Cosega Sphere (The Cosega Sequence Book 4) (10 page)

Rip wasn’t really sure if he had dreamed the episode with Crying Man or not. He did remember being asleep, but he also recalled being awake through much of the night. It seemed so astonishing that it didn’t feel real. The Sphere only showed the present day Earth. Before Rip had a chance to delve back into the Cosegan world, his INU lit up. It was Huang.

“I have a connection to Booker.”

“A thousand thank yous, Huang. Once again, you’ve proved yourself amazing.”

“Anytime, Rip. Here you go,” Huang said, switching the connection.

“Rip,” Booker began, “now before you go all ballistic on me—”

“Booker, you get me off this goddamned island and take me to Gale and Cira, or so help me I’ll
destroy
the Sphere.”

“Damn it, Rip. Calm down. They’re both safe.”

“But you
lied
. You knew the breach was caused by Cira going to the hospital. Her eye… her
eyes
!” Rip shouted. “How dare you? This is my family.”

“How dare I?” Booker shot back “How dare
you
. Do you think this is only about
you
? What about the millions of other families?
Billions
are in jeopardy.”

“My family is the only one
I
can save.”

“That’s not true. You may care only about yours, but you know the world will not be fit for even
your
precious family if we lose the Eysen-Sphere . . . It’s the Sphere, Rip. The Sphere is more important than your family, you, or me, because without the Sphere we can’t save anything. NOTHING! And you know it.”

“Screw that, Booker, and screw you!”

Rip stormed over to the window and, for the first time, viewed El Perdido like Gale did. As a prison. He knew Booker was right, he just couldn’t allow that thought in. The possibility of losing his family.

Rip began to shake. A terrible wail overtook him, building, consuming his insides, bursting to explode, desperate to be released, frantically needing to relieve the pressure of all that his life had become. He turned to the Sphere, still floating where he left it. The miraculous object could be more accurately described as a curse.

“Let. Me. GOOOOOO!” he screamed with all the surging, pent-up emotion.

Booker, of course, assumed Rip was yelling at him, but Rip was actually raging at the Sphere. The thing that had stolen his life. The object of his obsession had trapped him. Beyond that, his anger flew in a thousand directions.

He was furious because Booker was right. How could his family survive in the world that was coming? How could Cira grow up and live a life in a world that was no longer real? It would be impossible to grow in a society where the scars from karmic crimes could never be healed, but he saved his greatest disdain for himself.

How had he not been able to get deep enough into the infinite pool that was the Eysen-Sphere to save them all, to solve all the problems, to stop the evil pursuing them? That evil, dressed and masquerading as real people? Billionaires, politicians, terrorists, extremists, everyday average folks in comfort and complacency, not bothering to notice the danger? He’d learned that from Gale. “We’re not here to eat fast food, watch television, and accumulate stuff.” She’d said it a hundred times since they’d met.

The Sphere had shown him she was right. Something more was out there.

Booker, as if reading his mind, launched a tirade.

“Haven’t you seen enough? The Eysen has taken you across the universe, shown you the meaning of time, taught you we’re not a random accident, adrift and alone. We have
purpose
. We have done this, and yet you still act as if this is just an artifact. Stop being a damned archaeologist! The Eysen-Sphere is our hope, Rip. It’s the dream of us. The Sphere is
everything!”

“But we still don’t understand it.”

“Can we? Are we
capable
of understanding something like this? Something that is more than all of everything we’ve ever imagined? You named it correctly all those years ago. ‘Eysen, to hold all the stars in your hand.’ The entire universe is in there. How can we grasp all of that? You have to trust that Cira and Gale will survive . . . but if they don’t, that is how it was meant to be. I can assure you they will still exist somewhere, and you, Rip, you’re the fortunate one who possesses the keys to find them.”

“That is not fair. You can’t write people off like that.”

He thought of Crying Man. Was he already protecting them? Would he? Could he? Did it really happen?

“I’m not writing them off, but this is about more than attachment.”

“Attachment? Booker, you’re talking about the same thing. You’re attached to the world, this world, the way it is, the way you think it should be. You want to be a hero and save the world—”

“
Change
it,” Booker corrected.

