The Seraphs Call - Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Johannesburg, South Africa

As the wheels touched down in Johannesburg, Sir Aubrey James Stuart welcomed the end of the twelve-hour long flight on the C-5 Transport Plane.  Though retrofitted for passengers, the noise of the large cargo plane had been deafening, the vibrations from the huge engines reverberating through his body, removing any possibility of rest.  The pilot of the C-5 was none too careful as the front wheel slammed to the ground, thrusting the nine-man team, which had accompanied Aubrey, against the lap restraints.  From what Aubrey could hear, at least four of the United Nations Special Reaction force team cursed the pilot’s lineage in as many languages.

Aubrey glanced around at the men sent as his security detail and wondered what had brought them together.  No two were from the same country, all handpicked as experts in their fields, ranging from field reconnaissance to explosives, all of them deadly in their own right, yet each one willing to lay down his life to protect Aubrey.  Aubrey knew first-hand of the dedication these men possessed, the twelve years before he joined the British Scientific Research Center, spent as an operative with MI-6, the British Secret Intelligence Service.  He shook his head, the look of concern creasing his brow as he wondered just how many of these men would be returning. 

His memories dragged him back to 85 Albert Embankment at Vauxhall Cross, London.  It had been a long time since his last visit to Mi-6 Headquarters, known as Lego Land, to those who walked its halls, and home of his long time friends,.  He was near the end of his field duties, choosing to elect the less dangerous aspects of scientific experimentation.  He was awarded the OBE (Officer of the Order of the British Empire) and KCMG (Knight Commander of the Most Distinguished Order), two of the highest awards one could receive.  He was deeply honored to have the awards presented directly from King William, but his pursuit of the sciences, and desires to finally have a family had outweighed even the strongest suggestions from his superiors.  Although he had left under the best of terms, he was always within their sights, no MI-6 agents truly leaves the service of His Majesty.  Now ten years later, they seemed to have their hooks into him again, and he still didn’t have the family he had set out to create, regretfully learning that his wife would never bear him the children he so desired to carry on his lineage and good name. 

The plane taxied to a stop at the end of the runway, the terminals closed to all traffic.  From the view port, perched high atop the planes fuselage, Aubrey surveyed the airport, squinting to see through the glare reflecting from the white surfaces.  No planes were moving, all dormant as if sleeping ghosts on the long stretch of heat glimmering tarmac.  The South African government had closed Johannesburg International Airport to all except official government traffic, not allowing commercial flights in or out in an attempt to slow the spread of the plague.  Two Aeroflot jetliners had been shot down after crossing the South African border from Kenya, the surface to air missile ripping their fuselages to shreds, sending the burning metal and bodies hurtling toward the earth.  Under other circumstances, there would have been an outcry from the world community at such an atrocity, but all governments were taking the same actions against their own, unable to denounce, silently supporting the South African government’s decision to try to prevent Lucifer X from crossing their boundaries. 

They would not risk having any of their citizens exposed, and took any measure necessary to assure their survival.  Only this special flight was allowed on orders from the United Nations to land in the South African capital city, bringing with it a team of men sent to find the cause of the scourge.  Being the only country on the African continent lucky enough to have escaped the death Lucifer X was bringing to so many others; it would serve as a haven, one of the few final havens for the purity of mankind,  

June 17, 2049 – 0100 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Shelby grabbed the handle to Desdin Reutger’s door and twisted, pushing on the door to force it open, unaware the door was locked.  He was stopped abruptly, his momentum carrying him forward, he left hand shooting out to the wall, barely avoiding smashing his face into the solid metal door. 

“Damnit” he cursed loudly. “Desdin’s door was never locked.  Why now?” Stepping back, he noticed the light seeping into the hall from beneath.  With a renewed vigor, his agitation enhanced by the embarrassment of running into the door, he pounded on the door yelling, “Colonel, I know you’re in there.  I want to speak with you right now. 

 

The thud at the door startled Desdin.  What in the hell was that?  Before he could react, the door rattled violently, someone pounded, followed by a very angry voice, which he immediately recognized as that of Shelby Holiday. 

