Rogue Operator (22 page)

“Increasing
the number increased everything exponentially. So if you set the number to a
thousand for instance, you could create a batch that would be enough to treat a
human for something. But if you set that value in the tens or hundreds of
millions, it would create enough to consume a city, then stop.”

“Oh my
God!”

“And we
know the North Koreans have rockets that can reach a huge number of major
cities, including our own. With these nanobots, they’d be able to destroy any
city they wanted, and we’d be powerless to stop them. It could result in all
out war, and if they thought they were going to lose…”

“They
could remove the line of code.”

Maggie’s
voice was almost a whisper, the idea too horrifying to give volume to.

“Now, I
am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”

Maggie
hugged him harder, then put her lips to his ear, and whispered.

“You
can’t do this. I don’t care if it means we all die, you can’t do this.”

He
hugged her hard, and they both began to sob as he realized she was right. What
right did he have to potentially destroy the world, just to save his family.

But
how can I stop this?

BlackTide Headquarters, Arlington, Virginia

Today, Six Days after the Kidnappings

“Sir, we might have a problem.”

Colonel Atticus
Tucker, Retired, looked up from behind his desk, his least favorite place to
be. He had retired from the Army Rangers almost ten years ago, and been
recruited by BlackTide almost immediately. With no wife, no kids, he needed a
new family, and this faceless company became it. And since joining, he’d seen
more action than he had after twenty years in the service.

And he
loved it.

Though
the bones were getting old, the heart was still strong, the mind was still
quick, and he could still put in a good day’s training or lead a mission, but
now his job was more black ops than front line detail. The pay was incredible.
Actually, unbelievable, now that he had taken on his latest assignment. It was
an assignment he had grappled with, and had been grappling with for almost a
year.

How can
we keep BlackTide growing, with our nation’s wars dwindling?

This was
beyond the regular growth that a company could expect by signing contracts with
more and more law enforcement agencies for training, of providing security to
more civilian companies. His boss, and the founder of the company, Brad Finch,
wanted something big.

And he
had given it to him.

“What?”

“One of
our sources has been monitoring Echelon and found a large number of new
dictionary entries covering the Ogden operation.”

“Source?”

“Looks
like some low-level analyst at Langley.” His aide flipped open a file he was
carrying. “A Chris Leroux. He’s a nobody, but he did some searches on the
scientists when they were initially extracted, then today put in a large number
of new searches.”

Tucker
frowned, leaning back in his chair. Humans were always the weakest link when it
came to keeping a secret. Computers could be secured, networks firewalled, or
taken off the grid. But humans could be forced to talk. There were very few he
trusted to not, and he had met none since he left the Rangers.

“Results?”

“We
don’t know if he’s found it yet since he’s going through thousands of hits, but
we
knew what to look for.” Tucker rolled his hand, urging his underling
on. “Erickson mentioned the transport on an open line.”

“What!”

He knew
they shouldn’t have involved a politician. It was insane. They couldn’t be
trusted, but Finch had insisted, and as head of the company, Tucker had no
choice but to agree. He had argued strenuously against it, but it was no use, and
now here they were with this security breach, exactly as he had predicted.  He
even remembered the exact words he had said:

“If this
falls apart, it’ll be because of Erickson.”

But
Finch wanted him in the loop. They needed a high-level insider to pull the strings
at the other end to get the desired result. This man had directed hundreds of
millions in contracts to them, and when Tucker was fully in the loop, he was
informed of the kickbacks.

The
company was crooked.

As bent
as you could get in this business.

And
unfortunately for Tucker, he too had become addicted to the money. The weekends
in Vegas with Finch as high rollers, “Whales” as the strip liked to call them.
Booze, drugs, hookers. He couldn’t live without it now.

And he
didn’t want to.

His
country wasn’t the country he had signed up to protect anymore. He didn’t like
the way it was heading. There were dangers out there that needed to be
confronted now, and the pussy leaders in power didn’t have the balls to fight.
Iraq was essentially done. Afghanistan was winding down.

And what
was the result?

The
Taliban were growing.

Al Qaeda
was spreading.

The Arab
Spring was a joke that had only replaced stable governments with Islamist ones.
The entire Middle East was destabilizing.

China
was growing militarily far too fast, North Korea was still allowed to throw its
hissy fits every few months.

And
North Korea was the key. It was an easy sell. Nuclear weapons weren’t working
as a trigger, but when he had stumbled upon this new research, he realized it
was what they needed. Give the North Koreans this, and no matter who was in
power, they would have to do something. And it didn’t even need to be us. It
could be the Russians, the Chinese. It didn’t matter.

All that
mattered was war.

War
meant spending. Spending meant profits for the private sector, meaning
companies like his.

War was
what Finch wanted, and war was what he was going to get.

And no
damned CIA analyst was going to prevent it.

“Eliminate
him.”

“Who?
Erickson?”

Tucker
debated that for a few seconds, then shook his head.

“No,
Leroux. I want him dead before the end of the day. Make it look like an
accident, random mugging, I don’t care. Just not a professional hit.”

“Done.”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“Got it!” hissed Chris to Sherrie. She turned with a smile and wide
eyes of excitement as she jumped from her desk and came over to join him. There
had been an incredible number of hits—tens of thousands. But that was to be
expected. The trick was to then apply your own filtering algorithms to cull the
data and find what you were looking for.

Fortunately
it was something he was exceptionally good at.

“What
did you find?” she asked, kneeling at his side, her voice barely a whisper.

