Chapter 9
February 2080 ~ Somewhere in Arizona
The message on Senator Joe Buchanan’s tablet was encrypted with an algorithm that took several seconds to decipher, and he waited impatiently for the words to appear. He knew it had to be important, or else Thatcher would never have contacted him in person. After the initial meeting where Joe was introduced to the conspiracy, they had only spoken once in person, and only a few times by phone. These days, as the Exodus was so close to departure, even encrypted messages were few. Finally the message became legible, and Joe started. The FBI was onto them. A brave young man of the lower ranking cadres of the group had been arrested months ago, but that had been a ploy to divert the hounds from the real objective of what they were doing. Now the feds were getting too close for comfort. In the message, Thatcher wrote that the FBI had finally been able to figure out the purpose and partially the extent of the conspiracy. He also wrote that he expected the FBI to arrest him within the next twenty-four hours, and he advised Joe to go underground immediately. The message ended with a simple good-bye, and Joe sat back in his high-backed office chair, breathing heavily. It was time to make his exit; that much was obvious. He felt sad for his friend, who had been such an idealist and an inspiration to everyone involved. As head of Project Exodus, he’d gradually met other members of the group, and a few uninitiated with similar views on what kind of society the new world should be. While few mentioned Thatcher’s name, several gave the impression that they’d been talking to this man who had opened their eyes to what the possibility for a second chance on Aurora really meant. Now he knew in his heart that he’d never see him again; if Thatcher knew the feds were coming, they couldn’t be far off.
He finally stood up, and walked across the room. On the wall, he had a framed picture of him and his wife, Cecilia. It had been taken on their honeymoon to Greece; it had to be at least three decades ago now. He beheld it fondly for a moment. They had been so young, so in love. They still were. He smiled at the thought; he’d had a good marriage and a wife that gave him comfort and filled his life with warmth and meaning. They had accepted the fact that they could never have children, and although it made them both sad at times, it had made them embrace what they had even more. When they first met, he’d told her he’d never met anyone who could even measure up to her; it was still the simple truth. Now, he only saw her on the weekends, as she had been reluctant to come out west with him. He always felt bad when he couldn’t be with her every day, but after many years in public service, they both knew the demands of the job. It was Thursday, and he sometimes managed to get home on Thursday evenings. He had a flight scheduled for tonight, and he’d been looking forward to a quiet evening at home. He sighed heavily, and lifted the picture from the wall before he turned it around. On the back there was a taped piece of paper, with a twelve-digit number. It was old fashioned, he knew, but at least the possibility of electronic interception was eliminated. Then he typed the number into a special application on his tablet, and got a new number, which he dialed on his phone. The number enabled the encryption of conversations on the phone. Although not as secure as the encryption used for his messages on the tablet, it would do for now. If anyone with the right equipment tried to break it, it would still take them a couple of hours, which was all the time he needed. He waited for a few seconds, until Deacon Frost answered. He’d been an Air Force lieutenant when they first met, and when Buchanan was appointed director of Project Exodus, he’d made sure that Frost had gradually been able to advance to the Selection Board, which made the real decisions on who would be going on the starship. Joe had once mentioned that maybe they should get Deacon a seat on the Exodus, to carry on his work there. The younger man had declined. He said that his place was back on Earth, that he could do more there, even though they both knew the likelihood of survival after impact.
“Deacon,” he said. The voice on the other end wouldn’t have expected him to call directly, as they tried not to have more contact than would be perceived naturally.
“It’s time.” Frost said nothing, but he could hear his breathing change subtly.
“What about you wife, sir?” The younger man replied quickly. Buchanan had given that a lot of thought lately. He’d never let his wife know what he was up to, basically to protect her. But he knew that if the FBI got her, they would assume she knew something, and the interrogation would be rough. He chose to put that thought away; he had to steel himself. And who could tell, if all went well they would be able to reunite later.
“I’ll make sure she gets away, but I can’t take her with me.” The risk is too great, he thought. He would gladly have taken on the risk himself, but there were others who depended on him too.
“All right, sir. I’ll have the car ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” He put down the phone and went to hang the picture back in its place on the wall. Then he sat down for a moment before he dialed his wife’s number. When she answered, his eyes almost watered, and his throat constricted for a second, before he was able to talk.
“Cecilia,” he said. There was no way back. “It’s me, dear. I won’t be able to come home tonight.”
February 2080 ~ Columbus, Ohio
When Special Agent Robert Marsden received his orders, he was getting ready to go camping with his wife and three kids. They had been planning this trip for some time now, and the weather forecast had been good. It had been almost a year since the last one, and the kids had been talking about this for weeks. The cabin had been reserved, and the car was already packed, when Special Agent Tom Wilkie called.
“What’s up, Tom?” Robert asked. Tom wouldn’t call him outside of work unless something was wrong.
“Well, first off, all leaves and vacations are being put off.” Damn, Robert thought, so much for camping.
“You are to report back to the office within an hour. Seems we have a crisis on our hands. I’ll fill you in with the details once you get here, but this is big.” He didn’t have to say anything else. Marsden had been on the job long enough to know that when agents were recalled like this, it had to be big. His wife, fully understanding the nature of his work, never made a fuss about it, and the kids were old enough to understand too. So he quickly changed clothes, checked his gun and badge, and got into his car.
