Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4) (10 page)

Craig put his head down on the table.

“Will, we don't even know who the enemy is, so how are we
supposed to even identify how they are talking to one another?”

“I told you before, they use Infinity Blade.”

“Infinity what?”

“Infinity Blade. It’s an MMORPG.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“A massive multiplayer online role-playing game.”

“My kids play those?” Craig asked no one in particular before
turning to Joshua, who was still asleep. “Do my kids play that?”

The door swung open and Gary walked back inside, pocketing his
cell phone.

“The game is based on a series of fantasy novels that became an
underground hit. The game also has a cult following. It was produced
by the same Norwegian guy who created Paradoxica.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Gary demanded.

“Para what?” Craig asked.

“Paradoxica,” Will said. “It’s a game about a young woman
traveling between three worlds...and filled with existential
malaise….”

“Oh. My. God. I'm going back outside,” Gary said as he
reached for the door.

“Hold on, dammit!” Will yelled. “I’m getting to the good
part.”

“So there is a point to all of this?”

“I’ve been playing Infinity Blade for years, and I know
something is going on inside this game.”

“I should have known. You're a bigger gamer than my kids, but
at least my kids don’t have conspiracy theories about the games
they play,” Craig said as he rolled his eyes.

“Look, what is a video game?” Will asked rhetorically. “It’s
a communications medium, another way to talk over the internet. But
in this case, it is within a massive multiplayer video game. The FBI
identified an island in the game called Second Life that Hezbollah
uses to talk to each other. Hezbollah members from anywhere in the
world, including their handlers in Iran, can log into the game and
meet up with each other to exchange information and issue orders.”

“And you think this Infinity Blade game is used the same way,”
Gary said as he walked back and took his seat.

“I know it is. The FBI investigated, but they can't crack the
cell inside Infinity Blade. Their operational security is tight. You
don't get into their castle unless you’ve been extensively vetted.”

“Assuming you are correct, what makes you think this is the
same group behind our current situation?”

“When I realized that a number of countries antagonistic toward
the United States were in collusion with each other, I began looking
for traces of them and how they communicate. The servers for Infinity
Blade are physically located in China, which doesn’t mean anything
in of itself, but that prevents the FBI from gaining access.”

“So you identified some secretive group inside a video game
operated out of China, which means this is just another wild-ass
hunch of yours?” Craig asked.

“This is how the baddies communicate,” Will replied. “I’m
sure of it.”

“
I’m sure
this is a waste of time,” Craig said as he
put his head back down on the table. “I’m taking a nap.”

“I’m going to pound down a couple of Monster energy drinks
and get back to work,” Will announced. “No reason to sit around
jagging off to gay porn or whatever it is you guys do when I’m not
around. Time to call the CNO office upstairs and get a persona to
access the game with.”

CNO, or computer network operations, was a polite way of saying
computer hacking.

Gary looked at the clock on his cell phone.

“Another five hours until the satellite window opens,” he
sighed. “Give them a call.”

Will reached across the table and picked up the secure telephone
before pressing the appropriate extension number.

“So now we’re passing time by playing video games? When the
inspector general investigates this office, the report will make one
hell of a read,” Craig said looking up at them.

“Hey, this is Will down at SCOPE,” he said as the CNO office
picked up the phone. “We need a persona.” He frowned as he
listened to the techie on the other end of the line. “Yeah. Yeah.
No. OK. Hold on, look, what personas do you have on Infinity Blade?”

Another few seconds.

“OK, I’ll take the chaotic neutral blade master. See you in a
few.”

“What the hell was all of that?” Craig asked.

“Borrowing a persona from CNO.”

“You keep saying that. What do you mean by
borrow a
persona
?”

“An online persona. Really Craig? How long have you worked
here?”

“Twelve years.”

“And worth every dime of taxpayer money you are. The
techs here maintain digital personas in order to conduct cyber
reconnaissance and infiltration. Each persona has its own laptop
computer. Each computer has a name, a persona name. Every computer
has a set of rules that you follow—that persona’s bible. His
turn-ons, turn-offs, political views, what websites he frequents, and
so on.”

