Vendetta Protocol Page 7
Berkeley laughed. “Kieran has been rubbing off on you.”
Crawley chuckled. “I suppose so. Let’s get back to the issue at hand. What did you find?”
Berkeley relayed the outages and the movement of the interference relative to what had to be the subject making a reservation under an assumed name. The technical data had been mostly sanitized by the Terran Council interface. “A message-confirmation request bounced back to a server on Luna. It was buried in a dump of geopositioning data. The instructions were designed to tip off another server outside of ours.”
Crawley met her eyes. “Luna?”
“I know, it’s weird. The request bounced to one of the prelate’s servers.”
“Hmm. They didn’t have that on their initial brief.” Crawley ran a hand across his face. “TDF files aren’t kept on Luna, nor are the Terran Council’s private documents. The prelate, huh?”
“Not him or his personal server,” Berkeley said. “More likely a particular data repository. Someplace private with a lot of free space. The server is down for maintenance effective five hours ago—right after the incident. I don’t like this. The missing protocol’s frequency variation is too close to Kieran’s.”
Crawley shook his head. “Kieran is on Mars and connected wirelessly. He’s not subject to many radio broadcasts up there. We can advise Lily not to respond if an unencrypted message comes in, even if it’s from a Livermore source. She’ll suspect it’s a spoofed message and disregard it.”
“I’ve already sent the request. I’m expecting confirmation within the hour.” Fifty million miles was a long way for a single line of code to travel round-trip, even at the speed of light.
“Then I’ll stay until you have confirmation,” Crawley said. “You can tell me more about this vixen of an instructor Kieran has to deal with. I’m sure there’s a good story or two.”
Berkeley smirked. “He has a way of attracting crazy.”
Penelope Neige, the chairman of the Terran Council, had few peers, and even they failed to share her intense love of daily-update briefings. As an executive aide fresh out of L’École de la Politique, she’d watched a civilian undersecretary of the Terran Council for Extraterrestrial Affairs verbally eviscerate the commanding general of the Terran Defense Force. The lasting impression was that power was best leveraged publicly. As she walked from her office toward her private conference room, the memory threatened to make her smile, and she did not want her staff to think her mood was pleasant.
Opportunities to exert power over fellow councilmembers presented themselves often and, given the circles in which she traveled, were expected. Interaction with her private staff, however, was limited to two recurring meetings. Tuesdays were the bane of her staff’s existence. The staff meeting had a spot for one hour, starting at precisely nine in the morning, but at her direction, the staff kept the entire morning free in their calendars. In her twelve years as the chairman, no staff meeting had ever ended before eleven. No one complained. On Thursdays, her staff could breathe because the onus was firmly on the shoulders of the Terran Defense Force. Whichever poor officer was sent to Paris for the briefing would endure a two-hour tongue-lashing over everything from failed physical-fitness tests to readiness issues at the unit level. With an active service roster in the millions, Thursdays were as never-ending as Tuesdays.
Penelope Neige loved the spectacle of meetings and the opportunity to dig relentlessly into those without the proper answers to any question she had on any subject. She realized that it helped her offload stress to be able to barb and sting her staff at will. Their tortured state was necessary for her success. Suffering for a great cause would serve them all well. The ones who survived more than one eighteen-month legislative cycle were rewarded with more difficult positions and a few shining opportunities. None of them stayed beyond six years, which was what she wanted. If they made it that long, she would ensure they found gainful employment serving others elsewhere. A precious few would even make the transition to leadership. Those who did would be loyal and completely devoted to her causes.
But none of her current staff would find themselves on that glide slope.
At precisely three minutes after the hour, she paused outside the door of her private conference room and let her repressed anger surface, which was easier than ever after six hours of noninformation on the death of two Terran Council agents in Japan. She pushed through the door, and half the room started to stand before she cut them off.
“Sit down,” she snapped then strode to the center of the large horseshoe-shaped table. Her fifteen primary element leaders sat with folded hands and expectant faces like good little girls and boys. Their underlings sat behind them like piles of ammunition ready to be expended. Their nervous expressions delighted Neige to the core, but she dared not revel in their discomfort.
For impact, she dropped her titanium tablet to the table surface, followed by a collection of papers she’d pulled from her files. “The situation in Japan?”
“Madame,” her chief of staff said. “Perhaps we should follow the agenda and unravel the information appropriately?”
She glared to her left and met the chief of staff’s gaze. Behind his rectangular-framed glasses and thin mustache were cold, calculating eyes.
“No, Charles. We start in Japan and stay on the topic until I am satisfied that someone on my personal staff is competent enough to maintain my trust.” She looked around the room and found the Pacific Rim deputy representative staring at her. “Where is Minister Inouye?”
“Indisposed, Madame Chairman. I am prepared to brief you.” The young woman’s eyes were wide and frightened. She brushed a stray lock of curly hair from her face and wrung her hands tightly at her waist.
