Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device (20 page)

He
then changed the subject, erasing the last sexually charged particle from the air. “What is this about Hank? Why could they possibly arrest him? What are the charges?”

She explained it all to him, including what she’d learned that night before at her house. The impact on her ex was obvious, his temper
starting to churn.

“That’s bullshit and horse
feathers,” he growled in a low, mean voice. “They’re just doing this to draw me in. Hank didn’t do anything wrong.”

Maria looked at her watch, slightly taken aback by the time.
“Look, I’ve got to get back to the office before the cops figure out it wasn’t Paula that left. You’ve got food, antibiotic crème, and plenty of shampoo. You lay low, and I’ll come back when I can.”

Nodding, Dusty looked his ex in the eye and said, “Thank you, Maria. I owe ya for all this.”

“We’ll see how you feel about that when you get my bill.” she replied, and then left him alone.

Sergei Primakov pulled the two sheets of typewritten Slavic text from the paperclip, exposing an original copy of the American newspaper article. He preferred to read the
native English because he’d seen inaccurate translations in the past. It wasn’t unusual for the Russian language experts employed by his agency to miss sarcasm and innuendo, errors that could lead to a whole host of issues later on. Besides, his English was perfect, and he wanted to keep it that way.

There
weren’t any hidden meanings in the article titled, “God’s Gun.” Nor could the director of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, or SVR) find any humor within. 

Rising from his chair,
one of the most powerful men in Russia moved to the window of his expansive office, his empty gaze lost somewhere over the Yasenevo District of southwest Moscow. The bright sunshine of the day didn’t match the director’s mood, his thoughts troubled with the news from America.

Primakov had originally been recruited into the old KGB. A child of the communist regime, his academic performance and physical abilities had made the young Sergei a prime candidate for recruitment into the world famous spy agency.

When communism had fallen, Sergei hadn’t been high enough in the ranks to be automatically targeted for removal. Things began to change rapidly as the country accelerated toward democracy, and those at his level who couldn’t adapt were bypassed by the more flexible, nimble thinking individuals. Primakov had seen the opportunity and run with it - his specialty, American capitalism, giving him a leg up on his inter-agency competitors.

Sergei had understood early on that the game was changing. No longer were military secrets and strategic analysis the most valuable int
elligence for his country. The Motherland now required industrial secrets, manufacturing capabilities, and free market analysis. The projected battlefields of central Europe had been replaced by global export markets. Combat power and combined arms capabilities were superseded by currency manipulation and world commodity exchanges.

While his SVR still monitored the world’s military apparatus, the emphasis of the organization was now economic, and that’s why the American
farmer’s invention troubled him so deeply.

The Russian economy depended on the export of arms. After the embarrassing setbacks dealt to his
country’s weapons system by the American Army’s invasion of Iraq, the market for Russian arms had gradually recovered over time. During this period, billions of rubles had been lost to his countrymen, a result of the US thrashing issued to Saddam’s forces and their Russian weapons. The Motherland’s armament industry had been reduced to a second-rate player, severe discounts required to sell anything. It had taken ten years and a significant investment to recover.

In a way
, he reconciled
, this has always been the status quo
. Sergei recalled how the Americans had outspent the former Soviet regime and basically bankrupted his country. Western newspapers had referred to the contest as the “arms race.” In reality, it wasn’t merely a game of numbers – a competition over quantity of missiles, submarines, and tanks. There was also a game within a game – economic obsolescence.

Sergei couldn’t recall how many times a super-expensive weapon was rendered obsolete by a cheap countermove from the other side. He remembered the MIG-2
3 aircraft, a product requiring an investment in research and development that had cost millions of rubles.

A month after the first squadrons were
being equipped with the extraordinarily expensive warplane, the Americans demonstrated the first shoulder fired, ground to air, anti-aircraft missile. The MIG, costing 35 million rubles each, had been rendered obsolete by a missile costing less than $2,000 per copy.

Both sides had continued these leapfrogs of technology for over 40 years. The
Americans won because they had deeper pockets, better leadership, and more motivated engineers. The communists had fallen, leaving Sergei’s beloved Motherland in disarray.

The ongoing contest had cost more than a change of government. Russia was left with a rusting industrial complex, millions of obsolete weapons
, and a bruised national pride. The export of arms had been a key factor in the road to recovery.

Now, a previously
unknown farmer from Texas was again threatening to destroy an industry built with the sweat and sacrifice of millions of Russian workers.

