The Seraphs Call - Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

London, England

The fog was settling in on London, when Dr. Villanova stepped from the twin-blade Sikorsky onto the blacktopped tarmac of London’s Heathrow executive terminal.  The rush of wind from the rotors blew his thinning brown hair from its carefully combed neatness as he jogged toward the waiting reception.  Three men in dark royal blue of the British Special Air Service stood waiting for him; two impassive heavy men, their Ingram rifles at ready, their features obscured by knit ski masks, flanked an older grey haired man who sported the silver oak leaves of a Colonel on his collar.  The two junior SAS men seemed to itch nervously, alertly rigid as high tensile steel,  as Villanova’s armed detail piled off the helicopter, but the Colonel held up his hand and they remained motionless.  

The Colonel moved up to meet Villanova, offering the doctor his hand as welcome. “I am Colonel Geoffrey Hunt, Sir; I have been assigned to your security while you are in London Dr. Villanova.”

Villanova took the proffered handshake firmly. “Pleased to meet you, Colonel.  But why do I merit extra security by the SAS? The U.N. has already assigned me a team to look after those measures.”

“Unless your team carries HEAP ammo standard, I doubt they’ll do you much good, conditions as they are, Sir.” The Colonel shook his head grimly.

“And just why do you need High explosive rounds to deal with riots these days Colonel?” Villanova’s expression was wide eyed with disbelief.  “I assume that’s what they are, the same was happening in the States when we left.”

“It’s not the normal people; it’s the Lucifer Born, as the Media’s been calling them now, Sir.”

“What are Lucifer Born…?”

The Colonel did not get a chance to respond, the sharp report of an Ingram followed by a muffled explosion of an HEAP hit deafened them. One of the SAS men, dropped his smoking rifle, and tore off his hood, screaming and clawing at his face until blood ran down his cheeks from the scratches. 

The other man moved to help him, but the Colonel’s sharp command stopped him cold.  “Do not approach him, Soldier!  He’s infected!”

Villanova’s security dragged him to the rough surface of the tarmac and covered him while they orientated on the target that the infected SAS man had fired on.  The round had pierced the canopy of the U.N. chopper, producing a gaping hole where the chest of the pilot had been.

The screaming man fell to the pavement and rocked back and forth clutching his head.  His breathing came quick and shallow as he thrashed on the ground.  Then he stopped as suddenly as he had begun, and fell to the ground motionless, as if dead.

“What are you waiting for Soldier, shoot him before the mutation adjusts.”  The Colonel roared.

The other SAS man, who had been backing away from his comrade, shook his head numbly.  “No sir…”

“Bloody hell…” The U.N. Captain of Villanova’s security said in a derisively British accent. “No Colonel Hunt, we don’t bloody carry HEAP…but we have something special just for the occasion.”

The infected SAS man began to stir; his eyes cast a pale red luminescence as he staggered to his feet, clutching his Ingram like a club.  His throat emitted a low growling noise, and he sprang toward the U.N. team like a rabid beast.

The U.N. Captain calmly pulled his Glock-17 from its holster, ejected his standard clip, and slammed a white marked magazine into his gun.  He took careful aim as the Lucifer Born arced through the air toward them, and fired. 

The round struck the Lucifer Born in the head, knocking the man back into the entrance of the heliport terminal.  The infected SAS Soldier let out a piercing wail as his head exploded into flame and dissolved in clumps of steaming flesh from his body.

“Their called High Explosive White Phosphorous, HEWP, Colonel.”  The U.N. Captain said derisively as he holstered his pistol.  “Much more controlled burn then HEAP, and hotter too… one of the many advantages of having weapons up to date with the 21^st century…and they don’t leave as much of a mess”

June 16, 2049 – 2200 Hours

United Nations Viral Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

The communications center bustled with its nightly activity, the bright blue screens illuminating the faces of the bleary-eyed computer systems engineers and communications personnel who monitored the security and communications for the entire facility.  They were preparing to send the daily project status reports via the high-speed satellite burst transmitter. 

The system was equipped with a randomly generated fractal encryption code, which changed daily, impossible to break by the most adept human hacker.  The singular reason why the security of the facility needed human monitors was the emergence of artificial intelligence in the 21^st century.  Not all hackers where human.

