Cosega Sphere (The Cosega Sequence Book 4) (25 page)

The Eysen-Sphere fell dark, taking all the surrounding light with it. Their INUs, the sun, everything was black.

“What’s happening?” Gale whispered fearfully. “Are we under attack?”

Rip moved to where he thought one of the windows was and felt the warm glass, but he could not see it. He returned to the Sphere and picked it up.

“Are we dead?” Gale asked. “Maybe they bombed us and we died instantly.”

“I don’t think so,” Rip responded. “It’s the Eysen . . . Crying Man, are you there?”

“Help,” Rip heard a strained, raspy voice reply.

“Did you hear that?” he asked Gale excitedly.

“Someone said, ‘Help,’” she said.

“He must be helping Cira.”

“But where did the light go?”

Suddenly, the Sphere lit up in Rip’s hands. The glow grew so powerful that it left his grip and levitated between them.

The Cosega Sequence began and projected all around them. As soon as it completed, they were in a Cosegan city of light. Beautiful pillars stretched into the sky. Translucent blues next to purples, glowing greens, and golden yellows created shapes, structures, buildings of epic proportions.

The darkness fell apart as the powerful lights melded into a world of magic. Shards of light fell like drops of rain from the tallest of heights, as if splintering off the tops of the buildings. Crisscrossed, laser-like beams in a thousand colors created walls of wildly complex edifices. Behind them were the largest structures of all, what appeared to be colossal monuments, constructed entirely of shifting, shimmering light.

“Look!” Gale said.

Rip followed her stare and saw Crying Man emerging from a twisting, luminescent tunnel radiating red behind him, transforming to purple, and finally violet in front of him. There in his arms, like two worlds colliding, was Cira. As he grew closer, Gale ran to them, Rip close behind.

Crying Man’s face conveyed a stunning sadness, tears running down his cheeks. Rip felt
déjà
vu
from the first time they’d ever seen him back in Asheville, North Carolina seven years earlier.

“Rip. Is Cira .
. . Is she dead?”

Rip looked from his daughter’s limp body to Crying Man’s desperately sad face.

“Help,” Crying Man said. They actually saw his lips move as he said the word. He extended Cira to Gale without ever taking his eyes off Rip. Just as Gale was about to take her daughter, the entire scene shifted. In an instant, the Cosegan City, along with Crying Man and Cira, was gone. Suddenly it was just the skyroom. They were still on El Perdido.

“Where’s Cira?” Gale screamed.  Then she felt something in her hands. “Rip… It’s Earth.” She held up Cira’s little cloth cat. “But it can’t be . . .  I left Earth with Cira at the hospital.”

“You couldn’t have,” Rip said. “It’s probably been in your pocket all this time.”

“No,” Gale insisted, her voice trailing to a whisper. “Crying Man brought it.”

—O—

The California office complex that housed the Foundation’s secret research facilities was understated and purposely mundane in appearance. However, it housed the Foundation’s single most valuable asset, and its security reflected that. Booker expected nothing less when he sent more than three hundred heavily armed BLAXERs into what would turn out to be one of the most dangerous missions ever undertaken by his private army.

Booker was counting on the same thing that had saved him repeatedly over the last few years—Cosegan technology. While Gale and Rip and his team of more than one thousand great minds worked to find the secrets within the Sphere, which could preserve the future, Booker knew that money and technology would also be needed if they were going to win the war to save humanity. He had a team of almost one hundred people extracting data from the Eysen research to find ways of creating better weapons and smarter tech that he could use to beat his enemies. Now he was going to put it to the test yet again, this time to get the biggest prize of all. Another Sphere. 

Huang rubbed his fingers as if warming up for a concert. Although he also extensively utilized voice and virtual commands, he still preferred traditional keyboards and regularly wore them out. From his darkened room, lit only by dozens of monitors, the forty-year-old, who looked closer to twenty, wreaked havoc around the globe for anyone opposing Booker’s interests.

