Authors: Daniel Suarez
D
enise Davis strode
through the
FBI’s Chicago field office with her right arm in a sling, bruises and cuts on her face.
Thomas Falwell kept pace beside her. “I don’t understand, Denise.”
“They’ve compromised our communications. Even our supervisors follow their instructions without knowing. It’s because they’re inside our computer and telecom network.”
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe this BTC stuff?”
She gave him an ambivalent look. “You weren’t there, Thomas. This Alexa woman damned near killed me with her bare hands, without breaking a sweat.”
“Nobody likes losing a fight—especially you. I get it, but—”
“It’s not just the fight. I can’t even tell you the other things I saw. You wouldn’t believe me—just believe I’m telling the truth.”
“And the twins—who Grady claims are clones?”
“I know it sounds crazy. But have faith in me.”
“And you’re determined to go through with Grady interviewing Cotton?”
“If I can get the SAIC to buy in, yes.”
He tugged her good arm to stop her and spoke quietly but intensely. “You realize this is a career-making case? That playing into this crazy BTC conspiracy story will ruin—”
“You weren’t there, Thomas.”
“I’ve worked ten years on this case, Denise. A big chunk of my life. I got demoted for it. And now you’re going to start saying that Cotton isn’t a bomber—that Grady isn’t dead. That maybe his other victims aren’t dead.”
She met his gaze. “The possibility needs to be investigated.”
Falwell glanced just ahead of them, toward the corner office of the Special Agent in Charge, where an admin was talking on the phone. “And you trust Bollings?”
“I don’t think the BTC has people inside—I think they eavesdrop on our systems. Technology is their thing. Besides, I need to get the SAIC’s buy-in for the Cotton interview—and I need him to be there as a witness.”
Falwell held up his hands in submission. “It’s your career.” He moved away, back toward the elevators.
“Thomas, you’ll be on the lookout for Grady where I said, right?”
He nodded grimly. “You know you can always count on me, Denise. Just be careful.”
Davis watched him go. She couldn’t really blame him. They had a slam-dunk case against Cotton. Cotton had confessed to everything. Of course Cotton wanted a trial for publicity, but in some ways so did the FBI.
She wondered about Cotton some more but then decided to march ahead. Davis smiled at a young male admin assistant as he hung up his phone. “Denise Davis to see Agent Bollings.”
He nodded. “He’s expecting you . . .” The admin got up to knock on his boss’s door, leaned in for a moment, then moved aside. “Go on in.”
Davis entered and was surprised to see another man, a big red-faced guy in a suit sitting on SAIC Bollings’s sofa.
“Close the door, Denise.”
She did so, keeping an eye on the unknown man.
The SAIC sat on the corner of his desk and gestured to the man. “Denise, this is Bill McAllen, the deputy secretary of Homeland Security.”
A wave of surprise rolled over her. “Good to meet you, sir.”
The man stood much taller than her and extended his large hand. “Call me Bill.”
The SAIC grabbed his laptop. “I’m going to step out and get some coffee, Denise. Give you and Deputy Secretary McAllen a chance to talk alone.”
“Yes, sir.” Davis watched him go with some alarm. The door closed again behind him.
The deputy secretary motioned toward a chair across from the sofa, and he sat back down. “Don’t be worried by my presence here.”
Davis sat uncertainly. “Okay.”
“I read your report about what happened in New York. But it seemed to be incomplete.”
“How so, sir?”
“It seemed to have the actual events missing.”
She stared at him.
“It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve been investigating something called the Bureau of Technology Control. Is that correct?”
Davis said nothing.
“You’re wise to be cautious. The BTC is not to be taken lightly.”
Now she felt a wave of shock. “Then Grady is telling the truth?”
“I don’t know all that he said to you in New York, but—”
“Clones. Fusion. Immortality. That they’re hoarding advanced technology.”
McAllen nodded grimly. “Yes. This prison Grady told you about—this Hibernity . . .”
“He said he escaped. Showed me holographic video from a tiny device he carried—it contained statements from prisoners. People who had apparently made breakthrough inventions.”
“Did Mr. Grady say where this black site prison was located?”
“He didn’t know, but the device contained some sort of tracker that could lead him back to it. He just needed technical assistance to read it.”
“Where is Mr. Grady now, Denise?”
She hesitated.
