Plot counterplot, p.31
Plot/Counterplot, page 31
“Yellow hair. Cut really short?”
“Yes.” Seamus could see she was excited. This was the first time anyone had believed what she had to say.
“Thick muscles all over. Mole right here?” He pointed to the side of his neck.
“Yes.”
“Did he talk funny? Like he was from another country?”
“Yes!”
Xavier. “Did you say he had a gun?”
“Big and scary. He pointed it at me. But my daddy got in front of the gun. He wouldn’t let the bad man hurt me. Not even after he hit daddy.”
Thus producing the blood. Any father would gladly take a bullet to protect his daughter. Seamus talked to the girl for a few more minutes, confirming his conviction that Xavier was involved. But he still couldn’t figure out the motive..
And there was an even bigger mystery. If this girl saw Xavier, how could he possibly let her live?
Seamus pivoted, looking even more carefully at Padma. She was Indian, but at first glance, she could pass for Middle Eastern.
She resembled Xavier’s wife. Evona. The one who was killed in an air strike. The air strike Seamus called in. Xavier’s daughter was killed, too.
She was just about Emily’s age.
That’s why the monster let her live.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Seamus said, heading for the door. “I promise I’ll let you know if I learn anything about your husband.”
He raced out of the house. He’d come here hoping for some clue to Dylan’s location or the motive behind the kidnapping. He’d found neither. But he had found something of incalculable value. Something that could eventually prove more valuable than anything else.
He’d discovered his enemy’s weakness.
Chapter 65
Dylan found Mr. X in the kitchen making a sandwich. She faced away from the door, gazing out the window. Dylan walked directly behind her. When he was about ten feet away, he heard:
“Hello, Dylan. Shouldn’t you be deep in the arms of Morpheus?”
He stopped in his tracks. “You lied to me.”
She did not seem particularly perturbed by the accusation. “Can you be more specific? There are so many lies to choose from.”
She swiveled around to face him. Her face was bruised. How did that happen? She was using makeup to cover the mark, but he could still see traces. “How did you hurt yourself?”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing. Walked into a door.”
She was lying, but not because the injury caused her any trauma. Come to think of it, she hadn’t minded the scars, either. Did she like being hurt? “You admit you lied?”
“Did you think I was one of those honest terrorists?”
“I’m not sure what you are. I just saw a picture of Xavier. At a reception on the admiral’s barge.”
“He was doing reconnaissance. Working undercover.”
“He was wearing a uniform.”
“He was in the Navy.”
“But—you told me he was in the Russian mafia. And the KGB!”
“And many other places as well. The Navy came after he...retired from those positions. He was recruited.”
“I don’t believe anyone would recruit Xavier into the US Navy.”
“Someone did. A high-ranking official.”
“I thought you were terrorists.”
“We are. But terrorists who work for the US military.”
Dylan stared at her, blank-faced.
“Does that surprise you? Are you stunned? Feel free to sit if your knees are wobbly.”
He didn’t sit. “Who’s in charge?”
“I can’t give you names. We work for a relatively small, relatively secret cabal of current and former military officers who are trying to accomplish something they can’t get done through official channels. Haven’t you ever wondered how we were able to get access to so much government information? Personnel files. Schematics. How we were able to locate ourselves at an abandoned Navy facility. I would have thought it was obvious we had an inside man. Several, actually.”
“You’re saying this whole operation was organized by US military personnel?”
“Yes.”
“Who want to destroy world leaders. And the United States.”
She held up a finger. “I may have misled you about our ultimate goal.”
“Then what’s the big plan?”
She took another swallow of coffee. “Look, just to forestall the usual cat-and-mouse games, let me give you a hint. And this is as much as I’m ever going to tell you. What the people running this operation want is simple. They want the United States to be the strongest nation in the world—at a time when it is dangerously close to losing its global influence forever. They want the US to be strong enough to fight off the barbarians at the gate—meaning, currently, terrorists, insane dictators, and Russia. But at present, we are militarily weak, overextended, and financially challenged. So we are taking actions to remedy the government’s failures.”
“What are you babbling about? The US is the strongest nation in the world.”
“Was. The US has enemies all around the globe—far too many of them, with access to major weapons and almost infinite manpower. China’s population alone makes them a major threat, not to mention their strong economy and the fact that they hold the notes on about half our national debt. North Korea is led by a madman who would love to attack the US. Pakistan is run by two-bit sociopathic generals. Most of the Middle East cannot be trusted.”
“We’ve been dealing with the Middle East for a long time.”
“Ineffectively. They grow stronger while the US grows weaker. Have you studied the Crusades?”
“Not...recently...”
“Read up on the Battle of Neapolis. Fourteenth century. The East crushed the West and brought the long and bloody Crusades to an end. Today, the East is stronger, richer, more extreme, better armed, more bent on the destruction of the West and making sharia law a global mandate. Neapolis could happen all over again. We can’t sit around and hope everything works out for the best. We have to take aggressive action. We must eliminate these enemies, fast and efficiently. Strike with surgical precision.”
