Читать книгу New Earth: Project O.N.E. - R.D. Ph.D. Pittman - Страница 6

FEMA Director Allen Haverty was busy compiling his punch list for the Mount Weather COP ramp up. His staff, already at work on details of the fictional one-year operational test, had less than twenty-four hours to get him their plans for the individual areas of responsibility. Keep them busy enough and they won’t have time to ask questions.

But in the back of his mind, he was sure there was something he was overlooking. Maybe it was just the rush making him think something was missing. But if there was something, he was hoping whatever it was would be revealed in the plans he would receive from his staff within the next day. In the meantime, he buzzed his secretary and asked her to contact the National Security Advisor’s office.

“Arlen, this is Haverty over at FEMA.”

“Good morning Allen.”

“It’s about money. Ramping up Mount Weather puts me beyond my budgetary guidelines by at least a factor of two. How will we explain that to the GAO?”

“We won’t have to because, we now have an off-budget fund we will be tapping as we go along, besides we got the GAO to buy in yesterday. They’re on the team.”

“This just keeps getting bigger by the minute. Have someone send me a list of the accounts to be charged?”

“Of course.”

Tim Greenberg, President Betts Chief of Staff was reviewing what might be the most frightening Power Point presentation he had seen in his life. It was prepared by the National Science Foundation Committee, which was comprised of some of the leading scientists in the nation. The purpose of the presentation was to advise the President and his cabinet of various impact scenarios of an incoming asteroid swarm. All hypothetical, but it was this presentation that most of their contingency planning would be based on.

Besides being frightening, Greenberg thought the report was too technical, entirely too many formulas, and not enough basic impact analysis. The scientists didn’t have to show their work, just give the President an insight into what to expect. He returned the presentation to the committee chair with a note suggesting that they downplay the technical side. Rather, provide more concrete input on potential damage to infrastructure, loss of life grids, and ongoing post event environmental issues. Greenberg went into the Oval Office and told the President he’d called for another draft.

“Tim,” the President said, “how are you feeling about all of this?”

The question touched him. With everything going on, the president was still concerned with him.

Or maybe he was making sure he was still sane.

“About like you might expect, sir,” Greenberg said. “I can’t sleep at night, I worry about my family, and I keep replaying scenes from the movies 2012, Armageddon, and Deep Impact. I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I suppose that is the natural reaction. But imagine what happens when this finally goes public, not just here in America, but across the globe.”

Oh, that was it. The President just wanted to bounce ideas off of him.

“Tim, before we can attempt to convince the people that we can and will survive, we have to have a survival strategy in place that’s fair yet does what’s necessary. We don’t have the luxury of turning inward and thinking of how it will impact us personally, we have to think of our country and our citizens. I know you, we go way back together, you are tough as nails, and I’m going to need you now more than ever.”

“I know Mr. President; it’s just so hard to fathom this. But I’ll be here for you and as always we will get through this. Is there any hope that we can stop these things or divert them somehow?”

“I’ve got NASA and the DOD putting together several scenarios to present to me tomorrow, I think you have them on the agenda along with The JPL in Livermore. The JPL will outline potential defense scenarios for the incoming threat, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Louis Felson wanted a little more insight into an upcoming PBS special on the “Life of an Asteroid”. Felson had produced several award winning earth and the universe oriented specials over the years for PBS. That’s why he was contacting one of his subject matter experts at the National Science Foundation.

“Hi, Chris, it’s Louis Felson with PBS, I need to pick your brain again about an upcoming special. Guess what it’s called “The Life of an Asteroid”.

There was silence at the other end.

“Hello…Chris you there?”

“Louis is this some kind of joke?”

“What joke already?”

“I…listen——I can’t talk right now, no, I mean I can’t talk about this period.”

The line was silent. Felson hung up the phone. What could Chris be thinking they had worked together for years? Oh my God——

Felson sat at his bistro type table and munched on a sandwich contemplating how he could verify his suspicions. He finished eating, downed his pino grigio, and decided to call his buddy at the Washington Post, but before he could dial the number his doorbell rang. When Felson opened the door, he was confronted with two very official looking men.

“What’s going on here?” he said. Without a word they handcuffed him, put a black bag over his head, and took him away. What the hell…

It was because he knew. They were shutting him up because he knew. Felson didn’t know whether to be more scared of their silencing him or of what they were silencing him about.

