to follow my lead and do everything I say.”
She nodded, but was clearly irked at being relegated to the role of tagalong.
King left the Humvee concealed behind a low hill and they set off on foot across the open ground, a distance of about half a mile. They moved low and slow at first, with King in the lead, constantly scanning for trip wires and other early warning detection systems. As they got closer though, King realized his caution was unnecessary.
The building he now thought of as the Bluelight Facility, might have actually had a working security system at one time, possibly even earlier in the night, but precautions designed to keep out human intruders had been of little use in turning back a wave of Mogollon Monsters.
The eight-foot fence surrounding the building had been ripped apart like the wrapping on an eight-year old’s Christmas present. Beyond the fence line, were the shattered remains of two passenger cars, and King saw that the white SUV had also taken a pounding. There were holes in the concrete wall, some decorated with snags of long dark human hair and streaks of blood. The metal door leading inside was still on its hinges, but the exterior doorknob had been ripped off, and it was evident that the panel had been repeatedly hammered with fists and feet.
King led the way through the wreckage and cautiously pulled the door open. The entry foyer beyond was dark, but judging by the lack of damage, it appeared that the creatures had not breached the interior of the building.
A strip of light, barely visible to the naked eye but glowing bright in the night vision display, shone from beneath a door at the end of the corridor. King switched off the monocular, shouldered his carbine, and stealthily approached the door.
There were voices beyond—at least two people—engaged in a conversation. He twisted the doorknob slowly and opened it just a crack.
“—all left when those things attacked. It’s just me now.” The voice was male—probably Copeland, King thought—and his tone was almost frantic.
“Are you able to verify a direct link between this incursion and activation of the Bluelight generator?” This voice was female and considerably louder, filling the room. King realized right away that it was issuing from a speaker, but there was something odd about the person’s speech pattern. There was a barely perceptible lag between each word, and an almost total lack of emotion.
“A link?” Copeland replied incredulously. “Every time we fire the damn thing up, those creatures show up and start killing everyone. What more evidence do you need?”
“There is an eighty-two point one percent probability that these events are correlated. However, until the mechanism explaining the connection is understood, the experiments must continue.”
“It sounds like one of those automated phone call systems,” Nina whispered in King’s ear.
King had already figured that out. Computer voice technology had come a long way from the synthesized speech depicted in movies like the classic War Games. Modern software could almost instantly piece together sentences from prerecorded words, assembling them like fragments cut out of a dictionary and pasted onto a sheet of paper, but there were limits to the technology; it was impossible for the software to mimic the natural tone and inflection of a real person. But it was something else the voice had said that caused a huge piece of the puzzle to fall into place.
Oblivious to his revelation, Nina continued. “It sounds like they know that whatever they’re doing here is driving the Mogollons crazy.”
“Shhh.”
“No, no, no! We don’t dare turn it on again.”
“The objective cannot be achieved until the external threat is mitigated,” the female voice replied blandly. “You must accelerate the timetable. Drawing the hostiles into the open will provide military assets with an opportunity to eliminate the threat permanently.”
“Those things wiped out your precious military assets. Dozens of soldiers are missing…probably dead. The general blames me for that.”
“Blame is irrelevant. Military assets now have a more complete understanding of the threat, and will subsequently escalate their response. There is a seventy-eight point three percent probability that the threat will be completely eliminated within three experimental cycles.”
Any lingering doubts King might have had were swept away by the electronically produced voice’s second probability assessment. Brainstorm!
Just a few short weeks ago, King had learned of the mysterious entity known as Brainstorm. Hardly anything was known about Brainstorm. Deep Blue had hinted at the possibility that it was in reality an artificial intelligence program that had infiltrated computer networks around the world. It was surreptitiously controlling corporations and governments alike, all to advance an unknown, but almost certainly apocalyptic agenda; King’s first encounter with Brainstorm had uncovered a scheme intended to turn literally billions of people into a mindless drone labor force.
During that mission, King had interacted directly with Brainstorm utilizing a similar electronic voice interface that effectively masked the true identity—the true nature—of Brainstorm, but whatever he, she, it or they was or were, Brainstorm saw the world entirely in terms of probabilities.
Brainstorm didn’t think small. Whatever its interest in Bluelight, it almost certainly spelled bad news on a global scale.
“Commence the next activation cycle in forty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds. Mark.”
King immediately pressed a button on his wristwatch, activating the stopwatch function.
“This is insane,” Copeland muttered.
“Negative. If your supposition is correct, and the events with hostiles of unknown origin are directly connected to the activation of the Bluelight generator, then repeated aggravation of the hostiles by that method is the only way to ensure their extermination. The Bluelight facility will be adequately protected. Military assets are now aware of the true nature of the threat and will be able to eliminate it more effectively. This is the course of action with the highest probability of success, and will ensure continued operation of the Bluelight generator.”
As the electronically produced voice droned on, King began his own probability assessment. He didn’t know what Bluelight was, but it was plainly evident that Copeland was critical to its operation.
King eased the door open a little more, and saw the physicist seated at a workstation in a room that looked like a scaled down version of NASA mission control. Copeland was alone.
Take Copeland…or take him out…and Bluelight is dead in the water. Problem solved.
But before he could take that next step, something in his pocket started buzzing like a swarm of angry bees.
Damn it, Aleman. The tech expert should have known better than to call in the middle of an infiltration. King eased the door closed and dug the phone from his pocket.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the name on the caller ID.
“Who is it?” Nina whispered.
King fought to find his voice as he retreated from the door to the Bluelight control room. “I have to take this.”
24.
Pierce and De Bord ran for their lives.
It wasn’t like they had strolled through the middle of a gathering. In fact, he wasn’t sure exactly how they’d gotten by the group of monsters that now stalked them. To the best of his knowledge, they hadn’t passed any junctions.
After leaving the burial cave, he and De Bord had continued through the exit passage, in the creatures’ wake. Although he secretly hoped to discover more about the strange, almost human beings, Pierce’s foremost goal was always to find a way back to the surface. It was plainly evident however that they were descending, deeper and deeper into the Earth’s crust. After more than a mile of walking, the cool cave air growing warmer with each vertical foot of drop, Pierce had begun second-guessing the initial decision to move forward.
“This ain’t gettin’ us anywhere,” De Bord had announced, as if tuning into the same psychic channel. “The entry was there. We both went through it. We must’ve just missed it somehow.”
Pierce had been on the verge of agreeing to the request when a glinting reflection caught his eye on the path ahead. “Let me check something out. Five more minutes, then we’ll turn back.”
De Bord hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d nodded, and Pierce had moved ahead into a cavern almost as large as the burial chamber. What he saw there left him speechless. It was, he imagined, the archaeological equivalent of winning the lottery.
It was impossible to say what purpose the room served for the beasts. It might have been the equivalent of a treasure room or perhaps a museum; if they were as intelligent as the totem necklaces seemed to indicate, then it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they might recognize the value in other human artifacts. Or, they might simply have been great big pack rats feathering their nest with anything shiny that caught their eye. Ultimately, the creatures’ motivation didn’t matter nearly as much as the actual content they had collected.