by Dan McGirt
“Then may I speculate?”
Corbett waved his cigar in a gesture of assent.
“I’m familiar with the unusual properties of the seamounts where Deepfire is moored,” said Jack. “The magnetic and atmospheric anomalies, among other phenomena. Deepfire’s coordinates coincide with a major Becker-Hagens node. I believe SEG is attempting to harness telluric energy flows. A BOLD unit on the sea bed, pulsed at the correct frequencies, could, in theory, resonate with the telluric, or Earth currents, generating a potentially limitless source of renewable energy.”
Corbett chewed on the end of his cigar, then stubbed it out angrily on the side table. “You’re as smart as advertised, Jack. Maybe too smart for your own good.”
“He is that,” interjected Galahad.
“You figured all that from a look at LiquiOil’s rig?” said Corbett.
“From the laser drill and the rig’s placement. SEG’s interest in the Sina’an Muul murals confirmed they were making a telluric play. The Maya knew of the earth currents, which held cultural and religious significance for them.”
“So you went to the pyramid instead of hightailing it off the island to confirm your hunch,” said Corbett. “Your ‘missing ship’ story looks pretty thin right about now. I think my brother may be right – you are here on a spy mission. Maybe not for the ISA. Could be your daddy sent you down here to suss out how far along LiquiOil is in developing the telluric source. Maybe ScarletTech wants in on the action, hey?”
Jack gave a rueful smile. “I can assure you telluric energy is not an area in which my father has the slightest interest.”
“Then he’s a damn fool, pardon my French,” said Corbett. “Telluric is the future.”
Galahad retrohaled smoke out of his nose and said, “You lost me at node.”
“Telluric currents are electrical currents which move underground or through the sea,” said Jack. “They are primarily geomagnetically induced.”
“Yes, we covered that in mining school,” said Galahad. “Telluric current gradients are useful in mapping subsurface structures. But they aren’t an energy source.”
“Not a verified one,” Jack agreed. “But some researchers speculate that the ancient Egyptians, and other cultures – such as the Maya or their precursors – harnessed telluric energy for certain purposes.”
Gal sighed. “More of that spooky pyramid stuff.”
“It is a minority, even fringe, hypothesis, but one to which our friends at SEG certainly subscribe. Newton, Faraday, Fangle, and Tesla all did telluric experiments. As did Nazi and Soviet scientists. I wouldn’t be surprised if SEG obtained some of that research over the years. Now they’ve persuaded President Corbett that San Marcos is sitting on, not a mother lode of oil, but a mother node of deep Earth currents. Am I right, Mr. President?”
“You display far too complete a knowledge of our affairs to be here innocently, sir,” said Corbett.
“I notice things. That’s all.”
“Well, cousin, you have noticed too much for me to let you leave San Marcos. At least not before LiquiOil brings their telluric generator online.”
“That could be a while,” said Jack. “I’m not convinced a telluric generator is even theoretically workable, never mind the practical engineering challenges.”
“Oh, you’re not convinced?” mocked Corbett. “I’ve seen it work. LiquiOil already has an operating prototype. Now it’s just a matter of scaling it up and building out the transmission infrastructure. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought, eh, cousin?”
“Maybe not,” Jack conceded.
“Once it is up and running, San Marcos will control a source of clean, cheap, endless energy.”
“Don’t you mean LiquiOil will control it?” said Jack.
“LiquiOil will have a lease that I can give or take as I see fit. San Marcos will own the telluric. I will own it. And being the great humanitarian that I am, I will share it with the world.”
“For a price,” said Jack.
“Of course for a price. There is always a price. Chavez makes friends all over the hemisphere selling Venezuela’s oil cheap. Telluric is better. I can give it away for free, or sell it dear, as I see fit. I’ll put Hugo out of business. And the Mexicans. San Marcos will own the Caribbean. Central America too.” He grinned. “Maybe more.”
“I see the Golden Circle is alive and well,” said Jack.
