by Cliff Ryder
8
Kate stood on a raised platform at the end of a large room, amid what looked like barely contained chaos. A half-dozen men and women swirled around her, analyzing data on wirelessly networked laptop computers, the low mutter of conversations providing a steady backdrop of noise in the space. On the opposite wall, a huge monitor showed the progress in the case on several different windows — a shot of the house on Wyvil Road, various views of the streets around the area as seen through the London city cameras and even a shot of their forensic team in London as it examined the recovered body.
All of it was real, yet in a sense none of it was real, for Kate was viewing the entire scene through a pair of virtual-reality glasses and attached headset, which enabled her to move about the room simply by looking at where she wanted to go. If she wanted a screen brought closer to her, she merely had to stare at its upper two corners, and it would automatically magnify for her. She could instantly see what any one person currently on duty was working on, or bring up all of their screens at once in front of her. Using the sensitive microphone that curved down her smooth jawline, she could instruct and guide the men and women who risked their lives on a daily basis to keep the rest of the world safe, dictate after-ops reports to an autotranscriber, coordinate meetings between directors and operatives around the world and basically keep tabs on any mission she chose to follow.
And that was often the hard part, choosing which ones were the most vital. Room 59 operations were going on in every corner of the world, as befitting its mandate. Some operations were easily handled by personnel below her. Intelligence-gathering, or even the extraction of a double agent, if planned properly, often happened with her knowing only two things: when it had started and when it was finished. Blown ops, however, like the Wyvil Road incident, always garnered her immediate attention. Although she had every bit of confidence in the people under her, Kate fully agreed with the maxim of No Plan Survives Contact With The Enemy. She had simply updated it. Her maxim was No Plan Survives Implementation Intact, despite all of their efforts to the contrary.
At the moment, she was reviewing the Midnight Team's first-person videos of the operation. Another feature of the MASC units all members wore was that everything they saw was transmitted back to Room 59's virtual headquarters, where it could be reviewed for after-action reports, as well as future training simulations. There was nothing like using the real thing to test operatives to see how they would fare. We'll definitely have to run this one, although I'm a bit concerned as to how these guys got past our operative and the team's surveillance in the first place, she thought.
Using the glasses, she could fast-forward or rewind the action, zoom in on anything the team member saw during the op or even work up the footage into a three-dimension re-creation of the entire mission, including every action that person took in it. At the moment she was staring at a close-up view of the pavement as a team member — M-Two, she confirmed — was dumped off a moving vehicle to land on the street. Gutsy but damn reckless, she thought, her lips pursing in disapproval. I'll be very interested in seeing that AA report.
A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. "Yes."
"Director, this is Dr. Samuelson, forensics."
"Go ahead, Doctor."
"I just wanted to let you know about the body we've been examining over here. It's going to take a bit longer to confirm an identity than we first estimated. There is evidence of extensive facial surgery, as well as the fact that his fingerprints have been removed."
"Removed?"
"Correct. We're trying to establish a match using middle phalanx prints, but I don't know if AFIS or other international databases will be able to provide a solid match based on that. We're running the target's current appearance through the databases now, as well as attempting to reconstruct what he looked like presurgery. I will advise you when we have any further information."
"Thank you, Doctor." She had just disconnected when another chime went off. "Yes, Samantha?"
"Do you have a minute? I'd like to discuss the Midnight Team's AA report."
Kate scanned the virtual room around her, ensuring that nothing needed immediate attention. "Sure. Come on in."
She sensed a presence, and turned to see Samantha's avatar sitting beside her, looking every bit as polished as she did in the flesh. "Hope I didn't startle you," Samantha said.
"No, although it is a bit unnerving to be on the receiving end when someone pops in." Kate lowered her voice and leaned over. "I have to confess that I enjoy the effect it has on others when I do it, however." Samantha's conspiratorial grin and nod confirmed that Kate wasn't the only one who thought this way. "However, back to business. Secure channel."
There was a brief blur around them, and the rest of the room took on a slightly hazy look. While Kate still had access to everything in the room, the communication wasn't two-way anymore. The rest of the operatives had been effectively blocked from this conversation. Normally Kate tried to keep as open a forum as possible — after all, the men and women working there had been recruited and cleared at the highest levels of intelligence work — but there were many aspects that had to be kept compartmentalized. Discussing failures in carrying out a mission was certainly one of them, at least until the problem could be identified — if there was indeed one — then corrected.
Upon seeing Samantha's grim expression, Kate didn't even bother with formalities. "I take it you've been reviewing the operation recordings?"
"Yes, and I'm not pleased with what I saw, particularly concerning the failure to achieve certain mission components."
