Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (16 page)

As silently as possible, a boot stepped on the forecastle deck behind the black-clad figure. A moment passed. A throat cleared. “It is good that irksome demon has been sent away. There must be a lesson here somewhere. Only use the creatures you know. It is better that my own scouting be free of its meddlesome interference,” the witch said.

One black-gloved fist closed.

“
Naah-Ren Bahra
!” The witch suddenly shouted. The captain, standing behind, hurriedly backed away. He tried to lift his boot to approach again, but an incredible weight seemed to drag his feet down. The witch extended an open hand forward. The captain gasped. The black, silk clad fingers vanished, as if plunged into an invisible fold in reality.

The captain squinted as a blinding light appeared and droplets of incredibly intense light dribbled over the witch’s hand, as if the sun’s light had been distilled into a liquid, or the radiance of all the stars that had ever existed was concentrated into a stream of incredible brilliance.

The witch moved its hand in this light-filled stream, watching the radiating droplets flowing away from his finger as if gravity had no power over them. When the hand was removed, the bright light disappeared entirely, making the captain blink tear-filled eyes. He could not be sure, but he thought he saw a thin trail of smoke rising from the black silk glove.

“Yes. Powerful magic flows into the sphere. My guess may be right, however unlikely it may seem. Captain, how fortunate it is you joined me. I need the ship brought closer to yonder sphere. See to it,” the black-robed figure said, its mask still directed forward.

The captain tried to speak but his throat was too dry. His face reddened as he watched the back of the witch’s head. He imagined the iron smile widening with scorn.

“Ah, lord witch. Please - please forgive me. If we approach the sphere we might be detected by our target,” the captain finally managed. “Lord, if I may say so. It- you - disturb the crew. I have been promised - promised! The crew must be undisturbed. If you will come less aboard, stay more below deck, we may -” The captain stopped.

The black-clad figure slowly lowered his hands and remained motionless for a brief period, before starting to turn. The captain swallowed hard. He took a step back, almost falling down the flight of stairs leading down from the forecastle. The captain looked at the black iron mask, its gracefully carved features and easy smile. For a moment all was still, the ship silent and dark. A freezing cold gripping the captain’s innards. The captain backed away, and then turned and fled from the witch.

“First mate! Unfurl sails, two quarters. I want four lookouts and the crow’s nest manned at all times. Set taut the halyards. Secure the ship! Signal the Bludgeon, we’re heading for the sphere!” The captain bellowed and the sailors began moving. Those already on the rigging began handling the complicated knots controlling the sails while others ran on deck, careful to avoid the forecastle.

The captain, too, did not dare to look at the forecastle, but he had no doubt the black iron mask was still directed at him, the bottomless abyss in its eyes aimed towards him. His teeth shook in the cold that was engulfing him.

Day 12 after Earth Barrier Breach

Fort Meade, Maryland, United States. Friday, 08:56.

Agent Graham entered Thorpe’s cubicle. He saw the red-haired man sitting on his chair, looking around him with bright eyes. Thorpe’s fingers were twitching, a pianist about to perform a concert.

“Hi,” Graham said carefully. He searched around him, but Thorpe was sitting in the only chair.

“Hey! Things finally started to move around here!” Thorpe exclaimed with glee. His desk has been exchanged with a much larger one and his original workstation had been moved to the side. Three bright, new workstations now sat side by side on his desk.

“You’ve got some new hardware. Is it any good?” Graham asked. Thorpe turned to him.

“Any good? Are you asking me if it’s any good? Come on, man, this is the latest in every field!” Thorpe got up and stood by the first workstation.

“This one is for running queries. I have been given priority on all queries and searches on the mainframes. I can execute any search on the NSA databases. I can even find out how much income tax you paid last year, and I can find out who you are seeing. Anything I want.” Thorpe caressed the workstation’s huge LCD screen lovingly.

“I’m married,” Agent Graham said, smiling.

“And here,” Thorpe continued, totally ignoring the elegantly clothed agent, “We have the communications computer. I can get access to any Defense Communications satellite. I can talk to anybody, anywhere on the planet, using whatever encryption is required.” Thorpe lifted a small headset from the second computer. It was wireless, using Bluetooth for connection. He put it on and turned to the other agent, the black headset drowning in his unkempt red hair.

“How do I look?”

“Well -”

“And here, every agent’s dream, the envy of the world - the eyes that see everything.” Thorpe moved his hands reverently over his third workstation. This had an even larger LCD screen and a black, professional joystick set into the keyboard.

“KH11 control station! I have priority on the satellites. I can see everything, everywhere, almost all the time.” Thorpe touched the joystick lightly, a priest in awe before his god’s altar.

“So, I gather things are working out well,” Graham said. Thorpe looked at him and the huge smile plastered over his face began to fade. He sank down on his chair and swiveled towards Graham. It was as if a weight had suddenly dropped back on the easygoing, red-haired man.