Colonel Desdin Ruetger, assistant and acting U.N. security chief for the Stone Mountain Facility during Darryl Rathborn’s absence, was always on hand for the transmission of the status reports.  An incessant insomniac, he always stopped in to observe the workings of the center, if for no other reason that to have something to do at this late hour.  Special operations trained and having a mastery of computer information systems, he had a deep-seated respect for the men and women that spent their entire existence ensuring the facility was electronically secure and that all systems were properly monitored.

Pulling the crumpled cigarette pack from his sock, a habit he’d picked from many years in the military, he carefully extricated the last wrinkled cigarette.  He had known too many vices, ridding himself of most of them over the years, but smoking was one that still had its grip.  The click and flare of the Zippo lighter drew the attention of everyone in the center. 

Smoking had been specifically banned in the communications center due to the sensitive nature of the equipment, however every night he would walk in, light up, and give a dirty look to anyone that dared question his habit.  Many months had passed since his first violation of the forbidden, and many of the center’s personnel joined him in his nightly ritual, most of them habitual or closet smokers due to the high stress nature of their job.

Walking around the room with a slow gait, he gave his cursory nods to the staff, leaving a trail of ashes on the floor to mark his presence as any animal would mark its territory.  Passing the uplink console that monitors the flow of data through to the microwave antenna mounted on the roof, he noticed the flashing of an indicator he had not seen on previous excursions.  Attention to detail was what had brought him this far and he wasn’t going to let this minor detail escape. 

Pointedly he asked the technician sitting at the console, “What’s that little red light for?” 

Not used to having the Colonel speak to him in anything less than simple greetings, the technician was caught off guard and stammered a response.  “Well, uh..sir..That’s the satellite data indicator light which alarms if the data stream is not within specifications.” 

“And how long has it been ‘out’ of specifications, Private?”

The private, very aware, replied nervously, “Sir, that indicator has been alarming for the past two months, every night at this time.  I checked with Sergeant Johnson, and she said that it wasn’t a problem and not to worry about it.  We’ve checked the data stream and all of our data is getting sent to Geneva every night, on schedule.” 

Sensing the nervousness of the Private, Desdin replied in a calm voice, “Relax son, I can see that you are doing your job.  Where is Sergeant Johnson?  I’d like to discuss this with her.”

“She’s in the gedunk[1] area sir.  She always goes to get coffee this time of night during the data uploads”

“Thank you, Private.”

Something didn’t seem right.  He didn’t usually miss anything on his rounds and this small detail has escaped his attention.  The Private did say that the data was confirmed, but he knew how precise the systems were.  Any anomaly was checked, rechecked and documented.  This one had gone unreported for he didn’t know how long. 

Colonel Rathborn wouldn’t be pleased.  He ran a tight organization, and this should have been reported when it was first noticed.  Desdin would have to find the source of the problem and correct it before ‘his’ boss returned.  

Walking briskly into the gedunk area, he encountered the shift sergeant who was busily consuming a pack of snack cakes and a hot cup of, what smelled like, day-old coffee.  Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he moved up to within 6 feet of the sergeant who was seated on one of the many old cafeteria-style plastic chairs that adorned the snack bar. 

Not expecting anyone, the sergeant was startled and nearly spilled the steaming coffee down the front of her skirt as she quickly stood and came to attention after realizing the Colonel was directly behind her.  “I…I…I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t notice you come in.” 

Forcing back a smile, Desdin replied, “That’s quite alright.  There’s something I wish to discuss with you, if you have a few moments.”

Still nervous from being startled, “Y…Y…Yes, Sir.  What is it that I can help you with?”

If it wasn’t the uniform, his physical stature, 6’4” and 280 pounds always had that affect on people, but sometimes it created more problems that it was worth.  Grabbing the back of one of the chairs, he carried it around to the other side of the table, placed it swiftly on the floor, and straddled the chair, facing the Sergeant.  “Please sit down, Sergeant.  We needn’t be so formal.  I wouldn’t mind a cup of that coffee you’re drinking.”

“Yes, Sir.  How do you take your coffee?”

“Black all the way.”

