65 Below (26 page)

Officer Kelley asked, “Can you figure it out, or should we send it down to Anchorage?”

Franklin
scratched his head
. During six years in the Navy, he had laid his hands on some of the world’s most sophisticated, high-tech electronic warfare equipment. He knew more about computer circuitry and how to use electricity as a weapon than almost any other man in the country, maybe even the world.
He
stared contemplatively at the contraption then
almost jumped out of the chair. Eyes wide, he stood up and studied the metal box again. Noting the layout of the wires from the panel to the keypad, he turned to the other box, opened it, and looked at the wires in it. Franklin put the lids back on both boxes and picked one up. He walked across the room to an electrical outlet.

“Straub,” he called. “Come here and hold this box right over that outlet.”

Straub did so. Franklin pulled up the spring-loaded handle and twisted it as far as it would go, about half- way around the raised circle. A soft hum floated from inside the box. He pressed six number keys on the pad and walked to the table, where he picked up the other box and took it to an outlet on the other side of the room.

“Kelley, go over to the door and tell me if you see anything happen out in the hallway in a second.”

Franklin then twisted the round handle on that one and pressed six numbers. As he released the last of the numbers, the lights went off in the room.

Kelley grunted in surprise and said, “Uh, the power just went off in several offices and part of the hallway. The copier right outside this door is still running, though.” He paused, then added, “The emergency lights aren’t kicking on like they should.”

Franklin then twisted the handle to its original place, and the lights came
back
on instantly.

“Uh, huh! I got it,” Franklin said triumphantly as he walked back to the table. He set the box down and took it apart again.

“Can I take this thing off the wall?” asked Straub, who was still bent over the outlet across the room.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Bring it over here.”

“So, what is it?”

“It’s an active relay power switch of some kind. Not only that, but it’s an intelligent hard-coded network device. Their power source is some iteration of an electromagnetic Tesla machine, incorporating magnets to siphon energy from the nearest electrical source.” He glanced up from the device and turned to the EOD officers. “Do you guys have an EPROM reader?”

Kelley gave him a blank look. “We’re bomb squad, not geek squad. Speak English.”

Franklin thought for a second and translated into laymen’s terms. “They’re computers that are powered by pulling energy into the magnets under the board inside the box. The magnets are activated by turning the handle on the front.” He pointed to the board and continued. “The EPROM’s are these little, rectangular black silicon chips that are soldered onto the board. Each one has a code programmed with a particular set of instructions. The devices are set up to communicate with each other across a network of regular electrical wires. You put one at one end of a circuit, the other at the other end. Turn them on, and voila! When the two devices see each other, they run a command to disrupt the circuit between them. They turn off the power to everything in that line.”

“Wow,” Straub said. “That’s incredible.”

“Actually, it’s a fairly simple machine. Not very fancy, but effective,” Franklin answered.

“So, how did you know the combination?”

“Oh, that was easy. The designers must not have expected anyone to capture one. They used a simple electronic door lock keypad and just wired the active buttons directly to the board. They didn’t even require a particular order. You just had to hit all six numbers in any sequence. When I did it, I actually typed the numbers in different sequences on each box and it still worked. They dumbed it down so a less-than-stellar grunt could run them.”

He turned back to the computer and said, “If I had an EPROM reader, I could find the code that’s on those chips and get more detail as to exactly how these things work. But if we can’t do that, I’m pretty sure my guesses are almost on the bull’s eye.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” said Straub.

“Remember when the lights went out in Baghdad just before the Marine invasion in ’03?”

“Yeah, saw it on CNN. I watched the whole thing.”

“I did that, with a similar but much more complex device. We were trying to make it dark without destroying the electrical infrastructure. Saddam’s guys ended up blowing up the grid on their own as a bridge-burning retreat kind of maneuver. The news networks blamed our planes for smashing their infrastructure, but we were actually working our butts off trying to save it.”

“Man, Eckert, what in the world are you doing as a dispatcher at TVEC? You should be at the NSA or at least with the CIA or something.”

