Authors: Keith Domingue
Stern observed that there was an enormous Atlas-style two-dimensional map of the continents and that a dozen 60-inch HDTV flat screen monitors showing various world events were mounted on three of the four walls, and that a small row of windowed offices lined the bottom floor.
“This reminds me of Doctor Strangelove, but with better tech.” Wolfe commented to his partner as they both took in the room.
“Doctor what?” Stern asked.
“Doctor Strangelove. You’ve never seen Doctor Strangelove?”
“No. I’m not old as fuck.”
“Good afternoon, gentleman. Welcome to the Coalition Properties West Information Center.” A silver-haired man in his fifties interrupted.
“I’m Tomas Stephens, Managing Director of these offices. Congratulations on tracking down one of the more elusive threats to National Security.” He said as he shook the other men’s hands.
“You mean Luthecker?” Stern asked.
“Yes.” Stephens replied.
“But you let him walk.”
“No we didn’t.” Stephens answered with a grin.
“Mr. Brown informed me that he is running a little bit late for the call. In the mean time, would you like a little tour of our operation?” He offered.
“That would be great.” Wolfe replied.
“Follow me then.” Stephens said, walking and talking.
“Are you gentlemen familiar with the Echelon Program?” He began, as they approached the first row of analyst observed monitors.
“That’s the N.S.A.’s spy Op, isn’t it?” Stern answered.
Stephens gave him a slightly condescending smile.
“Echelon is a signals intelligence collection system. Coalition Technologies development team was behind its design, and therefore it was a very natural extension that its operation be outsourced to us.”
“So you run the spy program for the U.S. Government?” Stern continued to simplify.
“No. That would be illegal. We simply design and operate information gathering systems for the various intelligence agencies.”
“Got it.” Stern acknowledged. Corporations really did game the government, he thought. And they keep it legal on a technicality.
Stern and Wolfe looked at one another as they kept walking.
They stopped behind an analyst whose eyes were locked on the monitor in front of him.
“This is Victor Peagler. He’s our number one “hash-man.” Stephens announced.
Peagler, a dark haired twenty-something whose skin tone implied that he could use more time in the sun, kept his eyes glued to the monitor in front of him as he held up a pair of fingers in greeting, never taking his attention from the alphanumeric string of symbols scrolling across his computer screen.
“Hash man?” Wolfe asked.
“He runs an S.H.A. program, which, a bit oversimplified, designs and implements cryptographic hash functions.” Stephens answered.
“What are “cryptographic hash functions”?” Stern asked.
“Cryptographic hash functions are designed to take a string of any length as input and produce a fixed length “hash value”, that essentially encodes any data you want transmitted.” Peagler answered, without looking up from his screen.
“String?” Stern asked.
“A finite sequence of symbols.”
“Try again.”
Peagler swiveled in his chair towards Stern.
“The alphabet.” He replied, with a smile that implied a combination of both impatience and arrogance.
“Oh. You’re a code breaker. Got it. You know what I do? I shoot guns for a living. For my Country. Most of the time I shoot at people. That’s what I do.” Stern replied, smiling back at the analyst.
Peagler slowly turned back towards his monitor.
“Why don’t I show you something a little bit more tactical,” Stephens suggested, before he lead Wolfe and Stern to the other side of the room.
They stopped in front of a semicircle of monitors, a dozen of them, each with a different view of the city.
Some were stationary views of intersections, parking lots, and storefronts, benign black and white images of motion that looked as if they could be from any of a number of recognizable and socially accepted security cameras. Some were overhead views of Los Angeles, large-scale pictures of the city grid itself, originating from various satellites.
Stern and Wolfe took note of two monitor screens with different images from the rest, that looked more like fast track mobile video, the viewpoint literally racing around street corners at a far greater speed than the cars that were located a mere five feet below them, before heading directly at a building-side and abruptly turning skyward, parallel to the building side, eventually leveling off, doing panoramic passes of top floor skyscraper office windows, spying on people as they sat at their desks, drank coffee, conversed with one another. Sometimes one of the cameras would stop for a moment on a window and focus on different elements in the room, revealing in detail someone sitting at a desk talking on the telephone, the focus moving from facial features to filing cabinets to the nameplate on the desk, before abruptly moving on. Both videos eventually soared towards the sky, only to dive back down and weave between the buildings and even people at dizzying speed.
