Terminal Connection (21 page)

E
ven with her mother’s platinum membership, the virtual Internet library seemed ordinary enough, appearing as the default configuration, a twenty-foot cube with white walls and
AOL Time Warner
®
etched into the floor.

“This is it?” Allison asked, extending her arms and spinning. “This is the best you can do?”

“What you see isn’t important. I have my own dedicated access to all the library’s resources in here.”

Allison felt her face flush with anger. “How will that fix what you did?”

“What I did?” Jamie said, placing her hands on her virtual hips. “If you didn’t lie to your boss …”

“If you didn’t steal papers from my house,” Allison shouted, crossing her arms.

“Allison Diane Hwang, we can leave right now if you want.”

Allison bit her lip. She could not afford to push her mother right now. Swallowing her anger, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day.”

Jamie smiled, apparently forgetting the whole argument. “Everything will be fine, dear. You will see. DARPA may spend millions on research, but we spend billions. Our business is intelligence. No one can dig up more dirt than we can. If Syzygy left a trail, I’ll find it.”

Allison nodded, feeling physically ill from stress. All her hopes lay with her deranged mother.

“Librarian, do you have access to Internet Service Provider records?” Jamie asked.

The figure of an English gentleman appeared next to them. “Some, but not all. It is private information.”

“Okay. Please search all ISP records for patrons using the alias Syzygy.”

The man winked out of existence. A moment later, he returned. “I’m sorry I could find no reference to Syzygy in the ISP records.”

“Librarian, can you search the Internet for currently logged on users?”

“Yes, but it will also be incomplete.”

“That’s fine.”

He disappeared. After a few minutes, he returned and a wall of water appeared next to him. Letters protruded in green from its surface:

User(s) with the alias Syzygy are currently logged onto:

Apostle Robotics

Create Your Own Adventure

Dog Fight Central

Fantasy Central

Ritz, The

s#@~#d$f9e*r8&

Allison smiled. There was more than one killer. If she could break the case, Davis would have to listen to her.

“Being a reporter has its perks,” her mother quipped.

“Librarian, how many people have the alias Syzygy?” Allison asked.

“One.”

Allison turned to Jamie. “How can that be? How can he be logged onto all these sites at once?”

Jamie shrugged as the librarian responded. “I have no answer to your question. Do you want me to find a reference that might help you?”

“No,” Allison said, continuing to scan the list. “That’s funny. The last entry is garbled, just like the last entry in the log. Steve told me the log was corrupted. If so, why is the name garbled here as well?”

“Librarian, what details can you give us regarding Syzygy’s connections?” Jamie asked.

“I can provide when each connection was made.”

“Great! Can you display everything for us now?” Allison said.

Apostle Robotics 06/13 @ 08:00 PST

Create Your Own Adventure 06/12 @ 15:00 PST

Dog Fight Central 06/10 @ 18:00 PST

Fantasy Central 06/11 @ 15:00 PST

Outdoor Adventures 06/12 @ Unrecorded

Ritz, The 06/09 @ 15:00 PST

s#@~#d$f9e*r8& 06/08 @ 18:00 PST

Allison could not believe it! Syzygy had been logged onto some of the sites for several days! She glanced down to the last site again. Syzygy had been logged onto it for almost a week!

Jamie spoke up. “Librarian, does the last site have another name?”

Allison glanced at her mother.

“Just a thought; it might be a real site,” Jamie said with a smile.

“Nexus Corporation,” the Librarian responded.

Allison took a step back. She looked at the date and timestamp and remembered how the hackers had vandalized the Nexus lobby. Perhaps they had hidden something, a link of some kind. She gave her mother a peck on the cheek. “Thanks! I can take it from here.”

Jamie smiled.

Pressing a button, Allison whispered, Nexus Corporation. With a hiss, a seven-foot black void appeared before her. She stepped through.

Ron had dramatically changed the lobby. It now sported the recently trendy art deco motif. The same look Davis had tried, but unlike Ed, Ron’s attempt was successful.

Tapered pillars supported a multi-domed ceiling. Looking up, she saw the dome above her painted with an intricate mural, some unfamiliar mythical scene. The walls, pillars, and floor were made of an iridescent material resembling the inside of an abalone shell. The subtle pinks and pale blues moved as she walked, swirling and blending into a rich cacophony of color. She heard a subtle baroque melody echoing off the expansive room, mixing with the sound of running water.

She was impressed. Although intimate with the latest trends in the industry, she had not seen anything with this much detail. She crossed the lobby, passing a large fountain. Allison smiled. Not everything about Ron’s tastes was impeccable. The fountain looked like something Steve would have picked out.

Beyond the fountain a woman behind a counter asked, “May I help you?”

