AN UNIMAGINABLE DISCOVERY

by Robert Graf

  He grinned. "No problem, Doctor, all the icons have hotkeys."

  MacDougal looked from the blank screen to Farid. "What's wrong?"

  "We need to reset both EntComs, and that requires Dr. Grey on the moon."

  Jon's voice broke in. She refocused on the phone. He was standing in a group of technicians. "Ann, there's quite a crowd here. The status LED is green and the control display shows 'Receive Failed', but there's no error on the tablet. What's going on with you?"

  "Farid has hooked up a computer. Entanglement status is good, but we get an unknown error. Go ahead and reset."

  "Done," Jon announced.

  "Farid, reset it."

  Farid quickly typed the hotkey combination.

  The screen cleared to "Ready."

  Farid bowed his head, "Allah Akbar."

  "It worked," she yelled, forgetting her phone.

  A pained, "No need to shout," Jon complained. "Let me talk to Farid."

  She smiled and handed Farid her phone. "You guys sort things out."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  She glanced at MacDougal. He looked beat. "I have coffee in the apartment."

  He regarded her with an exhausted expression. "Something stronger would be better, but coffee is fine. Lead on, Dr. Grey."

  Back in the kitchenette, MacDougal collapsed into a chair while Ann reheated the coffee in the microwave, poured two cups and gave one to MacDougal.

  He took a sip and grimaced. "You Yanks like your coffee strong. Is there any milk?"

  She shook her head.

  "Oh well." He drank half the cup.

  "I saw you on TV talking with some fireman. How'd you get them to let you take the EntCom?"

  He frowned. "They were going to let me poke around until their investigator told the Incident Commander the explosion wasn't accidental. So now it's murder."

  He turned blood-shot, tired eyes on her. "I had to identify the bodies."

  Ann didn't know what to say. She wanted to hug him and say it was alright. “No more of this Dr. Grey stuff. Please, call me Ann."

  He blinked, surprised. "Only if you call me Ian."

  "Yes, Ian," she agreed, smiling.

  "The Commander contacted the police. When they showed up I was told in no uncertain terms nothing was to be disturbed." He drank the last of the coffee. "That's when I rang Roger. He told me not to worry. I almost laughed out loud. I was certain there was nothing he could do. I was wrong."

  "Hooper got you in?"

  MacDougal nodded. "Within half an hour the police chief showed up along with a civilian who was never introduced. Short story, the chief let me hunt for the EntCom. And talk about timing, Farid showed up. Roger had told him to get his arse over to the lab. So here we are." He put the cup down. "We should go back."

  Ann followed him back to where Farid worked on the EntCom. He had installed the spare core. "Is it okay?" she asked.

  Farid smiled. "Everything works. I have to say, Doctor, I'm amazed they survived the explosion undamaged." He handed her phone back.

  She grinned at him. "You built better than you knew."

  "They're really alright?" MacDougal asked Farid.

  "Yes, sir. You may tell Mr. Hooper the EntCom is undamaged."

  Ann spoke to her phone. "Jon, are you satisfied?"

  "Yes," he answered sounding relieved, "The NASA folk are impressed. They're bugging me to use the EntCom. Could we let them send a message? It's great PR."

  "NASA wants to say hello. You have any objection?" she asked Ian.

  He shook his head. "Not my call. I'm going to ring Roger with the good news."

  "Sure, Jon, go ahead."

  A line of text flashed on the computer screen: “Greetings, Earthlings.”

  Ann laughed. She motioned to Farid. "Go ahead, say something."

  Farid opened his mouth as if to protest, then keyed a response.

  She peered over his shoulder. "Greetings and salutations," the message read.

  Over the phone she could hear muffled voices and laughter.

  "They're happy as kids at Christmas," Jon said.

  "Right. We're shutting down and shipping the EntCom off to Houston. I'll be in touch."

  "OK, Farid, pack it up." She turned to MacDougal. "It's all yours. Can I go home now?"

  "I'll have a car sent straight-away. Farid's going with the EntCom."

  Ann sighed with relief. She'd be home by evening and could unwind, maybe.

