The Archimedes Effect

by Tom Clancy

  In order to figure out which military bases made up the alien bases, he needed their specifications, security, entrances, and exits.

  And no one had wanted to give him the information. He turned and spit the grit out of his mouth.

  It was a classic military move, closing the barn door after the horse had gotten out. Here he was, trying to track down terrorists who had attacked their bases, but no one would give him information to do it.

  He’d been tempted to hack their database, but had decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble. So he’d e-mailed General Ellis instead, taking him up on his offer of more resources. In the meantime, he had gone after the information through conventional means, compiling lists of military bases from FBI archives and gathering site plans filed with land-use and planning commissions.

  After all, one could take many paths to the same destination.

  He’d started a team of techs transferring the data to VR, and then he’d adapted the desert scene to actively deconstruct each of the bases in the game.

  And then, wonder of wonders, Ellis had come through. True to his word, the old man had freed up stats on every Army base in the country: buildings, security orders-of-the-day, and even electronic passwords—all as of the date of the first attacks, of course—nothing current. Still, it wasn’t a bad compromise, all things considered. Jay had his data, and the military kept its secrets.

  Right now his VR scenario was running on the first or second iteration of the game. The sun beat down and white-robed workers measured features of the temple—which was actually the alien base—and scurried to carry those measurements to others who were near the models. The measurements would be adjusted to scale, and then compared to each model, one piece at a time.

  It was a huge amount of information to process, exactly what VR was best at.

  “Dr. Jay, Dr. Jay!” One of the natives by the model waved.

  Jay headed over, feeling sweat bead on his back in the hot sun.

  The man pointed at one of the models, a squared-off base set against a hillside. There was a main entrance, well guarded, and along the side was another entrance, which looked like it was used for vehicles.

  The native gestured at the entrance and handed Jay the piece of paper.

  Jay read the measurements on the scrap of paper and looked over at the entrance. He pulled a set of calipers from his pocket and measured the doorway.

  It was a match.

  The VR jock looked down at the base designation. It was in Germany.

  Then, as he watched, it flickered slightly, the doorway shifting size, shrinking. It held for a few moments, and then shifted back to being larger.

  He frowned. The models weren’t supposed to shift—unless—

  Jay paused the VR scenario, and everything froze while he focused on the model. He triggered some code and abruptly the model on the table grew larger, until he was standing at the entrance, scaled to appropriate size.

  He walked forward and tapped the left side of the entrance. A tiny window appeared midair, spelling out the gate’s dimensions. Underneath the black figures were blue ones.

  Let’s see. . . . Aha—

  The blue figures were the ones he’d pulled from public sources, and the black ones were from the files that General Ellis had arranged for him to receive. He’d kept the public records in the few instances where they differed.

  And they were different. The black figures read sixteen feet, eight inches. The blue ones read eighteen feet six inches. A simple transposition.

  Could it be the wrong base?

  He checked the other parameters—distance to the rock wall, thickness of the door, composition of the wall. No. The match was good.

  Which was very interesting indeed.

  Whether it was the military’s measurements that were correct, or whether the public records were right, wasn’t what was important—the difference of twenty-two inches didn’t matter. What was important was that the figures from the game matched the military numbers.

  Whoever had coded the game had used the military’s files.

  Nothing like finding a clue to brighten your morning. The devil was in the details, and today Old Scratch was on Jay’s side. He’d take it. But the general was sure gonna be pissed off about this.

  5

  Nighthawk Cafe

  Alexandria, Virginia

  Carruth frowned. “I was lookin’ forward to collecting that nuke. What happened?”

  Rachel Lewis, dressed down in civilian clothes, smiled. Collecting the nuke had never been in the cards, though she hadn’t bothered to let Carruth in on that. They were in a booth in a small cafe on a dead-end street behind a new strip mall. Lewis liked to find places where the service was terrible and business was slow, but hadn’t found anything like that here in Alexandria. She’d chosen this place instead because it was frequented by locals, not tourists, and was quiet during this time of the day. You could dawdle here for an hour and nobody would bother you, or likely sit close enough to overhear you.

  She said, “The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs pulled on Net Force’s leash sooner than I expected. Jay Gridley, their best guy, is on it, and by now he will have figured out how I set the game up, and he will have run with it. The brass are peeing all over themselves, they’ll give him whatever he asks for, and he’s quick. He’ll track the DCP—he’s bound to be able to pick up early copies of it—and he’ll know which bases we used.”

  “Is he any threat?”

  “Not to me. Oh, I’ll admit that he’s got some moves, but so do I, and I have the advantage—I know who he is.”

  “Well . . . crap. So that means we can’t use any of the stuff we got?”

  “Not from the original game scenario. We have two sets of follow-ups. Gridley will get the first game, and, eventually, he’ll think to look for more DCPs, but those are almost ready, another day or two, we can harvest them and trash the rest. He can’t backwalk any of them to me.”

  Carruth nodded, sipped at his coffee, frowned. “This tastes better than most coffee you buy me, Lewis.”

  She smiled. “I aim to please.” She didn’t bother explaining her choice of diners to him.