Allison approached the counter. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, Ron Fisher. Is he here?”

“No, he’s not. Would you like me to page him?”

“No, that’s alright. Would you check to see if an alias named Syzygy is here?”

The woman scanned a book in front of her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see anyone here registered with that alias or name.”

“Really?” Allison knew Syzygy had to be there. He could not have left in the last couple of minutes after having been logged on for almost a week. “Maybe he’s using a different alias. How big is your Directory?” Allison asked.

“Twenty names.”

“Could you read them to me?”

“Certainly.” The receptionist rattled off the names and aliases of the people logged onto the site.

Allison shook her head. Syzygy was not listed. “Could you page Ron? It’s urgent. I think someone has tampered with this site.”

“One moment. I’ll …,” The woman vanished suddenly.

“What happened?” Allison wondered.

Whoosh.

Allison turned. A man with a runner’s build, blond hair, and blue eyes stepped through a portal.

Ron.

“Were you looking for me?”

“I’m glad I caught you.” She walked to him.

Ron smiled.

“I think Syzygy is logged onto your site. That’s why the hackers thrashed your lobby.”

Ron smirked. “I know.”

“You do?” Ron carried himself differently. Her gut screamed, “Run!” but she stood her ground. “What do you mean,
you know
?”

Click.

Ron stepped closer and Allison backed away. It didn’t feel right. She pressed her portal button. Nothing happened. She looked down and made sure she had pressed the right button. She tried again. Nothing happened. Looking up, Ron was inches from her face. She let out a scream and stumbled back.

His gaze bored into her, ripped into her soul.

Allison took a deep breath and pressed the exit button. Again, nothing happened.

“I’m sorry, but I’m experiencing some trouble with my Nexus,” she stammered, trying to remain calm.

Ron silently regarded her with his tenacious gaze. She backed away from him slowly. Something like a metallic whine sounded behind her. She tripped backwards through a portal and fell onto wet sand.

Allison looked around. A beach. Ron transformed into a dark figure with green eyes. Her heart raced. Her mind lost focus. Warmth built in her head.

Oh shit!
Ron is Syzygy.

She scrambled to her feet.

He smiled and then let the corners of his mouth dip into a frown. Syzygy took a step toward her.

She turned and ran. After reaching the water, she ran along the shoreline where the sand was firm. She stole a glance back and then stopped. He wasn’t running. Instead, he sauntered slowly toward her.

Then it hit. A thousand needles of pain etched themselves into her brain and she fell.

“Damn it!” she said, trying to get up, but it was no use. She fought the pain and managed to crawl forward a few feet. She heard his feet slapping against the wet sand. He was close.

Allison clutched her head and moaned. Everything faded and grew dim.

“Help, Steve!” she screamed.

I
thought you said that one fighter wasn’t a problem!” Ed said, his eyes fixed on the moving pink light on the map.

“He isn’t, unless he intends to start a war,” Admiral Marshall Spurrier said.

Abruptly, the map blossomed with light, blanketed with new pink blips. The red blip, representing the Chinese fighter, shifted to pink, lost in the constellation of light. The label above it disappeared.

“She’s a screamer,” another analyst shouted.

The Admiral sighed in relief. “False alarm. They launched a decoy missile. The missile just separated into twenty smaller missiles. Each one appears to our radar as another Chinese fighter. The Chinese fighter is hiding within the cluster.”

“For what purpose?”

The Admiral turned to Ed. “They’re testing our defenses. We can’t hit what we can’t see. If they learn a way to hide from Warscape, we will be susceptible to a real attack. Then they’ll strike.”

Ed nodded soberly.

“It’s no big deal. They did this once before—last week. It’ll just take a second for Warscape to cross-reference the sensors in the area.” Sure enough, within a few seconds, the blips started to disappear from the map.

“See what I mean?” the Admiral said. After half a minute only one pink blip remained. It shifted back to red and the label reappeared.

“Now, watch. One of our F-18X fighters will turn this guy around.”

On routine patrol, Michael Dawson flew at thirty thousand feet, near the Paracel Islands in the South China Sea.

Quiet afternoon,
he thought. Then he shook his head.
Don’t get complacent, Michael. Keep your eyes open. Listen to the radio. You never know.
He turned back to the video screens, gauges, and meters that filled the cockpit of his highly customized F-18X Hornet. Suddenly his radio crackled and came to life.

“Sierra one-two-niner, Sierra one-two-niner, bandit at Lanky, one hundred and twenty, one zero zero, thirty angels.”

The control center used a technique called bull’s-eye control. It referenced everything around a single, well-known point called a bull’s-eye. Control would give the position of the enemy aircraft, called a bandit, from the bull’s-eye. The position would specify the degrees off due north of the enemy aircraft, providing the range in miles and the altitude in thousands of feet called angels.

