Deadly Sight

by Cindy Dees

  He pointed his cyalume stick at a small object she held out in her palm. It was no larger than his thumbnail. “What’s that?”

  “A radio,” she announced triumphantly.

  “What do you suppose it’s for?”

  “This.” She pulled a second object out of her pocket. It was a thin pile of nylon with a buckle. She held it up and it resolved into a harness-like contraption a person might walk a dog in, but smaller. Rabbit-size. Or squirrel-size. And it had a tiny pouch sewn onto it where a radio could ride the wearer’s back.

  “Proctor’s attaching radios to the animals he rescues?” Gray asked.

  “They’re not just radios. They’re jammers.”

  “Come again?” he asked, surprised.

  She flipped the tiny radio over. “This is a signal jammer. It emits a specific frequency in a concentrated burst that would totally jam one frequency or a small range of frequencies.”

  That would explain all those radio bursts randomly knocking out the Shady Grove and Byrd Observatory antennas. And when investigators went to the source of the signal, they always found nothing. Animals were wearing the radios. Proctor was turning the radios on somehow, probably remotely, and then turning them off after a minute or two. The harnessed animals would move on to a new location, and nobody was the wiser as to where the signal had come from. It was actually ingenious.

  “What kind of range do you think those radios might have?” he asked.

  She grinned up at him. “If a short in a heating pad can kick the big antennas offline, these wouldn’t have to be powerful at all to screw up the antenna arrays at the observatory and at Shady Grove.”

  “Okay. Then why does Proctor want to screw up the antenna arrays?”

  The cart chose that moment to lurch to a stop, throwing him forward against Sam. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “No sweatskie. Let’s find out what’s at the end of the line, shall we?”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. They didn’t have all the pieces yet, but he could feel Proctor’s plan falling into place around them. The tunnel ended maybe a dozen yards beyond the track in a third widened area in the tunnel.

  More lightbulbs were clustered in metal cages here, and Sam put on a pair of sunglasses. While she adapted, he took a look around. A rough table to one side of the space held two surprisingly state-of-the-art computers and a tower that would hold a good-size computer server. He glanced up at the ceiling at the far end of the room.

  “Bingo,” he announced.

  “What’ve you got?” Sam moved over beside him to gaze upward. “Ahh.”

  Yup. Ahh. A twelve-inch steel pipe had a gaping hole cut in it, revealing rubber lining and cables. Lots and lots of cables. And some sort of small box was nestled among the mass. Thin wires led from the box directly into the backs of the two computers on the table.

  Sam leaned in, studying the connections closely. “How weird! That box is not actually tapping into any of the cables. It’s just sitting beside them. But Proctor has stripped away the insulation around the fiber-optic cables next to the box-thingie.”

  “Any guess as to what the box-thingie does?” he asked dryly.

  Frowning, she moved over to the table. “Let’s see if we can find out.” She turned on one of the systems and it booted up without needing a password. Proctor must be pretty confident of his security if he didn’t bother protecting these systems. Sam browsed the computer’s contents for a minute or two when a strange screen popped up in front of her.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t this look like a power monitoring program?”

  He frowned. “Yes. It does.”

  And then it hit him. “They’re not breaking into the information flow from the antennas to the computer arrays. They’re only watching when the information is flowing.”

  “Now why would they care about that?” Sam mumbled.

  He frowned. Radios that would jam signals. Computers that would tell when the signals were stopped or not. “Why would someone shut down the antenna arrays intentionally and go to all this trouble to check that they were down?”

  Sam stared at him, her sunglasses giving away nothing. “What are the two things nobody can do in range of the big antennas without getting caught?”

  “Use electricity, for one. What’s the other?”

  “Easy,” she answered. “Send messages. No phone call or wireless signal in North America can get past Shady Grove’s antennas.”

  A chill rushed through him. They were on the right track now. The next obvious question was, “Who does Proctor want to call so privately that he’s gone to all this trouble to knock the antennas offline and verify that they’re offline?”

  “No idea. Let’s see if there’s an answer in here,” Sam offered as she began to type.

  He waited and watched while she typed. Finally, she stopped on what looked like the readout from a seismic sensor. It was a wildly varying scribble that crawled across the screen. “I don’t know if this is important, but it looks like this might have to do with a radio signal. I can’t tell what it’s measuring, though.”

  As a longtime NSA employee, he took one look at the screen and knew precisely what he was looking at. “That’s a record of signal bursts from satellites. They send an initial signal—this blip here—then pause to align themselves with the ground station. Then, after this short delay—the flat line here—they commence the body of the transmission, which is done in a microwave relay. That’s all this electronic activity here. When the satellite’s done talking, it sends this final burst to show it’s done. The ground station sends a termination reply—here—and voila. One complete satellite transmission.”

  “Who’s making the transmissions?” Sam asked.

  “That’s a hell of a good question. Can you find any kind of signature that can tell us what specific satellite this program is tracking?”

  Sam poked around for a minute. “Does GSAT-12 mean anything to you?”

  He swore softly. “Yes. That’s a state-of-the-art communications satellite.”

  “So why is Proctor watching a communications satellite?” Sam asked.

