EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum (17 page)

9

Sunday, 17 May (1:05 a.m. EST – Washington)

Daniel sat on a chair in the central area of 713 while Sylvia worked quietly in her office. He’d devoted the evening to investigating Jonathan McDougal. The man impressed him. He knew, however, that he’d also have to impress Thackett and Horace if they were to grant him permission to meet with the old law professor.

Besides teaching law, McDougal directed a legal entity called the DNA Foundation. The Foundation funded researchers and lawyers to investigate old cases in which DNA evidence could give definitive answers, and they’d exonerated over 50 people in the first two years of its existence.

McDougal had made his name as the driving force for the moratorium on the death penalty in the state of Illinois. This was enough to establish him as a good risk – he seemed like a good man – but it was impossible to determine what information the professor had about Red Wraith, and whether he’d share it.

Red Wraith was the most secretive project that Daniel had encountered, but also the most deadly
.
Countless people had been assassinated in addition to the FBI agents who had investigated the project. But that was about all he’d uncovered – just a bunch of cloak-and-dagger events that seemed to have no underlying purpose. He’d never discovered its true objective, and this loose end, he suspected, was a source of obsession for his subconscious mind. He hadn’t slept well since being taken off the project, yet it was the first thought in his mind the instant he woke up every morning, despite being reassigned. He felt more focused now that Red Wraith was part of his current assignment.

He moved to the couch, leaned back, and rested his eyes. After what seemed like no more than an instant, he twitched and sat up. His watch read 7:50 a.m. He’d been asleep for over six hours.

A few seconds later, the door beeped and opened, thirty feet to his right. Thackett and Horace entered. Horace looked more vibrant than Thackett, despite being nearly a half-century older than the CIA director. Each man inserted a wet umbrella into the clay flowerpot next to the door, and took off glistening trench coats and hung them on a coatrack.

Sylvia walked in behind them, dropped her things off in her office, and sat on the couch next to Daniel.

“How long did you stay last night?” she asked. “You were napping when I left.”

“All night,” he replied and shook his head. “I just woke up.”

Sylvia smiled. “I should’ve woke you before I left.”

Everyone took their usual seats.

“Any developments?” Thackett asked.

Thackett looked hopeful. Horace did not. Perhaps the seasoned man better understood the pace at which Omni research was conducted.

“Not much new,” Daniel replied. “However, I have an idea that might get us going.”

Horace sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and rubbed the gray stubble on his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s hear it.”

Daniel explained his interest in McDougal, and how he likely had important information that they needed.

“He’s an activist lawyer who happened by chance to catch the CP program at the right time,” Thackett argued. “What makes you think he’s actually in possession of anything of value?”

“National Security Agency surveillance archives of phone recordings between McDougal, his wife, and his assistant indicate they might have had files,” Daniel replied.

Thackett shook his head. “Civilians don’t understand the utility of burner phones.”

“Actually, they did. But they screwed up,” Daniel explained. “The NSA was able to ID the burners since they’d forgotten to pull the batteries out of their personal phones. They correlated the phones by GPS location. Once that’s accomplished, using the burner is the same as using the personal cell.”

Horace sat forward. “You want to talk to him in person?” he asked with an expression of doubt.

Daniel nodded.

“And what if he doesn’t have anything?” Horace asked.

“I think he also
knows
things,” Daniel replied.

“Like what?” Thackett asked.

“Details about the Compressed Punishment program,” Daniel explained. “And he was involved with the FBI, and possibly with a CIA operative who was killed in the explosion at the Detroit facility just before it was shut down. He was also in contact with a former CP inmate – the man whose case the DNA Foundation had been investigating at the time.”

Horace sat back again and pulled on his lower lip. “Maybe we should bring him in,” he suggested. “Question McDougal here.”

Thackett nodded in approval.

“No chance,” Daniel said. “He doesn’t trust us. He knows that the CIA was deeply involved in Red Wraith.”

“We cannot trust any rank-and-file personnel with this – too sensitive,” Horace said. “So, again, you want to go meet with McDougal in person?”

