Dead Shift (The Rho Agenda Inception Book 3)

by Richard Phillips

  Long before the plane reached ten thousand feet, the medical team had finished strapping Jamal’s body to the MRI platform. Qiang swiveled his leather chair to watch as the doctors inserted an IV needle into the young man’s arm and started a drip that fed a hallucinogenic drug cocktail into his veins, one designed to continuously alter his quasi-conscious state in ways that would enhance the memory digitization.

  Examining the displays that showed Jamal’s vital signs, Dr. Morris nodded with satisfaction and switched on the torus-shaped MRI scanner that surrounded Jamal’s head. Although Qiang was familiar with the rhythmic buzzing-gong sound produced by MRI scanners, this one seemed louder and higher pitched than he recalled. Then again, that might be because this was happening inside a cargo jet that was approaching its cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet.

  Grange had designed and built this particular MRI machine for one specific purpose, but despite all the high-tech manipulation of magnetic pulses and precisely directed frequencies of radio energy that bombarded the NSA man’s head, it was one loud, annoying-ass procedure.

  Qiang leaned back in one of the big cargo aircraft’s less than comfortable seats and closed his eyes. While he prepared to take himself into the deep meditation that would ensconce him in the isolation of his mind palace, his thoughts turned to the fate that awaited Jamal in California. Despite the bloody death of the NSA hacker’s girlfriend, there was no doubt in Qiang’s mind.

  Of these two young people, she’d been the lucky one.

  CHAPTER 3

  Two hours before sunrise, Steve Grange stood outside his mansion, looking out over the moonlit vineyards that surrounded his home and the adjacent castle-shaped winery that rose to alter the skyline a half mile east of the Sonoma Highway. Beyond that, above the ridgeline that formed Sonoma Valley’s western wall, the waning gibbous moon shone bright enough to cast distinct shadows from the castle battlements.

  Tall, slender, and elegant, even in his jeans, black T-shirt, and Nikes, Grange ran a hand through his sandy hair and sucked in a deep breath of the cool night air. Despite all he’d accomplished during his forty-eight years of life, Grange had never felt a sense of anticipation as intense as the one that wrapped him in this predawn moonlight. What others didn’t dare dream, he would usher into reality over the coming days.

  The truck that had just turned off the highway onto the private lane that led to Grange Castle Winery appeared to be a standard delivery vehicle, but nothing could be further from the truth. Even though it was exactly what Grange expected and it was precisely on schedule, the sight of it brought a tightness to his chest he hadn’t felt since that Christmas morning when he’d unwrapped his first personal computer.

  “Sir, your car is ready.”

  Grange turned to see Carlos, his diminutive, dark-eyed chauffeur, standing at the top of the steps that led from the backyard up to the pool deck.

  “Fine.”

  Grange watched the man turn and walk back through the sliding glass doors that led through the drawing room to the twelve-foot-tall front doors. Grange’s encrypted cell phone warbled and he lifted it to his ear.

  “Yes?”

  Qiang Chu’s Mandarin-accented voice delivered the expected confirmation. “Package delivery complete.”

  “Status?”

  “It’s being prepped right now.”

  “On my way.”

  Grange ended the call and took two calming breaths before walking back through the house to the driveway. Carlos held open the red Tesla’s door and Grange climbed into the driver’s seat. He accelerated out of the semicircular driveway and down the narrow paved road that ran from his house to the castle-shaped winery. Although Carlos was his driver, nobody drove the Tesla but Grange himself. He loved the vehicle’s silent power and drive. After all, those were two of his defining traits.

  As he approached the castle’s rear service gate, the Tesla’s headlights illuminated the nonpublic portion of the winery and the paved courtyard beyond. On the far side of the courtyard, a forty-foot roll-aside steel door stood open, and Grange drove inside, parking the Tesla alongside the delivery truck that had been backed up to a loading dock.

  Grange climbed out of the car as the huge door rumbled closed on its track behind him. The budget he had thrown at the project had brought the illegal phase of construction to completion six months ago. The non-secret, legal construction of the Grange Castle Winery was finally approaching completion. Wine production had begun and enough of the interior was finished to allow for the hosting of parties.

  Considering that this winery was being built with the sole purpose of masking the secret work below the wine caves, he was in no hurry to bring construction to a close. It enabled Grange to disguise the staff of the hidden underground facility as members of the construction crew.

  When he looked around, he was surprised to see that Qiang Chu had silently moved up beside him. He knew that by now he should be used to the stealth with which the lean assassin moved, but it just didn’t seem natural.

  Grange nodded, noting the complete lack of emotion on the dark-haired man’s angular features.

  “Is our subject being prepped?”

  “Dr. Landon’s team has taken him below,” Qiang said.

  “Any problems during transit?”

  “Everything is going precisely as planned.”

  Maybe it was paranoia, but Grange found himself not liking that answer. When things proceeded too smoothly, it was usually because some government agency wanted its targets overconfident. A mirthless smile spread across Qiang’s lips, indicating he had guessed what Grange was thinking—one more of the spooky things about this man that put Grange on edge whenever he was near.

