The Victor Project (17 page)

     “Yea, great bed-time story,” remarked Grunt.

     “Find this man Rickles and arrange a meeting with us.  I need time to think about this,” said William.

     “And tell Mars,” said Grunt.

     “And tell Mars.  And one other thing,” said William as he pulled something from inside his coat.  The residence adjacent to mine has changed tenants.  It seems that my elderly neighbors have mysteriously vanished without cordial farewells.  I don’t like what I see and smell.  The man says his name is Matt Dalton.  In this bag are photos of him that I have acquired and on the glass should be his fingerprints.”

     “I’m impressed detective,” said Grunt as he grabbed the bag.

     “A man must stay one step ahead or end up six feet under,” said William.

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     John knew that just about anyone he confronted from the FSC would either be equally in the dark as he or not admit to any knowledge of the plan he discovered.  His only hope was to fool someone into thinking that he had been given total clearance to the information.  Given his engineer status on the station, the plan was somewhat feasible. 

     The struggle was in finding a person that he easily could approach and prod for information.  It had to be someone that would have full knowledge about the evacuation, but also someone who wouldn’t know the listed personnel with the same level of clearance.  It also had to be someone who was not a real player, someone who could easily be bluffed.  All these questions were answered when he remembered spotting Kerns waddling toward him on B-deck earlier in the morning. 

     Benny Kerns had been in every top-dog meeting that John could recall.  On several occasions John had seen fat-boy whispering in some corner with the head of the FSC.  The whispering sessions were now beginning to make sense.  Kerns had held some type of political office before coming to C-Orbit.  The only thing John could remember about the title was that it was difficult to connect with any given branch of the government, which was probably why it slipped his mind.  Kerns’ former boss was probably at this moment sitting more comfortably without a Benny’s nose wedged between his ass and the chair cushion.

    Now Benny was some form of an Ambassador for the GEP or maybe the U.S. government.  One of the man’s designated duties was to make sure the board was properly informed and sufficiently satisfied.  His position held attractive possibilities for being a spy, someone to keep an eye on C-Orbit throughout it’s construction.  Kerns was a perfect target, but why the top dogs would give the man clearance for a plan like the one he just discovered was a tougher question.

     Kerns was sitting at his desk munching on an item of food when John approached the door.  On his trip down to O-deck, he had rehearsed a portion of what he was going to say to Kerns.  He was hoping an exhibition of raw confidence would get him the rest of the way.

     “John, how are you?” asked Kerns.

     “I’m doing well, thanks,” replied John.

     “What can I do for you?” Kerns continued.

     “I need to talk to you about something,” said John.

     “Come in,” said Kerns.

     “I need to close this door,” said John.

     “Sure, sounds like something bad has happened.  Nothing the board is going to be pissed about I hope,” remarked Kerns.

     “No, nothing like that.  You have the same security clearance as I do don’t you?” asked John.

     “Yes, I assume so.  I can get just about anywhere in the ship,” said Kerns.

     “Well, I’m talking more about information, sensitive information,” said  John.

     “I’m not following you,” said Kerns.

     “It’s about the evacuation that’s going to take place,” said John.

     “What are you talking about,” said Kerns.

     “The evacuation of people from earth and up to C-Orbit.  You know, the Victor Project,” said John.

     “You have clearance for that?” asked Kerns.

     “I guess the only way the FSC felt they could get this tub ready was to give me the straight scoop,” said John.

     “You know you and I aren’t even supposed to be talking about this, even behind a closed door,” said Kerns.

     “I know, but I’m concerned about the language barriers that the evacuees are going to encounter,” said John.

     “Again, I’m not following you,” remarked Kerns.

     “All the warning and caution signs posted on this ship are in English.  How can we be sure that the mixed population on this ship will be able to remain safe and respect the restricted areas?” asked John.

     “We spoke about this in a meeting over four months ago.  Almost everyone coming on board has written and verbal English skills.  I think there were approximately seven that didn’t and they were scheduled to receive tutoring upon arrival,” answered Kerns.

     “Were?” asked John.

     “You might not have heard this yet, but as of yesterday, every zone outside of the United States had been infected.  It looks like there will only be Americans up here with us,” said Kerns.

     “All of the other zones have been infected?” asked John.

     “Every single one.  We’ve got to get our personnel up here and fast.  I wish the Committee would move up the time-line,” said Kerns.

     “Me too.  Well, problem solved,” said John as he stood and opened the door.

     “John,” said Kerns.

     “Yes,” replied John.

     “I don’t mind you asking me these questions, but until everyone is evacuated and on board this ship, I wouldn’t talk about this,” said Kerns.

     “Roger,” answered John.

     John tried to remain composed as he left Kerns’ office.  The emotions of fear, logic, anger, and a dozen others had now begun a battle for his conscious thoughts.  To make matters worse, there was no one on the ship that he could confide in, no one with whom to discuss the emotions that were raging inside him.  Most of all he hoped that Kerns kept their little conversation between them.  If he mentioned one word of it to the FSC, he would be signing his death warrant.  As if in a trance John headed straight from the elevator to his compartment on B-deck. 

     He left the room dark as he let his body fall into the nearest chair.  Slowly, he regurgitated the questions that came to him out loud.  Who was chosen to be evacuated?  What about his parents?  Did any common man on earth know about this besides the government?  Why wasn’t the CDC able to control the virus or eradicate it all together?

