Vanishing Point Part 10

6

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF P.M. AND 6 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME.

5:04:02 p.m. PDT Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base Relentless in her pursuit of perfection, Dr. Reed kept Tony Almeida and the rest of her staff hopping all morning and into the early afternoon. Tony knew from weeks of observation that Megan Reed had gained her "people skills" at Donald Trump's School of Management. Her modus operandi was to browbeat her staff to the point of exhaustion, but never had her ham-handed managerial style been more evident than today.

Then, roughly at two-thirty, Dr. Reed hastily departed with Corporal Stratowski to meet and greet today's VIP observer at the Las Vegas terminal, and the members of the Malignant Wave team visibly relaxed. The necessary tasks still got done - now under the sensible supervision of Dr. Phillip Bas...o...b..- but the mood was much lighter, despite the crucial, make-or-break demonstration looming over their heads.

It wasn't too long after Tony downloaded the contents of Steve Sable's cell phone into his laptop that he managed to slip the phone back into the man's lab coat pocket. A simple pat on the back and Tony smoothly returned the man's phone. It was gone, then back again before the other man noticed his cell was ever missing.

That left Tony with another urgent problem. He didn't have the tools to a.n.a.lyze the information he'd stolen, which meant that he had to transfer the cell phone memory to Jamey Farrell at CTU, Los Angeles, as soon as possible. But every time he tried to get back to his office, some new task arose. Finally, almost ninety minutes after Dr. Reed's departure, Tony found the chance to excuse himself when Dr. Bas...o...b..went to the cafeteria to grab a late lunch.

"Yo, Steve, I think my laptop's winking out. I'm going to switch to the backup in my office," Tony lied.

"Take your time," Dr. Sable replied, swigging from a bottle of water. He'd found a shady corner and was playing c.r.a.ps for pebbles with a pair of young airmen.

"I'll be back in five."

"Hey, man, no sweat," Steve said with a laugh. "The tough stuff's done and Madame de Sade won't be back for another half hour. Have yourself a party, Antonio."

Tony shut the computer down and tucked it under his arm. He left the shade of the tent, crossed the hard-packed sand to the hangar unnoticed. Dani Welles was locked in a heated debate with Dr. Alvin Toth about which television physician was the most competent. Toth opted for someone named "Marcus Welby, M.D." - then expressed dismay to learn that no one among them had ever heard of the show. Dani was pushing for George Clooney's character in E.R. E.R.

"I said the most competent television doctor, Dani. Not the 'the one with the tightest booty,' " the elderly doctor complained.

Only Beverly Chang seemed tense. She avoided conversation with the others while silently staring at her own computer screen. Tony knew she was obsessively running and rerunning various diagnostic programs on the hibernating transmitter atop the steel tower. He knew because he'd been monitoring her computer with his own.

As soon as he reached his cramped cubicle in a dim corner of Hangar Six, Tony kicked up the window air conditioner, then fired up his desktop PC. Then he downloaded a copy of the data from Steve's cell into his desktop. Now the real task began.

Groom Lake AFB, and especially Area 51, was the most closely watched patch of ground in America. The activities of the staff were monitored closely, both inside and outside the base. Telephones, cell phones, and Internet connections were also screened.

Tony knew that Steve had tinkered with his own cell phone, perhaps placed some sort of scrambler inside of it. Despite this precautions, Tony realized that the watchers of Area 51 still knew someone someone was using an unauthorized cell phone. They just couldn't pinpoint the phone's location or trace down the individual - yet. It was a dangerous game Steve Sable was playing. Sooner or later, he was bound to get caught. was using an unauthorized cell phone. They just couldn't pinpoint the phone's location or trace down the individual - yet. It was a dangerous game Steve Sable was playing. Sooner or later, he was bound to get caught.

Now Tony was about to test a theory of his own. He had to send a large package of data over the Internet to Jamey back at CTU, without that data being noticed or intercepted by the security screening software. It was much easier to monitor Internet connections than it was cell phone signals, so any misstep by Tony would result in immediate arrest by Air Force security personnel and a rough interrogation by Intelligence officers.

