Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3)

by Michael C. Grumley

  “I guess I figured it would be better to volunteer before I was forced to come. That is what was going to happen, right?”

  Caesare nodded. “More or less.”

  “Then no thanks necessary.” He offered Caesare a meek smile.

  Caesare stood, studying him. “Why did you volunteer, Juan?”

  “I told you. It was better to-”

  Caesare cut him off. “That’s not it. I can read people, kid, and there’s something else going on.”

  Juan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked back at the plane before answering. “It’s my little sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “She’s only six. She was a surprise to my parents when I was fourteen…and she’s amazing. We have a big gap between us, but she looks up to me like I walk on water. She calls me her héroe.”

  “I don’t think I’m following.”

  “My parents worked a lot so I was the one who looked after her. You know, kept her safe and all. She looks up to me.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Angelina.” Juan breathed in, struggling. “I came because she was diagnosed a few months ago with leukemia. And she’s showing accelerated symptoms.”

  Caesare shook his head. “I’m sorry, Juan.”

  “If you met her, you’d know why I volunteered. She’s the most incredible kid I’ve ever known. Always smiling. Always making everyone happy. Even when she gets disappointed, she just smiles and says it’s okay.” Juan’s trembling lips turned into a smile. “She says her favorite part of the day is when I get home.”

  He glanced over Caesare’s shoulder at Tiewater, who was now crossing the small field toward them.

  “DeeAnn told me what you guys found on the mountain, Mr. Caesare. So if there’s something out there that might help my sister, I’m willing to do whatever I can. After all, a hero doesn’t give up, right?”

  With a sympathetic frown, Caesare nodded and turned as Tiewater reached them.

  “Sir, we’re ready.”

  Behind them, the large propellers of a 1952 Douglas DC-3 began to turn as one engine sputtered and roared to life, followed by the second. Black smoke coughed from the massive Rolls Royce Dark Mk. 510 engines, then quickly dissipated in the warm moist breeze blowing across the open field.

  As the three men approached the aircraft, Joe swung around and met them near the tail, yelling over the deafening engines. “I have a local guy who helps me with the drops but figured you wanted to keep our party small.”

  “The smaller, the better,” Caesare yelled back.

  The older man nodded before grabbing the metal ladder and climbing into the fuselage.

  When DeeAnn climbed aboard, she paused at the top of the ladder, still clutching Dulce in one arm. She glanced down the inside of the fuselage to find Juan and Anderson. Both were sitting on a long, padded metal bench near the opening of the plane’s cockpit where Joe was checking his instruments. Against the other wall, three large boxes were secured by orange nylon straps with giant balls of fabric on top.

  The thundering roar behind them forced her inside quickly, causing her to trip and stumble into the arms of Tiewater. He caught her and gently turned the two around at which point they managed to make it to the bench. When they sat down, Anderson handed her two worn pairs of headsets.

  DeeAnn peered at them and placed one over her head. She then took the other and held it to Dulce’s head, trying to determine the best way to situate them. When she finally wiggled them in place on top of Dulce’s petite skull, she almost laughed.

  Dulce looked surprised at the sudden reduction in noise. She scanned the cabin curiously, then pulled her headset off again.

  “No. Keep it on, honey.” DeeAnn grabbed Dulce’s headset and pushed it precariously back into place. “It will keep things quieter.”

  Dulce stared at her before making a chuttering sound, and pulled them back off.

  She turned to Juan. “I guess it’s still too loud for the vest to work in here.”

  “It definitely won’t work as well. Maybe if they close the door.”

  Anderson smiled. “There is no door.”

  “What?”

  “It would be too hard to open in mid-flight.”

  “Are you saying it’s going to be this loud the whole way?”

  “Yep, the whole way!” he laughed.

  With her mouth open, DeeAnn shook her head. There was a little less noise inside the plane, but still enough to have to raise her voice over. She stared at the open door before turning back. “Aren’t we going to freeze?”

  “Nah. We’ll be flying low until the end.”

  Just then Corso’s huge frame climbed into view and nodded to Tiewater, who joined them in the forward cabin. “You’re going to want to belt in for takeoff. It’s going to get pretty bouncy,” he yelled.

  “Oh geez.” DeeAnn fumbled for the belt behind Dulce.

  “What’s in these big boxes?”

  “Our supplies.” He raised a hand and patted a small area of Dulce’s head. “And her food.”

  “What’s that on top of the boxes?”

  Before she could get a reply, Tiewater turned as a large, thick pack flew through the open door, caught by Corso. He promptly dropped it behind him and caught another. This repeated until he had several packs stacked neatly on the floor.

  A minute later, the engines roared louder. Caesare finally climbed up the ladder, tossing the wheel blocks toward the rear. He quickly pulled the ladder up as the plane began to move over the bumpy field, accelerating and turning the bumps into larger bounces.

  DeeAnn’s eyes followed Caesare as he approached, squeezing in behind her and Anderson. “I liked the last plane better,” she said aloud.

