by Gabriel Kron
Please DO NOT Distribute outside of the OTG. Not yet anyway, let’s get some data first.
Regards
Dan
PS. Got to try and get some sleep now, but feeling toooooo excited...
Replies started to arrive within minutes of sending it.
To:[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE:-Lockridge, The hunt is on.
Daniel,
OMFG!!!!!!! please keep us updated and let us know if you want us to do anything.
Jon.
To:[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE:-Lockridge, The hunt is on.
Hi Dan,
Mind your back! Many people have been victims of this tech being suppressed.
Ron
To:[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE:-Lockridge, The hunt is on.
Daniel,
I hope you’re not mistaken or pulling our legs! The MiB’s won’t like it.
Regards
Kev.
To:OTG @techgroups.com
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE:-Lockridge, The hunt is on.
Your safest thing to do is open source this straight away, get all the info out there now before anyone can stop you or it................
The emails kept coming in. I decided not to reply to any posts this evening, not until I had some hard data to back up what I had witnessed today. I kept going over what I had actually seen. Was it possible I had been fooled? If so, by whom, Jack? It just didn’t make sense if that were true. But no, this was real. It may not have been scientific but I felt it in my gut. Everything about the machine felt right: the noise it made, the speed it ran, the way it was wired and even the quality of the light it produced.
In the smallest notebook was a hand drawn diagram of the device’s wiring. It reminded me of several different devices that the on-line community had grasped as the next free-energy technology, to be researched. Most were based on false claims either deliberately as money-making scams, or by genuine mistakes through bad science and lack of real knowledge. Truth was that most laymen’s beliefs about electricity were just that, beliefs, and wrong in the most basic sense.
Online arguments were a regular occurrence. Some would get ugly and personal. That was one of the reasons the OTG remained a small private group of trusted individuals from around the world. We were all from different backgrounds giving our group a broad skill set: electronic, electrical, mechanical and computer engineers mixed with a couple of doctors, a chemist and even a dentist, although his X-ray machine had been used for various investigations into what some wanted hidden.
I finally fell asleep with images of the device flashing behind my eyes.
The Den, London. Day 4.
It had been a long day already for Mark Stacey. A major network crash just before his usual knocking off time meant that he had to rebuild two client databases and produce the relevant data drill-downs required by Accounts. And all before the Singapore trading floor opened, 01:00am GMT. Mark had it done by 10:30pm, took a taxi home, stopping to get a take-out curry from the local Indian restaurant.
At 8:08pm Mark had received a text message:
Multiple H.I.T.S Report.
Cat1 multiples x 5
20:08
The HITS report stood for High Impact Target Search and was the result of Mark's automated search-bots matching keyword sequences on all internet content.
The Den was Mark’s converted garage on his house. It was kitted out with the latest in large flat-screen computer technology, and high-end connectivity. It resembled, quite deliberately, a scene from C.S.I, the US TV crime-drama.
Mostly lit by hidden uplighters, there were six 22” flat screen LED monitors surrounding the room and two large 62” plasma screens on the main wall. Access to the Den was via a digital key press that controlled the locks on a steel door.
Mark opened the door to the Den as soon as he arrived home. He had to check the Cat1’s the system had found.
The lights automatically came on as Mark entered. The two large screens were alternately flashing red indicating the HITS alarm. Sliding into his high back swivel chair, he tapped a couple of keys and the two monitors reverted back to their screensaver mode showing a world map with shipping and aviation routes.
The Locke Farmhouse. Monday 2:15am Day 4.
The Operative picked the lock of the farmhouse door and silently slipped inside withdrawing a Glock 17. The silencer doubled the length of the semi-automatic pistol, but did reduce the noise down to a loud spit.
This part of the job always made him feel powerful. The moments before the kill were an adrenaline rush like no other. The stairs creaked as he climbed them, but he didn’t care about the noise. In fact, it would make life easier if they came to him.
Opening the door to the first bedroom, he turned the light on and strode to the end of the bed.
A young woman sat up in bed startled. She attempted to scream so he put a bullet through her chest. She slumped back onto the headboard.
He walked closer and inspected his second kill of the week. The bullet had gone through the heart, blood slowly drenching her nightdress and bed.
In the background he heard an old man calling, “Sophia, Sophia! Was ist los?”
He heard the old man’s footsteps cross his bedroom and the door opening, “Sophia?”
The last thing the old man saw was a shadowy figure walk from his granddaughter’s bedroom.
A single bullet entered the old man’s face just below the nose. Third kill done and phase one complete. No clean up on this job. Specific instructions were to leave as is and then destroy the shop along with all the contents.
Phase two would start itself any minute when crude incendiary devices self-ignited. Around the shop, he’d placed five, two-litre soft drink bottles filled with petrol. A plastic bag with a petrol soaked sponge was taped to the outside of each bottle and then a lighted incense stick stuck into the sponge through the plastic bag. Risky, but simple and little evidence left. But more importantly, easy to buy whilst en route from the airport.