     John needed a contact on earth, someone he could trust, someone who was resourceful but who wouldn’t think he was going space-crazy.  The only one that fit that criteria was his old college friend, Rick Mallory.  It had been over a year since they had conversed and even that encounter was in the form of an electronic message.

     “Computer, print the EarthNet address for Rick Mallory,” he commanded to his computer.

     While the computer searched for the address to print, John went to the sink and splashed some water on his face.  The mirror reflected the image of a wrinkled brow and puffy eyes that had recently formed.  It wouldn’t take a genius to see that something was bothering him.  For a moment he worked with the mirror to regain the expression of a man with more simple worries.  That was the expression he would have to don the next time he stepped out of his compartment. 

     The only secure link that John could think of was from one of the Brandon Transports.  He was fairly confident that it used a separate satellite and not one of the standard C-Orbit communication satellites that he now felt were most likely monitored.  If he was right, at least no one on the space station could track its incoming and outgoing communication.  He had seen at least one
Brandon locked into a Launch-deck port earlier in the day.  He had clearance to board the transports themselves if docked to C-Orbit, so getting on board was easy.  He had never been rated to fly a transport, but through C-Orbit training had gained a pretty good grasp of its equipment and layout.  He just had to make sure he didn’t get caught at the communication station.

     The entire time he was racing down to Q-deck, John tried to think of a way to tell Rick what he had discovered.  Remarkably he would have to do it in fifty words or less.  If was 5:33pm, and Poke was still on duty, at least at his post with a book in hand.  John gave a wave as he passed the man, marching straight for the docking port.

     The communication system was already active as he flipped out the microphone and instructed the EarthNet message application to initiate.  For a moment he paused realizing that what he was about to send could get his friend killed.

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     Immediately after returning from lunch, Frank sat down at his computer and began his research on Valarie DeDory.  The CVD’s computer system was linked to just about every identity warehouse in the government.  Best of all someone had dictated that his clearance level could access all of them, which was what he was willing to do at this very moment.  First he would start with the Epidemiology’s database.  He didn’t expect to get a lot of data from it, maybe the standard stuff, but at least he could use it as a cross reference to check for discrepancies.  All it would take is something small like a mismatched TTN ID, birthdate or past address.  Frank grabbed a pen to begin his notes.

     Ep’s records stated that Ms. DeDory was born on December 27, 2811.  Her TTN number was 3433KYF23 and that she was currently a resident of Zone 5, which was quite obvious.  Frank continued to scroll through the data, recording any pertinent information.  When finished he had scanned a total of twelve screens.  He found it hard to believe that a department could collect this much data about one person or even cared to.

     Next was the FBI’s database files.  Although he did have clearance to all IDENT files, he would be a fool to think that what was unrestricted for his security level was the only data that the Bureau compiled on individuals.  The junk coming up on the screens in front of him was merely acceptable data for non-Bureau eyes..

     The FBI’s data matched Eps down to her shoe size.  Ms. DeDory had no black marks on her record and she had never been associated with, as the FBI put it, Non-conforming Factions.  She graduated third at her university out of three thousand, which was not bad.  She was a registered Republican and had voted in almost every presidential election since she had been eligible.  Her parents were just as squeaky clean.  All of this equated to a No-Track code for the subject.  If Frank didn’t know what he already knew, he would swear the subject in front of him worked for the god damn Bureau, which was equally possible and equally terrifying.

     It was ditto for the CIA files, except for the fact that both the FBI and the CIA beat Ep’s screen count by four.  She was too clean to be sneaking around an office copying files.  He would bet good money that Sherman had his own personal dossier on all his employees.  A large gray file drawer stood behind his desk that the man always kept locked, but more than likely any dossier was on a disk tucked away somewhere.  And there was no way in hell he was going to search Sherman’s office for such an item or any item. 

     If indeed Val’s rendezvous was the makings of a harmless little love affair, which it did appear to be as they left the bowling alley the day before, the next question would be how did they meet?  And when did they meet?  Those were two questions that he would probably never discover the answer to unless he changed his way of thinking.  The best way he knew to gather information was the Sherman Crane way.  Frank flipped on his electronic organizer and pulled up a number he hadn’t dialed in a long time.

     “Pete, this Frank Belker.”

     “Frank you old dog.  How are you?” he replied.

     “I’m doing good.  How’s retirement treating you?” Frank asked.

     “Couldn’t be better.  You need to do some fishing with me,” Pete continued.

     “I can’t get away from this slave shop.  You know how it is,” said Frank.

     “You talking about your wife or the job?” joked Pete.

     “Both.  And your Mrs.?” asked Frank.

     “Oh Sally never put a rope around me.  You know that,” replied Pete.

     “Yea, she’s one in a million,” said Frank.

     “Well, what do you need?” asked Pete.

     “What do you mean?  Maybe I just called to catch up,” remarked Frank.

     “Right, and I’m going fishing with the president tomorrow,” joked Pete.

     “You know me too well.  Listen, I need a favor.  Can you get your hands on a P300 Mic for me?” asked Frank.

     “What the hell you need a P300 for?” asked Pete.

     “It’s all legitimate, I assure you,” said Frank.

     “And that’s why you’re not going through the department,” said Pete.

     “You know Sherman for God’s sake.  If he harbors suspicions about anyone, they’re guilty regardless.  I’ve just got somebody I need to spy on who I hope is just fooling around,” said Frank.

     “We’re not talking about..,” said Pete.

     “No we’re not talking about my wife.  I got this employee who, well it could just be something innocent.  Can you get it for me?” Frank asked.