Chapter 33 – Make Reconnaissance
Thursday, July 9, 2038
It was Bravo team’s shift. That meant they were required to be active and awake. The computer-linked cameras monitored the Fox residence; the agents running them would hear the automatic alerts at the exact same moment they informed Stanwood, Miller and Dunkirk.
King and the rest of Bravo team sat around the dining room table, playing spades. Alpha team was racked out in the other rooms, enjoying an early afternoon siesta.
King’s partner, Washington, passed the cards to Welter on his right, who cut the deck. Washington began to deal.
“And no more table talk,” King said, smiling.
Next to him, Carl Di Biase picked up his cards, thumbed through them and rubbed his chest.
Everyone laughed.
Deputy Director Von Kalt was on the patio, lying on a lounge chair. An umbrella obscured the sun, but there was nothing between him and his view of the quiet suburban canyon. He had a bush hat over his face and the Metachron concealed in his right palm, under the left, over his stomach.
The amplifier could do all kinds of cyber-magic.
Before the explosion at Epsilon, the techs had almost finished their Micronix Operating Manual, replete with tutorials on neural-cyber system management and signal segregation, as well as detailed instructions on system intrusion and data-stream interception. Entire advanced sections were dedicated to tele- and pyrokinesis, as well several other amazing abilities. Von Kalt spent hours reading the manual but refrained from trying anything.
Deputy Director Rudolph Von Kalt found himself buried in the avalanche of data that was Project Epsilon. Fox had reported that all the records had been destroyed, but that was far from the truth. The device gave him access to all of the case histories of the prisoners and data recorded by the technicians. Every ability and manifestation had been clinically documented and intimately detailed.
After three days of studying, Von Kalt launched a system intrusion on Johnson. He had only meant to test his new toy, but the Metachron’s neural shims had no trouble worming their way into the soldier’s thinly partitioned cyber-mind.
It was late in the afternoon; both teams were up and about, preparing their evening meal. In less than a minute Von Kalt had full motor and linguistic control. Just to prove he could, Von Kalt walked the soldier from the residential interior, out onto and off the back deck.
Staff Sergeant Johnson fell seventy-two feet and broke both legs.
Retrieving his unconscious body would be easy enough. Looking down at the unconscious staff sergeant from the balcony railing, King volunteered to drive him to the nearest emergency room, since Johnson was bravo team’s pilot.
Von Kalt did not want his first criminal act to be logged into any official record and objected from his place on the lounge chair. “Gentlemen, why don’t you take advantage of this opportunity to practice a little field medicine? We’ve got a metric shit-ton of blue goo here. Use it.”
“Isn’t that kind of extravagant for a broken leg, sir?” Lt. Hernandez asked. “It’s gonna be hard to explain two hundred thousand dollars. If there’s no rush, we can get him right for like two grand.”
“And if our targets return while half of my second team is absent? How do you suppose I’ll explain that?
“This is the part where I could insult you, to make my point, but instead I’ll ask, have you ever done a medical scan in the field?
“Have you ever administered two hundred thousand dollars worth of healing gel? This might be good experience for your record Lieutenant.
“Please try and be more selfishly predictable. It makes your superiors’ job easier.”
Lieutenant Hernandez stood and walked from the knot of soldiers around the staff sergeant. A minute late he’d returned with the medical scanner two fat cartridges of blue goo.
A quick scan of Johnson’s prone body identified fractures in both femurs as well as the left tibia and fibula, six shattered metatarsals, and one splintered patella, Given the injuries and the rocky ground, it figured that Johnson had pin-wheeled after slipping from the balcony.
His forearms seemed to have protected his upper body, which hit first. He legs, however, had taken the brunt of the fall, slapping into the ground. Hernandez conceded the extent of the damage would likely have taken two days of effort at any local emergency unit.