He knew the stakes were higher today than they’d ever been for anything he’d done before.
The very future of humanity depends on saving Cira and capturing Savina.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly in a kind of instant meditation, and then whispered to the swirling colors on the screens surrounding him, “Time to work.”

—O—

Savina was pushing the limits of her knowledge as she zipped around the views of the universe being projected out of the Sphere. “We’re all just dead stars looking back at ourselves.” She whispered the famous quote loudly enough that one of her assistants quickly looked up from the INU that tracked and processed the Sphere’s displays.

That was when they heard the first explosion.

In Fiji, the BLAXER chopper was equipped with a sonic-obliteration weapon, which Booker’s engineers had devised from Sphere technology. The Cosegans did a lot with sound waves, even constructing buildings from them. One of Booker’s favorite discoveries in the Sphere had been the Cosegans’ use of a sonic propulsion system. “Sound as fuel,” he’d said upon learning of the amazing practice. “What great things we’ll do with this.”

It hadn’t been his intent to use it first as a weapon. However, times were difficult, and necessity dictated the applications of destiny more than any noble wisdom would allow.

With their pursuers destroyed, the BLAXERs utilized a cloaking device and flew below radar, heading toward the tiny Pacific island of Samoa, their transfer point. Cira would be loaded into a small jet and flown to El Perdido, where the top doctor from Bascom Palmer Eye Institute was also headed.

Rathmore and Murik were in shock. A Dark-Star unit had never failed a mission, and this one had suffered one hundred percent casualties. According to initial reports, of the twenty-one Dark-Stars believed to be dead, only seven actually were, thanks to the BLAXERs non-lethal ammunition. Who had perished had either been caught in the helicopter obliteration, or downed by Foundation fire.

In reviewing the same reports, Booker was convinced that the Foundation had used some kind of smart-ammunition. Rathmore didn’t have the luxury or information to consider such things. He was handling an angry call from King.

—O—

Moments after the light city faded and the skyroom on El Perdido returned to normal, Gale’s INU lit up with a call from Booker. She gave the voice command to answer it in speaker mode.

“I’m happy to report that Cira is safe, and is on her way to you as we speak.”

Gale couldn’t get any words out.

“She’s okay?” Rip asked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Booker answered, obviously enjoying the chance to deliver the good news. “She’s aboard one of my helicopters and will soon be on a jet. ETA to El Perdido, four and a half hours. I’ve also got a top doctor from the Bascom Palmer Eye Institute en route. He should be there about the same time.”

“Her eyes?” Gale barely managed to ask.

“She was packed up as safely as possible,” Booker said. “We won’t know for sure until the doctor examines her. Think good thoughts.”

Gale nodded, closed her eyes, and remembered her little girl in Crying Man’s arms. “Thank you,” she said out loud.

“You’re welcome,” Booker responded. Although she had meant her gratitude for Crying Man, she was happy to share it with Booker. In spite of everything, she knew he had never stopped trying to save their daughter.

“Thank you, Booker,” she repeated.

—O—

Aboard the
Bright Future
, Taz took the news of losing Cira badly. “I should have moved the girl the minute we found her,” he said to Stellard.

“We can’t waste time with regrets,” Stellard replied. “We have the masterminds behind the time-shift theory. That may be the most important thing to come out of all of this.”

“We need to get them out of the reach of our enemies.”

“No one knows where you are,” Stellard assured Taz.

But both men were worried. Even then, the US government, utilizing CIA, FBI, NSA, and military personnel, was in a race against Booker’s people and Foundation agents, all sides trying to round up the remaining UQP scientists in Hawaii. While it was true they didn’t yet know the five authors of the time-shift theory were missing, it would not take long, and both the US government, and Booker, had the resources to find them quickly.

Unfortunately, Hawaii was one of the most isolated population centers on Earth. The
Bright Future
, now in international waters, would take six more days to reach California. By then, one of their adversaries would find them, and even with the yacht’s many defenses, they were up against far greater forces. Stellard voiced what neither of them wanted to admit.