“I know. You’re worried, and you have no reason to trust me.” He leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “But look at me. I’m a sixty-two-year-old father of three, five grandchildren, and I bowl. There’s only one thing that I care about, Agent Davis, and that’s leaving a world worth living in for my children and grandchildren. If this BTC is hoarding innovations that could improve the lives of billions of people—and if they’re using this technology to augment their own power—well, then we need to stop them, don’t we? Are we agreed on that?”
Davis laughed slightly. It seemed ridiculous, but looking at the large, blunt man, she really did believe him. “I don’t know where Grady is at the moment, Deputy Secretary, but I know where he will be.”
“We need him. If we can find that prison—free those people—that will go a long way toward righting a grievous wrong. Now, you’re trying to get an interview with Richard Cotton. Why?”
“Because Grady says Cotton is a BTC agent. The bombings were actually the means for concealing their kidnapping program—at least here in the U.S.”
McAllen raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You have been busy.”
“Grady’s convinced that if Cotton sees him, Cotton will realize that the authorities know the truth. He thinks Cotton has some sort of deal with the BTC, but if Cotton knows we’ve changed the terms—hidden him away—he might cooperate instead. Cut a deal with us in exchange for what he knows about the BTC.”
McAllen nodded. “If that’s the case, we need to move him. Cotton isn’t secure where he is. We need to put Grady and Cotton under serious protection, and then let’s hope we can learn enough from them about the BTC to help us dismantle it.”
She frowned. “You want to move Cotton? Where?”
“Florence ADMAX in Colorado. Supermax federal prison. We’ve got most of our high-level terrorists there.”
“And the trial?”
“We’ll need to postpone—Richard Cotton is apparently not a bomber.”
She nodded grimly. Years of work . . . but then, this was even more serious. “We shouldn’t wait to put Grady in front of Cotton, though.”
“Agreed. They’ll have plenty of time to talk en route. Make sure the press doesn’t get wind of Cotton’s transfer. We’ll do it in the middle of the night.”
“But won’t transferring him be risky—with the BTC watching?”
McAllen let a sly grin escape.
• • •
A surveillance hologram of McAllen and Davis played across Graham Hedrick’s desk as Morrison and several of his sons looked on.
McAllen’s small three-dimensional form grinned.
“With what we have in mind, Richard Cotton will be more secure in transit than he is right now.”
Hedrick swept the hologram away with his hand and stared at his blank desktop. He spoke without looking up. “Mr. Morrison, this feud with the government has gone on long enough. Now they’re searching for Hibernity, publicizing our existence, attempting to turn Cotton against us. And Jon Grady is making it even worse. We need to make progress on gravity amplification and soon. We do not have time for this.”
Morrison nodded. “Certain people need to learn memorable lessons.”
Hedrick studied him. The old commando clearly relished the idea of schooling his old leadership. Hedrick nodded. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat. “Tech level nine.”
Morrison and his sons grinned lustily.
“Let our enemies see just how sharp cutting-edge technology can be. Finish this, sweep aside anyone or anything in your path, and bring me Jon Grady—alive. We need his peculiar mind.”
“And Cotton?”
Hedrick considered this. “Public figure or not, if he’s given any information to the government, find out what—then eliminate him. If he’s innocent, take him into custody.”
“The others?”
“Examples should be made.” Hedrick hesitated. “Exothermic decomposition. Make sure there are witnesses.”
Morrison turned to his progeny. “You heard the man.”
They nodded and moved swiftly, eagerly out the doors as Morrison trailed more slowly behind them. He was still in the office as the doors closed, and he turned back toward Hedrick.
Hedrick was gazing out his windows at Mount Fuji, its snowcap gleaming in the hyperrealistic distance. “What is it, Mr. Morrison?”
“Alexa is AWOL. I thought you should know.”
Hedrick sat in silence for several moments, but then he picked up a complex, geared Victorian clock and hurled it against the wall—where it shattered spectacularly.
“When are you going to deal with her?”
Hedrick turned to glare at him, but he couldn’t withstand Morrison’s disgusted expression.
“She disobeys you, and you deliberately try not to see.”
“Enough! You have a job to do, go—”
“Your feelings for her have blinded you. It puts the entire organization in danger.”
“You don’t need to—”
“She illicitly accessed Grady’s Hibernity interrogation records.”
Hedrick’s face dropped. “What? How?”
“She circumvented network restrictions—we’re still trying to figure out how. It appears she might be using her charms on more than just you.”
Hedrick turned another warning look in Morrison’s direction, but it melted away as he realized the implications. “How much did she see?”
“Everything.”
Hedrick put his head in his hands and collapsed in his chair. “God.” He sat like that for several moments before leaning back. “I didn’t want her to know. The world is an ugly place.”