“Not unless they open an office here in Fairbanks. I’m not leaving Alaska again, even if I have to work as a logger to make a living.”

1. Chapter 29
   

Marcus Johnson’s Cabin

Salt Jacket

19 December

23:58 hours

“I don’t know who you think you are, mister, but we do not torture people in this country!” Tomer’s face was beet-red as he recovered from Marcus’s aggression. White flecks of spit sprayed from between his teeth as he flung the word ‘torture’.

Marcus ignored him. He turned his back to Tomer and watched Lonnie talk softly to Sergeant Choi. He tried to listen to what Choi was saying. The FBI agent’s harangue made it impossible.

“Everything that went on here is going to be reported in writing, and you will be held accountable for any illegal actions.”

Wasner approached Tomer, a genteel grin on his face. “Agent Tomer? Can I call you Tony?”

“Who are you?” Tomer demanded.

“I am Chief Warrant Officer Harley Wasner, US Navy, Special Operations Command. I am in charge of this team of elite warriors. I also happen to have an above top-secret level security clearance and direct access to the director of Homeland Security, who, under the recent reorganization, I believe is now your boss. I also, as it happens, am on a first-name basis with the president of this fine country. You know, he calls me Harley and I call him Mr. President.”

Tomer eyed Wasner as he continued speaking.

“We are dealing with a matter of utmost national security here, an extremely urgent matter having to do with the potential use of weapons of mass destruction against a civilian population in this country. Are you getting the picture here, Tony?”

The FBI agent pointed at Chief Wasner, the heavy gold chain around his wrist swung like a tiny pendulum as he jutted his finger on every other syllable. “I don’t care how high your connections may be or what you think the threat may be. You cowboys are not out in some far-off dessert where you can get away with this shit. This is still America, and I have been put in charge of this investigation. You will be following my command now.”

“Agent Tomer,” said Wasner in a clinical tone, like a psychiatrist counseling a troubled client, “I believe this investigation has surpassed your scope of responsibility. It is no longer a law enforcement issue. It took place on a military installation involving known members of a foreign military service, and has become a military operation. I also believe that we need to act immediately on whatever Trooper Wyatt discovers while talking to this man. And I believe that if you have a problem with the way I’m running this operation, you will need to discuss that with my good friend and fellow SEAL, Torrence Hall, Deputy Director of Homeland Security, Western Region. He’s in Anchorage, I believe, this very night on some other business. I’m sure you have his direct cell phone number, n’est pas? If not, I do, and would be more than willing to share that information with you.”

Tomer curled his lip and sneered contemptuously as he realized that he had been checked. He was not willing to let Wasner get the last word in.

“So, you’re the leader of this outfit of baby-killers, huh? You must be the one who’s banging the pretty trooper, then.”

Marcus stiffened. Wasner noticed Marcus’s reaction, and a sly smile slid across his lips.

“I beg your pardon?” Wasner asked. His face softened to an expression of innocence.

Tomer leaned in close to Wasner’s face. His voice came out in a low, hoarse whisper. “Don’t think that just because you’re friends with a deputy director and may be banging an Alaska State Trooper you can get away with breaking the law, bub. She may have an exceptionally nice ass, but she won’t be able to shake that thing in court to defen…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Marcus spun around and heaved Tomer back into the log wall, his long, thick fingers clenched around Tomer’s throat. The FBI agent found himself suspended in the air, feet dangling six inches off the floor, held only by Marcus’s strangling one-handed grip.

Tomer’s face turned an even deeper red as he gasped for breath. He reached up with both hands to pull Johnson’s fingers from his throat, but couldn’t break the iron-like hold.

“Nobody is banging that trooper.” Marcus growled through clenched teeth. His voice cut the air with the quiet ferocity of a senior drill instructor. Marcus jabbed his left index finger into Tomer’s chest like a short steel rod. “And you will never insult her again.”