Neige repressed a snort, barely. “I see.” She engaged her neural connection and accessed Inouye’s private calendar. A lunch meeting? More than likely with his mistress. She met the woman’s wide eyes and nodded. “Proceed.”
“As you are aware, this morning two Terran Council agents were killed in the line of duty. They are the first line-of-duty deaths in Japan in more than ten years and the very first on Hokkaido. Agents Nakagaichi and Yuichi responded to a programmed distress call from an unidentified protocol.”
Neige made a get-on-with-it gesture, moving her wrist in a winding motion. “The frequency was a Terran Defense Force-appropriated one, was it not?”
“Yes, Madame Chairman.”
“When is the last time a signal was present on that frequency?”
“Almost seven months ago.”
When the first Livermore subject died. Her staff was not cleared for anything beyond already-known facts. “How long was the signal?”
“Less than a second, Madame Chairman. As soon as the signal transmitted, it was shut down. We cannot determine where the overriding command came from, but the most likely reason is a cold boot to the guidance protocol.”
“You’re assuming a Class Four protocol,” Neige said. “How many Class Four protocols do we have deployed?”
“Over six hundred thousand, Madame Chairman,” a dark-skinned woman named Ngiri said from across the table. “The failure rate requiring a cold boot is less than one percent. The Class Four protocols deployed by the Terran Council are incapable of transmitting on the frequency in this situation.”
Neige studied the woman. It was time for a promotion. Those were the answers necessary. She turned back to the Pacific representative. “Speculation?”
“Two possibilities as of now. First, a regular protocol malfunctioned and transmitted on the first available frequency. Second, it was anomalous and appeared on the frequency for no reason at all.”
“That’s all you have?”
The representative swallowed. “As of this moment, Madame Chairman. We are working on other possible causes. This could be an interference event as easily as anything.”
Ne
ige sat forward. “I am aware of what it could be. I want to know what it was. Now, what happened to the agents?”
“The agents were found next to a small pond in the Hokkaido Shrine. The priests said a young Japanese woman intended to perform seppuku there. The emergency signal came from her reported location, and that is where the agents were found dead. Both had puncture wounds from a short-bladed knife, the tantō used for seppuku. We believe she killed them and ran. Crews are searching the area for evidence now.”
Neige frowned. “And there was no video? Nothing?”
“After the agents entered the shrine, a camera-free zone, there was nothing from their body cameras. Both cameras lost signal within ten meters of the shrine’s entrance. Those cameras cannot shut down without Terran Council approval, so we’re following the analysis that whatever caused the body-camera failures was also related to the suspect. The trail of interference to Chitose supports that conclusion.”
Neige took a shallow breath and let it out. Something was amiss. “From the spaceport, is there any additional information?”
“Negative, Madame Chairman. The pattern of interference prevented any evidence gathering. There was a last-minute booking on the flight for Chiyo Miysaki. The flight lands in fifteen minutes in New York. Agents will be meeting the flight. We intend to apprehend the suspect there.” The man’s voice wavered slightly.
“Is there a problem?” Neige asked. “You don’t seem confident in your plan.”
“There are two women of that name on the aircraft, Madame Chairman.”
Neige chuckled. “That’s no problem at all, is it?”
“I suppose not.” The man almost smiled.
Neige consulted her notes. “If the protocol rebooted, was there any attempt to reconnect on the same frequency? Were there secondary reporting conditions?”
“No, Madame Chairman. All primary instructions were followed in the sequence. The protocol’s secondary instructions were deleted when primary contact was made. Except for the unusual confirmation, it was a standard operating procedure.”
“Confirmation?” Neige stared at the man for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”
The representative broke eye contact, looking across the table at Ngiri. “Madame, I assumed you were aware.”
Ngiri unclasped her hands and shifted on her seat. “There was a confirmation request from the prelate’s server on Luna. Something was looking for transmissions on that frequency.”
Neige startled. “What?”
“On the same frequency within two minutes after the protocol went offline.” The woman cleared her throat. “When we searched the incident, we found a connection from the prelate’s server for commerce. Standard notification procedures were followed, ma’am. An outgoing transmission from the server was logged, and it appears that the transmitter deleted the entire data exchange after execution. The server issued a breach warning and shut down for maintenance. We have no record of where they went or what the instructions might have been.”
Hiding instructions in the prelate’s servers sounds like Adam. I should have suspected. What is that fool doing? Neige exhaled slowly. The last report from General Crawley had led her to believe that the Livermore project was moving smoothly toward her goal of using twenty-third-century subjects with implanted memories instead of raw, unreliable clones. But maybe the woman, whoever she might be, was a Livermore subject.
That bastard. “Anything else?”