  [Saturday, Petaluma]

  Ann indulged in a breakfast of bacon, syrup-soaked pancakes, and lots of black coffee. Any more like that and she'd get fatter than a Thanksgiving turkey. She sat back in her chair and brooded. She had slept well, now it was decision time. After yesterday's disaster did she dare go to Oregon, orders notwithstanding?

  Ian didn't think she was a target. She had to trust his judgment, yet he couldn’t guarantee her safety. Career or security? What a choice. Who had said "Security is a myth”?

  Back to her original question. Who would commit such a horrible crime? Who indeed? Any nut-job with a grudge. There were plenty of home-grown terrorists quite capable of murder. What she couldn't accept or get her head around was why.

  The most logical reason was what? Politics? Fear? If the Jupiter project was the target, go after the ship. To the world, the EntComs were a new communications device. Why bother? Unless...

  The conclusion chilled her. Someone outside corporate knew about her discovery. She'd told Isaac; he'd told his boss; and his boss had told? She shook her head. She couldn't believe his Church would do such a thing. Oh no? It wasn't so long ago a world-wide scandal involving pedophile priests had been exposed, where the Church concealed the priests’ crimes for decades. And why? To protect the Church.

  Who else? Farid had family in Egypt and presumably talked to them. The techs or the guards? To her shame she didn't know. Would there be memorial services? What about Hooper or Ian or...? She shook her head. That path lead to rampant paranoia. She sympathized with Ian. He had to deal with those possibilities.

  Fight or flight? Decide. She had to know, and this was her only chance. She'd go.

  What to pack? Enough for two months. And she had to put the rack on her car. No way would she leave her bike behind. What about a dogi and weapons? She hadn't practiced for years. Corvallis was a college town, sure to have a dojo. She would never be as fit again, though the exercise and discipline would do her good.

  Mail could be held, the newspaper? She hardly read it anymore, so cancel. What about PG&E? The house would be empty. Have them shut off. The mortgage was paid automatically.

  She glanced out the kitchen window at the climbing rose. No point in worrying about it, she never watered or pruned it, yet it survived.

  What about Jon? All his stuff was in storage. Once the Jupiter ship launched he'll return and need a place. That’s his problem.

  She'd leave in the morning, drive to Philomath in two days, staying overnight in Yreka. No point in being too tired, she wasn't about to prove Ian right. Anyway, the Jupiter mission was scheduled to launch Monday morning. No way would she miss it.

  She finished her coffee. She had a ton of washing to do, and the house needed cleaning. It would be a long day.

  [Saturday, Sausalito]

  MacDougal yawned and sipped his tea. The wall clock ticked over to 12:30. A very late breakfast indeed, but he'd needed the sleep, fitful as it had been. Just one more rasher of grilled bacon, finish the poached egg, then confront Swales.

  The sole good news in the entire sorry mess was the EntCom. That it survived astonished him. He had to hand it to Roger; he'd built up a first-class technical group.

  On the other hand, his conscience could use some cleansing; placing Global's US-based facilities on high alert didn't help. He felt a terrible cold anger when he thought about his murdered guards. Could their deaths have been avoided? Until he knew who was responsible, and he would find out, he had no way to answer.

  What about Dr. Grey, or rather A
nn? He admired her composure. He remembered senior agency staff who had behaved far worse. Roger wasn't deliberately setting her up as a target; he just didn't consider anything other than his own ambitions.

  He stood and strode into his dining room/office. His tablet still displayed the earlier news feed. The only reference to the Petaluma explosion was a brief update noting the authorities now suspected sabotage. Thankfully, neither the Greys nor his name had been mentioned.

  He sat, picked up his phone and tapped in Swales' private code. No security issues; the connection went via an encrypted satellite link— no visuals. Nearly 21:00 in London. Swales would be getting ready for bed.

  A tired, angry voice answered, "Who the hell is this? And how did you get this code?"

  MacDougal smiled. "Good evening, Jonathan. Did I wake you?"

  Silence except for labored breathing. "You'd better have a fucking good reason."

