Volcano (20 page)

El Lobo.

Albert slowly shook his head, thinking maybe he
was
getting too damn old for this business. Not Mooney.
Thomas
Lloyd Mooney, Albert’s best friend on earth since nineteen forty-nine.

Albert brought his hands to his withering hairline, thinking
this couldn’t be right. Tom was not the traitorous type. What in the world
could motivate him?

Albert spun his chair around to face the window, the US
Capitol dome shimmering like a beacon in answer to his unspoken question.

Power? Didn’t make a goddamn shred of sense!
 
How could Tom hope to gain power by
destroying the national defense system, by wreaking havoc from the inside out?

Unless he had a way to distance
himself.
Completely disclaim involvement...and then, maybe step
in to claim the glory by thwarting a last minute disaster?

Albert stood from his chair.

Tom wouldn’t. It was just too risky. And people had died,
already.
Innocent civilians and their families.

But that code name kept on coming back to him, crashing like
a cymbal in his ears.
El Lobo...

If only Albert had been able to reach Au Yang. But, try as
he might, all his attempts to reach the Chinese man had failed. Since his
return to China more than two years ago, Au Yang had dropped off the DOS radar.
As far as Albert knew, the old man might not even still be alive. Still, the
moment Albert had originally suspected enaction of their old Volcano plan, Au
Yang had been among the first he’d thought to contact. The technological
invasion hinted at a power with a high level of that skill. And, naturally,
thinking of the Chinese, Kane had remembered Au Yang. An old ally, back his
homeland,
who
might- merely for old time’s sake- be
willing to share a bit of information...
Wait a minute.

Albert turned from the window, shaking his head.
It had
been Tom who’d suggested the current analyst scare was a manifestation of
Volcano put into play
.
Tom, that old gray bastard,
attempting to distance himself by planting the seeds for a supposed solution.
Tom, who’d insisted- out of concern Albert had fucking thought- on being
updated on Albert’s progress. Had professed to worry about Ana. Tom, that wolf
in sheep’s clothing “El Lobo,” who been known under their Volcano operation
auspices as “The Gray Wolf.”

Albert spun violently and caught the tin waste can with his
toe, smashing it across the room until it resonated against the opposing wall.

Damn!
 
Nothing
was
as it seemed
.

And, if Albert’s instincts were dead on, Joe McFadden had
never really been in danger. For all the things he’d done, Albert didn’t truly
believe Tom would go that far.

Albert crossed back to his desk and snapped up the phone.
Fuck wasting time trying to rescue McFadden
;
the DOS
had bigger fish to fry.

***

Joe McFadden hadn’t been able to piece it together exactly,
but he’d known from the moment he’d seen the Y2K memorabilia littering Al
Fahd’s office a few weeks ago that Al Fahd was plotting something sinister
involving the coming turn of the year. Just what and how it fit in with Y2K and
all of the Arab’s sinister souvenirs, Joe wasn’t altogether sure. But with all
the resources Mark had at his disposal- not the least of which was Ana, Joe was
hoping Mark would be able to figure that out.

There was a definite connection between Al Fahd’s gas tank
collection and the global party the Arab was planning to throw. Then, there’d
been that mass exodus: the never-ending convoy of military trucks loading up at
the warehouse and streaming from the compound like so many hell-bent ants with
a mission across the sands. If Joe were a betting man, he’d lay money on what
was in those trucks- and no longer in the warehouse room he’d stumbled upon.

But what puzzled Joe still was the involvement of Al Fahd’s
new Chinese friend
,
 
sitting
in the corner tilting a Y2K snow globe back and forth in
delicate amusement. The Chinese and the Arabs?
Unprecedented,
yet verifiable.
During the earlier hostage exchange, Joe had relieved a
young Chinese man of Ana, under Al Fahd’s instruction to kill her. Though Joe
now knew that man to have been Hay Long, Joe’d never seen the older Oriental
Ana had called Sun-tzu, whom had remained in the car.

Until now
, Joe thought, steadily eyeing the enigmatic
man in the corner.

