“You ready?” Gresham said, coming around the corner into the room. He paused and looked at the pictures. His gaze returned to Lara and he scowled, realizing that she had been looking at them. “A friend of mine left a message and said he had something he wanted to show me. My HUVR or yours?”
#
Perry checked the time on his voxcom and leaned back, studying the street. He was sitting in an open air café that had the foresight to equip its walls with small but effective fans that blew strongly enough to help cool the patrons down from the near hundred degree heat. It was a blessing in this weather.
A LUXR pulled up alongside the café and a small, wiry man with gray-flecked hair and wire-rim glasses hopped out. He adjusted his spectacles uncomfortably and spotted Perry. He waved and closed the door to his vehicle, which sped off to wait.
“Spencer, good to see you,” Perry said and rose as his friend neared.
“Eli! Have you waited long?” Spencer Chiles replied.
“Five minutes or so, don’t worry.”
They sat down and the Chiles glanced at a tall, slender waitress. “I’d like a lemonade, please.”
Perry turned to her. “Another beer, if you would be so kind.” She nodded and Perry pulled out the small metallic case of green jelly he kept in his pocket. “So, what’s new in the banking world, Spencer?” he asked, dragging his finger along the top of the gelatinous substance so that a thin layer of residue was left on his fingertip.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid. Everything’s going downhill and it will only get worse once all the big defense contractors get the hammer.”
Perry closed the case, slipping it deftly back into his pocket. “We’re working on that. There’s enough discord in both parties to kill the bill. I’ve talked to Jack, he’s onboard with fighting this thing tooth and nail.”
Chiles shifted in his seat. “Look, Eli, about Jack… Maybe we ought to cut him loose soon. We’re already tying up loose ends, don’t you think Jack’s one more liability we don’t need to worry about?”
“Jack knows much less than you think. About us, and other things,” Perry answered testily and licked the gelatin off his finger discreetly. He felt the energetic sensation stream through his body and he breathed deeply, grabbing his seat with both hands. He returned his attention to Chiles and smiled. “I’ve told you and Hess a hundred times, I have Jack under control. You handle the money, I handle the dirty work.”
“Here’s some ‘dirty work’ for you then, Eli – Lugrash was killed a few nights ago.”
Perry coughed and raised his eyebrows in surprise. The waitress returned to the table. “Your beer, Mr. Perry. Your lemonade, Mr. Chiles.”
Chiles sipped his lemonade and smacked his lips. “Excuse me, miss, do you think I could get a little sugar with it?”
“Certainly, Mr. Chiles. Would you gentlemen like anything to eat today?”
“Turkey club sandwich,” Perry answered.
“Same for me,” Chiles added. “Thank you, dear.”
The waitress walked off and Perry watched her leave to make sure she was out of earshot. “What happened to Lugrash?”
Chiles set his lemonade aside and studied Perry’s confused expression. “I always wondered what you would look like if something didn’t go according to plan. SIS must have been watching him. They raided his warehouse, the LAPD got involved, and Lugrash was killed in a shootout. Ten million credits worth of weapons and assorted contraband confiscated – and some of the guns they found in those crates were from a Marine weapons dump up in Ventura. Sound familiar, Eli?”
“The good news, Spencer,” Perry said slowly, “is that Lugrash took care of Evans, and the MID investigator looking into the theft is hospitalized. Cray’s more paranoid than usual after the murder of Carl Brighton, so he’ll restrict all the information from the Lugrash raid. Only a handful of people will be working that case, perhaps people we can coerce.” He sipped his beer. “How did you hear about all this, by the way?”
“Lugrash isn’t our only friend in the Zone.”
“Very true.” Perry paused for a moment, considering his unexpected predicament. Was it time to tie off another loose end and get rid of Chiles as well?
“Do you think Lugrash got rid of enough evidence to keep them from looking at us?” Chiles asked, eyeing their waitress’s chest as she approached from the kitchen.