Before he went undercover, Tony, Milo Pressman and Jamey Farrell discussed this problem in CTU's conference room. They came up with several creative solutions. As usual, Jamey's first impulse was to try a high tech fix.

"It's simple," she'd said with a confident smirk. "We use encrypted bundles broken down and dispatched through the base's entire computer network. Air Force security protocols might detect the transmission - and I'm not saying they will - but there's no way their security software could locate which computer was the source of the transmission. Nor could the information be easily decrypted if it was intercepted, because the fragments are too small to provide enough source material to crack the digital coding."

"But wouldn't the data arrive here a mess?" Milo asked.

Jamey shrugged. "I could put it together in no time because I know the code."

"Too risky," Tony replied, shaking his head. "I might be forced to send a data package every other day, or even every day. And I want a 24/7 CTU remote camera link on any cla.s.sified activity, too. With all that information streaming out of Area 51 in tiny little bundles, the Air Force would make it a point of sniffing me out."

Milo shrugged. "How about we go low-tech. Something like carrier pigeons."

Milo was taking a shot, but it got Tony to thinking. "I think I have a low tech solution," he announced.

Instead of launching into his plan, Tony talked about how the Internet was born out of research begun in the 1960s by the Advanced Research Projects Agency of the U.S. Defense Department. It was they who created the ARPANET, the first networking system consisting of just four computers, at the end of 1967. Soon after that, software and protocol research began. One development was the Network Control Program, or NCP, which provided a standard method to establish communications links between different hosts. This allowed the ARPANET to expand exponentially.

"He's right," Milo said. "According to CIA files, Area 51 had an ARPANET by 1977, if not earlier."

"Yes," Tony continued. "But in 1983, the current TCP/IP protocols replaced NCP as the princ.i.p.al protocol of the ARPANET. After that, the ARPANET became a small component of the then fledgling Internet, and things only got bigger from there."

Milo nodded. "Meanwhile the outmoded NCP protocols were forgotten. Your point?"

"Air Force intelligence used standard TCP/IP protocols to monitor Area 51's Internet connections, right? So I can avoid detection by sending the data to CTU using the older NCP protocols, the old ARPANET pathways."

Jamey blinked, understanding his logic. "That will work, provided I can locate some of the older pathways."

Milo shook his head. "Sounds a little far fetched. You're still transmitting data. Why won't you get caught?"

"It's like the power company trying to meter electricity that is somehow sent through natural gas lines," Tony explained. "The electric company isn't paying attention to the gas system, so it slips right past them."

Milo nodded. "Okay, I'll dig up some of those old protocols and we'll give it a try. But Tony, if I were you, I'd use that same a.n.a.logy when I explained this scheme to Christopher Henderson."

Tony chuckled at the memory. He'd done just that at the pre-mission briefing and Henderson was hooked. Together, Milo and Jamey developed protocols to translate the data, and stored them in Tony's laptop so that now it took Tony only minutes to convert the data and drop it into an NCP packet. Then he sent the packet on its way. Back in Los Angeles, Jamey would download this data, along with the camera feed from the test site, by tapping into the old ARPANET routes at UCLA, and then downloading all the collected data into CTU's mainframe. And it all happened with only a few seconds' delay.

Tony closed down his computer, then glanced at his watch. In forty-five minutes the demonstration was scheduled to take place. Tony grabbed his backup laptop, and hurried back to the site. He wanted to be present for the final preparations.

5:15:47 p.m. PDT Hangar Five, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base "This is certainly an impressive machine," Senator Palmer declared with genuine awe.

"The Boeing Sikorski LO-88 Blackfoot was commissioned by the Army," Dr. Megan Reed explained. "The bra.s.s were looking to procure a stealthy insertion and recovery aircraft suitable for conducting special operations. Unfortunately the Pentagon wasn't happy with the helicopter's payload limitations, and the program was cancelled shortly after this prototype was tested - successfully, I might add."