  “We weren’t followed. My people at the airport made sure of that. And there’s been no police chatter from the far end. That means they haven’t found the girl’s body yet.”

  The smile disappeared from Qiang’s face as he continued. “Focus on your work, Mr. Grange.”

  Grange felt the muscles in his jaw clench, but he refused to be baited by a man of inferior intellect. Besides, Grange was more important to Qiang’s Chinese masters than the assassin.

  Turning his back on the smaller man, Grange shifted his thoughts to what waited for him below the wine caves. When he reached the freight elevator, he stepped inside and turned to face the panel of elevator buttons. There were three of them, marked SL1 through SL3, and a separate red button marked “Emergency.” But Grange wasn’t headed for one of the three wine cave sublevels.

  With his right hand, he simultaneously pressed the SL1 and SL3 buttons and then pressed the SL2 button twice. Beneath his hand, the panel slid aside to reveal a scanner that Grange placed his palm against. After a brief pause, the elevator started down, descending a hundred feet before decelerating to a smooth stop. When the doors opened, he felt a rush of over-pressurized air whoosh inside, pushing the air that had accompanied him down from the surface out through vents in the back of the car.

  In front of him, a short, white-tiled hallway passed between two dark-clad Chinese guards, ending at what appeared to be another closed elevator door. Grange ignored the two men, walked directly to the panel to the right of the ten-foot square doorway, and placed his right palm, fingers spread, on the glass plate. There was no line of visible laser light that swept across the panel; the doors just parted and slid silently into their wall slots to allow him entry.

  The white tile floor of the room was reflected in the stainless steel walls. Two doors on the wall to his right were labeled with the standard stick figures that indicated the entry to the men’s and women’s locker rooms. On the wall to Grange’s left, an open doorway led into a fully appointed break room, outfitted with a stocked pantry, refrigerators, sinks, and a pair of single-cup coffee makers.

  Directly to his front, an automated security booth led to a closed steel doorway desig
ned for personnel entry. To its left, a much larger steel door provided freight and equipment access to the area beyond.

  Grange turned right and entered the men’s locker room, where shiny metal benches separated three rows of steel lockers. Beyond these he could see a half dozen empty shower stalls and another door that led to the toilets and sinks. Grabbing a clean set of scrubs and slippers from the racks arrayed along the blue-tiled wall to his left, Grange moved to the locker adorned with his nameplate. He pressed his right thumb to the fingerprint reader and felt it unlatch.

  Without hesitation, he stripped out of his clothes and shoes, placed them inside the locker, and donned the light-blue scrubs and slippers before heading for the security booth that formed the only entry or exit from the inner facility. Grange knew it wouldn’t have passed fire code. The thought brought a slight smile to his lips. That was the least of the laws being violated on this level.

  When he closed the locker, Grange felt and heard the lock slide back into place. Then he turned and walked back out the way he had entered the locker room, accompanied by the distinctive squeak of the rubber slippers on the white tile floor.

  As he made the walk from the locker room to the waiting security booth, his anticipation made time seem to crawl, turning seconds into minutes. Stepping into an advanced variant of an active millimeter-wave scanner, Grange didn’t bother to raise his hands above his head. With this device it wasn’t even necessary to have a person monitor the resulting images. If anyone tried to carry an unapproved device through this booth, the scanner would trigger an alarm that would usher a half dozen armed guards into the room.

  Another light turned green and Grange stepped out of the scanner and up to the door. He inserted his right hand, palm down, into an opening in the wall as he stared up into one of the many cameras that recorded his image and routed it to a facial recognition database. The small sting on the back of his wrist alerted him to the completion of DNA sampling and he waited. Above the slot a glowing red light was accompanied by a message that read DO NOT REMOVE HAND, a usage of the English language that brought unfortunate images to mind every time he stood in this spot.

  After several seconds the light changed from red to green, the words changed to ACCESS GRANTED, and the door whisked open. Grange pulled his hand from the slot, noting a tiny red dot on his wrist where the micro-collection had occurred, just another of the necessary annoyances that he had become accustomed to.

  The hallway that opened before him had been part lucky break, part inevitability. He had intended to bore out a space big enough to construct his laboratory below the wine caves, but when seismic testing had detected a cavern a hundred feet below the surface, he’d been handed a twofer. It meant digging a bit deeper, but the total amount of excavation required had been greatly reduced. In addition, the extra depth had provided even better security than his original design of this facility had called for. That had made his Chinese partners happy, and it had made Grange even happier.

  With the construction completed, the cavern had been transformed into a close approximation of the Grange EToX facility in Palo Alto. But the rapid iterative prototyping and testing being conducted on this site was producing startling advances that would have been impossible if subjected to U.S. government laws and oversight.

  Dr. Marie Feingold, one of Dr. Landon’s assisting physicians, looked up from the tablet computer she held as she stood beside the receptionist’s desk.

  “Mr. Grange, Dr. Landon asked me to escort you to the operating theater.”

  Grange stared at the thin, seemingly anorexic woman standing before him in her blue scrubs and felt his annoyance kick in.

  “Shouldn’t you be prepping for surgery instead of escorting me to the observation area?”