“There’s more.”
Hedrick closed his eyes in resignation.
“In reviewing the breach, the AIs noticed that Grady’s interrogation hologram loops after a few months.”
Hedrick’s eyes opened. “It loops? What do you mean it loops?”
“Somebody’s tampered with it. And not here.”
“You mean at Hibernity?”
Morrison nodded. “It looks like numerous systems there have been compromised. The inmates might be running the asylum.”
Fear stole across Hedrick’s face. “My God . . . Chattopadhyay.”
“I told you, he’s dead. And the moment we get the chance, we’ll open his cell and confirm it.”
Hedrick gazed at the screens all around him. “This entire project is coming apart. If they escape our grip—”
“No one’s escaping anything. And after I take care of this problem, if the civilian authorities want a war, then we’ll make damn sure we win it.”
Hedrick’s breathing calmed. “I can always rely on you, Mr. Morrison.”
Morrison moved to depart. “I’m posting guards around you. See no one—especially her.”
“What are you doing to do?”
“What I should have done long ago.”
S
pecial Agent Denise Davis
held
Richard Louis Cotton’s elbow firmly as she escorted him out of the parking garage elevator and into the subbasement of the Dirksen Federal Building. Her way was lined by dozens of FBI tactical officers in body armor, with assault weapons slung across their chests. They scanned sight lines for trouble as they waved her and the escort detail onward, toward the open doors of a waiting armored FBI transport van. It was just one in a line of identical unmarked escort vans standing by.
Cotton shuffled along in leg irons, his hands cuffed before him and chained to his waist. He wore bulky orange body armor to protect him against reprisals from his victims’ loved ones. Cotton’s trademark beard without mustache was carefully trimmed. But his disappointment was obvious when he looked out across the parking level and noticed the lack of news cameras. There was only the long motorcade of FBI vehicles and armed agents.
He cast an irritated look toward her. “A transfer in the wee hours. You won’t silence me, Agent Davis. His message shall still reach the world.”
“It’s not my job to give you an audience.”
“The Lord will find a way.”
“What’s the Lord got to do with you?” She eyed him closely. Difficult to believe Cotton was anything but what he appeared—just another megalomaniac cult leader. But what she’d seen couldn’t be denied. “Watch your step.”
Transport agents pulled Cotton up into the van and escorted him into a small caged section at the front of the passenger bay as he began to cheerfully sing a hymn in a booming voice, offering his hands to his captors.
“Lord, the King of kings art Thou. In Thy presence here we bow; God’s anointed we adore. Worship Thee in holy awe . . .”
They chained Cotton to a railing and locked the cage door on him as Davis took a seat on a bench alongside half a dozen heavily armed agents. The guards even had gas mask pouches on their harnesses. No one was taking any chances.
Cotton stopped singing as the engine revved, and they began to move out. FBI radios blared in confirmation of their departure, units sounding off. Cotton leaned against the thick wire mesh, staring at Davis. “And it was He sent messengers throughout Manasseh, calling them to arms . . .”
“Even God took a day off from religion, Richard.”
Cotton chuckled. “The ever-watchful eye of our Lord is upon you, Agent Davis.” He examined the agents arrayed before him. “I was told I’d be in Chicago until the trial.”
“Operational security precludes this discussion.”
“Do you really want to anger me, Agent Davis? I don’t have to cooperate with the prosecution’s case. I can drag this out far longer, if that’s what you want.”
Davis stared back. “You can’t help yourself from confessing, Cotton. You want to take credit for these bombings. We couldn’t shut you up if we wanted to.”
Cotton smiled. “I say to you, if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”
Davis looked to the helmeted agents sitting across from her. “This is going to be a long goddamned drive . . .”
• • •
Two hours later Davis saw Cotton awake with a start. He looked around, apparently uncertain where he was for a moment. Then he shouted through the wire mesh at her. “Why are we still traveling?” He rattled his chains. “What time is it?”
“Go back to sleep, Cotton.”
He seemed genuinely concerned, and Davis enjoyed a little private victory at the sight.
“We would have arrived at Stateville by now. Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere. And I mean that literally: I am bringing you into the middle of nowhere.”
She could see the muscles of Cotton’s jaw tense. He thrust his face up to the wire and shouted, “You don’t have the right to do this! I’m supposed to be in Stateville!”
“Are you? According to whom?”
“Those were the terms of my cooperation. You’re violating the terms of my plea agreement.”
“It wasn’t my agreement.”
