by Robert Graf
The engineering VP? "This is a problem because?"
"He's the lead engineer for the EntComs. His name is Farid Sawalha. He doesn't answer his phone, and he hasn't checked in for days; he was instructed to check in daily."
Ann's engineer? "Isn't this a task for HR?"
The VP looked impatient. "Yes, though with all the trouble with the EntCom, I wondered if there was something you could do."
Does he suspect? "I'll send someone around to check."
"Thank you, I appreciate it." The connection closed.
Ian pondered the call’s implications. Proper little paranoid, yet he had a bad feeling. Too much coincidence. He opened his tablet’s address menu and tapped Allan’s link
"Yes, boss. What's up?"
He sighed in exasperation. American informality still bothered him. "Send someone to Farid Sawalha's and Dr. Grey's residence. See if anything's amiss."
"Do you want to check inside if they're not home?"
"Yes, and you go along. Keep in mind what's happened here and in Oregon, go armed."
Allan's eyebrows rose. "Expecting trouble?"
"Being cautious. And do it now."
"On my way." The window closed.
At least Ann was safe. As for her husband? Maybe he should have gone instead of Allan. He snorted. Ian, me lad, you don't have that luxury anymore.
His phone buzzed, providing a welcome interruption from the budget and personnel busywork. "Yes?"
Allan’s worried face appeared. “I'm at the engineer's place. Mail box has two day's worth in it. His car is in the garage, and the house is empty. Nothing obvious; it would take a crime team to do a proper job."
Uh, oh. Can't go to the local authorities. "Right. Nip on up to the Greys' flat and check it out."
"OK." The connection closed. What about the FBI? No, too early. He resumed his paperwork.
Ian’s phone buzzed. He tapped it—Allan again.
"I'm at the Greys'. Nobody here, but one bedroom was recently occupied. Bad news, the front door lock’s been forced. A car is in the garage. No mail or newspaper."
His stomach tightened. "She had a house guest, but the lock is worrisome. Get out of there, and don't leave any evidence."
"Of course, boss. Some houseguest, didn't even make the bed or neaten up the room."
What were his priorities? Safety. No help for it. He had to notify the FBI, Patel, and Roger. Now, where was that card? He rummaged through his desk drawer and pulled out the agent's card— Lenchen Winslow, interesting name, German or Dutch. No office link, just a phone code.
He entered it in his phone and waited and waited and…
"This is Winslow," a woman's clipped voice answered. No visual.
"Agent Winslow, this is Ian MacDougal from Global Communication."
Her face appeared. "Mr. MacDougal. I was just about to call. What can I do for you?"
"I have a problem related to your ongoing investigation. One of the co-inventors of the EntCom and a senior engineer that worked on the system are missing. and I can't locate them. I sent a man to check on their homes, and no one is there. The lock at Dr. Grey's home was forced."
"Which of the Greys are you referring to?"
"Jon, the husband of the woman you interviewed. She's in Houston at the Johnson Space Center. I'm not concerned about her."
"That Dr. Grey never did get back to us, that's the reason I was about to call."
Too bad. "She's been occupied with the Jupiter spaceship accident."
"Oh, she's part of that?"
"Yes. Can you help?"
"Have you notified the local authorities?"
"No. What would I say? I only have suspicions."
"True. What exactly concerns you?"
"I fear for their safety, that's my main concern. If whoever bombed our lab and killed my guards is involved, they're in grave danger. I don't have the staff or expertise to do anything about it."
"Once upon a time you did,” she replied in an amused tone, “but I understand your concern. Frankly, this investigation is taking more resources than regional wants to give me. I'll see what I can do. Keep me apprised of anything you learn."
"I will, and thank you." He shut the connection. So, the FBI had done a background check on him. No surprise and nothing to be concerned about. Let's see how the IT snoop is doing. He relinked his IT guru.
A window opened with the concerned face of young Schneider. "Yes, sir, I was just about to inform you that there's been activity on Dr. Grey's phone. I'm in the midst of locating it. If you could give me a minute?"
