by I C Cosmos
THE PROJECT
I. C. Cosmos
Copyright © 2020 ICTX Enterprises LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, events, and technologies either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
ICTX Enterprises LLC
101 E McKinney St., #234, Denton, TX 76201-4255
[email protected]
www.iccosmos.com
First paperback edition: June 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-7330918-2-4 (e-book)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7330918-3-1 (paperback)
Cover design by Steve, GFX-1
To C, Helen’s godfather
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
EPIGRAPH
PROLOGUE
PART 1
Stockholm, Sweden
Stockholm
Stockholm
Washington, DC
Stockholm, Sweden
Stockholm
Stockholm
Athens, Greece
Washington, DC
Athens, Greece
Athens
Dallas, Texas
Nice, France
Nice
Nice
Washington, DC
Nice, France
Livorno, Italy
Torralba, Sardinia
Alghero, Sardinia
Bosa, Sardinia
Strada Statale 292, Sardinia
Tharros, Sardinia
Strada Statale 131, Sardinia
Sant’Antioco Island
Sant’Antioco Island
Cagliari, Sardinia
Nuoro, Sardinia
Nuoro
Olbia, Sardinia
Olbia
Washington, DC
PART 2
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Dallas, Texas
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Palo Alto, California Washington, DC
Horta, Faial Island, the Azores
Flores Island, the Azores
Flores Island
Washington, DC
The P. C. Hooftstraat, Amsterdam
Portoferraio, the Island of Elba, Italy
Portoferraio
Villa Maria, Portoferraio
Dallas, Texas
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Amsterdam
Bali, Indonesia
Dallas, Texas
Washington, DC
PART 3
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Nice, France
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Monte Carlo
Monte Carlo
Nice, France
Nice
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Monte Carlo
Nice, France
Giardini Botanici Hanbury, Ventimiglia, Italy
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Washington, DC
Boston, Massachusetts
Boston
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Sassari, Sardinia
Sassari
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Alghero, Sardinia
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Mount Ortobene, Nuoro
Mount Ortobene
Washington, DC
PART 4
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Monte Carlo
Monte Carlo
Monte Carlo
Monte Carlo
The East Coast of Sardinia, Italy
Washington, DC
The East Coast of Sardinia, Italy
Washington, DC
Santiago, Chile
Boston, Massachusetts
San Pedro de Atacama, Chile
El Tatio Geyser Field, Chile
Laguna Colorada, Bolivia
The Altiplano, Bolivia
The Altiplano
Route 11, Bolivia
Santa Cruz, Bolivia
Route 9, Bolivia
Santa Cruz, Bolivia
Santa Cruz
Santa Cruz
Santa Cruz
Santa Cruz
EPILOGUE
THE WALL
Acknowledgement
Note To Readers
Books By This Author
About The Author
Connect
EPIGRAPH
Life spins its wheels with unrelenting continuity. Unmoved by circumstances, it relentlessly sets off events, incites actions, provokes reactions. It demands, tests, rewards. It encourages actors to engage and create their own play.
But not all respond to life’s inviting call.
Some march on in the fixed rut of their everyday existence and never notice the unique potential life has created for them. Some complain bitterly about life’s demands, labor grudgingly to make ends meet, and miss the rewards of playful involvement. Others tune in to life’s wonders and bask in the beauty of each new day. Only the most daring grab life by its horns and challenge its challenges with their full might.
God helps those who help others.
PROLOGUE
Nice, France
Helen stepped off the plane and inhaled the balmy, fragrant air. Impressions of her first assignment surged through her with assaulting vividness.
Nic waiting for her at the airport, waving, smiling, sweeping her into his arms. Kissing her.
Nic’s crisp scent emerged from Helen’s memory, as real now as it was then. Hands trembling, she took a deep breath and quickly put on her sunglasses. Concentrate on now, she ordered herself. NOW!
She activated two surveillance apps on her phone and merged with the airport crowd. Snippets of French, Italian, and English floated in the air as streams of travelers ebbed and flowed through the terminal.
A group of athletes in red and yellow jerseys rushed to their departure gate, only to sit down and hand their lives over to an unknown pilot. An immaculately dressed businessman emerged hastily from the opposite gate, impatiently working his phone. His carry-on trolley bobbed behind him, careening toward a deeply tanned woman in a tight white dress. She yelped and performed a risky, evasive maneuver on her killer heels. Her bracelets sparkled and jingled in alarm. Two teenage boys broke into a giggle fit.