Ngiri set her hands on the table. “Our efforts to reconstruct the instructions were unsuccessful. The data has been purged and deconstructed by upper-level classifications. There is nothing we can gather unless the server attempts to make contact again.”
Neige glared around the room as if considering all of them. “How long until that flight lands?”
“Eight minutes, Madame Chairman.”
“Very well. If that protocol comes online, I want to know. If it tries to communicate on the same frequency set, or any frequency set, I want it blocked and shut down. The same for the prelate’s servers. Whatever it takes, you’ll shut it down.” Neige paused and stared at the Pacific representative. “You will contact Minister Inouye. I will have his resignation on my desk within the hour. Incompetence cannot, and will not, be acceptable behavior. You will forward a complete report by the end of the day.”
The tense silence became oppressive as she let them stew.
“Miss Ngiri, you will make yourself available this evening at 1800 hours to discuss your bright future.” She let the warmth drain for her face. The rest of them were worthy of only her scorn. “I want us in contact with the apprehension team meeting that aircraft in New York. The minute they have the woman in custody, and have secured either a murder confession or the video record and any other proof from her protocol, they may execute the suspect with prejudice.”
Neige turned to her chief of staff. “Before we hit the first agenda items, Charles, make a note that I’d like to see Major General Crawley in my office in the morning. Sooner, if he can arrange it.” Her old friend was lying—of that she was certain. It was time to call his bluff. “By nightfall would be preferable.”
“There is something else, Madame Chairman,” Ngiri said. “Subject Alpha? The girl from Memphis?”
“What about her?” Neige held her breath. Maybe there was good news for a change.
“She’s waking from her coma.” Ngiri smiled. “Her brain functions restarted not long after the protocol event. We’re assuming there is a connection.”
CHAPTER SIX
Amy woke as the landing gear on the exotransit deployed with a bump and shudder. Eyelids heavy and cotton-mouthed, she reached for a small bottle of water in her pack and drank greedily. The aisle seat to her left was vacant. From what she could see, there were several empty seats in the main passenger cabin. Staring at her hands, she thought, What am I doing?
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and allowed a familiar memory to rise. Of all the visions, it was the one that comforted her. Her father sat with his head propped against one hand as he graded papers at the wide, oval table that dominated the living room. The house was dark and still, her brothers and sisters asleep as Amy crept out to check on her father.
“Daddy?”
He grunted and turned toward her. When his eyes met hers, a tired smile appeared on his face. “You should be sleeping.”
She shrugged. “So should you.”
His smile widened, and he chuckled in his soft voice. “No, love, I shouldn’t. Not until the work is done.”
“What are you doing?” She stepped toward him.
His arms opened, and she crawled into his warm lap. His breath smelled of tea and his shirt of cigarettes, the kind he smoked when stressed.
“Grading tests,” he said.
Her eyes crawled over the anatomy and physiology final examination for the fall semester, and they met his. “Can’t this wait?”
“It could. All things could wait, but I would rather do what is important now and use other time to enjoy myself with you and your siblings.” He squeezed her gently. “I only have five more exams to finish, and then I will go to bed.”
“And you’ll be all done?”
“Yes, Amy. We do what needs to be done.”
As his voice faded into her memory, Amy dabbed at her misty eyes with her thumbs and watched the dingy New York skyline emerge below thick clouds. Rain slicked across the window screen as the exotransit banked gently to the left and descended.
Do what needs to be done. Stay alive and disappear. I can do that.
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The voice startled her so much she flinched in the seat. What do you mean?
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Amy gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. An older woman across the aisle turned toward her but said nothing. Facing the window, Amy shook her head. I didn’t do anything to them.
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You started talking, and I blacked out. What did you do?
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Eyes closed, Amy felt the mist on her skin and her knees against the wet ground. She heard herself pleading with the agent. The barrel of his rifle pressed against her head.
“I said get up.”
Her left hand came up and swept the barrel of the rifle away from her head. The startled agent’s finger rested carelessly against the trigger, and when Amy jumped to her feet, he squeezed it. The round caught the other agent in the left shoulder and spun him into the ground.
Amy spun her wrist outward and slashed with the short blade, catching the agent in the throat. Slick red blood sprayed down his jacket as the blade caught the vertebrae in his neck. As she wrenched it free and the first agent fell, the second staggered to his feet. Amy rolled across the ground, kicked his legs out, and caught him as he fell backward. He hit the ground, and the tantō went into his neck effortlessly. He gurgled once, wide eyes searching her face. She turned to the one with the gunshot wound, plunged the knife under his solar plexus, and wrenched it to his heart.
And then the scene shifted to what she remembered upon waking. Her fingers ached from clenching the armrests. Oh my God.
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If you take control, people will die. Amy’s stomach churned, and a thin sheen of sweat ran down her back like an icy chill.
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I understand. Amy forced herself back into the seat with trembling hands. If there are agents meeting the plane, what is the plan?
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