Mark One

by John Hindmarsh

  They kissed, and Pickover left the condominium, closing the door quietly behind him.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  The restaurant Pickover had chosen for his meeting with the Reverend was one of his favorites. Cucina was Italian and specialized in pastas and pizzas accompanied by very good Italian wines. The lunchtime crowd almost overwhelmed the public area in the front of the restaurant and he had prudently booked a small dining room, where privacy was guaranteed. He was known to the maître d’ and on arrival was immediately directed to his reserved dining room. The table was set for three people, although the facilities in the room could cater for a dozen or more diners. He was early. The respite would give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

  He did not share Boothby’s aversion to the activities of the LifeLong laboratory, and he could accept the existence of this Midway without extreme reactions. Besides, as far as he knew, it was only a rumor that the man was genetically engineered. Boothby, without doubt, was a religious extremist, although he managed to hide the depth of his beliefs from his electorate. Extremist, because he was prepared to arrange the murder of anyone who disagreed with him—as long as he could use the Bible to justify his actions—and had done so, in the past. Boothby previously had instructed Pickover to arrange with Reverend Barker the demise of selected opponents. Sometimes the victims were not political opponents, and some were not even aware of Boothby’s enmity.

  Pickover had occasionally attempted to persuade Boothby to withhold his fatal instructions. Oddly, whenever he had succeeded, the target of Boothby’s ire somehow still met with a fatal accident. Pickover sometimes wondered whether there was a second Boothby somewhere, or perhaps this Boothby had another way of obtaining the results he sought.

  This time, thought Pickover, the task should be straightforward. A small laboratory complex in western Virginia occupied by ten people or so—with fewer on the weekends—should not offer the Reverend’s team any serious opposition. At the same time, the job needed to be successful. Boothby would be paying for both the thorough destruction of the complex as well as elimination of all the LifeLong researchers, especially the two doctors. The Senator and his group would be very dissatisfied if Dr. Weinek was able to continue his experiments somewhere else.

  A waiter intruded on his thoughts and Pickover waved him away. “I’ll wait for my guests,” he said, checking the time.

  A few minutes later the door opened and Reverend Barker and Arthur Greenwood were ushered into the room. Pickover stood.

  “My dear Charles, how nice to see you again,” burbled the somewhat overweight minister as he waddled over to where Pickover was standing. He enveloped his host in a wave of aftershave, which somehow reminded Pickover of a bordello—or at least what he thought a bordello might be. Barker gave him a hug. Pickover succeeded in hiding his aversion.

  “Reverend,” he said, when he had been released. “Welcome. Likewise, Arthur. Pleased to see you both. Good trip?” Arthur was, in some ways, the antithesis of Barker. He was taller and of slim build. He dressed neatly, without his companion’s flamboyance.

  The Reverend replied. “Not bad. On time. It was too early to drink on the aircraft, which I think we should remedy now.” He signaled the waiter hovering just inside the door. “A large bourbon, my boy.” Pickover flinched at his guest’s terminology. “We should order a bottle, I think. Woodford Reserve. I’ve worked up a thirst.”

  The waiter turned to Arthur. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll share.” Arthur waved the man away.

  “I’ll wait and have wine with my meal,” said Pickover.

  “We need to rid you of these left-wing habits,” commented Barker. “I’ll say a prayer for your redemption.”

  Pickover ignored the promise. It was oft-repeated and if implemented, had failed completely. “Sit down, Reverend, Arthur,” he suggested. “The waiter will bring menus, I’m sure.”

  For the first fifteen minutes or so, as they waited for the drinks and then ordered their lunch, their conversation was desultory. Pickover settled for a pizza while his two visitors decided to explore the restaurant offerings in full, each ordering three courses. The Reverend said grace—which in Pickover’s opinion, seemed to be more about aggrandizing the Reverend than thanking God. At last the main course arrived and the waiters departed, leaving a second bottle of Woodford Reserve, and a bottle of Chianti for Pickover.

