Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 (24 page)

The only way he could make his brain see any of this from a logical perspective was to assume that more than one agent was involved, and therefore, the sacrifice of one agent in the operation was an acceptable loss if it meant achieving an important objective. On the one hand, having even one additional operative allowed for an initial failure followed by a subsequent attempt. There was little downside to Marcus’ reasoning other than the uncomfortable idea that there might be multiple covert agents still working within the facility.

A beeping cut through the soothing sounds of violin and cello, and Marcus sat up, instantly alert. He clicked off the audio player on his work station and brought up the feed from the tiny surveillance cameras he'd installed in Hamilton's quarters. The cameras had been automatically activated by motion and photo-sensors and had started transmitting and recording immediately.

The lights came on in Hamilton's quarters, and the door closed. A figure in a pair of dark coveralls closed the door carefully and quietly behind him and locked it. He checked his watch, and Marcus did the same. It was 1100 hours; the regular shift had been at duty stations long enough for even late arrivals to be well clear of the halls. The early shift would have likely finished evening meals and would be settling into their nightly routines as they readied themselves for bed.

The spy had picked the perfect time to move. He stepped away from the doorway and moved quickly to Hamilton's dresser and desk. The way he held his head and wore his ball cap made it difficult to see his face, because he didn't look up. With a small flashlight between his teeth, he rifled through the dresser and desk, then turned to Hamilton's foot closet and clothes cabinet. He moved a few things there and then ran his fingers along the bottom of the desk and back of the dresser.

He crossed the room again, and this time his face was in full profile to the camera on the back wall of the room. Marcus pressed the screen capture macro on his keyboard and captured instant images from the feed. He would examine them later. The man then lifted Hamilton's mattress and prodded his pillow carefully. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it. With a shrug, he went back to the dresser. He pulled a roll of electrical tape from his right pocket and a small white object from his other pocket. He pulled out the third drawer of the dresser and taped a small card on the back of the drawer, then pushed it back in place.

He glanced around the room one last time, flipped the lights off, and stepped out of the room.

The cameras kept recording. Their signal would be transmitted to the mainframe computers and stored in a pre-established secure folder for the next fifteen minutes. Unless something else moved in the room or another light source entered the frame, they would automatically power down. Marcus minimized the video window and called up the several still images of the man's face. He examined them closely, but was sure he'd never seen him before. He looked to be in his early thirties at most, medium height and slim build. His hair was hard to see beneath the dark cap, but it looked dark, maybe black.

Marcus closed out the secure folder and took off the headphones. He shut everything down in his quarters and headed straight for the Commander's office. The adjutant's desk was empty when Marcus got there, so he simply knocked on the door and was immediately told to come inside. Commander Price sat at his desk, his work station open in front of him. A frown creased his forehead and face as he waived for Marcus to come in and shut the door.

Marcus strode up to the Commander's desk. "Commander, I think you'll want to see the video just captured in Hamilton's quarters."

Commander Price nodded absently, and pointed to his screen. "I just saw it," he said. "I've already got the mainframe working on a facial recognition algorithm, and we should have a result within the hour."

Marcus frowned slightly. "How did you view the video, sir?" he asked. "I have it stored in my own private, secure folder."

Commander Price gave Marcus a look and motioned to the seat across from him. "You can't really believe that anything connected to this network is really private from me, Lieutenant Commander," he said. "I have the system monitoring everyone's input and access as a matter of normal operations. I do have some individuals under special scrutiny, however, for one reason or another."

"And I guess I'm a special scrutiny case?"  Marcus asked, a bit indignant.

Commander Price nodded unapologetically. "You have access to almost everything I do, Marcus," he said simply. "You have knowledge of plans and information that I have literally shared with no one else. That level of trust and access requires a certain level of insurance, given our circumstances. If you don't like it, I apologize, but that's the way it has to be."