He cracked the seal on the first goo canister and inserted it into the mechanical hypodermic. Over the course of twenty injections, Hernandez delivered the full volume of two canisters. The healing gel did its job before the man awoke.
The soldiers watched, fascinated, as his legs kicked, muscle spasms resetting bones as the synthetic stem cells rebuilt the damaged tissue.
Von Kalt regretted the wasting of the expensive healing compound, but it was replaceable. The lounging commander, and now master cyber-criminal, was confident Johnson’s unconsciousness had resulted from his forceful intrusion, but he’d followed the protocols and scrubbed the man’s memory.
Johnson would remember walking over to the balcony railing, taking a breath of fresh air, and then slipping.
The reclining Von Kalt remained in his lounge chair as the staff sergeant, surrounded by his comrades, was finally shaken back to life.
“You all right there, little buddy?” Di Biase asked. “You took a bit of a tumble.”
Johnson stood, assisted by the others, and was led back inside.
Von Kalt wasted no time moving in and out of his subordinates systems. He didn’t again attempt to exercise functional control, as that could not go undetected and would require a scrubbing, but he did everything else. He scanned all their personal accounts, incoming messages and contact lists.
Everyone had some kind of internal augmentation. Of course, none of them had internal delivery, like Von Kalt. They had to activate one of the universal terminals, so the technology implanted within them could communicate its latest updates and info of interest.
This residence, like most, offered inset-terminals on almost every flat piece of glass or countertop. Some had better reception and better graphics than others, but the basics could be accessed almost anywhere.
It had been years since the Department of Defense really had to fear any dangerous cyber-criminals, but Von Kalt knew that statistic couldn’t stay low forever. If he took any more control, if he did anything more than snoop, he’d have to do some mind and memory scrubbing. That meant a period of unexplained unconsciousness. Even these men were not stupid enough to remain unfazed by a spell of contagious blackouts.
It was the power of the forty thousand, the power of the convicted; Von Kalt held them in his palm. Fox would be no match for him. He was no match for him. He’d already solved that issue.
It was the knowledge of the other, the Micronix, the device Pierce had taken. He had seen it there, at the Fuji Dozo briefing. He had seen Pierce take it and go over the railing, as Johnson had.
He had seen it.
When he went to the Fox home…
When he opened that drawer in the daughter’s bedroom….
He had felt it.
He’d been holding the Metachron in his hand, so clearly he could not have reached out and picked up the Micronix with that hand.
Now, almost a week later, it occurred to him that he had indeed seen the original prototype lying in the drawer in Ashley’s dresser.
He had also seen the prototype in his hand.
For some reason, the dual image had scrubbed the original from his mind. When he’d looked back to the drawer the second time, the device had Not been there. It had only been in his hand.
It only occurred to him now, a week later, that he had two hands.
But even now, it hurt his mind to think of moving the Metachron from his right hand into his left, in order to pick up the Micronix.
It was named the Micronix. It could only be held in his right, in his dominant hand. But the Metachron was in his right hand.
His
mind knew, on some elemental level, the single hand could not hold both the amplifiers. That, of all things, was utterly impossible.
Von Kalt did not rise from the lounge chair, even to relieve himself, until well after midnight.
King’s false identity had been in place for years, a standard merc package of storage drives and sensory amplifiers that he mostly ignored. His own amplifier, one of the first copies of the Micronix, rested in his pocket, undetected by Von Kalt, granting King access to power far beyond what the newbie was capable of.
King let the deputy director explore. If necessary, he was close enough to take action, if it came to that. For now, all he had to do was watch the watchers.
It was frustrating, being unable to communicate with Ross, Croswell or Snow. Fox had long ago established a radio-silence protocol, if the amplifier network was ever compromised.
Von Kalt’s not-so-secret possession of the device was ominous but not completely out of control.
King hoped they’d found Fox, or his trail. None of the men present had any inkling as to the doctor’s whereabouts. They had all been assigned, as had he, the day after Fox vanished. It seemed clear to King that the key to finding the doctor lie in finding Von Kalt’s last contingent of bodyguards.