Reaching for the briefcase he always kept open on his desk, he tossed the computer hard drive in; slamming the case, spinning the combination dials to secure it, and slid it beneath his desk.  With a renewed calm, he sheathed the pistol on his side and slowly walked toward the door, surveying the room to ensure that he had not left anything out or open which might make the doctor more curious than he was.  “Oh s**t,” he thought, “the safe.  No problem.  Unless he comes around the desk, he won’t notice.”

With a quick flick of his thumb and index finger, he unlocked the three locks that held the door tightly in place and turned the handle.  As he opened the door, he couldn’t contain his chuckle, the light from the hall illuminating Shelby’s hair, tussled and mussed, silhouetting him humorously. 

“And what is so funny, Colonel” were the first words out of Shelby’s mouth.

“Sorry, Shelby, It’s your hair.  You look like a mad scientist.”

“Hmmmmphh” was the only response from the Doctor as he pushed his way passed Desdin into the room.  

Desdin remembered the words from Rathborn’s message.  Shelby might be the leak.  His humorous attitude quickly deflated as he turned and followed Shelby back into the office.  Making his way to behind the desk, he sat down and used the tip of his shoe to slide the panel closer to the recess in the floor where the safe was held, fully aware that Shelby was watching his every move. 

The look on Shelby’s face told Desdin that something was wrong.  What, he didn’t know, but he was sure that he was going to find out. 

“Gabriel’s gone.  Not on the premises.  I’ve looked all over for him and he’s not here.  Rathborn’s missing too. I have urgent business with….”

Desdin cut him off mid-sentence, “You mean Dr. Scott.  Yes.  I know, and as far as Colonel Rathborn’s location, I am not at liberty to discuss.  Though he had no idea where Rathborn was at that moment.

“What do you mean; you’re not at liberty to discuss?  Need I remind you that I am the assistant director of this project and that I have a higher security clearance than you?  It is my responsibility to know everything that goes on in this facility.  I am to know the whereabouts of Dr. Scott and the Security Chief at all times.  I have my reports to prepare, data to send to Geneva.  My responsibilities dictate….

Again, Desdin cut off Shelby, “Dr. Holiday.  As far as Dr. Scott whereabouts are concerned, I am unsure.  I know Colonel Rathborn is not here, but he has reassured me that he is busy working on some very sensitive project issues.  Again, I am not at liberty to divulge the Colonel’s whereabouts.  Though you have a higher security clearance than I, the information I have is on a need to know basis, and with all due respect, Shelby, you don’t need to know.  All I can say is that he is on official U.N. business, and he is not on property.  Maybe I can be of assistance; after all, I AM the assistant security chief, responsible when Colonel Rathborn is unavailable.”

“Damnit, Desdin,” came Shelby's reply, “You know how much I hate this military bullshit and as far as Gabriel is concerned, there is nothing that he knows that I don’t know.”

Desdin knew, from what he heard in the message, that this was not the case.  Information had been kept from Holiday for a reason, and he would make sure that he didn’t a become leak himself by divulging too much information.

“Shelby.  Relax.  I’m sure that Dr. Scott is OK, probably too busy to let you know what’s going on.  He’s been known to do that from time to time.  Am I not correct”?  Not waiting for a response from the Shelby, Desdin continued, “Colonel Rathborn has instructed me to handle things while he is gone, you know how it is.  Probably some routine U.N. business, you know he wears many hats.  So if you’d like, I’ll help you with whatever you need, deal?”

Though Shelby was the assistant director of the project, he had no authority over Lt. Colonel Reutger.  “Desdin.  I don’t think there’s anything you can help me with.  I need to speak with Gabriel regarding some project issues, but thanks anyways.”

“You’re welcome, Shelby.  Let me know if you need anything.  In the meantime, there’re a lot of things that I have to take care, considering the Colonel’s not only left me with his work, but I have my normal duties to take care of as well.”  Desdin noticed the look of frustration, which was shot his way as Shelby pushed himself from chair and turned to exit the room.  Frustration drives a man to make mistakes, and if Shelby’s the leak, he’ll mess up. Desdin thought to himself.  “Oh by the way, Shelby,” he called, “Could you please pull the door shut on your way out.”