Marcus started to object but found that he couldn't. The Commander's argument made sense, and he didn't have anything to hide from his superior officer in any case. Still, it galled him to know that he was being watched, not on some merit or concern, but as a matter of general course. The fact that the same was true of all of his co-workers was little comfort. Still, the stakes were high enough that a bit of injured pride was a small price to pay.

Commander Price keyed in a few commands and turned his screen so Marcus could see it. The man's face was displayed on a personnel file with the name Morgan Edwards. His ID number was printed beneath it. The computer had taken less than fifteen minutes to make a ninety nine percent perfect match on more than thirty seven biometric values connected to the facial image. There was practically no chance that this Morgan Edwards wasn't their man.

Marcus stared at the traitor’s face and swallowed hard as a chill ran across his neck. He looked up and asked, "Now that we have his name, what do we do?"

Commander Price leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his head. He looked tired, but not exhausted as he had a few days earlier. "We run a search through the system and find out everything we can about Morgan Edwards."

Marcus nodded. "Listen, Commander," he said after a moment, "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think there has to be more than just this one guy."

Commander Price didn't hesitate even a moment before replying. "You're probably correct," he said without a trace of emotion. "Even if there are more agents, there's no way to know right now. All we know for sure is that Mr. Edwards is on the other side."

"Are you sure you still want him roaming about?" Marcus asked, his concern obvious. "He can clearly compromise locks and has certainly been trained in counter intelligence."

Commander Price nodded. "I'm impressed you saw that, Lt. Commander," he said. "Whatever he taped to the back of the drawer, he meant for it to be found. My question, though, is what did he think he might find when he checked the room first?"

Ch.37

Canning Tomatoes

Seven quart Mason jars lined the counter, ready for the ritual to begin. Blossom directed Christina to put a teaspoon of salt in each jar and then place seven lids in the pot of boiling water that sat on the back eye of the stove. The foam had cooked down, so Blossom knew it was time to pour the still-bubbling hot tomatoes in one jar at the time. After seventy years of canning, she knew how many tomatoes to fit in Great-Granny Ida's pot to yield exactly seven quarts.

"Christina, when I say, you fish a lid out of that hot water and put it on the jar, and I'll tighten down the ring. Don't you get burnt, now, you hear? Beth, you get ready to put the jars in the canner. When this batch is done, we'll start on the next." 

In perfect harmony, the three women filled the jars, and as soon as Beth lowered the last jar into the canning pot, she checked the flame of the burner. Once the water started to boil, she would set the timer for thirty minutes. That final hot bath would almost guarantee that each jar would seal.

Blossom gently ran her forefinger over the lids on some jars that had already come out of the canner. There were no tell-tale bumps in the middle. One by one they each had popped as the tomatoes cooled enough to cause the small pocket of gas trapped at the top of the jar to contract and suck in the brass lid. Blossom nodded satisfactorily and then stepped over to a pot of water that had come to a rolling boil on the back burner.

"You want to lower the tomatoes into the boiling water," Blossom said to Christina. "If you drop them, you might break the skin, and then they won't blanche right. Once the skin wrinkles just a little bit, you pull them out with the basket and drop them in the ice water bath to stop the cooking. If you slit the skin with a small knife, it will separate from the meat of the tomato and slide right off."

Christina nodded and pulled the tomatoes out of the wide pan of ice water next to the stove. She slit the skin with a small, sharp paring knife and slid the blanched flesh of the fruit out of the tough skin. The juice often squirted out when she slit the skin, so she dripped tomato from the elbows down to her finger tips, and red tomato juice covered her shirt as well.

Beth took a dish towel from the handle on the stove door and wiped tomato from Christina's face, kissed her forehead, and patted the young woman on the back. "You're doing good, sweetheart."  she said, tucking the dish towel behind her apron strings. "Careful you don't burn your fingers, though. Some of those tomatoes come out hot!"

