The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  “We’ve survived worse,” Buck said.

  “We’ll double the overtime. Thank God for the C101 money. It’ll help defray costs here and over at Gibs Town.”

  “There’s something else. The rumors are flying.”

  “What rumors?”

  “That you’re building some kind of ‘super plane.’’’

  “It was just a matter of time.” Mike had been trying to keep the P2 under wraps for the last two years. Only R&D knew the real nature of the project. And now, aside from them and the Gibs Town crew, no one knew about the seaside hangar and the nature of the work being done there. But everyone knew something was afoot. It was difficult not to notice when key co-workers failed to show up for work.

  “Can we keep the lid on?”

  “Not for long. The plant’s buzzing.” Buck had flown with Mike in the helicopter from Gibs Town. They had been in Everman less than twenty-four hours.

  “The trouble keeps mounting, doesn’t it? I just hope PA survives. You’re the only one I’d ever admit this to, Buck, but I’m a bit unnerved by the prospect of losing my company.”

  “You’re not your father, Mike. You’re strong and not afraid to take risks. You have guts. You know I liked your dad but . . . I love you like my own. Stay focused. We still have a chance to pull it off. By the time anyone knows what’s going on at Gibs Town, it’ll be too late.”

  • • •

  Joshua handed a bulky, laminated menu to Cassy. “I already know what I want.”

  After a brief glance, Cassy tossed the menu onto the oilcloth-covered table. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Then be prepared to eat the Hoppies Special, a half-pound Black Angus burger topped with lettuce, tomato, onions, mushrooms and avocados.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Joshua gave the order to a young pimple-faced waiter then turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him. They had come straight from work and in separate cars. Joshua guessed the separate cars, which was Cassy’s idea, was for the purpose of a quick get-away if the conversation proved not to her liking.

  Now, he sat across from her thinking how nice she looked with her blonde hair framing her face that way. And there was something about the softness of her violet eyes that drew him. It’s strange what can turn a man’s head. Whoever thought that for him it would be a pair of violet eyes?

  “So . . . what’s life really like in a campaign? All I’ve seen of it is a bustling office.”

  “It’s hectic. Nerve-racking. Stressful. Emotionally draining.”

  “Wow, all that? I never knew a database manager had it so bad. But it looks like Senator Merrill’s a shoe-in. I don’t see how Garby can pull it out, now. Not with his poll numbers. Your uncle is still ahead by double digits. You must be proud of him, proud to be part of it.”

  “My uncle is working his tail off. He has for over a year, now. Campaigning isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  “What’s his schedule like tomorrow?”

  “A town hall meeting in the morning, a rally in the afternoon, a fundraiser at night. But his handlers are working just as hard.”

  “His handlers?”

  “Yeah, the campaign manager works like a plow horse and carries the biggest load, but there’s also the speech writers, the scheduler, finance director, communications director, policy advisers, volunteer coordinator . . . .”

  “Whoa. I get the picture. How about we bag the shop talk and move on to a more interesting topic? You.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe you’re someone I’d like to get to know better.”

  “Then what? Go back to Israel? No thanks, I tried that once. I don’t do long-distance relationships.”

  Joshua smiled. “I wasn’t thinking that aggressively. I was thinking more here-and-now. Really, Cassy, I’m just trying to break the ice. This past month you’ve been constantly looking over my shoulder. I know you said it was because you wanted to learn, but it felt more like you were an adversary, questioning all my decisions.

  “Then today you talked about someone wanting to kill your uncle, and that concerns me. I’m a security specialist. I know people who might be able to help. But I need to determine who I’m dealing with. Am I dealing with Cassy, the flapdoodle with purple-green-orange-blonde hair, or Cassy the genius who blocked sKyWIper?”

  “My hair bothers you?”

  “No. I’m speaking metaphorically here. But as long as we’re on the subject, you do look better with all one color. You’re attractive when you fix yourself up. I already told you how good you looked at the cocktail party last week.”

  “If this is a pass, save it. I’m not . . . .”

  “No pass. I have someone . . . had someone . . . never mind. Look Cassy, just tell me if this is for real. Tell me that it’s not your imagination. That your uncle really is in danger. I can see that you’re scared. But I need to know how credible the threat is.”

  Cassy opened her mouth then closed it when the waiter brought their burgers and placed them on the table. When he disappeared, Cassy pushed her plate away. “Who are these people you say can help? Are they part of the government?”

  “They don’t have to be. I know those in and those out. Global Icon has powerful friends everywhere.”

  “If I tell you, it can’t go any further unless I say. Swear it?”

  “You have my word.”

  Cassy picked up her fork and speared a French fry. “My uncle has proof that Tafco Oil is building internment camps right here in the United States.”

  Joshua frowned. “For what purpose?”

  “He doesn’t know. But he thinks it has something to do with . . . .” Cassy shook her head. “This is crazy. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “You’ve gone this far, don’t stop now. You need a friend, someone who can help. And I promise I’ll try my best to be that friend, if you level with me.”