Stern and Wolfe looked at one another, before looking at Stephens.
“Hummingbird drones.” Stephens answered the question with pride before being asked.
“Technically they’re still a beta program, but the government just ordered ten thousand of them, so Mr. Brown wants them operational and ready for delivery by the second quarter of next year.”
“How much do they cost?” Wolfe asked.
“That’s what’s great about them. They are ultra functional and dirt-cheap. About ten thousand a piece.” Stephens answered.
“That’s a hundred million bucks.” Stern added.
“A military C-note, as upper management is so fond of saying. An insignificant amount, really, in the grand scheme of things.” Stephens shrugged.
He checked his watch.
“It’s almost time. Let’s go to my office.” He continued.
“The conference call should commence in about ten minutes. Mr. Brown is very eager to speak with the both of you.” He added, before he wheeled about and headed for the corner office.
“I’ll bet.” Wolfe said under his breath, before he and Stern followed the director.
NEW PLAN
“Y
ou can’t be visible from overhead, whatsoever, for any length of time.” Master Winn stated, as they all huddled together in the cramped studio, looking at a map of the United States. The map had a route highlighted that zigzagged across the southern part of the nation before veering north towards New York.
“What about at night?” Chris asked, as they looked at highway routes.
“Doesn’t matter.” Yaw answered. “The eyes in the sky can see twenty-four-seven.”
“Correct.” Winn added.
“What about transpo?” Camila asked.
“You’ll have two vehicles. A scout car and a van. Both twenty years old, but clean, registered, and in top condition.”
“Why that old?” Chris asked.
“No GPS.” Alex answered.
“Who are they registered to?” Yaw asked.
“It’s best that you don’t know. The owner is aware that they are being used, but does not know by whom or why, other than it is not illegal. Be warned, if you get stopped, he will claim them stolen from storage. Understand, that for everyone’s safety, this must begin and end with you.”
“If we get stopped, we’re cooked anyway.” Camila commented.
“We won’t get stopped.” Chris added, determination in his voice.
“The course laid out avoids toll roads. You will travel through several towns with established underground communities.”
Winn handed Alex a piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Camila asked.
Alex skimmed over the information it contained, and handed it back to Master Winn.
“Names and addresses of courier friendly individuals and locations.” Alex answered.
“All former students of mine. They will be your stop points.” Winn added.
“The journey east is scheduled to take you five days.” He continued. “There is enough food and water in the van to last twice that. Stop only when you have to. Speak with as few people as possible. When you arrive in New York, contact Sam from a landline. He will give you instructions from there.” Winn continued.
He folded up the map and handed it to Chris.
“I will be in Watts awaiting your return.”
There was a knock at the front door.
Chris and Yaw instinctively took each side of the door.
“That should be your transportation.” Winn clarified.
Yaw checked the peephole, and opened the door. Joey Nguyen stepped into the apartment, and closed the door behind him. He held two large wool blankets rolled up under his arm. He tossed one to Yaw, one to Alex.
“The van is parked just outside. Keys are on the seat. The scout car is a black ninety-eight Honda Prelude right in front of it. My cousin’s standing right next to the Honda.”
“What are the blankets for?” Camila asked.
“To cover yourselves.” Nguyen said, before pointing a finger to the sky.
“Once you’re in the van, you should be fine. There is tint on the windows. Sunglasses and hats are on the dash. Whatever you do, don’t step out of the car without them on.” He continued.
“Is this all really necessary?” Camila asked as she grabbed one end of the blanket from Yaw.
“If you don’t want to be spotted by the Federales from the sky, Yes.” Nguyen answered.
Chris held out one end of his blanket to Alex, who took it. He looked at Master Winn.
