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.
She looked around the room. It was almost dark. How long had she slept? Through the windows, the sun was setting over the sea. It was beautiful, and the view held her attention for a brief moment. The breeze was warm and smelled of salt water. On the porch a ratty rope hammock swayed in the wind, its rusty chains creaking with each gust. The place looked and felt so deserted.
She got up and walked out of the bedroom into a large living room, which opened to the kitchen and a door to the porch. Was she alone? No, there was a man, but—
“Sleeping beauty rises.” The man seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Kate hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say. “You drugged me.”
“Yes, but in my defense, I didn’t do it to ply you with questions and do terrible things to your kids.”
In a flood, it all came back to her. Martin, the drugs, the interrogation. But what had happened after? How did she get here? It didn’t matter. “We have to find those children.”
“We don’t have to do anything. You have to rest, and I have to work.”
“Look—”
“And before that, you need to eat.” The soldier held up something that looked like a prepackaged weight loss meal, but it was more hardy — like a soldier’s ration pack.
Kate leaned closer. Vegetable beef stew with crackers. Or something
approximating vegetable beef stew. Kate wanted to turn away, but the sight and smell of the hot food made her stomach churn — she was starving. She hadn’t eaten all day yesterday. She took the meal, sat down, and pulled the plastic off the flimsy carton. A plume of steam rose. She took a bite of the beef and almost spit it out. “God, it’s terrible.”
“Yeah, sorry about that; it’s a little past its expiration, and it wasn’t that great to begin with— No, I don’t have anything else. Sorry.”
Kate took another bite, chewing only briefly before swallowing it down. “Where are we?”
David sat down at the table opposite her. “An abandoned development off the coast of Jakarta. I bought a place here after the developers went bust, figured it would be a good off-the-books safe house in case I ever had to leave Jakarta in a hurry.”
“I don’t remember much of that.” Kate tried the vegetables. The urge to hurl was abating — either it tasted better than the beef or she was getting used to the meal’s general repulsiveness. “We have to go to the authorities.”
“I wish we could.” He slid a printout over to her, an article from Al Jazeera describing a manhunt for them.
Kate choked down some vegetables and half shouted “This is absurd. This is—”
He took back the page. “It won’t matter soon. Whatever they’re planning, it’s happening now. They’re looking for us, and they have government connections. Our options are pretty limited here. I have a lead, and I need to check it out. You’ll be safe here. I need you to tell me—”
“No way I’m staying here.” Kate shook her head. “No way.”
“I know you don’t remember it, but it wasn’t that easy extracting you from Immari custody. These are some very bad people, this is not like the movies where the hero and girl go off on a grand adventure for the sake of plot convenience. This is what we’re going to do: you’re going to tell me everything you know, you have my word that I will do everything I can to save those two children. You will stay here and monitor a web site for new messages.”
“No deal.”
“Look, I’m not offering you a deal, I’m telling you—”
“I’m not doing it. You need me. And I’m not staying here.” She finished the last bite of meal and tossed the plastic fork into the empty carton. “And besides, I think the safest place to be is with you.”
“Nice. That’s a nice touch, appealing to my ego like that, but unfortunately I’m just barely, barely smart enough not to fall for it.”
“You’re leaving me here because you think I’ll be in your way.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“That’s not my biggest concern.”
The man opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, jerking his head sharply to the side.
“What—”
His hand shot up. “Quiet.”
Kate shifted in her seat. Then she saw it — a spotlight, sweeping the beach, then the sound of a helicopter. How had he heard that?
He sprang up, grabbed Kate by the arm and half-dragged her to the coat closet near the entrance to the home. He pushed hard on the back wall and it swung inward, revealing a concrete stairway.
Kate looked back at him. “What is this—”
“Get down there. I’m right behind you.”
“Where are you going?” Kate asked, but he was gone.
Kate ran back into the home. The man was gathering up their things — the meal and his jacket. Kate ran into the bedroom and smoothed the covers, then did a quick clean-job on the toilet. The helicopter was still in the distance, but it was getting closer. It was dark now, and she could see very little — last night was a full moon and tonight was a new moon. The faint light barely illuminated the beach.
David popped into the room and looked at Kate. “Good job, now come on.”
They raced back to the coat closet, through the passage, and down into a small room that looked like a bomb shelter. There was a desk with a computer, a single light hanging from the ceiling, and a small cot — definitely designed for one.
The soldier forced Kate onto the cot and held his index finger at his lips. Then he pulled the cord on the bulb, plunging them into total darkness.
Some time later, Kate heard footsteps on the floor above.
