The Fall (5 page)

What the hell's going on?

The woman then nodded at Hastings, who returned the nod before signaling to Captain Riggs, who came over along with two of his men.

Paranoia triggered alarms through her system as the military detail converged around them and drew their sidearms.

Pete materialized from somewhere and jumped in between Angela and Hastings's posse.

“Whoa! This is NASA, folks!” he proclaimed, arms in front, palms opened as he faced Hastings and the wrong end of three shiny black pistols, which Angela recognized as 9mm Sig Sauers Model P229, similar to one of Jack's. “We're scientists. Let's put the weapons away now.”

“Wrong, Flaherty,” said Hastings with a composure that only fueled Angela's rising state of anxiety. “This is a national-security-level military operation that happens to be supported by NASA. I'm in command, and I need you to manage this mess in here while I have a little private chat with the doctor. Then you and I are going to figure out how to handle the press downstairs before calling Washington. Until then, Riggs will see to it that no one in here talks to anyone.”

“General, guns were not in the deal.”

“That's right, Flaherty. The deal was Descent Profile Alpha-B.” He looked over to his gurus and added, “My people tell me that this little lady here took it upon herself to hack into the mainframe and reprogram the descent back to Alpha-G while making us all believe it was still an Alpha-B jump. Isn't that right, Dr. Taylor?”

Angela just stared back.

“That's what I thought,” Hastings continued. “So, Flaherty, from now on, we do it
my
way and under the supervision of
my
scientists.” Turning to Angela, Hastings added, “See, Dr. Taylor, I may not have a Ph.D. but I
own
plenty of them.”

“Fine, General,” replied Pete, “but none of this changes the fact that we have a big problem to solve, and I need my complete staff of experts to do it,
including
Dr. Taylor. She designed the suit, remember?”

“Who's stopping you from solving the problem?” said Hastings, nodding to Riggs, who promptly holstered his sidearm. His two wingmen did the same. Raising his light-colored brows at Pete, Hastings added, “There. Happy? Now, why don't you put all of those engineering degrees of yours to good use and go do your fucking job while I go do mine. And I need Dr. Taylor for five minutes.”

Pete blushed as he hesitated. Angela gently nudged him aside before removing her lab coat, revealing a black AC/DC T-shirt. “It's okay. I don't mind having a word in private with the general. Why don't you go find out what happened to my husband … and the OSS. Start with the video feed. It doesn't make sense. There was no reentry burn-up or visible suit malfunction. Jack just vanished.”

Hands on his waist, Pete took a deep breath, looked at Angela as she reached for the black leather jacket on the back of her chair, then at Hastings and his guards. Slowly nodding, Pete backed away.

“Okay, people,” he announced to the onlookers while pointing back at the monitors. “The problem is
that
way. Back to your stations and let's walk through the telemetry.”

“Shall we, Dr. Taylor?” Hastings said as he started for the door that led to the stairs going up to the private offices on the third floor.

“Just three things, General,” she said while donning her riding jacket before pocketing her mini tablet computer and her smartphone.

Hastings stopped in mid-stride and turned to face her, dropping his gaze at the skull and bike patches on her jacket. “Only three, Doctor?” he finally said.

“First, don't touch me again,” she said, running a hand through her short hair. “Second, don't touch me again. And third, don't ever,
ever
fucking touch me again.”

The general took a deep breath, freckles dancing on his pulsating high cheekbones while he stared down at her before exhaling heavily. “Fine, Doctor. Now, shall we?”

Hastings led the way with a reluctant Angela in tow, followed by the ever-present Riggs. The general used the VIP master key card that Pete had given him the night before to get through the thick door, leaving behind the controlled chaos inside Mission Control. The trio proceeded in silence up the concrete steps under the grayish glow of fluorescents, reaching the third-floor landing, where he used the key again to gain access to a square foyer lined with offices, including Pete's, Angela's, Jack's, and also the visiting VIP office, which Hastings had the honor of occupying since last night.

The general tapped his key against the reader by the door, disengaging the magnetic locks, and went straight for the chair behind the empty desk by the large windows offering an unimpressive view of the parking lot. Large framed and signed prints from old shuttle missions covered the other walls. He pointed to the chair across from him.

Angela took her seat and looked over her right shoulder at Riggs standing at attention behind her, eyes straight ahead.

“Where did you find this guy, anyway?” she said. “Steroids-R-Us?”

“So, Dr. Taylor,” Hastings began without making eye contact, crossing his legs and glancing at his wristwatch. “Tell me why you chose to commit an act of computer terrorism against the United States of America.”

Angela just glared at him.

“See, Doctor,” Hastings continued, still not looking her in the eye but at the tips of his manicured fingers. “Last time I checked, treason carries an automatic death sentence.”

Angela also crossed her legs and began to play with her black fingernails, which she was proud to notice didn't look nearly as manicured as his. “General, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Hastings kept his gaze down as he said, “You reprogrammed the descent algorithm against my direct order.
That
is treason.”

The hacker in Angela couldn't think of a way that even the Alamo gurus could have traced the change back to her, so she decided to stand her ground. “I still have no clue what you're talking about, but tell me, why the interest in Alpha-B, General?”

Hastings's eyes finally gravitated to her. “
That
is classified.”

Not for long,
she thought, glad that she had loaded up those viruses into their tablets.

“I not only have top secret security clearance, General, but I'm also
read-in
for Project Phoenix. There is
nothing
you can't share with me about this program,” she replied, referring to the sensitive compartmented information clearance—commonly referred to simply as “read-in”—she held as lead scientist in the OSS project.

“Well, you may be read-in for Phoenix, but you're not cleared for this, Doctor. And since this is the United States military, I don't need to explain anything to a civilian employee. You work for me and you didn't do what you were clearly directed to do.”

