The president tried to act casual, almost disinterested, but Cargill was certain that Janney was studying his body language like an election day exit poll. “Are you concerned that some other global power has found a way to make this explosive in quantity?” asked Cargill.
The president stared into Cargill’s eyes for several long seconds. “This is one worry, yes,” he replied finally.
“Well, rest easy, Mr. President,” said Cargill with a smile. “It’s a hoax. Whoever told your people they found its signature was lying. It has no signature, before or after it explodes. It’s a chemical structure thing that’s over my head, but I’m sure this is true. So true, that it isn’t even theoretically possible to identify it as the culprit after an explosion. Assuming you could produce enough of it to matter in the first place.”
Janney’s eyes narrowed. “You’re absolutely certain about this?”
“Absolutely. Pick a top chemist of your choice and ask him or her. I guarantee what I’ve told you will be confirmed.”
The president nodded slowly, and his mind was clearly racing. “Even if it leaves no signature,” said Janney, “in your mind, would an octa-nitro-cubane explosion resemble the one that occurred in Lake Las Vegas?”
“It might,” said Cargill. “The explosion was so fierce, it was the first explosive I suspected after it happened. But, like I told you, we found lots of dark energy residue there, a clear indication that Knight unleashed it accidentally.”
“Had you seen or spoken to him in the months prior to his death?”
Cargill shrugged, once again keenly aware that the president was a hawk with its eyes on a rodent. Somehow, Janney had come to suspect that he was lying about Lake Las Vegas. “I hadn’t, no,” he replied. “But several new members of my team did. Just a few weeks ago, in fact.”
“Which members?”
“Jenna Morrison, Aaron Blake, Nathan Wexler, and Dan Walsh.”
“Would you mind if I spoke to them about this interaction? I’d like to know what Knight was like at the time.”
“Can I ask why, Mr. President?”
“Just to satisfy a personal curiosity about his last days.”
Cargill sighed. “I’d prefer that you didn’t, sir,” he said.
It wouldn’t be a disaster if Janney did speak with them, but Cargill would have to school them in how to answer, so they wouldn’t reveal information he had withheld from the president, or contradict one of the lies he had told him. “I’d prefer that they be allowed to move on, sir,” said Cargill, “forgetting that Knight ever existed. But you’re the president, sir, so you certainly don’t need my permission. If you want to speak with them, I’ll make this happen.”
The president stared deeply into Cargill’s virtual eyes once again. “No, I think I’m good for now. But I’ll likely be calling you again very soon. I’m contemplating certain changes.”
“Changes, Mr. President?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know.”
41
The meeting began a few minutes before ten, with Hank Vargas once again inside a secret home the president maintained to keep his business off the record. The colonel sat facing Alex Janney, as before, with only a gargantuan tree-desk between them.
“I did some thinking about what we discussed,” said Janney. “And some research.” He raised his eyebrows. “Turns out there is no way known to science to tell for sure if octa-nitro-cubane was used to cause an explosion.”
“Who told you that, Mr. President?” asked Vargas, fighting to keep a calm expression.
“Your own people,” replied Janney. “The ones who are working on it. So you were lying to me about that, weren’t you?”
Vargas swallowed hard. Janney was nobody’s fool, despite what his political enemies would like the public to believe. “Yes, but only about being able to detect its signature. This was the explosive used, and it was Lee who used it. The head scientist in my octa-nitro-cubane group, Bob Botchie, gave a minute amount of this to Lee, who amplified it. I overheard a conversation that makes me certain. I just couldn’t find any evidence I could bring to you.”
“So you made up the explosive signature bit in case I wasn’t in the mood to take your word for it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President. I know what I know. Again, the only lie was about how I knew. Everything I said about Lee is true.”
“But it shows you’re willing to lie to me. It calls your veracity into question.”
Vargas lowered his eyes. “Yes. And if this mistake means that you ignore my warnings and let Lee proceed unchecked, then it will end up being one of the most costly mistakes in history. I’m begging you, Mr. President. Even if you no longer trust me to take back the reins of Q5, find someone you do trust to check out what I’ve told you.”
The president paused, and Vargas could tell this plea had the desired effect. By showing such a readiness to step aside, it made his accusations more believable, since this wasn’t about him gaining more power.
“There are also four people in Q5 who had recent interactions with Knight,” said Janney. “Well after the time you told me you killed him.”
“I have no explanation for that, sir,” said Vargas. “I know I killed him. They are either lying, or they were fooled by an impostor.”
“Is it possible he sent himself back in time—made a copy?”
“Possible, but given Knight’s personality, it’s more likely that these four you’re speaking about were fooled.”
“I also did additional checking up on you,” said Janney, changing gears abruptly yet again. “The word I’m getting is that you’re a hard-ass who is hated by many of your people. But Kate Johnson vouched for you. She says you’re extremely competent, and that your track record in your position has been good. She understands why others—I didn’t specifically name Lee Cargill—think you’re too hawkish, but she has found you stable and reasonable. She’s impressed with how quickly you follow orders, and that you haven’t taken advantage of the power your position affords.”