Corbett’s face darkened. “You watch yourself, son.” He turned on his friendly smile again. “There is no reason we can’t cut family in on this deal. Even if you couldn’t figure out the telluric generator, ScarletTech would be a great help in the build out. There’s a fortune to be made retrofitting cars and, well, damn near everything to run on telluric. I’ll give ScarletTech an exclusive deal.”
“I’m not sure your partners at LiquiOil would approve.”
“They’ll approve what I tell them to approve if they want to keep access to the node,” snapped Corbett. “What do you say, Jack? Think the old man would like to go into business with some long lost cousins down San Marcos way?”
“Dad has a skeptical mind,” said Jack. “I think he’d be hard to convince.”
“Then what about you, cousin? You’re a little more open-minded. I’m impressed with your knowledge of all this, I truly am. We don’t need old Ted Scarlet. I’ll sell you the franchise.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“What you can’t afford,” said Corbett, with a dangerous growl in his voice, “is to turn me down.”
“Is that so?” said Jack.
“You’re in San Marcos illegally. You’ve committed numerous crimes. You’re in possession of state secrets. I can lock you up in a hole that will make the tunnels under our pyramid look like the Four Seasons. Or just have you and your friend shot and your bodies fed to the fish.”
“Oh, man,” said Galahad. “I knew we’d end up fish food.”
“And your price for not doing any of that is for me to join you in your mad scheme to exploit telluric energy?”
Corbett grinned. “Full partner. Junior partner, of course. What do you say? Bullet to the brain, or more billions than you know what to do with?”
“I’m thinking,” said Jack.
Corbett laughed. “Take your time! Take your time.” He ashed his much-shortened Cohiba. “Just make sure you give me your answer before I finish this cigar.”
21: Contingency Planning
Galahad relaxed his body into the chair and took a deep draw from his own Cohiba. He savored the rich flavor of the smoke in his mouth, then slowly exhaled. Probably the last puff. His cigar was a bit further along than Corbett’s. The benefit of less talking and more smoking.
There was no good way for this to end. The hot end of the Cohiba might make an impression in Corbett’s eye, but it wasn’t much use as a weapon. The rocking chairs? Better. The first thing he’d do when the hoyat started to fly was throw his chair at that big bear of a butler lurking about behind them. It might be enough to spoil his draw when he went for his gun. Or trip him up if he decided to close for hand-to-hand.
He’d leave that smug little putye Corbett to Jack. Jack wasn’t going to assassinate a foreign head of state, and taking hostages wasn’t his style either. But he might use el presidente as a human shield long enough to get them off this porch.
Then again, they might not get the chance. No way Corbett was sitting here with them all not-so-friendly smiles unless snipers had eyes on Jack and Galahad both. The placement of their chairs was such that Jack’s cousin – oh, how he was going to tease Jack about his island hillbilly kin if they got out of this! – might get a little splatter on his white suit, but all he had to do was give a prearranged signal and pop! pop! – the Jack and Gal show is cancelled.
Galahad was indifferent to death – it was the only way to live – but he’d prefer to die for a good reason. To doze off in his rocking chair one evening in his old age and not wake up, letting his spirit go on after a long and eventfu
l existence on this earth, yes. To be gunned down on some Caribbean cracker’s front porch – this was far less appealing.
Assuming Jack made his move before Corbett sicced his snipers on them, the first thing to do was get out of their line of fire. A finger on the trigger across the grounds – there, maybe, in that tree – was a more immediate threat than Jeeves back there. So spoil the shoot first, with a tuck and roll, then take out the butler.
If they survived the first few seconds, their chances went up immeasurably. Jack would follow his standard plan: cause chaos, create opportunities, exploit them, repeat.
And this time, Galahad hoped, ending with a ticket off this bug-infested backwater. No more detours. No more sightseeing. No more scorpions.
Corbett stubbed out his cigar in the ash tray. “Time’s up, Jack. You in or out?”
“How do you plan to pay me for my services?” said Jack.
“Pay?” Corbett frowned, uncertain. Then he forced a laugh. “You’ll get a piece of the action, in time. But you’ll pay me up front. Franchise fee, you might call it.”
