The Siren Project (24 page)

Mitch nodded thoughtfully. “First option,
Mouse controls the camera from the inside. If that’s impossible, Gunter disables
it from the outside.” Mitch used Gunter’s pencil and ruler to draw a line from
the camera, through the other corner of the building to the fence. He then
circled the area of the fence that was masked from the camera by the
outbuilding. “That’s our insertion point.”

“Providing we can disable the security
systems,” Mouse added.

Mitch nodded, then turned to Christa. “Let’s
try Knightly again.”

It took Mouse only a minute to set up the
telephone call to Knightly, running the call through the speaker system so they
could all hear.

“We need it tonight,” Mitch said firmly.

“The Executive has refused,” Knightly
replied. “They won't release it to you under any circumstances. I made the best
case I could, but they consider the risks are too high.”

“Gus, without Peter, we can't succeed.”

“I’ve briefed them thoroughly,” Knightly
said, frustrated. “They believe that if Peter fell into our enemy’s hands, our
last real advantage would be lost. I can’t argue with them on that, because
it’s true.”

Mitch leaned closer to the microphone on
the telephone hand set. “Listen Knightly, any aces we have, we should play now.
It’s no point keeping Peter up your sleeve until we’re all dead. What good is
it then? They’ll have it anyway.”

“I understand, Mitchell. I'm sympathetic to
your argument, but the use of Peter is strictly controlled. Not even I can
overrule the Executive.”

“He’s sympathetic to our argument,” Mouse scoffed.
“Not freaking sympathetic enough!”

“When did you plan to move?” Knightly
asked.

“Tonight,” Mitch said.

“You'll have to try without Peter.”

Mitch exchanged doubtful looks with the
others. “I hope you have a back-up plan, because after tonight, none of us may
be here to take any more of your half baked orders.”

“So you'll go ahead, even without Peter?”

“That’s what you’re paying us for.”

“Very well.” Knightly paused, then added, “I
wish I could do more. Good luck,” he said, then hung up.

Mitch turned to Mouse with a determined look.
“You’ve got twelve hours. Build me a worm that can crack their system.”

Mouse shook his head in disbelief. “It can’t
be done, not in twelve hours.” He sat down at his computer, and nodded at the
three inch high rubber Klingon standing on the table beside his keyboard. “I
hate to tell you this, Worf, but I wish you were Data.” He started sifting
through the recordings he'd made of the Institute’s data streams, searching for
a pattern he could turn into a key to disarm the security barrier locking them
out.

“What if he can’t do it?” Christa asked.

Mitch gave Gunter a knowing look. “Then
we’ll shoot our way in.”

* * * *

Christa sat alone in the early evening,
on one of the folding chairs they'd set up under the mobile home’s canvas
awning. Mitch watched her sipping a coffee from the door, rehearsing in his
mind what he had to say.

Without turning, she said, “Why don’t you
just tell me what’s on your mind?”

Mitch, suppressing his surprise at her
knowing he was there, stepped down to the concrete slab the collapsible chairs
and table stood on. “So I guess we can add eyes in the back of your head to
your list of hidden talents?”

Christa cast a sideways glance at him. “Something
like that.” She continued watching the other caravans parked around them,
listening to the sounds of the trailer park drifting through the night, as he
settled into the chair beside her.

“Or do you just read minds?”

“You make it sound like a circus trick,”
she said, then more soberly, “To read a thought, it must be projected, which is
something beyond most people. Mostly, I sense mental and emotional intensity,
and rely on my intuition a lot.”

“Women’s intuition? Doesn’t sound very
scientific.”

“Intuition, isn’t ‘women’s intuition’. It’s
direct understanding, and it’s not limited to women. It's an understanding that
flashes into my mind, interpreting what I’m sensing, giving me instantaneous
knowledge.” She shrugged at the futility of trying to explain it.

“What’s your intuition telling you now?”

She let her thoughts reach out to him, subtly.
“My intuition tells me you’re thinking of . . . me?”

Mitch nodded slowly. “Yes, I am.”

She concentrated harder, trying to
understand the complex mystery that hid behind another human being’s mask to
the world. “You’re confused in some way.” She looked puzzled. “I irritate you
sometimes, but you also . . .” She hesitated, wondering if her intuition
deceived her.

“Christa, I don’t want you coming with us
tomorrow.”