Primakov was familiar with the concept of magnetically launched projectiles. He had read the extensive file created years ago during the
Cold War. The then-Soviet scientists had deemed the technology too problematic to pursue. Portable energy sources, battlefield detection, and numerous other issues had led to the abandonment of the project.

Even when the
US Navy had continued to develop the technology, it was thought to have limited use in the Soviet armed forces. Now, some peasant farmer had surprised the world with an invention that seemed to prove the world’s most brilliant engineers wrong.

It wasn’t that the SVR’s director worried
about a cowboy showing up at the Kremlin and demanding to rule Mother Russia. No, the primary issue was the obsolescence of sophisticated weapons of war… weapons critical to his country’s economy and worldwide respect.

How effective would a tank costing 78 million rubles be when a single
soldier firing a rail gun could split the hull in half? Who would purchase a multi-million dollar anti-air defense system when one rebel with a rail gun could obliterate an entire air force with a few shots?

It was troubling, and Sergei needed to
sort it out.

Moving back to his desk, he checked the calendar resting on the polished oak surface. Smiling for the first time that morni
ng, he hit the intercom and instructed, “Please clear my calendar for this afternoon and have my car brought around to the east entrance immediately.”

“Yes, Director.”

A few minutes later, and much to the chagrin of his security detail, Primakov was racing away from the headquarters building, the director wrapped in a steel gray Mercedes Benz SL63 two-seater.

He’d discovered the road not long ago, a rare, lightly traveled lane on the outskirts of his country’s largest city. Recently resurfaced, the glass smooth track had yet to experience the harsh Russian winter, and Sergei reveled in pushing the limits of the fast German sports car. It was a glutinous self-indulgence, the only one his tightly disciplined lifestyle would afford.

Something about the freedom of driving touched his soul, controlling the powerful machine seemed to clear his mind.
I wonder if the American farmer feels the same sensation when he fires his super weapon
, he pondered.
I wonder if it clears his mind to control such a powerful beast.

The thought refocused the intelligent man, his logical mind shifting gears as smoothly as the car that carried him through the countryside. Changing
mental tracks from concern over Mother Russia’s future to a more selfish reasoning, Sergei began to picture himself possessing the weapon. What would it mean? What could he accomplish?

The growl of the German V8 was a symphony to his ears as he flatten
ed out of a banked curve and accelerated down a straight section of the road. The embrace of the leather seat felt like the welcoming arms of a beautiful woman as the car passed 180 kilometers per hour and continued to climb.

I need to control that weapon
, he realized.
Not for my country, but for me.
He could right so many wrongs with such power.

Sergei’s mind began to perform its finest art – planning. As the German road machine
flew through the Russian farmlands, he set forth timetables, reviewed personnel lists, and established deliverables. Once the outline and schedule was complete, he then concentrated on the sales pitch to his superiors. Even the mighty SVR had its boundaries and budgetary limits.

His presentation would be simple and believable – mainly because it was true, for the most part. He would obtain their support because he wanted to save Russia’s arms industry from this economy
- destroying technology loose on the American streets. He would find and take the weapon before the American authorities gained control of the device.

A thin smile crossed his lips, the first one of the day that wasn’t attributed to the car.
He would use the significant power of his agency to obtain the rail gun, and then he would control Mother Russia, turning it into a fine tuned machine of power – just like his Mercedes.

Why stop at Russia
, he reasoned.
Why not the world?
 

The security procedures seemed deliberately slow and invasive, delaying Grace and Eva’s arrival at the judge’s private chambers. Not only had the repeated scanning, pat downs and questioning been excessive, the two women felt like they were being held back intentionally.

If the process had been
purposely designed to stall Grace’s arrival, it worked. Barely entering the quiet confines of the Federal Magistrate before the scheduled time, she hadn’t had time to visit with her client or review any last minute preparations. The morning’s events caused her building anger to fester a few degrees higher.

A young Department of Justice prosecutor entered the chambers shortly afterwards. He glanced at Eva and immediately
hissed, “She can’t be here.”

“She is the defendant’s wife
; she most certainly can be here,” responded an already pissed Grace.

“You’re out of your league here,
Ms. Kennedy. This isn’t some hearing over patent infringement or copyright law. This is a matter of national security being prosecuted under the Patriot Act. I’m giving Mr. Barns a huge benefit by even agreeing to this arraignment at all. I don’t have to, you know. There’s no due process required for domestic terrorists.”