The door slammed with a resounding thud, rattling the adjacent walls, the low sounding expletives spewing forth from beneath Shelby’s breath as he stormed into the hallway.

June 17, 2049 – 0115 Hours U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Gabriel had been traced.  The network monitor was showing a remote packet sniffer, a program designed to track activity, at the portal to his connection.  Damnit, they’d found him.  How could it have been so fast?  Three letters entered his mind.  NSA.  They’re the only ones who could have traced me this fast.  Have to reroute their trace. 

With a skilled adeptness, he quickly fired up the application he had custom-written for such occasions, Hellhound, as he had so affectionately named it.  If he could only throw them off his trail before they proved he was the source of the intrusion.  The data packet, a hellhound virus, flowed to remote corners of the net, weaving electronic signatures at various points, depositing data, creating false intrusions at many major institutions, and spawning new processes to perform the same action repeatedly.  The signature was the same everywhere and anywhere.  Emulations of the same base program taking over businesses, government and home systems creating a minor traffic jam on the internet due to the amount of data generation flowing from the slaved systems throughout the internet. 

They would write this off as another major hacker attack.  I hope this works. 

Remotely accessing systems he had purposely setup as backup at secret locations, mainly with acquaintances from his MIT days, he began the sniffing, letting the watchdog program read the data from the NSA portals, hoping to be able to intercept and destroy any trace of his electronic misgivings.

Turning his attention back to the search for ANGEL, he started the program that would allow him to connect to the network of military reconnaissance satellites.  This connection was risky, as he had no way to stop any tracing of his signal as he was accessing the systems from within the confines of the U.N. facility.  Hopefully, whoever at NSA was trying to track him would not be successful, at least for a few hours.  That would be all he’d need to track A.N.G.E.L. and Rathborn, wherever they were. 

He knew of Rathborn’s emergency transponder beacon, and with the use of the satellites, he’d at least be able to locate him.  ANGEL on the other hand, would be harder to find as he’d designed it to go into stealth mode should the need for self-preservation arise.  Since there was no trace of ANGEL he must assume the worst, short of total destruction, he knew that ANGEL would make itself hard to find.

Switching back to his electronic watchdog, he immediately saw the source of the trace.  It was coming from within the NSA.  All he had to do was stop it.  Furiously typing, he began programming a second hellhound virus string, similar to the one he’d previously released, but different enough to counter-act any attempts to stop its intrusion.  If destroying the NSA’s system was the only way for him to find Rathborn and ANGEL, so be it.  He was reaching the point of mental exhaustion, having been awake over 36 hours at this point, and his patience was reaching its end.  It was now or never….

The data stream which contained the highly destructive virus streaked through the maze of circuits within the U.N. Complex racing towards the egress into the open net towards its final destination at the hub of the U.S. Intelligence community; the National Security Agency.  He would know shortly the total sum of his destruction. 

The military reconnaissance satellite network showed active.  The orbit traces filling the screen, showing him the altitude, azimuth, and direction of travel of all reconnaissance satellites.  The system began to respond as he entered the strings of data, transforming the rapid keystrokes into a symphony of electronic instructions, as a conductor would bring an orchestra to life.  His commands, though simple in nature, when combined, were designed to confuse any monitoring attempts, leave no tracks, and still return the necessary data to him. 

He reached the mainframe, which controlled the satellite controls and began issuing commands to direct the satellites into a search pattern over the Appalachian mountain range.  Fifteen satellites began their trek as their positioning rockets fired, moving them from their original geosynchronous orbit to a positions directly over the area he had determined where Rathborn would most likely be.   He had total control of the satellites, but he knew he wouldn’t keep it for long, once his intrusion had been discovered.  It wouldn’t be long.   

June 17, 2049 – 0130 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Desdin knew what he must do. 

