Jericho Iteration (31 page)

And it was ready to spill its chips about everything it had learned.

Ruby’s face disappeared from Joker’s screen; it was replaced by a schematic diagram of a spacecraft.
>This is
Sentinel 1
.<

“Yeah,” I said. “I know what it is.”

The ABM satellite rotated on its three-dimensional axis.
>38 hours/ 29 minutes/ 42 seconds ago its final components were launched into orbit aboard the NASA space shuttle
Endeavour.<

I tapped Joker’s
PAUSE
key and the readout stopped; not a bad way of telling a long-winded a-life-form when to shut up. “I know,” I said. “I was at Tiptree for the launch.”

The diagram was replaced by a digitized replay of a TV news clip: two spacewalking astronauts in the shuttle cargo bay, working with the spacecraft’s extended Canadarm as they joined the module with the rest of the giant satellite.

>Yesterday morning [Friday, April 19, 8:27
A.M.
CST] the final assembly of
Sentinel 1
was completed in Earth orbit [altitude 246 nautical miles]. At 5:25
P.M.
CST, final checkout of the satellite was completed by the
Endeavour
crew. The shuttle maneuvered away from the satellite [9:37
P.M.
CST]. Earlier this morning [Saturday, April 20, 12:06
A.M.
CST] ground-based telemetry of
Sentinel 1
was switched from NASA/JSC [Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas] to USAF/CSOC [Consolidated Space Operations Command, Colorado Springs, Colorado].<

“Yeah, right. Sure.” I was getting a little tired of all this; it was early in the morning and my eyes were beginning to itch. I could use another few hours on the couch, flea-infested or not. “Just cut to the chase, willya?”

>The primary mission of
Sentinel 1
is not antiballistic missile defense.
Sentinel 1’s
principal objective is to control the civilian population of the United States of America.<

I stopped rubbing my eyes. “Whu …
what!”

A new image appeared on Joker’s screen: an animated image of
Sentinel
in orbit above Earth, rotating on its axis until it was pointed straight at a stylized representation of North America. A thin red beam erupted from its long barrel; the animation followed the beam as it raced across space and lanced through Earth’s atmosphere.

>The classified objective of
Sentinel 1
is to prevent or contain domestic civil uprisings. Its fluorine-deuterium laser is capable of penetrating Earth’s atmosphere and inflicting severe damage upon either airborne or mobile ground units. It can track and target objects within two meters in size. Its low-orbit trajectory will place it above the United States eight times each day, or approximately once every three<

“Whoa, shut up,” I snapped, hitting the
PAUSE
key again. “Wait a minute.” I forgot all about catching a few winks on the couch; I sat up a little straighter and held Joker closer to my face. “This thing … I mean, you said … I mean, this sucker’s supposed to be pointed at
us?”

The animation was frozen as a window opened on the screen; it expanded to show typewritten pages that scrolled upward faster than my eyes could follow.

>The objective of
Sentinel 1
was discovered by the Ruby Fulcrum team after they established contact with me and accessed my primary batch-processing subsystem. This information was contained in classified [i.e. Top Secret] memos and documents between Cale McLaughlin, Chief Executive Officer of the Tiptree Corporation, and key civilian and/or military officials of the U.S. Department of Defense and/or various civilian agencies, including the chairman of the federal Emergency Relief Agency.<

The documents vanished from the screen, to be replaced by a flowchart. Dozens of names were connected to one other by dotted lines.

>These documents indicate the existence of a military-industrial conspiracy operating on the fringes of the American government. The conspirators intend to subvert the elected government of the United States, with the final objective being the installation of a nonelected shadow governments<

“Who’s behind this?” I asked.

A square was formed around a large block of names, then the square zoomed to the forefront of the diagram.
>The principal force behind this planned coup d’etat is the Emergency Relief Agency.<

“Goddamn,” I whispered. “But why ERA?”