“Building a false identity.”

“A false persona,” Will corrected. “You can then use that
persona to infiltrate jihadi message boards or white supremacist
websites, whatever you need. Every so often the techs pull out each
laptop, be it named Mike, Bob, or Muhammad, and tool around on the
web for a few hours, then move on to the next laptop to maintain the
next persona’s online presence.”

“So we actually pay people to fart around on Facebook and play
Farmville all day?”

“Well….” Will said as he thought about it for a moment.
“Yes. But the system does work. And some of these personas have
maintained a presence in online games. Since Infinity Blade is a
popular game, we have three personas run out of this building with
characters in it.”

There was a knock at the door and Gary slid across the office on
his rolling swivel chair to open it.

“Hey Jerry,” Will said to the guy standing in the doorway.

He was a very unfortunate-looking man. Essentially, exactly what
most people thought a computer hacker looked like. His face was
drawn, his muscles atrophied, and his mustache and beard grew in so
weak that it looked like he had pubic hair glued to his chin.

“So what do you need Roger for?” Jerry asked as he closed the
door behind him, a laptop computer secured under one arm.

“Roger?” Gary asked.

“Roger is the name of this computer, and the persona on it,”
the computer hacker replied. “So what do you need him for?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Will said as he interlaced his fingers
behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Just saving the
world, that’s all.”

“This is a level 37 blade master that I’ve built up over five
years,” Jerry cautioned. “You can’t just take him and throw him
into Panchea, Wintersebb, and Ravendale without hurting my stats.”

“Jerry,” Will said as he leaned forward. “It isn’t your
character profile, it’s JSOC’s.”

Jerry shook his head.

“No, you can’t just take him away from me like that!”

Will jumped up out of his chair and lunged for the laptop under
Jerry’s arm.

“Give it to me you squirrely little shit!”

“No!” Jerry shrieked.

The two entered into a tug of war for the computer, the fate of
America potentially hanging in the balance of a full-on nerd rage.
Finally, Will snatched the laptop away from him.

“You still have a level 14 paladin and a level 32 battle mage
you can play while billing DOD for your time,” Will sneered. “Now
get the fuck out!”

Jerry’s lips and nose shriveled as he stepped out and slammed
the door behind him.

“Goddamn short bus-riding window lickers they employ around
here,” Will complained. Sitting down, Will fired up the laptop and
cracked his knuckles. “Time to go save democracy, boys.”

Craig and Gary were still in shock, their minds trying to catch
up with what they had just witnessed.

That was when Joshua finally woke up.

“What's going on, guys?”

* * *

The tension was nerve-racking.

Samruk International's leadership element met to conduct mission
planning while they were still underway. Deckard, Sergeant Major
Korgan, Fedorchenko, Shatayeva, Aghassi, Nikita, and their mortar
section sergeant, Ivan, stood around a monitor looking at images they
pulled off of Google Earth. Pat, Kurt, and Chuck were also in
attendance. As senior soldiers in the company, they were always
around to provide input during mission planning.

While most of them were sleeping, the second pass from a
satellite in polar orbit came in. The imagery indicated a faint wake
from the enemy vessel. It had only deviated slightly from their
original heading, making way for a small cove along the Russian
coast. The JSOC think tank provided some additional imagery and data,
then Samruk leadership began planning the mission.

Concepts of the operation were cast aside just as quickly as they
were dreamed up by the veteran soldiers. In the Arctic, mobility
options were extremely limited. The cove was surrounded by steep
cliffs covered in ice. Flanking around would take hours that they
probably didn’t have. The direct approach led them through icy
waters where they were prone to being ambushed along the same cliffs.

At the far end of the cave was their objective, an abandoned
naval port from the Soviet era. The imagery they had showed oblong
objects strewn around the end of the cove. Apparently, it was a
submarine graveyard. Doing some calculations, Otter estimated that
the enemy must have set up a fuel depot there ahead of time to refuel
their ship. Without knowing the size of the enemy ship, he made an
educated guess that they would be running low on fuel at this point.

