San turned, his face feeling like it was going to split with the force of his smile. Anita rushed into his arms. He held her up and said, “I’ve missed you so much!”
There was a hissing sound as more people shushed him.
Anita smiled and pushed a hair out of her face. “Come with me,” she whispered, “I have somewhere we can talk.” She led San up two more flights of stairs to a secluded table on the fifth balcony. There was a yellow notepad and a pair of pencils waiting for them.
“How are the children?” San asked, unable to contain himself.
Anita shook her head and pointed at the paper. She sat down, took up one of the pencils, and wrote, They are safe with my sister.
Are you sure? San wrote.
Anita rolled her eyes and wrote, yes, then underlined it three times.
San penciled in, sorry, then added, Eugene and Daron are watching the street.
Anita nodded her approval, then scribbled, Who is after us?
San leaned and, in bold letters, wrote, K-A-T-H-A-R-O-S. Beneath the heavy letters, he wrote, Ideas?
Anita was a lover of books, and she read works pertaining to the Holy Bible more than anything else. She immediately recognized the word’s language, and held up a finger. Tearing the top sheet off the notepad and stuffing it into San’s pocket, she led him back downstairs. They entered a large section on Greek literature, and it didn’t take her long to find a Greek Lexicon. Prying the heavy book open, she thumbed through until she found what she was looking for. Her finger ran down the page and stopped halfway. There was a note stating that “Katharos” was the origin for the English word “Catharsis.” San recognized catharsis from his medical training. It meant to purge, and was often related to clearing out the digestive system. Then San’s eyes caught onto a definition further down the page: purified by fire.
His skin crawled, and he suddenly felt claustrophobic. Grabbing Anita by the hand, he whispered, “Let’s go.”
She shelved the book and had to jog to keep up with him. They shuffled down the steps to the main floor, then rushed outside.
San looked up and down the street, hyper-vigilant. His eyes jumped between every pedestrian and vehicle, searching for potential threats. When he felt the coast was clear, he led Anita across the street and started toward the black SUV. He didn’t notice the jogger leave the roundabout and step onto the sidewalk behind him.
The jogger was a tall, thin man wearing noise-canceling headphones. A neon-green fanny pack clung to his waist, and he held a full water bottle in his hand. He gained on Anita and San with every step, his feet gliding across the ground. As he approached a trash can, he slowed down and deposited the plastic bottle. With both hands free, he continued jogging, unzipping the fanny-pack with one hand and reaching in with the other. His grip tightened around a compact pistol, and he closed in for a point-blank shot.
Further down the street, someone shouted, “Get down!”
San reflexively doubled over, and Anita pulled him to the ground. They hit the sidewalk just as something whistled over their heads. A fraction of a second later, thunder cracked the air. Covering his head, San glanced around to see what happened. He turned just in time to see the jogger bearing down on them, a black pistol dangling from his fingers.
Anita rolled onto her back and shrieked in horror.
13
San struggled frantically against the smothering weight of his attacker. The jogger’s face turned, eliciting the scream from Anita. The man’s head had been split down the middle, and blood and brain matter were pouring onto the frightened couple.
Eugene rushed forward, still carrying the weapon that ended the jogger’s life. It was a BN-36 semi-automatic rifle, chambered for .30-06 ammunition. The civilian variant of the high-velocity round, used by sportsmen to take down game as large as bison, would have been more than enough to kill the jogger. But Eugene had used a custom-made, frangible bullet that mushroomed on impact, greatly amplifying its damage. The result was gruesome, but it prevented the bullet from traveling through his target and hitting an innocent bystander.
“Get up,” Eugene said as he extracted the pistol from the jogger’s grip. “We need to move.”
The black SUV slid to a halt on the street next to them. San pushed the corpse off and helped his wife to her feet. She was still screaming, and he was too shaken to utter a single word. Eugene scanned the street while he opened the rear door, then shoved Anita and San inside. The SUV screeched down the street, leaving the mutilated body behind.
