Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (30 page)

Tungsten looked around. "This is it?"

"You don't like it?" Weasel said.

"Seems a little... low tech."

"Here's the thing. I trust you, but I've never met those two." Weasel nodded towards Andrew and Charley. "They seem like good people, but you know how it is in this business. It's all about reputation and credentials."

Andrew opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp look from Tungsten made Andrew close it.

"I'll vouch for them," Tungsten said.

"I'm sure," Weasel said, "but that may not be good enough. Just tell me what the problem is."

"Did you see the headlines today? A secret stash of biological weapons on Mumford Base. What did you think when you saw that?"

"Seemed a little farfetched, but it was none of my business."

"We think we know who is responsible for that rumor," Tungsten said, "and we need to erase him. We want your help."

"You're telling me this as a duly sworn federal agent?"

"More or less."

Weasel frowned. "Then why aren't you going through official channels? Call the NSA. They have hundreds of hackers."

"The problem is this case isn't really ours. It was assigned to us without being assigned to us, if you get my meaning."

"Unfortunately, I do. You want me to participate in a backdoor mission, and you won't even tell me who it's for. On top of that, I have to open up my operation to two kids I've never met before. I assume you're not the only people working on this."

Tungsten nodded. "I'm sure the NSA, the FBI, the Military Intelligence Corps, and others are already involved. Our efforts will be supplementary."

"So I'll be stepping on the toes of the big boys," Weasel said.

"I'm afraid so."

The two men stared at each other silently. Both had perfect poker faces.

Andrew decided he had to speak up. "We're after a man named Blake Blutstein. He killed a lot of people, and he'll probably kill more if we don't stop him."

"Sounds like a big problem." Weasel looked at Andrew. "Why is it your problem? Shouldn't you be in school instead of chasing after serial killers?"

"Charley and I have had special training for dealing with Blake."

"What are you talking about? You're not a fighter. You're too young and too soft."

Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. His inability to tell the truth was deeply frustrating.

"I'm not asking you to assassinate anybody," Tungsten said. "I just want you to use your fancy computers to do a little information gathering. Do I need to remind you what life was like for you in that Siberian prison? The risks I took to get you out? The promises you made afterwards?
You owe me
, and I always collect on my debts." He glared angrily.

Weasel sighed and looked down at his hands. "If you vouch for them, I suppose that's good enough for me."

"I do, and this mission is important. I'm still gung-ho about duty and honor."

Weasel reached under his desk and did something with his hand. A concealed door in the back wall slid open. He rolled his chair into the secret room.

Andrew stood up, walked around the desk, and followed Weasel into a hacker's paradise. Floor to ceiling racks were packed with computers. A bank of monitors covered most of one wall. Thick bundles of cables ran up to ducts suspended from the ceiling. An air-tight sheet of clear plastic separated the room into two sections: one for noisy hot computers and the other for people.

"This is more like it," Tungsten said as he entered the room.

"My secret bat cave," Weasel said.

"But you said you had retired."

"The bar doesn't generate enough income to support my mistresses. I take odd jobs to make up the difference. Now, let's see what we're dealing with."

Weasel turned on all his computer screens. He began to type on an exotic ergonomic keyboard, and his fingers made the keys clatter.

Andrew watched windows showing news stories pop up on the monitors. Charley had found similar material earlier in her internet search, but Weasel was working much faster.

"The biological weapons story is everywhere," he said. "Thousands of sites."

"We know," Andrew said. "Just tell us who started it."

Weasel typed for a while. He gradually appeared more and more frustrated, and his keystrokes grew louder.

"What's wrong?" Charley said.

"It hit the internet at exactly two in the morning, and it hit everywhere. Thousands of people posted within the same minute all over the world. The story went viral immediately. Tricky." He turned to her. "Is Blake some kind of super-hacker?"

She shook her head. "Not to my knowledge."

"Then he's employing professionals who know how to cover their trail."