  MacDougal's smile vanished. "Our lab was blown up last night and two of my guards killed. You do not want me to discover you had anything to do with that."

  "My God, Ian." More labored breathing. "I absolutely know nothing. That's horrible."

  Asthma? Keep him off balance. "I want to know who you've been sharing intel with. And don't insult me by pretending you haven't."

  Swales's tone changed to a controlled anger. "Ian, I forgive your insolence, but don't try to threaten me. You're way out of your depth."

  Ian's anger overwhelmed his caution. "I don't give a shite about your political shenanigans. This is murder. When the FBI comes calling, I'm going to cooperate with them. I want those fuckers caught."

  Silence. "We have an arrangement."

  "Who knew about the lab, Jonathan?"

  "You have my word that nobody on this end had anything to do with your terrible tragedy. What would we gain? I suggest you look to your own people," Swales retorted in an icy tone. With a sharp 'click' the connection ended.

  "I intend to," Ian told the silent phone.

  Did he believe Swales? Today he was a popular elected figure in the political spotlight, yet once he’d been a ruthless senior spook answerable to no one. No, he didn’t believe a word.

  What about his “own people'? His corporate responsibility was security, not investigation. He had a hotshot IT boffin running computer security, but he had neither the staff nor budget for detective work. Background checks were handled by HR, and from the dossiers he'd seen they did a cursory job. For thorough vetting they hired outside agencies like the one that dug up his Afghanistan past. The irony was that historical bit convinced Roger to hire him.

  What about Dr. Grey, Ann, and Roger's paranoia? He could stop the whole project under the guise of security. Roger would be furious, probably fire him, yet that was the prudent thing to do. Move everything back to Sacramento where there was sufficient security.

  No. In this instance Roger was right. He had much more control over an isolated site than any place in an urban environment. However, now he had to provide real security, not the sham he'd let that wog CFO talk him into.

  When first informed about the explosion, he’d considered then dismissed personal grudges, industrial sabotage, and random mental cases. Except for hardball politics to embarrass the President, none of them felt right.

  On a notepad he listed the people who knew about the EntComs' fantastic ability. He crossed out Roger and the engineering VP; he'd never been in the loop. He put a * next to his own name.

  Start with the basics—motive. Fear of a past event so terrible that it had to be kept secret at any cost? That could be anybody or agency or government or religion or... He shook his head in disgust. That led nowhere.

  How about means? A van filled with fertilizer, a detonator, and knowledge of the EntCom's location. So simple. He felt sick, he'd failed, a school-crossing guard would have done better. He wanted to hit something, anything.

  Get a grip. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, you've been here before. But that was years ago, and now you're grown up. Shite happens. He took a deep breath to calm down and considered what he knew. Fuckall is what he knew.

  He selected Ann's private link.

  Sounds of dishes rattling together, then her face appeared. "Ian?"

  "Dr. Grey, I mean Ann, do you have a moment?"

  “I’m cleaning up, but go ahead."

  She didn’t look very pleased. He pressed on. "This sounds like something on the telly, but did you notice anything unusual in the days before? Maybe a strange car or person lurking about? Anything at all?"

  "Let me think." Silence. "I'm sorry, no. I just walked to work, did my job and walked home. It's been my routine for weeks."

  It was a long shot, still he was disappointed. "What about your engineer, Farid, or the techs or the guards? Did they say anything?"

  "No, nothing. There’s just the lunch wagon. It’s been the same for months, the same husband-wife operators. I'm sorry, Ian."

  "Don't beat yourself up about it."

  "I'm packing for Oregon, planning on driving up tomorrow. I assume the project is still on, otherwise Hooper would have called. Is it?"

  Should he change his mind? "Yes. I considered calling it off, but the location is better than Petaluma, security will be tighter. Are you sure you want to go?"

  "Hooper told me to go or get fired. I have to understand how 'fact checking’ works. So I'm going."

  Roger, you bastard. Give her some encouragement. "You ride a bike, don't you? Take it along. There's pretty country to the west with good roads for riding."

  He started at the sound of breaking glass.

