[The Fear Saga 01] - Fear the Sky (2014) (27 page)

Inside she found her photo on all its contents, but a strange name, and someone else’s details, even on the Australian passport.

“How?” Madeline was astonished, and she brandished the passport in the air as she stared incredulous at the woman. A week, for god’s sake. A week. In that time Madeline had managed to quit her job, pack a few bags, give notice she was breaking her lease, and get back on a plane, and it had felt like a very full seven days. This woman had fabricated sixteen personalities, broken more laws than Madeline could name, and bought clothes to dress the five thousand.

Ayala ignored the question of how, it was not important, or even recommended, that they know the ins and outs. Instead, she took the passport from Madeline and smiled at the name it had so neatly printed on its pages. “Yes, for you, I’ve revived some of my old names. I had plenty. I haven’t used these identities in a while, but they are still good,” she said, handing the document back to Madeline. “The back stories are infallible, they’ve been out there for twenty years and I fabricated them myself. The credit cards are new, you’ll need to maintain those. As one of a host of tasks associated with maintaining all this, we will have to follow a process to remotely pay all these. Can’t have them all associated with this address so we will have to log in remotely, using ghost IPs. But that is for another day, the important thing is that we don’t miss a payment, not one, no matter how small. It seems petty but we want to avoid any unnecessary attention on these identities. They must all be model citizens, clear? So that also means no speeding, running red lights, stop signs, not even jay walking.”

Madeline nodded again, returning the passport to its bag and placing it back in her drawer, somber again at the severity of it all.

But Neal broke the mood, piping up like a boy who wants his mom’s approval, “Ayala had to fake the colonel’s and mine from scratch, I have an American and British one.” He put on an appalling British accent for a moment, something between cockney and heat stroke, “Yoo kan caull muy Jones, Maark Jones.” he said, and laughed.

Ayala and Madeline half-smiled, half-frowned at each other, then shook their heads and decided to ignore the man. “Now, that’s the logistics out of the way, let’s talk shop.” She took Madeline’s arm and said, “How much do you think you understand about this nano-medical device that Mr. Hunt gave us the design for?”

This woman didn’t mess around, Madeline thought. OK, she could keep up. She was a professional engineer. She had three different masters in Chemical Engineering, Marine Biology and Physics. Let’s see if this woman could beat that, “Well, Ayala, I think I have a pretty good grasp of how it’s supposed to work. It is essentially a biomimetech device that takes the concept of an antibody to its logical, if exponentially more advanced, conclusion, employing various, frankly very straightforward, if very, very small tools that each facilitate and enable selected functionalities of autonomous diagnosis and treatment. It is self-replicating, and operates using a hive mentality, each unit being but a part, albeit a very versatile part, of a greater system, which alters and develops itself as it senses new threats. Once deployed, it is, by design, almost completely self-sufficient.”

Madeline took a breath, then went on, “Once we develop the manufacturing tools that John also provided specs for, I think we can make it. In fact, I think we must. This machine…well…there’s really no way to overstate its importance. This machine, if it works as John says it does, will be, by far, the biggest medical advancement in history.”

Madeline stopped, looking at Ayala to see if she was impressed. But Ayala was not one to compete with people. In her field she was as good as any, but nano-mechanics was most certainly not her field.

“Good,” she said, “because I didn’t have a fucking clue about any of it, so I think you are going to have to come to Japan with me.”

Japan? Madeline glanced a question at Neal, as she was led to the computer bank by the formidable woman, but he just shrugged. He had grown somewhat used to the way the ex-spy worked, and he found it was best to just stop worrying about it and try to keep up.

* * *

A few days later, Madeline and Ayala were, indeed, on a plane to Japan. Ayala had explained that if they needed production and research facilities, the best way to get them was to ‘seed’ the idea.

It was an old concept, used most effectively by the Nazis before World War II. In order to speed up the development of tools and technologies that Hitler had envisioned needing for his planned expansion, he and his Third Reich had seeded German companies with subsidized scientists to fuel their research in specific areas.

While Ayala and Madeline had no subsidies to offer, they had something much better. They would offer the actual, finished designs, piece by piece, of course, to certain organizations, in return for certain concessions.

First, Ayala and Madeline, under assumed names, would offer details of the basic manufacturing technologies that they were going to need, under the guise of corporate espionage.

The technology would be offered, at significant cost, as part of a package to hire Madeline’s fake persona as a consultant. Madeline, who would pose as a US government scientist, would say she was willing to help the Japanese manufacturing magnate in secret because she felt that the technology she was working on was just too important not to be used for the benefit of all.

She would be telling the truth to a degree, but that portion of the truth would be all they would need. They would stipulate that they must work directly with the CEO and his senior research staff, and even then only if he agreed that Madeline’s involvement remain strictly confidential.

The vast profits the company could hope to gain would no doubt be sufficient incentive for the CEO to keep from divulging the source of his inspiration. But if not, and the CEO was careless, then the added layer of anonymity given by their use of pseudonyms would hopefully keep them from being discovered for long enough for them to get their job done or get out.

They had settled on their particular target company for several reasons. Firstly, the company had a reputation for real technical creativity that would lend credibility to the sudden manufacturing improvements that would soon start coming from them. Secondly, their non-US headquarters would help mask the link between Ayala’s friends and the work. And thirdly, because the significant manufacturing and research facilities they did maintain in the US for their American contracts would make it easier for Madeline to stay involved in their ‘research.’

If they were able to get the president of Matsuoka Industries to take the bait, they would return home and Madeline would relocate to whatever facility the CEO assigned the project to. If not, Ayala had three more potential companies lined up, each hungrier than the last, but Ayala doubted that they would find much difficulty in persuading the man they were going to see. She had made a career out of persuasion, and she knew the power of the hand she had to play.