Her face showed surprise. “I guess my
intuition isn’t perfect. That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

“I’ve seen how those devices affect you. I
don’t want you getting too close to them. I don’t want that implant in your
head going off by accident.”

“Is this a new caring sensitive John
Mitchell, or just another way to get rid of me?”

“Neither. If you’re so valuable, it would
be wasteful for you to die tomorrow, because of that implant. I don’t want to
risk it.”

“Wasteful? I’m touched by the depth of your
feelings. Most people think someone’s death is a tragedy, but in my case, death
is nothing more than wasteful.” She laughed.

“Call it what you like, Princess. There is
no reason for you to go with us, and a damn good reason for you to stay here.”

“I have to go with you,” she said simply,
as if that resolved the situation.

“No.”

“You’ll need me to identify who’s
conditioned in there, and while I don’t cope well with those energy fields, we
can use that to our advantage. I can tell you where those fields are, and if
they’re functioning. It can help you find the equipment much faster than if you
had to search the entire building. And besides, if we do have to shoot our way
in, you know I’m a better shot than you.” She grinned, daring him to argue.

“Think about it, Christa. If one of those
conditioning machines is on and a beam, or whatever the hell it is, hits you,
it could set that thing in your head off. That’s a stupid way to die.”

“Don’t overwhelm me with sensitivity. Now
you’re worried about whether my death is stupid or not. Stupid and wasteful.” She
smiled. “Anyway, it’s not that simple. They would have to actually change my
brain pattern. A random energy beam won’t do that. You saw the chimp in the
video, it’s more complicated than that.”

“You’re not going.”

“You can’t stop me.” She stood up with her
empty coffee cup. “Do you want a cup? I seem to remember getting you coffee was
part of my job description.”

“No.”

She started for the screen door, but sensing
his turmoil, she hesitated. “Mitch.”

He looked up.

“Relax. It’ll be okay,” she said, and went
inside.

Gunter parked the van in the side street
that led toward the Newton Institute shortly after midnight, staying far enough
back that the trees on the corner hid their presence. He pulled on his night
vision goggles and began his watch of the Institute’s lights through the trees.

“We are in position,” he reported over the
radio.

Mouse activated the signal snooper waiting
dormant on the Institute’s air conditioning cable, then transmitted the program
he'd developed to sniff the Institute’s security system. Mitch and Christa waited
without speaking, while Mouse studied the feedback from his program. Thirty
minutes passed, and the expression on his face became increasingly anxious. Finally
he shook his head.

“Can’t do it. I need more time, more
information.”

“You’re sure? There’s no chance it can find
a way in?” Mitch asked.

Mouse stared at the screen, then sighed. “Nope,
this mother’s locked tighter than Fort Knox.”

“Looks like we do it the hard way. Gunter,
you’re up. Assemble the HK.”

Gunter peeled off his night vision goggles,
then opened the long metal box perched on the passenger seat. He took the
pieces from the box, then in near darkness, rapidly assembled the very
expensive Heckler and Koch marksman rifle. “Ready.”

Mitch extinguished the tiny light in the
rear of the van, then they quietly climbed out. Mitch and Mouse carrying heavy
backpacks, Christa carrying Mouse’s electronic equipment, and Gunter carrying
another heavy backpack and the tripod mounted sniper rifle. Gunter led them
through the trees, pausing often to ensure there was no sign of activity inside
the Institute's grounds. Twenty feet from the road, with a dozen trees in
front, he went to ground with the rifle. Mitch motioned for the others to take
cover behind the trees and wait.

Gunter sighted carefully, adjusting the
setting on the scope, then whispered into the wire mike near his mouth. “Taking
the shot.” A soft whisper carried through the trees as the silenced rifle fired,
then his voice sounded in their ears again. “Shot is good.”

No one moved, not daring to look. Gunter
himself remained completely motionless, watching the Institute through the
rifle’s scope. Several minutes passed, then Gunter spoke again.

“One guard coming out, rear door left.”

The guard looked toward the six
outbuildings, then his gaze traveled across the grounds to the fence. Satisfied
the grounds were deserted, he walked toward the faulty camera, staring up at its
position near the roof. The metal housing was intact, showing no sign of the
bullet that had been fired with pin point accuracy into the lens, destroying
the camera’s internals. From the ground, in the dark, with the camera aimed out
toward the fence, the guard couldn't see the shattered glass of the lens. He
raised a walkie-talkie to his lips, confirming it was probably an electrical
fault, then lit a cigarette and watched the grounds for a while.

