Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2)

by Brian S. Leon

  After a few more minutes of pregnant silence, Duma finally spoke up again. “Wow, you two really are freaks. So, Sarah… how in the hell did you find us here?”

  “Oh, uh, I got a message from the Metis Foundation to forward this”—she pointed at the box on the table—“to this address and room number. When the request came from them, I thought Diomed… you guys might need my help, so I took some emergency leave from work and flew down with it.”

  “Oh, goodies from Lady High and Mighty. What’s in it?”

  When I didn’t reply, Duma clapped his hands and called my name.

  “I assume it’s information on North Korea,” I said, gathering myself.

  “North Korea?” Sarah replied. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yeah, North Korea.” Opening it, I told myself I had to focus and that Sarah’s presence was exactly the kind of distraction I didn’t need.

  The box held multiple file folders, each stuffed with pages of documents, papers, charts, maps, pictures, and even some hand-drawn sketches. There were also two discs in paper envelopes. I spread photos across the table and started to sort the contents into similar piles, mostly to give the impression I was suddenly busy. Much of it appeared to be reports on possible recent missile tests and suspected weapons programs, but there were also multiple files on state-run transportation, including the railway, and the country’s geography.

  “This appears to be some sort of special train and railway.” Sarah picked up one image and pointed at a few others. “This isn’t Kim Jong-Il’s train, is it?” she asked, her voice raised and agitated.

  “Balloon knot!” Duma said enthusiastically. “I’ve decided every time someone says that name, I’m gonna shout ‘balloon knot.’ Ooh, better yet, I’ll get a few bottles of tequila, and we can take shots instead.”

  I glowered at him. “Would you be serious, Duma.”

  “Balloon knot?” Sarah asked. “Do I want to know?”

  “Means asshole,” I said. “We got work to do.”

  “D, you gotta lighten up, man.” Duma shook his head, slapping his thighs. “Tell you what—I’m gonna go down to the pool for a bit. You two figure things out. Beat each other up, play a game, or, ah, whatever. I’ll be back in an hour, then we’ll get to work.” He hopped up and left without making a sound on the hard floor.

  Agitated, I stood up, and Sarah dropped the photo back onto the table.

  “Look—” Sarah said.

  “Sarah, the last thing I want is to ‘get things out of the way,’ as Duma suggests, but I’m not interested in just hopping into bed. We really do need to talk about us, but now isn’t the right time.”

  “There never is a right time,” she said, meeting my gaze. “I understand something serious is going on with you right now. Hell, I have the terrorist watch list bulletin with a sketch that is the spitting image of you sitting on my desk.” She walked over and took my hand in hers. “But I don’t have a clue what’s going on between us, or even if there is an us. But I’ll tell you that not knowing is driving me crazy. I don’t know if I’m just helping you or if there really is something here.”

  “I—”

  “I’m not finished. I understand the situation better than you think. Now is not the time to figure things out, but when this is done, we need to—I need us to—figure it out, okay?”

  “I promise,” I said through a closed-up throat then squeezed her hand.

  Smiling, she returned the gesture. I suddenly realized the prospect of figuring out what, if any, future we had, buoyed my spirits.

  “Good. I’ll hold you to it this time, but right now we’ve got work to do.”

  No sooner did she finish her statement than the door opened and Duma walked back in.

  “Not what I was hoping for, but what did I expect from you two?” Duma shook his head. “Yeah, I was listening at the door. Get over it. You humans: as short as your lives are, well, most of your lives”—he glanced at me then back at Sarah—“you’d think you wouldn’t dillydally so much. Tch.”

  Chapter 32

  We spent most of the rest of the day going over the documents that Sarah had brought, and even with my tactical background, Sarah’s past experience on the FBI’s counterterrorism Fly Team, and Duma’s knack for stealth and infiltration, the general assessment was not a positive one. To make things worse, Duma’s contacts proved entirely unhelpful. On the upside, I recognized some of the classified documents Sarah had brought because I had seen copies in the Hanner Brid’s collection back in Coronini. She’d obtained the secret documents through government channels with the help of Athena, and that was scary enough. I didn’t even want to think about how the Hanner Brid got them.

