The Bergamese Sect (15 page)

He walked to the summit of a low rise where the graves gave way to a lush green area. A bench looked out across the Potomac River and toward the city. Walsh sat and could see the Washington Monument rising above the green trees; it’s stark marble orange in the warm morning sun. The lonely bench was one of his favourite spots; a place that helped him reach decisions.

Concern was clear on Walsh’s face. It was more than concern for his compromised agents. He feared a global upheaval that made their lives seem almost irrelevant. It felt like he was standing on a landslide, slipping inexorably toward the upheaval he feared.

But something else was clouding his mind. A powerful paranoia. The questions spinning in his head made him giddy. He was beginning to distrust the men he believed stood for what was right. It told him to tread cautiously in uncovering the saboteur. And why? Because Sebastian’s real significance, the reason the man had to be found, was known only to those he should trust implicitly. The group of men who called themselves Daedalus.

When Daedalus had first recruited him, Walsh had been sceptical, even antagonistic toward its purpose. He’d viewed it as a board of decision-makers – reviewing policy behind closed doors, detached from everyday experience and misunderstanding the real issues of national security. But his opinion had changed rapidly. The members of Daedalus were men of principle and understanding. They
did
make decisions, but decisions that could not be trusted to politicians or bureaucrats. This autonomy came naturally to them. They didn’t need to be told what was best for the nation or whether their actions were justified. They acted without remorse or fear of rebuke. Federal administrations came and went, but Daedalus always remained, unnoticed and effective.

The purpose of Daedalus was hard to define. It directed projects. Most were so secretive that their real aims, their very existence, were hidden, even to those involved. These were developments that neither the nation’s leaders, nor their voters, had a right to know about, even less understand. Some were military projects, but not the kind wheeled out at air shows or discussed by CNN reporters in Kabul or Kiev. That kind of weapon was best left to military geniuses, not a group of stark, suited strangers that discussed their plans and aspirations in utter secrecy. Daedalus’ concerns were far more important. They were concerned with making the impossible a reality.

Daedalus had always been aware that for progress to be made, innovation, lateral thought and lack of prejudice were prerequisites. Knowledge was power, but knowledge didn’t always mean following the accepted view of reality. Central to its effectiveness was the ability to embrace any idea, however insane, and to extract from that impossibility any basis for the advancement of the national wellbeing.

A government electronics lab could be working on a radical new kind of transputer, an established scientist could be set the task of analysing the failure rate of ESP subjects, or an expert in quantum gravity could be asked to report on possible uses of zero point energy. Simple purposes of little individual merit. But like a single transistor buried in a sheet of silicon, their individual tasks would add up to developments more astounding than they could ever imagine. Walsh often compared it to a vast pyramid of acrobats – technicians, academics and engineers at its base holding aloft the nation’s most fantastic, creative, sometimes most destructive capabilities. And at the summit of the pyramid sat Daedalus, its existence known only to the men who sat round its table – a ghostly mentor directing and reviewing the nation’s progress toward the unbelievable.

Making science fiction technical reality. ‘Visionary’ was a word Walsh used to describe Daedalus’ work.

But it wasn’t always about advancing capabilities; it was often just about the sheer beauty of the incredible. Daedalus harboured the kind of dangerous, arcane knowledge that other, established government agencies wouldn’t touch or simply failed to understand. And that included the paragon of federal cover-ups – the existence of alien visitors. Daedalus knew an unhealthy amount about this sensitive and contentious issue.

But it also understood the economics of hysteria and had used it as an effective weapon. As long as the mythology grew, and claims of conspiracy became more vocal, the truth would sink further into the comfort of its protection. The issue had almost become a parody of itself and that’s exactly what Daedalus wanted. Daedalus
was
the conspiracy that so many hungered for, but it was hiding nothing the conspiracy theorists would recognise. It protected something far more dangerous.

―
§ ―

It was eight o’clock when Petersen arrived. Walsh watched him walk up the rise from the distant road, occasionally breaking into a trot. He was sweating slightly as he sat down; a rim of red around the eyes showed he hadn’t slept. The morning sun made him squint.