Christina smiled at Beth as she took the two empty aluminum pans from the kitchen table and headed to the back porch to check on Meg. Granny Ida's pot, again filled with blanched and peeled tomatoes, sat on a propane burner. Soon this batch would be ready, seven new Mason jars would line the counter, and the ritual would begin again.

"It's cooking pretty good," Beth Anne said, sweat slicking her forehead. "The other two ladies went down to the garden with Gilbert to pick the butterbeans and peas."

Beth bent over the tall pot and peaked at the cooking tomatoes. "Do you need any more for this batch?" she asked.

Beth Anne shook her head. "They're not far from foaming right now and they’ll be ready to pull off here in a little bit. Then I’ll be ready for the next big batch."

Beth nodded. She placed a hand on the younger woman's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm glad you're here, hun," she said. "I don't know what we'd have done without you and your family to help."

Beth Anne smiled appreciatively and kept stirring. The spoon she used was a good two feet long and nearly as thick around as Beth's wrist. The bowl at the bottom was as big as both her palms cupped together, and it was black with age
—
stained with years of fruit and vegetables of all sorts. Beth Anne moved it evenly and smoothly like the rhythm of a miniature oar through the stewing tomatoes.

Beth turned and went back inside. She crossed through the kitchen and took in the situation there. Christina was still up to her shoulders skinning tomatoes; Blossom was blanching them as fast as she could while maintaining the water at a steady boil. The supply of clean tomatoes was running low again, so Beth took her two pans through the kitchen and the living room and stepped out onto the front porch. There she found two pans of ripe red tomatoes that had just been washed clean in fresh water from the well. Two of Tom's sons were carrying empty buckets down the front porch steps and toward the back of the house where long, low tables stood in the shade of two old oak trees.

Beth Anne's boy with the broken arm walked with them, chatting and laughing at their silly jokes. They went to refill the buckets with more fruit for Maimey and Imogene to wash. The two younger children helped Bill sort the ripe fruit from those still ripening. Bill ran the show, directing the children in how to handle the fruit and explaining the reason behind every move.

Beth glanced over a few of the tomatoes in the white enameled pan. "Are you ladies sure you don't want to be in the kitchen with Mamma?" she asked for at least the fifth time.

Maimey shook her head and made a shooing motion. "Honey, I spent enough hot summer afternoons over a steamin pot cannin maters. You think I want to be in there out of this sunshine and the fresh breeze?"

Beth chuckled and turned to go back in the house, but she caught sight of two people coming up to the gate. She shaded her eyes with one hand and instantly recognized both men by their mirror walk and the way they swung their arms at the same angles and rhythms.

Imogene caught Beth's stare and her expression and stood. "I'll take the pan in to your momma, darlin. Looks like you've got some business to attend to."

Beth handed the pan over and nodded as she wiped her hands on the thin dish towel tucked behind the strings on her apron. She marched down the steps of the front porch and across the yard, one finger leveled at Joe as he stepped inside the gate and started down the driveway with Eric. The two men exchanged a look, Joe whispered something, and Eric nodded. Her son jogged by and waived, but he didn't slow down or speak.

Joe walked toward her, his hands out to the side as if he meant to hug her or show her he didn't carry a weapon. Beth's eyes narrowed. She stopped and planted her fists solidly on her hips, forcing Joe to walk to her. "You said you'd be back by sun-up, mister," Beth grated through clenched teeth. "Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? I thought you'd fallen in a ditch and broken your leg—or worse."

Joe smiled a bit hesitantly. "Honey, I've done this kind of stuff before—" he began, but Beth shook her head and cut him off before he could even finish the thought.

"I know you did," she hissed in a deceptively quiet voice, "and I hated every minute of it. I hated it when you left; I hated it when you were gone for months at the time. I hated knowing you were somewhere neck deep in danger. I hated waiting for a phone call, a visit from a damned base car, and for you to finally get home safe."

Tears were streaming down her face and Beth's finger shook as she leveled it at him again. "You remember what happened the day you said you'd retired?"