  He grinned.

  Glancing again at the boxes, she repeated her question. “What’s that cloth thing on top?”

  Caesare frowned. “Listen, Dee. Remember when you told Alison you weren’t a big fan of mine at the moment?”

  “I was joking!”

  “I know. But this isn’t going to help.”

  “What do you mean?” It was then that she suddenly put things together. The cloth on top of the large boxes and the packs that Caesare threw to Corso through the door. “What WERE those?!”

  Caesare tone became apologetic. “There was no other option, Dee. Believe me.”

  Her eyes widened nervously.

  “If there were an easier way to get in, we would have taken it.”

  “Oh my God!” She began to panic. “Are those parachutes?!”

  “Kind of.”

  “KIND OF?!”

  “Okay. They’re parachutes.”

  Juan leaned forward with the same look as DeeAnn. “Did you say parachutes?!”

  “I was hoping we would find another option. But there isn’t one. And unfortunately, there aren’t any runways where we’re going. Just enough fuel to make it there and back.”

  “Oh, God! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

  Caesare shook his head. “I’m sorry. There was no other way.”

  She covered her face with her hands, then pulled them away. “No! No! I am NOT jumping out of an airplane! Stop! Stop the plane!”

  Just as she spoke, DeeAnn became aware that their bouncing from side to side had promptly dissipated. She stared out of the door, past both Caesare and Corso who were now on the end of the bench. She was just in time to see the blur of bright green grass fall away as the powerful DC-3 climbed into the air.

  “Take it easy,” Caesare said loudly. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “Normal people do not equate parachutes with things going fine, Steven!”

  Caesare winked. “Trust me. Clay and I have done hundreds of these and never had a single problem. You couldn’t be in safer hands.”

  Hearing no further disputes, Caesare nodded and leaned back against the metal wall behind him. He was glad they didn’t press him on it because that last bit wasn’t entirely accurate.

 
; 43

  “Hey, Clay. How you holding up?”

  “Swimmingly, Wil. What do you have?”

  Borger was staring at a red circle on his screen, displaying the GPS location of Clay’s satellite phone. From there a thin line plotted the rest of his course to the small hospital.

  “Beijing was the last big city, so at your current speed you should reach it in three hours and thirty-nine minutes. Give or take.”

  “How much detail can you see?”

  “A fair amount. But without a live feed, it’s based on still shots from the last couple days. Very little activity. I only see a few old cars going in and out. It’s located in a pretty dense area of forest with an elevation of 4,500 feet. The south and east sides look like they fall off a couple hundred feet from there, so the road winds in from the southwest. There’s not much around it.”

  “How big is the place?”

  “Not very. Some of the building is obscured by the trees, but I’m guessing maybe three or four thousand square feet.”

  “Then if she’s there, she won’t be hard to find.”

  “True,” Borger smiled. “Stay on G111 until you get to 351. From there head northwest.” He repeated the coordinates. “I can’t tell what it looks like from ground level. It may be easy to miss.”

  “Thanks. Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m going to work on finding an exit for you. I also need to check in with Caesare. They’re getting close. In the meantime, get some sleep.”

  Clay smiled and pushed himself against the back of the passenger seat, trying to stretch his legs. It took over two hours from Beijing for the smog to finally lighten, but the setting sun was still shrouded in a thicker than normal orange hue.

  Finding the hospital in the dark might prove difficult. At least it would make things easier getting back out. Neither he nor Tang knew what they would find, but getting the case was the priority. Unless Wei had indeed injected his daughter, which changed things considerably. Sneaking the case out was one thing –– having to bring a young woman out with them was quite another. Especially depending on her level of cooperation.

  Across the Pacific Ocean, Steve Caesare pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “Say again, Wil!”

  Borger raised his voice. “I said you’re ahead of Otero. But not by much. They've passed Silpaliwini and are on their way up the Acarai Mountains now. Still about a day away but you’re going to have to hurry.”

  “Hurry?” Caesare called back. “I hadn’t considered that.”

  “How long until you’re on the ground?”

  He looked at DeeAnn and Juan, who were both watching him. “Probably a little over an hour.”

  “Okay, call me back when you’re down. I should have-”

  Borger stopped in mid-sentence with his eyes frozen on the screen in front of him. Around the edge of his largest monitor, a thin red border appeared and began flashing. His heart almost stopped. He slowly turned and peered at the other monitors. They were doing the same. Everything was flashing.

  “What was that?” Caesare’s voice sounded through the phone’s speaker.

  Borger didn’t answer. Instead his hand slid up and over the phone until it found the button on top, where he powered it off without a word.

  His screen continued flashing and another window appeared, also in red, displaying a live streaming column of computer code. He recognized it immediately.

  It was a program he had written himself. It was an aggregator, not of data, but of threats. Borger was all too aware of the computer hacks occurring on a daily basis. More importantly, he was familiar with the various computer worms released over the last several years. Worms that weren’t written by some kid at home. These attacks were written at the state level. By governments, including the NSA.