Kate had been expecting this sort of response from Samantha ever since she'd begun examining the records. While she had very high standards for each mission's completion, she could also look at the bigger picture and take a win where she could get it. Samantha held her personnel — and herself — to almost impossible standards, and was very hard on anyone who didn't measure up, sometimes critically so. It was one reason that while the UK branch of Room 59 had one of the highest success rates, it also had the highest dropout rate in the entire agency. Kate didn't have anything against pushing the operatives hard — indeed, she was one of the leading proponents of tip-top training and near-constant evaluation. But to her, this mission had rapidly fallen outside normal parameters, and because of that — and the fact that the main priorities had been accomplished — she was willing to cut the Midnight Team some slack.
With a disarming smile, she tried to get the conversation headed into more positive territory. "The planned attack on London was foiled, and the bioweapons were recovered, so I'd say the primary and secondary objectives were achieved — not exactly a failure," Kate said. Her eyes flicked to the screen, where M-Two floated in midair, frozen in the act of being hoisted into the company van. "But please, continue."
Samantha's left eyebrow arched up in disbelief. "Perhaps. However, I dislike other people doing our work for us in such a — blatant manner. The third aspect of the mission was to capture the subjects alive, which was rendered impossible by their termination. Overall, I am concerned about the control that this team's leader is exerting over his members."
The British director paused for a moment, as if picking her next words carefully, something Kate had rarely, if ever, seen her do. "We're supposed to be getting the best of the best from the world's armed forces and intelligence agencies, yet we have a Midnight Team member going off on his own — against orders — to perform unsupported reconnaissance and engagement of the hostile team. Besides the increased risk to the rest of the team, this also eliminates any chance of disengaging from the encounter and attempting to establish surveillance at a later time."
Kate nodded. "I agree with that assessment. However, I think the last thing anyone, particularly them, expected was to find another strike team in the exact same location, going after the exact same people. We try to plan for ambushes, insurgents, just about anything that can go wrong. But considering what they came up against and ho
w they acquitted themselves, I'm not ready to throw the book at them just yet."
"The fact that a team of hostiles was able to get to the target in the first place brings up other security and surveillance issues that I will address in my final report and recommendations. However, the more important question, in light of this new evidence, is whether we deactivate the team at this point and let a regular operative take over this investigation," Samantha said.
Kate steepled her fingers. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who suggested keeping them activated in the first place?"
Another woman might have taken the comment as sarcastic, but Samantha just gave Kate a look that told the director that she knew she was being bullshitted. "Of course you're right, but that was before I saw how the op had gone down. If I'd had this information before, I would have advised pulling them immediately."
"Samantha, you know that I dislike switching teams in midop. One of our intelligence operatives would have to pick up the trail cold, and if they ran into this team, they would be at a distinct disadvantage."
"Yes, but a single operative that knows what he is going up against is more likely to be able to stay on the trail of this last subject without creating more complications. Besides…" Samantha hesitated.
"Go on."
"Let's face it, the Midnight Teams serve a useful yet limited function for the organization. Sending them after this lone woman is rather like using a flamethrower to light a candle, in my opinion."
Exactly what Jake was thinking in the limo, I'll bet, Kate thought. "Concerned about overkill, are you?"
"More like overspill. On this team's assignment, they shot up a house, chased a car through the streets of London — and I can't remember the last time that happened — which ended with the target vehicle blowing up in Kennington Park."
"All hazards, unlikely as they may seem, of the business," Kate replied.
"Nevertheless, for an agency that relies on staying behind the scenes to be effective, even when bringing in the bigger guns, as you say across the pond, our team certainly wasn't able to deliver, not on completing the entire mission, nor maintaining a low profile. I simply don't think this team is the best choice to send after this person."
"On the contrary, I believe that after this, they will be even more inclined to complete the next phase swiftly and well, to expunge the mistakes that were made previously. If a person knows that the confidence previously placed in them has decreased, they are more apt to try that much harder to regain that trust," Kate said.
"Which may lead them to take higher risks than normal. In an already high-risk situation, the results could be disastrous," Samantha said.
She's tenacious — I'll give her that, Kate thought. "If we pull them now, the psychological damage could be severe enough to hamper their performance for weeks, even months. Although I do appreciate your concerns, I still think that they are the right team for continuing this mission."
Samantha folded her arms. "It seems that we are bound to disagree on this matter. Of course, I will defer to you regarding this decision. However, I will have to note our discussion in my report."
"I wouldn't expect anything else, Samantha." Kate's e-mail monitor chirped. "Hold on a moment, will you?"
She opened the message. "Well, it looks like the team is already on the job." She put the attached pictures from the e-mail up on the large screen.
"Broadcast to all operatives on task. This is the subject we are looking for. Last seen in the vicinity of Wyvil Road, London, and is most likely attempting to leave the country. First Team, give me an identity report on her immediately. All other operatives, track her current location ASAP."
Kate switched off her channel and turned back to the other director. "I think this team may surprise you."
"Perhaps. I just pray the surprise isn't more of what they did last night. Let's hope we can pick up her trail before that other team does. I'll keep you informed of any progress on my end."
"Thank you, as will I," Kate said.
