Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia
Gwen Moss sat in the CIA cafeteria for sector G, located on the second level beneath the main Agency building. Picking through a salad shortly after the nuclear attack simulation, Gwen wasn’t overly surprised to see Admiral Grady McManus deposit his tray on her table and take a seat opposite hers. He was, after all, hitting on her, although military and Agency decorum thankfully kept his advances very discreet and open to interpretation. In the area of flirting, even spies could be more subtle than the rest of the population.
McManus was dressed in his dark blue uniform, the breast of his coat heavy with colorful metal decorations representing years of military service. Gwen had to admit that he was attractive, with a mature and confident demeanor usually carried by slightly older men. He had salt and pepper hair, short and combed to the side, and penetrating blue eyes. It was obvious that he worked out at the gym on a regular basis. It was rumored that he was unbeatable at tennis.
“So, Gwen,” McManus said, “how are Ben and the children?”
How predictable, Gwen thought. His opening move on this particular day was to innocently — and wisely — inquire after her family. He spoke loudly enough so as to be heard by diners at the adjoining tables.
Clever bastard. He wants witnesses in case he loses control at a later date and I try to smack him down with some harassment charge.
“They’re fine, Admiral,” Gwen said with a weak, forced smile.
“Oh please,” McManus said as he speared a piece of grilled salmon with his fork. “I think we can relax a bit over an informal lunch. ‘Admiral’ seems a bit stiff, doesn’t it? Call me Fletch. It’s my nickname, so we won’t really be on a first name basis.”
He smiled, then looked down at his plate.
He’s smooth, this one. Too smooth.
“Thank you, Admiral, but I think I’d feel a bit awkward using nicknames with superiors.”
“Of course,” McManus said, unruffled. “I understand completely. Admirable sentiment, excuse the pun. So, how did you like the simulation?”
“We almost got to launch phase,” Gwen said. “Wasn’t that cutting it a little too close?”
“All of the failsafe protocols were in place. We can take such simulations even farther and actually have the computers announce a launch. For drills, failsafe measures disengage our computers in the Sit Room from those at NORAD and the Pentagon. My golden retriever Nimitz could have jumped on every button in the room and no birds would have been launched.”
Gwen nodded. She noticed that Admiral McManus had a manila folder next to his lunch plate. The word SENEX was printed in small letters on the side tab.
McManus noted Gwen’s eyes shifting to the folder. “I should leave business in the office,” he said, picking up the folder and smiling as he held it at arm’s length, as if to playfully say, “What’s this doing here?”
He placed the folder back on the table, although Gwen was intrigued that the tab was now facing down. Additionally, she saw a gold cufflink on the end of his white shirt protruding beyond the dark blue sleeve of his coat, which had four gold bands circling its circumference. A capital C was engraved on the cufflink. Well, she thought, that was probably owing to the fact that his real middle name was Charles. She had no idea how he’d earned the moniker Fletch, nor did she care.
“I really have to be going, Admiral,” Gwen said. “I have a briefing in ten minutes.”
McManus, chewing a bite of salmon, waved his hand upwards in a gesture of understanding. “Duty always seems to call, doesn’t it,” he said when he’d swallowed his fish. “Don’t let me keep you, and give my regards to Ben.”
Ben and McManus had met only once, at a backyard barbecue in Alexandria at the Moss home. Several times that evening, McManus had let his eyes linger on Gwen a split second too long, but Ben, busy with grilling burgers and playing host, hadn’t noticed.
But not much escaped Gwen’s eye. As special ops Spider, she’d been well trained by Titan Global, especially the talented Michael Hawke. Her skills had continued to develop at the Company in Virginia.
She walked back to her office, thinking of the Admiral’s cufflink.
C for Charles? Maybe, maybe not.
Titan Six
The Cube beneath Mount Elbert
“How do we get out of this corridor?” Gator asked.
“Not sure,” Hawkeye said. “Ops, do you have any readout on this thing? Can you guide us farther inside?”
“Negative,” Touchdown replied. “I’m still trying to calibrate my instruments to whatever materials the cube is made of.”
“Understood,” said Hawkeye.
An oval portal magically appeared at the end of the corridor. Someone was approaching Titan Six.
“Oh my God,” Shooter said. “It’s the same kind of creature I saw out the window of the maglev.”
The slender creature appeared metallic, but it had arms and legs that moved as fluidly as any human body. Holding a slim metallic tube only an inch in diameter, it was humanoid in appearance, five feet tall, and had a triangular-shaped head with rounded corners. It had circular black eyes, but no other facial features.
Gator raised his SAW, but Hawkeye gently pushed the muzzle down and shook his head. “Let the creature make the first move,” he whispered. “If it raises that tube, that’s a different story.”
Follow me. I am Sentinel 12.
The creature had spoken telepathically to all members of Titan Six.
“This is starting to add up,” Hawkeye said, waving his team to follow him and the creature. “This sentinel, or whoever else might be in this cube, is expecting us.”
“Or someone like us,” Tank said. “Maybe soldiers.”
Hawkeye nodded his agreement. “Reasonable assumption.”