“And where might my client be, young man
? I want to speak with him before this circus begins.”

“The suspect is locked up in a federal holding facility and is in good health. He is being treated as a prisoner of war.”

Before Grace could respond, the judge entered the room. All the attendees automatically stood, quickly waved back to their seats by the salt and pepper haired man wearing a smartly tailored business suit and carrying a fine leather attaché case.

As
the magistrate settled into his seat, the DOJ lawyer spouted, “Your honor, I must request that Eva Barns be removed from chambers. This is a national security matter where sensitive information may be disclosed. Mrs. Barnes has no clearance, nor does she have any standing before the court.”

An annoyed look flashed on the judge’s face, a hint of distaste showing before his stoic expression returned. He looked at Grace and said, “
Ms. Kennedy?”

“Your honor, I don’t possess any sensitive information, only the DOJ i
s in possession of such material. Given that, I would offer that the prosecutor is in control of what is disclosed and what isn’t. If he feels the need to reveal any information relating to national security, then Mrs. Barns could be excused from these chambers at that time.”

Nodding, the judge replied, “Sounds fair enough. Let’s get started. Please read the state’s charges, Mr. Haskins.”

Pulling a single sheet of paper from his briefcase, the DOJ lawyer began. “The Department of Justice, under the powers granted by the Patriot Act of 2001, does hereby charge Mr. Henry Wilson Barns as follows. One count of conspiracy to commit an act of violence against the sovereign government of the United States of America, said conspiracy having the intent and forethought to damage, render ineffective, or corrupt the government’s ability to enforce rule of law. One count of participating in the development of a weapon of mass destruction, as a violation of the National Firearms Act of 1968. Two counts of hindering a felony investigation, three counts of withholding information from federal law enforcement officers.”

After scanning the papers offered by the D
OJ attorney, the judge turned to Grace. “Ms. Kennedy?”

“Your honor, this is an abomination of justice, a clear violation of my client’s constitutional rights. Furthermore, the state is intentionally withholding
evidence directly associated with my client’s defense. The DOJ is completely out of line here. There is no indication of any conspiracy against the government, any intent of wrongdoing, and it is an extreme overreach to even propose a single illegal act by Mr. Barns.”

Without waiting on the judge’s response, the special prosecutor handed the judge a stack of papers. “These documents are the transposed statements from recorded interviews with Mr. Barns on the night of his arrest. You will see that he clearly admits knowing one Mr. Durham Weathers had built a device using components from both Russia and China,
foreign powers with known hostilities and radical terrorist elements opposed to the United States. Furthermore, Mr. Barns fully confesses to witnessing the test firing of a weapon of mass destruction, yet didn’t alert the proper authorities on the night in question.”

Grace hadn’t seen Hank’s statements, another violation of her client’s privilege. She decided to play it by ear. “Mr. Barns had no way of knowing this weapon’s capabilities. The parts
referred to in the state’s complaint aren’t banned or restricted for import. If the DOJ is going to imprison everyone who possesses imported goods from Russia or China, then surely every US citizen will be incarcerated, your honor. There was never any discussion between Mr. Weathers and Mr. Barns involving intent to use the weapon against the United States, or anyone else for that matter. As a matter of fact, Mr. Barns was informed that the inventor of the device was going to travel to Texas A&M University in order to have it examined by an expert. Where is the conspiracy here, your honor?”

The magistrate seemed to ponder Grace’s argument,
finally turning to the man from Justice and raising his eyebrows.

Haskins considered his words carefully. “Your honor, we can prove that this device was used in a direct attack against two warplanes of the United States Air Force. Furthermore, we can prove that the same device was used to avoid pursuit by law enforcement officers and is directly responsible for the felled
high-tension towers in north Houston just a few days ago. Mr. Barns should have contacted the authorities immediately after the discovery of the weapon. He did not. Not even after repeated national news stories did he volunteer the facts in his possession. We have a solid, provable foundation for these charges, your honor.”

Grace sensed she was losing. With the spin of
events being delivered to the judge, she felt like she was swimming against a tide of logic. She decided to at least salvage enough to give Hank a fighting chance.

“
Regardless of this supposed evidence, I pray your honor will at least grant my client the right to a proper, legal process. We’ve been denied numerous constitutional protections and been shown no evidence before this hearing. Even the warrants have been sealed and unavailable to counsel. My client can prove his innocence, your honor, if we are allowed due process of law.”