Lanky
was the code name for the aircraft carrier displayed on his screen.

“Roger that, Command. Sierra one-two-niner in pursuit.” Michael Dawson banked left, turning the plane. He toggled the radar switch on and off.

The radar sent out several short bursts of energy, lasting no longer than a microsecond. These invisible flashes swept the sky in front of the plane, changing frequencies each time in case the enemy was listening. At the speed of light, the energy radiated out and bounced off its target before returning to the plane’s radar. The radar then sent out one more quick burst of energy to the target.

The radar used the fighter’s onboard computer to compare the two signals. It detected the slight change in aperture to the Chinese fighter and constructed a
3
D image of the enemy plane. It then compared this image to a list of known aircraft. Instantly, the computer determined the make of the aircraft: a Chinese Fighter called an SU-27 Flanker. A red blip appeared on Michael’s radar screen along with this information. The entire operation was completed in less than a tenth of a second.

Michael noted the enemy’s course, displayed on the radar screen. He adjusted his heading accordingly, planning for an intercept. The Chinese fighter inched along at about six hundred miles an hour.

No need to waste fuel by using afterburners to catch this guy
. He eased the throttle right against the stops. Cruising just under Mach One, at around seven hundred miles an hour, Michael glanced around. The tiniest spec in the sky, the subtlest hint, could be a missile or worse. Late afternoon, he still had good visibility, twenty miles at least, but he saw nothing.

Michael debated whether to tickle his radar again to pinpoint the Chinese fighter’s exact location. Perhaps the Chinese fighter had changed course. Michael shook his head.
No, be patient
. Even with the advanced radar system, the enemy still might detect an energy burst. Michael wanted surprise on his side. He would rely on his good old eyesight to spot the Chinese fighter.

There! He found his target, about twelve miles ahead and five thousand feet below him. He descended like a hawk, using gravity to accelerate past Mach One. The plane slipped smoothly through the sound barrier. Carefully, Michael pulled up behind the Chinese fighter. He then flipped his weapon console and immediately obtained missile lock.

The Flanker dipped for an instant, obviously surprised.

Michael grinned. He almost could taste the pilot’s anxiety. Nothing said
good morning
like the tone from a missile lock. Michael keyed his radio.

“You … in the Flanker … this is the United States Navy. We are operating under the authority of the ASEAN command. Please turn your aircraft around and return to Woody Island.”

Michael waited for a couple of seconds.

No response.

Cocky son-of-a-bitch!
He keyed his radio again. “Flanker, you are in violation of International Law and the Chinese War Treaty. Please turn your aircraft around or you will be fired upon.”

Again, silence.

Michael glanced at his gauges—only one hundred miles to the
U.S.S. Elliot
, the outermost ship in the carrier battle group. Within minutes, the Flanker’s long-range missiles would be in range of the carrier. “Command, this is Sierra one-two-niner. Bandit refuses to yield, over.”

“Sierra one-two-niner, go weapons hot, but make it clean.”

“Roger, Command.” Michael could not believe it. The Chinese fighter did not even flinch.
The pilot thinks I won’t shoot him down! Well, I guess he’s half right.

With a flick of his finger, Michael lifted the guard and threw a switch, arming the HERF gun, a High-Energy Radio Frequency weapon. Michael checked the status light. It was red, charged, and ready. He squeezed the trigger, holding it down.

The gun bathed the Flanker in a burst of invisible but intense radio waves, the same energy used by the radio but much, much stronger. Michael imaged the Chinese fighter’s radio going off the air and its cockpit lighting up as every warning light came on. He held the trigger tightly. By now, the fighter must have suffered catastrophic and complete systems failure as every piece of electronic hardware in his plane went dead. Navigation, communication, and weapons would all be down. Michael watched as the Chinese fighter’s engines sputtered to a stop. Its nose dipped toward the earth.

He let go of the trigger. The trigger guard automatically snapped shut. Michael watched as the Chinese fighter appeared to creep toward him, an illusion caused as the Flanker slowed relative to him.

Gently at first, the Chinese fighter descended. Soon it picked up speed and plummeted nose first into the ocean below. Michael waited until the Flanker hit the water before keying his radio.

“Command, splash one bandit, apparent total systems failure. Imagine that!” Michael grinned.

“Copy that, Sierra one-two-niner. Any survivors?”

“Negative. That’s a negative. Pilot failed to eject.”

In Warscape, the red blip disappeared from the map.

“Is it gone?” Ed Davis asked.

“Yes, he’s gone.” The Admiral frowned.
What are the Chinese doing?
That’s the second test of their defenses in a week.

The Chinese were not usually this rash. They are up to something, he thought.