The cavernous interior of Hangar Five housed only one aircraft, a sleek, black shape that reminded Senator Palmer of a predatory raptor. A tri-motored, rotor-controlled aircraft, the LO-88 Blackfoot resembled no helicopter Palmer had ever seen. Instead of a main rotor on top of the aircraft, the Blackfoot had two ten-bladed fans housed in engine nacelles affixed to both sides of the aircraft's fuselage. The vertical tail rotor was conventionally set on the tail fin, but was also housed in a hooded nacelle.

Apart from the propeller housings, there were no rounded edges on the Blackfoot. Viewed from the front, the fuselage was triangular - its bottom was flat, sides sloped like the body of an F-117 stealth fighter. This shape - the so-called "Hopeless Diamond" configuration - was designed to deflect radar waves. It was also clear to the head of the Defense Appropriations Committee that no metal was used in the construction of the craft's exterior - everything was fashioned from super-strong plastics or extremely-expensive radar-absorbing composite materials. Two flat-paned c.o.c.kpit windows in the shark-like, pointed nose were tinted black to match the light-absorbing surface of the fuselage.

Palmer circled the high-tech stealth helicopter once. "This aircraft is quite amazing. But I have to ask, why am I here? This has nothing to do with the demonstration... Or does it?"

"The Blackfoot may have disappointed the Army, but it's the perfect platform to carry the Malignant Wave device to the enemy," Dr. Reed explained. "It's low observable, has a range of over a thousand miles, terrain-mapping capabilities. It can fly nap of the earth, and because of the new vortex technology that powers the main engines, the Blackfoot can also attain alt.i.tudes no other helicopter can match."

"I believe I've already expressed my amazement," Palmer replied. He crossed his arms behind his back and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"We learned during early trials that the low-observable composite material used in the Blackfoot's construction not only works to repel radar, it also deflects the waves generated by our weapon. Therefore the pilot and co-pilot can deploy Malignant Wave without risk."

Palmer nodded. "I'm impressed that you're thinking ahead, Dr. Reed. But I find it a little presumptuous, as well. Or wouldn't you agree?"

Dr. Reed frowned. "I don't think I understand, Senator."

"Your research seems to be farther along than anyone on my Committee imagined. I'm even more eager to see this non-lethal technology demonstrated." Palmer glanced at his Rolex. "Shouldn't we proceed with the demonstration?"

"Of course, Senator," Dr. Reed replied, still smiling. "I understand your eagerness and share it. I merely wanted to show you the Blackfoot, and let you know that if if my team is given the green light, we can immediately proceed to the next level - deployment of the Malignant Wave technology under simulated battlefield conditions." my team is given the green light, we can immediately proceed to the next level - deployment of the Malignant Wave technology under simulated battlefield conditions."

Senator Palmer frowned. "It's nearly five thirty now. Is there a problem?"

Corporal Stratowski, who'd been standing quietly on the sidelines, stepped forward. "I'm sorry to report it's a matter of security, Senator. The Chinese have taken a special interest in Area 51 in the last few days. Their last s.p.a.ce-based surveillance satellite of the day won't pa.s.s over Groom Lake for another ten minutes. After it's out of range, we can proceed with the demonstration."

Palmer nodded. "Sorry for my impatience, Corporal. I wasn't aware of the facts."

Then the Senator faced Megan Reed. "Well Doctor, in the mean time, perhaps you can introduce me to the rest of your team..."

5:24:02 p.m. PDT Mirabelle's French Dry Cleaners Monitor Street, Las Vegas Ignoring signs that promised "guaranteed two-hour service," and proclaimed that all cleaning was "done on the premises," Yizi checked the address on the store front against the card she clutched between manicured fingers. Satisfied she'd arrived at the correct address, Yizi pushed through the gla.s.s door.

The tiny shop seemed empty, but an electronic buzzer sounded somewhere out of sight. The atmosphere inside the dry cleaners smelled of bleach. Behind the counter, hundreds of shrink-wrapped garments hung on a large circular rack.

A young Chinese man appeared at once, stepping through a curtained door in the wall. He wore nondescript pants and a crisp white shirt with a plastic nametag that identified him as Mr. Hsu. He smiled politely, though he'd never seen the woman before.

"May I help you," Mr. Hsu asked in perfect English.