  Gray stared at her and she stared back. He reached out with both hands and gently removed her sunglasses so he could look directly into her eyes. Worry made them dark gold.

  She spoke slowly, clearly thinking as she went. “If I wanted to make phone calls that wouldn’t be monitored by Echelon, I’d have to turn Echelon off, right?”

  He nodded, appalled. His intuition shouted that she was spot-on.

  “So how would I turn it off?” she continued. “I’d cause interference that kicked its antennas offline. Enter the bunnies and their signal jammers. And then I’d devise some way to measure whether or not I’d succeeded in kicking the system offline. When I knew Echelon was shut down, I’d make my phone call. If I got a warning that Echelon had come back up online, I’d cut off my call fast.”

  “But in the meantime, I’d have had a window to speak privately without any government agency overhearing me.” He added heavily, “From anywhere in North America.”

  Sam nodded. “If you were a bad guy, what would you want to talk about without Uncle Sam hearing you?”

  “I can think of a bunch of things,” he replied grimly, “and none of them are legal or good for our country.”

  She nodded. “I could keep that ability to make unmonitored phone calls all to myself, or if I were an enterprising sort of bad guy, I could sell phone calls to all my bad guy friends and make enough money to support a snazzy compound full of hippies to be my cover.”

  His stomach sank, a sure sign that his instinct recognized truth in her words. “I do believe you’ve got it, Sam. We’re sitting on the phone company for Bad Guys Are Us. Can you find any proof of it on that computer?”

  “I’m going to copy the whole hard drive of this system, too, and sort it out later. I expect we’ll find a log of phone calls somewhere on this puppy. I
just don’t know where to look.”

  “Fair enough. The NSA’s going to have a field day with this.”

  She copied the contents of the hard drives of both computers onto a flash disk and did something to one of the computers that made her chortle quietly to herself.

  “Dare I ask what you’re doing?” he murmured.

  “I planted a virus in their system. In case we don’t make it out of here tonight. In a few days, this thing is going to be so tied in knots they won’t know which end is up.”

  “Where did this virus come from?” he asked, surprised.

  “I had a copy of it on that flash drive I just filled up with Proctor’s data. Best hackers in the biz created it.”

  “You’re an evil woman, Sammie Jo Jessup.”

  “And don’t you ever forget it,” she mumbled in distraction as she shut down the computers.

  She had a point. Even he tended to underestimate her. She could definitely take care of herself and wasn’t the kind of helpless female he would worry about being taken advantage of when he wasn’t around to look out for her. Not like Emily—

  No, not like Emily at all.

  Shock registered that he’d managed to think of Sam and Emily in the same breath and not be overwhelmed by guilt. Each in their own way was special and unique, but the two women were so different he would never confuse the two of them.

  “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Sam asked jauntily.

  “Yup. Let’s do it.”

  They piled back into the wheelbarrow-size cart. This time Sam settled into his lap without his having to ask. Optimism oozed from her, and he caught himself soaking it up without thinking.

  He was supposed to be depressed, dammit. Shut down emotionally. But darned if she didn’t wake him up inside just with her presence. She wasn’t saying or doing a blessed thing. Just sitting in his lap. But energy buzzed off her like warmth on a sunny day. She truly was a force of nature.

  They reached the end of the tunnel, turned off the lights and hiked back to the barn quickly, confident that the tunnel was clear of traps. He jogged up the first ladder and stood up in the short hole—

  Zing. Ping.

  He ducked, stunned. Sam bumped into his back and he yanked her down beside him.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Gunshot.”

  Chapter 16

  Sam didn’t waste time on histrionics. She pulled the pieces of the small rifle she’d slipped into her pack just before they left the house and commenced assembling it quickly. Sometimes being able to see in the dark was really, really handy. Like now. When she had to have a weapon fast. It might be small-caliber and short-range, but in her hands, it was accurate and deadly.

  “Where’s the shooter?” she breathed.

  “Didn’t see. Outside the barn, I think. Silenced weapon.”

  “Sound suppressors reduce accuracy,” she commented. “And since we’re blown, I don’t care about quiet.” She moved out from behind Gray and approached the edge of the hole.

  “What are you planning?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I’m gonna pop up, peek at what we’ve got out there, and take a shot if I’ve got one.”

  “Are you insane?” he whispered.

  “Have you got a better idea? It’s not like there’s another way out of the tunnel.”

  He shuddered at the prospect of being trapped underground. A horrible way to die, to be sure.

  Sam continued, “If the tunnel were wider or had some side branches, I’d draw them down there and use my eyesight to pick them off. As it is, we’ll have to use my eyesight to pick them off up top.”

  She wasn’t anywhere near as calm as she sounded, but panicking wouldn’t do any good at the moment, so she held the terror at bay. She had no intention of dying tonight. Not when Gray was finally thawing out toward her.

  Popping up, she looked around fast and ducked down to process the details. “The barn door is wide open. A dozen armed men are arrayed out front. Once I shoot the first one, they’ll have to take cover.”

  “There’s not much out there to take cover behind,” Gray replied. “They’ll have to drive a tractor or some trucks in front of the door and hide behind those.”