“Let me make a fresh pot, Sir.  That coffee is pretty nasty

“That’s fine, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant turned and walked to the counter mounted coffee urn, one so familiar in most military installations and restaurants.  She wasn’t bad looking at all, but off limits as far as military protocol was concerned.  Fraternization was strictly forbidden, especially between officers and enlisted, and more so considering the sensitive nature of this project.  With as much attention as was paid to them by the U.N. and Washington, it would be a career-ending move to get involved with anyone, especially an enlisted woman.  Though the sergeant had caught his eye more than once, and he hers, this was a no win situation. 

Waiting for the coffee to finish, the Sergeant sat back down across from Desdin, eyeing him cautiously, “Sir, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?”

“The data stream.”

“What about the data stream, Sir?  We haven’t had any problems with our data transmissions since we started.”  He could sense her nervousness, so much so that he thought he saw her hands shaking.

“Relax, Sergeant.  I’m not saying you have any problems; I noticed an alarm on the uplink console during my rounds and spoke with the Private.”  He said “You knew about it and that it wasn’t a problem. “

“Yes Sir.  That’s right.  There’ve been no problems with our data.  We always verify our transmissions with Geneva on a nightly basis and they are receiving all the data.”

“Why the alarm?”

“Sir, the alarm is generated when the data stream is out of specification with the preset system parameters.  It’s only supposed to be a certain length, depending on the amount of traffic we send, but it’s always too long.” 

“The Private stated the alarm has been present for quite awhile, so how long is quite awhile,” Desdin questioned again.

“Since we started, Sir.  For the first couple of months we had it taped over with black electrical tape because it was so bright.”

Subconsciously nodding his head, he knew why he hadn’t noticed.  In the blackness of the comm. Center, he would have never seen the taped indicator.

“Sergeant, why all of a sudden was the indicator showing tonight?”

“Sir, it’s not all of a sudden.  Every week we are required to validate all indicators, switches, controls, etc. during our Comm. Systems checkout, and tonight was the night--routine maintenance.” 

Feigning a lack of knowledge of communications, though he was as much of an expert in communications as the Gabriel Scott was with computers, he continued his questioning, “Is the datastream out of specs the same amount, or does it vary?”

”It’s always the same, give-or-take a few bytes, Sir.”

This piqued his interest, the pieces of the puzzle slowing starting to fit together.  “Have you looked at the extra data, Sergeant?  Is it readable or does it look like garbage?

“Yes, Sir.  We have looked at it on numerous occasions, and it appears to be garbage, as if the system is transmitting extra data, maybe a footer identification stream or something.”

Desdin knew, from his years in the field and extensive experience in cyber-criminology, that satellite transmissions didn’t require footer identification markers or any other type trailers.  The transmissions were sent as bursts, a finite length depending on the quantity of the data, and always predetermined by the system itself.

“Sergeant, do you have a copy of the data in printed format.”

Nervously she replied, “No, Sir.  We looked at the data on the screen, but it wasn’t readable, so we thought it was part of the transmission.”

“Sergeant, one more question and it is very important that you answer me to the best of your ability.  Has anyone in this facility spoken with you or any of your staff about our communications capabilities?”

“Not really, Sir.  We get the standard inquiries.  Did the comms go out on time?  Do you have the message traffic?  Stuff like that.  But as far as the technical stuff, it’s only you and Dr. Holiday.” 

“Are you sure, Sergeant?”

“Yes. I think so….”

The look on the Sergeant’s face was one that could have only been described by Desdin as an “oh s**t” look. 

“Wait a minute, Sir.  When the project first started, Illyana…I mean…Dr. Andropov did approach me at lunch one day and asked if I could send something out for her.  I didn’t think much of it, but when I viewed the data, it looked strange, a bunch of numbers and letters.  When I asked her about it, she said it was nothing special, a bunch of scientific testing data she needed to send to Geneva for validation.  That’s it, Sir.  She had proper authorization.  All the papers were signed.”

“I believe you, Sergeant, and thank you.  Right now, I need you to do me a favor and not to talk to anyone about this.  I need a copy of the data in hardcopy, and also I want it put on disk.”

“Sir, I can’t do that.  I am not allowed to release any data to anyone without Dr. Holiday’s written permission.  If you get it cleared through him, I will gladly do it.  However, if you follow me back to the comm. center, I can’t stop you from looking over my shoulder while I validate the data stream.”