“No.” Jack stared into the distance. “I mean how do you plan to pay me without a banking system?”
Corbett frowned in puzzlement. “Not sure what you’re getting at, Jack. We have dozens of banks on San Marcos.”
“Thirty-two chartered domestic banks, eighteen private banking houses, plus branches of European, Asian, and South American banks. Billions of dollars flow in and out of San Marcos on a daily basis, much of it dirty money. My question is how you plan to sell telluric energy or anything else when all that goes away?”
Corbett’s expression clouded. “What is your meaning, sir? I do not like your tone.”
“You’ll like it less when the HIDD detonates.”
“Detonates?” Corbett half-rose from his chair, then settled back. “What have you hidden? What do you mean?”
Jack grinned. “High Impact Data Disruption. A self-replicating neural net application I wrote as a proof of concept. Weapons grade cyberordnance. Well, not technically ordnance, I suppose, since I haven’t shared it with the military. Though I’ve shared it with San Marcos. In a manner of speaking.”
Corbett relaxed. “Are you threatening to launch some kind of cyberattack? Put a virus in our computers if I don’t let you go?” He laughed. “That’s pretty sad, cousin, if that’s all you’ve got. We have secure systems here. I may not be a computer geek, but I can damn sure afford to hire a few smart ones.”
“Virus,” said Jack, as if hearing the word for the first time. “That’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“A virus is a case of the sniffles by comparison. HIDD is a compressed AI program – intelligent, adaptive, even proactive. It can hide. It can learn. It can counterattack. I’m not threatening to put it in the San Marcan computer network. I’m telling you it’s already there. It has propagated through every networked system you have since my AI engine injected it through the server room at your military police facility this morning.”
“Big talk,” said Corbett. “What is this virus of yours supposed to do?”
“Control, alter, or delete any code or data in any networked computer in San Marcos. Military or civilian, government or private. HIDD is everywhere, with god level access. And you’ll never find it in time to stop it. Because it’s HIDD-en.” Jack grinned, amused by his own joke.
Corbett sneered. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?”
Below them, Corbett City went dark. Every visible light in the town winked out, in homes, offices, and on the streets. Only the casino resort complex was unaffected.
“The resort must have a dedicated circuit,” said Jack. “Might take a moment longer.”
The casino went dark. In the distance, the tower and runway lights of the airport also blacked out. The presidential residence was a lonely pinprick of illumination in a sea of inky blackness.
“Welcome to the dark ages,” said Jack.
“You sorry S.O.B.! What have you done?” Corbett shot to his feet and stalked to the edge of the veranda. He extended his arms as if willing the lights to return.
“Me? Not a thing,” said Jack. He kept his seat. So did Galahad. “That was a warning shot by HIDD, just to let you know it’s there. The time was prearranged. I had planned to be well off your island by now. But it is always good to have a plan B. Just in case.”
Corbett leaned toward Jack with fists clenched. “Fix it,” he snarled. “Fix it now!”
“No can do,” said Jack.
Corbett crooked his hand in summons. Tavers approached while reaching under his jacket.
Galahad coiled for action. Jack gave him a slight shake of the head.
Hope you know what you’re doing, brother. Galahad kept his seat as the butler walked past him, unholstered his automatic, and pressed the barrel against the back of Jack’s head.
“What’s your plan B for getting your brains blown out!” shouted Corbett. He leaned close over Jack. He was actually in the line of fire if his man pulled the trigger, Galahad noted – a line that went through Jack’s skull.
Jack answered coolly. “Do that, and no one on this planet can call off the HIDD. It won’t stop until you’re dead and San Marcos is back in the Stone Age. However...” Jack paused.
Lights in Corbett City winked on in batches, block by block, section by section.
“As I said, flipping the light switch was merely to get your attention. You might want to refrain from shooting me until you get a damage assessment. I expect that will be coming in momentarily.”