“Well, Andrew Pearsons is updating me on the thing with the Russians, but there isn’t much progress there. We still have no idea what’s really going on over there. Winder’s people from Libya are supposed to call me. They were working on a drug smuggling network, but The Man took care of that. I understand they are not too happy about that,” Thorpe said. He frowned and gestured towards his blackboard.

“Look, all these things started with the Radio Blankets, but I still can’t seem to understand what’s the connection between them.” Thorpe drummed his fingers on his chair’s armrest.

Graham looked at the blackboard. “What’s this thing here?” Graham asked, pointing. Thorpe had written on the blackboard “Note for the day: You win games by cheating!”

Thorpe blushed.

“Oh, that’s nothing, just a little game. So, how are things at Owego?” Thorpe hurriedly asked.

“It’s advancing. We have an agent in. Preliminary contact has been established and some information has already been extracted. I’ll send you the reports later. It’s quite interesting. There’s definitely something there, some kind of cult. I can’t see how it has anything to do with the investigation, but we are giving it some time before we turn it over to the FBI. My agent is good. She’ll find out what’s going on.”

Thorpe blinked.

“She? You’ve put a woman into this?” Thorpe asked. Graham smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s Ellis Christensen. You better worry for the poor unfortunates who get in her way,” Graham said.

“Okay, if you say so”,” Thorpe shrugged.

“Look, we need any information you may uncover that is relevant to the situation in Owego. I’ll send everything we got. The investigation may depend on what you uncover,” Graham said. Thorpe sat straighter in his chair.

“Don’t worry, I’m working on it. We are trying to decipher the message in the NY apartment, but I’m not really sure it has any connection to Owego. I’ll inform you if something interesting pops up. Hey, you’ve been here for ages. What’s with The Man? Why won’t he call me ‘Agent’?” Thorpe asked. Graham glanced at him.

“It’s just a thing with him. Don’t worry about it. I’ll drop by later to see how it’s going.” Graham left the cubicle. Thorpe watched him go, sighed and turned back to his desk.

He had been given a new tray for memos, but he had found a better use for it: a home for his dinosaurs. All his memos were being unceremoniously dumped on the floor while his smartphone rested in the middle of the tray, surrounded by his plastic dinosaurs.

Thorpe glanced at them when suddenly he caught his breath. He looked around him in panic, searching. He got up and pushed a workstation aside, sending his arm into the crack between two screens. Finally, he fished out a small herbivore and put it carefully on the tray.

“Now, don’t go on walks by yourself, do you hear?” Thorpe admonished the little plastic dinosaur. Suddenly, something warbled, making Thorpe jump up. The electronic beep continued. Thorpe unlocked one workstation after another till he found the one that was beeping. It was the communications computer. Thorpe’s eyes narrowed, someone was calling him using a secure Milstar satellite phone. The signal was encrypted and the location was hidden. Someone obviously didn’t want Thorpe to know where he was calling from. Thorpe sighed and shook his head.

“Those field agents must have seen too many spy movies,” Thorpe muttered. He put on the headset and answered the call. “Yeah”?”

“This is Factor X”,” rumbled a metallic voice, purposely disguised. Thorpe shook his head again. ‘Factor X’? Really!

“Yes. It’s about time.”

“We have received new orders. We were told to coordinate with you.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, look. You are to join me in an investigation we are running. The problem is, I don’t know exactly what you should be looking for. There’s a Radio Blanket effect every night around Al Jaghbub. For now, the only thing I can tell you to look for is anything that might block radio. Maybe a jammer or some kind of facility causing interference. It started ten days ago. Anything strange you find might be interesting as well.” There was a moment of silence and Thorpe winced. These were probably not the orders field agents were used to receiving.

“Can you be more specific?” The metallic voice asked.

“I can try. Report any strange behavior of men, maybe cults or something like that. Or any battles or attacks by unknown assailants. Or unknown creatures.” Thorpe winced again. The silence on the other side was longer this time.

“We need formal authorization for terminating our current mission,” the metallic voice droned in Thorpe’s ears.

“What?”

“Agency regulations demand we receive confirmation for changing our orders while on a mission,” the voice said.

“Regulations?” Thorpe echoed.

“Agency regulations state that mission alteration needs confirmation with the mission coordinator.”

“But you were told to coordinate with me!”

“Regulations, Mister Thorpe. We need to work according to regulations,” the voice went on imperturbably.

Thorpe’s eyes narrowed in anger. He breathed in and opened his mouth, but something made him turn around and look down the corridor leading into his cubicle. Agent Winder was walking towards him, unblinking black eyes fixed on him.

