by A. G. Riddle
the islands.”
His wife looked from Harto to the boat, then back again, as if trying to assess whether it would work or maybe how much work it would be for her. “You going to finally learn English, Harto?”
“I’ll have to. There aren’t enough fish in the sea to feed all the Jakartan fisherman. Entertainment is the future.”
PART II:
A TIBETAN TAPESTRY
CHAPTER 40
Somewhere off the Java Sea
That night Kate dreamed that she had been kidnapped by her wicked uncle. She had been riding in an iron chariot with a knight and his men. Her uncle had smashed the chariot and killed the men, casting her knight out into the darkness. Her uncle had taken her to his castle and locked her in a dungeon, deep below the castle walls. He prodded her with questions, demanding she reveal her most secret of secrets. She knew if she told him, he would eat her children and become a powerful monster, a monster no one could kill. He told her lies. Then more lies, believable lies. She wanted to believe them, but she resisted. The more he said, the more she questioned. Did he kill her father? Was her whole life a lie?
His men took her from the dungeon into a tower. They strapped her down and gave her a potion, and she felt herself transforming. It was eating her will from the inside out. Just before it took her over completely and she lost the power to resist, the knight kicked in the tower doors and killed her captors. He lifted her up and he flew away, casting fire and death to their pursuers who shot arrows from below. But the castle moat was too wide, and they fell into the treacherous water. She was lost, sinking, but he rescued her again, pulling her from the abyss. His kiss brought her back to life, and she was so happy — happy to be free from her uncle and happy it was the knight who had rescued her.
The knight’s loyal savage friend rowed them far, far away, to a deserted isle with a small cottage. The knight carried her ashore and set her down in a bed of flowers, where the warm wind lulled her to sleep.
Kate awoke to the worst headache of her life. It hurt to move. She lay in the bed for a moment, swallowing several times. Opening her eyes hurt. The sunlight hurt. She turned over, away from the window. The window. The bed. Where was she?
She pushed herself up, and with each inch she moved, the pain spread across her. Her body was sore, but it didn’t feel like the soreness from exercise — she felt like she’d been beaten all over with wooden spoons. She felt sick, hurt. What happened to me?
The room came into focus. A cottage or some kind of vacation home on the beach. The room was small, with one double bed and some rustic wooden furniture. Out the window, she saw a large porch that opened onto a deserted beach — not the pristine, well-kept kind you saw at resorts, but the type you might find on a real deserted island — a rough, unkempt beach, littered with coconuts, tree bark, tropical plants, and here and there, dead fish that had washed up from last night’s violent rain and high tide.
Kate pushed the covers off and moved slowly to get out of bed. A new sensation gripped her: nausea. She waited, hoping it would pass, but it only got worse. She felt the saliva gathering at the back of her throat.
She ran for the bathroom, barely making it in time. She collapsed to her knees and dry heaved into the toilet, once, then again, and a third time. The convulsions sent shock waves of pain through her already ravaged body. The nausea receded, and she rolled off her knees to sit by the toilet, propping an elbow on the toilet seat and resting her hand on her forehead.
“At least you don’t have a walk of shame ahead of you.”
She looked up. It was the man from the van, the soldier. David.
“What are you, where are w—”
“We’ll catch up later. Drink this.”
“No. I’ll just throw it up.”
He bent down to her and tipped the orange concoction toward her. “Give it a try.”
He held the back of her head, and she realized she was drinking it before she could object again. It was sweet and coated her raw throat. She drank it down and he helped her to her feet.
There was something she had to do. What was it? Something she had to get. Her head still pounded.
He helped her into the bed, but she stopped. “Wait, there’s something I have to do.”
“We’ll get to it. You have to rest.”
Without another word, he maneuvered her into the bed and she felt so sleepy, like she had taken a sleeping pill. The sweet orange elixir.
CHAPTER 41
Immari Corporate Jet
Somewhere over the Southern Atlantic Ocean
Martin Grey leaned toward the plane window and peered out at the giant iceberg below. The Nazi sub jutted out of a mountain of ice near the center of the floating island, which covered almost 47 square miles — about the size of Disney World. Where the sub met the ice, workers and heavy machinery were hard at work excavating, searching for the sub's entrance. Cutting into the side was a last resort, but it would come to that if they didn't reach the hatch soon.
The wreckage below the sub was even more mysterious — teams were still working on theories. Martin had one of his own, an idea he would take to his grave if necessary.
"When did you find it?" Dorian Sloane's voice startled Martin, and he turned to see the younger man standing over him, gazing out another window of the jet.
Martin opened his mouth to respond, but Sloane interrupted him. "No lies, Martin."
Martin slumped in the chair, and continued squinting out the window. "10 days ago."
"Is it his?"
"The markings are the same. Carbon dating confirms the age."
"I want to go in first."
Martin turned to him. "I wouldn't advise it. The wreckage is likely unstable. There's no way of knowing what's inside. There could be—"
"And you're coming with me."