Daniel nodded. “He should be in Chicago now. He teaches a law class this semester.”

“You’ll be jeopardizing your identity,” Horace said. “Are you sure you want to do this? Your career and safety are at risk.”

Daniel had already thought it through, and turned the question on Horace. “Is it worth the risk?”

Horace’s eyes gave away that he’d come to a quick conclusion, or maybe a realization.

He sighed. “Yes.”

Sylvia, who had been silent through the conversation, said, “I want to go with him.”

Daniel turned his head in surprise. It wasn’t a good idea – two Omnis sticking out their necks.

Daniel started to protest but was cut off by Horace.

“I want you both on a plane to Chicago this evening,” Horace said.

It seemed that Thackett was now just a bystander in the planning. But then, ever since Daniel had met Horace, he surmised that Thackett had always been just the figurehead for the Omniscients. It took something urgent to flush Horace out of the dark but, now that he was exposed, he took the initiative.

Daniel had to go home and pack.

1

Sunday, 17 May (11:58 p.m. CST – Baton Rouge)

Zhichao Cho was sitting on his balcony puffing a cigar when the call came in: it was the head of his local contingent of MSS operatives. Chinese intelligence had been under more scrutiny in the United States since the Cold War had ended, but their perceived threat had diminished again after the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001. American intelligence mostly focused on people from the Middle East.

Cho’s man-in-charge went by the name Ximin, and he was the most senior operative in his commission. His calls were rare.

Cho listened for two minutes, and hung up. Things were getting complicated. The FBI was investigating Syncorp, and agents had already been inside the complex. One thing he knew about the transfer of information was that immediate action could often snuff it out before it could be used. This became more and more difficult to accomplish in the digital age, but he’d have to move fast.

They knew the agent’s identity, thanks to an FBI mole and a loyal Syncorp employee, so it should be easy to coax him into a trap. But Cho didn’t want to just levy a hit. Besides, his principal asset for that kind of work was currently occupied. Instead, he wanted to extract information. And what would be a better place for that than Syncorp?

He made a call and gave the order.

Cho smiled. Maybe he’d try his hand at dental work.

2

Monday, 18 May (9:59 a.m. CST – Chicago)

According to the professor’s web page, he held office hours Monday and Wednesday mornings from ten to noon. Daniel and Sylvia had arrived promptly at 10 a.m., but the hallway was already filled with students. From the chatter, it was apparent that a graded exam had been handed back to them before the weekend, and it hadn’t gone well for many of them.

Daniel thought Sylvia, at 36 years old, could still pass for a law student, although many of the students looked at both of them with suspicious eyes. They most likely recognized everyone in their class, and identified Sylvia and him as outsiders.

At 11:10 a.m. it was finally their turn. Daniel followed Sylvia into the large office and closed the door. Sunlight from large, southeast-facing windows lit up the room, and bookshelves lined the other walls from the floor to the high ceiling. A spherical light fixture hung over a large, wooden table near the center of the room, and another cluster of furniture was arranged at the far end. The faint scent of pipe tobacco deepened the ambience. The office seemed comfortable – important for a place where one came to think.

Daniel directed his attention to a man sitting behind a desk, typing away on a laptop computer. He was mid-sixties, with thick gray hair and bushy eyebrows.

“Name?” the man said without looking up.

Sylvia and Daniel glanced at each other but remained silent.

The man looked up and shook his head. “I told you, one at a time.” It was then that McDougal must have realized that Daniel wasn’t a law student, and then his suspicion seemed to transfer to Sylvia.

“Who are you?” McDougal asked, and then stood and walked around the desk. He was dressed like a professor, business casual and a jacket, and was taller that Daniel by a few inches.

“I’m Sylvia, and this is Daniel. We’re investigating Red Wraith,” she said softly. “We need your help, Mr. McDougal. Can we meet with you today?”

McDougal’s eyes widened, but he kept his composure. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

“We can discuss that when we meet again,” Daniel said. He nodded towards the door. “You seem to be busy at the moment.”

McDougal seemed to disarm slightly. “Yes,” he said and nodded.