“I
decided to focus on the transport plane, since hardly anyone knew about that.
Once I filtered the results down to hits that mentioned a plane, transport,
aircraft, etcetera—”

“Etcetera?”

“Yeah,
it means—”

“I know
what it means, but nobody actually
says
it.”

Chris
flushed. “Well, I do.”

She
smiled at him. “You’re so damned cute.”

He
flushed some more.

“Umm,
so, that narrowed it down, but it was still huge. So then I sorted by the
source type, and eliminated anything military, just to see what I’d find. Well,
I found this.”

He
pointed at the transcript of a conversation from two days ago. Chris watched
Sherrie’s beautiful face change as her jaw dropped in shock.

“Oh my
God!” She looked at him. “We need to tell the Director, now!”

Chris
printed out the conversation, then locked his computer. They both went to the
printer, and he grabbed the sheets as soon as each came out, then they hurried
to the Director’s office. Morrison’s aide sat at his desk and looked up.

“We need
to see him, right away.”

The aide
nodded and picked up his phone.

“Mr.
Leroux and Miss White here to see you.”

He hung
up the phone and motioned toward the door. “Go on in.”

Chris
opened the door and held it for Sherrie, who flashed him a quick smile as she
stepped by, and moments later they were in front of the Director’s desk, his
finger held in the air as he finished reading something on his computer.

“You’ve
got something for me?”

“Yes,
sir,” said Chris, stepping forward and handing him the sheets. “Skip to page
two.”

Morrison
set the first page aside and began to read, his eyebrows climbing as he did so.
When finished, he looked at the top of the first page where the parties
involved in the conversation were identified.

“You’re
sure about this?”

Chris
nodded. “Echelon positively ID’d the participants. There’s no doubt.”

Morrison
leaned back in his chair, holding his forehead in his hand, massaging the worry
lines. Chris had a feeling he’d have more after this was done.

“If this
is true—”

“It is.”

“—then
this is way bigger than we thought. This
isn’t
a foreign operation.”

Chris
shook his head. “No, sir. This is domestic.”

Morrison
leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, still holding his head. He
pointed with his free hand at Chris. “We need to figure out how far this goes.
Track back this conversation. See who else they called since and in the weeks leading
up to the abductions. See if we can find anything on them referring to the
operation, to the scientists. Anything. I don’t care if you have to break laws;
we don’t have time to wait for court orders. I need more to go on before I
accuse the Secretary of Defense of treason.”

Chris
gulped as the implications of what he had found hit. In the excitement he
hadn’t truly acknowledged who the conversation was between. But if it involved
the Secretary of Defense, it was almost as high as it could go.

There’s
no way they’re going to let us live.

Chris Leroux Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

Chris dropped on the couch, shoes still on, and feigned death. It
had taken Sherrie ten minutes to clear the apartment, and they had just made idle
chitchat the entire time. It was rather one-sided if he recalled, his side
lacking. Idle chitchat was something he didn’t do well.

“Tired?”

“Are you
kidding me?” he replied, his eyes still closed. “I’m exhausted. I think I was
running on adrenaline all day. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, and ever since
I found that transcript with the Secretary of Defense, I’ve been scared
shitless!”

He felt
the couch shift as Sherrie sat down, then his leg jerked as she took hold of
his shoe. He sat up on his elbows, eyes opened, and she smiled at him.

“Relax,”
she cooed, pulling off his shoe, then massaging his foot.

“Uh, you
probably don’t want to go anywhere near those. My dogs have been barkin’ all
day, and right now they probably warrant quarantine.”

Sherrie
chuckled and pulled off the other shoe, giving his other foot a few good
squeezes. “You worry too much about trivial things.” She stood up. “I’m going
to get changed and have a shower.” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t answer
the door for anyone.”

Chris nodded,
and leaned back again, closing his eyes. A few moments later he heard the
shower running, and his mind wandered to what she looked like with water and
soap pouring over her firm body. The image was too tantalizing. He stretched
his arms out above him, bending his feet up to stretch his calves, and sighed.

He could
get used to this. But he knew it was a fantasy, played out for anyone who might
be watching. And it was a fantasy that was better than any reality he had ever
had, which was what truly made him sad when he thought about it. Once she was
gone, he would have lived something he never should have, and he would know
what he was missing. Would that make his current day-to-day existence seem pale
in comparison?

Definitely.

So
you’ll just have to find someone else.

He
nodded to himself, sucking in a deep breath, making a promise to himself to
find someone to share his life with, no matter how many times he might be
rejected.

There
was a click at the front door.

His
heart slammed against his chest and he opened his eyes. Four men rushed into
the apartment, one raising a weapon and firing at him. Chris rolled off the
couch and hit the floor as the leather couch was torn two new holes, and
scrambled under the table.

“Sherrie!”
he yelled, hoping she’d hear him over the shower but it was too late. He heard
gunfire rip through the other end of the apartment, tile shattering in the
bathroom. The table he was under suddenly lifted in the air and was tossed
aside.

He
squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hands to cover his face.

“Am I
interrupting something?”

Chris
opened his eyes and looked toward the door, jaw dropping in shock.

What
the hell is he doing here?

International Cooperation Center, North Korea

Four Days after the Kidnappings

“Where’s the EMP?”

It was a
simple question that seemed to cause the handlers to squirm, which was odd,
since the lab had been pretty much taken intact from Ogden and recreated here.
In fact, when Jason had walked in this morning, he had gasped aloud, the
resemblance uncanny. Even the colors had been matched meticulously.

Except
there was one critical component missing.

“Yeah, I
knew something was missing,” agreed Carl from his perch at the end of one of
the lab counters.