“Wait, just wait,” Thorpe snapped into his headset and tore it off his head. He paused the connection on his communications computer. “Look, your team in Libya -”

“I know,” Winder said, his voice high and peculiar. “My team will start participating in your investigation shortly. Please be patient. We are in the middle of a drug trafficking investigation. I will contact you.”

Agent Winder turned and left. Thorpe looked at him, his mouth agape. “Is that guy for real? And where do they get these stupid code names?”

Thorpe hurriedly picked up his communications headset again, but Factor X had terminated the conversation.

Thorpe looked at his blackboard. Under Owego he wrote ‘NY apartment, burning, message.’ Thorpe looked at the Colorado section. He added ‘Half a dozen hotspots, elongated objects, camouflaged.’ He looked at Owego and then at Russia. Was there really a connection between the unknown language they heard on the radio transmission from the Urals and the message in the apartment? He tapped his pen on the Owego section. One was a written message and the other was spoken. What was going on? Was someone using code? He had never heard of people speaking in code, especially not that fluently. Thorpe shuddered.

“Andy can say what he likes, I still think that voice wasn’t -” The phone rang. Thorpe cursed. He looked for it and found it pushed to the side. “Yes!”

“Oh my, what a tone. Forgot to take your tranquilizer shots again?”

“Hi, Andy.” Thorpe relaxed into his chair.

“We’ve got some things to discuss. You have a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah, sure. Wait, I’ll come over. I need to get out of here for a while,” Thorpe said and hung up. He was still holding the pen in his hand. He looked at the blackboard, glancing at the ‘“Seven Weeks”’ deadline he had written there.

***

Thorpe entered Andy’s sparkling-clean cubicle. Andy snatched away his stapler and made sure there wasn’t any paper within Thorpe’s reach, but the red-haired analyst just slumped in the spare chair in Andy’s cubicle. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes while the older analyst looked at him in concern.

“Are you okay, Roby? You look a little pale.”

“Ha! It’s all your fault!” Thorpe said. He put his glasses back on and tried to focus.

“My fault? How is that my fault?”

“You showed me the Radio Blanket effects and the Russian thing,” Thorpe said.

“Blame me, why don’t you? I only showed you one, I didn’t know there were others. You went ahead and figured out the connection between them. I heard you went to the director. I’m impressed.”

“Well, you know. That’s kind of easy for a genius like me. He was very impressed with me. Really! You should come to my cubicle. I’ve got some of the newest hardware in the division. It’s great, really great,” Thorpe said, smiling brightly. Andy looked at him, raising one eyebrow. Thorpe held out for exactly five seconds and then slumped down, face in his hands.

“It’s terrible, man, terrible. People keep calling me. I now have agents in places you wouldn’t believe who are waiting for me to give them information. I have to keep tabs on something that can fool thermal cameras. There’s a whole army out there because of me! It’s a nightmare!” Andy looked at the red-haired man. Thorpe really seemed tired.

“Why did you go to The Man in the first case? It wasn’t your case.”

“Ah. Well -”   

“You wanted to brag, didn’t you?”   

“Brag is too harsh a word. I would prefer -”

“You wanted to show off, didn’t you? So you got what you deserved.”

“What? I got res - respo - respon – bility.“ Thorpe shuddered. “I can’t even say the ‘R’ word.”

“You’re pathetic, do you know that?” Andy shook his head. Thorpe was sitting on the chair, face in his hands again. “There, there. It will all look better tomorrow morning.”

“That’s the best you can do? By the way, what’s with that Winder dude and his cronies?” Thorpe asked.

“I worked with them before that Russian thing started. We were investigating a drug lord in Al Jaghbub responsible for a major percentage of cocaine trafficking in Northern Africa. They were getting very close to him. I heard that they raided his mansion in Al Jaghbub a few days ago.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I don’t know. I gather it didn’t go very well. There were no casualties on our side, but I had real trouble talking to them afterward.”

Thorpe looked at Andy.

“Anyway, I do have a little bit of good news,” Andy said. He smiled when he saw Thorpe’s hopeful look. “Remember that strange voice on the radio from the Russian BMP? Linguistics haven’t been able to do anything with that, but they did figure out it was somewhat similar to Arabic. So, they got approval and went to the University of Maryland - the chair of the Department of History is an expert on Mediterranean history. Anyway, they played her the recording, just the part with that voice”,” Andy stopped.

“And? What did she say? Did she recognize it? Did she say what it was?”

Andy smiled: “She did.”

Thorpe whooped loudly, making Andy throw a dirty look at him.

“Quiet! There are people working here! Anyway, she said it was some kind of dead Mesopotamian language.”

Thorpe blinked.

“Mesopotamian?”

“Yeah. She said it was garbled, very hard to understand. They told her it was a matter of national security and she’s been working at it all night. She said she recognized a few words. Enemy. Victory. And a word that appeared three times: ‘mother,’” Andy said.