"Right." He wanted to yell "Hurry up!" He tried not to imagine the horrible possibilities.
"Got it. The phone was used in Portland near the waterfront. I'm emailing the lat-long and the timestamp. I remind you it's the location of the nearest cell phone tower, not the actual phone location. Should I wait?"
His incoming email icon blinked and he selected it: 45 36 55 N, 122 37 56 W, today, a couple hours ago. "No, just keep monitoring."
He killed the window, opened Google Earth and pasted the lat-long. The familiar blue-green globe expanded to North America and zoomed in on a location across the river from Portland in an industrial area east of I5 just south of Hwy 14. He studied the image: a bunch of buildings near a railroad. Even so, the 3-D detail amazed him. What in hell would Dr. Grey be doing there? Was the phone stolen?
He tapped Winslow's code on his phone, and her face appeared.
"Yes?"
“MacDougal, here. Dr. Grey's phone was used at lat-long 45 36 55 N, 122 37 56 W a couple hours ago."
"Oh? Just how do you know that?"
The same way you do. "Corporate has a voluntary policy of monitoring key individuals." So he lied a little.
"Not my concern. You've located it?"
"It's in an industrial area across the river from Portland. It makes no sense. He was just in Houston, where he called his wife from last Sunday and then disappeared. We haven't heard from him since."
"Mr. MacDougal, suppose I agree that this disappearance under possibly suspicious circumstances merits investigation. What's the motive?"
He hesitated. "I find it beyond belief that these two senior, actually key, personnel on the EntCom project go missing after our lab is destroyed and our prototype is stolen. Further, NASA's ship experiences a disastrous accident, and the only communication is by the EntCom system. It stinks."
"Wait one."
Ian tapped his fingers. Come on, woman, he wanted to shout as the minutes dragged on.
"I've alerted our Portland office about Dr. Grey and the Assistant Director about your suspicions. What is Dr. Grey's code?"
Ian told her and added, "There's one other item you should be aware of."
"And that is..." Winslow looked impatient.
"The EntComs seem to be able to distinguish facts from non-facts."
She frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
Use Ann's description. "Simply put, they're fact checkers."
"You mean lie detectors?"
"No, fact checkers. Did X happen or not?"
"Are you serious?" Winslow demanded.
"I wish I weren't."
"Who knew about this?"
Go ahead, confess, it's supposedly good for the soul. "I'm not completely sure, but the Greys of course and engineer Farid, our CEO and maybe a few techs, and I suspect NASA."
"You didn't apprise us of this earlier."
"No. I was ordered to keep quiet by our CEO."
"We'll get back to you."
Ian placed his phone down. Assistant Director is it? He didn't remember where that was in their organization. If it were anything like MI6 it could be days before anything happened. Should he ring Ann? No, she has enough to worry about, and there's nothing she could do anyway. Patel or Roger? Not yet.
[Thursday, Johnson Space Center]
Ann hung up her wet jacket in the bathroom. Then she opened the mini fridge and found Gordon's gin and a Schweppes tonic. Ju
st what the doctor ordered. She made a tall drink, took a long swallow and sat back in the over-stuffed chair. She had no new information, and she was committed to stay for the duration. Call Alex? No, too early, he's out on the job— Ian, then.
She listened to the repetitive buzz and sipped her drink, the gin warming her insides.
His unsmiling face appeared. "MacDougal here."
"Ian, what have you heard about Jon or Farid?"
"Ann, how is Houston?"
He's stalling. "Raining. Answer my question."
There was a brief silence. "A little upset, are we? Farid has disappeared; he hasn't been home for a couple days. Your husband has also disappeared, and I've asked the FBI for help. He used his phone this morning from Portland. What would he be doing there?"
She sat up, nearly spilling her drink, alarm coursing through her. "I have no idea. Something's wrong. He hasn't called, but why haven't you called him?"
"The FBI advised against that.”
She felt cold. "Don't bullshit me, Ian. You mean kidnapped, don't you."
His silence confirmed her fears.