  “Let them. I see better than they do, and I’m a better shot.” He looked at her doubtfully, and she added, “Trust me.”

  To his credit, he nodded. His acceptance of her skill warmed a little spot deep within the cold terror she currently was holding at bay.

  “You want to pop up and shoot with me?” she asked. “You won’t have to aim. There’s a whole line of guys in front of the door.”

  “Overconfident bastards,” he mumbled.

  She grinned and breathed, “On three. One. Two. Three.”

  She stood up, steadied her rifle on the edge of the hole and shot fast, double-tapping each target in turn. It was like shooting ducks in a gallery. Except these were big, man-size ducks who weren’t moving. At least not at first. After she and Gray dropped the first several guys, Proctor’s men woke up and dove out of sight. It actually would have been comical if she and Gray weren’t trapped, surrounded and seriously outnumbered.

  While she reloaded, Gray did a strange thing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

  “News flash, Sparky. There are no cell phone towers to receive your signal.”

  “Sat phone,” he replied, grinning wolfishly.

  “God bless the NSA for giving you decent equipment.”

  “Amen,” he muttered as he dialed a number.

  He rattled off a series of letters and numbers which she assumed were some sort of identity verification. And then he said, “Send the nearest marines. And tell them to expect a hell of a firefight.”

  He hung up the phone and reported, “They’re on their way. But it’s about a twenty-minute drive over here, plus time to gear up. Estimated time of arrival—thirty to forty minutes.”

  Her heart sank. “We won’t be alive that long.”

  Sam popped up to take another shot and wasn’t surprised to see the doorway empty. But she did spot someone standing at the far side of the field, staring in their direction with binoculars. She grinned and took aim. Poor bastard didn’t know she could see him a whole lot better than he could see her. She pulled the trigger, and the guy dropped like a rock.

  “Who’d you shoot?” Gray asked.

  “Spotter. On the far side of the field.”

  “Have I mentioned lately that I love your eyesight?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, you haven’t.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled over at him. “Any chance I can borrow your phone? Maybe I can get us a faster rescue.”

  As he held the device out to her, the telltale putt-putting of a diesel tractor became audible. She dialed fast. “Novak, it’s Sam. Any chance that Winston field team has arrived in West Virginia yet?”

  The Winston Ops controller replied, “As a matter of fact, they have.”

  “Tell them to get over to the Proctor compound ASAP. Gray and I are pinned down, surrounded and outgunned. We’ll be okay until we run out of ammunition, and then we’re screwed.”

  “Got it. I’m on it.”

  “And get me an ETA.”

  Novak was off the line for a few seconds, and then said, “Estimated time of arrival, twenty minutes.”

  They both knew that was a lifetime in a firefight.

  “Hang on as long as you can,” the controller added. “I’ll see what I can do to shave a few minutes off that ETA.”

  She disconnected without saying any more as a tractor pulled into view.

  Gray murmured beside her, “We’ve got to conserve our ammo. Each bullet has to count.”

  She nodded grimly. If help didn’t get here soon, it wasn’t going to matter how careful they were. Still, she wasn’t about to give up. “I’ll shoot. You reload.”

  Gray nodded his agreement and handed her his pistol. “I’ll save two bull
ets,” he replied grimly.

  She scowled over at him. “I’m not planning to die tonight. And you’d better not be, either. You fight to live. You hear me?”

  Gray looked startled. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve got fifteen more days left before you have permission to check out, mister. If you’re too big a coward to pull the trigger yourself and decide to go out in a blaze of glory tonight, I’ll wring your neck myself if Proctor doesn’t manage to kill you. I’m just sayin’.”

  “Duly noted,” he commented wryly. “And where’d you learn about my countdowns?”

  “Jeff.”

  “I’m going to kill him if we make it out of here,” Gray commented without any real heat.

  “He loves you,” she replied. “Don’t bust his chops for fighting to save you.”

  A brief stalemate ensued while Proctor’s men drove a heavy truck up beside the tractor. Sam shot a careless ankle she spotted under the belly of the pickup truck, and a shout of pain announced the accuracy of her shot. Gray nodded at her in grim approval.

  The quiet didn’t last for long, however. Men started popping up and shooting in trios, laying down covering fire for each other and preventing Sam from popping up and shooting back. Every time she poked the rifle barrel above the rim of the hole, a fusillade of bullets pinned her down, unable to return fire.

  Gray finally suggested, “You need a diversion. I’ll poke up a gun barrel on my side of the hole, and when they shoot at me, you come up on the other side of the hole and do your thing.”

  Sam nodded. The tactic worked once, and she managed to take out another shooter with what was probably a kill shot to the face. She would feel bad about shooting these guys if they weren’t trying to kill her and Gray, and if she wasn’t sure that most of them were ex-military and knew the score. But as it was, she didn’t have time for guilt. Survival was a slightly higher priority at the moment.

  The next time she and Gray tried the decoy gun thing, a shooter spun around the edge of the barn door and she barely ducked in time to avoid having her head blown off. Even though the near miss scared the heck out of her, she popped back up doggedly to fire through the wall at the spot where the guy had just taken cover. A cry announced that she’d gotten lucky.