He paused. “Do you have anything to add to this analysis, Colonel?”
“Only that you’ve trusted me with America’s most advanced weapons programs for years. You know full well that I’ve never abused this trust. That I’ve never advocated to use one of the powerful weapons under my control in anger. I’ve never disobeyed an order, as Secretary Johnson has told you.”
The president remained silent for almost three full minutes, not caring that the man in his office was forced to wait while he made complex mental calculations.
“You’ve lied to me, Hank. Maybe it was for the right reasons. Maybe not. But now I don’t trust you enough to let you take over Q5. First, you may be lying about Cargill, in which case he should remain in power. Even if you aren’t, you need to re-earn my trust before I’d be willing to let you have sole control of a tech that, in the wrong hands, can become a more potent weapon than all of your other programs combined.”
Vargas considered jumping in to make his case further, but resisted, sensing somehow that Janney wasn’t finished, and remaining silent was the better bet.
“But I have a feeling Cargill has been lying to me also. And if you’re right, he can’t be trusted to stay the head of Q5. So how to get to the bottom of this? My options are limited. The pool of people who know that time travel exists is very small, and I need to keep it that way. With a secret this big, every person you tell increases the risk that it will leak out into the public exponentially. So I can’t unleash an investigative team to look into your accusations. Cargill would get wind of it. And I can’t send some random player inside Q5. This would raise suspicions, also.”
Janney sighed. “The only real option I have is to send you in. You already know about time travel and were once his boss. He won’t like it, but I can make a case for it that won’t set off his internal alarms. So I’m going to have you reintroduced to Q5. But not as Lee’s boss, as his equal. Co-leaders of the group, if you will. He doesn’t trust you.
You don’t trust him. You’ll serve as checks on each other’s power. I’m sure he’ll be trying to prove that you’re an out-of-control war monger who can’t be trusted. You’ll be trying to prove the same about him. You’ll have one month to bring me evidence to back up your claims about him. Evidence that he’s taken thousands of lives for no apparent reason, didn’t get permission from me, and then lied about it afterwards.”
He paused. “Bring me evidence and I’ll make a decision as to whether we need your skills as an executioner. If you’re right, and you continue to show yourself competent and trustworthy, I’ll consider putting you in charge. Consider. I may also pull you and put a Tibetan monk in the position. We’ll have to see.”
The colonel nodded. “Understood, sir.”
Vargas had shown he possessed intimate knowledge of time travel, Lee Cargill, and Q5. He had made accusations that had the ring of truth, since many were true. He had thought that this combination would shock the president enough to make him easily manipulated. But Janney had proven more astute than Knight had guessed, and his instincts had proven quite sharp.
Still, while Knight had hoped this strategy would put Vargas back in charge of Q5 entirely, the colonel was certain Knight would settle for having a puppet inside who was the co-equal of Cargill. More than settle. He would be ecstatic. Vargas was in. Given how dodgy this attempt had proven to be, Knight would count his blessings.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” said Vargas. “Lee has become unstable and represents an unparalleled danger to the globe. I’m going to prove that to you, sir. You won’t regret this.”
“We’ll see,” said Janney grimly. “Just know that if it turns out that what you’ve said about Cargill isn’t true, you will regret it. I can promise you that.”
PART 5
“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.”
—Rod Serling, excerpted from The Twilight Zone, opening narration, season one
“You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind.”
—Rod Serling, opening narration, season two (and perhaps the better known version)
42
Major Long He’s pulse was racing. He hadn’t been this charged up in many years. Even so, he managed to maintain an outer expression of absolute calm as he waited for twenty soldiers to spread out through the dark woods in a giant circle, a human net. This net would ensure that the man at its center couldn’t possibly escape, even if he was able to overcome Long and the four trained commandos who would venture to the center of the net, spider-like, to neutralize the prey they would find there.
Prey that was not immobilized by sticky spider silk, but rather asleep under a massive truck covered in branches—just as helpless as a trapped insect, but without the struggling.
It was surreal. Twenty-five soldiers in total, each with night-vision gear attached to their faces. All there to contain one man, who had somehow found a way to squirrel an eighteen-wheeler into the woods, a hundred yards away from the nearest, unpaved road, like he was David Copperfield.
Remarkable. Copperfield had made the Statue of Liberty disappear, but this was obviously sleight of hand. But whoever this man was, he had navigated a semi into a woods while only plowing down a half-dozen or so small trees in the process. Now this was truly magical.
But his magic had run out.
One of Long’s underlings had spotted this mystery man off in the distance just ninety minutes earlier, shortly after night had fallen. The man had been standing, a state-of-the-art motorcycle between his legs and an equally state-of-the-art pair of night-vision binoculars glued to his eyes, scouting one of the roadblocks Colonel Li had ordered.