“Very patriotic, coming from an Irish girl.”
“I’ve been persuaded that the downfall of the US would not be in the best interests of the world. Much as I might enjoy it.”
I would give a great deal, he thought, to know who was doing the persuading. “Shouldn’t these alleged employers of yours be lobbying Congress? Writing letters to the president?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re joking, right? Congress? Let’s face it—the Afghan and Iraq wars have turned them all into pussies. Your government is dangerously cowardly. Look how they helped Ukraine. Gave them everything except what they needed most.”
“You told me your target was the G20 summit.”
“That was a fairy tale.”
“Meaning, a lie?”
“Did you believe it? No, you didn’t. You knew there was more and you were right. Our target is indeed on American soil, but a place that, although high profile, will not be much missed, and not all that many lives will be lost, relatively speaking. Maybe twice 9/11, tops. Don’t you see the beauty of it? If we make a first strike against the United States with an untraceable weapon, it will spur the powers-that-be into action. They’ll have no choice. Haven’t you visited Pearl Harbor? Have you forgotten that the US was officially neutral until the Japanese bombed us? That gave Roosevelt the excuse he needed to enter the war—and he targeted Hitler first, even though Hitler had nothing to do with Pearl Harbor. Well, we are going to create the next Pearl Harbor. To spur the government into doing what it must to save this nation.”
“And you honestly believe this will work?”
“What I want or believe is unimportant. I’m a professional. I leave the big questions to the Supervisor.”
“I think there’s still something you’re not telling me.”
“You’re right. Actually, I made that whole story up.”
“Now you’re lying again.”
“Are you sure?”
Dylan hesitated. “No. Who’s the Supervisor?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Is it someone I know?”
“You’re baiting me. Trying to get me to tell you more than I should.”
“You said you were a freelance terrorist. That you’re just in it for the money. But I think you may have more motivation that you’re letting on.”
“How romantic. Am I driven by revenge? Lust? Or am I simply psychotic?” She laughed. “Why is it so hard for you to believe I’m working for a living? Everyone else does. In your novels, you may prefer to have complex, multi-dimensional characters, but in real life, sometimes people are painfully simple.”
“If you’re only doing it for money, you’re not really a terrorist at all. You’re a whore.”
Her eyes flared. “I am not—” She bit back the rest of the sentence. “Oh, well played, Dylan. Well played. It almost worked.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll tell you this much. I am deeply motivated to see this plan succeed.”
“Because you want to please the Supervisor.”
“Don’t most people want to please their superior officer?”
“Do you think that will make the scars go away?”
“You already took care of that.”
“I’m talking about what turned you into the person you are now. What caused the deep insecurity that lies at the heart of all bullies. What made you feel unloved. What caused the real scars—the ones plastic surgery can’t take away.”
“Please spare me your amateur psychoanalysis. I told you about the man. The one I followed into the IRA. The one I instructed in explosives. Was that not good enough for you?”
“It was almost too good. Too perfect. Like a bit of backstory I might invent for a minor character.”
“All right then, Sigmund. What’s really driving me?”
His only reply was a thin smile.
“I’m going to miss you, Dylan.”
“You mean, when you’re done with me. After you’ve gotten everything you want. Because once you have the Key, you’re going to kill me.”
“That’s not for me to decide.”
“What happened to Bakersfield, the makeup guy? And the plastic surgeon?”
“They won’t cause any trouble. They’ll be glad to be rid of us.”
“They knew too much. So you killed them. Just as you plan to kill me. Just as you’ll kill us all, eventually. Right?”
“Nice try. But you’re not getting any more information out of me. The only remaining question is, are you still ready and able to go forward with the operation tomorrow?”
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t come this far without seeing it through. And I expect everything to go exactly as planned.”
Chapter 66
Seamus stood well outside the bathroom door, but not so far away that Leilani couldn’t hear him. He was forced to marvel at how quickly his relationship with his new accidental partner had progressed. When he first approached her at the hospital, she barely trusted him enough to speak. Now she was speaking while she showered.
“I still don’t understand why you’re showering. Dr. Jerrie is waiting for us.”
“If you’d been in military custody for two days, interrogated around the clock, you’d understand.”
“I got you out as soon as I could.”
He heard the water shut off. “It wasn’t fast enough.”
“You have to understand their position. This is the second time you’ve appeared to interfere with a top-secret operation. And this time, their leading scientist is dead. You can see where they might be suspicious.”
“I had nothing to do with it. He killed himself before I could stop him.”
“I get that. And so do they, now. But they had to be sure you weren’t sabotaging their project.” He paused. “And they had to be sure he didn’t tell you anything important.”
She stomped out of the bathroom, steaming in more ways than one, a towel wrapped around her midsection. “I didn’t give anything up. Not in two long days. Told them nothing.”