  “According to these intelligence reports, the area circled”—I pointed to the smaller-scale map—“is a valley through which the Paektusan Ch’ŏngnyŏn rail line runs. And it’s the only east-west rail connector in the northern state of Yanggang-do. Three of the four marks on that map coincide with rail tunnels along the line, while the remaining spot marks a railway trestle. The entire area lies anywhere from eight to thirty miles out from the nearest reasonably sized town.”

  “According to this geological survey, that entire valley is deep, mountainous, and altogether inhospitable—and very isolated,” Duma replied. “All things considered, this particular valley would make an excellent kill box from a tactical point of view.”

  “You’re assuming that’s what this shows?” Sarah asked. “This is this guy’s planned area to attack Kim Jong-Il’s train? Because, according to these documents, these buildings are military industrial complexes, and that”—she pointed to several areas around the circled area—“is presumed to be an active nuclear testing area. And those are airbases. The area is crawling with military. It doesn’t sound so logical to me.”

  “Well, logical, tactical or not, even if the Hanner Brid knows where Kim will be and when, there’s still an issue with the train,” I said. “Or should I say trains. Because the paranoid SOB has a fleet of six of them—two sets of three heavily armored ninety-car trains. One train travels in front to check rail safety and security, the middle train transports Kim, while the third train carries security, support staff, and communications equipment. It’s insane.”

  Duma laughed. “That fits ’cause the Hanner Brid’s clearly crazy. If you’re right and these maps detail where and when he’s going to attack this balloon knot, then sane or not, we have to figure out how and stop him, right?”

  Sarah stared down at the maps, arms crossed over her chest. “Maybe he intends to blow up the trains?”

  “I doubt it,” I replied, digging at a few papers and passing them across the table toward her. “Kim’s extremely paranoid after a potential bombing back in 2004. Those indicate there is a time gap of twenty minutes between the first and second train and an hour between the second and third train. People are sent ahead with the first train specifically to sweep the tracks for safety. I’m guessing—given the time lag between trains—that he intends to isolate the middle train by blowing one or more of the tunnels and the trestle and stage an assault on it while it’s trapped.”

  “That is crazy,” Sarah said. “Where does that leave us? We can’t stage an assault on an assault.”

  “Of course not. The Hanner Brid is far too good for that. Besides, we don’t have the manpower to pull that off,” I said. “And the last thing we need is a full-scale incursion and battle within the borders of the most closed-off country on the planet. I’m going to get on Kim’s train and stop the Hanner Brid when he comes for him.”

  “Okay, I take it back,” Duma said with a sarcastic laugh. “That plan is insane.”

  “How on earth do you plan on sneaking aboard the top-secret, heavily armored train of one of the most paranoid dictators the world has ever seen?” Sarah dropped her hands to her hips, and the
scowl on her face reminded me of Athena’s warrior countenance.

  “I’m not entirely sure. Yet.” I shuffled through more papers, searching for something. “But there are special train stations that only Kim uses. I can wait for him at one of those and sneak onboard while he’s there.”

  “You mean the nineteen stations that US, South Korean, and Japanese intelligence agencies think exist but have only successfully identified four?” Sarah asked. “And those four are all on the other side of the area we’re talking about.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But if this area is heavily militarized and is also the location for ongoing nuclear testing, then there has to be a station nearby, right? We just need to find it.”

  “So assuming we find it, your plan is to, what? Sneak aboard what is probably the most secure train in the known world?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah, Mr. Stealthy, you just gonna tiptoe over to it and hop on?” Duma smiled broadly, more amused than upset. “At least you’re not planning on pulling a Butch and Sundance.”