‘
Morning.’

Walsh acknowledged his arrival but sat staring out across the countless graves. He took a deep breath before turning to Petersen. ‘Did you find anything?’

‘
Not really,’ Petersen replied as he reached inside his jacket for a packet of cigarettes. He took one out and lit it, not offering one to his Director. Walsh didn’t smoke.

‘
Only you and I have had access to Sebastian’s files.’

Walsh took another deep lung full of the cool morning air. He’d expected this. The information required to find the target wasn’t in those files. In fact, they painted a very incomplete picture. But this had driven Walsh to the inevitable conclusion that suspicion should fall on the men who sat round conference tables in lonely country mansions. Walsh had found himself subconsciously inspecting Daedalus’ members, delving into the scant details he knew of their aims, casting a quizzical mind over their motives. But he’d drawn a blank; he simply didn’t know enough about them to identify a threat. Besides, what little details he’d given Daedalus weren’t enough to compromise his agents.

Walsh looked over at the exhausted Petersen. ‘Nothing else?’

‘
Well, there’ve been no accesses of anything relating to the case. But I did find something that might be important.’ Petersen spoke the words casually, as if his skills were beyond question.

‘
Yes? And what was that?’

‘
Lewis’ dossier,’ explained Petersen. ‘It’s been accessed within the last forty-eight hours.’

‘
By who?’

‘
I couldn’t tell. But none of our security systems have been breached. Someone with a valid account has been in and looked at Lewis’ data. Normally I’d be able to trace them, but they’ve come in on a secure line. They knew what they were doing and managed to cover their tracks.’

Petersen turned to his Director, flicked his cigarette ash on the ground and crossed his legs. He pinched the corners of his eyes to relieve the sting of tiredness.

‘
Does that mean the access was from outside the NSA?’ Walsh asked.

‘
Yes, but I can’t tell where. They certainly had all the necessary access permissions.’

Walsh looked toward the city again. ‘An access on Lewis’ file doesn’t worry me,’ he said. ‘It could be anybody; another department checking something out; Lewis himself.’

‘
Sure,’ said Petersen, blowing a cloud of white smoke above his head. ‘It just struck me as odd that Lewis, who was shot at yesterday, should have been checked out so recently. A coincidence?’

‘
Could be?’

‘
Yeah, could be. But I checked for other accesses of this kind; I mean an unscheduled access through a secure external link.’

‘
And?’

‘
It’s never happened before. Not once. Besides, if it’s a bona fide access, why take steps to cover your tracks? They were very thorough.’

Walsh still didn’t react. Nothing he heard seemed to fit with his suspicions. A plan was surfacing in his mind; a plan to find the saboteur, however damaging it would be to Daedalus and its aims. To proceed could spell disaster, but he had no choice if he was to protect Argent, and ultimately, the hunt for Sebastian. An uncomfortable, nervous feeling was lodged in the pit of Walsh’s stomach.

‘
Okay, so maybe it’s odd, but should it concern us? Just taking a look at Lewis’ file can’t lead someone to our target, can it?’

Petersen stubbed out his cigarette on the arm of the bench and tossed it into a nearby trash can. He uncrossed his legs and brushed his blonde hair back from his brow. He looked Walsh in the eye. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said, ‘but I think it can.’

‘
How?’ Walsh’s face wrinkled in confusion and Petersen seemed pleased at the reaction. A strange smile crossed his lips briefly.

‘
Okay, say whoever accessed the file has the same capabilities as we do. Unlikely, I know, but let’s just say they have.’

‘
Right.’

‘
They access Lewis’ file and in there they’ll find his COFS number.’

‘
COFS number?’ Walsh was familiar with most acronyms used in his department, but this one escaped him. He gave Petersen a blank expression.

‘
Yes, COFS – compromised on foreign soil.’

Walsh was still a blank.

‘
His implant code.’