“Probably not. The guns that are left were obviously traced.”
“Your turkey club sandwiches, gentlemen. Enjoy,” the waitress said with her typical smile. Chiles’ gaze never left her ass as she walked off to take the order of another customer. “How unfortunate,” he finally said once she disappeared from view.
“If Lugrash had information that can incriminate you, Spencer,” Perry said quickly, “you have to get off Terra as quickly as possible.”
“Leave Terra, my ass! You think I can just call in sick and leave?”
“I would if I were in your position. Banking transactions are what we call hard evidence, my friend, and money laundering is a serious crime.”
Chiles bit into his sandwich and considered the proposition as he chewed. “I suppose you’re right. Where would I go?”
“I own a cabana on a private island on Oceanus,” Perry replied. “If you’re interested, I’d be more than happy to hand you the keys. I can have you through a jump gate in a few hours.”
Chiles considered the proposition. “You don’t think that that’s a little drastic?”
“I don’t think so. Our extraterrestrial friends will probably sleep a little more soundly at night if you aren’t here for SIS to pick up.”
“Lugrash doesn’t have anything that can go back to Jurkken, right?”
“He was usually very thorough, but one can never be too careful. After all, if Jurkken is rattled, Grakko will be soon too.” Perry wiped his mouth after finishing his sandwich. “If you would excuse me, I have a few more errands to run.” He put down forty credits on the table and then fished a card out of his pocket. “This is the number of a very reliable and discreet pilot. Tell him I recommended you and he might give you a discount.”
Chiles grimaced. “I’ll think about it.”
“Please do,” Perry said and rose. “Don’t screw this up, Spencer, we’re getting too close.”
#
Gresham stared out the window of Lara’s HUVR at the imposing skyline of downtown Los Angeles as they pulled off of the A3. The shimmering towers reflected the afternoon sunlight down onto the street, like giant mirrors.
“So how do you know President Paine so well?” Lara ventured as they turned south towards Santa Monica.
“Why do you ask?”
“I couldn’t help but see the pictures in your apartment.”
Gresham smiled lightly and continued looking out the window. “It’s a good story, I’ll tell you that much.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“Yeah, maybe later.”
They pulled to a stop outside of a mundane concrete office building near Shoregrove Hall and Lara parked the HUVR in a two-hour lot. She stared at the dull structure in surprise. “This is where Commissioner Reed’s office is?”
“Not much to look at, is it? Greg’s always been a penny pincher.”
They entered the building and took a lift up to the fifth floor. A security panel required them to identify themselves before entering his surprisingly spacious office suite, and Reed met them in a conference room with multiple couches.
“John! Good to see you,” he said and they shared a warm handshake and hug. “You got my message, I see.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Gresham replied and indicated Lara. “This is Lara Taylor, an associate of mine.”
Lara shook Reed’s hand. “Commissioner Reed, it’s an honor.”
Reed smiled and motioned for them to have a seat. “The same to you, Ms. Taylor. How did you come to know this grumpy bastard?”
“I work with information distribution. Major Gresham
and I are collaborating…”
“So you’re SIS then. Glad we got that cleared up,” Reed said with a chuckle, relishing her stunned look. “And I’m glad that your end is looking into this whole mess too. I think things may be a lot more serious than we realize.”
“What do you mean, Greg?”
Reed pressed his hand against a silver pad on the table in the living room and said loudly and clearly, “Gregory Bryce Reed, Commissioner.” There was a click and a buzz and the office suite’s AI soothingly replied, “Accepted.”
A holographic display flickered to life and Reed tapped the silver circle on the table to enlarge it. “Either of you two ever heard of the Supernova program?”