“Change the world, save it, orbit it, blow it up, I don’t give a damn. Why don’t you try letting go of that?”

“And what will that do? Will that save Gale and Cira?”

“Maybe.”

“For how long?” Booker asked.

“Long enough for me to find a way. ”

“Contrary to what you see in the movies, the end of the world doesn’t come all at once. It slips away from us, bit by bit. One bad decision, one compromise, one fear filled second at a time.”

“And?” Rip asked.

“There isn’t much time left . . . There is a history of the future, and some things are irreversible.”

The police officers hurrying down the corridor toward Cira’s hidden hospital room were high-ranking deputy commissioners. The nurse and orderly watched the image in the INU, then turned to Harmer with panicked looks.

“We’re done now,” the orderly whispered too loudly.

“No,” Harmer said, waving her arm in a silencing motion. “Their weapons are still holstered.”

The orderly checked the live view again, seeing that the men were twenty feet away from the door to the bogus supply room.

Booker watched the same video feed, ready to give airborne AX agents the go-ahead as soon as Harmer signaled. Booker’s assistant filled his glass for the third time, a concoction of Amazonian herbs. As he drank, Booker never took his eyes away from the images coming from Fiji.

Harmer remained calm. Only when the police were about five feet from the door did she move to a forward position next to the false panel. She held her weapon steady, an unlit cigarette pursed tightly between her dry lips. Her free hand pointed at the orderly, as if willing him to remain calm. Harmer could hear the click of the officer’s boots as they approached. She mentally measured the remaining distance—three feet, two, one . . . Harmer kept her eyes fixed on the back of the panel even as the footsteps passed. Then, as she heard them enter the next room, she went back to the INU.

For six more tense minutes they waited. Finally, all four officers came noisily back into the corridor. Harmer returned to the panel and listened as they walked by. She clearly heard them saying that the patient had seen Gale, her daughter, and a bodyguard leave the hospital hours earlier. The police seemed to believe it.

She exhaled a long sigh as their voices faded in the distance and she returned to check the feed.

“Dodged a bullet,” Booker said in her ear. He’d already given the stand-down order to the AX agents in the air.

“Looks like it.” Harmer replied, scanning all the feeds from around the hospital. Police officers were slowly returning to the lobby. Both the relief and the antiseptic smell, left her feeling nauseous, desperate for a cigarette.

—O—

“Who the hell is this patient?” Taz asked once he had the Police Commissioner back on the line. In spite of all the evidence, based on what he knew about Asher, and he’d studied her for seven years, she was not the type of mother who would abandon her daughter under such conditions.

“As I said, she’s an eyewitness. She identified the subjects. Her story corroborates that of the doctor and other staff members and, most importantly, the footage of them leaving. Her room has a clear view of the helipad where Gale Asher arrived and departed. I’m sorry to say your fugitives are no longer here. Probably long gone from Fiji would be my guess.”

“Check again!” Taz demanded, wanting to punch his gold-ring-clad hand through his INU. “They wouldn’t move that girl right after surgery.” The Foundation had managed to get into the medical records, and already had two doctors review the case. Both were in complete agreement that moving the girl immediately following surgery would almost certainly result in permanent vision loss. They insisted a minimum of ten days would be required to avert any post-op risks.

“Okay,” the Commissioner said in an annoyed tone. “We’ll give it one more run-through, but then, unless you have any specific leads, we’re done. Contrary to what you big shots in America might think, we actually do have important cases to attend to and other matters to pursue.”

As usual, Taz quick-punched the air in frustration. He wanted to say something more, but thought better of it. He might well need their help. The chase could still lead him to Fiji, although that seemed unlikely now that they believed Gaines was in Hawaii.

Instead, he muted the lines and calmly resumed his conversation with Stellard. “They wouldn’t move the girl,” he repeated.

“You’ve seen the footage,” Stellard said, positioning his custom-made hot water bottle.

“As if that footage couldn’t be faked,” Taz cried. “And did you notice Gale Asher? She looked like she was being held upright as they went to the helicopter. They practically lifted her into the thing.”