“San, there’s a first-aid kit under your seat,” Eugene said. “Open it and take out the orange packets. They’re energy drink mix, and they’ll help ward off shock.”
With trembling fingers, San obeyed. He tore open two packs, fed one to Anita, then emptied the other into his mouth.
“H-h-how did they know where to find us?” San asked.
“We can’t know for sure,” Daron said. “They must have tracked us electronically.”
San frowned and groped at his pockets, searching for his cell phone. It wasn’t there. He wanted to ask Anita if she had her phone with her, but she was sobbing too hard to speak. He cradled her in his arms and whispered words of encouragement in her ear. Inside, he was thankful she was there. His desire to comfort his partner was probably the only thing keeping him together.
After nearly ten minutes, the shock of seeing the disfigured corpse began to fade. Anita fell into stricken silence, and San muttered jumbled questions.
“I don’t even—neither of us had phones. The proposal, the library. It was a secret…no one could have known. How could they have tracked us? What did we miss? How could—”
Eugene reached over the seat and squeezed each of their hands, then said, “Try not to think about it. None of this was your fault.”
The gears in San’s head broke loose. It simply wasn’t possible. This organization, Katharos, wasn’t omnipotent. There had to be an explanation for how they found him and Anita. “Could they have tracked you?” he asked, nodding toward the front seat.
Daron was quiet for several moments, then said, “It would be almost impossible.”
“What do you mean, almost?” San pressed.
Daron took a deep breath. “The equipment in this vehicle is all secure. Our cell phones, GPS, satellite communications—they’re all protected by unbreakable encryption. There’s no way anyone could track us.”
“But they did,” San argued. “How else could they have known where we were? Is it possible these men have access to the same encryption?”
Daron shook his head. “Eugene and I uploaded custom encryption keys. The only other people that have it are high-ranking officials within the Pentagon.”
San shivered. “You’re saying either someone figured out how to break your unbreakable code, or there’s a leak in the Pentagon?”
Daron didn’t respond. The question hung in the air like nerve gas.
After several long moments, Eugene said, “It doesn’t matter—not for you two. This was never your fight, and you’ve already made sacrifices you shouldn’t have had to make. You need to go somewhere these people can’t find you. You need stay with your family and far away from us.”
San’s eyebrows shot up. He was at once relieved and concerned.
“Think about it,” Eugene said, “We have the best crypto in the world in this vehicle and decades of training to match it. Still, your wife was able to get a message to you that Katharos couldn’t intercept. Then she went into hiding for the night, and they couldn’t find her. You’re better off following her lead—do everything low-tech and keep your head down.”
Anita half smiled. San took her hand in his and squeezed, then said, “Alright. We’ll stay out the way until things calm down. But how will we know when it’s safe to come out of hiding?”
“When you think it’s safe,” Daron said, “stay another week. Or two, just to be sure.”
San nodded. He asked Anita where she had stayed overnight, but
Eugene cut in before she could respond.
“Don’t tell us anything,” he said. “We’ll drop you off somewhere public. Find a way back to your hide-site, and use cash. If you need to get in touch with us for any reason, use a landline phone, and have a plan to run as soon as the call is over.”
San felt conflicted about leaving the war-hardened men, but Eugene was right; it wasn’t his fight and he was better off laying low. He wasn’t meant for the blood and violence. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Thank you.”
Daron wheeled the SUV through the streets in a chaotic sequence of turns, then pulled up to the sidewalk. “This is it,” he said. “I suggest you make your first stop somewhere with a sink so you can clean up.”
San’s eyes widened. He and Anita were still covered in blood and cerebrospinal fluid. He started to say something, but Daron ignored him. The door swung shut on its own as the SUV sped off.
“Where we headed?” Eugene asked.
“To talk to our egghead from the Pentagon,” Daron said, “I want to see if he’s found anything, and I want to know what he thinks about our encryption being hacked.”