  Duma was right. Getting aboard that train surreptitiously was his thing, not mine, but given the mind-control issues, Duma was not my best option. It had to be me onboard that train. “I’m fucked.” I slammed a pencil down on the table, scattering papers, pens, and other objects.

  Sarah jumped a bit but quickly recovered and went back to examining a handful of papers.

  Duma watched me quizzically, his brow heavily knitted. “Wrong.” He leaned forward in his seat. “We’re fucked, unless you can turn invisible.”

  Sarah said nothing while she continued to read. Suddenly, I felt claustrophobic—hemmed in by the ugly table, couch, Duma and Sarah—not to mention seriously irritated at the possibility of losing this bastard. Again. I pounded my fist down on the table so hard, the wood broke and the marble floor beneath it cracked. Duma and Sarah both jerked back.

  “If that prick figured out some way to pull this off, then I can damn well figure a way onto that train to stop him,” I said, practically roaring.

  “D, calm the hell down,” Duma said, sitting forward again and holding up his hands. “Don’t break the room! And besides, it won’t help to get pissed.”

  “We have to rethink it,” Sarah said calmly, picking up papers and maps. “Maybe we should focus on those tunnels and bridges marked on the map.”

  I growled dismissively and stormed off toward the oceanfront window. I could hear papers being shuffled and Duma mumbling about the floor and table.

  Out the window, the running lights of a boat bobbed in the darkness. The boat made its way north against the winds until the little red light suddenly vanished. The disappearance caught my attention, but the light suddenly popped up again a short distance farther north. The boat must have passed behind something I couldn’t see in the blackness, which momentarily obscured it from view. And Duma’s words hit me: Invisible.

  “Invisible,” I said, turning back to Duma and Sarah. “I need to be invisible.”

  I moved with blinding speed back to Sarah, pulled her close, and kissed her—not a romantic kiss, but a joyous one. My action caught us both completely by surprise. Sarah stiffened and stood wide-eyed, glancing between Duma and me.

  “Uh, sorry,” I said, quickly letting her go before turning to Duma, who was prying at the broken marble tiles on the floor. “Duma…”

  “What?” he said, agitatedly picking at the broken pieces.

  “Invisible,” I replied, noticing that Sarah was smiling, which almost made me forget my point. “Oh, come on, Duma, forget the floor. Surely this can’t be the first time one of these rooms has been trashed. Besides, I think I figured it out. Maybe.”

  Duma stood up, hands on his hips, and sighed heavily. “Okay, I know. Invisibility. So? You know where the Ring of Gyges is or something? And if you do, are you sure you want to go down that road? I mean, I would, but then you know I don’t have your moral compass.”

  His comment stopped me for a second. I couldn’t risk the consequences even if I did know where the ring was. Most items that allow the user to cloak themselves, like the Ring of Gyges, exacted a huge price. Even that simple gold ring found by a shepherd named Gyges of Lydia several thousand years ago caused the wearer to become increasingly morally corrupted each time he wore it.

  “What about some other object that has similar powers?” I asked. “There have to be others.”

  “The only other thing I know like the ring is Cassivellaunus’s cloak, and it has the same issues for you humans—your morals and all that. Plus, good luck finding it,” Duma replied.

  “No, it’s destroyed,” I said. “I stole it from him and burned it back about 50 BC. He obtained it under questionable circumstances and used it to his advantage over other kings. I couldn’t allow that to continue.”

  Sarah stared at us, eyes wide and mouth agape, as if we were speaking some foreign language. Magical items probably were a little farfetched to a mundane person, but after all she’d been through, I didn’t think she would be so taken aback.

  And then she spoke up. “What about Athena’s helm?”

  “Well, technically, it’s not hers. It’s Hades’s cap, and it’s not likely he’ll loan it to me like he did Perseus,” I replied, suddenly staring hard at her. “He had pull since he was one of Zeus’s sons after all.” I continued staring.