  “So, what now?”

  “I’ll get you the stats on the next target the day after tomorrow. The Army will have upped security everywhere, but we factored that in. Gridley will give them a list of the first round of targets and they will think that’s it, so that’s where they’ll beef things up. They are as predictable as winter snow in North Dakota.”

  Carruth shook his head. “You really got a hard-on for the Army, don’tcha, hon?”

  She fixed him with a stare that could etch glass. “First, that’s none of your business. Second, you call me ‘hon’ again, you are going to be looking for your balls.”

  He chuckled. “You want to wrestle, I got a hundred and thirty pounds and a whole lotta muscle on you, Lewis, plus I’m a trained Navy SEAL killer. You some kinda kung-fu master, you gonna toss me around like a beach ball?”

  “Look under the table.”

  He bent, looked. Laughed.

  “Not much gun,” he said once he’d sat back up. “Little snub-nose like that. Not very accurate.”

  “This close, a .38 Special with +P hollowpoints is as much gun as I need. I’d have to try to miss, and that monster piece you carry? By the time you haul it out, I could put five in you, reload, and be halfway through the next cylinder. Even a big strong guy like you would find it passing uncomfortable picking the bullets out of your crotch.”

  She didn’t mention that she could shoot well enough with the little snubbie to keep all the bullets on a man-sized target at fifty meters all day long. If he didn’t think the gun was dangerous farther away than under a table? That might be to her advantage someday. A lot of people underestimated how accurate a snub-nosed revolver could be—in the right hands.

  “I do like a beautiful woman who talks dirty,” he said. But he didn’t call her “hon.”

  This wa
s her show, and if he behaved, he would come away rich, and he knew it. Otherwise, she was pretty sure he’d have already made a move on her. Guys like Carruth thought with their little heads for most things, most of the time. He could blow up a bridge, sink a ship, kick ass, and take names fine, but outside of his narrow range, he wasn’t a thinker. He needed a leader, and he was smart enough to know that much. Which was just what she needed in a lieutenant—not too smart, not too stupid—so she couldn’t complain too much—as long as he knew his place. And that place wasn’t lying next to her in a bed. . . .

  “So, what, in the meanwhile?” he asked.

  “Stand by,” she said. She stood and dropped a five-dollar bill on the scarred Formica table to pay for their coffee. “I’ll call you on the secure cell.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He gave her a snappy salute, grinning all the while.

  He might be a problem eventually, but “eventually” the sun was going to go nova and Earth was going to be turned into a burned-out cinder. Worry about that when the time came.

  As she headed toward her car, a politically correct hybrid import, Lewis considered the situation. She had anticipated Net Force’s involvement, of course. General Hadden had co-opted the organization, taking it away from the FBI, for just such problems. And she knew Gridley’s rep—he had been two years ahead of her in school, already the boy wonder, and at this level, it was like playing chess against a master at the top of his game—you didn’t make a mistake and hope it would get by, because it almost never would. But she could handle Gridley. What was important was that they be able to sting another Army base or three, and soon. Once was a fluke. Two or three times, those were selling points. Some terrorist who wanted to make a big statement by knocking over a U.S. Army base and who could get funding? She’d have to beat them away with a stick. . . .

  Revenge—and money for doing it? That was as good as it got.

  U.S. Army’s MILDAT Computer Center

  The Pentagon

  Washington, D.C.

  Jay walked down another seemingly endless corridor on his way to see his liaison with the Army’s MILDAT. His escort this time, a buzz-cut trooper with “Wilcoxen” etched on his name badge, led the way. Another boots-on-the-ground reality trip, and why couldn’t they do it in VR? The horse was gone; closing the barn door now wasn’t going to help. You’d think that a computer guy, even an Army one, would be comfortable in VR.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, since he was going to have to tell this Captain Whoever that his network had been compromised. There was little doubt that it had been—the military records matched the specs he’d found in the alien game too cleanly for there to be any other option. Which meant that either the security work protecting the data had failed, or that someone inside the network had sold out. Social engineering was usually cheaper than hiring a first-class hacker, and a lot easier just to have somebody give you the stuff than working for it. Not as much fun, but easier.

  And while being the bearer of bad news was a part of his job, the process of pointing out security holes and finding fault with a colleague’s work was never fun. People tended to greet such news with less than cheery smiles.

  Oh, Captain, by the way? All this expensive and dangerous crap everybody is running around trying to figure out? It came out of your unit. Sorry, pal . . .

  “Here we are, sir,” said the guard, indicating a frosted-glass door. The guard knocked.

  Things could always be worse—I could be escorting people into the Pentagon, wondering when and if they were going to attack me.

  A gorgeous and very well-built short-haired blonde opened the door. She was Jay’s age, maybe a few years younger, and she smiled at Jay and his escort. The woman wore an Army uniform with captain’s bars, and a name tag:

  R. Lewis.

  Whoa! When he’d seen the name in his datafile, “Captain R. Lewis,” he had naturally assumed it was a man. There was a dumb mistake—he knew better.

  “Another stray? Thanks, Willie.”