Pushing his chair back against the wall, he knelt behind his desk, sliding the recessed panel to the side, exposing the open safe buried within the floor.  Removing the briefcase, he examined it for any signs of tampering.  Though he knew no one had access to his safe, he instinctively checked his equipment.  Instinct had saved his a*s more than one time in the past, and he wasn’t going to stop relying on it. 

The case, normal in appearance to most, instead of standard aircraft aluminum was constructed from a Kevlar-reinforced high impact titanium alloy designed to withstand large caliber projectile penetration attempts and small explosions.  It was one he had used on many occasions for courier duty to carry government items through customs.  Though similar in appearance to most other government briefcases, this one used a special type of lock, for which there was only one key.   His retina.  Lifting the front of the briefcase by the handle, he slid aside the panel, concealed by what appeared to be a normal tumbler combination lock found on most briefcases, revealing the mini retina scanner.  Leaning forward, he pulled the handle of the briefcase down, resting this brow bone on the edge of the ½-inch thick handle, the correct distance for the scanner to read his retinal identification.  He pressed the button recessed within the handle, and waited.  Two seconds later, the scanner energized and began its sweep, sending a matrix of laser light into his eye, reading the identifying marks unique only to him.  A fingerprint or any other type of biometric identification could be faked, but not the retina scan.  The resounding click signaled the titanium alloy pins retracting, allowing the latches to be opened.  

He had not opened this case in over a year.  He hoped everything was still in working order.  Flicking the latches inward, the lid popped slightly open the air rushing in to fill the compressed foam protecting the contents.  As he raised the lid to its full open position, he was rewarded with a welcome sight.  His old friends, as he affectionately called them. 

He inventoried the contents, ensuring that everything was still in place: A older model standard issue German army HK USP8 9mm (which he preferred over the newer model HK USP10, the older model capable of holding the larger round magazines), two spare 15 round magazines, a box of 50 American-made black talon 9mm rounds capable of penetrating bullet proof vests, a silencer-for those occasions when needed, a Bundeswehr Advanced Combat Knife, for those close up and personal situations, a secure satellite telephone with built-in GPS unit; four electronics bugs, and receiver; 1 kilogram of high-yield C-5 plastic explosives, four detonators; electronic lock-pick set, four passports - German; American; British and European Union; four currencies - five thousand of each currency; German Deutschmarks, American Dollars; British Pounds and Euro.  All accounted for. 

All he had to do was to get out of the facility without being noticed. 

Closing the safe, he spun the dial and checked the handle to ensure it was locked and slid the recessed panel closed to return the floor beneath his desk to its normal appearance.   Though he normally wouldn’t consider it due to the sensitive nature of the equipment, he extended his foot beneath his desk and tapped the power switch to the Uninterruptible power supply, killing power to all of his computer equipment.  Oh well he thought, it won’t hurt this once.   

Grabbing the regular briefcase from the top of his desk with his left hand and his special case with his right, he walked to the door.  Setting his cases down, he slid a panel next to the door open and punched in the security code that would turn on the five security cameras that monitored all parts of his office.  He would go to his room and retrieve the rest of the needed supplies before he did anything else. 

He opened the door, checking to see if anyone were in the hallway and slid the two cases forward with his foot.  No one.  “Good”, he thought.  I don’t want to have to answer any unwanted questions.  Setting the locks to automatic, he stepped into the dimly lit hallway, pulled the door shut, grabbed the cases from the floor, and headed for his room. 

The intersection of the hallway was clear.  Only two more intersections to go.  He would be in the corridor for the officer’s quarters where he had a room, immediately adjacent to Rathborn’s.  Passing through the swinging doors into the officer’s area, he immediately turned right and passed down the smaller corridor towards his room. 

Stopping directly in front of his door, he stood the briefcase in his right hand on the floor and pressed the 6-digit code to gain entrance to his room.  All of the rooms in this facility were secured, each with their own code.  Some required a pass-card along with the code, but the living quarters, with the exception of Rathborn’s and Gabriel’s, only had the security touch pad.  The beeping sound indicated that his code was valid and he was granted access to his room. 