"This is an urgent job. My boss wants this cleaned at once," Yizi replied, also in English. She slid the garment across the Formica table top. Then her dark eyes met his. "Jong Lee wants you to know there is a stain in the right sleeve, Mr. Hsu."

Still smiling, Hsu nodded. "I understand completely. Tell Mr. Lee that the jacket will be ready in two hours."

"Good afternoon, then," Yizi replied. Without another word, she spun on her heels and left the shop immediately.

Mr. Hsu, jacket in hand, once again stepped through the curtain. He set the garment down on a stainless steel table and began his search. It didn't take long for Hsu to locate the instructions tucked into the sleeve, exactly as the woman promised.

It took the man a few minutes to read and memorize the handwritten instructions. Then he dropped the message into a doc.u.ment shredder, along with his Green Card and plastic nametag.

"Yee! Uhr!" Hsu cried. Two young Chinese men with thick necks and close-cropped stubble on their heads hurried from the depths of the roaring, windy cleaning plant.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Alert the team. Make final preparations. The mission is on for tonight."

A flicker of emotion crossed their faces. "At once,"

they replied smartly. Uhr and Yee returned to the bowels of the cleaning plant, while Hsu hurried to the front of the shop and locked the door. He turned out the lights and hung the closed sign in the window. Behind him, he heard the dry cleaning machines power down and the steady whine of the dryers fall suddenly silent. For good measure, Hsu placed a fitting screen in front of the gla.s.s door, so that no curious eyes could see the activity within.

Though his US government-issue Green Card identified him as Anh Hsu, an immigrant from Hong Kong, only the name on the card was accurate, the personal history a careful fabrication devised by China's military intelligence bureau, the Second Department. In truth, Hsu had never even seen Hong Kong, even after he fled the tiny rural village in the Jiangxi Province of South-Central China where he was born. Hsu's village did not even have electricity until the mid-1980s, and Mao's modernization programs pa.s.sed them by. Consequently, Hsu was raised without the education or benefits of the city-bred youth of Beijing, or even China's newest acquisition, Hong Kong. The people of Hsu's village were perpetually poor due to abysmally low agricultural prices, so poor that no one in his town - not even the town doctor - owned a bicycle or a clock, let alone a radio or television.

Because of the Communist's government's Draconian birth control laws which limited Chinese couples to two children, most female babies born in Hsu's village were placed outside to die of exposure. Girls were considered useless mouths to feed, while boys would at least grow up to work the fields. Considered too uneducated and unskilled for factory work, compared to those citizens born in the cities, Hsu faced a dull future as a subsistence farmer.

So, to escape that fate, he became a member of the two and a half million strong People's Liberation Army, the largest military on Earth, enlisting just days after his seventeenth birthday.

Through drive, diligence and hard work - and by exhibiting a cold ruthlessness that impressed his superiors - Anh Hsu moved up the ranks, until he was promoted to a level seemingly unattainable for one of such lowly birth and questionable heritage - a Captain in the Second Department's Human Intelligence Bureau. Among his newfound skills, he learned to speak English like an American. But Hsu was not content with a behind-the-scenes position a.n.a.lyzing data on some desk-bound general's staff. In an effort to boost his visibility, Hsu volunteered for service in the 6th Special Warfare Group, a unit that performed a variety of operational missions including counterterrorism, long-range reconnaissance, sabotage, hostage rescue, hit-and-run strikes, and deep penetration warfare.

Captain Hsu's military achievements and fanatical drive eventually attracted the attention of Communist Chinese espionage agent Jong Lee, also a member of the Second Department. Lee, an active espionage agent who pa.s.sed himself off as a Taiwanese lobbyist when spying on the West, was one of China's greatest operatives. Because of his formidable reputation, Jong Lee was permitted to recruit Captain Hsu.

For his part, Hsu admired Jong Lee because he never displayed a dearth of imagination, nor the slavish lack initiative of his peers in the PLA. Lee was not afraid to act, and act boldly.