“That would be fine, Sergeant.” He smiled, nodding his head at her suggestion, “I’ve always had an interest in computers.  Never a better time to learn.  I’ll be there in five.”

Desdin watched as she got up from her chair and headed for the door, the slide of the fabric on her uniform shaking so uncannily seductive that he could swear that it was purposeful.

Pouring the steaming coffee into the military issue paper cup was always an experience, the heat burning the tips of his fingers, causing him to subconsciously place the cup within a second cup to insulate it.  The little itch in the back of his mind told him that something wasn’t right about the communications.  The nightly alarm, the data stream too long.  He would find the source. 

June 16, 2049 – 2215 Hours – U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Steadying the steaming cup of coffee, he grasped the handle to the Comm. Center door, pulled and strolled in.  The Sergeant was busily typing on the keyboard directly in front of the uplink panel, a look of frustration crossing her brow at some procedure that appeared not to be working.  She hadn’t noticed him enter.  Leaning over her shoulder, he was taken back by scent of her perfume, its delicate sweetness rising to tease his senses.  Subconsciously, overwhelmed by the soft touch of the perfume on his olfactory senses, he whispered softly into the sergeant’s ear, “Sergeant, what is the problem?”

Turning to stare directly into his face, she whispered as well, “Nothing, Sir, besides the fact that you are VERY close to my ear”.

In the darkness, he could see the smile on her face, and slight pinkness of her cheeks. He pulled back, realizing immediately that in the darkened room, many of the eyes were focused on them.  Straightening himself, he attempted to reply in his normal voice, only to have it crack slightly, “So Sergeant, what is the problem with the data.”

Still smiling at his male clumsiness, she replied confidently yet with a little giggle in her voice, “I don’t know what the problem is.  As a matter of fact, I don’t think there is a problem, so to speak.”  Her tone turning serious she looked at the screen with a new intensity and continued, “I viewed this data before, but I’m catching something I didn’t see before.  It looks like this hidden data is encrypted and I can’t seem to read it with anything that I have.  I’ve tried everything, but it doesn’t respond to our standard decryption algorithm or to the high cipher algorithms.”

He had to maintain the appearance of having a limited knowledge of computer system, “English, Sergeant.  English”

Turning to look at him, her composure regained, “Colonel, every time we send out data, it is first encrypted, scrambled with a preset mathematical formula which keeps prying eyes out.  On the receiving side, they use the same mathematical formula to decrypt the data and they’re able to read our message traffic.  This extra data is, from what I’m guessing, encrypted and is piggybacking our messages.   That would explain the data stream alarm every night.”

He wasn’t surprised at her knowledge and knew immediately that she was dead on with her analysis.

Bending over to get closer, he whispered again, this time with a serious look on his face, “Sergeant, do not discuss this with anyone.  As of now, the subject and contents of this conversation are considered Top Secret.  If questioned, you are not to speak to anyone except me about this.  Do you understand?”

Taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, she replied as seriously, “Yes, Sir.  Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“No.  Continue performing your duties and act as if nothing has happened.  I will get back with you.  I may require your expertise on this system in the very near future.  Remember…not a word to anyone.”

Turning briskly on his heels, Desdin exited the Communications Center.  He knew what he must do.  Set the trap and flush the rat from its hole. First, he would have to determine the bait!

June 16, 2049 – 2300 Hours – U.N. Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Slipping through the energy traces, Gabriel searched for any electronic footprints left by Angel.  It had been 24 hrs since all communications had been interrupted between himself and Rathborn. Though he had received one last garbled communiqué from the Colonel indicating he had escaped and was traversing the Blue ridge mountains to evade pursuit, it had been summarily brief, more so then was characteristic of Rathborn’s usual terseness, and had not given him any indication on whether the mission that had taken him into Langley had been a success. Having no word as yet seemed worse then having bad news, and had set Gabriel’s shaky nerves on edge. It took all the effort he could muster for the Doctor to keep his thoughts ordered so that there was not the slightest miscommunication while he was traversing the tight security of the government network with the aid of the neural interface. One slip could be a fatal as any of the high tech wonders that Rathborn had met in Langley, with exception that if he tripped security here he would never wake up from the cyber-trance.