Eugene nodded. “It’s weird. I’ve been using secure comms since I first joined the Corps. All this time, I never once thought someone could be listening in.”
Daron chewed his lip, then said, “It doesn’t make sense. How could a terrorist group get enough tech to hack our hardware without the CIA, DoD, or NSA catching wind of it? Until yesterday, we didn’t even know what these assholes called themselves.”
“It’s spooky,” Eugene agreed, “but I can’t pretend like I’m smart enough to understand how all this tech works. I mean, when I first heard about Nerium and Lateralis, it blew my mind. I didn’t know technology like that existed. Then Roberts grabbed Lateralis and disappeared off the face of the earth. This group has one of the two most advanced weapons in history and someone smart enough to understand it. Maybe we’ve been underestimating their capabilities.”
“Or overestimating our own,” Daron said. He nodded at the dashboard containing the advanced communications equipment. “Maybe we should get back to doing things the old-fashioned way.”
“Maybe. Let me arrange a meeting first.” Opening a laptop, Eugene composed a coded message and addressed it to Daniel Young at the Pentagon. The message went out with 256-bit encryption, bounced off a proprietary U.S. military satellite, and entered a secure network where it was broken down and put back together a thousand times before arriving at Young’s computer.
For the first time, Eugene doubted the impenetrability of the system delivering the message, and he was thankful for the obscure code words they had developed with Young to communicate times and places of clandestine meetings. They had established the code to avoid protocol-obsessed IT specialists within the Pentagon, not a faceless international terrorist organization.
“Are we going to drop the SUV?” Eugene asked.
Daron nodded. “I’ll miss the firepower, but we need an old beater without computers for now. We’ll sign this thing back out when we plug the information leak.”
“A beater?” Eugene scoffed. “I don’t think so. We can take my car. Computer-free since 1973.”
They spent the rest of their journey in relative silence, as if a rogue operative were sitting in the back seat. Daron eased the vehicle into a secure, NSA-owned garage and handed the keys to the guard. They left the building on foot and walked the two blocks to the civilian garage where Eugene’s 1973 Datsun 240Z was parked.
“Are you sure this thing will start?” Daron asked as he ran his hand along the car’s red, polished curves.
“No touching,” Eugene snapped.
Daron frowned. When the door unlocked, he folded himself into a pretzel and squeezed into the tiny car. He had to pinch his shoulders together to get the door shut and recline his seat halfway to sit comfortably.
Eugene smiled, then turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, then purred like a giant cat. The pistons pumped as smoothly as if the motor had been built yesterday.
“Alright, she sounds pretty,” Daron admitted. “But I’ll trade comfort for style any day.”
Eugene put it in gear and hit the gas. The side-draft carburetor opened wide, and they sped out of the parking garage. The independent suspension was surprisingly smooth for such an old car, tackling corners with ease.
They stopped at a gas station to refuel, relieve themselves, and grab food for what could be a long wait. They cruised to a quiet suburb in Georgetown, and parked at a weekend-only restaurant. They finished their greasy gas-station fare as they tried to make sense of everything. Thirty minutes later, a silver Honda Civic pulled into the space next to them.
Eugene stepped out of the car and said, “Thanks for getting here so fast. Hop in.”
Reluctantly, Daniel clambered into the back of the Datsun. He sat in the middle of the narrow bench seat, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Is this necessary?” he asked as Eugene cranked the engine.
“Maybe,” Eugene said. “That’s what we’re hoping you could tell us.”
“There’s a chance our crypto has been compromised,” Daron added. “We ditched the SUV until we could find out for sure.”
“That’s impossible,” said Young. “It would take a quantum computer the size of Rhode Island to break our encryption.”
Daron glared at the analyst. “English, egghead.”
Young sighed. “Which doesn’t exist. Our communications are top-of-the-line, and the gear you have in your truck is beyond next-gen.”