  “So, my dear fellow,” Barker almost purred. “You’ve indicated a donation is likely to be forthcoming from our mutual friend?”

  “Yes,” replied Pickover. “There’s a small organization located in western Virginia. The closest urban area is Eureka, and that’s just a small town.” He handed over a thin file. “Here—take this—it contains the address, map, NSA satellite images and other details. I want it back, though, when I leave.”

  Barker leafed quickly through the file and then passed it on to his companion.

  “What have these miscreants done to deserve our attention?”

  “They are conducting genetic experiments. I believe they’re customizing human DNA and have four mature, almost adult-sized specimens about to decant from artificial wombs.”

  “Good Lord,” breathed Barker, his eyes widening. “We do His work and then even more is required of us.”

  Arthur did not comment. He was studying the paperwork thoroughly. He was memorizing the contents and would hand the file back to Pickover on completion of the meeting.

  Pickover continued. “Senator Boothby has—requested—action be taken against this—what he calls Satan’s work. The laboratory complex and contents are to be completely destroyed, preferably by fire. The on-site staff are to be—ah— neutralized. Totally. Technical papers, financial records and computer drives need to be collected and delivered—to a location we’ll determine. The team can earn a substantial bonus. There’s a specimen—a live specimen, at the complex. His name is Midway. The Senator wants him kept alive and delivered—again, address to be determined.”

  “Understood. Arthur?”

  Arthur looked up from the file. “Certainly. Members of the United Fundamentalists will take on this task without doubt, and without hesitation. Do they really need to preserve the life of this so-called specimen?”

  “Ah—yes. Consider it non-negotiable—that’s why the bonus is available.”

  “And the donation?” Barker cut to his interest.

  “The Senator will donate half a million dollars to your church, Reverend. The amount is to cover all the expenses of this action. The bonus is ten thousand dollars for each member of the team. All funds will be transferred on successful completion of the assignment.”

  Barker raised his eyebrows. “Charles, Charles. The amount’s just not enough. This operation requires very experienced resources and they do cost more than average. You know we need a major portion of expenses in advance. Arthur will develop an action plan and cost it out. Then we’ll determine the needful amount, to do God’s work.”

  “Yes,” added Arthur. “I’ll meet with my Fundamentalist advisors, to get their comments. It will take two days to develop a detailed plan.” He handed a card to Pickover. “This is a Skype number. Call Thursday, at 2200. Use a secure computer. I’ll present details of our plan to you, then.”

  Pickover had not expected otherwise. The routine with Barker and his companion rarely varied. Arthur was the strategist, and usually his planning was very detailed. He had been successful in past assignments. The Reverend was correct. Most of the prior assignments given to the fundamentalists required only one or two people; this required a larger team, including experienced operatives. They could not be allowed to fail.

