by Bruce Buff
He hoped that the explosion wasn’t the result of Stephen’s planned big test and that Stephen had been nowhere near the site. Dan placed calls to Stephen’s office and regular cell phone, as well as the modified cell phone he had given him, but all went to voice mail.
Increasingly concerned, he initiated a tracing program on his own specialized cell phone, and it showed Dan exactly where Stephen’s special cell phone was right now. Time stamps indicated when Stephen had passed different points between HBC and the MIT fusion lab. Relieved, Dan realized that Stephen had been at HBC at the time of blast and was now in motion.
After unsuccessfully trying to reach Stephen again, Dan decided to use the tracking program to meet up with him.
Looking outside, Dan saw that police had closed off Storrow Drive to all but official vehicles, and side streets were clogged with traffic. So many people had gone outside to have a look at what was going on that the sidewalks were filling up as well. He couldn’t drive or bike over. Public transportation was also a no-go. The only way to get to Stephen was by foot. Dan laced on his running sneakers and pulled a cap low over his forehead. With his heart already pounding and blood racing, he charged out the door and down the steps.
Immediately, he smelled the burning odor. It had drifted the short distance across the river and pervaded the air. Ahead, he could see the flashing lights of the rescue vehicles on the Harvard Bridge. He doubted he would be allowed to cross that way. He’d have to take the longer route by first heading east, then go over the Longfellow Bridge and head west toward MIT and Stephen. That would double the distance he’d have to cover to almost two and a half miles. Fighting through the crowds, it would take Dan about twenty-five minutes to get to Stephen, as long as Stephen didn’t go too far.
As Dan started half-jogging, he saw crowds of people looking from the riverbank to the direction of the fire. Some cars had radios tuned to news stations. He could hear the announcers saying that firefighters had prevented the blaze from spreading any further but had a long way to go before they could bring it under control.
Dan weaved left and right, trying to avoid the crowds, but it wasn’t easy. In the darkness punctuated by vehicle headlights, the people were invisible until he almost collided with them. More than once, people yelled at him to watch where he was going.
Every few minutes, he stopped to call Stephen’s special cell phone. Each time it went straight to voice mail. Still, presuming Stephen was with his cell phone, he could see that he was moving toward his MIT biology office.
Finally, Dan crossed over the Longfellow Bridge. Soon he’d intersect with Stephen, or at least his phone, find out what had happened, and then they could plot a way forward.
Chapter 34
WASHINGTON, DC
Special Agent Evans worked his way down a hallway he thought he’d never see again. He was in the area of the building that housed some of the most important and sensitive operations of the Department of Homeland Security. After a decade of service to the agency, preceded by twenty-five years in a different agency gathering foreign intelligence, he had put in his resignation and was now counting down the weeks until his retirement. He was the longest tenured, most experienced, most decorated African American agent in the US intelligence community. It was time to move on, and he was supposed to have been taken off all active assignments.
Half an hour earlier, he had been at home, reading a mindless novel, sitting quietly next to his wife, practicing for a relaxed lifestyle. Determined to concentrate on the new life ahead of him, he had ignored the first rings of his agency-issued cell phone. As much as he had wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the subsequent calls. Reluctantly, and with a measure of alarm, he had agreed to come in right away.
The drive in had been quick but long enough for him to hear radio reports. What he heard sounded catastrophic for those on-site when the blast occurred, and disruptive to the Boston area, but didn’t seem like anything that would require pulling him in from near retirement. While they had to check out all possibilities, terrorism seemed unlikely for a blast of this nature, and other agents ought to have been able to handle the investigation.
Entering the executive director’s conference room, Evans saw that the room was full, save one chair. The executive director, his chief of staff, several of Evans’s counterparts, and finally, the head of Homeland Security himself, Secretary Robbins, were all there. The executive director motioned Evans toward the empty chair. Sitting down, Evans glanced at the folder in front of him on the table, labeled “Cambridge Incident.”
“Now that we’re all here,” the ED said, “We can brief everyone and give you your assignments. But first, Secretary Robbins will address you. Mr. Secretary.”
“This is a matter of utmost national security. I’ve just come from a briefing with the President. This is what we know at this time. At 21:03 hours, in an experimental MIT fusion reactor that was supposed to lack the ability to generate a fusion reaction, a significant fusion event did, in fact, take place, resulting in the destruction of the site, a to-be-determined number of lives lost, and an intense blaze. Satellite spectral analysis indicates that despite being under tight federal controls, and against regulations, tritium was present in the reactor. Just preceding the event, an extraordinarily bright beam of light emanated skyward from the lab. According to our experts, this was indicative of a beam of electrons that had burned through the reactor, triggering the release of argon gas and subsequent conversion of high energy into light. Please take a look at the images in front of you for a few moments.”