“This is a highly scientific program, General. In fact, it is probably the most scientific program of our times, and in the scientific world, data trumps everything, even the opinions of people with higher pay grades than mine,” she replied. “From my
data-driven
point of view, Alpha-B would have placed Jack at least two miles off the planned target, and dangerously close to the outside of the safety pipe. Not only would he have missed the target, but he could have struck a bird or another foreign object. I just don't get why you would insist on a descent profile that would had added unnecessary risk to the mission.”

“If your Alpha-G profile was so
data-driven
, Doctor, then tell me, why did the mission fail?”

Angela frowned. “I don't know yet, but I do know it had nothing to do with Alpha-G. It was still the best descent profile.”

“So you do acknowledge changing it without my authorization.”

“No, I'm trying to tell you that what happened had
nothing
to do with Alpha-G or Alpha-B, or any of the other descent profile options for this jump. The telemetry strongly suggests that this was not a descent-profile-triggered event, and we need to figure out what happened. My husband vanished into thin air. There was no reentry burn-up. The OSS didn't fail. We need time to dig through the telemetry and piece together what happened, where he went.”

Hastings shook his head. “
Where he went?
Doctor, I hate to break this to you, but your husband's gone.” He made a fist before stretching his fingers. “Poof! Gone. Dead. And
you
are responsible. You're not going to get out of this one so easily. You disobeyed a direct order in a military mission, resulting in disaster. You committed treason, Dr. Taylor, and I will see that you pay for it. And you're not even a first-time offender. With your prior, you're definitely getting the death penalty.”

“What prior?”

“Really, Doctor?” Hastings grinned while slowly shaking his head. “Does the name Anonymous ring a bell?”

She glared at him for a moment.

Angela had been raised by her father, Miguel “Mickey” Valle, a hardcore motorcycle mechanic and first-generation Cuban American, after her mother died during child labor. But disaster struck again when she was fourteen. Mickey Valle had lost his battle with lung cancer from a lifetime of smoking, and shortly afterward Angela had gone rogue, joining Anonymous, a group of hackers dating back to 2003, where she quickly became one of their best “Black Hat Hackers.” Within a year, Angela made the mistake of hacking into the FBI for bragging rights, got caught, and was offered a deal: work for the Bureau at an undisclosed cybercrime facility in Orlando for room and board until finishing high school, or go to a Florida juvenile detention facility.

Some choice,
she thought, remembering how she had reluctantly gone for the former, becoming a “Gray Hat Hacker” for Uncle Sam, helping the Bureau fight cybercrime during nights and weekends while finishing high school, and returning to her dad's old bike shop on the day of her high school graduation. Her dad's partner and his fellow mechanics, who had taken over the business and had pretty much adopted her, pooled their funds to send her to FIT in nearby Melbourne, where she got her degree in computer engineering before her grades earned her a scholarship to MIT.

“I was
fourteen
, General, and I
paid
for it. In return, my record got cleared, purged. And the FBI assured me that event would be locked away forever.”

“Do you think I don't have access to
everything
? Besides, you know what they say, Doctor?”

Angela didn't reply. She was angry at herself for letting this asshole get to her.

Hastings continued. “Once a hacker, always a hacker. You can't help it. It's who you are. You committed a criminal act at fourteen and you have now graduated to high treason at forty. I'm taking you down.”

“In that case, General, I know my rights. I want my lawyer.”

“Terrorists have no rights,” he retorted. “You sabotaged a military mission. Plain and simple. You destroyed highly classified and valuable American military technology, setting us back
years
—not to mention the murder of a highly skilled and unique military contractor.”

“Is
that
what you're calling Jack now? Last night he was a dog on a leash.”

“I should have Riggs shoot you right now for gross insubordination, and I would be well within
my rights
as leader of this Pentagon-sanctioned military operation.”

“Then do it, General,” she said, calling his bluff. “Have your oversized eunuch put a bullet in my brain.”

Hastings slowly leaned forward, looked over Angela's head, and nodded slightly.

She surprised herself at how at ease she felt when hearing Riggs draw his weapon and press the barrel against the back of her head. Perhaps that was one of the benefits of growing up among rough bikers at her father's shop and the local bars.

Angela and Hastings locked eyes.

“Nice knowing you, General,” she said in a steady voice that also surprised her. “And best of luck finding your fucking suit or designing the orbital version,” she added without breaking her stare, referring to the next generation suit that Angela was starting to design to jump from the International Space Station. “Most of the key details of building it are locked in the little brain that you're about to splatter all over this office.”

For the second time since Jack vanished, Hastings blinked, leaned back, and waved a hand at Riggs, who put the gun away.

“Now, General, do you have any important questions for me, or can I get back to trying to figure out what happened to my husband?”

Hastings rubbed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “Doctor, I don't seem to be getting through to you. There are very,
very
technically valid reasons that I couldn't share with you—and still can't—that justified the change in descent profiles. The mere fact that I was sent down here the evening before the launch with a pair of federal scientists should have been enough to accept the change. But instead of getting with the program, you chose to sabotage a
military operation
and caused this mess.”

Hastings stood and added, “I'm going to consult with my guys and then I'll be back, and I can promise you that our next chat won't be nearly as pleasant.” He looked at Riggs. “Keep one of your men outside this door. No one comes in or out without my permission.”

“Yes, sir,” Riggs replied, following Hastings out the door and locking it from the outside with the card.

Alone, Angela took a deep breath while staring at the gray metal door, wondering how the hell things had gone so bad so fast.

Jack, where
are
you?
she pondered, going through what little information she had, trying to find an explanation for his disappearance right in clear sight of a high-resolution camera.