  “Very well. Arthur, I’ll call you. Can I have the folder back? Thanks.” Pickover carefully returned the folder to his briefcase. He continued. “Reverend, thank you for coming. Arthur, likewise. Now relax, enjoy an hour or so here. I need to leave; I’ve work to do for the Senator. The check’s been taken care of. The limo is sch
eduled for four o’clock and will take you to the airport.” He shook hands with both men, this time successfully avoiding a body hug from the Reverend. Later, he added the video recording of the meeting to his cloud-based storage service. The folder, which he had handed to Barker and Greenwood, carefully wrapped to preserve fingerprints, was destined for secure storage in a safe deposit box.

  ~~~

  Two nights later, he Skyped the number on the card provided by Arthur. The call was promptly answered.

  “No names,” was the greeting, “and no recording.”

  “Of course,” said Pickover.

  “We’ll switch to video, so you can view details we’ve prepared for you. This end only.”

  The Skype video display on his laptop monitor showed three men, their faces hidden in the shadows thrown by the bright light illuminating a flip chart on a tripod. “We’ll describe the action plan. Feel free to ask questions, any time. We’ve also a costing for the operation. Ready?”

  “Ah—yes, please proceed.”

  Pickover listened intently to the plan prepared by the three men. He asked a number of questions, seeking clarification of certain details. He thought the plan was excellent, covering, as it did, a range of contingencies.

  “Ah—it sounds very good,” he approved, at the end of the presentation. “And on behalf of Senator Boothby, I approve the costings and payment details. I’ll arrange the advance transfer this evening. I agree the action should take place Friday next week.” He disconnected. It was in the hands of experts, now.

  ***

  Chapter 5

  The sign outside the container-based office read:

  Wyvern 10G UAS Test Center

  Flight Control

  Cherry Point

  The door was closed and required a card and a code to unlock from the outside. The Army captain swiped his ID card, pressed in a sequence of numbers and the door clicked as it unlocked. He pulled it open. He entered the room, accompanied by two business-suited civilians. The sergeant at the unmanned aircraft flight controls looked up, frowning, annoyed at the interruption to his concentration. He muted his expression as the presence of the three men registered. The two civilians had metaphorical Agency labels printed on their foreheads. He did not salute. The captain nodded at the sergeant and handed him a document. It was brief, and signed by the sergeant’s Divisional commanding officer.

  “Sergeant, you and your team can have the night off,” advised the captain.

  The sergeant read the document, returned it to the captain, and stood. “Come on,” she directed two civilian test supervisors and three flight controllers, members of the official Wyvern 10G Test Team. “As the man says, we have the night off. The powers that be want a special test. This one’s top secret, not for the likes of us. Means we can relax.”

  The test team members, bemused and somewhat annoyed at losing their flight test window, immediately logged out of the network, closed down and disconnected and packed away their laptops, gathered up their papers and followed the sergeant as she led the way out of the test center. The captain ignored the not so subtle comments as the team exited. He did not see the sergeant making a quick phone call reporting the unusual termination of the test program for the evening by the strangers with an obvious Agency heritage.

  ~~~

  “Simple enough,” commented one of the civilians as he sat at the flight console. He set up his own laptop, connected it to the local network, and logged in. The captain did not ask how he had acquired the necessary user id and password to connect to the secure test environment. He watched as the civilian commenced the task of configuring the monitors, which would relay images from the test aircraft to a central monitor with two smaller monitors on either side.

  “Travis, once I have this configured, you can check if our launch team has the Wyvern ready,” the first civilian directed.

  The other civilian nodded. He too, had set up his laptop and was connecting to the network. His task was to monitor the unmanned aircraft system control software. He paused for a moment to answer his cell phone and then looked up at the officer. “Captain, would you kindly open the door? There should be two people there. Let them in, please. Then you can leave us for the night. We’ll finish here at about 0600—one of us will give you a call.”

  “Certainly, sir,” said the captain; he well knew when he was outranked. He opened the door and stood aside as the waiting civilians entered the test center. He then left, closing the door. While he was curious, he really did not want to know what the Agency people intended with the UAS.

  ~~~

  The older of the two men who had just entered the test facility greeted the earlier arrivals. He was the senior member of the team. “I hope everyone’s ready for a challenging night?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the first civilian. The other just nodded his head.

  “Casey’ll be waiting on us,” reminded the first civilian.

  “He does get a touch wound up,” said the older man. “However, he knows we won’t have the bird in the air for another hour, and it’ll take almost three hours to reach the operational location. Then twenty minutes sitting on target waiting for them to arrive. We’ll cover their mission and return. Plenty of playtime.”

  “Rules of engagement stand as briefed?” asked the first civilian. He was to be the Wyvern pilot.

  “Yes. Well, almost. We lodged your Master Air Test Plan with Military Airspace Control for a test recon, surveillance, and over watch mission, and the bird is expected to fly south. However, once we have altitude we’ll do some dynamic re-tasking; our target is north.”

  “I need the amended details,” reminded the first civilian.

  “Of course.” The man in charge handed over a thumb drive. “We’re not publishing the change of mission. The Wyvern will be safe from radar detection so I don’t expect anyone to notice the change. Alpha team will set up their monitor base in Taxi One, the lead SUV. We’ll transmit the Wyvern’s video and data results to the monitor’s laptop. They’ll be using SatCom 22, same as us. We can track Alpha team members using their helmet transponders, so we can acquire, identify, and shadow both friend and foe. Playtime for both the Wyvern and SatCom 22 matches our operational timeline.”

  “All sounds doable.”

  “There is another change. Head Office requested this after we ran the briefing. The Wyvern now has an unrecorded payload, a modified Overfire 5A. One of the new missiles, it’s an anti-personnel fragmentation weapon. If for any reason Alpha team screws the pooch, we must take out the individual, this Midway. It’ll be a last resort, of course.”