"I'm afraid so. If, I repeat, if he's in trouble, alerting his captors is a bad idea."
Her thoughts whirled round and round, tangled up with her emotions. Kidnapped? "Why? Don't kidnappers want money or something?" Then it hit her. "This is about my prototype."
"What else? I told the FBI about the truth ability."
A little late. "Secrecy doesn't matter anymore. Seems everyone here knows, though the focus is on rescuing the ship. Tell the world for all I care."
"How long will you be there?"
"I don't know, there's been another setback and no decision's been made on what to do."
"Ann, if someone contacts you..."
Who...? Fuck! "You mean kidnappers?"
"Yes, Ann, I'm sorry. If that happens call me or the FBI."
She fumbled for a notepad while he told her Winslow's code. "Repeat that?"
She wrote it down. "Got it. If anything happens, call."
"Of course, take care.”
She dropped the phone on the table and stared out the window at the rainy darkness. Now what? She'd told Alex the truth, she and Jon were finished and had been for some time, so how did she feel? Empty. Was Farid also kidnapped? She finished her drink, feeling the effects of too much gin overtake her. Sleep is what she needed; if she called Alex now she'd start crying, and that wasn't fair to him. Tomorrow.
[Friday, London]
Swales stepped into the White Club, removed his wet raincoat and handed it to the attendant. Damn his eyes, why couldn't Plasket use secure communications? The urgent call last evening had him guessing, but Plasket had revealed nothing, just insisted he be there for breakfast. So here he was making his way down the carpeted hall to the Card Room. Unlike the last meeting, there was only one other occupied table.
He controlled his anger and nodded to Plasket, in his usual dark grey suit. He sat down without speaking, poured a cup of coffee from the silver carafe and took a long swallow. The bitter black liquid perked him up. "Good morning, Jeffrey. You have news?"
"Jonathan, and it is a good morning, and yes, I have news." He smiled. "The game's afoot."
To Swales's surprise, the smile seemed genuine. He ignored the cliché, and his guts tightened. "You have it working?"
"Indeed. As soon as we finish I'm off to try it out."
Swales sat back, his mind racing. You did it, he wanted to shout, maintaining a straight face. How to get access? This had always been the hole in his plans, yet he had accepted the risk and put a backup plan in place. Now was no time to pussy-foot about.
"That is excellent news. Where is it?"
Plasket kept smiling. "Patience, you'll get your turn."
Play with me, will you. "You saw NASA's news conference last night? Time's run out."
The smile disappeared. "I hope they make it, but that's what you get using untried technology. I don't share your concern about time; we have the device, that's what matters." Plasket slid a business card across the table, and Swales slipped it into his coat pocket. "My private phone code. The device is in a secure location. I have a chartered jet laid on. The flight's about twelve hours."
Swales’ good mood vanished. There were no conferences or trade agreements or anything that could justify an unscheduled trip. Worse, there was no one he could trust to get the information he had to have. On the plus side, Plasket had revealed enough that there’d be no difficulty tracking him.
"That's awkward for me. Can you bring it here?"
Plasket regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Eventually, though it will be days, or longer. I'm sure you appreciate the logistics."
The answers to his questions dictated his moves, and the elections were mere weeks away. Inside he seethed, yet there was no help for it. "Yes. A trip abroad now is out of the question."
Plasket shrugged. "I'll do the best I can." He sat back with a satisfied smile. "Now, let's enjoy breakfast. The food is quite good.”
That's all he'd get from Plasket now, and in truth Swales didn't want to know details. Eat, then plan. Downing Street was in his grasp.
[Saturday, Portland]
Another day chained to the cot. Farid was going crazy with the uncertainty and fear. The only way he guessed a day had passed was by the meals, if he could call the slop Byron brought food. The constant overhead fluorescent lights gave no clue. He had no one to talk to; Dr. Grey was kept somewhere else. Whenever Maria came around, she'd smile at him in a way that made his stomach turn. He finished what passed for breakfast and waited. Whatever happened, it was God’s will.