>At this point, it is unknown exactly how the conspirators intend to overthrow the present government. However, classified memoranda between ERA officials indicate a strong probability [86.7%] that the first step in the coup d’etat will be the incitement of armed hostilities between the United States and the new government of Cascadia.<

The diagrams disappeared; they were replaced by a map of the Pacific Northwest, with the new borders of Cascadia traced in blue above the Washington and Oregon state lines. Tiny red markers were placed just within the borders.

>When this occurs,
Sentinel 1
will be used to neutralize strategic forces belonging to the Cascadian militia. At this time, ERA forces will be deployed to major American cities. The stated intent will be to prevent uprisings from civilians sympathetic to the Cascadian cause. Various state and municipal officials who are aligned with the conspiracy will demand that martial law be imposed in their localities to preserve public order.<

“Like here in St. Louis …” I began.

A map of the city appeared on the screen.
>Affirmative. Because of the New Madrid earthquake, St. Louis was the first city to be placed under paramilitary control by ERA. The conspirators consider St. Louis to have been a successful test of their ability to control a large civil population. Two principal members of the conspiracy have already taken measures to assert political control of the local government.<

The pictures of two men appeared on the screen. I stared at them, realizing that it all made sense, yet still not quite believing what I was seeing.

“I’ll be goddamned,” I whispered.

The photos were of Steve Estes and George Barris.

As much as I needed a breather, Ruby didn’t give me time to contemplate all that it had already divulged to me. The photos of Estes and Barris were promptly replaced by photos of the Ruby Fulcrum team.

>Dr. Payson-Smith, Dr. Hinckley, Dr. Morgan, and Dr. Kim became aware of these facts when they accessed my memory. They decided to denounce the conspiracy, with the first step to be their public disclosure of the secret agenda behind
Sentinel 1.
This would have necessitated publicly acknowledging my own existence, which they considered to be as important as the facts behind
Sentinel 1
itself.<

“And this was why my paper was contacted,” I said.

John’s face was added to the screen.
>As the first step, affirmative. Because they believed it was important that the local press be made aware of ERA’s true mission in St. Louis, they contacted John Tiernan, senior reporter for the
Big Muddy Inquirer.
However, they were unaware that their workplace was under electronic surveillance by their employer. This, in turn, led to counterintelligence operations by federal operatives.<

“You mean ERA,” I said.

>There is a strong probability [79.2%] that ERA was involved in the covert operation.<

“So Barris decided to rub ’em out.”

>Yes. Kim Po and Beryl Hinckley were liquidated by a government-trained assassin employed by ERA. A portable laser rifle was chosen as the instrument of assassination in order to frame Dr. Payson-Smith with the murders.<

Po’s and Hinckley’s pictures disappeared from the screen.
>As part of the coverup, John Tiernan was also killed in order to prevent him from disclosing this information.<

John’s face vanished, to be replaced by my own. I had joined Payson-Smith and Jeff Morgan on this unholy shit list.

>You are now wanted by federal authorities on formal charges of treason with intent to cause civil insurrection. ERA forces have been told that you and the others are considered to be armed and dangerous. They have been instructed to use lethal force if you do not surrender yourselves on first warning.<

I took a long, deep breath as I stared at the screen. All at once the scattered pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together. The subtle relationship between the Tiptree Corporation and Steve Estes, the alliance of Barris and McLaughlin, the continued presence of ERA troopers in St. Louis eleven months after the New Madrid earthquake, the murders of three people—all were part of a deadly mosaic that only a freak accident, the release of the a-life-form called Ruby Fulcrum, had exposed.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “You said you wanted me to help you. What do I have to do with all this?”

>You do not understand this? Do you wish me to reiterate?<

I rubbed at my eyelids. “No, no, don’t do that,” I said. “I just … I dunno. I’m just a bystander, y’know? I’m stuck in the middle, that’s all.”

>Dr. Payson-Smith and Dr. Morgan will explain this further when you meet them.<

A city map appeared on the screen; a small red circle was traced over a tiny green spot on the map, then the circle expanded as the computer zoomed in.

>Do you recognize this location?<

I peered closer at the screen. The red circle surrounded the Compton Hill Reservoir, a small municipal park not far from downtown. It was located a couple of miles from my hideout. “Sure, I know it. Are they holed up there?”