Unbeknownst to the other members of the security force, he had installed a secondary security device that he activated and deactivated with a remote transmitter always in his possession.  This device was passive, recording video and audio of any intrusions into his living area.  Pressing the button on the transmitter in his pocket, he deactivated the system, ensuring that no events were recorded.  He pushed the door open, retrieving the case from the floor and stepped inside, tossing the cases onto the bed.

June 17, 2049 – 0135 Hours U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Illyana knew that what she was doing was very dangerous and could cost her everything that she had worked so hard for.  She was betraying not only her trusted coworkers, but also the man she cared the about most, Gabriel Scott. 

She had never told him how she felt.  Maybe someday she would, if only she could get out of this mess.  She knew that she could be discovered at any time and was prepared to disavow any knowledge of any covert activity, though the denial, should her deception be revealed, would probably fall on deaf ears. 

She had been reporting the status of every phase of the project to Isaak Morikov, long time friend and Director of U.N. Intelligence.  She had started out providing basic information to Isaak during the beginning of the project, only because of their close friendship,  spawned since they were children and their father’s had worked together in Russia, seeking and ferreting out organized crime and the transfer of stolen technologies from Russia to terrorist groups in the middle east. 

Isaak Morikov had worked in Russian Intelligence as a KGB agent, and provided information to her father Yuri Andropov, a Russian-born Jew, a dual agent for Russia and the Mohsad, the intelligence arm of the Israeli army.  A profession, unbeknownst to Illyana, which like his father, Isaak had quickly accepted, embraced and continued to thrive upon, though he was director of the U.N. Intelligence Operations.  

She thought the information was harmless, but soon discovered that Isaak wanted more and more.  Illyana was providing information, as far as she was concerned, through coercion. 

When she stopped wanting to provide information, Isaak had threatened, albeit in a friendly matter, to expose her to the project members and ensure that she lost her position as head of genetics researcher.  She knew he would do it, knew he could do it, with his ruthlessness she had seen time and time again.  She would be ruined and probably not find work again in her field, so she continued to supply information through the use of encrypted message sent out every night to Geneva, the code known only to her and Isaak. 

That b*****d, she thought.  He would get his in the end.

The message was 78% complete.  She would have it ready for the upload well before the nightly transmission.  She had managed to get Shelby to sign the necessary documents at the beginning of the project, under the guise that she would handle the reporting to Geneva, a task he had always found tedious at best.  Little did he know that she would abuse this authority to send not only the standard reports, but also the detailed data on the project status directly to Morikov.  Data that should have never been released, the specifications for the G.A.B.R.I.E.L virus. 

Shelby had questioned her on a number of occasions concerning the status reports, wanting to see them before they were sent out.  Like clockwork, she would present him with the data, and he would question the encrypted data to which only she had the key.  Initially she had said that it was a classified report supplied by Lt. Colonel Reutger and she had no idea what it contained.  Shelby bought her explanation and signed off on its release.  She had managed to slip this data by Shelby for six months, no indication of suspicion or betrayal ever registering in his mannerisms or tone.  Luck had been on her side, but for how much longer. 

I will be caught.  I will be caught.

Forcing back the knot that crept into her throat at the thought of being exposed she turned back to her work at hand, preparing the next batch of G.A.B.R.I.E.L. for release.  They had been successful, many lives had been saved, too many to count, but would it ever be enough.  She had not seen Gabriel for over a week, nor had she seen Rathborn, the thought of him leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, for over a month. 

She avoided Rathborn like she did the handling of the L.U.C.I.F.E.R. cultures.  He was an a*****e as far as she was concerned, a little Nazi watchdog, always watching everyone as if they were a criminal.  Many times she had caught him staring at her with a look of “I know you’re doing something wrong, and I’ll catch you” and she had tired of it. 

Gathering the papers and disk, she placed them carefully in her satchel, viewing the tools of her deceit, wondering when she could make it end.  She would have to tell Morikov that she could no longer provide the data to him, no matter what the cost.  She couldn’t handle the stress of the betrayal and that of her job.  It was getting to be too much.  Pushing the door from lab open, she strolled into the darkened hallway, looking both ways to ensure that no one was around.  Proceeding down the hallway, the ghostly lights illuminating her white lab coat, making her appear like that of a floating apparition. 