The team entered a room, twenty feet by twenty, that was illuminated by several wall-mounted light panels. Smooth granite rectangles rose from the floor in the center of the space. Ten oval portals in the right wall admitted bright light from an adjoining room.
Sentinel 12 spoke again.
Please place your hands on the palm identification stones and then proceed to the decontamination area to your right.
The sentinel’s head pivoted left and right as it communicated. Its ominous black eyes were mere camera lenses that could not rotate like human eyes.
“Is thing a robot?” asked Shooter.
“Negative,” responded Quiz. “Judging from the cam view I’m getting from your helmets, it has no joints, such as knees or elbows. It’s a Sent.”
“A what?” asked Hawkeye.
“A sentient being,” Quiz said. “Also a sentinel. Sent is an abbreviation for both.”
The Sent repeated its directions.
Please place your hands on the palm identification stones and then proceed to the decontamination area to your right.
“We’ve got a big problem, Ops,” Hawkeye said. “The Sent is about to find out that we’re not the guests they’ve been expecting. Recommendations?”
“Ambergris here, Mr. Hawke. Just follow instructions and see what happens. It’s better than outright defiance. Hopefully, it’ll buy some time.”
“Agreed,” Hawkeye said.
The members of Titan Six reluctantly placed their hands on top of the granite rectangles. The stone beneath their palms and fingers glowed red momentarily. Each member then walked through one of the ovals to the right. Dozens of clear glass tubes extended from the ceiling.
“I bet those are to disinfect visitors,” Tank said, pointing to the tubes.
Hawkeye, the last to enter, surveyed the new chamber as a loud humming sounded.
“Identity unconfirmed,” said a female voice. “Repeat, identity unconfirmed. Sents to the decontamination chamber.”
“We’ve officially crashed somebody’s party,” Hawkeye said. “Weapons at the ready.”
Six Sents entered through the portals, their slim tubes raised and ai
med at Titan Six.
“Fire!” Hawkeye commanded.
Bullets lodged in the shiny skin of the Sents, who began to advance.
One by one, the bullets popped out of the metallic skin of the Sents, the points of penetration glowing orange for a brief second.
“Their skin is very resilient,” said DJ. “It literally stopped the bullets and then ejected them.”
The Sents advanced farther, their tubes glowing white.
Ops Center
Beneath Mount Whitney
“That monorail from the Adirondacks is almost at 872,” Touchdown said.
“Life signs?” Caine asked.
“Still one hundred humans, as red-blooded as you or me.”
“How will the soldiers enter the cube?” DJ asked. “The original corridor at the SURP station was boarded up.”
“I read a much smaller tunnel on the far right of the station,” Touchdown said. “It, too, leads to the cube, but the tunnel entrance is camouflaged by indigenous rock.”
“Keep an eye on it,” Caine said. “Meanwhile, I want a plan for Titan Six. Work the problem at hand, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Titan Six,” said Quiz, “use your TR5 Laser Rifles.”
The TR5 was a new weapon developed by the Research and Development team in the Armory. It was an enhanced version of the Army’s TR3, which was used to stun enemies, not kill. Depending on its setting, however, the TR5 had lethal capabilities.
“The TR5 might be able to disrupt the molecular structure of the Sents,” Quiz said.
“My instruments are calibrated now,” Touchdown said. “I don’t have any schematics yet on the architecture of the cube, but I’m picking up energy signatures inside it. Not Sents. Humans.”
“When it rains, it pours,” Hawkeye said.
Titan Six
The Cube beneath Mount Elbert
The tubes held by the odd-looking Sents glowed more brightly.
“Duck!” Hawkeye ordered. “Hit the deck!”
Photon bursts discharged from the tubes, flying over the heads of Titan Six. Each burst struck the far wall of the room, leaving a charred, black spot on the silver metal.
Titan Six rolled in different directions to avoid giving the Sents stationary targets.
Shooter was the first to retrieve her laser rifle, mounted on the side of her backpack. It was short and compact. She flipped its activation switch and pulled back the rifle’s bolt to a notch marked SETTING THREE. She aimed for the Sent on the far right and squeezed the trigger of the TR5. A concentrated red beam hit the Sent in a nanosecond.
Tank and Aiko followed suit, firing their laser rifles in unison. Hawkeye and Tank fired as well, with Shooter already aiming at Sent number six.
The laser beams scored direct hits. The Sents froze, their heads tilted back, immobile. The laser beams had destroyed small areas of their metallic skin.
“We’ve stopped them,” Shooter observed, “but only temporarily. I think they’re repairing themselves.”
Inside the wounds, metal meshes were rapidly forming, with liquid coalescing around the latticework and solidifying.
“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Tank asked.
“As near as I can tell,” Ambergris said from the Ops Center, “the Sents are very similar in chemical composition to the cube itself. They’re AI, artificial intelligence, but they’re not robots. Hawkeye, can you bag and tag a bit of that liquid from one of the sentinels before they become active again?”
“Affirmative,” Hawkeye said, reaching into his backpack as he approached the Sent on the far left.
“Make it quick,” said Caine. “You probably don’t have much time left.”
“I’ve got a readout on parts of the cube’s layout,” Touchdown said. “Complete with holographic display.”