“Maybe they had to sedate her to get her to agree to move the girl, who knows. I don’t really care right now. Gaines and the Sphere are what we want, and they’re in Hawaii.”

“All right,” Taz said, still unconvinced, but resigned, knowing his new assignment was much more important. He was less than twenty minutes from landing at Honolulu International Airport, but this time there would be no advantage. The NSA, CIA, FBI, and multiple levels of Hawaiian law enforcement would be all over the university, or anywhere else Gaines might have been.

The United States,
Taz thought,
is the last place I ever would have expected Gaines to turn up.
All that federal manpower on the ground… I’ll be lucky to pick up a few scraps.
But the Foundation also had plenty of contacts and clout in the fiftieth state.
I might catch a break.

“
Who else do we have in Hawaii? How much help will I have?” Taz asked, wondering how he even communicated with this cold, dull man. Taz played his fingers as if touching imaginary piano keys, catching the light of the bobbing line of his gold rings. He calculated, pushing back his impatience as a hundred strategies ran across the mountains in his mind. One day he’d be in charge, then things would go right.

“Wait,” Stellard said. “I just got word from one of our guys inside. They traced Gale Asher and her daughter to a plane heading toward Indonesia.”

“As good as any place to hide, I guess,” Taz replied.

“The plane just crashed into the ocean.”

“Booker Lipton’s plane?” Taz asked flatly.

“A good assumption,” Stellard said, his voice trailing off in an incoherent mumble.

“Survivors?”

“None.”

“Of course not,” Taz sighed. “I need to go to Fiji. Get someone else to handle things in Hawaii.”

“Are you kidding? The Eysen-Sphere is in Hawaii.”

“Maybe, and so are a few hundred agents of the US government,” Taz said. “But no one is going to Fiji now except maybe Gale Asher because her daughter is still there in that damned hospital!”

The search for wreckage at the site of Gale’s crash yielded only minor debris. Although the NSA had satellite verification that the plane did in fact enter the ocean and break up, Rathmore did not believe “crash” was the accurate word for what had occurred. He’d ordered technicians to review everything and see if they could have gotten off the plane somewhere.

“Booker’s people could have CWS,” Rathmore said. “CWS”, or Cloaked Wing Suits, allowed personnel to be dropped out of aircrafts and soar to the ground, yet remain almost completely invisible while in the air. The wing suits were made from a fabric which digitally replicated the environment around it. “We have suspicions that Booker may even secretly own the company that is developing it for the military.”

Murik flinched. Booker’s possession of the technology would be dangerous for the US government. If he were actually the owner of the contractor manufacturing CWS, it could be a major setback for the CIA, which was counting on CWS to give it an edge in the war on terror.

“Hell,” Rathmore began, “maybe they never got on that plane. Maybe they didn’t even board the helicopter at the hospital. Get our people in Fiji to make damned sure they actually left there.”

Fiji was Murik’s department. He made a call.

“Sir,” an analyst broke in, “Vax is indicating that we have a leech.”

Rathmore froze, knowing that a leech, the NSA term for an outside hacker sucking data from the agency’s highly secured and encrypted system, meant they’d lose the race for the Sphere. Vax, a radically sophisticated internal monitoring system that hunted for any anomalies in data movement and usage, had been put into place after the Snowden affair.

“What do you have?” Rathmore demanded, attempting to mask his panic.

“It’s still early, we don’t have any clear source, but Vax is showing abnormal usage centering around the Gaines situation.”

“What about abnormal movement?” Rathmore asked hesitantly.

“Yes, sir,” the analyst replied. “Data has left our system.”

“Dammit! How soon until you close it? How soon until you locate it?” Rathmore knew the answers he wanted were impossible to give. He began running through names of people with access to the current crisis.

“It could be days,” the analyst responded.

“We don’t
have
days,” Rathmore barked. “Send me the personnel files on every person in this. I will find that leech and destroy him myself.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” Murik asked, done with his call and catching up to the conversation.

Rathmore scowled. “Odds,” he answered as he stood. “Let’s see what King has to say about this. It may take the analysts days to find the leech, but Veiled Ops should be able to find it in under an hour.”