“Can we meet tonight?” Sylvia asked.

McDougal stepped back behind his desk and looked them over. From Daniel’s perspective Sylvia looked to be of no threat, and he thought he didn’t appear to be, either. They were both skinny, casually dressed, intellectual types. But he knew that looks could be deceiving – either of them could be carrying a gun. Hopefully McDougal got the idea that the time, location, and conditions of their first meeting were chosen to be as nonthreatening as possible.

“Fine,” McDougal said at last. “Seven o’clock. I’ll have a colleague with me.”

“Thank you,” Daniel said, and then followed Sylvia out of the office. They pressed through the students scattered throughout the narrow hall. It would be an interesting evening.

3

Monday, 18 May (6:36 p.m. CST – Chicago)

After eating pizza at the
Capstone Bistro
, Daniel and Sylvia walked the half-mile to the law school. At 7 p.m. sharp they knocked on Jonathan McDougal’s door.

Jonathan brought them in and led them to a cluster of furniture at the far end of the room. It was a set of two chairs and a couch surrounding a coffee table, not unlike the arrangement in Room 713 of the Space Systems building. Already seated in one of the chairs was a woman Daniel recognized from his research. He and Sylvia took the couch.

Jonathan set a carafe of coffee and four cups on the table while he introduced the fourth participant, Denise Walker. He then poured coffee for everyone and took his seat next to Denise and across from Daniel.

“Now, how can I help you, Mr. …” Jonathan asked, obviously fishing for a name.

“Call me Daniel,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Our anonymity is crucial.”

“Who do you work for?” Denise asked, directing the question to both of them.

Sylvia nodded to Daniel to take the question.

“Sorry, Ms. Walker. Again, I cannot say.”

Jonathan rubbed his face and exhaled impatiently. “So you come in here and tell us nothing and expect us to give you information?”

It was a question that Daniel anticipated. “I can tell you that we are part of a government entity that is investigating the Red Wraith project.”

“FBI?” Denise asked.

Daniel shook his head.

“CIA?” she asked again.

“Not exactly,” he replied.

“We’re lawyers, Mr. … Daniel,” Jonathan said, “and ‘not exactly’ is not a valid answer. Yet it reveals something.”

“We’ll have to stop with this line of questioning,” Daniel said. “Depending on what you have for us, we could provide you with useful information in return. We don’t expect something for nothing.”

With that, Daniel saw a change in Jonathan’s eyes to something more amenable. Although, he thought, the exchange might be asymmetric. Daniel had mostly historical information that, although it laid the foundations of the project, might not be useful to Jonathan’s current objectives.

“I hate to disappoint you, Daniel,” Jonathan said, “but we handed over all of our information to the FBI over six months ago.”

“I requested files from the FBI three months ago,” Daniel said. “I was told they hadn’t received new information on Red Wraith in a decade.”

For an instant, Daniel saw an expression of alarm on Jonathan’s face as he glanced over at Ms. Walker, whose expression was even more pronounced.

“You must not have clearance,” Jonathan said.

Sylvia laughed, and covered her mouth as if she started to cough.

Daniel smiled and nodded. “No one has a higher clearance than we do.”

“That would imply that you are an Omniscient,” Jonathan said, raising his eyebrows.

Daniel spilled his coffee on his pants. He stood quickly and put his dripping cup on the table, almost dropping it in the process. Jonathan handed him some napkins and Daniel patted the coffee spots, but they had already soaked in. Denise cleaned up the coffee pooling on the table.

“How do you know about Omniscients?” Daniel asked. He was horrified by the idea that they were known to anyone outside the CIA. The mortified look on Sylvia’s face perfectly expressed the same degree of alarm.

“We can get information, too,” Jonathan responded, smiling, convinced he’d hit his intended target. “Our investigations lead us to many strange places. I take it then that you’re CIA.”

Daniel nodded. He felt violated in some way. He wasn’t good at this.

“Not to worry. Your secret is safe with us,” Jonathan reassured. “Now, let’s talk about Red Wraith.”