And the
men
who’d taken him from
the cabin in Virginia, then delivered him here, were Chinese, as well.
Mandarin, Joe’d guessed from his limited knowledge of the various dialects.
Without question, the Arabs and the Chinese were working together on something
very big. But if it concerned a terrorist strike waged on US soil, it only made
sense there’d been some form of cooperation from a fringe element in America.
This was a three-pronged plan, Joe was certain. But who, in his homeland, could
be responsible for spearheading US participation in such a reprehensible
scheme?

“Shall we begin?” Al Fahd asked the Oriental with deference.

Joe curled the fingers of his right hand into a ball.

The silver-haired, olive-skinned gentleman replaced the snow
globe on Al Fahd’s desk with a smile. “Yes, let’s do begin with the first cut.”

Al Fahd leaned toward the floor and pulled a switchblade
from his boot. “Fine,” he said, popping the short blade open.

Joe’s eyes shot to the far end of the room where two men
with semiautomatics guarded the door. “Surely you’re not going to dirty your
immaculate office.”

Al Fahd took two angry strides in his direction. “Watch your
tongue, Mr. McFadden, or I might just cut that out for you as well!”

The Oriental raised a patient hand. “Perhaps our
sharp-witted American is right. There may, in fact, be another- more tidy-
way.”

Al Fahd stopped, lowering his knife toward McFadden, then
looked up at the trilling from his desk.

Joe exhaled slowly as Al Fahd went to answer the phone.

Sun-tzu nodded respectfully. “Saved by the bell, Mr.
McFadden.”

Joe slightly lowered his eyes then raised them again to meet
the Oriental’s. “Perhaps you can get Al Fahd to listen-”

Sun-tzu smiled in uncharacteristic surprise. “Listen, Mr.
McFadden? Why that’s precisely what he has in mind.”

Back at his desk, Al Fahd cursed in rapid dialect into the
receiver. It didn’t take a linguist to see he was incensed.

“You cooperate with us, Mr. McFadden,” Sun-tzu said with an
oily smile. “And, in deference to your uncle, I’ll see that you come out of it
alive.”

His uncle?
What did Tom Mooney have to do with any of
this? His Uncle
? No stinking way.
But then, what was the connection?
What on earth was Sun-tzu getting at? And how and why would he owe any sort of
deference
to Joe’s Uncle Tom in the first place?

Al Fahd slammed down the receiver and stormed back across
the room. “Very slippery, McFadden,” he said, lunging at Joe and grabbing him
by his shirt collar. “Very slippery, indeed!”

“We’ve finally located Hay Long,” he said, turning to
Sun-tzu, “in the morgue.”

Joe held up his palms and shook his head as Al Fahd
tightened his grip. “I had nothing to do with that one.”

“That one, no? But Ana Kane, yes?” the Arab spewed in his
face.

“Ana’s dead,” Joe assured him, devoid of emotion.

The Arab gave him a ravenous shake. “So dead, you failed to
retrieve the body? Decided to flee from us instead?”

“Back to the warehouse!” Al Fahd commanded the guards at the
door, who lowered their weapons and strode toward McFadden.

“Wait!” Sun-tzu said, holding up a patient hand. “I have a
better way.”

Al Fahd released his grip on Joe’s collar with a decisive
shove and looked at the Oriental.

“A more tidy way,” Sun-tzu continued. “Besides, if you cut
out his tongue...” Joe tightened his lips in horror and strove for a blank
expression. “...
there’ll
be nothing left to say.
McFadden won’t be able to tell us what really became of the Kane girl- and how
much she knows.”

Al Fahd straightened and appeared to consider Sun-tzu’s proposal.
“Very well,” he said, waving off the guards and returning to his desk. “We’ll
give McFadden one
neater
chance to come clean... But, after that,” he
said, glaring at the Oriental, “I’d ask you to remember just who is in charge
of this operation while we’re on desert soil!”

***

Carolyn settled Isabel in the baby crib and tucked her under
the covers.
Pink and yellow.
This safe house, complete
with baby girl nursery, couldn’t have been better suited to her and Isabel’s
hide-away if it had been
hand-picked
. Carolyn drew
back a curtain and spied the unmarked car at the base of the drive, realizing
it had been
hand-picked
. Hand-picked, indeed, by DOS
Assistant Director Albert Kane with his granddaughter’s safety in mind.