She though she heard footsteps and stopped, listening intently for any sound.  Nothing.  Must be my nerves.  Continuing her passage down the she made a sharp left into the corridor that led to the communications center. 

Only a little more and she would have rid herself of the evidence of today’s transgressions, sending the transmission, shredding the copies and shattering the disk into many undecipherable pieces.

June 17, 2049 – 0140 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Desdin scanned the interior of his living quarters.  Nothing out of place.  One of these days, Desdin, the paranoia is going to destroy you, he chuckled to himself. With a marked determination, he walked across the room and pulled open the double doors to the triangular armoire nestled within the corner of the room, revealing a neatly arranged display of clothing, good enough he knew, to impress the strictest of BohrgerätSergeant[1].

Pulling the key chain from pocket, he located the key for the lower compartment and unlocked it.  From this compartment, large enough to hold an oversized suitcase, he pulled out the medium-sized black ALICE pack, and flipped back the flap covering the main compartment. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d encounter when he found Rathborn, but he had to be prepared for anything.  As his Brit SAS buddies used to say, you’re in for a real treat, ol’ chap.  The first order of business would be to secure transportation out of the facility to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, home not only to Delta Force, but also too many of his still very close friends with whom he served with on many joint operations. 

Surveying the contents, he made sure that they were still at hand; the all-black lightweight Kevlar impregnated body suit, complete with gloves, hood and booties; 1 pair of military jump boots, tactical vest loaded with the necessary munitions and night vision goggles.  He tossed the pack onto the bed. 

Everything else he had in his case.  He needed to get out of the facility without anyone noticing his disappearance.  No need for any unnecessary questions. 

Walking to the adjacent wall, he removed the 8x10 frame, containing a picture of himself from his German Army Spec Ops days, and revealed the outer door to his wall safe.  Dialing in the combination, an action repeated so many times it had become second nature, he swung open the door. 

Opening the briefcase on his bed, he extracted the hard drive removed from his computer only a short time ago, placed it in the safe and pulled out his code book, containing contact names from all over the world.  This he would need.  This is where his secrets were stored.   Pushing the safe shut, jiggling the handle to ensure that it was locked, he walked back to the bed.  He closed his briefcase, spun the combination dials on its front and slid it under the bed. 

He wanted to be ready.  Walking to the closet on the far side of the room, he stopped, sliding the door open, revealing a meticulously arranged interior.  All clothing hung neatly from the hangers, arranged in order.  On the floor, were his shoes, organized by what appeared to be their use, the shelves above lined with various items organized according to type. 

With a reverence befitting a ceremony, he slowly and methodically removed his uniform, shoes first, left shoe first, tucking the laces inside, followed by the right.  He removed his shirt, revealing a well-kept physique, strong arms, broad chest, and very well defined abdomen.  Placing it on a hanger, he went through the ritual of straightening the sleeves, attempting to hand press any wrinkles before placing it in the closet with his other shirts.  Next he removed his pants, his leg muscles flexing, the many hours of grueling workouts and endurance running revealing strong sinewy muscles. 

With the creases aligned, he placed the pants legs over the bar of the special hanger, and onto the rack as he had done his shirt.  Pulling the black standard-issue BDUs[2] from the shelf, he walked back to the bed.  Laying out his BDUs ,reverently, he pulled the all black goretex body suit, fitted with second chance body armor, and unfolded it, sliding it on, the fit like that of a custom made glove.  Much lighter and better than any bullet proof vest.  Moving around vigorously, he stretched and bent, feeling the suit adjust to fit the contours of his body.  He began to dress, pants first, followed by the blouse, a military term for shirt, at which he still sometimes chuckled.  Next came the Adidas GSG9 Tactical boots, light, but yet very durable, a pair though new looking in appearance, he had maintained for 7 years. 