Marcus drove the point deep into the agent’s mind by slamming his head against the wall with a flip of his powerful wrist. “Now, there are eight dead men in the woods about thirty miles from here. I suggest you get some backup and go check it out. And if you ever open your mouth about anything that happened in this room, you’d best think hard before it comes out of your lips.”

He released Tomer. The FBI agent collapsed to the floor, gagging and gasping for breath. The purple hue in his face faded as the denied oxygen gradually perfused back into his blood cells.

Marcus towered over him. “Get your people out here to go check out that site,” he commanded. “We’ll leave someone to lead them to the location when they get here.”

Marcus turned toward the room. Lonnie rose from Sgt. Choi and walked toward them.

“What did he tell you?” Chief Wasner asked Trooper Wyatt as she approached.

“He’s a sergeant in the People’s Army of North Korea. He’s not really a commando. He’s a technical specialist who designed a device that could sniff the air for a specific chemical compound.” She looked back at Choi and said, “I told him that if he gave us everything he knew, we would untie him, and that we would try to get him immunity from trial and hide him here in America.”

“Ah, yes,” Wasner exclaimed. “Leave it up to a girl, and not only does he get to keep his balls intact and burn free, but he gets a ‘get out of jail free’ card, too.” He smiled at her sarcastically.

“We have to act fast. The others who got away have some really nasty bio-chemical weapon with them, and he wasn’t sure, but thinks they’re planning to use it right here in Alaska.”

Tomer recovered from the altercation and spoke into his cell phone. He hung up and rejoined the group with a newfound humility. “A team is on the way—two FBI and one more trooper. Where exactly is this site?”

Marcus turned to face him, but Tomer wouldn’t look into his eyes. “I’ll leave a pair of the SEALs here to lead you to it.”

The air of belligerent superiority with which Tomer had entered the room was gone. Lonnie had not heard their conversation, but had seen Marcus assault on the agent and had assumed what had happened. The personality change was very welcome.

“All right,” Wasner said, “what else did Choi say?”

“The substance was created a long time ago. He wasn’t sure how long, but it was very old, like maybe the sixties or even older. He said they knew of it through a man who had been a spy here in the early seventies. He was a soldier in the US Army and worked with a chemical weapons unit. There were several truckloads of chemical and biological weapons that had been disposed of after a UN treaty made them illegal. The government was basically covering up the fact that they had the stuff. The spy told them he had been in the unit that drove the trucks onto the back of the base and put it all in those bunkers, then buried them.”

“How did they get to it, then, if it was buried in a bunker? Aren’t those things usually several feet thick with concrete?” Tomer asked.

“The Halloween earthquake was centered only about thirty miles north of here. The fault line ran right underneath the bunker. The spy—Choi only knows him as Mr. Lee—contacted contacted his command people in North Korea and told them about the possibility that the earthquake may have cracked open the bunker. Nature had provided them with the opportunity to get this particular weapon. I understand you guys have a sample of it?”

“Yeah, the little bugger tried to smash the vial open on us when we caught him.” Wasner pulled the black plastic eyeglasses box from his coat pocket and handed it to Lonnie.

She inspected it, then pulled a Ziploc freezer bag out of the small supply pouch on her belt. She carefully put the box in the bag and zipped the top over it.

“Marcus, do you have a towel or something I can wrap this thing in, and some tape?” she asked. “I really don’t want to risk breaking it before I can get it back to town to have the forensics guys take a quick look at it.”

“Yeah,” he replied and went into the kitchen.

Tomer asked, “Does he know where the men went who got away?”

“Only that they went to a house on Farmer’s Loop road. He’s not sure where, because they had been told not to return to the same house as before, and their emergency rendezvous was yet a different place. Only the officers knew the next house, and only one of them is still alive.”

Marcus returned with a thick, red bath towel and two 30-gallon black plastic trash bags. He took the Ziploc bag from Lonnie and set it in the center of the towel. Then he folded the towel in half lengthwise over the vial. He folded the long ends toward the center, then rolled the whole thing up in a thick, tubular bundle and taped over the entirety of the cloth.