"That's not a surprise. Can you figure out anything? Or maybe you're not as smart as you thought."

Weasel raised one eyebrow. He turned back to his computer and typed furiously for several minutes.

Eventually, he said, "Many of the original posts were on hacked social media accounts. I bet most of the real owners of those accounts don't even realize they were exploited. Hold on. Here's an interesting exception." He typed a little more.

A video clip popped up showing a very attractive, Hispanic woman in a cute green business suit. She spoke to the camera, "Breaking news. We are seeing reports that the United States Army is secretly keeping a massive cache of biological weapons. This is a direct violation of the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention. Multiple sources confirm the cache is on Mumford Army Base." She pointed at a map of New Mexico on a screen behind her.

Weasel stopped the clip. "Her name is Miranda Torres. She's a reporter in Washington, DC. This video appeared on the website of her news channel at 2:01 AM. It was obviously recorded before the story broke on the internet."

"She knew ahead of time," Andrew said.

Weasel nodded. "You should have a conversation with her. I'll continue to work."

"Sounds like a great idea."

"And I have a suggestion. If you're going to pretend to be federal agents, dress like it. Buy a suit." Weasel looked at Charley. "Both of you."

"Before we go," Tungsten said, "I need a clean phone. I can't use my government phone for this job."

"What color?" Weasel smiled.

* * *

Andrew looked up at a thirty-story office building. The exterior curved in a great arc which glittered in the sunlight. Alternating bands of windows and stainless steel panels went from the ground to the high roof.

He itched his chest. He was wearing a brand new shirt, tie, and suit, and he was uncomfortable. The stiff fabric rubbed his skin the wrong way. The tie felt like a noose around his neck. He hadn't worn a suit since his cousin's wedding two years ago, and he still regretted agreeing to do it then.

Charley had also dressed for the job, and not seeing her in a sweater was strange. Her blue blazer and slacks fit her slim body well. She had chosen a black shirt to add a touch of style instead of a white shirt like Andrew.

"Let's go," Tungsten said.

The three of them entered the building. They took an elevator up to a floor where a television station was located. Tungsten used his badge to get past fussy receptionists and security guards. Eventually, the team found Miranda Torres at her desk in the newsroom.

The newsroom had a studio at one end, but most of it was standard office space. People were working at computers in cubicles. Plain fluorescent lights hung from a ceiling along with pipes and ductwork. Andrew had expected a little drama and excitement, but everybody was just quietly doing their job.

Miranda was even prettier in real life than on television. She had perfect skin and the high cheekbones of a fashion model. Artistic touches of makeup made her dark eyes appear bigger than normal.

She stood up from her desk. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"We're federal agents." Tungsten showed his badge. "We have a few questions."

"Again?" She rolled her eyes. "I've talked to you guys twice today already."

"We're a different department."

"Sure. You two look pretty young to be feds." Miranda raised her eyebrows at Andrew and Charley.

"We're interns," Charley said.

Miranda smirked.

"Focus on me," Tungsten said. "You were one of the first people to report about Mumford Army Base. You were awake at two in the morning with the information before anybody else. How did that happen?"

She crossed her arms. "I'll tell you what I told the rest. My sources are confidential. I won't give them up for anything."

"This is a very serious matter."

"Yes, it is, and so is the Biological Weapons Convention. So is the First Amendment which guarantees freedom of the press. I should also mention the Fourth Amendment, the one that talks about unreasonable searches and seizures. I haven't broken any laws, and I don't appreciate being harassed by a muscle-bound government goon."

"Ms. Torres," Andrew said, "we're not harassing you. Lives are at stake here. Please, tell us what you know."

"Sorry, kid, but I can't do that. If I lose my sources, I lose my job."

Other people in the newsroom were gathering. They stood back at a discreet distance and watched.

"This is more important than your job," Andrew said in a low voice.

"To you," Miranda said.