  Dr. Feingold’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the edges, but her voice remained steady. “I won’t be assisting with this surgery. I’m to make myself available in the observation area in the event you have any questions during the procedure.”

  “I’m thoroughly familiar with the procedure.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  Jesus, this woman was irritating. No wonder Landon didn’t want her assisting. Grange considered telling her to go away, but decided it would be easier to just ignore her. When he walked past her down the corridor and turned right toward the observation room, Grange was glad to see that she fell into step behind him instead of moving up to walk alongside. That would have invited conversation, and right now conversation was the last thing he wanted.

  What he wanted was for the operation to get underway. In the meantime, he wanted to observe the preparations and to think. Just outside the anteroom, Grange opened a side door and climbed a staircase to the glass-walled platform that overlooked the operating room. There, in addition to the view available through the windows, four sixty-inch OLED screens displayed views from cameras in the room below.

  Grange seated himself in a chair in front of the camera control panel. From here, he could move and zoom each of the cameras with a caress of the touchscreen mounted on his armrest. He heard Dr. Feingold settle into the theater chair to his left rear and then shifted his thoughts to what was happening below.

  The subject lay atop the surgical table, already anesthetized. His freshly shaved head was held in place by a steel framework that was fastened to the frame that allowed the body to be rotated in place. The apparatus enabled the surgeon to orient the body either faceup or facedown. This subject lay facedown, his black scalp pockmarked with rectangular blocks projected onto his head from red lasers, as the gowned, gloved, and masked surgical team moved around him.

  Dr. Landon leaned over the subject, probing the scalp with his gloved hands, and Grange adjusted the zoom on one of the cameras as he watched an assistant hand the doctor a scalpel. With sure hands, Dr. Landon flapped back the scalp to reveal the skull beneath.

  The doctor held out his hand for the small high-speed drill that would bore several small burr holes into the man’s skull. Then it would just be a matter of connecting the dots with a surgical saw to remove small sections of skull.

  Over the speakers, the high whine of the drill dropped in pitch as it bit into bone. Having completely forgotten about the woman sitting behind him, Grange leaned forward. The fun was only just beginning.

  CHAPTER 4

  Levi Elias ended the call and returned his cell phone to his pocket, pushing his Herman Miller chair back from his desk as he did so. He hadn’t been scheduled to work today, but when you’re the ranking NSA analyst, you come to expect the unexpected. Accordingly, he now found himself back in his office inside the expansive black-glass NSA headquarters building. And he’d just been summoned to the director’s office. He hadn’t detected any tension in Admiral Riles’s voice, but the director rarely displayed emotion. This morning’s news was bad and potentially devastating.

  Levi rose to his feet, ran a hand through his curly black hair, and shook his head. Why Jamal? Levi rarely formed an emotional attachment to members of the cyber-warfare group. Most of them lived in their games or in the source code of the systems they were tasked to compromise, taking little interest in developing human relationships. But Jamal Glover had a witty, cocky personality that made people want to be around him. Now he was gone.

  When Levi reached Admiral Riles’s office, he found the door open and no administrative assistant sitting outside. Normally, the six-foot-tall Frederica Barnes, or Fred, as everyone called her, guarded the admiral’s privacy with a middle linebacker’s attitude. Evidently Riles had not felt it necessary to interrupt her weekend . . . at least not yet.

  “Come on in, Levi,” the admiral said. “And close the door behind you.”

  Levi stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The NSA director sat at his teak desk, silhouetted against the dark, copper-infused windows designed to block penetration of electromagnetic signals. A stocky, balding man with an open, friendly
face that served as an unlikely platform for his icy gray eyes, he had been number one in his class at the Naval Academy, a Rhodes Scholar, and an athlete. The admiral exuded an easy self-confidence that filled any room with his commanding presence.

  Comfortable in that presence, Levi seated himself in a leather armchair positioned at an angle from the desk that wouldn’t block the admiral’s line of sight to the door.

  “What’s your initial assessment of the Jamal Glover situation?” Riles asked.

  “The Columbia police conducted the initial crime scene investigation. Due to the sensitive position of the person involved, FBI is on site and has taken control of the investigation. Neither the FBI nor the police have released initial results of their ongoing investigations, but we’re monitoring all of their communications and data transfers. Dr. Jennings has initiated a top-priority intelligence request so Big John is crunching the data.”

  “And what is that initial data telling us?”

  “Nothing more than conjecture at the moment. The police think the evidence points to a jealous argument between Jamal Glover and Jill McPherson. They think Jamal cut her throat, grabbed his computer equipment, packed some clothes, and fled in his car. So far, the FBI agrees with that assessment. I think it’s bullshit.”

  The admiral nodded. “It is bullshit. Jamal would never hurt that girl. Not in a million lifetimes.”

  “What level of effort do you want me to target on this?”

  “Get any high-resolution satellite data of Jamal’s house for the last twenty-four hours. I want to know when anyone entered or left that house from yesterday morning until the police arrived. Also, I want all the security and traffic camera feeds in a five-mile radius around Jamal’s house analyzed. And track the movements of every cell phone in that radius. Same goes for anything else that transmits a signal.”