Realisation dawned on Walsh’s face. When a pilot bails out behind enemy lines, all they need to do is switch on their tracking device, and up pops a rescue mission. But for covert operations, it’s essential to be able to recover an agent, or the information he carries, whether he’s dead or alive. Argent field operatives were fitted with implants beneath the surface of the skin that transmit lower power beacon signals. These could be tracked by satellite so that a recovery mission can locate and rescue an agent efficiently. An agent’s COFS number was the unique identification code transmitted by their implant.

‘
Of course!’ Walsh cried. ‘They didn’t need to know where the target was; they just knew they had to find Lewis.’

Petersen was smiling. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘It assumes they have access to the same technology as we do, but it could be done. It’s the only way I can think for them to get to the target.’

‘
It also suggests they know it’s Lewis on the case,’ Walsh mused. If Petersen was right, their own men had led the attackers to their prey. As long as Lewis was tracking the target, the saboteur would be right behind him. There was nowhere Lewis could hide.

Suddenly, Walsh remembered something he’d said to Sewell. He’d told him Lewis was the best he had. He’d told Sewell it was Lewis on the case. Sewell had said a saboteur was sitting at the Daedalus conference table, but could he have meant himself? It seemed crazy. Walsh suddenly felt cold.

‘
I’m afraid that doesn’t help much with the identity of the attackers,’ said Petersen, breaking Walsh out of his stupor. The two men looked at each other.

‘
Actually, John,’ Walsh replied, ‘I have a suspicion of who might be involved.’

‘
You know who it is?’

‘
No, I don’t know, I just have a suspicion. It seems unthinkable.’

‘
Who is it?’

‘
I can’t tell you that, John.’

Walsh felt the urge to confide in Petersen, but he resisted. He was used to keeping secrets from his agents; it was part of his job. It frequently meant the difference between life and death. He felt no remorse about this duty, particularly when it involved the oversight of Daedalus.

‘
It’s my job to protect our agents too, Larry,’ said Petersen. ‘I think I need to know what and who we’re dealing with.’

‘
I have no choice. If I could tell you I would.’

‘
Then I’m incapable of helping,’ Petersen said, sounding indignant.

Walsh leant toward his colleague and touched his arm. A seriousness had come over him. ‘No, you
can
help.’

Petersen looked back at the Assistant Director.

‘
I have a few things to follow up today,’ Walsh went on, ‘but I’m going to need your help later. We’re going to spend a few days on the West Coast. Be at Andrews Air Force Base at nine tonight. I’ll explain on the flight. Now, go home and get some sleep.’

He stood and thanked Petersen with a tap on the shoulder. The other man remained on the bench looking out over the rows of graves, briefly nodding to Walsh as he turned to leave.

‘
Larry,’ Petersen said, ‘we heard back from Warsaw. The team didn’t find much. Three guys were found dead at the scene. Their bodies were badly burnt. A local called Andrzej Kameris. Seems he was helping the subversives. The Polish authorities are still trying to identify the other two. Ridley traced a car they’d rented, but they’d paid cash and used false passports, South African ones. They spoke with the clerk. He said he was sure they had American accents.’

‘
Did Ridley get any forensics?’

‘
No, the police had already combed the area due to the suspicious nature of the deaths. Should we get Ridley to recover the evidence?’

Walsh thought for a second. ‘No, I don’t think we’ll need it. Have him stay in Warsaw for a while though. Did we hear from Lewis overnight?’

‘
No. I tried to raise him earlier for an update, but no luck.’

‘
Okay. I’ll try myself later. If we haven’t heard from him by tonight, we should get a trace on them through NRO. We need to warn them about those implants as soon as possible. Get some rest. I’ll see you later.’

Walsh turned away again, waved his arm above his head and walked off through the rows of graves. Petersen rubbed his eyes again and reached for another cigarette.

Chapter 10

Bergamo, two cities in one, stands at the edge of a wide plain that rises northwards toward the Lombardy Alps. The old town tops a prominent hill overlooking the flat expanse between the Brembo and Serio rivers. The hill is crowned in every sense of the word. It looks like the mountains have swept down and buried a king of giants. Just his crown now peeps above the landscape, bristling with proud towers, steeples and red-tiled roofs. Jewels of former glory.