“Guard is standing there,” Gunter said
after a few minutes. “I have a clear shot. He has made his report. It will be a
while before he is missed.”

“No,” Mitch said. “We wait.”

The guard strolled to outbuilding six,
flicked the cigarette away and turned to face the building.

“What’s he doing?” Mitch asked.

Gunter studied the guard through the scope.
“Pissing.”

Mouse whispered over the radio, “You mean,
he’s pissing on the building we’re about to break into?”

“Ya,” Gunter said, keeping the guard's head
in his telescopic sight.

“I want to know exactly where he’s pissing,
so I don’t step in it!”

Mitch and Christa exchanged amused looks. Behind
them, a twig snapped. Gunter froze, certain any movement would catch the
guard’s eye. Mitch silently produced his gun and aimed in the direction of the
sound. A second twig cracked as another step was taken in the darkness towards
them. Mitch corrected his aim to the right, relying on his ears more than his
eyes.

Christa, hiding behind the tree to Mitch’s
right, whispered, “Don't shoot.”

Mitch gave her a confused look, but didn't
lower the gun.

“It’s Gus.”

The dark shape of a man in a long coat approached
through the trees. He stopped when he saw Mitch’s gun aimed at him. Knightly
was carrying a large black case in his right hand, with his left hand stuck
deep in his coat pocket.

“Am I too late?” he whispered.

“Go back,” Mitch whispered, indicating he
should step behind the tree.

Knightly did as he was told, cracking more
twigs as he went. Mitch glanced at Christa. “You’ve got good eyes. I only saw
him when he came out from behind that tree.”

Christa smiled. “I
saw
him the same
time you did.”

“So how . . .?” He let his question go
unfinished, realizing she had sensed Knightly’s approach, before she'd seen
him. “Gunter, what’s the status on the guard?”

“Guard is walking back toward the main
building entrance. Thirty seconds.”

Mitch waited the thirty seconds, then stole
a look from behind the tree. He saw the guard enter the Institute, then
whispered, “Pull back.” They all moved back through the trees to where Knightly
waited, then Mitch asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Desperate times sometimes require acts of
. . . outright insubordination. You, of all people, should know that, Mitchell.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Knightly held up the black case for them
all to see. “I trust we shall put it to good use.”

Mitch glanced at the case with sudden
realization. “You stole Peter? You? The conscience of the intelligence community?”

“If you must be crude about it. I tend to
think of it as actively supporting my field officers.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”

“You're welcome,” Knightly said,
underwhelmed by Mitch's lack of gratitude.

“How did you find us?” Christa asked.

“You told me you would try tonight, so I
waited up there.” He nodded toward the ridge overlooking the Institute. “I saw
a muzzle flash down here. I knew it had to be you.”

Mitch reached for the case, but Knightly pulled
it back out of reach. “No one touches Peter, except me. When the mission is
over, I'll return it to its rightful location.”

“Whatever. Let’s plug that thing in and see
what it can do.”

* * * *

“Wow! All the Institute’s security
systems are down and out for the count!” Mouse declared, glancing longingly at
the machine his computer was now attached to. The black case was open,
revealing a complex machine with several LCD displays and touch screens. Mouse was
shocked by how little effort had been required to penetrate the Institute’s
defenses. All Knightly had done was turn the machine on, then Peter unlocked
every layer of security with automatic efficiency.

“Amazing,” Gunter said. “It is not a
decryption machine, is it? It just knows the backdoor password of every
security system.”

“Every American security system,” Knightly
corrected.

“Ahh,” Gunter nodded with growing clarity. “So
every allied country that has American security systems is vulnerable to this
device?”

Knightly failed to hide his surprise.

“We don’t use it to spy on our friends,”
Christa said.

“Of course not,” Gunter said without
sincerity.

“You can look at every citizen’s private
information?” Mouse said. “You said every American system, not every military
system, but everything. So banks, tax records, whatever you want, you get just
by plugging in good ol’ Saint Peter here. And you guys get pissed at me for
wiping my tax records from the IRS computer! Jeez.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Christa said,
turning to Knightly. “Right? Peter is used only for oversight purposes.”

“Sometimes it’s necessary to gather information
on particular individuals,” Knightly said. “Sometimes they’re in other
countries . . .”