“Veiled Ops for internal investigation?”

“You may do things differently at the CIA, but here at the National Security Agency, we do whatever it takes.”

“What if King is the leech?” Murik asked, ignoring the dig.

“King? Are you out of your mind? What if
you’re
the leech, Murik?”

“I’m just saying that with these stakes and with Booker Lipton involved, don’t be surprised how high the corruption goes.”

Rathmore sat back down. He’d wait until he reviewed all the files,
including
King’s, and even the NSA Director’s. Murik was right. Booker could get to anyone.

—O—

A short time later, Murik and Rathmore entered the interrogation room in another part of the NSA building. The man sitting across from them was an expert at interrogation techniques, and one of the world’s most knowledgeable people about Gaines, Asher, and the artifacts.

But he wasn’t there to help Murik and Rathmore. He was there to defend himself against charges of treason, espionage, aiding and abetting federal fugitives, falsifying reports, murder, and dozens of other crimes that were being outlined and readied in a sealed, one-hundred-and-thirty-count indictment that a secret grand jury would quickly issue.

Dixon Barbeau had known for seven years that this day might come. He felt relieved, and his lighthearted demeanor and amused expression infuriated the two agents there to get to the truth. Rathmore, in particular, was on the cusp of rage.

“I guess you’re the bad cop,” Barbeau said to the bristling NSA agent.

“I’m not a cop,” Rathmore snapped.

“The FBI wouldn’t take you? Is that why you landed at the NSA?”

“Hey, Barbeau,” Rathmore said, opening a file on his INU, “we ask the questions.”

“Do you? And I don’t get a lawyer?” Barbeau asked, smiling. “Your boys who arrested me pulled me out of a fine restaurant, by the way. I expect to be reimbursed for the meal I didn’t get to finish. Anyway, I told them repeatedly that I had nothing to say without a lawyer.”

“Really?”

“I know you said you aren’t a cop, but you look like a guy who’s watched some television. Even the TV cops get it right most of the time. Read me my rights, let me call an attorney, you know the drill.”

“Oh, no, you have it all wrong,” Murik said. “You aren’t under arrest. We just want to talk. See, there’s been a big misunderstanding. Some people think you may have done some questionable things during the Gaines case seven years ago.”

“A long time ago,” Barbeau added, still smiling.

“Yes,” Rathmore replied. “And as my colleague stated, you’re not under arrest. We’re here to help you clear up all this confusion. If you didn’t do anything wrong, then there’s nothing to hide, right?”

“Wrong. Are you, an agent for the NSA, going to define what right and wrong is for me? I didn’t think you bothered with such difficult concepts.”

Murik couldn’t help but laugh.

Rathmore shot him a dirty look before turning back to Barbeau. “Listen to me, Barbeau, we can save you a lot of trouble. You don’t need an attorney right now, but if you don’t cooperate with us, tomorrow morning you will. Right now a grand jury is preparing a one-hundred-and- thirty-count indictment against you. And you know what that means?”

Barbeau nodded.

“Do you want to go to prison?” Rathmore asked. “Because you know, if those other inmates find out you’re an ex-FBI agent, well . . . ”

He stood, walked around behind Barbeau, and began massaging his shoulders. Barbeau tried to shrug him off, but one of his hands was cuffed to a steel rail under the table. Rathmore squeezed harder and leaned down until his mouth was almost touching Barbeau’s ear.

“They’ll be real nice to you for a few days, passing you around, taking turns making you their wife, but once they get bored with you, they’ll kick your head in.”

Rathmore shoved Barbeau’s head forward, hard enough that it just missed hitting the table. Even as he straightened up, Barbeau still smiled. 

“There’s no need for any of that,” Murik said. “I’m sure Barbeau understands the consequences of all this. He’s not a street punk. He’s done this a lot more than the two of us combined.”

“I think you’re mixed up,” Barbeau said. “I’m happy to help.”

“Good,” Rathmore replied, unable to hide his pleasure. “Why don’t you start by telling us how it is that you testified you saw Gaines and Asher get on the chopper before it exploded?”