Gabriel sidestepped the bloodhound routine just in time, as the crimson lights of its energy signature lanced past his data form. He secured his trace behind a nearby data wall and watched apprehensively as the program “sniffed” for its quarry. The routine was an A.I. of a quasi-intellect variety, and could only detect traces if its subroutines came into contact with any tangible traces.  As long as he was careful to keep his data trail secure and well hidden, he would have no problem with this security program. The thing that caught most people off guard with the bloodhound was the randomness of their appearance in different subsystems so that the security program was on them before that had a chance to hide or escape.

The bloodhound program's search limit soon elapsed and Gabriel was able to move on. He rode the A.I.’s traces through the subsystem to the bright node of the system data dump and watched until the bloodhound disappeared into the node to travel to another random system. He smiled to himself as the status light on his VR handset blinked green. The duplicate recording has been successful. Just in time. The Demon subroutine, a much more intelligent, though slightly less lethal AI that guarded the various nodes of this network looked his direction, then passed on. His data form had become indistinguishable in signature from the bloodhound’s traces. “Not bad for a mimic program written on the fly.” He whispered as the behemoth Demon stepped over his trace to patrol the rest of the nodes perimeter.

Gabriel hopped the main data stream and flew quickly towards the dump, holding his breath in anticipation as the gate scanned his trace. No Alarms. The brilliant blue access portal opened and he dove through. He blinked in astonishment as he landed on red carpet in the middle of a long gallery. It took him only moments to realize where he was. The brilliant Doctor had run himself down the trail to the mother of all data bear traps, and into one of the most secure mainframes in the world—that of the White House.

June 16, 2049 – 2325 Hours – U.N. Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Something had gone wrong.  Shelby had not seen nor heard from Gabriel in over seven days nor had he heard from the Rathborn in the past twenty-four hours.  This was not like Gabriel to disappear like this.  The daily security report has not been filed for his review, nor did he know the status of the various stages of the project.  How was he expected to run a project when both the Director and Security Chief were both missing?   Snatching the receiver from the phone in front of him, he punched in the number for Security Control. 

One ring….two rings….three rings… 

“Why in hell weren’t they answering the damn phone?”    Not only were the security chief and Gabriel missing, but also it seemed that the security personnel were not doing their job.

Slamming the phone back onto its cradle, he bolted from his chair, toppling it over as he pushed away from the desk in a near fit of rage.  “Damnit all to hell, Am I the only around this place that knows how to do his job.  Someone’s gonna answer for this.” 

Stiff-arming the door open, his irritation increased as the door slammed back to nearly catch him in the face.  He was going to have somebody’s a*s for this, and he didn’t care at this point, whose it was.  Turning into the main corridor, he picked up his pace, his speed increasing as high anger flared, he was hell bent on personally chastising every member of the security department for incompetence, including Rathborn once he found him.

June 16, 2049 – 2345 Hours - U.N. Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

The console flared to life as Desdin energized the PC on his desk.  This was no ordinary PC, nor was Desdin Reutger an ordinary user.  He had given the impression to all who came in contact with him that he was another grunt type soldier, knowing very little about computer systems or communications.  A little joke on his part, but a necessity to maintain his cover. 

He had spent his youth in search of intellectual pursuits, receiving a degree in computer science and security systems by the time he was 21, but it wasn’t until he joined the military that he discovered a penchant for not only tracking the electronic criminal element, but the physical one as well.  He had dedicated 12 years of his life to the German Army, specializing in covert special forces operations, training with the various elite special forces units of both the United States and Great Britain on military exchange programs. 

He had mastered the use of firearms, explosives, and hand-to-hand combat.  Another three years with Interpol as a field agent in the Cyber-Crime division had allowed him to ply his education and military training in a nice little package.  He had maintained a reserve position with the German Army and that was what led him here.  Activated and serving as a United Nations Security Advisor, a role he had not so readily accepted, he had proven himself as one of the best in his field, able to track and capture numerous cyber-criminals, both in the electronic and physical sense.

Accessing the communication’s systems interface, be began to download the traffic for the past two weeks.  Analyzing the data wouldn’t be the problem, breaking the encryption however would.  The knock at the door startled him, not expecting to be disturbed, he instinctively reached for the standard issue Beretta 92SB 9mm pistol he always kept on his side. 