  Clay and Caesare’s teasing over Borger’s paranoia wasn’t a joke. He was extremely paranoid. He knew what could really be done using hidden computer code, and he wrote a custom program to detect it.

  His program was an aggregator that collected digital signatures of the worst known worms and viruses. And applied something called heuristic modeling to look for behaviors of those worms, even if he couldn’t find them directly on his hard drives.

  Borger stopped the stream of scrolling data and studied the details. The behavior didn’t look like a worm. Instead, his program detected something “unusual” in his work patterns. He traced the coded message to another file and then found it. The color drained immediately from his face.

  His computer microphone had been activated. And it had been on for over twenty minutes before his program flagged it as unusual.

  Borger quietly pushed himself away from his desk, sliding back in his chair. Someone was in the system. And someone just listened to everything he had said.

  Borger burst out of the lab, heading directly for the stairs where he sprinted to the top. He continued, running up another flight until he reached the next floor and an outside exit. He pushed through the glass door and into an outdoor foyer before pulling his satellite phone back out and redialing.

  “Clay!” he shouted between heavy breaths. “We have a breach!”

  “What?”

  “A breach! Someone is in the system! And they just listened to our last conversation!”

  “Are you sure?!”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And if they’re in my system, everything could be compromised!”

  “What do you mean by everything?”

  “I mean, everything. Wei, the case, his daughter, the hospital. Everything!” Borger stopped in his tracks. “Shit. That means they probably know about you too. And where you are!”

  “Dammit!” Clay growled. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Chinese. They might have found out I was poking around their systems. So, whatever they didn’t know before, they probably know now. And if they do, they might also know where you’re headed. Hurry!”

  Clay shot a look at Tang. “Step on it!”

  Tang grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and mashed the accelerator down. The Honda’s small engine immediately surged and began picking up speed.

  “Find out who it is!”

  “I will.” As Borger turned back toward the door, he suddenly had an idea. He immediately rushed back down the stairs as fast as he’d come up.

  If someone was listening…maybe they were still listening.

  44

  The expression on M0ngol’s face did not change when he heard Borger rush back into his lab. Nor was he fooled with the man’s attempted misdirection. He listened with a slight smile as Borger pretended to be on the phone again, giving different information. It was quick thinking, but something M0ngol was half expecting once the man realized he was being bugged with his own system.

  M0ngol had hoped it would take longer to detect his presence. Previous targets had taken days or even weeks to detect the hack, which indicated just how careful this man Wil Borger was. The dearth of data M0ngol had to piece together in order to tunnel back showed Borger to be extremely savvy. The man was not to be underestimated.

  Of course, if he were smart, Wil Borger would immediately power down his entire system, which was exactly what it sounded like when the microphone on the other end promptly went dead.

  He had been found out, but it didn’t matter. M0ngol calmly reached for his phone and dialed Qin’s number.

  “Go ahead.”

  “How close are you to a computer?” M0ngol asked.

  “Five minutes.”

  “Good. Let me know when you’re online. I have something to show you. And you’d better hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  He hung up the phone and began typing. He brought up a large map of Beijing and zoomed in, looking for G111 highway. He then switched screens and replayed the audio from Borger’s microphone, listening again to his conversation with someone named Clay. M0ngol wrote down the coordinates, then looked up and typed them in. The map on his screen jumped north, zeroing in
on a small building which matched Borger’s description –– the hospital.

  He then worked the distance back toward Beijing by three hours and thirty-nine minutes, giving him an estimate of Clay’s location. Next he factored in a change in speed after hearing the car accelerate in the background.

  M0ngol watched as his computer began calculating and answered his phone again when Qin called back.

  “I’m on.”

  “Is this your laptop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hold on. I’ll connect.”

  A moment later, Qin watched as a map was displayed on his own screen.

  “We found who broke into our systems. It looks like we’re not the only ones looking for Wei’s daughter. They think they know where she is.”

  “Who?”

  “A small group inside the U.S. Navy.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. They just severed our connection.”

  Qin’s map jumped to an overhead satellite picture of Washington, D.C. –– with a prominent red icon identifying the Pentagon building.

  Qin nodded. “So, where is she?”

  “They think she’s here.” The map changed to an image of the small building surrounded by trees. “And two of them are almost there. They should arrive in just under three hours.”

  “Zoom out.”

  The picture shrank and Qin studied the map. “Where are they right now?”

  “I’m guessing about right here.” Another icon appeared further south.

  “You said three hours?”

  “Maybe less. They’re moving faster now.”

  “Have you identified them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Find out who they are and what they’re driving,” was all Qin said before hanging up. After only a brief moment, he swiftly began scrolling through the address book on his phone, searching for a name. Three hours might be enough time, given the right resources.

  General Wei’s puzzle had just been solved. It was all about his daughter. Everything. The man had fooled everyone and now, whatever was extracted from South America, Wei had hidden it away with his daughter.