“See you in two weeks.” He said.
“Good luck.” Winn replied.
“Hey. I’m going to start training while you guys are gone. So I’ll see you in two weeks as well.” Nguyen added, happy to feel part of the group.
“Congratulations.” Alex told him. “Well deserved.”
“Way to go, man.” Yaw added, before they all shook the young man’s hand.
Chris looked at Yaw.
“Why don’t you and Camila take the van. Alex and I will take the Prelude.” He suggested.
“Sounds good.” Yaw replied. He looked at Alex. “Where’s our first meet point?”
“Snaketown. Arizona. About thirty-five miles out of Phoenix.” Answered Alex.
“Okay. We got our maps. Let’s roll.” Yaw replied.
Chris and Alex held their blanket over their head, as Camila and Yaw did the same.
Like a pair of two-headed ghosts, the four of them exited the ground floor apartment, and walked onto the empty street. It was just past eight a.m. now, and the sun shown brightly overhead. They spotted a faded dark maroon Chevy van on the street, and in front of it, the dark blue Honda Prelude.
Yaw and Camila approached the van, While Chris and Alex broke off towards the Honda. Yaw opening the driver’s door and Camila stepping inside. He followed her in, and threw the blanket behind the seat.
Chris and Alex approached the Prelude, and noticed a tattooed and muscular Vietnamese man leaning against the driver’s side front fender. He had a buzz haircut and wore a faded grey tank top, which revealed an intricate array of tattoos that completely covered his shoulders and upper arms. He turned and looked at Chris and Alex as they approached.
“Why don’t I drive, you navigate.” Chris offered to Alex, as they got closer to the car.
The Vietnamese man handed Chris the keys without saying a word, his face neutral and purposefully not intimidated, before walking away. Chris opened the driver’s side door and got in the car, leaving the blanket cover with Alex. Alex stepped around the back of the car, and climbed in the passenger side, tossing the blanket in the back seat.
He grabbed a baseball cap and sunglasses from on top of the dash, and put them on as Chris did the same before starting the car.
“Here we go.” Chris said, as he pulled from the curb, the van following.
• • •
Yaw and Camila sat in silence as they followed the Prelude through the side streets of downtown Los Angeles towards the I-10 Freeway. The quick turn of events since the incident at the club had given neither time to be alone with their thoughts. Alex’ revelations had caught Camila completely by surprise, as it had done all of them, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. She liked Alex, had done so nearly from the moment she met him, this quiet, skinny white boy who was so socially awkward. He reminded her a bit of her little cousin Palo, who she hadn’t seen in nearly four years. He was only seven when she left Mexico. The young boy rarely interacted with the other kids, and was much happier playing with his Matchbox cars, which he obsessively lined up in very even rows. She wondered if he had changed at all, and how much bigger he was now.
“So what do you make of Alex?” Yaw asked, seemingly reading her mind.
“Muy loco.” She mumbled in response as she looked out the window at the passing buildings. She noticed they were about to merge onto the ten Freeway.
“I mean, he’s our boy and all, but for real? How could he know things like that about people? She elaborated. “It’s kinda messed up.”
She turned from the window and looked at Yaw.
“He could do some serious damage if he’s not careful.”
“I know. I was thinking the very same thing. And all this time, we didn’t know a thing.” Yaw replied.
“Here’s what I don’t understand. If he were to tell you how things would turn out in your life, then, you could just not do it, right? And that would change things, right? Or would it mean that what you did, or didn’t do, was exactly what you were supposed to do?”
“I have no clue. You’d have to ask him.”
Then something dawned on Yaw.
“Wait a minute. He said that he “did it all over again.”
“Did what all over again?”
“Told someone about their fate, and that it got him back on “the man’s” radar.”
Camila mulled that thought over a moment before something dawned on her.
“Esa chica…” She said.
“What?”
“There was a girl. In a black dress. She and Alex were making eyes at each other before we ran out of the club, I saw it. It’s gotta be her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Who else?”