Whether or not they were still in the cove was another matter
altogether. Again, all Otter could do was make an educated guess as
to what the enemy ship’s speed was relative to the Carrickfergus.
They might catch them in the act of refueling, or they might miss
them by several hours.

Deckard didn’t like it at all. He’d screwed up royally by
deploying with gun trucks when he should have brought more
snowmobiles and Zodiac boats, but in the end, you deploy with the
Army you have, not the one you want. Now they had to make the best of
it.

Rochenoire was sketching something out on the whiteboard
and waving his hands at Pat as they argued about some tactical
detail. Deckard had reviewed their options and now he had made a
decision as well. Once again, this was going to be sketchy as hell.

Chapter 9

Cody overhanded the miniature unmanned aerial vehicle into
the air.

The wind caught the UAV's wings as the small electric
engine buzzed, spinning the propeller. The drone itself was French in
origin, while the sensor package had been bought in the U.K. and
Austria. Cody had assembled the drone himself in his hackerspace
several weeks prior. Turning away from the deck of the ship, the
computer hacker quickly ducked back inside and handled the small
control unit.

Using two joysticks retrofitted to a tablet, Cody could look
through the drone’s cameras and steer it where he needed it to go.
On the screen, broken ice scattered throughout the sea quickly gave
way as the drone climbed to a hundred feet above sea level and flew
over land. Maneuvering the drone in a long, lazy arc, he flew around
the cove, looking for signs of the enemy. Flipping a switch, the
thermal camera kicked in. White splotches on the tablet would
indicate the infrared signature given off by human body heat.

Leaning up against a bulkhead, he put the drone in a loiter route
over the objective area. Everything looked clear. It would have a
little under an hour of fuel before he had to return the drone back
to the Carrickfergus and attempt to land it on the deck. Reaching
into his pocket, he palmed a radio and held it up to his mouth.

“This is Fapper-1,” Cody said into the radio, barely holding
back a laugh as he gave his self-selected call sign. “The coast is
clear. No signs of an ambush on the cliffs, over.”

“Roger.” It was Deckard’s voice. “We're about to get
underway. Can you give us a pass straight up the cove and see if
anyone is active down there?”

“On it,” Cody said.

Pocketing the radio, he went back to the control unit, glad that
he wasn’t going to be out there paddling in the Russian Arctic.

* * *

With the Carrickfergus’s barge deck lowered, twin Zodiac FC470
boats were launched simultaneously. The black inflatable boats each
carried 10 mercenaries, making for a total of a 20-man assault force.
They were going in light, but it had been decided that sailing the
Carrickfergus into the cove could end catastrophically if the enemy
had another ambush prepared. Better to go in with the Zodiacs while
their mothership cut off entry and exit from the narrow channel.

The coxswain of each Zodiac steered the gas-powered engine,
taking them on a slow approach through the mouth of the cove. At the
head of each boat was a PKM machine gunner, ready to lay down some
cyclic fire if the need arose. The riflemen sat on the sides of the
Zodiacs, their eyes darting around, looking for targets. Rocky cliffs
lurched by on both sides of the mercenaries as the Zodiacs slipped
into the cove. Coxswains eased them around drifting sheets of ice.

Deckard looked up as Cody’s drone buzzed overhead like a giant
paper airplane. As expected, the terrain was barren, devoid of life.
Out this far, the only sort of person you ever saw on land was the
occasional impoverished Russian searching for and digging up mammoth
tusks for sale on the black market.

As the rubber boats edged around the rocks and ice, the
submarine graveyard came into view. The aquamarine waters parted as
the boats churned forward, revealing dozens of dark red and brown
rusted submarine hulls dead ahead.

Back in Tampa, SCOPE had done some analysis and determined that
most of the decaying husks were Tango-class attack submarines. Now
they were just fading vestiges of the Cold War, abandoned in a
forgotten corner of the globe.