Carolyn returned to the crib side and ran a tender finger
over the sleeping baby’s
jet black
curls. At
thirty-four, Carolyn was getting a bit old to entertain the notion of becoming
a mother. Not that thirty-four was unheard of for a woman in today’s society
bearing a first child. But that generally assumed the woman was married and
that she and her husband were actively working on it.

Carolyn studied the baby’s intricate features, seeing
suggestions of both Mark and Ana in their outline. She found herself briefly
wondering if a baby of Joe’s would have reddish hair. Then stopped
herself
, quickly withdrawing her hand from the crib.

Entertaining notions of a baby with Joe. Really Carolyn, she
thought, striding to the refrigerator and gratefully finding it stocked with
beer. Carolyn felt for the coldest of the lot and popped its top, walking back
into the living area. One of these days she was going to get herself a real
house, just like this one.
One with a big comfy couch, a
wide-screen T.V., and a fully loaded kitchen- toaster oven and all.

Carolyn took a swig of beer, casting an eye toward the
nursery. And, if she
was
really lucky, she wouldn’t be
living there alone. She’d have someone to come home to. And, maybe even, God
willing, a baby to hold.

Carolyn set down her beer can, laughing at the absurdity of
her fantasy. Someday, right. As if there were a man in sight who’d even fit
into that picture. Of course, once she’d filled that illusion with a Marine
named Joe. But that was so long ago she’d almost forgotten why... Almost, but
not quite, dammit, Carolyn thought, picking back up her can.

***

“I agree,”
Ana
said. “The Y2K thing
is linked to the systems invasion.”

Mark’s juices rumbled and electricity spiked to his limbs.
Although they hadn’t officially reconciled, ever since they’d come together to
see Isa and Carolyn off, things had gone better between them. And-
analytically- they were onto something. Mark just knew it.

“Anything else he told you?” Mark asked. “Anything at all?”

“Y2K. Something about Al Fahd’s office being littered with paraphernalia.
”

Mark scratched his chin. “Souvenirs?”

“Yes, but from what?”
Ana asked.

From something that went down Mark suspected.
Something with a far-reaching consequence.

“Wait a minute,” Ana said, as if reading his thoughts. “You
don’t think it’s possible... No,” she said, stopping herself. “Guess not.”

Mark reached across Albert’s desk and touched her arm. “Go
on. Say what you were thinking.”

“Y2K is what I was thinking. Remember the anticipation, the
rabid paranoia-”

Mark nodded. “And then the assertion we’d all escaped
unscathed.”

Ana frowned.
“But, did we?”

She paused and let the question sink in as Mark turned the
idea over in his mind. She was right about the rabid paranoia. Every federal
agency, independent business, and even private individuals practically stood on
their heads trying to anticipate and thwart Y2K disaster. More than anything,
people had worried about automated systems going haywire, their dating and
tracking systems not keeping up with the quadruple digit change necessitated by
going from year 1999 to year 2000.

“What are you getting at?” Mark asked, thinking he knew.

Ana dropped her pen to the desk and leaned forward. “What if
someone had found a way,
Mark.
A way
to infiltrate one of the most secure computer systems in the world.
And,
what if- after they did- their intent wasn’t immediate action, but rather a
delayed surprise?”

“Aftershock,” Mark said, knowing when he spoke the word
aloud it resonated with truth.

“Aftershock,” Ana parroted, leaning back
in her chair.
“And one hell of an explosive one, wouldn’t you say?”

Even more than Ana knew, Mark thought, wondering when
exactly her father was planning to tell her.

Mark stood and began to pace the room. “So, you’re saying
this bug has been with us for almost two years.”

“That’s my guess, yes. But what I don’t know is if it’s
plausible, if such a thing could have even been technologically accomplished.”

Mark shook his head but kept on walking. It was plausible
alright
. Plausible but not probable that someone could have
found a way to get into the DOS system during that fraction of a minute when
all systems went down while the change over was taking place. It would have
taken somebody very close to the inside. Someone who would have known that, as
a precaution, the DOS had planned to make the switch two hours early at
twenty-two-hundred
to avoid unnecessary trouble.