Lara looked genuinely confused but Gresham nodded cautiously. “It’s a government slush fund, right?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like a database of government projects, armament stocks and cash transactions within the defense sector. Department of the Defense, SIS, MID, Foreign Intelligence, both the Navy and the Marines, and all defense contractors get logged in Supernova when something passes through. It’s pretty outdated and not a lot of people know about it, but Defense doesn’t have the budget to upgrade, or so they claim.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“The problem with Supernova is the… design flaws in its execution. For example, I can log in because I’m a Commissioner. At MID, anybody with Level One clearance can use it. That means every section chief as well as every SLOC. Access codes can be given to non-clearance personnel with permission – for example, Colonel Moss or I could give either of you our unique login codes.”
“There’s a personal code?”
“Yes. Every login requires a personal code, which allows the user of Supernova to navigate the database completely anonymously.”
Lara rubbed her eyes. “Wait, what?”
“There are no names attached to anything done on Supernova – just an eight digit personal access code. And while you can see what each user has been up to on Supernova based on these codes, you can’t see a single user’s history.” Reed paused, realizing how confusing that sounded. “What I mean is that if I look at a certain transaction on Supernova, I can see the ID number for whoever did it – but I can’t look up that ID number and see every action they’ve taken recently on Supernova.”
“A whole top-secret database for the Allied Commission and defense brass,” Gresham breathed out. “I never realized it was so intricate.”
“Few people do, since it’s an old, almost obsolete program. I certainly didn’t until I did some research. I fooled around with Supernova for a few hours. And guess what I can do?”
Reed punched in his personal ID code and the holographic display transformed into a three-dimensional web of white nodes, almost like a star-map.
“Marine Weapons Requisitions,” Reed commanded and touched his finger to one of five nodes that were enlarged. “Review of active weapons depots.”
“Please specify planet, colony or space station,” the AI replied.
“The planet is Terra, continent is North America. Search active databases within five hundred miles of Los Angeles.”
A map of the continent’s coastline was displayed along the table, and little white dots glowed at the site of each depository. “Seventy-four active sites found within established parameters.”
Reed ran a hand through the hologram. “Pick one, John. Doesn’t matter which one.”
Gresham was pensive. What was Reed trying to prove? He finally touched a shining dot located on the peninsula stretching far to the south of Los Angeles.
“Ensenada Marine Weapons Depository (P-T MWD 24) selected,” the AI announced. The map vanished and in its place a thorough cataloguing of all the weapons and their serial codes started slowly crawling through the air in front of them.
“Holy shit,” Gresham whispered. He placed his face in his hands. “So that’s how the requisition went through. On Supernova.”
“Correct. Any Allied Commissioner – or anyone who has access to Supernova, for that matter – can move guns and assign projects anonymously. Obviously, there are people whose job it is to monitor this program, but there is such a bevy of activity on here that the movement of a handful of guns from one of seventy-four weapons depots in California will go unnoticed. And it’s not hard to hide your tracks. Remember, ID codes, no names.”
“How do we look up the ID code for whoever requisitioned the Ventura theft?” Lara asked.
“Already did that for you,” Reed said. “The transaction was in the archives. I wrote the eight-digit ID code on this paper for you along with the full invoice as catalogued here. I also gave you my own code and my personal password for Supernova so you can use the program as well. Any MID office should have access.”
Gresham stared at the eight digit ID number. “How do we figure out whose code this was?”
“All the ID codes for the Supernova program are locked in a security vault at the Department of Defense. The codes are randomly reassigned every six months, too. So, to put that clearly, these ID codes are only current by a month or so. Anything before June 1st is worthless. This is fine for you, though, since the theft happened after that deadline.”
“In other words, we can see what people have done on Supernova – but we can’t know who it was?” Lara said with an exasperated expression.
“Unfortunately, that’s just the way the program is designed.”
Sensing that Lara was on the verge of saying something that would embarrass them both, Gresham stood up and smiled. “Greg, thank you so much. This is… well, it’s eye opening. I appreciate the help.”
“No problem at all. Don’t even mention it.” Reed shook both of their hands. “I hope it will come in handy.”
