The Skywalkers: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 5)

by JC Ryan

  Roy also suspected that he'd find blank foils, if any, at the other end of the box than the one he'd taken the first sample from. Carefully, he put the first one back in the correct end of the box, and selected the last one from the other end. As he held it up to the light, he was relieved to discover that the rainbow swirl effect seen in other samples was missing from this one. He selected the next in line. It, too was devoid of color.

  Roy placed the second foil back into the box, and put the first under the microscope's lens. As he slowly moved the sample back and forth, nothing but a smooth surface, with no blemishes, pits, grooves, bumps or any other marks he could think of, met his eye. Just like the others, except there were no swirls of color. He'd found one that he was certain could be analyzed without losing any data. For the second time in a few days, he said, "Eureka!" He felt like Archimedes, discovering something previously unknown. At least, unknown since the Eighth cycle.

  Considering the age and the fact the data and sometimes the materials they were working with was irreplaceable, careful thought had to go into what he did with it. In this case, Roy wasn't about to send the foil for chemical analysis without permission. Just having the foil off the premises for analysis would be an issue. Before they could even send it out, they'd have to vet the lab, and swear them to secrecy, then vet the scientists and ... It was a nightmare. Which he fully intended to drop into Daniel's lap.

  "Daniel, I've found something, but before I go any further, I think I need your authorization."

  Daniel looked up from his computer monitor, where he'd been preparing a proposal for the Board to fund a second expedition into the Grand Canyon and motioned Roy in.

  "Shut the door, please," he directed.

  Roy did as he was asked, and then got right to the point.

  "Daniel, at least two of those foils have no data on them. We can take what we need off the corners, just to be sure." He stopped for Daniel to answer yes or no.

  "Roy, I think you need to give me a bit more to go on. What are you asking me? And what is it you need?"

  Roy blinked. It wasn't like Daniel to be so slow. "I'm asking you to give permission for me to have the blank foils quantitatively analyzed for chemical makeup. I need to know what the alloy is, before I can examine the structure of the metals. I'm almost positive these color changes we see are data written in the molecular structure. But I can't be sure, much less extract the data, without being certain what metals I'm working with."

  "Oh. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

  Roy suspected that Daniel was having fun at his expense. He didn't know what he'd said that was funny, but Daniel seemed to be trying to suppress a chuckle. He waited again for a yes or no to his request.

  "You can't do it yourself?"

  "Well, I suppose I could. But I'd need more equipment, and even then, I'm inexpert in that field. I'd prefer someone qualified do it. Is there a problem?"

  "No." Daniel sighed. "I need to run it past Salome. I'll let you know."

  That was all Roy needed to hear. Without ceremony, he got up and left, forgetting to leave the door open after his exit.

  ***

  "Salome, could I see you in my office for a quick chat?"

  "Sure, Daniel. I'm free now. Anything you need me to bring with me?" she answered.

  "I don't think so. Just your wits."

  "You got it," she said. She arrived within a few minutes, looking as stressed as Daniel felt. Sadly, he noticed a few indications that she was working too hard. Her blond hair was not in its neat bun, as usual, but instead was in a ponytail, from which a few hairs had escaped and were floating around as she moved her head.

  Salome had closed the door and now sat at his desk, waiting for him to speak. He got the easy question out of the way first.

  "Do we have any trusted labs that could do some analytical chemical analysis for Roy? We need this to happen fast, but he was thinking ahead to know we can't let this out just yet. Who do you have on your discreet list?"

  Salome thought for a minute, then named a lab she was sure could be trusted, from the collection of such useful information in her head. "I'm not sure they do what he needs, though. Let me take my contact there to lunch and find out. I'll have that for you by tomorrow afternoon."

  "Okay, that'll have to do."

  "Okay, next question. How am I going to fund the Enigma project without withdrawing a lot of cash from somewhere? And if I do that, will someone start watching what we're doing?"

  "Hmmm, I don't know and probably. Let me get back to you on that one, okay?"

  ***

  An hour later found her in the office of Dr. Greene, the president and CEO of a chemical analysis lab in Broomfield, a suburb of Denver slightly southeast of Boulder.

  "Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Dr. Greene."

  "No problem, Ms. James. Always happy to help the Foundation. We've benefited from some of the work over there. What can I do for you?"

  "It's a matter of the utmost confidentiality. Would you mind if I did a sweep for bugs?"

  "Bugs? Oh, bugs!" he responded, while looking both mystified and a little offended. "No, be my guest."

  Salome assured herself that there were no listening devices either she or her detection instrument could identify, then sat down and prepared to reveal her errand.

  "The Foundation has come into possession of some artifacts of great potential value. We'd like your company to do quantitative analysis on a sample, and prepare a complete report. Anyone working on it must have been thoroughly background checked, but time is of the essence. Can you assure me that your employees are trustworthy? Unimaginable harm could come from the slightest hint of this getting out."

  Now completely spooked, the man stuttered a bit as he answered. "Of c-course. W-we do some government work, so all our employees have background checks and secret clearances. But I’ll do better than that. I’ll do it myself. Will that do?"