It was Jong Lee who devised their current mission to seize America's most advanced technology from under the long noses of the United States Air Force, and it was Lee who convinced his masters in Beijing to go along with his perilous plan. Along the way, he also convinced Captain Hsu to join him, though in the end it did not take much convincing. Like Jong Lee, Captain Hsu despised the decadent Western democracies, and resented their phenomenal wealth and economic might.

And so tonight, after months of planning and preparation, I will lead a commando raid so audacious it will shift the balance of power between the United States and China forever. Perhaps our daring strike here, in the enemy's heartland, will convince those old fools in Beijing that the time for war against America is now...

5:48:02 p.m. PDT Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range Groom Lake Air Force Base Dr. Reed made the introductions, starting at the top of the food chain with Dr. Phillip Bas...o...b.. then working her way down the pecking order.

When she returned to Hangar Six with the Senator in tow, the woman rudely corralled the staff, then lined them all up in the hot afternoon sun for a military-style review. Her managerial skills had never been so clumsy, and pretty much everyone was mortified by the woman's behavior - except for the oblivious Dr. Reed, of course.

What could have been a very uncomfortable few minutes was lightened considerably by Senator David Palmer's charisma and easy charm. Unlike most VIP visitors to Area 51, the Senator from Maryland seemed to take a genuine interest in the people involved in the project, not only the project itself. He spent a few minutes with each member of the Malignant Wave team, quizzing them on their tasks, their credentials - though the conversation was not always on topic. When Palmer tried to grill Bas...o...b..about his previous experience as a microwave specialist for NASA, the scientist found a way to switch topics. While most professionals loved to talk about their work, to Palmer's surprise, Dr. Bas...o...b..preferred to talk about his pro-basketball days.

So did Dr. Alvin Toth, who grinned up at the Senator while pumping Palmer's hand. "You and Larry Bell were a h.e.l.l of a team," the paunchy pathologist said.

"We still are, Dr. Toth," Palmer replied. "I'm having dinner with Larry tonight."

Beverly Chang smiled nervously when the Senator complimented her on the efficiency of her security system. The thirty-something cyber specialist shook his hand, but seemed too shy to meet his stare.

Senator Palmer and Steve Sable spoke only briefly. Dr. Sable received a shock when the Senator cited his work on the F-22 Raptor's highly-advanced computer control system.

"I read your report last year, Dr. Sable. Seems to me the Air Force owes you a debt of grat.i.tude for ironing out a litany of technical glitches."

"I'll be sure to remind them, Senator," the software engineer replied with a smirk.

"This is Dani Welles, the youngest member of our team," Dr. Reed said, moving quickly past the acerbic Dr. Sable.

The Senator smiled at the young woman, and offered his hand. "Delighted to meet you, Ms. Welles."

When their hands met the woman nearly gushed. "Please call me Dani, Senator."

"A pleasure... Dani."

"This is Antonio Alvarez," Dr. Reed said. "He's our energy specialist."

Senator Palmer hardly glanced at Tony. His attention was drawn to a sudden burst of activity a few hundred yards away, at the test site. A tow tractor appeared on the scene, dragging two wheeled carts carrying aluminum cages. In one cage, a pair of Rhesus monkeys were strapped to metal gurneys. The primates - a male and a female - had gray-brown fur and hairless pink faces. Rendered immobile, the monkeys snarled fearfully, lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth. Their dark eyes blinked against the sun's glare.

Palmer moved closer, and noticed the animals' heads were shaved. Electrodes had been implanted deep into the apes' skull, wires running to monitors attached to the bars.

In the other cage, two small pigs squealed with fright. Unfettered, they sniffed the bars of their prison with their flaring snouts.

Steve Sable turned his back on the scene, glanced at Tony. "If you're a card-carrying member of PETA, you better leave now, amigo," he muttered.

"Ah, the test animals have arrived," Dr. Toth said. "I'd better go make sure the monitors are working."

Dr. Bas...o...b..nodded. "If you'll excuse me, Senator. I also have work to do."

Both he and Dr. Toth hurried back to their instrument panels inside the tent. Within seconds, the entire team had dispersed to complete final preparations.

"Just be patient a little longer, Senator," Dr. Reed said with a hint of pride. "Show time is just minutes away."