The businessman shouted into his phone, totally oblivious to the commotion caused by his trolley. Helen observed him briefly and then turned her attention to other passengers. Arriving or departing, they pursued their destinations with a sense of purpose and determination. Yet none of them knew what their life would be like in the next few minutes.
Satisfied with her initial reconnaissance, Helen headed toward the business center located at the other side of the airport. Tall, blond, effortlessly elegant, she sailed through the crowd while expertly surveying it. As she walked on, sounds became sharper, colors more vibrant. Her senses, fully engaged now, took in
the whiffs of aromas, the cacophony of sounds, the mosaic of colors and movements. Her brain scanned, analyzed, and zoomed in on irregularities, assessing them for potential danger.
A little boy chasing his ball ran into a sturdy tourist juggling a slice of pizza and a large cola. The dark liquid escaped the plastic cup and aimed at Helen in a threatening bow. She moved sideways to avoid the sticky deluge and almost collided with a traveler rushing past her. From the corner of her eye, Helen saw his fingers tighten on a sleek phone. Shiny beads of sweat hugged the reddish hair on his forearm. Helen’s stomach recoiled. Had she seen that arm before?
“I am sorry,” Helen said automatically, but the man was already a few feet ahead of her.
“François, François, oh mon dieu, je suis tellement désolée.” A petite woman ran after the little boy, grabbed him and his ball, and looked apologetically at Helen and the tourist holding his now empty cola cup.
“I am so sorry. François, apologize. I will get you a new drink, monsieur. Are you OK, madame?”
“No problem.” Helen smiled at François and his mom while replaying the encounter in her mind.
Would they use a child to create a diversion? Undoubtedly, she thought, and tapped her phone. Her surveillance apps showed no activity. Still, what if they were using a new technology she couldn’t yet detect? The fear of being unprepared tightened her throat. Concentrate on now, Helen reminded herself sternly. Trust yourself.
On high alert, Helen continued to the business center, a light, airy place filled with tropical flowers and colorful modern art. She introduced herself to a perfectly made-up brunette standing behind the reception desk.
“Oui, madame.” The sweet smile engraved on the woman’s heart-shaped face widened as she reached under the counter and handed Helen a large envelope.
“Merci beaucoup.” Helen returned the receptionist’s smile, her mind already focusing on the tasks ahead of her. She left the business center and scanned her apps again. Nothing. Nonetheless, Helen was certain that she was closely watched. She strolled to a restroom and found an empty stall, thankful she did not have to wait in a line. She opened the envelope and gasped.
A three-carat diamond engagement ring sparkled from the depths of the envelope. Rivulets of sweat dripped down Helen’s back. It was the ring.
“Do you like the ring, Mrs. Martin?” Nic lifted her fingers to his lips, his eyes awaiting Helen’s response.
Helen shook off the memory and concentrated on the contents of the envelope. A Swiss passport in the name of Hélène Martin, born in Geneva, Helen’s real date of birth. A hotel reservation, car papers, a driver’s license, credit cards. A destructor kit. Car keys. A parking card with the slot number neatly penciled in. A wedding ring with her and Nic’s names engraved on the inner side. A smaller envelope with a wad of euro bills.
Helen slid the rings on. A shiver ran up her spine. She leaned against the door of the stall, closed her eyes, inhaled, counted to four, and let the air slowly leave her lungs. Focus on one step at a time. Nothing else exists, just this one step.
Helen took another deep breath and swiftly replaced all the documents in her wallet with the new ones. She checked that nothing in the name she used to get to Nice remained in her bag and put the old documents, credit cards, and the destructor kit into the envelope provided by the headquarters.
She carefully resealed the envelope and pressed it with her thumbs until she felt the “air” bubbles pop. Satisfied, she quickly disposed of the envelope. The chemicals released from the bubbles would combine with the destructor kit and annihilate her old identity in a matter of seconds. Without a trace.
Helen touched the diamond ring and straightened up. She was Hélène Martin now.
For the second time in her life.
PART 1
Nic
Stockholm, Sweden
Apartment on Strandvägen
One year earlier
Helen’s fingers played the keyboard of her laptop with the virtuosity of a concerto pianist. She ran through variation after variation of op-codes, burning the codes into her memory. Her eyes did not leave the flashing screen for a fraction of a second.
With the precision of a neurosurgeon, Helen dissected streams of data, analyzed patterns, determined strategies, triggered actions. All for the sole purpose of perfecting her ability to infiltrate and disrupt terrorist communications, block their activities, and shut down their financial networks.
Helen couldn’t wait to take on terrorists’ financial sources. No money, no guns, no explosives, no glory. And no victims…
But the job on the Project wasn’t hers yet. She sighed, thinking about the upcoming field trial. Nothing but perfection would do.