  "Yes, it will have to. My husband, Roy James, will be here tomorrow with the material. Will you be able to get right to it? He'd like to watch the process if you don't mind."

  "I'm afraid it's a bit tedious," he said.

  "He'll be fascinated. Thank you, sir. May I make arrangements to pay for the service in cash?"

  "That's most unusual," he said. "We're not really set up...tell you what. We'll do it without charge, if you can let us in on the secret someday. We've made good profit from some of the Foundation processes. Consider it our thanks."

  Salome figured it was a good bet the secret would either be made public some day or something would happen to make the promise void anyway. "Done, and thank you."

  ***

  Roy was all but certain that the swirls of color on all but a couple of the foils meant there was data written on them. In fact, he spoke to the others, when they discussed it, as if it were an absolute certainty. However, without determining how it was written and then devising a way of reading it, the data was useless. Daniel's approval to test the blank foils and Salome's help in finding a trustworthy company to do it may have been extraordinary to them, but as far as Roy was concerned, it was vital and therefore to be expected.

  The following morning, he presented himself at the doors of the lab with the foils in a sealed, acid-free, non-reactive envelope, similar to those used to store ancient documents without harm. He was ushered into the offices of the CEO. Dr. Greene, very excited to get started and impressed by his famous guest, personally led him to the lab where the tests would be done.

  "Thank you for allowing me to observe, Dr. Greene."

  "I'm honored, Dr. James. Shall we get started?"

  In the following hours, Greene shaved tiny slivers from the edges of the foil, close to the corners as instructed. The number of tests and purpose of each test made even Roy's head swim. After a full day, they weren't even close to solving the mystery of how the data might have been written, assuming his theory was correct. But they knew a bit more about the material.

 
"Preliminary results are that the main elements in the alloy are nickel and iridium," Green summarized. "Those are transition metals, which means..."

  "I know what it means," Roy interrupted. Though metallurgy wasn't his field, he was of necessity familiar with the periodic table of elements, and he'd studied this as an undergraduate. During the day, his memory of the pertinent information had been dredged from the recesses of his mind and brought to the forefront. "Nickel is one that produces a magnetic field, if I'm correct?"

  "Yes," replied Greene, who'd come to understand over a few hours' acquaintance that Roy's interruptions weren't meant to be rude. He simply didn't want to waste any time having someone explain what he already knew. Despite the man's lack of interpersonal skills, it was a pleasure to see his brilliance at work. "The interesting thing to me is these swirls of color you describe. If I could see one for myself, I may have a better idea of what it means, or how it's produced. Both nickel and iridium are white. No color. Something else must account for that."

  Roy had severe misgivings about bringing a foil out of the Foundation premises to show him. If it were somehow lost or damaged, it could mean a gigantic hole in the data the box contained. He gave it some consideration. Salome had seen to it that this man was trustworthy, so taking him into Roy's office at headquarters would probably be all right.

  "Why don't you come back to my office with me? I can show you there. What can you tell me about the tendency of this stuff to be soft enough to flutter when we wave it?"

  "Nothing yet, unless it's just how thin the sheets are. The tests I plan to conduct tomorrow will throw more light on that. We have to identify the other elements in it, but they're present in such minute quantities that we need a more sophisticated instrument to catch them before they're destroyed in the tests."

  Roy was getting worried that there could be data on these seemingly blank foils, too, and that the extent of destruction necessary to identify the alloy was potentially destroying the data, too. Nevertheless, it was his best guess that these had nothing on them. Almost as if someone had put them there for this purpose, so they could discover the way to read the others. If he had been the one to leave this record, he'd have left a reader for the foils as well. But, perhaps something had interfered.

  The two men adjourned for the day at the chemistry lab, but Greene was eager to see one of the other foils, and Roy didn't mind. After five p.m., they stepped into the building using Roy's key card and greeted the guard.

  "This is Dr. Greene, who's assisting me with some tests," Roy said to the burly man at the entrance kiosk.

  "That's fine, Dr. James. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

  As they made their way to his office, Roy remarked that it was the Sword of Cyrus incident that necessitated these security measures now. Greene responded with a question about the last-minute save Roy had effected two years ago, and they continued through the building chatting amiably.

  Greene turned out to be equally fascinated with the foil Roy showed him. They were still handling it with tweezers, by the corners. "I can see why you think this might be data. It certainly looks like an old-fashioned CD, only pliable."

  "That's it."

  "Well, you should know by the end of the week what the material is, at least. I can't imagine how they wrote data on it, though."

  "That's my job to figure out," replied Roy.

  When the alloy was finally fully analyzed, Greene explained to Roy that there was little chance he'd damage the underlying structure, though his theory about how the data was written made it possibly vulnerable. To destroy the foils themselves, you'd have to shred them or heat them to over one-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Shredding them would do major damage to the shredder, he joked.