  “Anything that gets me to your door, ma’am.” He nodded and left.

  Lewis turned to Jay and all the focus was on him.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Smokin’ Jay Gridley,” she said, “although I seem to recall that you never inhaled. Come on in.”

  Jay frowned. “We couldn’t have met. I’d remember.”

  “We haven’t. I’m Rachel Lewis. I was two years behind you at MIT.”

  “No shit?” Jay had actually attended most of college electronically, and right around the time MIT and CIT did their e-merge. He liked to joke about CIT being better, but in truth, he was technically a grad of both.

  Jay followed her into the office. He noted how neat and tidy it was: books, shelves, everything in place. On her desk was a state-of-the art VR setup that rivaled his own, with a pair of Raptor-vision VR glasses hanging off the side, the word “prototype” stamped on it. They looked newer than the ones he had. He didn’t much like that.

  “No shit. I heard all about you in my classes.”

  “How’d you wind up in the Army?”

  She sat at the desk and stretched, sprawling on her chair with an unself-conscious sensuality.

  “Family biz. My father was career Army, my grandfather, great-grandfather, like that. I didn’t have any brothers, so it was up to me.”

  Jay nodded absently. “Nice gear.” He waved.

  “I know one of the guys at Raptor—he keeps me up-to-date. Helps to know people.”

  She paused. “So how are things in crime these days?” She smiled and leaned forward. The top button on her uniform was undone and the gap, although small, was eye-catching.

  Hello? Jay was surprised to find himself wanting to look. He’d had colleagues flirt with him before, and it usually took more than a pretty smile or nice hooters to call to him. Lewis was attractive, no question. A chemical thing, that was all.

  “Exciting, Captain—a lot more than school.”

  “No need for formality here, Jay. Call me Rachel.”

  Hey, he was married now, with a son. No harm, no foul.

  “Okay, Rachel.” He paused. “Actually, I’m here—”

  “Wait, wait—let me guess. You’re here about the lost data.” Had Ellis told her?

  “You know?”

  “You’re not the only player in the game. One, I run a top-security network. Two, you are the top VR guy for Net Force, and your jurisdiction has recently changed to include the military. You could have come here to compliment me on a job well done, except, three, you don’t look happy to be here, and—”

  She leaned forward again.

  “Four, I’ve been going over my security logs cross-checking traffic—and I noticed some extra packet requests from one of our nodes. It’s a zero-sum dead end, a shuck. So we have a leak. I don’t know how or who, but it’s there.”

  “You already found it?” Well, well. Point for Lewis. Might be a little late, but at least she knew it before he told her. Competence had always been more attractive to him than just hot looks. Though those didn’t hurt.

  Yeah? You’re married now, so it doesn’t matter how much more attractive this makes her, now does it? Back away, goat-boy.

  There was nothing wrong with looking, was there? Plus it was part of his job—he hadn’t sought her out.

  So why did he feel this little stab of guilt?

  She reached down and pulled a second pair of Raptor goggles out of a drawer.

  “I wanted to investigate it more fully myself before calling it in, but since you’re here—feel up to a stroll?”

  Jay didn’t hesitate.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  Who did she think she was talking to here? Did he feel up to it? He definitely felt up to it. Be good to get into VR anyway. No question who the better detective was here, after all, was there? As she’d soon find out.

  Jay took the goggles.

  It would be fun, showing her just how good he was.

  Jay sli
pped the VR shades on his head, adjusting them so that the extra weight of the other gear—olfactory unit and tiny Harmon Kardon sound inserts—were balanced. Then Lewis handed him a small silver box with a strap attached.

  “One of my new toys,” she said, “Tactile Feedback Unit. Uses an inducer to stimulate basic skin sensation. They’re not too good yet, but it adds.”

  Jay had heard about the units, but hadn’t seen one yet. The basic principle was electric induction via magnetic fields. Unlike a full feelie suit, which used electrodes and localized temperature control to give sensation in VR and covered the entire body, TFUs were designed to do the same thing—without the suit. Nerve pathways were stimulated with magnetic fields and induced to create sensation. He’d heard they were being developed at the MIT media lab—apparently she’d kept close ties with the old school.

  “It pays to support your alma mater,” she said, grinning.

  Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be, he was impressed that she had the unit—units, plural.

  She handed him a set of VR gloves and he finished suiting up.

  He started to say something about his VR analogue, but decided to see what she’d come up with. Entering the Pentagon to see a computer specialist meant surrendering all data containers, and a close search of anything going out, so he’d had to leave his virgil and his data watch at the front desk. He carried copies of his usual VR avatars in them, along with his VR settings. Going into her scenario without them put him at a slight disadvantage, but it also meant she had to come up with something for him to wear in VR.

  It would be interesting to see what she did.

  “Ready?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up, and activated his gear.

  He was on a beach. The sun was nearly straight overhead, which put him closer to the equator, and it was hot. Apparently, the little TFUs worked fairly well. He could feel the sun’s rays warming him, and it felt right. Impressive. A slight onshore breeze tickled his skin, cooling him—everywhere.