They dragged him out to a car—an SUV from the height—and started driving. He could tell by the direction of the turns that they were not headed to FBI headquarters. The ride length convinced Felson he was being taken out of the DC area, maybe Baltimore, maybe Langley. He could hear other traffic now, trucks, air brakes, then an overhead door opening. He felt the attitude of the car change they were going up some kind of steep grade, and then the car stopped. Doors opened, someone grabbed him and pulled him out of his seat.

“Hey, you know you can get a ticket for not putting a seat belt on someone you just kidnapped,” he yelled.

No response.

He was led down a hallway, then through a door, and placed in a metal chair, black bag still over his head, hands handcuffed behind his back. Then silence.

“Hey is anybody there?” he screamed.

Minutes passed that seemed like hours...then he heard a click and felt a warm sensation on his face through the nylon bag over his head. He heard footsteps, big feet it sounded like. Then the bag was pulled off his head, and the lights were so bright he had to close his eyes. The lights were focused directly on his face.

Then a booming voice. “Mr. Felson, how are you today?”

“I am a United States citizen, I’ve done nothing wrong, you have no right to hold me against my will.” It was worth a try.

“Ah, now that is where you are wrong,” the deep pitched voice explained. “You see Mr. Felson, there are circumstances that require us to override your personal rights in the interest of National Security. Do you understand Mr. Felson?”

Just how deep did the security go? “Do you know what’s happening?”

The man walked around behind him and unlocked the handcuffs but kept a hand on his shoulder. That hand was enough to hold him in his seat. “I do. And the people whom you will meet directly do as well. And no one else will. We intend to keep it that way.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me everything.”

“Listen, I’d like to help.”

The deep voice nodded. “I’ll pass that along. But there may be nothing you can do.” The man turned to leave.

Felson jumped up and grabbed his arm. “Wait! You can’t leave me in here alone; I’ve got to do something.”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Felson, but we have no choice at this point. But don’t worry, I suspect you won’t be alone for long. In fact I’m afraid it’s going to get crowded in here before we’re done.”

Eldon Huart nervously scoured the figures before him hoping to find some evidence of error, but was having no luck. The earth would be hit by multiple asteroids. Nothing between them and earth was strong enough to stop them. His phone rang and he picked it up reflexively.

“Eldon Huart.”

“Eldon, it is Ivan Borosky calling from Russia.”

Oh damn. He took a quick breath to force some calm into his voice. “Ivan, how are you, it is so good to hear from you, what time is it there?”

“It’s 9:30 at night here in St. Petersburg. Eldon I have some disturbing news that I want to share with you before I take it to our people.”

“Yes go on,” Huart knew what was coming. Well, at least he didn’t have to lie to an old friend.

“The Ussuriysk Astrophysical Observatory has been tracking a mass of asteroids that apparently were accelerated by a massive solar flair. Eldon we have gone over the calculations many times, these asteroids—thirty or forty of them—are going to hit earth sometime in late summer of 2017. I fear it will be the end of life on earth as we know it, Eldon are you there?”

“Yes. Can you send me your numbers so I can go over them first?”

“My friend that is why I called, I knew you would offer your help in this matter. You knew didn’t you?”

“We’re still double checking the simulations. You’ve got to be sure with something like this, which is why your numbers would be helpful.” Eldon thought of the tap on his phone, of the security officials who had read him the riot act. He hated what he was about to do, but he had no choice. “Who knows about this besides you Ivan?”

“Just me and my assistant Anna.”

“Okay, I’m going to give you the entry code and a password to our computer here at Cal Tech; I want you to send your data to it. Then let me run some simulations and get back to you before you report this to anyone.”

“Thank you my friend, I have the codes now. You think maybe in a couple of days you can get back to me.”

“I’ll run it until we get the answer, if I have to stay up all 48 hours.”

“Ah, I know you will. Thank you my friend. Goodbye.”

Borosky called Anna to let her know that Professor Huart of Cal-Tech would verify the data and get back to them within 48 hours. Then, exhausted from the previous days of running calculations repeatedly, he decided to retire early.

Sometime toward dawn, the sound of a dog barking in the neighbor’s backyard woke him.

“Damn dog,” he grumbled as he shuffled along into the kitchen to make some coffee, and then walked into the bathroom to wash his face. The dog had stopped barking. With the towel draped around his neck, he looked out the tiny bathroom window into the backyard of his neighbor. He heard a small tinkle of glass breaking.

It was the last thing he ever heard.