Big questions formed in Agent Evans’s mind, probably the same ones running through everyone else’s. Was the fusion event, as it was referred to, an accident? How did tritium get there? Was this the result of an unknown government black project? Were scientists at MIT secretly developing technology and lost control of it? The images were astonishing, showing in time series a normal-looking site, the light beam, and then the progressive explosion. Data reports indicated estimates of the amount of fusion energy, the presence of tritium, the rate at which it dispersed, and the force of the blast. These were not the results of a low-profile research program.
After a few minutes, Secretary Robbins continued, “As you would expect, a number of important countries, both allies and not, have collected similar information. The State Department’s phones have been ringing off the hook. Some countries have accused the US of running a secret weapons program. They are most alarmed by the notion of us running a fusion power program of that scale and want to know how we’d put that power to use. Concerns about space-based lasers and other missile defense systems, in gross violation of treaties, have been expressed in the strongest terms. We’ve assured the countries that the US is doing nothing of the sort and that we are as surprised as they are by what has transpired, and that it in fact might be a radical escalation of terrorism. They have not found these statements compelling and are very upset.”
One of the agents in the room spoke up: “Can’t we just stonewall, say it was the result of a structural failure of defective magnets?”
“Tritium just doesn’t wind up in the wrong place. Heretofore unachievable fusion power just doesn’t happen from conducting innocuous tests. And to address the unasked question in the strongest terms possible, the US government was not conducting a black or any other type of program at MIT. We are as mystified by this as you are. That cannot remain the case. The president has authorized whatever measures are necessary to get to the bottom of this. Time is of the essence. So is discretion. Everything else is unimportant. Mr. Director, toward these ends, would you please continue?”
“You have been selected, based on your backgrounds and exemplary work, to lead this effort in your respective areas. You are to dedicate one hundred percent of your time to this, regardless of whatever else you were working on, whatever other obligations you once thought you had, whatever you thought of your status.” The exec
utive director turned toward Agent Evans for the last statement. “Everyone on board with this,” he said, expressed as a statement of fact and not a question that invited an answer.
Everyone nodded their consent. Evans realized that an investigation of this nature would take way more than the few weeks he had left before his retirement. While he resented the typical Agency heavy-handedness, he also felt a sense of duty, as well as curiosity to find out what had taken place.
“Good. Now, let’s get going, we’re already late. Each of you has a packet with a room number. Please head there for additional briefings and your specific instructions. Any questions?”
Based on the news reports he’d heard, Evans asked, “Why has this been described as a possible terrorist act? They wouldn’t have capabilities to generate small-scale fusion reactions.”
Before the ED could answer, Secretary Robbins put out his hand. “You are correct. We do not think this was the result of a terrorist act. Nonetheless, we are not going to announce to the general population that a fusion reaction took place within the confines of the Boston metropolitan area, and without the US government’s knowledge. Furthermore, the city’s treating it like a potential terrorist act is beneficial to our efforts to identify and bring in anyone associated with this, while slowing down, and helping to track, any activity of ‘concerned’ foreign governments.”
“Got it,” Evans replied.
“Any more questions?” Robbins asked. “Good. Each of you is to proceed immediately to the room written on your packet. Get to it!”
As people filed out, Evans noted that his packet did not have a room number.
He looked at Robbins, who said, “That’s right. You’re to remain here. You’ll be getting your instructions straight from us, then heading immediately to Boston. You’ll be there in two hours. And if you find yourself short-staffed, you can even draft your old protégé. I wonder what the hell he’s been up to?”
That would be last thing Evans would do, and the ED knew that. He was done placing himself in jeopardy because of Dan Lawson.
Chapter 35
The crowds had thinned as Stephen walked away from the fire. He was in the main academic part of the campus. Departmental buildings, multiple stories high, lined each side of the road.
He glanced back several times and thought he saw two people taking a similar path, walking close to buildings, mostly out of sight. He stepped off to the side and waited for their approach, with no plan or means to defend himself if they confronted him. His eyes twitched as he tried to see into the shadows. No one came. If anyone had been following him, they were no longer visible.
Wiping drops of perspiration off his brow, he resumed his walk, picked up the pace, and quickly covered the last few blocks to his office. He fumbled for his security card, swiped it along the reader, and entered the building, looking back one last time as the door shut.
Outside, the orange and brown flames found cracks between the buildings, trees, and other structures that stood as insufficient barriers to the shafts of eerie light.
Stephen entered his office without turning on the lights. Although that would have banished the sickly reflections from the fire, it would have also announced his presence and left him blind to what was going on outside.
He had pushed things far enough for now. It was time to put everything on hold and regroup from a better position. While the results were terrible, there was no doubt that the information he possessed had led to the generation of tremendous power. That was worth something. Although he had just begun to scratch the surface of what he could do with the biology information, it would soon yield valuable results that could be put to good use. The only thing holding him back was seeing if there was indeed a third set of information.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator under his desk, sat down, and turned on his computer. He tilted his head back, closed his mouth around the opening, and squeezed the bottle, using the water pressure to force open his constricted throat.