Fixing the blousing on his pants, he tucked the cuffs into the boot tops, and pulled the laces tightly, holding the cuffs in place.  This served two purposes, to keep his pants from snagging and to keep anything foreign from reaching his skin through his trouser cuffs.  He was ready.  He gave the room an once over, grabbed the pack, slinging it over one shoulder, the case over the other, walked to the door, and peered out the peephole eyesight to see if anyone was in the hallway nearby.  There was no one. 

He pulled the door open, leaned forward, looking right then left to check further down the corridor and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him, hearing the click, indicating the locking mechanism had engaged.   He would have to stop by the security office and make one final check before he left, letting his second know that he would be gone for a few days to take care of some business.  The young lieutenant wouldn’t need to know where he was going, though he’d ask.  Desdin had planned for this eventuality and decided to give the lieutenant a number to a voicemail off station he'd check periodically. 

Quickening his pace, hoping to avoid contact with anyone, he headed down the long shadowed corridor, the lights dimmed during sleeping hours of 2200 to 0500.  These were not his sleeping hours, nor of those involved in project work, but the regular military staff, especially the enlisted, required the solitude and isolation due to the heavy workload during the day.  Glancing at his watch he marked the time, 0130, and turned the corner into the corridor where the labs were located.

June 17, 2049 – 0155 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

He didn’t notice Illyana nor did she see him.  Coming out of the lab, her arms were loaded with papers, and he slammed into her, the papers flying in all directions, sending her reeling back against the wall, and landing firmly, but painfully on her not so small derriere.  She didn’t realize who it was that had knocked her down and a stream of expletives spewed from her mouth as she was getting onto her knees, quickly trying to gather the papers strewn all over the hallway.  “Damnit, why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she shouted.

“Sorry, Illyana.  I didn’t see you.  Let me help you up”, he said in a mildly amusing tone, the smile on his face betraying his feigned concern.

“Oh.  It’s you.  I should have known.  Trouncing around at all hours of the night.  And no thank you,” she snarled, twisting aside to avoid his hand, “I can manage well enough myself.” 

Crouching down, reaching for the papers beyond her grasp, paying attention only to her shapely legs, he began shoveling the papers toward a pile in the center of the hallway, “Seriously.  Let me help you.  I didn’t mean to knock you down like that.” 

As if something had spooked her, her tone changed and she averted her gaze, a nervousness surfacing. She stammered, “No thankkk you, Colonel.  I have it.  It was my fault.  I’ll get those.” 

He followed her field of vision to the pile of papers that lay beyond her reach.  He grabbed one from the floor and stood erect, reading the paper in the dim fluorescent light. The words, “TOP SECRET, N.A.T.O - S.C.I.” were stamped across the top and bottom of the page.  He knew that she wasn’t cleared for this level of access, and continued reading the message

Top Secret –Eyes Only

To: Director of Intelligence, N.A.T.O. Research and Development

From: I.A. Research Analyst

Subj: Project G.A.B.R.I.E.L. Status Report

Director,

The project is on schedule as planned.  The latest development include introduction of genome therapy mapping for preliminary A.N.G.E.L…….

He had read enough.  He had found the leak, he was sure.  Before he could say anything, she snatched the message from his hand, raising her voice angrily.  “Give that to me, Colonel.  You do not have the need to know this.  I’m sure that if you need access to the project data, you can speak with Colonel Rathborn and Dr. Holiday, and if they see fit, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.  

He was sure that she was the leak, but there was a slim possibility that she could be telling the truth.  The only civilians with that type of clearance were Dr. Scott and Dr. Holiday.  He had prepared the clearance paperwork personally, and was sure that she didn’t have the clearance necessary for that level of access.  Better to get the hard evidence and make sure.  If she were in fact, the leak, he would catch her. 

Without giving away his suspicions, he looked her straight in the eye and spoke, “Again, Illyana, allow me to apologize for knocking you down.  My fault.  Have a nice evening.”  Without another word, he retrieved his bags from the floor and proceeded down the hallway, purposefully not looking back for a reaction.  You spooked her alright, Desdin.  Time to bait the trap.

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[1] Drill Sergeant (German Army)

[2] BDUs - Battle Dress Utilities – Standard issue military field uniform