That was true. This wasn’t the first time Seamus thought she’d make a first-rate intelligence officer. “I convinced them you’re my new junior officer working undercover on NCTC business. If I didn’t have a high security rating, you’d still be in their interrogation room.”
“And they still wouldn’t get anything.”
“They’d be waterboarding you by now.”
She crossed into the bedroom. “Let them. I like water. Have you had a chance to look over those files Scheimer gave me?”
“Yes, and they’re fantastic. Complete schematics for the control center. Including a back door entrance that might be useful to us. Only one problem—nothing in the file tells us exactly where it is.”
“But you’re going to find it.”
“Damn straight. Get dressed. We have an appointment with the doctor.”
* * *
Seamus listened as Leilani spent half an hour detailing everything she learned from Dr. Scheimer before he terminated himself, as best as she could remember it. Dr. Jerrie took copious notes but never said a word. He was a bald man, snowy gray on the sides, with a down-to-earth manner.
Jerrie was not a physicist. The NCTC didn’t have enough need to bankroll that degree of specialization. He was a generalist, an all-purpose smart person, which was usually more than enough. Most of the NCTC’s science questions related to the construction or dismantling of explosive devices.
“Does any of that make sense to you?” Leilani said after she finished.
“Sadly, yes.” Jerrie batted a pencil against his lips. “Neutrino weapons have been hypothesized for some time. But this underground anomaly has apparently allowed the hypotheses to become realities. Ever heard of a super-collider?”
“Scheimer talked about a particle accelerator.”
“That’s essentially what a super-collider is, only on a huge scale.”
Seamus jumped in. “They were going to build one in Texas, weren’t they?”
“Back in the ’90s. Someone saw the value in having one in the US, rather than letting Europe have a monopoly. They spent a ton of money on it. But before they could finish, Congress yanked the funds. They were getting flak from the press about the budget outlay, and they couldn’t justify it as promoting the national defense, so they killed it. Clinton tried to salvage the program, even though it was a Reagan/Bush initiative. No success. The Congressional tide had turned.”
“So it was never completed?”
Jerrie pursed his lips. “Some people high up realized this was too important to be left to the whims of Congress. They initiated a project, quietly funded by the military, to develop a super-collider for military purposes.”
“At PACOM?”
He shook his head. “Given what I just heard, I think it must be on the Big Island. Underneath a volcano.”
Seamus frowned. “That would cost billions.”
“And then some. But theoretically, the super-collider would be big and fast enough to generate a Higgs boson.”
“Excuse me?”
“Higgs boson,” he repeated, tapping his pencil on his desk. “Elementary particle. Some people call it the ‘God Particle.’ Supposedly around since the Big Bang. If it’s proven to exist, it would solve many of the major mysteries of physics.”
“What does it do?”
“It explains the difference in mass between the photon, which mediates electromagnetism, and the W and Z bosons, which mediate the weak force. If the Higgs boson exists, it would be pervasive throughout all of matter, throughout the known universe. Normally, I would think that while this might be of scientific interest, it lacked any practical applications. But it sounds as if Scheimer figured out a way to use the collider to generate not only bosons...but neutrino beams.”
“You think this monstrosity beneath a volcano generates some kind of death ray?”
“I believe the late Dr. Scheimer was about eighteen times smarter than me, so if he believed it, I believe it. A controlled oscillation neutrino beam, and its potential use as a weapon, is far less experimental than the Higgs boson. People have known about the neutrino’s potential destructive power for a long time. They just weren’t able to create an artificial environment conducive to oscillation.”
“And now they can.”
“Sounds like they don’t have to. This naturally occurring anomaly is doing the work for them.” He paused. “Seamus, you need to get on this immediately.”
“I believe I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving Agent McKay his marching orders.”
All three whirled around. Eustace stood at the door behind them.
Busted.
“Just for the record, last time I checked, I was still your handler, Seamus, not Bill Nye here. I told you to get off this project weeks ago.”
“Eustace—” Dr. Jerrie started.
“Butt out, Jerrie. This isn’t about geek science. This is about the chain of command. Seamus has been filing false reports to mask the fact that he’s been insubordinate and derelict in his assigned duties.”
“And a damn good thing, too,” Jerrie replied.
Eustace looked as if he were about to jump out of his skin. “What the hell are you saying?”
Jerrie looked Eustace square in the eye. Seamus was impressed. For a geek, he had some real fiber in him. “I’m saying your agent did the right thing.”
“We don’t need him to chase after some writer just to please a pretty face.”
Seamus was glad Leilani no longer had a cane. If she had, she might have clubbed Eustace with it.
“This is about far more than a missing writer,” Jerrie explained. “This is about a terrorist plot to either interfere with or apprehend an experimental military weapon that could have power unlike anything this world has seen. The only person here who has a clue about it is your agent.”
“And me,” Leilani said.