“It’s just a precaution,” said Eugene. “Santiago Torres and his family were targeted by the group we believe is affiliated with Emily Roberts. They broke into San’s house and tried to kill him. His wife and kids weren’t home. They were able to avoid detection all night, but as soon as we showed up, so did an assassin.”
Daniel shook his head. “There has to be another explanation. I’ll look into it.”
Daron shifted uncomfortably in his bucket seat, trying to face Daniel. He tugged at his seatbelt for a few seconds, then gave up and faced forward. “I think these men were part of the secret organization you were looking into.”
Eugene adjusted his mirror to look Daniel in the eyes. “Have you ever heard of the codename ‘Katharos?’”
Young shrugged and said, “It’s Greek to me.”
Daron flinched and took a calming breath. “We think that’s the organization’s name.”
Young’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Could be,” Eugene said. “We’ll know more soon enough—we grabbed one of their phones and we have analysts going through it.”
Young rubbed his hands together at the idea of dissecting the mobile phone. “Perfect. If you could get me a copy of the data, I could make some serious headway.”
“We’ll come back to that,” Daron said. “For now, why don’t you fill us in on what you’ve found out concerning Roberts and Lateralis.”
Young stretched his leg out, turning awkwardly to the side. Resuming his fetal position, he said, “I found some stories matching your description, but nothing solid. There are urban legends popping up all over Africa and Southwest Asia about a monster, or person, or maybe both, that sneaks in at night and kills dozens of people. Funny thing is, this monster isn’t attacking specific groups. It cleans out a terrorist camp, then kills everyone in a police station. As far as I can tell, these stories are actually legitimate, but there’s no pattern I can follow. It’s like this thing is killing at random, trying to turn the world upside-down.”
“Could be Lateralis,” Eugene said. “It doesn’t sound like something Jarrod would do. Have you heard any names associated with these attacks?”
“Just one,” Daniel replied, “the computers flagged a conversation a day before an attack on an Ethiopian National Defense outpost. It was mostly codewords, so we almost missed it. Somebody slipped up and dropped one of our algorithm’s keywords. He said something
about using a coffin to slaughter everyone in the camp. The next day, everyone in the outpost was dead—sixty-eight bodies and no witnesses.”
Eugene and Daron exchanged knowing glances. Daniel caught it and said, “What?”
Eugene took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “The other night I recorded a conversation outside an arms-dealing conference. These people are pros. They have assets all over the world and seemed to be connected to Roberts and Lateralis. One of them used the codeword ‘casket,’ so Daron and I brought it up to the spooks at the NSA.”
Young’s eyes were bouncing around like he was speed-reading invisible text. “Coffin is Lateralis,” he mumbled.
“There’s something else,” Eugene offered. “The arms dealers also said they were going to send DARPA back to the stone-age, and they were going to do it in the next two weeks.”
Young absorbed the information and continued mumbling. After a long moment, he stopped and said, “We might have a problem. If Katharos is avoiding detection despite having assets all over the world, then they might have moles inside the Pentagon, the NSA, or the CIA. Maybe all three. They might even be capable of…”
Young let his words trail off, then cursed loudly.
“What is it?” Daron asked.
Young’s eyes were wide. “Setting back DARPA wouldn’t be easy. They’d have to erase research from Universities all over the country. They’d have to kill a lot of people, and I mean a lot of people. Then they’d have to blow up a bunch of buildings—especially the Pentagon. In case you’ve forgotten, I work at the Pentagon.”
Daron grinned. “What’s the matter, the kitchen getting a little too hot for you?”
“Hell yes it is,” Young spat. “I’m an analyst, not some gun-toting grunt. I need to get home. I need to take leave, get out of the country or—”
“Oh no you’re not,” Daron said. “You’re going to ride your desk straight into the Apocalypse, if you have to. There are a lot of lives at risk, and we might be able to save some of them if we figure this thing out. Right now, you have more pieces than anyone else, so it’s your responsibility to sit there and put them together. You understand me?”
The Path Of The Nightmare Page 9