Before even getting on the plane, in a seeming aside, Ayala had already also begun the process of selling her house in Denver, which itself had been purchased under a dummy name, more out of habit than anything else.

Whichever company they got to take the bait, she would put the entire value of the house into shares in that company. Only she could do this, none of the others could be seen linking themselves so clearly to what was about to be such a game changing organization.

But between the considerable wealth they would get from the share price sky rocketing in the near future, and the ‘consulting fees’ they would ask for in return for Madeline’s time and expertise, they would gain a significant additional source of funding for the other work they needed to be starting on.

Going for a meeting in the office of General Pickler was usually an exercise in self-control for Colonel Milton. But today was different for several reasons, thought the colonel as he stepped through the Pentagon’s security screen and replaced his cap.

Waiting for the elevator, the colonel considered what he had to accomplish today. For the first time in his twenty-year career, he had called a meeting with a superior for personal reasons. He needed to relocate to DC, at least for the meantime, so he could work closely with Neal, Madeline, and Ayala in building their plan.

He also needed to regain access to military hardware and personnel. Though they were a long way from being ready to do it yet, in the not too distant future they were going to need to launch an attack on the four unseen satellites John Hunt had told them were watching them from space.

The satellites’ capability outline that the mysterious double agent had provided was, frankly, horrifically long, and as long as those satellites were in space, they were not going to be able to start preparing for the larger threat that they represented.

So, to that end, Colonel Milton needed to start building the contacts he would need across the globe to eventually coordinate that attack. For now, that started here, in the US.

He sighed as he considered the scale of the job, comparisons to Everest seemed woefully inadequate, but that wasn’t all he had to do, not even close. Also begging for his attention was the disquieting problem of getting some kind of handle on the other Agents that were at work across his blissfully unaware planet. John had given them the Agents’ names and countries, and the basics of their progress to date.

The colonel would have to be careful, but he would start by very subtly locating the operative in the US.

His senior rank in a NATO force should also allow him to keep a quiet eye on the French Agent, and maybe even the Israeli one. After that, well, getting people in place near the Agents in Pakistan and India was going to be much harder, not to mention infiltrating the Chinese and Russian armies.

But that was for another day. Putting that seemingly insurmountable task aside for now, the colonel arrived at the door of the general and knocked.

“Colonel, come in,” the general gestured at a seat and waved off the salute of the more junior officer, setting aside some memos on his desk.

“Well, Colonel, what is all this about? Looking for a raise?” the general laughed at his own joke, as he so often did, and Barrett waited for it to subside.

When it finally had, Barrett began, “Sir, thank you for agreeing to see me. As you know, I have been in DC for a short while, since Dr. West’s funeral, in fact.” The general flinched at the reference, but nodded at the colonel to proceed, “Well, sir, I have asked for this meeting to ask for a … favor.”

The general was instantly suspicious. He did not like favors, he did not like owing or being owed. The colonel had never bothered him with personal requests and whining before, and that was why he had kept the man around.

He did not like where this was going.

“General, sir, I hope we have worked together long enough that you know I do not take lightly the mixing of personal wants and the needs of the service. But, this once, I have found that I must ask if it is possible to consider … a move.”

“A move? What move, Colonel? What, from the Array? Impossible. What? Why? Why is this happening?” sputtered the general.

Damn it. I should have been more circumspect, thought Barrett. But no, small talk with General Pickler would only have served to annoy him further. No, you know that it was best this way, thought Barrett. Now, let’s give him the bait as planned and hope he takes it.

“General Pickler, sir, I can’t stress enough that I have never before allowed my personal life to interfere with the air force. The service has always come first. But … well sir, my ex-wife and I are trying to make a fresh start of it.” At the mention of the colonel’s ex-wife, the general balked. He had not even known the colonel was divorced. He would need to kick some intelligence officer firmly in the ass for leaving that out of the colonel’s file.

The colonel went on, “She is living in DC now, we met again while I was visiting, and, well, needless to say, I am not a young man, and we have decided to try to make it work between us.”

The lie pained the colonel more than he had thought it would have. He had protected enough classified information to be well practiced in the art of dissemination, but this was different. Most of all, because seeing Ayala again had indeed reawakened feelings he did not know how to control. Maybe it pained the colonel most because, in many ways, it was not a lie at all.

The general was aghast. Such a display from so senior an officer, and such a stalwart one at that, was disconcerting to him. “Colonel, are you asking for retirement or reassignment?”

“No, sir, no, not retirement. No sir, my dedication to the service remains absolute, but reassignment would, indeed, be very … welcome, and hopefully a little closer to Washington, if that might be possible.”

The general’s mind raced. This was an unfortunate display, and the idea of having Colonel Milton in the Pentagon, even if he was an excellent officer, was suddenly unappealing.

Meanwhile, the colonel watched the senior man’s face tell the tales of his emotions. He was flushed red, his blood pressure clearly even higher than normal.

The colonel knew that there was a chance that he would not be reassigned, and that if he was it might not be to DC itself. He was OK with that. Anything in the NE would, by the very nature of the bases up here, probably be more tactical than his role at the Array.

The general eventually broke the silence, “Well, this is very irregular, and not something I would normally entertain. But, as you say, this is not something you are given to, and so I am inclined to consider it. It would mean transferring you out of my command, of course.” As he said that, he hesitated a little. The colonel was a very effective and reliable officer. While having some nauseating lovebird at the Pentagon sounded like a bad idea, he had another option, and one that didn’t make it seem like he was bending over backward to meet the needs of some colonel.

“Or maybe not. Colonel, your expertise might, actually, lend itself to another assignment within my division,” the colonel’s eyes narrowed, he had considered that this might happen, “and I believe you have worked with the folks up at ESC before.”