Helen increased the speed of the incoming signals. The codes were jumping at her like wild beasts, but she tamed them without skipping a beat. Satisfied, Helen engaged the autocontroller she had designed to handle the never-ending stream of information and stood up.
She stretched and took a deep breath. Two more self-prescribed exercises… She’d never forgive herself if her performance at the trial suffered because she hadn’t given it her all.
Getting on the Project meant everything to her.
For once she was glad that Uncle Andreas had kept nagging her until she applied for the job. She had declined at first because she didn’t trust Andreas. Like her parents and grandparents, she had been wary of his comings and goings, his unexplained disappearances, his know-it-all attitude.
Undeterred, Andreas had used every trick he had up his sleeve to sell Helen on the Project. He painted it as an opportunity of a lifetime, a position that would do justice to her exceptional skills and training, which she was presumably wasting in her silly job at the US embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia. But Helen loved the “silly job.”
A third-generation career diplomat, on both her father’s and mother’s sides, she felt at home in the world of the Foreign Service and didn’t plan on leaving Indonesia anytime soon. Certainly not to spend her days crunching data in a basement office in DC. So Andreas flew to Jakarta to convince her personally.
“The Project is perfect for you, and you are perfect for the Project,” he said authoritatively during their lunch. Helen did not budge.
“It’s not only about your life, Helen.” Andreas leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You see, the Project—and don’t share this with anyone—it’s all about terrorism prevention.”
Terrorism. Prevention. The fire to set things straight ignited in Helen’s heart. Her resistance melted like snow on a hot spring day.
“Think about it… And think about the immense sacrifice of your parents.” Andreas sat back, puffing on his cigar. “Getting this job would avenge them,” he had added. Unnecessarily, for Helen’s defenses had been destroyed already. Game, set, match.
Helen had to get the job. Because her parents and her older brother, Josh, had been killed in a car bomb attack in Syria, where her father had been a diplomatic attaché. The memory of the horrible day still brought tears to Helen’s eyes. The loss, the senselessness of it, the terror. Giving up an opportunity to fight terrorism and prevent such events was unthinkable.
Without wasting a minute, Helen had flown to DC, applied for the job, and gone through a battery of tests. She had assumed she made the cut when she was hired as a senior communication officer. Feeling on top of the world, she had quit her job in Jakarta and reported to a ten-day intensive training. At the end of day ten, she’d received an email saying that the job wasn’t hers yet.
Congratulations!
You have successfully completed your training for the position of: SCO
Your rank in the field of all candidates for this job is: top 10
By achieving this rank, you have qualified for participation in a field trial, which will determine whether you will be considered for the said position.
Helen had read and reread the message several times, shocked, disappointed, even questioning its authenticity.
&
nbsp; Why hadn’t she been told about the trial before? What did her rank mean? Was she number ten? One of the ten? How many people would be hired? What would happen if she didn’t make the cut?
The uncertainty was killing her. But the memory of Josh and her parents kept her on track. And so did the one question that resonated in her ears since the job interview.
“You will be responsible for preventing terrorist attacks. Do you understand that the lives of thousands, perhaps even millions, will be literally in your hands?”
Helen understood with every cell of her being. She wanted to protect the lives of thousands if not millions. She had to be part of it.
She stretched again. It was time to step things up and make the prep more difficult for herself.
She reread instruction 7b of her training manual and circled it with a magenta marker:
- You will have to perform under strenuous circumstances, in less than ideal field conditions.
- Your performance must never suffer due to these or any other impediments.
- Do whatever you deem necessary to prepare yourself!
Stockholm
The Project’s local headquarters
Nic watched the monitor, appalled. How dare she? Anger pulsed through his veins. His jaw clenched as he struggled to keep the raw emotions at bay. How dare she drink on the job? How dare she risk everything? He despised her.
And you need her, a whisper claimed from the depth of his mind. Nic rubbed his left elbow absentmindedly, as if soothing an old wound.
In the middle of processing a seemingly uncontrollable flood of op-codes, Helen took another gulp of tequila, appearing perfectly in control, serene even.
Nic recalled his fight with the Consortium that controlled the Project, his fingers rolling into a tight fist.
“The Project is too important to allow nepotism. People should be selected on skills and skills only,” he had argued.
“That’s correct, Nic,” Andreas Gerschwiller, Helen’s uncle, had countered. “If Helen has the best skills, she should not be rejected because she is my niece. The Project is too important for that, indeed.”