They silently left the office suite and rode the lift down to the ground floor. Once they were in the lobby, Lara breathed out. “Well, that was certainly helpful. We have a method but no firmer answers than we did before.”
“I feel we learned plenty. Worst comes to worst, we at least can prove that anyone – and I mean anyone – in the Commission or upper echelons of the security services could have requisitioned those weapons.”
“How do we get access to the vault matching the codes to their owners?”
“We don’t, unless we get a search and seizure order approved by a high-ranking Alliance official. Howard Paine, for example.”
Lara paused. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Completely. It’ll take him a day or two to get it approved through the courts, though. I’ll make sure to give him a call.”
Lara unlocked her HUVR once they entered the lot. “It helps to have powerful friends, I guess.”
“It sure does.” Gresham browsed through the file Reed had given him. “We’ve got something else now too. A full invoice of the requisition order that Vance was wounded trying to get.”
“What does that tell us?”
“On its own, not a whole lot. But we now have serial numbers for every gun that went missing out of Ventura, plus the clearance codes. We can figure out who was on shift when the theft went down this way and get a scope of exactly what was stolen.”
Lara smiled. “You know, Gresham, I think you have the makings of a fine field agent.”
“And I still don’t think you have the makings of an analyst,” Gresham chuckled back. “But we’ll work on it.”
“Screw you!” Lara laughed and they pulled out onto the street.
#
They parked at an open-terrace restaurant near the beach and Gresham ordered a beer while Lara went to call the Ventura Depository in private. She returned after about ten minutes and sat down.
“Good news or bad news first?”
“I assume I’m going to hear both eventually.”
“The shift manager at the weapons depot who was working the day of the theft was there when I called. I had a very nice, long talk with him.”
“And that’s the good news?”
“Yep. The bad, unfortunately, is that the guns were picked up by a couple of guys who signed off for them with the authorization serial number given to them by whoever used Supernova. The weapons were readied in crates for them when they were supposed to show up. A couple of the shift workers and AI bots at the depot loaded it all up into a freighter that flew off after about ten minutes. The freighter pilots – there were maybe four or five, the manager said – gave him the code and he signed the paperwork and gave them the stamped and approved invoice.”
“So they have an invoice… which one did Alan Evans have in that case?”
“The manager told me that one invoice gets filed at the depot, one gets sent with the requisition order itself and a third invoice gets sent to the Office of Material Affairs. OMA is, obviously, the Defense branch where Evans worked, as you already know. Alliance protocol requires three copies of any transaction to be held at three different locations. With the supplier, with the acquirer and with an oversight official, and all three have to match up.”
“And obviously there’s an electronic, online version on Supernova.”
“Exactly. Three hard-copies and a virtual one.” Lara smiled. “Now this is where things get interesting. I asked the shift manager to look up the invoice in his files, and it was missing. There was an unauthorized entry into the depository’s files a few days ago apparently and one of the employees hasn’t come back to work since that day.”
“You got a name?”
“Frank Price. And he lives in Juniper Gardens; we can be there in twenty minutes. Shift manager gave me an address and everything.”
They were driving not long thereafter on the A7 and Gresham pondered the obvious question he’d had the moment Lara had mentioned Price.
“What’s so valuable about the paper invoices?”
“What do you mean?”
“If there’s an electronic version that SIS could access with the right clearance to look at the guns, why steal the paper copies? The authorities could still figure out what had been taken from the depository.”
Lara paled and clicked her tongue. “Do you have a theory?”
“I do, but I don’t know if it’s something you want to think about.”
They pulled off the freeway into Juniper Gardens, a low-income neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley. A large sign threatened the use of law enforcement to keep the anti-ET ordinances in effect. Low, identical bungalows stretched in every direction. Fences, most likely electrified, separated the concrete properties. Each house had a palm tree growing on the side of its driveway and potted plants hung from several doorways.