  Cassy let the fork drop to her plate. “I don’t know if I’m doing you any favors by involving you in this. It could put you in danger, too. But you asked for it. Uncle Phillip thinks it has something to do with President Baker.”

  • • •

  Mike watched Trisha’s face knot as he talked about the autoclave incident. She had not gone with him to Everman, and until now, no one at Gibs Town knew of the explosion.

  “Praise God that all those injured are going to be alright.” She lowered her voice as though not wanting to be overheard. “You think it was a malfunction?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “What does Meyers say?”

  “What would you expect any Homeland Security agent to say? He parses his words like a politician. But his boys will go over the autoclave with a magnifying glass and then he’ll give us his official ruling.”

  Trisha walked over to the dented coffee pot and poured out two cups. She handed one to Mike then sat down in the folding chair beside him. “It doesn’t make sense. Why blow up an autoclave? Why not the entire plant?”

  “Terrorists aren’t logical. Who knows why they do what they do? You’re not dealing with the rational mind.”

  “Then, Patterson Aviation may be the latest target of ISA.”

  “Possibly.” Mike watched her face drop.

  “You’re not going to get all wobbly legged on me, are you? I’ve never known you to back away from a fight.”

  “I’m not afraid. Only . . . .”

  “Only what?”

  “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.” Trisha sipped her coffee.

  “Try me,” he said, hoping to draw her closer, ever closer, and yet never quite managing it. She was always warm, friendly. And always out of reach. “Try me,” he repeated.

  “The whole world is like an open wound, Mike, and all the time there is Jesus. Loving us and wanting to heal our lives, wanting u
s to love Him, but so many won’t.”

  Mike rose to his feet. “But you love Him.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d be better off looking for a man to love. He bent over her, nearly touching her head with his lips. “I missed you.” The words worked through her hair like a ribbon. “I’m falling in love with you, Trisha. I’m sorry, but I am.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “Mike, you’re married. That’s the beginning, the middle and the end of story. And I can’t add anything to it.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Does it matter? I know you’re sincere, that you believe what you say. But your kind of love is different from mine. I think you’re more in love with the idea of me. In love with the challenge. Not really me at all.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” he said straightening. “I only wish we had met ten years ago.”

  • • •

  Audra walked down the hall of Patterson Aviation’s R&D Department clutching her purse. Her stomach churned. She had eaten little breakfast. Ever since the autoclave explosion her nerves were as tight as bow strings. Peter Meyers and his group had swarmed through the plant like a regiment of locusts, inspecting every inch and asking question after question.

  The entire company had been in an uproar for days. Everyone knew Meyers was Homeland Security. And he meant trouble. Words bounced from one department to another like ping pong balls.

  Sabotage.

  Jihad.

  ISA.

  Suddenly, everyone began seeing bogeymen. Bushes blown by the wind covered hidden assassins. A tailgating car became a pursuing vehicle of terrorists. The latest gory newspaper stories were traded like baseball cards. Fear can be as contagious as the flu, and PA experienced an epidemic.

  Audra had also seen her share of bogeymen. She had thought, but wasn’t sure, that someone was outside her front door. She had thought, but wasn’t sure, she had heard breathing and then the knob turning.

  If only she could find a nice man who shared her values, who was interested in living an unconventional life, one she could respect and who respected her. She needed to reevaluate her dating habits, but in the meantime she felt sorry she had thrown Bubba out. He was a brute, but he was a big, strong brute. And a big, strong man, be he brute or no, was a comfort in times like these.

  But he was no longer there, so she had to buy her comfort elsewhere. It came in the form of a licensed .25 caliber handgun; a small silver and black pistol, perfect for a woman’s purse. She took it everywhere.

  Audra moved stiff legged down the hall, not releasing the grip on her bag until she stepped into the room that was outfitted for her titanium X experiments.

  Madness, it was all madness. The world was going mad.

  She just hoped she wasn’t going to go mad with it.

  • • •

  CHAPTER 8

  Joshua was momentarily distracted by Cassy’s perfume as he looked over her shoulder and watched her pull up her uncle’s newest email. It was the first time he had noticed a woman’s perfume since Rachel.

  “There it is,” Cassy said, scrolling down and stopping at an email entitled, “secrets from the dark side.”

  She opened it and began reading. “There are now three internment camps completed. Locations unknown. Best guess, look west of Everman, 500 miles.”

  The email was from someone calling himself “concerned.”

  Cassy rose and offered Joshua her chair. “Can you track the source?”

  Joshua settled behind the computer, then began pounding keys. Fifteen minutes later he shook his head. “No good. It’s the same as last time. He’s rolling his IP address. He’s packaged up the email like an onion with layers and layers of destinations that go through known remail servers having no tracking.”