Something brushed Anna Kinova’s face as she turned over in bed. Then the pressure of a hand over her mouth brought her out of her light sleep. The man grabbed her forcefully, shoved a rag into her mouth, put a pillowcase over her head, and then tied her hands behind her. She tried to talk, tried to beg, but she couldn’t. Her mind raced with everything she’d ever learned about how to protect yourself in a situation like this—just give in, give them what they want, stay alive as long as possible.

He shoved her into the trunk of a waiting car. Terrified, she couldn’t keep her mind off what she’d heard about the sex slave trade, she had heard about that from a few of her girlfriends. It was a growing problem in Russia, and more importantly it was run by the Russian Mob, and they were ruthless in their treatment of women.

Then she overheard the two men talking, and they were speaking perfect English. What was going on here?

The car pulled away. She shivered from more than fear. It was in the middle of winter and freezing cold outside, all she had on was her bedclothes, and the trunk of the car was not heated.

Presently, the terrain became rough; she could tell by the bumps and gravel hitting the wheel wells. She hoped they would stop soon, so she could ask for some warm clothes. She got her wish; the car made a sharp left turn, and came to a stop. She could hear what sounded like rushing water. Nothing happened for a few minutes, then she heard a car door open, it was the passenger door. The trunk lid opened, and a man picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to the edge of the dam walkway. And then—

She was falling. The last thing she thought before her body crashed into the concrete wall of the dam was, they had never said a word to her.

Sergeant Andrade Kolna arrived at the scene and took charge from the uniforms who had answered the call about a dog shot in the head. One of the uniforms had noticed a heat plume coming out of the window of the house next door and was able to see the occupant lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

One of the uniforms finished working the jimmy and the door swung open. Andrade went in first. Somewhere deeper in the house he could hear the distinctive whistle of escaping steam He found his way to the kitchen to turn off the burner under the pot. Now there was complete silence.

“No one touch anything,” he said to the uniforms who had followed him. “We don’t know if this was a suicide or a homicide yet.” That was purely pro forma. Suicides rarely shot the neighbor’s dog first.

He entered the bathroom, stepped around the pool of blood that had formed on the floor, and checked Borosky’s neck for a pulse. There was none. It had not been long since he died; his body still had a little heat in it. After taking pictures of the position of the body, Kolna rolled Borosky’s body over on to its back, and saw the bullet wound just above the right eyebrow. He then looked at the hole in the bathroom window, very neat, little breakage. A very precise shot… with a high powered weapon.

“This man was murdered, there is no suicide here,” he said. “You there, you talked to the neighbor, did he hear any shots this morning?”

“No sergeant and his dog was definitely shot.”

“Two known shots fired in a very short time period, in the same vicinity, and no one heard any shots fired. Does that include the people across the street, and on the other side of this house?”

“Yes sergeant, I have talked to both households, no one in those homes heard a shot either.”

“A high velocity bullet like that would have to come from a specially made gun with a silencer. This man was assassinated by a professional.” Mob or someone else?

“Do we know who he is yet?”

“Yes, his identification papers say he is Ivan Borosky. He also has a badge over here on his desk that indicates he works at the Russian Academy of Sciences. According to this article in the paper that he saved, he is a professor of astrophysics at the institute.”

So why would the Mob be shooting astrophysicists? Why would anyone?

“Okay, get on the line to the institute, see if he has any colleagues that are there and can give us some background. Also ask if any of his coworkers are absent from work today.”

Kolna continued to walk around Borosky’s house looking for any clues to aid in the investigation. There were no signs of a lavish lifestyle. Gambling? A drug habit? He was interrupted by one of his investigators with news that the institute had reported Borosky’s assistant Anna Kinova was not at work as usual, and did not answer her home or cell phone. Kolna took down her address and announced that he was going to this address to follow-up on a lead. He ordered two of the uniforms and one of the investigators to stay on scene and recover evidence, while he and the other investigator went to Kinova’s house, hopefully for some answers.

When Andrade found Kinova’s front door slightly ajar, he feared the worst. The small house was only a one bedroom; she had done a decent job of making it seem comfortable. When he walked into the bedroom, he could see signs of a struggle… the bed sheet still had her fingernail trails in it from being dragged out of bed. But no body.

Still he was sure there was a body. He asked for the major crime lab people to come on board on this one. They needed to turn both houses upside down for any clues and to contact him as soon as they found something of importance. Kolna had a suspicion this might be a major case in the making, something just didn’t fit.

Don Cray grabbed Ted Jeffers when he was on his way out the door, and pulled him aside into the courtyard.