  "Ian, that's it! Last Sunday I rode to work to pick up a printout. There was an old Honda parked in front. The driver asked me for directions to the 101 so I told him. I guess he didn't have GPS."

  Everyone had GPS. "The driver?"

  "Dark hair, mustache, thirty to forty, nothing special."

  Ian's breathing quickened. "He said 'the 101'?"

  "Yes. It’s how southern Californians refer to the highway system." A pause. "I'm used to it, but up here no one talks that way."

  Ian felt a thrill of excitement— the first real intel he'd found. "Right. Anything else?"

  "No, though why would a car stop by the lab, there's nothing out here."

  Ian crossed his fingers. If the outside camera's data had been retrieved per his standing orders, maybe, just maybe, there was an image. "You've been a great help. I'll pass this on to the police."

  "Won't help Ricardo or Craig. Will there be a memorial service?"

  "The authorities notified their families. I'll let you know."

  "Thank you. If I can I'll fly back. I know nothing about them, we never discussed personal stuff."

  Her sad expression moved him. "I suspect the FBI and ATF will be involved. They’ll be caught." He hoped.

  "Right. Well, back to packing. See you in Oregon."

  He disconnected. He didn't want to alarm her, even though she might be a material witness. Could the bombers know who she was? The Honda driver spoke with her. He got an uneasy feeling. How hard could it be in today's connected world?

  He ran a search on "Petaluma Global Communication EntCom" and stared at the results, appalled. There was a map showing Petaluma with a balloon pointing to the lab. He didn't even need EntCom. He scrolled down the hit list. A link to a news story about EntComs caught his eye, and he selected it.

  A quick scan noted Petaluma mentioned as one location for their assembly. To his dismay, further down was a reference to the Greys, "...husband and wife inventors of the faster-than-light communication system for the Jupiter mission", thankfully, no pictures.

  He tried a search on Dr. Grey —millions of hits. He tried variations, adding Physicist, EntCom and "faster than light" He tried a variation with "Farid, engineer, EntCom". As he feared he found thousands of links to stories complete with pictures of Ann, her husband, the EntComs, and NASA's Jupiter ship. And millions more to the President's speech about the Jupiter Project.

/>   He didn't pursue any.

  Was the Oregon site as obvious? A search on "Global Communication Philomath"was equally discouraging. "Damnit to fucking hell," he swore. But so what? It's just another building among the dozens corporate owned.

  Bottom line, there was no hiding. He bitterly regretted sending the intel to Swales. He should have waited, but no, he had to be dutiful. For his part the “arrangement” was finished. He'd paid his debt. He had no doubt that if he tried Swales' code it wouldn't work. Which reminded him...

  He ran Shred on the Photo program and the encryption functions. In seconds not a single byte remained that could be identified with those programs. He deleted Swales' address and the entire log from his phone.

  He'd alerted US corporate facilities, now his number one priority was Ann. Convincing his employees to go to Oregon was going to be a tough sell. He was forgetting something. What was that company Roger had bought after the Greys' startup? He scanned through Global's facilities list. Yes, that one, the Israeli outfit. Ten hour difference so their Sabbath is over. He tapped in the emergency contact number on his phone.

  A man's sleepy voice answered, "Shalom."

  "Mr. Cohen, this is Ian MacDougal, head of security for Global Communication. Sorry to disturb you, but I have urgent information."

  "Urgent?” A middle-aged tired face appeared. “What is it?"

  "Our lab in Petaluma was destroyed yesterday by a remote controlled bomb. I'm unfamiliar with your security setup, but I want you to be extra vigilant. I have no information pointing to an immediate threat."

  "Was anyone hurt?"

  "Two of my guards were killed."

  Cohen sucked in his breath. "May God have mercy. You suspect who?"

  "Perpetrators are unknown, but it was a professional job."

  "What do you want me to do? I have no budget for extra security, just enough for the private guards."

  Go out on a limb, Roger can bitch later. "Talk to the agency you've hired, tell them what I told you and follow their recommendations. Corporate will reimburse you for any extra costs. And do it now."

  "It's late," Cohen retorted, looking and sounding annoyed.