Samantha's avatar winked out, leaving Kate to pause for a moment and watch the renewed activity around her, now reenergized with the new evidence they had to work with. For all her defense of the Midnight Team, Kate knew she was taking a chance sticking with them. Just don't let me down, boys and girls — in this game, you're lucky to get a second chance, and there are no third chances.
9
The insistent clamor of her computer's alarm clock jolted Marlene's eyes open, and she yawned and stretched under the thin blanket in her small but acceptable hotel room, luxuriating in the threadbare cotton sheets for a moment before reality crashed down upon her, sweeping away her grogginess in a rush of stark memories. Ray falling down the staircase, blood blooming on the front of his shirt…the black-clad assassin standing over him, firing twice more…the terrifying journey down the clothes chute…the flight through the disgusting sewer darkness, her shoulder blades itching, expecting to feel a bullet punch through them at any moment…staring at the white-sheeted forms being carried out on the emergency carts…
It was anything but a dream. After seeing the deadly proof of the slaughter with her own eyes, Marlene had spent the rest of the night skulking through the London streets. While she had done her best to remain inconspicuous, it was almost impossible when every slammed door made her flinch, every raised voice jerked her head around to make sure the speaker wasn't coming after her. When she was absolutely sure that no one was following her, she had found a tiny hotel a few blocks away from her ultimate destination, her way out of London, and crashed after picking up a few more necessities in a twenty-four-hour supermarket.
Ray is dead…he's really dead, she thought. There wasn't any coming back this time, not like the blown hack in Philadelphia, when their hotel room had been raided and she squeezed through the tiny bathroom window and ran, dead certain the FBI had nabbed him, only to awaken and see him sitting in that ridiculous hardbacked chair at their safe hotel fifty miles away, covered in mud from the cattle truck he'd hitched a ride on. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard. She'd gotten up and tackled him to the floor in a bear hug.
I'll never wake up to see his face smiling down at me again. Drawing her legs up to her chest, Marlene wrapped her arms around them and sat very still, head bowed, tears streaming down her face.
After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes and made her way to the bathroom, sniffling with each step. She had paid extra for the privilege of a bathroom so small she was barely able to fit inside it along with a rust-streaked sink, toilet and minuscule shower, all crammed practically on top of one another. But she had things to do before she could go out in public again, and grimly, she set to them.
Forty-five minutes later, showered and dressed, her dark tresses and eyebrows had been transformed to platinum blond, and she had cut her hair even shorter, in case she had to hide it under a wig or scarf. Her clothes she couldn't do as much with, as she had to save her cash for the rest of her trip.
She paced the length of the tiny room. Two strides brought her right up to the musty, fading wallpaper, the pattern of linked roses long since faded to pale shadows of their former color. Marlene's gaze strayed to her laptop in the corner. She knew she needed to clear a path, to get out of the country and meet up with friends, but even with her skills, she knew who might be watching in cyberspace and how they might track her down. Still, it was the best way to go. She'd just have to be careful; that was all. As careful as Ray? her inner voice chided. Shaking her head, she grabbed the case and got moving, heading down the steps and out the back way to Midland Road, right next to the train station.
A couple of blocks away, on the main thoroughfare of Euston Road, she spotted a small cafe with the wireless symbol she was looking for. Slipping inside, she ordered a large black coffee and a sweet roll that she choked down, hardly tasting it but knowing she should eat. Sitting in a back corner, she unzipped her laptop case and got out her mobile home, office and just
about everything in between, a customized laptop that could run rings around anything off the shelf, and even give some other hackers' platforms a run for their money.
Between gulps of steaming, weak coffee, she logged on and navigated to a very secure, very private chat room for folks who dabbled in her kind of work, some still for kicks, some for very serious five-and six-figure business. She pulled down a guest avatar, a plain-John-looking man to hide behind, and strolled around the main room, an endless, bare-bones hall with scattered groups conversing or people winking in and out in a flash.
Marlene kept panning back and forth, watching the conversation bubbles above people's heads. He's got to be here, he's always here. Two things about Aragorn — the man never leaves, and he never shuts up, she told herself.
She finally found the person she was looking for, surrounded by neophyte hackers, all enthralled by a story he was telling that she had heard at least three times. Out of respect, she waited until he had finished — she needed his help, and antagonizing him by interrupting wouldn't help anything.
"…so I wait until the right moment, then send the program. Every telephone in the Pentagon rang at once, and when they picked up, they heard that old McDonald's jingle. They were talking about it for months afterward, and investigating the phone company, and any other phreakers they could get their hands on. Me, I was long gone by then. Course, this was all waaaay back in the day, when geeks like me broke into phone companies with my trusty Commodore 64 and a 1200-baud modem. Times change, boys and girls, times do change."
The sycophants muttered excitedly among themselves. Marlene took the opportunity to send a private message to the tall blond man dressed in a fantasy ranger's outfit, complete with two swords and a long leather coat, holding court at the center of the group.
