Project Aura

8

McFairn had four pieces of paper on her desk. One was the intelligence summary from Boreas regarding the activity on the virtual plane HAARP had picked up. The second was an action brief from Southern Command, detailing the disappearance of a Special Forces team assigned to Task Force Six in Colombia. The third was an interception and subsequent decryption of satellite communications between a ground element in Colombia and an unknown location.

She noted the brief introduction to the intercept, which gave information about the way the message had been encrypted-a top-notch program, but not good enough to beat the acres of computers hidden underneath NSA headquarters. The NSA was the largest employer of mathematicians in the world, almost all of them focused on making and breaking codes.

She’d read many such reports in her years, and the dryness of spoken words typed on a page had always struck her as a weak substitute for the real thing, so a DVD disk with the intercept decrypted was attached to the report as per her standing order. Before she read the report, McFairn stuck the DVD in the player built into the face of her desk and thumbed the remote.

There was a hiss of static, then a woman’s voice. “They’re surrendering.” Glancing at the report, McFairn noted that her voice analysts had deduced the accent to be Russian, specifically from the Moscow area.

The second voice startled her. Feminine, but with an echo to it. “Three of them are dead, one is wounded. There are six others. I think Valika is going to kill the surviving Americans even though they are surrendering”

McFairn hit the Pause button. The report indicated that the speech experts had no fix on the owner of the second voice. The writer of the report summarized that the voice might have been distorted by the transmitting equipment at the source. McFairn thought differently-she couldn’t tell herself why, but the edge in the voice went beyond what a machine could do. Besides, they had the machines downstairs to reverse distortion, and they obviously hadn’t been able to.

The next voice was male. “We want them alive.”

The report indicated: male, Colombian, educated. No surprise there, McFairn thought-the Ring. They even had the same voice on other intercepts: Cesar-the leader of the organization. “I said we want them alive,” the man repeated. “Put the gun down, Valika, and send the men in”

Natasha Valika-McFairn’s intelligence officers had a file on the ex-GRU agent. She’d go through that later.

“I don’t like being spied on, Señor Cesar. Where is the witch?”

The strange voice again: “Where I can see you.”

“It worked, Professor. We don’t need you any more, Souris. Turn off the Aura generator.”

McFairn sat up straight. That confirmed what they had already been almost positive of. It was indeed Professor Souris who was behind Aura.

“This is just the beginning. The world will be ours.”

Checking the report, McFairn noted that the voice analyst could not match the voice off this intercept with their file copies of Souris ’s voice. The two weren’t even close. What had happened to Souris? Why had she become a turncoat?

McFairn had read the scientist’s FBI file. There was nothing there to indicate treason. Dual Ph.D.s from MIT. The highest clearance possible granted, which meant an extensive background check that she had passed without the slightest blemish. Over a decade of work on various projects before going to the HERTF group when it was founded. From there she went to work at Bright Gate and then to HAARP. And then one day she just didn’t show up for work and was gone.

McFairn tapped the end of a pen against her lips. Souris and Professor Jenkins had been the keys to getting HAARP/Bright Gate going. Now Souris was working for the Ring and Jenkins was dead. She wished that Boreas would tell her whom he was fighting.

The other essential piece of information from the report was the fact that the location of Valika and Souris had been pinpointed in Colombia via a KH-14 spy satellite tracking their uplink. Almost exactly where the Special Forces team had been waiting in ambush. That meant that Souris had developed a portable Aura transmitter since the SF team had picked the ambush site. Cesar’s uplink had been tracked back to a commercial transmitter in Puerto Rico, which meant he was most likely using a ground line from a distant source to the uplink.

The fourth item on her desk was a copy of an accident report filed to the aviation center at Fort Rucker concerning the crash of a Blackhawk helicopter in Alaska. Four fatalities-two pilots, a crew chief, and General Eichen. Cause of crash was initially being called pilot error pending further investigation. McFairn knew such investigations could take months. And then, they would most likely support the initial conclusion, since the effect of HAARP would not be taken into account because the investigators would have no idea how it worked.

More blood spilled. She took out her Sun Tzu and read for a little while, before going back to her work.

Sweat poured down Dalton ’s face. His left arm jerked, then lifted up to cover his eyes as his legs kicked the blanket off the bed. He moaned, protesting in his sleep against whatever demon was invading his unconscious mind.

Jackson put a hand on his shoulder and shook gently. “Sergeant Major.”

Dalton bolted upright, hand snaking for the automatic pistol under the pillow. Jackson ’s hand was on top of his, having seen this once before. “Easy, Jimmy, easy.”

Dalton ’s hand stopped, his eyes focusing. He swung his feet over to the side and planted them on the floor, connecting with reality. “What’s up?”

“The new boss is here. Kirtley. And he has a half dozen people with him. A new team.”

“Military?” Dalton asked as he retrieved the pistol and stuck it in the small of his back, under his fatigue shirt.

“I don’t think. Civilian clothes.”

“CIA?”

“Maybe,” she said. “One of the alphabet soup organizations, for sure.”

Dalton scratched his head. “Then why does he want us around?”

“I suppose he’ll tell us. After all, we’re the old hands-the only experienced people left who have operated as Psychic Warriors.”

“Where’s Barnes?”

“He was on admin leave, but they called him back. He came in on the same chopper from Denver with the new team.”

“Three of twenty-four,” Dalton noted. “After PW team one and PW team two, we’re going to run out of tubes to keep the bodies.”