Caine turned around to look at the round holographic projector similar to a larger version in the Ops Center aboard the Alamiranta. A 3-D display of that portion of the cube inhabited by Titan Six was slowly rotating on a pedestal.
“Go back through the oval portals,” Touchdown said, “and then — ”
The sound of gunfire erupted through the speakers of the Ops Center.
Gator opened up his SAW, mowing down five soldiers in brown fatigues.
Two more soldiers jumped through the portals into the decontamination room, but Shooter was ready with her Calico M960. She got off four clean shots in succession. The soldiers spun around, blood pooling on the front of their shirts — precise shots through the hearts of each.
“I’ve got the liquid sample,” Hawkeye said. “We’re going back into the ID room.”
“Proceed to the original corridor where you entered the cube,” Touchdown said. “A portal has appeared at its end. You’ll find yourself in a round chamber that splits into six additional corridors. I’m showing human and Sent activity in five of them. Take the second one from the left.”
“Where does it lead?” asked Hawkeye.
Touchdown pivoted in his chair and consulted the holographic display. “To a room that seems to have a wall resembling a beehive.”
“A beehive?” said Hawkeye.
“Correct,” said Touchdown. “Right now, it’s the road less traveled.”
“Roger that, Ops. Let’s hope we don’t encounter giant bees.”
“You need to regroup, Mr. Hawke,” Caine said. “Report as soon as you know anything further.”
The ID room was beginning to glow a bright red.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Hawkeye said, still recalling the skeletons of Durangue and Wallace.
The team retraced its steps and entered the corridor Touchdown had described.
Two minutes later, Titan Six stood in a new room, metallic and silver like the others they’d encountered.
“You nailed it, Touchdown,” Hawkeye said. “One wall is a metallic hive. Connected hexagonal chambers reach up to the ceiling. Typical honeycomb structure. Must be thirty feet high.”
“What’s inside them?” asked Quiz.
“Hawkeye moved closer to the lower hexagons, aiming a Maglite inside several chambers.
“Good God!” he cried. “They’re — ”
Ops Center
Beneath Mount Whitney
“Communications have been disrupted,” Touchdown said.
DJ tapped the keyboard at her station, examined her flatscreen, and turned to Caine. “The interference from the cube isn’t being caused by any form of normal radiation.”
“Every living organism gives off an electromagnetic signature,” Ambergris said. “If my theory that the cube is alive is correct, then it can be expected to emit a certain electromagnetic signature.”
“Can you analyze that signature?” asked Caine.
Ambergris turned back to his station. “I’m working on it, Catherine. I’m breaking down the varying wavelengths coming from the area near 872, but there’s a lot of rock between the Ops Center and the cube.”
Caine paced thoughtfully around the Ops Center. “Deploy Titan Four, Touchdown. We’re obviously dealing with advanced technology that we’re trying to figure out on the fly. Have T4 take a maglev to Station 872 and await further orders.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia
Gwen sat at the desk in her office, troubled. McManus had clearly tried to hide something. He’d made sure that he turned the Senex folder face-down when he placed it back on the lunch table.
She Googled “senex” and learned that it was the Latin word for “senate.”
But the C on his cufflinks — did it really stand for Charles?
Maybe, or it might represent the Roman numeral for 100.
That would make perfect sense. The United States Senate was composed of exactly one hundred members, the most powerful and exclusive governing body in the world, and Admiral McManus testified on a regular basis before various Senate subcommittees on Intelligence and Defense.
T
his still didn’t explain why the word “senex” was on a file tab, however, one that McManus had not intended Gwen to see.
Another thought crossed Gwen’s mind: McManus had recently talked about his vacation to Hawaii. During this time, however, he’d sent Gwen an email — complete with a smiley face at the end; how dreadfully saccharine — but Gwen, out of curiosity, had looked at the metadata that underlies every email correspondence by using a simple right-click of her mouse. McManus had been in St. Louis and Denver, not Hawaii.
None of my business, she thought. The less I think about him, the better.
But something else was nagging Gwen: McManus had called her home the week before, when Gwen was out shopping. He’d grilled Ben for over ten minutes as to whether she had discussed her possible relocation to the Midwest. Ben had been very hurt that Gwen hadn’t brought up the subject until she reassured him that that no one at the Company had approached her about reassignment.
As far as Gwen was concerned, the CIA could keep all the secrets it wanted. It was, after all, a clandestine organization. But McManus was holding something close to the vest that affected her and her family, and her maternal instinct dictated that she do some snooping.
She left her office and found a cubicle with a computer terminal, one of many that employees could use if their own PCs were offline for any reason. The Company, for example, scanned all computers at least once a month to look for security breaches.
She called up the main directory and typed in the following name: McManus, Grady Charles. But his password — it could be anything. She tried “senex,” but the password was declined.
She had two more tries before the system locked her out.
McManus was divorced, and she didn’t know the names of his children. Well, there was one obvious name to try, although she doubted that she would be so lucky as to hack the files of an admiral at the CIA by using such a simple password. She typed in “Nimitz,” the name of his Golden Retriever.
Titan Six Page 4