“Who is it?” he said in a very intimidating voice, sliding the weapon from its place in the holster and silently chambering a 152-grain hollow point round.  Normally he would have said “Enter” but after seeing tonight’s transmission, many possibilities had entered his mind, including those of having one, if not more persons in the facility, who weren’t who they said they were.  His intuition had not failed him up to this point and he wasn’t going to discard the gnawing feeling he had in his stomach. 

There was a meek voice behind the response, “Umm, it’s me sir.  Sergeant Johnson.  You asked me to bring tonight’s Comms when I was finished with my shift.

“Come in, Sergeant”

Resting the weapon in his lap, Desdin waited for the Sergeant to enter the room.

“Close the door behind you, Sergeant, and have a seat.”

“Yes, Sir” came the response.

At this point, Desdin didn’t know whom he could trust, though he didn’t believe the sergeant was a suspect, his experience had taught him to trust no one unless proven otherwise.  He watched as the Sergeant sat, sensing her nervousness at being in his presence.  She seemed straightforward enough, but he hadn’t made it this far on assumptions and blind faith.

“Sergeant, have you spoken with anyone about what we discussed earlier?”

Desdin watched for any sign of deception in her voice and mannerisms, the slightest twitch, the avoidance of eye contact, any nervous action that might betray a false intention, but there were none.  Relaxing slightly, he allowed a slight smile to cross his lips, the sight of her quite distracting in this benign environment.

“No, Sir.  As soon as I finished my shift, I printed out a copy on my personal printer, copied the files to CDROM, and erased the print logs so that no one would know what had happened.  I haven’t talked to anyone about anything, except normal military duties.  I have everything you asked for right here.” 

Though he was attracted to her, the trust was still not there.  He couldn’t let his emotions interfere with what he knew must be done. 

“Good work, Sergeant.  May I see it?”

She shifted in her seat, her right arm moving quickly towards the floor in front of desk, out of Desdin’s field of vision and he gripped the weapon tightly, stiffening.  Her hand quickly reappeared, holding only a CD-ROM case and a stack of printouts two inches thick, placing them on the desk in front of him.  Paranoid, are we?  She had done her homework, ever more-so than he’d expected. 

Releasing the grip on the weapon in his lap, he extended his arm and pulled the stack of information closer to him.  “Thank you, Sergeant.  That’ll be all.  I’m sure I can count on you to not say anything to anyone about our little conversation. “

“Yes, Sir.  Not a word.”

“Very well, you are dismissed.”

Turning his attention toward the printouts in front of him, he sensed that she hadn’t moved, after he’d dismissed her.  Hoping she would take the hint, he remained focused on the wording, but she remained in her seat, “Colonel?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Could I have a word with you?”

Consciously, he hoped that the conversation that was about to start wouldn’t go where subconsciously he knew it would.  The electricity between them was evident.  The little glancing looks, the slight brushes of the hand, the inappropriate smiles when no one was looking.  Though he’d probably kick himself in the a*s for doing it, he knew that he’d have to diffuse the situation before it went anywhere.

“Sergeant, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time right now.  I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I know that you are probably tired.  This will have to wait until another time.”

He had done it.  He saw the look of disappointment on her face when he failed to acknowledge or give her any opportunity to start down the road he knew would be dangerous to travel.  Though she didn’t know it, she’d thank him for it later.

“I’m sorry, Sir.  Another time.  Good night.” 

“Good night, Sergeant.”

Rising quickly from the chair, the turned quickly and exited the room, pulling the door shut hard enough for him to realize the irritation he’d caused her.  

Returning his attention to the stack of paper on the desk in front of him, he started scanning through the pages of documents.  Curious how he hadn’t noticed the transmission before, but as Assistant Security Chief, he didn’t normally deal directly or pay much attention to the facilities communications while Rathborn was around.  In Rathborn’s absence, Desdin had focused his attention to the finer details of the facilities operations, and this was one of many abnormalities he’d observed so far.  ‘Am I uncovering more than what seems all too obvious’ he thought to himself. 

Separating the files into their appropriate stacks, he grabbed the daily communications logs, reading each entry carefully, checking for what he might perceive as abnormal.  Since his normal duties didn’t entail this level of intervention, he knew that he would find any abnormalities, as he was not tainted by overexposure to the material, 

Everything seemed to be in order, the daily communications to U.N. Headquarters in Geneva, daily communiqués to various government agencies for information requests, standard message traffic.  Nothing out the ordinary…..wait.  The last document was different. 