CHAPTER 45
Immari Research Base Snow Island
96 Miles off the Coast of Antarctica
Martin Grey watched as the robots twisted the wheel of the submarine’s hatch. He could barely move in the suit — an actual astronaut’s suit they had purchased hastily from the Chinese Space Agency a week ago. It was the only thing that could withstand the temperature in Antarctica, shield them from the possible radiation, and provide enough oxygen in case their cord got disconnected. Despite the suit’s protection, going into the Nazi sub still scared him to death. And the man in the suit beside him — Dorian Sloane — only added to Martin’s worries. Sloane had a short fuse, and what they were about to find could definitely set him off. In a sub, even the smallest explosions were fatal.
The hatch groaned loudly, the wail of metal on metal. But it still didn’t budge. The robotic arm detached, slid, re-attached, and turned again and then — BOOM — the hatch blew straight back like the door on a Jack-In-The-Box. The robot was instantly crushed against the sub. Metal and plastic pieces of it scattered across the snow as air hissed out of the sub.
Over the radio in his suit, Martin heard Dorian Sloane’s disembodied voice. The hollow, mechanical effect of the radio made him sound even more menacing. “After you, Martin.”
Martin looked over at the man’s cold eyes, then swung back toward the hatch. “Ops, do you have video?”
“Copy, Dr. Grey, we have video for both suits.”
“Ok. We’re entering now.”
Martin lumbered toward the three-foot-round entrance at the top of the small ice hill. When he reached the hatch, he turned around, squatted down, and placed a foot on the first step. He took an LED lamp stick from his side and dropped it into the shaft. It fell about 15 or 20 feet. A ping of hard plastic on metal echoed through the icy tomb, and light spread out below him, revealing a corridor to the right.
Martin took another step. The metal rungs were coated with ice. Another step and he was holding the ladder with both hands, but he could feel one of his feet slipping. He tried to tighten his grip, but before he could, his feet flew off the ladder. He slammed into the back of the hatch and he was falling, the light engulfed him, then it was dark — he landed with a puff — the insulation had saved him. But if the suit had torn, he was dead. The cold would flood in and freeze his windpipe and body in seconds. Martin put his hands on his helmet, feeling around feverishly. Then a light, falling leisurely down the shaft. The glowing lamp landed on Martin’s stomach, casting light all around him. He looked at the suit — it looked ok.
Above him, Sloane came into view, blotting out the sunlight. “Looks like you’ve been riding a desk too long, Old Man.”
“I told you I shouldn’t be down here.”
“Just move out of the way.”
Martin rolled over and crawled out of the opening just as Sloane slid down the ladder, his hands and feet holding it at both sides without ever touching the rungs.
“I’ve studied the schematic, Martin. The bridge is straight ahead.”
They clicked the lights on their helmets on and trudged down the corridor.
The sub, or technically U-Boat, was in pristine condition — it had been sealed and frozen. It looked as it might have 80 years ago when it left port in Northern Germany. It could have been a museum piece.
The corridor was tight, especially with the bulk of the suits, and both men had to tug at their air supply cords periodically as they wadded deeper into the relic. The corridor opened onto a larger area, and Sloane and Martin stopped dead, rotating their headlamps left and right, revealing the room in flashes like a lighthouse carving streams of light into the night. The room was clearly the bridge or some sort of command cen
ter. Every few seconds, Martin caught a glimpse of horror — a mangled man, lying prostrate over a chair, skin melted from his face, a man slumped against the bulkhead, blood stains all over his clothes, and a few more men, lying face down in a frozen block of blood. The six men looked as if they had been put into a giant microwave, then flash frozen.
Martin heard his radio click on. “This look like Bell radiation?”
“Hard to say, but yes, pretty close,” Martin replied.
The two men worked in silence for a few minutes, sweeping the bridge, examining each man.
“We should split up,” Martin said.
“I know where his compartment is,” Sloane said as he turned and stalked down the rear corridor leading away from the bridge.
Martin ran after him. He had hoped to distract him, to reach the crew quarters before Sloane.
It was now nearly impossible to move in the suit, and Sloane seemed to manage much better than Martin.
Finally the older man caught up with Sloane as he twisted open the hatch to the room. Sloane tossed a few lamps in, bathing the room in light.
Martin held his breath as he scanned the room. Empty. He exhaled. Would he have been happier to see a body? Maybe.
Sloane moved to the desk and rifled through papers and opened a few spring-loaded drawers. The lights from his suit lit up a black and white photo of a man in a German Military Uniform — not a Nazi uniform, something earlier, even before World War I. The man held a woman, his wife, to his right, and two sons to his left — they resembled him strongly. Sloane looked at the photo for a long moment, then slipped it into a pocket on his suit.
At that moment, Martin almost felt sorry for the man. “Dorian, he couldn’t have survived—”
“What did you expect to find, Martin?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I asked you first.” Sloane continued searching the desk.
“Maps. And if we were lucky, a tapestry.”
“A tapestry?” Sloane twisted the head of the bulky suit around, blinding Martin with the bright lights.