“You take orders from the federal prosecutor.”
Davis shrugged, enjoying his discomfiture. “Well, if you see him, be sure to mention it.”
The dull roar of jet aircraft came to them even over the engine noise of the armored van.
Cotton glanced up at the ceiling. “You’re not following the rules.”
“Suddenly rules are important to the terrorist bomber.”
The armored van slowed and turned, causing them all to lean.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Davis, but you’re risking my cooperation on this trial.”
“Duly noted.”
The tactical agents around her smirked, evidently pleased to hear someone putting Cotton in his place.
“It will vastly increase the length and cost of the proceedings.”
“No doubt.”
He examined her confident demeanor and apparently found it worrisome, but the van had now started to slow.
She smiled. “Looks like we’re here.”
“Where?”
Davis didn’t answer but instead turned away as the van stopped. Almost immediately the armored doors opened, and members of the security detail poured out. She stepped down as well, accepting Thomas Falwell’s hand as he walked up to greet her.
“Hey.” Falwell spoke over the thunder of distant jet aircraft. “They’re ready for you. And you weren’t kidding, these guys are serious.”
She looked around. “It looks like Bagram out here.” Stars filled the night sky around a crescent moon, but in the moonlight Davis could see what must have amounted to a mechanized company or two of heavily armed U.S. Marines in Stryker armored vehicles. Antiaircraft missile batteries were arrayed in defensive positions all around them. The hundred or so FBI agents who had escorted the motorcade this far were also disembarking and milling around with the soldiers.
There could easily be three hundred soldiers out there. The deep roar of jets still thundered above.
“We’ve got air cover, too.”
Davis turned to see the stunned face of Richard Cotton as he was lowered to the ground. He stared around in amazement at the military camp arrayed around them.
“What the hell is going on, Davis?”
He looked truly worried as she grabbed his waist chain and pulled him along. Falwell fell in behind her, as did the rest of the security detail. “Come here, Cotton, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”
“What in holy hell is going on?”
“Tsk, tsk, the Lord wouldn’t like you using that sort of language.”
“I demand to know what’s going on. I demand it!”
A Marine lieutenant directed her to a nearby Stryker armored command vehicle. As they approached, the rear hatch whined down to just a few inches off the pavement, revealing Jon Grady and Homeland Security Deputy Secretary Bill McAllen sitting on cushioned benches in the LED light.
Davis shoved a stunned Cotton inside, his chains rattling against the steel deck. “Cotton, you remember Jon Grady, right? One of your victims from the Chirality Labs bombing?”
Cotton collapsed onto the bench across from Grady and McAllen as Davis and Falwell slid in behind him.
A marine sergeant in a command chair turned back. “Hatch coming up. Watch your fingers.”
The rest of the security detail took posts outside as the armored door whined back up and boomed shut.
Cotton stared at Grady, apparently uncertain what to say.
Grady stared back. “They know about the Bureau of Technology Control, Cotton. And they also know you’re a BTC agent.”
McAllen leaned forward. “Mr. Cotton, I’m the deputy secretary of Homeland Security. My name is William McAllen. I’ve informed the BTC that you’ve decided to turn informer and are now under our protection.”
Cotton’s eyes went even wider, and he nodded to himself.
“The BTC thinks you’ve betrayed them. I think you’d be wise to help us bring them down.”
What came out of Cotton’s mouth next surprised them all. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly and evenly for the first time in Davis’s memory. “This is unfortunate timing. It really is.”
“Mr. Cotton—”
“I know you think you’re helping, but it’s actually going to ruin everything.”
McAllen held up calming hands. “I can offer you protection, but only if you give us the structure of the BTC organization—who’s in charge, details of their facilities.”
Cotton sighed and shook his head, looking at Davis. “Is he serious?”
Grady cast a confused look to Davis.
Cotton turned his attention to Grady. “I don’t know how you got away from them, Grady, but you’d better damned well go straight back. If we all go back to the way things were, there’s a chance—a slim chance—that we might not be dead come morning.”
McAllen sighed impatiently. “Mr. Cotton, there isn’t going to be any bombing trial. We know you’re not a bomber, and we know there aren’t any bombing victims. What we need to find out is where those people are and who’s running the BTC.”
Cotton laughed ruefully. “No bombing victims? Well, you’re wrong about that. The harvester teams only take the people they want. Everybody else gets killed.” He studied their reactions. “No, not by me.”
Grady felt crestfallen. “So . . . my partners are dead?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that, but listen to me . . .” Cotton leaned forward in his chains. “You’re about to join them. We all are if you don’t stop this and put me back where I was.”