This didn’t mean he was the man they were looking for. His features couldn’t be deciphered in the night, and it was possible he was a local, concerned about the military’s sudden interest in his neighborhood. Or more likely, part of China’s criminal element, whose smuggling and other activities were being hampered by roadblocks that had stubbornly persisted now for several days and nights, slowing traffic to a crawl as soldiers waved each vehicle through.
Still, the sighting of this man was the most promising development so far, and Long spared no time or resources following up.
And now it had been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt: This was the man they’d been after. The presence of the truck in the woods had sealed it, which, even from a distance and in the dark, was visibly scarred by bullet wounds. They were finally on the verge of learning who this Caucasian was, and what this was all about.
When the twenty soldiers silently finished creating their human circle, each stationing themselves approximately twenty meters from the truck, Long signaled to the four commandos beside him to begin closing in.
The major moved forward with them, creeping quietly toward the supine man beneath the truck, under cover of darkness. Each of the five moved more slowly, more deliberately, than a sloth, picking their steps one at a time, carefully studying the neon green night-vision depiction of the forest floor to ensure they wouldn’t step on branches, twigs, or other debris that would give their presence away.
Each commando was armed with a QBZ-95X assault rifle. The 95X was a recent improvement on the Chinese designed QBZ-95. Light and compact due to its polymer construction, it nevertheless possessed an innovative recoil buffer system that made it the most controllable sub-machine gun anywhere in the world.
For this mission, however, these rifles were slung over shoulders, and handguns were drawn instead. Non-lethal force was the order of the day.
Long ignored the many bats now visible in his night-vision field, winging jerkily through the air overhead as they hunted insect prey. They weren’t the only hunters out this night.
The forest suddenly exploded in sound and fury.
A dozen deafening concussive blasts shook trees and men alike. Blinding light exploded into the night like a supernova.
Long was nearly thrown from his feet and one of the commandos beside him lost his footing and slammed into a tree trunk. Many hundreds of bats for kilometers around lost their ability to echo-locate, and several crashed into trees of their own.
Despite his disorientation, Long knew immediately that these were nothing more than flash bang grenades, designed to deafen and blind, especially effective against night-vision equipment. The man they were after wasn’t as sound asleep as he had appeared to be, somehow managing to blow a string of stun grenades in a circle around him.
But his strategy wouldn’t work. Not this time. Long’s preparations had been thorough, despite having been made on the fly. He had scanned the area for explosive signatures before moving in, and had only found those indicative of stun grenades. So the major had equipped his team with night vision that automatically blocked sudden, massive increases in light, and comms that did the same when it came to sound.
The moment the stun grenades exploded the man they were after jumped to his feet, expecting Long and his men to be blind, deaf, and disoriented: fish in a barrel. He raised a gun and prepared to shoot his way through a gauntlet of soldiers he thought were now helpless.
“Freeze!” shouted Long in English. The major fired a shot that grazed the man’s shoulder, making it clear that his vision was still perfect.
“You’re surrounded!” screamed Long. “Twenty-five soldiers with assault rifles who can all still see you. Hand’s up!” he demanded. “You have no chance!”
The man still in Long’s sights glanced at his shoulder, where a thin stream of blood was leaking from the superficial wound, and came to a quick decision. He threw his hands high over his head. “Don’t shoot!” he shouted back. “I surrender.”
43
The major instructed the soldiers to remove their night-vi
sion equipment while one of his men set up a generator connected to six huge banks of portable floodlights to illuminate the truck and a broad swath of woods. Nocturnal animals that had fled the area after the flash-bangs had been triggered were hit with a second burst of daylight, this one proving stubbornly persistent.
With this complete, Long had two of his men disarm the prisoner and affix zip ties to his wrists and ankles.
Long wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he wasn’t impressed by the fugitive’s physical appearance. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
The man glared at him and gritted his teeth. “You first,” he growled.
“Okay,” said Long. “Why not? I’m Major Long He.” He gestured toward the prisoner, indicating that it was now his turn.
The short Caucasian actually smiled. “My name isn’t really important,” he replied. “But why don’t you call me Blake. If this doesn’t work, I’ll answer to whatever name you choose.”
Long considered. This sounded like a first name, and wasn’t likely to be his real one, anyway. Still, while having a real name would help if he could find it in their databases, it wasn’t worth fighting for. Not when there was so much other information that was.
“Understand this,” said Long icily, “from now on, I decide what’s important and what isn’t.” He paused. “But for now, Blake, I’ll play along. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together while you tell me everything you know.”
Long nodded toward the truck. “But first, it’s time to get a look inside.”
He issued orders to two men, who peeled the trailer’s door open and set another powerful portable light inside. Long’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the refrigerator strapped at the very back of the long compartment, near the cab.
Time Frame (Split Second Book 2) Page 21