>Yes. You will proceed to the reservoir water tower immediately. Dr. Payson-Smith and Dr. Morgan are expecting your arrival within the next thirty minutes.<

“What?” I shook my head, almost laughing out loud. “Hey, wait a minute …”

>Waiting.<

“I don’t know if you know this,” I went on, “but I’m in one of the worst areas of the city right now. If I try hiking over there, I’m probably going to get a knife stuck between my ribs.”

The map was replaced by Ruby’s genderless face.
>I am aware of your location and of the hazards of traveling on foot. While we have been discussing the situation, I have arranged for safe transportation to the reservoir.<

At that instant, there came the short bleat of a car horn from outside the house.

I jerked, almost dropping Joker to the floor; the stray dog awoke from its slumber and, leaping to its feet, ran to the window, growling and barking loudly at something out in the darkness.

>That is all for now. We will speak again soon.<

Then the screen went blank.

I waited for another moment, half expecting the toneless voice to return. When it didn’t, I folded up Joker and shoved it into my jacket pocket, then got up off the floor and tiptoed cautiously to the window. The dog was barking at a car that had pulled into the driveway; its headlights were out, but I vaguely recognized its shape from the amber brake lights.

“It’s okay, boy,” I murmured, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears as the car horn sounded again. “C’mon, it’s time to go …”

I opened the front door and let the dog out; he followed me across the tiny front lawn to the end of the driveway where a black ’92 Corvette was parked, its V-8 engine idling. The passenger window slid down as I approached, and there was the soft click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back.

“Chevy?” I called softly, freezing in midstep. “Chevy, is that you, dude?”

The dome light came on, revealing one of Chevy Dick’s garage buddies riding shotgun in the front passenger seat. The Glock automatic in his hand was pointed straight at me. “That him?” he asked the driver, never taking his eyes off me.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Chevy Dick replied. “C’mon, Gerry, get in already! It’s fucking dangerous ’round here! Jeez!”

I looked down at the dog; he was squatting on his haunches, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. The tongue disappeared as the mutt frowned, catching the expression on my face:
hey, Ger, don’t leave me here …

“Can I bring the dog?” I asked.

“Aw, man, he’ll just tear up the upholstery—”

“No, he won’t,” I said. “He’s cool.”

“I’ve got genuine leather in here. He’ll drool all over it—”

“C’mon, Chevy … he saved my life. Honest.”

Chevy Dick looked away and muttered under his breath, then he reluctantly nodded his head. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “But if he shits back there, you gotta clean it up, awright?”

I nodded. The Latino kid opened the door and stepped out of the car, pulling forward the back of his seat to let the dog and me scramble into the cramped rear compartment. As his buddy climbed back in and slammed the door shut, Chevy switched off the dome lamp, then pulled a can of Budweiser out from under his seat and tossed it back to me.

“Hey, it’s good to see ya, man,” he said as he backed out of the driveway, “but you picked a fuck of a time to call me.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, tucking the beer into my jacket pocket. The dog curled up next to me, placed his head in my lap, and licked the back of my hand. I ran my hands along the fur at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t mean to …”

I stopped as I realized what Chevy Dick had just said. “What do you mean, I called you?”

The two men in the front seats glanced at each other in confusion. The kid in the passenger seat muttered something in Spanish, and Chevy Dick responded with a laugh; then he put the car in gear. “Hey, man,” he said as the Corvette rumbled down the narrow street, its headlights still extinguished. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you called me. Begged me to come out here and pick you up right here.”

“I did …?”

“I saw your face, heard your voice.” Chevy Dick shrugged and looked back at me again. “Listen, I don’t mind doing a favor for an amigo, but if you can’t remember, I’d just as soon—”

“No,” I said hurriedly. “That’s great … I just forgot, that’s all. Get me out of here.”

Ricardo and his fellow motorhead glanced at each other again; there was another exchange of Spanish jokes at my expense, then Chevy hit the headlights.