Computer ready, he opened up a browser window containing a montage of security camera images from in and around the biology building. He leaned closer, as if that would let him peer into the depths and around the corners. Everything looked as it should.
Then he used Dan’s secure websites to notify the remaining members of his secret team to lie low and break off contact until he reached out to them, probably in several weeks. Except for one, to whom Stephen referred as Galileo, none was as high within the team, nor knew as much, as Welch. They had all worked only on small pieces without knowing what anyone else was doing, even who the others were, or what it all meant in aggregate. As for Galileo, he was Stephen’s right-hand man in the genetics and biology areas. Nervous about recent events, Stephen had already sent him underground to await further instructions.
Next, using a protocol Dan had established with him, Stephen changed the access keys on all of his secure sites, save for one server. It no longer existed, destroyed with the rest of the equipment at the fusion center. He hoped that its backup was current and had all the data needed to reconstruct what had happened. Corrections needed to be made. The explosion was a costly interruption, not a permanent breach, except for those who had died.
Stephen let his mind wander while he caught his breath. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t called Nancy to let her know he was safe—not that she should have expected otherwise. After that, he’d contact Dan and get going on whatever they’d have to do next.
He used his office phone to dial home. Nancy picked up after one ring, saying, “Oh, Stephen, thank God. I kept worrying when I couldn’t reach you. And then I saw on the news what happened at Viktor’s lab. Is he safe? Where are you?”
“Slow down . . . I’m at MIT, and I’m very sorry I didn’t call sooner. I saw the explosion from my HBC office window and just reacted. It was terrible. I’m pretty sure Viktor was working there when it happened. When I couldn’t reach him, I ran over, but I forgot to call you. It took a long time to get there. Looking at the scene, I think he’s gone.”
After a gasp and deep silence that was filled with emotion, Nancy spoke. “I’m so sorry, Stephen. His poor family. You must feel awful, too. I wish you were home now. Everything in Boston is a mess. How will you get here?”
“I think the main roadways within the city are closed off. I’ll walk back to my HBC office, get my car, and get onto the Mass Pike headed away from the city. Unless traffic is much worse than I think, I should be home in about an hour. How’s Ava? I need a big hug from you both.”
“Ava’s fine. I sent her to bed a few minutes ago. We’ve been watching the news together. That’s a big fire. The firefighters have been lucky to keep it from spreading.”
“The TV can’t do it justice. It looks and smells like something out of a medieval depiction of hell.”
“Come home.”
“I’m on my way.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After he hung up, Stephen had one more call to place. It was time to share everything with Dan. He tried to use the cell phone Dan had given him, and he was upset to see that it had broken when it fell out of his pocket when he was crossing the bridge earlier. The screen and keyboard were cracked. The display was black, and the only button that seemed to work was the speed dial for his voice mail. He thought of using his office phone but knew that was a bad idea.
While he tried to figure out how to reach Dan, Stephen clicked back to the montage of security images. Of the twelve video feeds, eleven showed the glow of the fire reflecting on its surroundings. But the view of the front door looked exactly as it would on any other night. Where was the light from the fire?
He realized that a prerecorded feed had been substituted for the live one.
He tried to see what was going on near the front entrance, by sliding along his office walls and stretching to glance
out the window, but he wasn’t at the right angle to see anything without exposing himself. Once again, his hands began to sweat. He had to reach Dan.
He decided on a two-pronged approach. First he wrote an ordinary email on his computer to Dan’s regular account: “Terrible explosion and fire at MIT. May have lost a good friend. Thankful for our friendship. Heading home. Stay safe, my friend!”
Then he pressed the only button on the cell phone Dan had given him that still worked, his own voice mail, and left a message in his own in-box. Hopefully, it was something he’d left for himself, and Dan would never need to hear it. But if not, it would be a secure message that Dan would eventually retrieve, knowing that Stephen could not.
Time to go. He turned off his computer, took deep breaths, silently prayed May I return home safely, then walked toward the back exit. Cautiously, he opened the door, looked around as best he could without exposing himself, and launched himself out of the building, prepared to take off in a sprint.
As he did, a man grabbed Stephen’s arm and a mountain of muscle stepped in front of him.
The man holding his arm said, “Whoa, what’s the hurry? The fire will die out soon. You don’t want the same to happen to you, do you?”
“What do you want?” Stephen said in a voice that sounded far braver then he felt.
“Our employer is a chessmaster. He likes to make sure all of his pieces are following his strategy. You’re to come with us so the king can see what his bishop has been up to,” the man said, chuckling at his witticism.