"Absolutely not."
"Now Martin, where's that intrepid explorer I knew in my youth?"
"This is a job for robots. They can go into places we can't. They can withstand cold, and it will be cold in there, colder than you can imagine. And they're easier to replace."
"Yes, it will be dangerous, even more dangerous, I think, if I go alone, with say, you left outside."
"You assume I'm as morally bankrupt as you are."
"I'm not the one kidnapping kids and keeping secrets." Sloane leaned back in a chair across from Martin, readying for a fight.
A steward entered their compartment and said to Sloane, "Sir, there's a call for you. It's urgent."
Dorian picked up the phone from the wall. "Sloane."
He listened, then looked up at Martin, surprised. "How?" A moment passed. "You can't be serious—" He nodded a few times. “No, look, he had to leave by boat. Search the surrounding islands, they couldn’t have gone far. Deploy everyone, bring in troops from local Immari Security and secured Clocktower cells if you have to.” He listened again. “Fine, whatever, use the media to box them in. Kill him and capture her. Call me back when you have her."
Sloane hung up the phone and scrutinized Martin as he said, "The girl got away. A Clocktower agent helped her."
Martin continued surveying the site below.
Sloane put his elbows on the table and leaned close enough to strike Martin. "50 of my men are dead, and three floors of Immari Jakarta have been blown to pieces, not to mention the wharf. You don't seem surprised, Martin."
"I'm looking at an 80-year-old Nazi Sub and what could be an alien space ship sticking out of an iceberg off the coast of Antarctica. I'm hard to surprise these days, Dorian."
Sloane leaned back. "We both know it's not an alien space ship."
"Do we?"
"We will soon."
CHAPTER 42
Somewhere off the Java Sea
For a while, David leaned against the door frame in the bedroom, watching Kate sleep, waiting to see if she would wake up again. The Immari thugs had really put her through the ringer, and his rescue hadn’t helped either.
Seeing her
sleeping there while the waves rolled in and the breeze blew through the room somehow put him at peace. He didn’t understand it. The fall of Jakarta Station in the face of an imminent terror threat — from the very people he had dedicated his life to stopping — was a nightmare scenario; no, The Nightmare Scenario. But saving her had changed David in some way. The world felt less scary now, more manageable in some way. For the first time since he could remember, he was… hopeful. Almost happy. He felt more safe. No, that was wrong. Maybe… the people around him were safer, or he felt more confident. Confident that he could protect the people he… The self-analysis would have to wait. He had work to do.
When it was clear Kate wouldn’t wake up again anytime soon, he withdrew from the room and resumed his work in the hidden chamber below the cottage.
He had told the contractors he wanted a bomb-shelter. They had said nothing but the looks they gave each other said it all: this dude is crazy, but he didn’t argue about the price, so get to work. They had given the room a strong post-apocalyptic, end of the world motif: all concrete walls, a utilitarian built-in metal desk and just enough room for a cot and some supplies. It was fitting given his situation.
His next move was crucial. He had deliberated about what to do for most of the morning. His first instinct was to contact Clocktower Central. The director, Howard Keegan, was his mentor and friend. David trusted him. Howard would be doing everything he could to secure Clocktower, and he would definitely need David’s help.
The issue was getting in touch. Clocktower didn’t have any back-door communication channels — just the official VPN and protocols. They would no doubt be monitored — connecting would paint a target on your location.
David drummed his fingers on the metal desk, leaned back in the chair, and stared at light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
He opened a web browser and scoured all the local and national news. He was procrastinating. There was nothing here that could help him. He did see a wire release about a woman and man sought in connection with a terrorist plot and possible child-trafficking ring. That would slow him down, but thankfully there were no sketches attached to the article. But they would follow shortly, and every border security agency in Southeast Asia would be on the lookout for both of them.
He had several IDs in the safe house, but not much cash.
He opened his bank account. The balance was almost zero. Josh — he had executed the transfers. Was he alive? David had assumed Jakarta Station HQ was attacked when he had been in the streets. There was something else, several deposits, all small, less than $1,000. All even numbers. It was a code, but what kind? GPS?
9.11
50.00
31.00
14.00
76.00
9.11
9.11 — that would be the start and end of the code. The rest: 50.31.14.76. An IP address. Josh had sent him a message.
David opened a web browser and typed in the IP. The page was a letter from Josh.
—————————
David,
They’re outside the door. It won’t hold much longer.
I decoded the messages. Click here to read them. I couldn’t figure out what they meant. I’m sorry.
I did find the contact, online at least. He’s using the Roswell Craigslist board to pass messages. Click here to go there. I hope he sends another message and that you stop the attack.
I’m really sorry I couldn’t help more.
Josh
PS: I read your letter and executed the transactions (obviously). I thought you were dead — the sensor on your suit showed no vitals. I hope that doesn’t mess you up.