“Ted, one of your boys went off the reservation yesterday.”

“Oh yeah who?”

“Huart.”

“How?”

“One of our listening posts picked up a call into Huart’s office from a Russian named Ivan Borosky. This Borosky guy is a Professor of astrophysics in St. Petersburg, Russia, he and his assistant stumbled onto our little problem, and he called Huart to have him verify his findings and Huart agreed.”

“Damn!”

“No, Huart did all right. He got Borosky to admit no one knew about it but him and his assistant. Problem is, he gave the Russian access codes to the Cal Tech main frame, so he could send the data directly to the system.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ!”

“Look, we wiped the trail clean today, even washed the incoming call out of the trunk system so the road ends at the British Isles Atlantic cable. You need to get a hold of your boy Huart, and do some major counseling.”

“What about Borosky and his assistant?”

“I said the trail is clean Ted.”

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”

There was a faint knock at his door and his secretary peaked in and said, “Professor Huart there’s a man here to see you, and he showed me an FBI badge.”

Huart swallowed hard and told her to show him in.

The agent waited until his secretary had left and closed the door. “Professor Huart did you have a conversation with an Ivan Borosky yesterday?”

“Uh, yes I did.” Huart felt a hot flash come across his face.

“Did you provide him with access codes to the Cal Tech main frame?”

“Yes, but that was only to verify what he already knew. He is a longtime friend and a professional colleague as well,” Huart was feeling more ill by the moment.

“Who would we contact so that we can erase the data input from Borosky?”

“Well, I suppose Chad Cummings. He heads up the data services division.”

“Do you realize that you have violated the US Secrets Act?”

Huart’s left arm began to tingle. Then it felt like someone was pushing with all their strength down on his chest. His eyes became unfocused, then darkness.

“Are you telling me that the guy dropped dead right in front of you?” Jeffers asked.

“Yes sir.”

“What about the data?”

“Removed with no trace sir.”

“Okay, good job and stay alert; Macklin is still bouncing around there also.”

“I will sir, and thank you.”

Kolna strolled into the major case squad office and was met by the lead investigator, Detective Vasily Kernoff.

“Sergeant Kolna what I am about to tell you is to stay within this room. You are to consider this a state secret. We found Anna Kinova’s laptop computer under her bed. It seems she kept a daily diary of her life on the laptop. Day before yesterday she made this entry into her diary.”

He gave Kolna a printout to read. The more he read the faster his pulse became, and by the time he finished he felt he was going to hyperventilate. What he told him next stirred Kolna to anger.

“They checked Borosky’s telephone records and found an outgoing call the day before his death that mysteriously dead-ended at a phone hub in London, England. Yet at Cal Tech, in Pasadena, California, Professor Huart died suddenly of a heart attack yesterday. The data transmissions she mentions being sent to Huart has also mysteriously vanished with no record of its having been sent or received. Although Anna entered the exact time it was sent in her diary. Both of their offices at the institute have been burglarized, files have been taken and their computers wiped totally clean. We don’t have any clue what they were working on that was so important Borosky would contact Huart for help. Finally, this morning they pulled Anna’s body out of the river. She had been bound and gagged and thrown off of the damn walkway down onto the spillway.”

“Goddamn it, this is the CIA and you and I both know it,” Kolna was furious.

“Yes sergeant, I’m certain it was their involvement, and that is why it is out of our hands and in the big black building. It’s FSB business now.”

“CIA.” Kolna could barely say it, he was so furious.

Ted Jeffers and Don Cray were having lunch, when a man came up to them and sat down unannounced Jeffers recoiled but Don Cray just smiled.

“Don your people really fucked up in St Petersburg, the Kremlin is getting involved and it’s going to the very top of both governments.” The man got up and walked away.

“Don, who the hell was that?”

“I don’t know his real name. Someone on the Russian side.” Ted don’t get your panties all in a wad. Eat your lunch. In the old days we called it flushing out the quail. You ever hunt Ted?”

“No, I’m a fisherman.”

“When you go quail hunting they usually huddle in a covey under a tree or in the underbrush. What you do is shoot in their general direction and see what flies out. That’s what the Russians are doing; they want something to fly out. They’re pissed off because we pulled off a major operation right under their noses. They’ll get over it. And if they don’t, well, in a few years it’s going to be moot, isn’t it?”

Unknown to Cray at that time was the fact that the Kremlin was more than just a little miffed at the CIA pulling off a caper on their soil… the Russians were deeply suspicious of US motives.