Robert had never seen the director in person before. A few years ago, the old director had paid them a half an hour visit, as a publicity stunt, visiting half a dozen local branches in one day, but other than that, they seldom saw anyone above branch around here. Now, while the agents were gathering in the briefing room, the director paced impatiently back and forth. FBI Director Anthony Barron was a heavyset black man somewhere in his fifties, with a fat mustache, a commanding voice, and eyes that seemed to take in every detail around him.
“I’ll make this short,” he said to the agents as the shuffling and whispers subsided. “Six months ago, we found evidence of a conspiracy involving senior officials in this administration. We knew something was going on that had to do with Project Exodus, but we had no idea of who was involved or what the conspiracy was all about. The only person we actually apprehended was an executive at the Energy Department, and he didn’t really give us anything. Because of his work, which involved insight and connections within the nuclear energy sector, we quickly suspected sabotage, which so far has turned out to be impossible to prove. The Exodus is now fully assembled, and is scheduled to leave Earth orbit within the week. We cannot rule out that there may be a suicide bomber on board, but so far, we have found nothing to indicate that. For a while we suspected a link between this particular conspiracy and the insurrection out west, but this doesn’t fit the profile. The insurrection didn’t seem to have any real political goals, as far as we can tell. It was likely just the result of desperate human beings who resorted to illogical actions. The only thing they actually achieved was to send a bunch of kids into space, and otherwise wreak havoc in the final stages of launch. If their goals
had anything to do with hampering the progress of the project, they failed miserably. And after the kids managed to reach orbit, the leaders actually gave themselves up, one after the other. Did you know that General Hayden actually surrendered an entire army division before committing suicide? Nah, like I said, this has nothing to do with the insurrection. In the last few days however, we have found evidence that the conspiracy at hand involves a plan to select certain individuals for the Exodus that have grudges against the government, or at least the current administration. We don’t know the extent of this, so we cannot tell how many there are, if any. We certainly don’t have the names of these individuals yet. However, just this morning, we arrested Richard Thatcher, one of the senior executives at PAEI. With the proper drugs and treatment by our interrogation specialists, he soon spilled his guts.” There were a few low chuckles around. They all knew what “interrogation specialists” meant.
“He was unable to give us much detail though, having already injected an irreversible lethal poison before his apprehension. But we did get a name.”
February 2080 ~ Columbus, Ohio
Robert and Tom approached the front entrance carefully, with other agents covering every door and window on all sides of the large white house. It was past midnight and the garden was lit with light posts. The house itself was completely dark, except a single light at the front door. This was the house of Senator Joe Buchanan, and according to their research he should have taken his usual flight back home earlier this evening. By now, he was probably sound asleep. They had a warrant for his arrest for conspiracy and treason. Their orders were to make all efforts to take him alive, so they were armed mostly with non-lethal weapons, although they had their firearms just in case there were others on the premises. Tom banged at the door.
“Federal agents! Come out with your hands on your head!” he shouted loudly. No response. They waited for maybe half a minute before Robert motioned for another agent to open the door. It was locked, but the agent quickly picked it and they entered.
A few minutes later, they concluded that the senator was not in the house. He probably hadn’t even been there at all, since there was no trace of him. Someone else though had obviously left in a hurry, because there was still lukewarm coffee standing on the kitchen table. Marsden carefully picked up the mug, wearing thin latex gloves, and examined it for a moment. There were distinct lipstick marks on it. So it was most likely the senator’s wife who had left in such a hurry. Interesting. They continued to search the house through the night, but when morning came, they had to report back that there didn’t seem to be any clues that would lead to anything. Nothing obvious at least, and with the Exodus almost ready to leave, time was working against them.
Later that day, FBI Director Barron made a call from his encrypted satellite phone to the head of the Consortium. He had been on the payroll of Havelar Industries for years, covertly of course, and while serving two masters would normally lead to conflicts of interest, serving both Havelar and the government seemed no different to Barron. He knew how closely entwined the president was in Consortium business, and as an inherently cautious man, he had taken his precautions. So if there ever were a problem, the president would never be able to pin him down unless he was willing to commit political suicide. George Havelar, who was now on board the Exodus, having secured a seat for himself and his closest associates, answered within seconds. Barron spoke in a low voice, even though there was no reason for it.
“It seems our sources were correct, the conspiracy is for real, and more than likely you have one or more traitors up there. We still suspect sabotage; there is a real danger that someone may be planning to harm the Exodus en route. Another possibility is assassination, which would make you a prime target. There may be other motives too, we really cannot say. I’m assuming you have several security measures in place?”
“Of course, Director,” Havelar answered in a gruff voice. Ever the foresighted man, Havelar had probably predicted opposition from the beginning.
“And you do understand that I will not discuss them, right?” he continued.
“Certainly. Just make sure you’ve got your eyes and ears open.” Havelar surprised Barron a little when he chuckled softly.
“Oh don’t worry, Director. I have many eyes and ears. And they are ever watchful.”