Christa looked surprised. “Gus, I’m sensing
. . . deception?”

“The use of Peter is highly classified,
Christa. I’m limited in what I can say, but I can guarantee you, we’ve no
interest in ordinary citizens.”

“Sure, we believe you.” Mitch said in a
tone that indicated he did not. He turned to Mouse. “Can you disable whatever
is monitoring the outbuilding?”

Mouse took only a minute to find the
application controlling the outbuilding’s sensors. A moment later, he nodded. “Door
sensor, pressure plates, thermal detectors and infrared beams are now offline
for outbuilding six.”

“Let’s move,” Mitch said.

* * * *

Mitch strained under the weight of his
pack as he ran across the road to the fence, keeping the sixth outbuilding
between himself and the Institute. He cut through the fence quickly, then ran
to the back of the outbuilding, followed almost immediately by Gunter and
Christa.

“I’m through,” he reported over the radio
to Mouse, who'd remained behind in the van with Knightly to control the
Institute’s security systems remotely.

“Nothing happening inside,” Mouse informed
him.

Mitch turned to Christa. “Can you tell if
there’s anyone inside?”

She took a moment to reach out with her
senses. “No, it’s empty.”

Mitch hurried around the corner to the
metal door. It was featureless, no door knob, no key hole, just a plain gray
metal slab. “I’m at the door. It's remotely controlled.”

After a few seconds, a metallic click
sounded. “How’s that?” Mouse's voice sounded from his earpiece as the metal
door swung outwards, stopping ninety degrees from the wall.

“That’s good,” Mitch said, nodding to Gunter.

The big German stepped past Mitch to the
open doorway carrying a Geiger counter. He aimed the sensor into the concrete
block house, but no warning clicks sounded from the machine. “No radiation.”

Mitch stepped past Gunter into the
building. In the center of the room was a large square well that led vertically
down a short distance to a set of train tracks. Mounted in the roof was a
robotic hoist with steel cross beams that allowed the crane to be positioned
over any point on the floor. Gunter switched on his flashlight and swept the
beam around the room. The walls were lined with concrete basins, with metal
pipes feeding out of their bases and other metal pipes with nozzles positioned
above the basins. Inside the basins were pools of liquid, each exactly the same
depth.

Christa stepped up to one and sniffed, wrinkling
her nose. She raised her hand to dip into the vat to bring a drop of the
substance to her nose, but Gunter stepped forward and grabbed her wrist a few
inches from the surface. She looked up at him surprised.

“Nein!” Gunter ordered. He released her
hand, then removed one of the plastic buckles from his backpack and dipped the
end into the basin, careful not to let his fingers touch the substance. The
liquid immediately boiled and a cloud of smoke rose. After a moment, he held
the buckle up to reveal the lower half had vanished, completely consumed by the
liquid.

Christa's eyes widened, as she realized
that could have been her fingers. “How did you know?”

“The smell.”

“Thanks,” she said, eyeing his melted
buckle uncomfortably.

Gunter shone his light into the basin to
reveal several long slender glass tubes lying on cradles beneath the surface. “They
are acid baths.”

Christa looked from the glass tubes soaking
in the acid to Mitch. “The tolerances on using this technology will be extremely
low. Any imperfection or dirt could cause a failure.”

“Why six buildings?” Mitch asked.

“There may be different compounds in each
building,” Gunter said. “Different components may require different types of
baths. Mixing the fumes could create highly volatile compounds.”

Christa stepped up to the vertical shaft
and looked down to the tracks six feet below. “So the components are
robotically transferred to the main building.” She looked up. “Never touched by
human hands.”

Mitch thumbed his mike. “Mouse, the outbuilding
is clear. Close the door.” The metal door creaked shut, but did not lock. “We’re
moving into the tunnel now.”

“Okay,” Mouse replied through a subtle hiss
of static. “I'm getting a bit of interference from the structure you're in.”

Mitch switched on his flashlight then
clambered underneath the hoist and measured the distance to the tracks. It was
no more than four feet to the roof of the tunnel, and a couple more feet to the
tracks. He jumped down, then crawled into the tunnel, pushing his backpack in
front of him. Christa and Gunter followed a minute later. Mitch tried to
measure the distance as he crawled through the tunnel, lit only by their
flashlights. He guessed he was two thirds of the way toward the main building
when he heard an approaching hum, and the rattle of metal wheels on rails.