After an interminable interval Maria entered accompanied by a stout older man in a black suit. Behind her Byron escorted a haggard Dr. Grey to his prototype.
The stranger walked over to the prototype and studied it.
Maria hurried over to Farid’s cot. "You're going to work on your machine, and you'd better not fuck up,” she told him, unlocking his chain. She didn't smile, one hand resting on her holstered automatic.
"Yes. Who's that?" he asked, immediately regretting the words.
Her eyes grew cold. "Never you mind, just answer his questions, and everything will be just fine. Oh yes, they will."
Resistance was futile, so he followed her to the prototype. The stranger examined him from cold, hard eyes, then turned to Dr. Grey.
"You will show me how to work the machine," he ordered, in that curiously accented voice Farid associated with BBC announcers.
"You just enter messages at the transmitting monitor, and they appear on the other monitor," Dr. Grey answered.
"Not smart," Maria said and glanced at Byron.
Byron stepped behind Dr. Grey and hit him hard in the lower back, driving him to his knees. Farid cringed, sickened by the violence. At that instant he knew he was a dead man.
Byron lifted Dr. Grey to his feet.
The stranger didn't blink or show any emotion. "How does it work?"
"I'll show you" Dr. Grey gasped, sitting down.
"Do so."
Farid watched Dr. Grey demonstrate the prototype, at the same time keeping an eye on Maria who had that frightening smile pasted on her face.
"Type a valid message, 'Christopher Columbus discovered America in 1492' and touch F1." The message flashed on the second monitor. Dr. Grey typed “Christopher Columbus did not discover America in 1492" and sent it; the message began its monotonous blinking. Invalid messages invoke the error logic. To revive the machine toggle the Reset switch." Both monitors blanked, ready.
Throughout the demonstration the stranger said nothing, his cold eyes riveted on the displays. When the screens came back to life he smiled, “Fascinating. That is indeed amazing." He motioned and Byron yanked Dr. Grey out of the chair. The stranger sat, typed a random string of letters and touched F1. The string instantly appeared on the other monitor. "That is nonsense, but the machine allowed it, why?"
Dr. Grey sounded and looked b
eaten, spiritless. "We do not understand the underlying physics. It's contrary to everything we knew about quantum mechanics. Through trial and error we've worked out a few empirical rules. We've only scratched the surface."
Pale hard eyes bored into Farid's "Is that true?"
Farid gulped; he didn't dare show his ignorance. "Yes.”
The stranger stared a moment longer, then turned back to Dr. Grey. "You will teach me these rules."
For the next two hours Dr. Grey demonstrated what he'd learned about the impossible ability. Occasionally he hesitated, thinking about some point, before continuing. Only once did Farid answer a question to explain the Reset circuit. The stranger never asked for a repeat of any step and never showed any emotion. At last he seemed satisfied and spoke to Maria. "A break is in order. Is there food?"
"Yes, sir, Byron is heating meat pies."
A fleeting, unreadable expression crossed his face. "We'll resume in a bit."
Maria motioned Farid and Dr. Grey toward the kitchen. Byron was removing tins from the oven while listening to something through his earbuds.
Farid sat, his knees and lower back aching from standing still for so long. Dr. Grey collapsed into his chair.
"I'll be right back," the stranger said, stepping back into the warehouse.
"Yes, sir," Maria acknowledged. As soon as he was gone she whirled on Byron with a furious expression. "What the fuck are you doing? I told you no communications." She grabbed the cord to the earbuds and yanked them out. An attached phone popped out of his pants pocket. She dropped everything into a garbage can.
Byron stepped towards her. Farid expected violence, but Byron stopped at the anticipatory gleam in her eye. "It was just a local station. I'm sick of this place, and I'm sick and tired of your little games."
She didn't blink. "You'll do as you're told, now feed them."
He gave her a sullen look, then pulled the foil covers from two pies, grabbed utensils in their plastic wraps and dropped everything on the table.
Farid wolfed down the meat and vegetables. It was the best food he'd had in days. He glanced at Dr. Grey who picked at his food. He looked too pale, his face beaded in sweat.