“Mr. Cotton . . .”
Cotton suddenly struggled against his chains, shouting. “Damnit! I had this all worked out until you idiots screwed everything up. I should be in Stateville!” He started banging his helmeted head against the bulkhead.
Grady grabbed Cotton’s bulletproof vest. “You’re saying they’re dead? Tell me!”
“Yes, they’re dead. Don’t look at me; I didn’t kill them. I haven’t killed anybody, but they’re not about to grab useless people. They grab the best and kill the rest. That’s their motto.”
McAllen eased Grady away from Cotton. “Look, we need to know everything you can tell us about Graham Hedrick.”
“Oh, man . . .” He shook his head vigorously. “You have no idea how far ahead of you these people are.”
“What was your deal with them?”
“The deal was I got to live if I was useful. That was the deal. But I had other plans—plans you idiots have well and truly fucked up. I need to get out of here.”
“We can protect you.”
Cotton laughed bitterly. “Look, I’ve been crawling around in their world for a decade. I know what they’re capable of—and that’s why I want to get the hell out of this Styrofoam cup you’ve put us all in.” He gazed around at the armored vehicle.
McAllen nodded to a Marine captain nearby. “Get us under way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cotton laughed again. “Under way? I’m sure that will stop them from frying our brains from orbit. Hey, did you talk to the others who’d tried to take down the BTC?”
“Others?”
“Oh, that’s right. You couldn’t. BECAUSE THEY’RE DEAD!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Now unchain me, and get me the hell out of this coffin!”
Suddenly all the lights went out. Electric motors whined to a stop in the blackness around them. Silence. No emergency lights came on. It was so black, Davis realized, it made no difference whether her eyes were open or not.
Cotton groaned again in the darkness. “There’s the HEMP. Great job, guys . . .”
Davis asked, “What’s a HEMP?”
“High-altitude electromagnetic pulse. They would have fired it from the edge of the atmosphere. Out there, the X-ray and gamma ray radiation interact—creates a massive free-electron maser. Any microelectronics within fifty miles are for shit now.” He listened carefully. “Don’t hear any fighter jets now, do you?”
“FBCB2 is down, sir!”
McAllen’s voice: “Captain, get this rear door open!”
“There are hatches over our heads, sir . . .” They heard banging around. “Hang on . . .”
Cotton’s chains rattled as he held forth. “You have no idea what you’ve done. If you brought ten thousand people, you couldn’t protect me. Just put me back! Let’s go back to the trial! It’s not too late. Come on—back to prison . . .”
Just then moonlight entered the vehicle as the staff sergeant opened an overhead hatchway up front. The captain opened another one near the rear and stepped up to look out, shouting down to someone. “Lieutenant, do they have power over there?”
There were muffled calls as Davis frowned at Cotton, who was busy groaning fearfully.
The captain came back down. “Power’s out in the entire force. And there’s thick fog coming in.”
Cotton nodded. “They’re lowering the dew point to mask their advance. And you no longer have night vision. Are you happy now? We’re all going to die. And I nearly had this solved. But you had to go and ruin it, didn’t you, Davis?”
She scowled at this strangely alien Richard Cotton. “Ruin what?”
Suddenly horrific sounds—like the fabric of reality tearing—reached them through the armored walls of the Stryker. Automatic gunfire erupted outside, with intermittent shouts and explosions. Then booms from a .50-caliber machine gun.
And then the deafening roar of a whole marine company opening fire shook the Stryker.
The staff sergeant poked his head up through the hatchway, shouting down, “We’re under attack, Captain!”
“From what direction?”
“I can’t . . . this damn fog. I can’t even see the tracers.”
Cotton nodded. “You’re blind, and they see everything. We’re sitting ducks in here.” He shook his chains. “Unchain me, damnit.” He looked to McAllen. “If we survive this, I’ll talk, I swear it—just get me out of here!”
Davis grabbed his arms. “Calm the hell down, Cotton. No one’s going to reach you in here.”
Already outside the gunfire had gone silent.
“There. They might have driven them off.”
Cotton just shook his head sadly. “You have no idea what’s coming.”
Then a blinding light and searing heat cut through the cabin—slicing the marine captain in half lengthwise even as it cauterized him. The last two feet of the Stryker fell away, the edges glowing red, as tons of steel and composite armor collapsed onto pavement. Night air swept onto the stunned faces of Davis, Grady, Cotton, Falwell, and McAllen.