  “Don’t act so shocked,” she said. “I told you I was a geek.”

  “Geek! That’s it,” I said, clapping and then pointing at both Sarah and Duma at the same time. “The military has been working on cloaking technology for a while. If it exists, Geek will know about it. Once again, thanks, Sarah. You’re a genius.”

  William “Geek” Elmsmore—computer dork and technological wizard—had impressed Athena with his prowess with electronics so much that she’d hired him as a consultant for the Metis Foundation. The former Royal Marine and one-time member of the British Navy’s Special Boat Service, handpicked to help found its Squadron X, had to know if any branch of any military in any country were developing something like that. I grabbed my cell phone, punched in the number for the Metis Foundation, and asked for Will Elmsmore.

  “Elmsmore,” Geek said in a terse tone. I’d likely interrupted at least one of many projects he was probably working on simultaneously.

  “Geek, it’s me, Steve Dore, you know… Diomedes.”

  “Steve! Hang on a sec, mate,” he said, suddenly excited. I could hear electronic clicking through the phone, followed by a low static hum that wouldn’t go away. “There, that should do it,” Geek said finally after a moment of silence. “Sorry, Steve, just want to make sure we’re secure, mate. Good to hear your voice!”

  “Good to talk to you, too. Listen, what can you tell me about cloaking technology? Is anyone close to developing a working device?” I asked, pushing the button to put him on speaker.

  “You mean metamaterial cloaking?” Geek replied in a tone reminiscent of a child describing Christmas morning. “Fascinating field.”

  I sensed a lecture coming. It was like I was standing, stuck, at the bottom of a mountain as an avalanche barreled down at me at a hundred fifty miles per hour. This is gonna hurt.

  Geek took a deep breath, then he began. “The whole idea is to control the way the light passes through some sort of manmade material. Has to be manmade ’cause nothing natural can be manipulated efficiently enough. The device wouldn’t actually cause you to disappear as much as create a blind spot by deflecting the light spectrum through the metamaterial and around you. Think of the metamaterial like a sheet made up of a massive group of crystals lined up in a specific relationship, passing light around you, yeah?”

  I suspected he was waiting for me to respond, but I’d already zoned out, so I mumbled affirmatively.

  “The problem with natural crystals is they can only bend specific waveleng
ths of light in a single direction, and it can’t be controlled well. If we want to use it as a cloaking device, it needs to be able to bend all wavelengths of light in various directions so that it can transmit light no matter where the next crystal is in relation to it. So they’ve been working on so-called metamaterials to do the work of the crystal. The metamaterials have a broader and controllable response range. Plus these manmade materials, unlike natural crystals, allow for a negative refractive index or even a zero RI or any fraction therein. Most importantly, they can deliver any response you want at will.”

  He paused as if I were supposed to be impressed, but at that point, I was numb.

  “Ah, Geek, forgive me, but I really don’t have the time,” I said. “I don’t care how it works, I simply need to know if anyone has it working yet.”

  I could almost hear Geek deflate over the phone. “Well,” he said, sighing heavily, “not really, though reports suggest that DARPA isn’t far out from a working prototype. Maybe another few years or so. Sorry, mate.”

  “Damn, that’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Isn’t there some sort of, you know, object you can use, like, say, Harry Potter or Frodo?” Geek’s voice became barely louder than a whisper. “Or some kind of magic or glamour?”

  “Glamours and spells require the caster to be present, and I’m trying to keep this thing small. As for objects, we’ve already been down that road. There might be one object out there, but it’s too risky to use and would take me too long to track down anyway. Thanks for your help, though, Geek. I’ll try to stay in better touch. Oh, and if some… one named Tolfin contacts you, be nice, please. For my sake.”

  “Anytime, mate. Ah, should I be concerned about this Tolfin?”

  “Nah, you guys will get along like two peas in a pod.” I hung up and tossed the phone on the couch. “Well, damn.”