Haskins started to counter, but the judge held up both hands to silence the two attorneys. “I think I understand what is going on here.
Ms. Kennedy, I’ll give you 24 hours to deliver a written rebuttal to the state’s position on this matter, after which, I will rule within another 24 hours. Until then, I’m ordering Mr. Barns be given access to his counsel and for the state to make available the documents delivered to me today. This hearing is over.”

The judge promptly rose and left, leaving the two combatants and Eva staring at each other. Haskins wasn’t pleased. “I’ll fight you every step of the way on this, Kennedy. We’re tired of these domestic lunatics using every little loophole in the law to avoid justice.”

Grunting, Grace stared at the younger man straight in the eye. “These little loopholes you reference are how our system of justice works. All we ask is a fair trial and adherence to my client’s constitutional rights. I’m sure the American people won’t be pleased to know their government has decided to mimic Nazi Germany when it comes to how it treats its own citizens, complete with trumped up charges and false crimes.”

Tilting his head, the man from Justice asked, “Are you threatening to go to the press on this,
Ms. Kennedy?”

“I most certainly will do that, and any other legal step within my power to protect the rights of Mr. Barns, sir.”

Without another word, the government lawyer rose and left the room. Grace heard sniffing sounds from behind her, turning to find Eva in tears. “Why?” the terrified woman wailed. “Why are they doing this to Hank? He’s a good man, not a criminal.”

Eva and Grace’s exit from the courthouse didn’t take nearly
as long as their entrance. Stepping down the front steps of the monolithic building, two men in suits suddenly blocked their way.

Flashing a badge, the older man barked, “Grace Kennedy?”

“Yes, what’s the problem?”

“I have a warrant for your arrest.”

With that, a female agent stepped closer and pulled Grace’s hands behind her back after removing the attorney’s purse.

“What the hell are you doing? I’m an officer of the court and…
.”

“The charge is espionage. More specifically, you are accused of threatening to leak classified information to public sources. Special Prosecutor Haskins just swore out the warrant, not five minutes ago.”

“Grace?” Eva’s shaky voice sounded behind her. “What’s going on?”

“They are arresting me because I threatened to go to the press, Eva. It will be okay.
Call Maria, and see if she can come down here and pick you up. I’ll be okay.”

Eva
began fumbling for her phone, pausing as the two FBI agents escorted Grace back inside the building. She somehow managed to dial her cell, explaining to her host what had just happened.

“I’ll be there in 40 minutes, Eva. Stay put,” Maria
promised.

Secretary Witherspoon entered the
Oval Office with an attitude. Despite his repeated calls to the White House, it had taken days, not hours for the Commander in Chief to finally see him. It wasn’t a positive sign.

“Henry,” opened the president, “Let’s sit on the couches and be comfortable.”

Walking toward the sofas, Witherspoon intentionally stepped around the Presidental Seal woven into the carpet. Somehow, in the acidedimic’s mind, stepping on the emblem was disrespectful to the office. He cringed when the president didn’t do the same.

The two men sat on oppo
site sides, facing each other across a tasteful coffee table adorned with a heaping bowl of apples. The Secretary of Energy was curious if they were real, but decided not to waste his boss’s valueable time exchanging social amenities.

“Sir, I appre
ciate your seeing me. I feel this matter is most urgent.”

“I’ve read the brief you sent over. I also rec
eived a face to face update from the Secretary of Homeland Security and the Department of Defense. I must say, this is all a bit confusing.”

“Confusing, sir?”

The president crossed his legs, folding his hands over his knee. “I’m hearing different opinions from my staff, and while that’s not unusal, I rarely see such a wide differential as the briefs I have received on this situation.”

“Mr. President, I believe the discovery at A&M, if validated, could be the greatest single breakthrou
gh in the history of our species. I also feel strongly that abusing the technology could lead to the end of our race, if not the entire planet. That’s why I’ve been so persistent in my requests to speak with you.”

Nodding, the chief executive responded, appearing t
o choose his words carefully. “I understand your concern, but species-ending technology isn’t exactly new, Henry. You probably noticed that Air Force officer outside. He’s carrying the launch codes for our nuclear arsenal. I have stealth bombers, intercontintental ballistic missiles and a fleet of submarines at my disposal. I, and a few other world leaders, could end man’s existence at any time. I’m struggling to see the difference.”