  He couldn’t tell her that the Mossad had been trying to trace the last two messages announcing each of the other camp completions. She only knew he had “friends” in the security field working on it.

  “The campaign is at a good place. I’m not needed right now. And you’re nearly done. What say you we take a few days and drive around?”

  “Better yet, how about we hire some mercenaries I know at Blackwater? Former decorated rangers, I might add. Let them take a look-see—no questions asked.”

  Cassy shook her head. Her hair was longer now, and Joshua couldn’t help thinking that she was getting prettier every day.

  “You’ve been great these past few weeks. You even convinced my uncle to hire Blackwater bodyguards for extra protection. But I know that secretly you’ve questioned my story. How real was it? Was it as bad as I made it out to be? And now I have a chance to prove it to you . . . to myself. I guess I need to be assured that we’ve not been duped by some nut. And if we find that camp maybe I can convince my uncle to come out in the open with his file.”

  “Your uncle is paying me to do a job. How would it look if I walked out on it now? Before it’s finished?”

  “You’re into final testing and that can wait a few days.”

  Joshua frowned. What would headquarters say? He already knew they believed the threats on Senator Merrill’s life to be credible. They had messaged Joshua their concern after restoring Merrill’s deleted files, including emails. They had also told him that Merrill was the real deal. That he was pro-Israel and was certain to back them at the UN and elsewhere.

  Nothing must happen to him.

  The election was only months away and they had sent two of their best undercover men, posing as Blackwater guards, to keep an eye on him.

  But to bring a civilian into the operation? That was crossing the line.

  “Look Cassy, I understand your point. I get it. But I work for Global Icon and they’d take a dim view of me putting one of their clients in danger. Let the professionals handle this.”

  Cassy logged off her computer then picked up her bulbous black purse which, Joshua suspected, could carry all her computer equipment plus her entire wardrobe. And that wardrobe, judging by what she wore everyday, and not counting that one black silk dress she wore at the cocktail party, consisted of a few pairs of jeans and assorted tank tops.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” she said, slipping her laptop into the bag.

  “Just where are you going?”

  “About five-hundred miles west of Everman.”

  Joshua grabbed her arm. “What you’re planning is crazy.”

  When Cassy’s look only became more determined, he heaved a sigh. “Alright. Come on. We’ll stop at my apartment first, then gas up the car.”

  Cassy grinned. “What? You need fresh clothes, pretty boy?”

  “No, my gun.”

  • • •

  “Say that again, Audra!” Trisha shouted into the receiver. She had been praying for this news but now that it was here she was having trouble believing it.

  Trisha knew Audra had been working long hours, spending nights on her office cot. Some of Audra’s colleagues had become concerned and told Trisha they thought the metallurgist was ready for burnout. Others had confided in Trisha that they believed Audra stayed at the plant, locked in her research lab, because she had become paranoid over the rioting in Everman and the recent explosion at PA, and couldn’t bring herself to go home. They also told Trisha about the .25 caliber Audra kept under her pillow at night. And about another gun Audra claimed she kept at home.

  Trisha hoped Audra wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown.

  “I think I’ve found it,” Audra repeated. “I think I’ve found a way to stabilize titanium X.”

  Trisha sent up silent praises to God. “How did you do it?”

  “I’ve been concentrating on the films.”

  Trisha already knew it would be Audra’s initial focus. It was the thin protective fil
m that stood between a metal surface and a potentially destructive environment. “I gathered that,” she said, impatient to hear more.

  “In the past I concentrated on promoting the formation of a noncrystalline surface through laser glazing.”

  Again, no surprise. A noncrystalline film produced a more effective barrier to corrosion than a crystalline one. “Okay, so what’s the end result?” Trisha said, thinking she was starting to sound like her impatient boss.

  “The laser melted the outermost layer of titanium X and when the beam was removed, the rapid cooling produced a glassy metal coating. But even after this the film wasn’t hard enough and couldn’t stand up to the corrosive microworld of fusion. That’s when I thought of ion implantation.”

  Trisha’s excitement grew.

  “I was able to alter the surface of my metal, disorder its atomic structure, and render it glassier. I bombarded the titanium surface with an ion beam in a vacuum chamber, which then drove thousands of atoms into its surface layers. It took me awhile to convert all the variables into a successful formula, but I think I’ve got it now.”

  “Audra, I’m so happy I hardly know what to say!”

  There was a brief silence on the other end. “Don’t get too excited. I’ve had some success, but more testing is needed. Maybe in three months . . . .”

  “We don’t have three months.”

  “Well . . . maybe I could cut it shorter. I don’t know. I’m working eighteen hours a day as it is . . . .”

  “Forget all that. We’re going to test it on the reactor itself by making a titanium X casing. We’re fighting the clock. That means taking short cuts.”

  “Trisha, this is so irregular. I must register an objection. It’s not like you to be unscientific and imprudent. But . . . if that’s what you want to do . . . you’re the boss.”