He clenched his jaw in frustration. He wished he could read her mind, but that was illegal and required a seam. It would be so easy though. She would never even know he was in her head.

"I have to admit," she said, "I had my doubts about the story at first, but all this government attention has convinced me I was right to report it."

"There are no biological weapons on that base," Tungsten said firmly.

"Are you willing to swear that in front of a camera as a representative of the United States?"

He blushed.

"I didn't think so," Miranda said. "Get out of here. I have work to do."

"Please," Andrew said.

"Go!" She pointed to the door.

He looked at the gathering crowd. Cameramen were showing up with cameras in hand. Creating a scene in a newsroom was a very bad idea.

Tungsten walked off with a huff of exasperation. Andrew and Charley followed.

They went back downstairs and left the building. A few clouds dotted the sky, but the weather was otherwise perfect.

"She knows something," Charley said.

Tungsten nodded. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"What are we supposed to do about it?" Andrew said. "This is so aggravating!"

"I don't know." Tungsten said. "We can't beat the truth out of her."

"You had no problem beating the truth out of that White Guerrilla. You dislocated his arm and crushed his nose."

"He shot at us with an assault rifle first. Different rules apply."

Andrew couldn't argue with that point.

Tungsten's phone rang. He answered the call and listened. He was using a black phone provided by Weasel which hopefully, the BPI didn't know about.

After a moment, Tungsten said, "Thanks. We're on our way." He hung up.

"Who was that?" Andrew said.

"Weasel. Protestors are chanting in front of the White House."

"Are they protesting biological weapons?"

"No," Tungsten said. "Space aliens. Let's check it out."

* * *

Andrew looked at the White House from a distance. He decided the name wasn't really appropriate. The building was white, but it was hardly a house. Even the word "mansion" didn't really capture the scale of the structure. The President of the United States lived in a palace worthy of a king.

Andrew was more interested in what was happening in front of the White House. An unruly crowd carrying protest signs had gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue. The Washington, DC police were standing by in riot gear, ready to intervene.

Andrew was walking with Charley and Tungsten across Lafayette Square which was on the north side of the White House. The park contained plenty of immaculate gardens and impressive statues. A bronze statue in the center showed General Andrew Jackson riding a horse. The inscription read, "OUR FEDERAL UNION MUST BE PRESERVED." The amount of detail in the man and the horse was amazing.

"Keep a low profile," Tungsten said. "The police and the Secret Service are watching closely. Just politely ask questions and move on."

Andrew and Charley nodded.

The protestors were sloppily dressed. Long hair and dirty clothes were common. One man wore just a T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, and he had to be cold. A woman wore a coat with disgusting yellow stains.

Their signs had slogans like, "Free the Aliens!" and "Stop Hiding UFOs!"

"Let's split up," Andrew said. "We'll be less threatening and cover more ground."

"OK," Charley said, "but stay where I can see you. Don't run off."

He nodded.

He chose one man at the edge of the crowd to interview. His sign read, "Tell the Truth about Roswell." Black hair went all the way down his back, but his head was bald on top. His pudgy face was deeply tanned which looked odd in the middle of the winter. He had a gun belt with a holster, but he didn't have a gun.

Andrew walked up to the protestor. "Hi! What's going on?"

The protestor turned. "Who are you? You look like a fed."

Andrew looked down at the blue suit he was still wearing from the visit with the reporter. Changing back into regular clothes would've been a good idea, but it was too late.

"I don't want the authorities to know I'm one of you." Andrew winked. "I'm sort of a double-agent."

"Oh." The protestor appeared dubious.

"What's your name?"

"Infrared."

"Huh?" Andrew said.

"That's what people call me. I'm obviously not going to tell you my real name."

"OK. What's the story here? What's going on?"

"A secret prison for aliens is on Mumford Army Base," Infrared said. "It's under a mountain called
Montaña de la Serpiente
."

"I thought biological weapons were there."

"That's what they
want
you to think. It's another government lie."