A screen across from the table lit up with photos of the burning helicopter in Canyon de Chelly. Next to them, satellite images overlaid with maps of the area and markings of the incidents glowed. Maps comforted Barbeau. They were like friends to him in some strange way. He stared at them a long time, as if recalling that day.

“They shot me and boarded the chopper. It took off and exploded. I was injured and pinned on the ground. I almost burned to death,” Barbeau said bitterly. “That’s what happened.”

“So you’re saying they died?” Murik asked.

“Who?”

“Gaines and Asher!” Rathmore snapped.

“No one could survive that inferno,” Barbeau said. “Of course they died.”

“But they didn’t,” Rathmore said. “They’re very much alive. Even have a nice little family now, but you probably know that. You’re probably on their damned Christmas card list!”

“Alive?” Barbeau asked.

“You’re going to prison forever,” Rathmore said, “unless you tell me what really happened right now.”

Barbeau smiled. “I guess they don’t train you how to do this in the NSA.”

“Do what?”

“Find the truth,” Barbeau said. “The intelligence community is so concerned with collecting facts that they constantly miss the truth.”

“Facts are truth,” Rathmore barked.

“Not always,” Barbeau continued. “More often, particularly with the government, I’ve learned that Don Quixote had it right. ‘Facts are the enemy of truth.’”

“Well, here’s a
fact
for you,” Rathmore whispered in a slithery tone, leaning toward Barbeau. “You’re
never
going to talk to an attorney. The fact is we have places to hold you indefinitely. The fact is we can make you disappear. The fact is you’re going to pay for your treason in the worst possible way. So start telling the truth or the
facts
are going to bury you so deep you’ll forget your own name . . . and I know for a fact that that’s the truth.”

Barbeau shook his head, then reluctantly spoke. “I’m telling you what I know. I was there. They got on that chopper. It exploded. If you’re certain they’re still alive, then maybe something else happened, but that doesn’t change what I saw.”

“You’re lying.”

“Give me a polygraph,” Barbeau offered.

“I’m sure a star like you would have no trouble beating it,” Rathmore jeered, staring into Barbeau’s eyes. “How about a drink? Vodka and something?”

“No thanks.”

“Right, you don’t do that anymore, but you used to. Used to have a real bad drinking problem, didn’t you? Kind of cost you your family and almost your career . . . What have you been doing since you left the Bureau?”

“I work in the private sector.”

“For Booker Lipton.”

“No.”

“You know what?” Rathmore said. “They want us back in the situation room. But I’m going to send a couple people in to see you. You’ll like them better. They specialize in getting folks like you to cooperate.”

“I’m sure they do,” Barbeau replied.

“Oh, don’t worry. They aren’t going to beat you up or anything,” Rathmore said, as Murik and he stood at the door. “It’ll be more like a party. They’ll bring the booze. And Barbeau? I know you want the drink, so save us all some trouble and just take it. You’ll enjoy it a lot more than if they have to force it into you.”

Once they were in the hall heading back to the situation room, Murik asked, “Is that really necessary? His file said he’s been sober for nine years. Seems a shame to push him back onto that road.”

“Oh, relax. After today, he won’t be able to get another drink where he’s going. We have to know what he knows. What
really
happened back in Arizona when Gaines and Asher ‘died.’ I want to know everything they did from that moment until we find them because that’s
how
we’ll find them.”

Murik nodded. “What’s going on in the situation room?”

“Agents are at the University of Hawaii. We’ve got confirmation Gaines was in Honolulu yesterday.”

“Is he still?” Murik glanced into his INU.

“Not sure, but we have a ton of leads and information piling up. Gaines and scores of scientists have been secretly doing research on the Sphere there. We’ve already seized INUs containing thousands of encrypted files which allegedly detail the research—
years
of it. The data is streaming in right now. We’ve got a team working it.”

“Can we decrypt it?” Murik asked, as they jogged down the corridor.

Rathmore looked back, genuinely smiling for the first time that day. “We’re the NSA. Encryption? Now they’ve moved the game to our playground.”