As if on cue, a uniformed officer of the Presidential Guard appeared on the veranda. “Mr. President? Secretary Delavane is on the secure line for you, sir.”
Corbett accepted an encrypted handset from the aide and dismissed him with a curt wave.
“Go ahead,” he barked.
The voice of Jordan Delavane at the other end of the line was inaudible. The secretary of security oversaw the National Police, responsible for maintaining internal order on the island. Delavane was also President Corbett’s brother-in-law, being married to his younger sister. Judging from Corbett’s red face and grim expression, he did not like what he was hearing.
“Damn it, Jordan! How is that possible?” Corbett glared at Jack, who had a serene expression on his face and was seemingly unconcerned by the pistol barrel still pointed at his skull.
Galahad knew that look. Jack was off in his own head, mentally redesigning the PUP sleds or visualizing some complicated bit of advanced mathematics while he waited for his opponent to grasp how thoroughly he was defeated. He wasn’t bored, exactly, as Galahad understood it. Simply making efficient use of his time. In some ways it was reassuring when Jack spaced out like this in a moment of outward danger. At the same time, his friend’s preternatural calm in such situations was also unnerving.
“I know it was Scarlet!” raged Corbett. “He’s sitting right here, smug as the cat that gobbled the canary!” He stalked up and down the porch, shouting into the phone. “He says he put a damn supervirus in our network. It’s your job to make sure things like this don’t happen!”
Corbett paused briefly as Delavane responded. Then he exploded again, “All of it? Everything? How can it all be gone?”
“Sounds serious,” said Galahad.
Jack rocked his chair slowly, enjoying the sea breeze on his face.
“Hold on!” Corbett shouted into the phone. He confronted Jack. The president’s face was beet red, his nostrils flared out, his eyes bulging. “He says the national treasury is gone! Our sovereign wealth fund. My personal accounts. Billions of dollars missing!”
“Are you running Windows?” said Jack. “I hear it can be buggy that way.”
“You think this is a joke?” Corbett grabbed the automatic from Tavers and pointed it at Jack’s face. “Put it back or I blow your brains out right now!”
“We already covered this,” said Jack patiently. “If you blow my brains out no one can put
anything back.”
“Here we go,” muttered Galahad under his breath.
Frustration, rapidly followed by evil determination, flashed across Corbett’s features. He stepped away from Jack and pointed the gun at Galahad. “Then how about I shoot the damn Indian?” he demanded. “Think you can fix what you did once I splatter your redskin buddy’s brains?”
Jack’s voice was ice. “Shoot Galahad and you won’t live long enough to take another breath.”
“Thanks, man,” said Galahad. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Corbett raised the phone to his ear. “Get over here. Now,” he said. Then he hurled the phone at the wall behind Jack and Galahad. It rebounded with a thunk and skittered across the veranda.
“I’ll hand you over to Delavane. He’s got people who’ll get you cooperating real quick,” said Corbett.
“You haven’t been paying attention,” said Jack. “HIDD runs independently. It will systematically degrade your digital infrastructure, lock you out of your systems, and delete or exploit your data. I am incapable of stopping it from San Marcos.”
“We’ll see about that,” seethed Corbett. “You wrote your program. You can turn it off.”
“It’s a fail-safe, meant for exactly this situation. HIDD is designed so that I can’t disable it while I am in San Marcos. It won’t respond to any commands given under duress.”
“How’s a computer program gonna know you’re under duress?”
Corbett’s discarded secure handset began to beep and vibrate. He stared at it like it was a hissing cobra.
Tavers retrieved the unit and handed it to the president.
“Go ahead,” said Corbett. As he listened to the caller his jaw fell open and his eyes widened in shock. With a trembling hand, he held out the phone to Jack. “It’s for you,” he mumbled.
Jack accepted the handset. “Hello, MARISA darling,” he cooed. “How soon can you pick us up?”
22: Executive Action
Marisa entered Corbett City harbor shadowed by one of the San Marcan missile boats. A Presidential Guard escort put Jack and Galahad on a launch that took them to their vessel.