“The only way to escape Hawaii is to go back to Hawaii.”

A government scientist appeared on one of the screens and tried to explain to Rathmore how Eysen Anomaly Matter Interference worked.

“Could EAMI make a whole Island vanish?”

“Not actually
physically
disappear,” the scientist explained. “But to our planes, ships, satellites, as well as radar and other monitoring equipment, it would be invisible.”

“Then why can’t the pilots see it from the air, with their own eyes?” Rathmore asked impatiently.

“There are any numbers of ways someone of means—”

“Like Booker Lipton?”

“Yes,” the scientist continued. “Someone exactly like Booker Lipton. He could utilize smart fabrics and cover an island, or a plane, with materials that instantly and digitally blend with the environment around them. Or, and it may be more likely in this case, he might be using 3D projection technology so that from the air the pilots would only see ocean.”

Rathmore nodded. He’d been aware that the US military had been experimenting and using the same type of technology since 2000 to conceal aircraft and confuse enemies. It seemed incredible that it could hide an entire island, big enough to accommodate a runway capable of allowing the Gulfstream to land, but he knew it was possible. Anything seemed possible these days.

“So how do we beat it?” Murik asked.

The scientist shook his head. “Put a thousand boats in the water and hope one of them runs into it.”

“In the Pacific Ocean?” Rathmore said. “Too damned big.”

“Go ask Barbeau,” Murik said. “Make him tell you everything he knows.”

Rathmore scoffed. He’d showered and changed, and even though a couple of hours had passed, he still smelled faintly of whiskey.

“Ask him for a list of Booker’s islands in the Pacific. Tell him if he helps us find Asher and Gaines, we’ll drop all charges. He’ll be a free man.” Murik knew firsthand that Booker had more than one island. A covert raid of Cervantes Island had punctuated that point. There could be numerous other Booker-owned landmasses in Asher’s flight path.

“Barbeau won’t buy it.”

“Then promise him a presidential pardon,” Murik said. “We’ve lost the plane, the kid, we’ve got a dead professor, and I’m not sure how many of Booker’s other UQP brains we’re going to be able to round up. Russia and China are forcing us to reallocate resources. We’re kind of losing this one.”

“We can’t lose this,” Rathmore said. “
This
is
the
one. It’s the future we’re talking about.”

“Then get Barbeau to cooperate,” Murik replied. “I’ll handle things here.”

Rathmore nodded and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Claude?” Murik called after Rathmore. “Better wear a raincoat this time.”

Rathmore flipped him off and stormed out. His already brittle mood had deteriorated drastically after Cira’s rescue. He found himself looking forward to pummeling Barbeau again.

That bastard knows where they are
, he thought as he navigated the maze of corridors leading to the detention and interrogation area. 
He’s another government employee on Booker Lipton’s payroll.

When Rathmore reached the holding room, he found no guard on duty and no Barbeau. It took him almost fifteen minutes to ascertain that the former FBI agent had been released.

“On whose authority?” Rathmore demanded when a colleague finally broke the news.

“It’s classified.”

“Classified? Are you kidding me? I’m on an SAB case. Do you even
know
what those letters stand for? Scorch and Burn! Full authority to do anything, and my key witness gets yanked out from under me . . . I’m going in to see the Director right now!”

“The Director is at the White House,” the man said. “Haven’t you heard? Russia and China are making a mess in Asia?”

“It’s just a damned diversion,” Rathmore shot back. “Screw this then. Is King in the building?”

“I think so, but the unit is en route to China, so his hands are full. Barbeau is gone, and no one can help you get him back. Forget it. Find another way.”

Rathmore didn’t want to forget Barbeau, and he needed an excuse to see King anyway. If he was the leech, Rathmore had to know now.

It took another twenty minutes before he could get in to see King. The meeting left him even more shocked. King claimed not to know where the order came from, or at least wasn’t willing to say anything more than it was apparently a MONSTER with a “red card,” which trumped every other order and priority. The incredibly rare “cards” had to be signed by the President of the United States.