In addition two more incendiaries had been placed in the basement to ensure the complete destruction of the Lockridge device.
As he walked back to his hire car about a mile up the road, the first bottle exploded in the shop, quickly followed by the others. In less than a minute the windows started to shatter and the flames were licking out of the roof.
Once in his car, he checked behind and could see the orange glow as the roof caved in and sent a column of bright embers into the night sky.
Before setting off for the next phase, the Operative sent a simple text message to his Controller confirming completion of the first two phases.
Phase three of his assignment was a little more specific. On the passenger seat of his dark blue Audi was a single sheet of paper with a photograph at the top and a list of critical information and objectives relating to his next sanction.
Using his hand-held radio, he called in his status to the Command and Control Centre.
“Control, this is Detective Mueller, following a lead on that Arson attack in Remsek, requesting back up,” he said.
“Four four six, request received, go ahead.”
“Three units needed at the Wartburg Hotel for apprehension of armed suspect. Silent approach. No one enter until I arrive.” Mueller knew he had enough time to complete his last sanction before the three unit response arrived.
Room 407 Wartburg Hotel. Monday 3:16am Day 4
I was woken by the telephone ringing. Fumbling for the handset I glanced at the radio-alarm clock. 03:16 in bright red digital letters. I switched the light on.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Daniel, turn on the TV now, it’s important. Channel 15.”
“Dominik?” I searched for the remote.
“Daniel, turn your TV on!”
Dominik sounded angry.
“All right all right, right got it,” I said as I found the remote.
I changed to channel 15.
“What the fuck!” On the screen was a picture of me. Not only a picture, but my bloody passport picture. I turned the sound up, but the newscaster was speaking German.
“Shit! Dominik, what’s happening? What’s she saying?” Something bad was happening, the bed was sinking, my stomach dropping. I was going to be sick.
“There’s been a fire and shooting at a farm in Remsek—”
“Shooting? Not the Lockes, please not the Lockes.”
“It is Daniel, but listen to me—”
“Why’s my photo being shown?” I was starting to put this together myself but needed to know what they were saying.
“They’re saying you’re wanted for questioning in connection with the arson and murder of the owners.”
I realised I was now sitting on the floor.
“Daniel, listen!” Dominik almost shouted. “We know you didn’t do this, we can vouch for you and be your alibi. You are innocent, so you don’t have to worry.”
“But how do they even know about me? They’ve got my passport photo already,” I said as my mind started to engage with the problem. “Shit, this is too much of a coincidence Dom. I’m being framed.”
“They only want to question you. When you tell them you’ve been here most of the night and they talk to us or any of the staff, they’ll soon realise you couldn’t have been involved. Plus they can’t have any evidence.”
As he spoke, news images of the burning Locke Antiques shop with fire tenders and police crowding the yard and road outside were showing on the news.
“Daniel, the best thing to do is get you to your embassy and let them handle it. I’ll drive you there first thing in morning.”
I barely acknowledged Dominik’s reassurance and trust in the justice system as recent photographs of Sophia and Johann ended the news bulletin.
Wartburg Hotel. Monday 3:25am Day 4.
Dominik tucked his shirt in as he made his way to the office. The concierge this evening was Julian. He was doing as he should, logging the details of all the guests that day so their passports could be returned in the morning.
“Guten Morgen, alles in Ordnung?” Good morning, is everything okay? Julian said checking his watch.
Dominik told the concierge that everything was fine and that he just couldn’t sleep. He quickly entered the office, asked not to be disturbed and closed the door behind him. The fax machine was empty and the fact that Julian hadn’t said anything, probably meant the expected police notice hadn’t been received yet. He switched it off.
Through the door window he saw a guest that Julian was talking to produce a characteristic red notice and ID card at the same time. Dominik couldn’t read either from inside the office, but knew they were police related.
Julian was a good concierge, professional and ambitious. Dominik knew that he would be extremely helpful to the detective or officer in their investigation.
Not particularly helpful to Daniel though.
Dominik was about to go and introduce himself when he saw the man take a key-card from Julian and march off towards the lifts.
Dominik joined Julian at the reception desk.
“Who was that?” he asked quietly.
“BKA officer, Detective Mueller, looking for one of our guests, the one in 407,” whatever the officer had said to him had clearly been convincing.
“You gave him a keycard? Why didn’t you go with him?”
“He told me not to,” Julian said.
“You should have gone with him or called me. You should always accompany someone to a guest’s room, always!” Dominik said and ran across the lobby towards the lifts.
Dominik had missed the lift the BKA officer was in and so he cut back through the kitchens to the service elevator at the back of the hotel. Something didn’t feel right. Was it because the BKA detective was on his own, the speed they had put out Daniel’s details or just paranoia?
Wartburg Hotel. Monday 03:26am Day 4.