  Roy agreed with the theory, and had formed it himself as soon as he reviewed the properties of transitional metals. This type of metal had valence electrons, that is, the electrons they used to combine with other elements, in more than one shell. Given the ability to manipulate them on the nano level, they'd exhibit the colors he could observe with the naked eye. With a full analysis of elements present in the alloy, he could analyze which were combined with which electrons, of which iridium had the most, to form which colors. He suspected that the nickel was included for its magnetic properties.

  Each evening, Roy went home with some progress to report to Salome alone. As the work went on, she had to quell her excitement over each breakthrough because Roy refused to present his findings to Daniel until he had the final answer. Not only the answer to whether data was present, of which he had no doubt, but the answer to whether he'd be able to devise something to read it. When the solution to that problem came to him, he literally slapped himself on the forehead. As comical as it might have looked if anyone had been there to see it, Roy was genuinely disgusted with his own blindness to it. It had been there all along...magnetism. Could it be as simple as putting a foil under an electromagnetic field? There was inherent risk. If he was wrong, the process could forever destroy the data, which he believed to be contained in the variances between the electrical energy of the bonds formed by iridium and the other elements that produced the colors. There was only one way to test it, and that was to take the risk.

  Chapter 23 - The moral issue

  Salome busied herself with two major tasks; first studying the doings of the invisible financial world, learning everyday how to better interpret and read data and uncover who is who behind the big corporations. Second, she was meticulously outlining the Enigma plan.

  She had disabled the internet connection on her personal tablet. Her to-do list and planning resided there, and it would never be out of her hands. Her first priority was establishing a method of communication that wasn't subject to snooping, and a way to deploy it.

  She found Sinclair in his office, reading over some of the latest translations of their guest researcher, Dr. Matthews.

  "Sinclair, can I pick your brain?"

  "I'm afraid it's been picked clean, my dear, what’s left there is probably stimulated only by Irish nectar and not of much use, but I'm glad to help if I can."

  She explained to him that as part of her preemptive security measures and in the light of all the trouble the Rossler Foundation had been going through in the past with compromised communications and infiltrators, she’d been thinking it necessary to get a secure method of communications. By that, she meant secure even if the bad guys could intercept it.

  "I have the perfect solution," Sinclair said, as soon as she'd stopped talking.

  Wow, that was even faster than she'd hoped. "What?"

  "This will appeal to Nicholas," he said. "We need to recruit some Navajo code-talker re-enactors." He might as well have been speaking Greek, for all that Salome understood. She knew what Navajo code-talkers were. They'd been instrumental in keeping Allied plans secret from the Japanese enemy during World War II. It worked because the language wasn't related to any that the enemy would have expected. The men were able to talk among themselves in the clear, but in their own language, substituting clever everyday expressions for anything the language didn't have a word for, such as submarine, which became 'fish'. There had been a movie about them that her grandfather loved. She'd watched it more than once. As a child, she didn't really understand the significance of what they'd done, but she loved the name of the movie, The Windtalkers.

  What she didn't understand now was the phrase re-enactors. Sinclair explained. When the last of the code-talkers died, there was an outcry both from elders of the Navajo nation and from folklorists and anthropologists, who mourned the near-death of the language. An extremely short-sighted effort to assimilate the Dine into white society had taken the children forcibly from their homes and forbidden them their language. It had taken an extraordinary effort to resurrect it, but now it was a matter of pride for the members of the Nation to be able to speak their language. And one of the ways in which they showed it was to stage re-enactments of critical battles where their forebears ha
d used the language to prevail in the decades-past war. It was these young men Sinclair proposed to use as couriers. Because the language had no written form, they'd memorize messages and pass them on verbally after translation.

  "How long have you been thinking about this?" Salome asked, when Sinclair had finished laying it out for her.

  "Ever since the early days. Our communications were compromised then, too," he said. "I wanted to be prepared next time."

  "I don't suppose you already know of candidates for the job," she said, believing the opposite to be true.

  "Of course I do," he answered. Of course he did.

  ***

  Salome would never know what Luke told Sally, only that he was in her office bright and early the next morning, and that they worked together quite well. After a quick reconnoiter of the Spiderweb each day, they each did a threat assessment for the day with regard to the Foundation’s safety over the next seven days. Once assured they were still under the radar, they worked for the rest of the day on logistics for preparing the Rabbit Hole, as they referred to the cave system she and Roy had found.

  They focused first on creating an environment where the group to be hidden could continue their work. Then on how to quickly move the most important assets, which they identified as the library databases, critical personnel, and finally family. Salome objected that their priorities were out of order, but Luke prevailed.

  “Listen, I know what you mean. I’d normally agree, but would you agree, Salome, that sometimes a few have to be sacrificed for the greater good? After all, that’s the philosophy behind a standing military. Some sacrifice their freedom of personal choice and maybe even their lives to become part of a protective team, so the rest can live in the security that no enemy gets past.”

  “You’re right, Luke, but it speaks to the dilemma I’ve had all along. Just who are the critical personnel, and why the databases first? I think I know, but I want to hear you say it.”