  ~~~

  Casey signaled his driver to halt the lead SUV at the top of the ridge. Two following SUVs followed his vehicle onto the snow-covered strip where the road widened to overlook the sheltered hollow below the ridge. He exited his vehicle and was joined by five passengers from the other vehicles. They were Alpha team, and would accompany their team leader to the target, the laboratory complex hidden in the hollow below. The team’s three drivers remained in their vehicles, pleased to be sheltered from the cold and snow. The lead driver was responsible for monitoring voice communications and images from the Wyvern on his UAS laptop and was testing his connections. Alpha team were all wired with personal radios; he, as the monitor, would communicate with them whenever activities of interest were detected and relayed from the UAS flight team.

  The team gathered together at the roadside overlook to review the terrain, their boots crunching on half-melted and refrozen ice under a growing layer of fresh snow. Their winter camouflage merged effectively with the snow-covered backdrop of trees and rocks. Falling snow was both a help and a hindrance. It would hide their approach and contrarily would, for a while, leave a trail as they approached their target. However, the hour was late, and they were confident the targeted individuals would be sleeping. Anyone awake was not likely to be a problem and, Casey thought, would not be awake for very long.

  “There’s our objective.�
�� Casey indicated the area below the hill. He continued, reinforcing his earlier briefing. “Remember, cell phones won’t work in the hollow, it’s too sheltered, so there’s no way for outbound communications once we knock out the landlines. Bob, you take care of the landlines, as briefed. The nearest pole is there, on the other side of the road, and when you finish, you can catch up with us. Now listen, all of you. You’ve seen the plans, LifeLong’s a small complex. They have some well-positioned video cameras. However, snow on each lens should effectively block them off. It’s a quick and nasty solution, but we need to rapidly minimize what’s viewable on the videos, they’re backed up by satellite link to the security company’s data center. There’s only one guard on duty tonight, and we need to watch out for him. He’s conscientious, although not up to standard. The larger building to the right is the lab complex, where the guard and our clone target will be located. We’ll meet back at that building when we complete our tasks.”

  The snow had eased momentarily and there was moonlight now, filtering through thinning clouds. The temperature was dropping. The buildings were distant dark lumps against the white snow backdrop.

  “The Wyvern’s on target?” asked Tiny. He was six feet six inches, weighed just under three hundred pounds, and was the largest member of Alpha team. He sometimes needed reassurance.

  “Yes, it’s currently at two thousand feet, overhead. Cherry Point advised this low cloud’s currently a problem and heavy snow’s been creating some issues. Nothing they can’t handle, they say. However, the weather forecast is for clouds to clear shortly, in the next thirty minutes. Then in two to three hours, the storm really hits. All approximate of course. So that’s our window of operation and it matches the bird’s playtime. The forecasters say this break will be followed by a complete whiteout. You never know, they could be right this time.”

  “Aren’t we exposed with a bird tracking us?” The speaker was known as Three; he was always concerned to remain covert and did not want his name used when operational.