Ross had footage of them handling the rendition, so they had probably been given the task of guarding the doctor, as well. After Von Kalt walked Johnson off the deck, King had changed his mind. This was definitely the best place to be right now. When the time came, he’d be very useful next to the deputy director.
Thursday, July 9, 2308
Von Kalt used the restroom and returned to his investigation of the camp, moving through the registry servers, the wired teenagers and their souped-up counselors. He looked for anything that might even resemble a hint of the Fox family, but the data was clean. He went back and combed through it all again.
The transports had delivered the children to this facility. A second, private shuttle had delivered their mom, no less than three hours later. They had to be there.
Finally, he realized his mistake. It was an unregistered net user that caught his attention. He’d been looking for some trace of the mother and her children, but if their attendance were discretely being covered up, he needed to be looking for the gaps.
Someone had gotten on a terminal and accessed a gamer-stream account, but the user had not logged in to the lab’s access tree. Von Kalt quickly found the user’s history, and that it mirrored the Science Program’s assigned lab hours. He figured, given the games accessed, and the fact that the camp was geared toward eight to ten year olds, this was most likely Fox’s son, Geoffrey.
Using the same process of elimination, he quickly found similar discrepancies in two other programs. Like the science camp, the gymnastics program had a roster for forty-four people and matching room assignments, but forty-five people were clicked through the cafeteria at their assigned meal times. Forty-five people were reported attending the daily functions, but there were only forty-four names on the daily roster.
He found the same anomaly in a martial arts program. All three programs fed and housed someone whose name never appeared in any of the daily logs. It almost would have been better for them to use an alias.
Von Kalt wondered why Fox hadn’t chosen to give his children an alias, to better protect them. A moment later he realized the answer; pride, hubris. Fox didn’t want his wife and children to go under assumed names out of pride. He wanted them to introduce themselves and Ana, Ashley and Geoffrey Fox.
Then, as Von Kalt was doing now, he could simply use the Micronix to sweep the registries for any mention of their names.
Von Kalt looked out over the subdivision, the ground based, albeit moderately expensive neighborhood. He wondered why Dr. Fox had insisted on living here? He could afford a perfectly protected castle in the sky. His children would be safer that way.
The edges of Angel City hovered overhead, replacing half the stars with their own blinking and twinkling lights.
The answer came to him like a bolt of lightning. The Micronix could not have fallen from the balcony of Fuji Dozo to land at Ashley’s feet, if she lived in the sky.
Von Kalt dismissed the idea as ludicrous. The Fox family had been living at the same residence for over a decade. There was no way Fox planned Fuji Dozo over ten years ago. Von Kalt realized That thought was ridiculous. Whatever Fox’s reasons for living on the ground, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of the fact.
Von Kalt paused. He needed to think - clearly.
Fox had created the Micronix and by default, the Metachron. How could Von Kalt, a user, take the creator by surprise? How could Von Kalt out think the man who had turned him into a God?
Perhaps Fox was already listening; hearing his every thought, able to read the history of everything he had done since taking the Metachron. Perhaps Fox had Let him take it.
But even gods could be manipulated; it is just a matter of leverage. And even gods could be killed, if you learn their weakness. Surely, even Gods fear open Rebellion.
Having devoured Anastasia Zelena’s infamous case history, as both a spy, and later as a special operations officer, Von Kalt suspected she most likely volunteered as an assistant to the martial arts camp.
However, that was rather obvious. It would be a better cover for her to be helping out with the gymnastics program.
Yet, that would mean the ballet-obsessed daughter would be doing a kung fu camp? And there was no ballet or any sort of dance program on the entire facility. The Heart of the City Inc had lost that market to a summer charter branch of Wellstone. Questions and the search for answers consumed him. He lay on the lounge chair, silently seeking and finding.