Detective Mueller was having a productive weekend. He was about to bank his fourth kill, effectively tripling his yearly salary as a detective. Once inside the lift, he withdrew from his bag a Taser and tucked it into his belt — the military version of the X26 that police forces used around the world — the M26b was more powerful and could be used in ways outlawed for domestic enforcement.
The elevator approached the fourth floor where his target, Daniel Bateman, was supposedly sleeping in room 407. Detective Mueller ran over his game plan for this hit. Gain entry. Incapacitate target then stage suicide using the gun used at the Locke farm.
Once this was accomplished he would call the scene in. His superiors would be impressed that the case could be closed on the same day it was opened and the Committee would also be impressed with the efficiency of the hits. Certainly it was a major advantage being a BKA officer carrying out sanctions for the Committee.
Room 407 Wartburg Hotel. 3:28am Day 4.
Morning was only a few hours away, but I couldn’t contemplate even trying to get any sleep. Sophia was dead. Murdered along with her grandfather and I needed and wanted to get to the embassy and the sooner we left to do so, the better.
I packed what little I had and began pacing whilst flicking through the TV channels for more news.
My mind was racing, trying to reassure myself that Dominik was right, but I kept thinking the same thing. They killed Sophia. Why? Because of the Lockridge?
The idea of technology and inventions being suppressed wasn’t alien to me. I knew there were stories of inventors and scientists having their work confiscated by the state, workshops destroyed, even dying in suspicious circumstances.
Now I wasn’t a spectator, it was happening to me and it felt wrong. Was it coincidence that on the day I found the Lockridge Device, the owners were murdered and the location of the device destroyed by fire? Or was it because I had found the device that they were killed? Either way, they had already connected me to it.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and let the cold tap run. Cupping my hands I splashed the water over my face hoping the coldness would help focus and crystallise what I should do and say when the time came.
Water ran off my nose and chin before I opened my eyes, just in time to see and hear the prongs of a Taser spark into life right next to my head.
Instinctively I ducked to one side, raised my right foot and kicked hard backwards with a kick I had practised countless times. It connected, but my attacker was obviously trained.
He trapped my foot and rammed the Taser into the inside of my thigh.
I glimpsed his pock marked face as debilitating pain exploded through my nervous system. I collapsed and the agony stopped momentarily, but he was on top of me pushing the Taser probes into the side of my neck and delivered a tsunami of pain that didn’t subside until darkness overtook me...
Wartburg Hotel Monday 3:31am Day 4.
Rarely did anything startle Detective Mueller, but Bateman’s rear kick reaction had caught him off guard.
Mueller kept his finger on the Taser trigger delivering the massively debilitating voltage into the now horizontal body of his victim. When he released the trigger, there was no movement. Death by Taser wasn’t unheard of, but not usually in healthy males. Being shocked unconscious from extended deliveries of 50,000+ volts was far more common.
Mueller now withdrew the Glock 17 he had used at the Locke farm and placed it in the wash basin.
As he sat Bateman up against the bath he was beginning to come around. He wouldn’t be able to move much, but he could start to struggle. Mueller gave him another dose from the Taser, causing him to spasm and then slump to the floor unconscious again.
Mueller pulled him upright, took the Glock and placed it into Daniel’s right hand, making sure to squeeze his fingers onto the grip. The gun used to kill the Lockes now had Daniel’s prints on i
t.
What happened next didn’t make sense.
Mueller saw Bateman’s face, his eyes closed, but staring directly down at him as it all blacked out.
Room 407, Wartburg Hotel Monday 3:32am Day 4.
“Daniel, Daniel! Come on.” I heard as I felt myself being dragged onto my feet. I tried standing but my legs buckled and I ended up on all fours. I was out of breath and felt weak, my whole body trembling and nauseated. “Come on Daniel!” I was being pulled up again.
I looked around to find Dominik helping me out of the room. Passing the bathroom door, I saw a man spread out on the floor, a fire extinguisher next to him. I remembered him as the one in the mirror before the blanket of pain hit me, knocking me out.
Dominik picked the fire extinguisher up and smashed the handle on the bathroom door off. He then withdrew the spindle and pulled the door closed.
“That should hold him a few minutes,” Dominik said. “Let’s go. It’s not safe here.”
He checked the corridor outside. I staggered after him, bouncing off the wall on the way. I followed him to the service lift at the far end. The lift was already waiting, the door having been keyed open.
“What just happened?” I asked as the doors shut.
“I tried to get here faster, the concierge sent him up.”
“Who was he?”
“Supposedly police.” Dominik said as he held onto both my arms and looked me straight in the eyes. “Daniel, he was about to kill you. Only he had you, holding the gun.”
“What?” I was struggling to understand.
“He was going to make it look like you killed yourself I guess, with this,” Dominik showed me the Glock pistol I apparently was holding when he intervened. He put the gun back into his belt.
“Why?” I asked
“Don’t know, but that is definitely not how the BKA work, we’ve got to get you to your embassy, they can protect you.”
“BKA? Who?”
“The Bundeskriminalamt, BKA, are our Federal Police, a bit like the American FBI.”