—————————
David exhaled and looked away from the screen for a long moment. He opened the file with the decoded messages — obituaries from the New York Times. In 1947. Josh had done some great work. And he had died thinking he failed.
David opened the Roswell Craigslist site, and he saw it immediately — a new message from the contact.
Subject> “Running down the clock on a tower of lies”
Message: To my anonymous admirer:
I’m afraid my current relationship has become complicated. I can’t meet you or have any contact. I’m sorry. It’s not me. It’s you. You’re too dangerous for me.
There are 30 reasons and 88 excuses I’ve come up with not to meet you. I’ve run through 81 lies and 86 stories.
I told myself I would meet you.
I even set a date. 03-12-2013
And a time 10:45:00
But the truth is you’re #44 on my list of priorities at this point. And that’s just not enough to pay attention to. Maybe if you were 33. Or 23. Or even 15. It’s just not enough.
I have to cut the power on this and save my kids.
It’s the only responsible thing to do.
David scratched his head. What the hell did it mean? It was clearly a code of some kind. He could really use Josh’s help right now.
David took out a pad and tried to focus. His brain wasn’t built for this sort of thing. Where to start? The first part was pretty straight-forward: the contact was under duress now. He couldn’t meet or send any more messages. Terrific news. The rest was a series of numbers, and the words around them were non-sense. They made sense in this missed connection board, but they had nothing to say and added nothing new to the message. The numbers. They had to mean something.
David began scribbling on the pad, extracting the numbers from the message. In order, they were:
30,88. 81,86.
03-12-2013
10:45:00
#44
33-23-15
The first part: 30,88. 81,86. GPS coordinates. David checked. Western China, right at the border of Nepal and India. Satellite images revealed nothing there… except, what was it? An abandoned building. An old train station.
Next: 03-12-2013 and 10:45:00 A date and time. The contact said he couldn’t meet, so what would be at that abandoned train station? A trap? Another clue? If Josh had read the letter — and followed the instructions — he would have sent everything he found to Clocktower Central. If Central was compromised, Immari would know all about the obituaries and the Craigslist board. The message could be from Immari. A set of special forces could be there in China, waiting for David to wander into the cross hairs.
David pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the last set of numbers in the message: #44 and 33-23-15. It had to be a locker in the train station. Or maybe the number 44 train or car? David rubbed the bridge of his nose and read the posting again.
The sentences after the numbers… It was a different sort of message. Instructions?
“I have to cut the power on this and save my kids.
It’s the only responsible thing to do.”
‘Have to cut the power.’ ‘Save my kids.’ David turned the phrases over in his mind.
Above him, he heard someone walking around the cottage.
CHAPTER 43
Al Jazeera Wire Release
Indonesian authorities identify two Americans connected to terror attacks and child trafficking ring
Jakarta, Indonesia // A string of terror attacks yesterday in Indonesia’s capital of Jakarta have sparked a man-hunt on land, sea, and air. The Indonesian National Police has deployed half of its 12,000-person-strong marine unit in the Java Sea and called in troops from around the country to search Jakarta and the islands surrounding it. Neighboring governments have also joined the search by putting their border and airport security divisions on alert. Authorities have so far been mum on the reason for the attacks, but they have released brief sketches of the suspects.
The woman, Dr. Katherine Warner, has been identified as a genetics researcher performing unauthorized experiments on impoverished children from rural villages outside Jakarta. “We’re still putting the pieces together,” said Police Inspector General Nakula Pang. “We know Dr. Warner’s clinic was the legal guardian of over 100 Indonesian children who
were taken without their parents’ consent. We also know Dr. Warner was moving a lot of money via accounts in the Cayman Islands — a common haven for drug smuggling, human trafficking, and other major international crimes. At this time, we believe the clinic was a front for child-trafficking and from what we can tell, the proceeds may have gone to finance yesterday’s attacks.”
Those attacks included three separate blasts in residential neighborhoods, a violent firefight in the market district, and a deadly series of explosions in the wharf that claimed the lives of 50 employees of Immari Jakarta. Adam Lynch, a spokesperson for Immari Jakarta issued this statement: “We mourn yesterday’s loss of life, and today we’re simply searching for answers. The Indonesian Police have confirmed our suspicions that the attack was carried out by David Vale, a former CIA operative who had previous contact with Immari Security — another division of Immari International. We believe these attacks are part of a personal vendetta and that Mr. Vale will continue to attack Immari employees and interests. He’s a very dangerous man. He could be suffering from PTSD or another psychological condition. It’s a very sad situation for everyone involved. We’ve offered our help, including assistance from Immari Security, to the Indonesian Authorities and neighboring governments. We want to conclude this nightmare. We want to tell our people they’re safe as soon as we possibly can.”
CHAPTER 44
Somewhere off the Java Sea
When Kate woke up the second time, she felt much, much better. Her head hurt less, her body barely ached, and — she could think.