Normally, each message was assigned header information, which detailed the date, time, from, and to information for standard routing purposes, however this one was different.  It only had a general routing stamp destined for U.N. Headquarters, with no final destination designated.  Strange, he thought.  How would they know how to route the message.  Scanning further down the page, the reason began to become apparent.  The content of the message was garbled, illegible or highly encrypted.  He wasn’t sure which one it was….yet.

June 17, 2049 – 0030 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Three beeps came from his terminal.  He recognized it right away as an incoming message.  Opening the mail program, He noticed a new message from Colonel Rathborn.  Strange.  The colonel was not on property nor anywhere near the facility as far as he knew.  How could he be receiving a message from him at this late hour? 

Opening the message, he realized that it was encrypted and required authentication to open.  Instinctively he walked to the door, ensuring the locks were secure.  Striding across his office, he pulled the chair back, moving it from behind the desk.  Crouching down, he pulled back the carpet and he found the recessed lever on the floor beneath his desk. 

With a quick flick of his wrist, he twisted the lever and pulled, removing the panel, exposing the tumbler dial of the safe in which he kept the code cipher book, among other things, necessary for occasions such as this.  Dialing in the combination, a five number sequence he had memorized long ago, he retrieved the book from the safe, looked up the code sent in the subject line and matched it with the date and time.  RZC1G7.  Typing in the verification code, he was rewarded with an audible “authorization confirmed, retrieving message”. 

A few seconds later, the message opened.  There was no text or introduction, only an attachment.  He recognized the attachment as a video file.  Opening the file, he recognized the backdrop of Colonel Rathborn’s office slightly out of focus.  As the video continued, the picture sharpened and Rathborn came into view seated in a chair in front of the video camera.  The picture seemed odd as Rathborn appeared to be dressed in all black clothing not the standard uniform he normally wore in the facility.  Clothing Desdin recognized as Special Forces issue mission uniform for covert operations.  The video began…

“Colonel Reutger, before you continue playing this.  You must make sure that you have total privacy are not being monitored.”  Pausing the video and turning off the monitor, Desdin pushed back from his desk, walked to the door and opened it, checking the hall for people.  There was no one. 

Returning to his desk, he reached under it and engaged the white noise generator, which was capable of interrupting any audio monitoring in his office.  He had these generators installed in both his and Rathborn’s office when they first arrived at the facility to allow for secure communication between the two.   Swinging his chair to the left, he restarted the video message on his computer…

“I don’t have much time so I will be brief.  If you are viewing this video message, something has gone wrong.  It was set up to be delivered to you only in the event that I did not return promptly from a mission about which only Dr. Scott and I knew.  I apologize for not including you in on this information, but time was of the essence and we could not afford any possibility of security leaks.  

I was sent to retrieve information and items vital to national security and to the continued viability of this project.  I don’t have time to discuss the details.  Either I have been killed, injured or captured and unable to stop the transmission of this message. 

First, this information must not fall into the wrong hands. Destroy this message when finished.  Second, you must locate Dr. Scott and make sure that he is safe. You must move Dr. Scott to a secure location. Only after Dr. Scott is safe, you must locate me, dead or alive. 

I will provide the coordinates to the safe house and my secure transponder frequency at the end of this transmission.  Hopefully, I will have everything in my possession.  Take them to Dr. Scott immediately.  There can be no delay.  Remember, there can be no trace that this mission ever took place. 

Follow standard procedures, Colonel.  You know the drill.  I have reason to believe there is a security leak in the project.  My gut tells me that it is either our friend Shelby Holiday, or Illyana Andropov.  I can’t prove it, but too much information has been compromised, and the fact that you are getting this message is further evidence that someone has interfered with a mission that only two people knew.  Rathborn out. “

The screen faded to black and text appeared on the screen….they were the frequency to Rathborn’s secure emergency transponder, only activated in the event of an emergency, and a set of coordinates.  Investigating the source of the leak would have to wait.  Finding Dr. Scott and Rathborn could not.  He would have to act immediately.

Memorizing the coordinates, he erased the message and confirming its deletion, Desdin pulled the removable drive from his system.  “No evidence”, he thought. 

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[1] Military term for snack bar area