“Call the President!” Rathmore demanded.

“I just got off the phone with the White House. That’s why you were kept waiting. They verified the red card.”

“Why was it issued? Who requested it?”

“They aren’t saying.”

“We’re the NSA,” Rathmore whined angrily. “If they can’t tell us, who can they tell?”

King shook his head.

“Why wasn’t I notified?” Rathmore asked.

“
I
wasn’t even notified,” King said, stretching a rubber band between his hands.

“What’s your best guess? Why did they spring Barbeau?”

“He knows something.”

“Damn right. He knows where Gaines and the Sphere are.”

“CIA is in on this with us. What other agency would be pursuing Gaines? Who has more clout than we do?”

“FBI?”

“No way.”

“That’s where he’s from, but how does the FBI rate higher than NSA or CIA on this case? This is national security times a million.”

“Maybe that’s your answer,” King said. “We can’t risk failure. The stakes are too high, so they have
everyone
on it.”

“Then why aren’t we working together?” Rathmore asked.

King raised an eyebrow. “This is the US government we’re talking about. They don’t know
how
to work together.”

Rathmore shook his head. “Murik is CIA. Maybe he’ll have an idea who could have done this. I’ve got to get back to the situation room. But before I go, one last question?”

King looked up, annoyed. The monitors in the room filled with maps and live images of the Chinese border and his unit getting closer.

“We’ve detected a leech,” Rathmore said. “We’re losing data at every turn. Booker Lipton knows before we do what we’re about to do.”

“How do you know it’s Booker?”

“Who else?”

“Do you want a list?” King snapped. “Do you think Booker is the only other person who wants the Sphere?”

“No, but—”

“Have you isolated
anything
? Run overlays of knowledge and dissemination?”

Rathmore nodded.

“And?”

“They point to you.”

King stared at Rathmore silently for a moment, his expression changing from blank shock to amusement to outrage. When King finally spoke his words were slow and steady, but filled with venomous force.

“Get. The. Hell.
Out
. Of. My. Office.”

—O—

Murik was as surprised as Rathmore had been to learn about the release. However, Rathmore didn’t tell him about confronting King. He was still trying to process that nightmare.

“Who would pull Barbeau?” Murik asked, popping a chewing gum bubble. “Who could even get that done?”

“Booker has the juice.” Rathmore said. “No one else.”

“He’s on the other side. We’re fighting him,” Murik said, chugging an energy drink. His little corner of the NSA situation room was a mess.

“Washington doesn’t have enemies, only opportunities,” Rathmore said, irritably looking over at the candy wrappers, empty chip bags, and a fast food bag covered with grease spots. “You know the government will make a deal with the devil if it will get them their objective-of-the-week.”

“Okay, so it’s Booker. Maybe. Why would he burn his influence to free Barbeau? Loyalty? I mean, he did save Gaines and Asher, but that’s an incredible play by Booker in the middle of all this to use up a presidential-level favor.”

“It’s not about loyalty. Barbeau knows where they are, and we were going to get it out of him.”

“Too late now,” Murik said.

“We don’t have Barbeau, we don’t have Asher, we don’t have the kid, we don’t even have the goddamned sniffling professor. We don’t have anything! Can this day get any worse?”

“A message for you, sir,” a staffer interrupted.

“What’s this?” Rathmore asked as he opened the envelope, read the note inside, and then reread it. He looked at Murik as if he’d just been stabbed. “Unbelievable. It’s from Barbeau!”

“What?”

“Where did this come from?” Rathmore demanded.

“A private courier service delivered it,” the man said. “It came through security.”

Rathmore waved the man off, then read Barbeau’s note out loud.

“You’re looking in the wrong direction. The threat to national security is not Booker, it’s the Aylantik Foundation.”

Rathmore’s face contorted as if he were reading the note for the first time.

“Who does he think I am? Am I wearing clown makeup? Why would he ever imagine that I’d believe this?”