“I wouldn’t mention that in front of Kirtley,” Jackson warned.

That startled Dalton. “You think he’ll pull the plug on the first two teams?”

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Jackson said. “He gives me the creeps. He’s one of those no-affect people. I can’t get a read on him, which either means he’s masking his feelings very well or he doesn’t have any.”

Dalton looked about. What struck him most were the empty bunks. He’d come here the first time with eleven other men.

Dalton nodded toward the door. “Let’s see what our new friend wants.”

They left the billets area and walked toward the center of the complex. Jackson swung the door open, revealing the nerve center of Bright Gate. Two rows of ten cylinders-isolation tanks-filled one end. On the other was the control area where a dozen monitors gave access to Sybyl, the mainframe computer.

The first thing Dalton noted was that all the tubes were empty.

Jackson caught the look. “No one’s gone over since my last mission. Hammond has been reprogramming and updating Sybyl.”

“ Hammond have anything on the bug she found?” Dalton asked in a low voice.

“Not yet.”

Dalton shifted his attention to the control area. Dr. Hammond was standing next to a black man with a shaved head. He was talking on a cell phone, which he snapped shut as they approached.

He crooked a finger. “Over here.”

Dalton led the way, around the row of computer consoles.

“You were supposed to be back yesterday,” Kirtley said.

Dalton didn’t bother to offer his hand. “I wasn’t told that until this morning. I was taking care of my wife’s remains.”

Kirtley reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pager. He tossed it to Dalton. “From now on you have that with you wherever you go, even if you’re taking a shower. You’re on my team now, Sergeant Major, until I tell you that you’re not.”

Dalton took the pager in his callused hands and put it on the desk between him and Kirtley. Then he pulled out the chair and sat down across from the younger man. Dr. Hammond flanked Kirtley on the left. She was middle-aged, her face marked by deep, dark pockets under each eye, her blond hair disheveled and badly in need of a cut. Jackson took a seat next to Dalton. He noted that she had her pager attached to one of the pockets on her flight suit.

“Lieutenant Jackson. Sergeant Major Dalton.” Kirtley said the names as if he were reading them off a manifest. “I’ve been assigned to get a Psychic Warrior team operational as quickly as possible. I expect you to help with whatever I request to get my team up to speed.”

“Then we’re not part of it?” Dalton asked.

“You’re whatever I tell you to be.”

Dalton felt old, worn down by his years of hard service, the wounds he had accrued over the years, subtle aches that underlay the most recent wound. Eichen’s visit the other night and the hints of treachery echoed in his mind.

He knew the answer but he asked anyway. “Do you have written orders for the lieutenant and me indicating that?”

Kirtley handed him a piece of paper. “Yes.”

Dalton read it. They were from the office of the G-1, personnel, at the Pentagon. Such sheets of paper had ruled Dalton ’s entire life. An order to Vietnam; to Lebanon; all over the world, working for whoever’s name was indicated on the orders. He folded and slid it into a pocket to add to the thick sheaf in his personnel records.

A long silence ensued.

Dalton finally broke it. “Why as quickly as possible?” He remembered what had happened last time they were in a rush. He had lost one man in training, even before they became operational, dying inside his isolation tube.

“Because those are my orders. And now they are your orders.”

Hammond cut in. “I’ve updated the program.”

Dalton didn’t even look at her. He leaned back in his chair and considered Kirtley. A man who controlled his fate because of a piece of paper signed by another man. Finally Dalton turned to Hammond.

“With the update, can you recover the first two teams?”

Kirtley answered. “The first two teams are no longer a factor.”

Dalton straightened. “ ‘No longer a factor’?”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Kirtley said. “I’m not pulling the plug on their isolation tanks. I’m saying they are no longer a factor in operational terms. If we can find them or recover them, then we’ll do it. However, do understand me that they are not the mission priority.”

Dalton reached forward and picked up the pager. He clipped it onto his belt. “What is the priority?”

“I’ve just been informed that a special ops team from Task Force Six has been lost in Colombia and we’ve been detailed to find out what happened to it.”

“Lost a team? How?” Dalton asked.

“They didn’t make extraction and they’ve missed all scheduled contacts,” Kirtley said. “There was no one at primary, alternate, or emergency exfiltration points.”

“Why are we getting called on this?” Dalton asked. “Task Force Six can draw from all of Special Operations. Seems like a misuse of a valuable asset.”

Dalton was used to that in his career. Special Forces had been designed initially to be teachers, not commandos. Green Berets were to teach the people of other countries to fight as insurgents or to stop insurgencies, acting as a force multiplier and keeping American soldiers from having to do the dirty work. But over the decades from the founding of Special Forces, they had been drawn into every possible type of mission where well-trained, highly dedicated men were needed, from strategic reconnaissance to commando raids.

“We need to operate stealthily and Psychic Warrior is best suited for that. Our relationship with the Colombian government is strained at best, and Task Force is not a sanctioned operation under our agreement with them.”

Dalton could see the sense of that, but didn’t say anything.

“Also,” Kirtley continued, “the team that was lost was from your old unit-10th Special Forces.”

“What team number?”

“Zero eight four.”

Dalton knew from the number that the team was from Bravo Company, Third Battalion, not his battalion. But he also knew the team sergeant, Mike Garrison. A good man.

“What was their mission?”

“Interdict and destroy a large load of cocaine.”

“Task Force Six has no idea what happened to the team?” Dalton asked as he considered the situation.

“It just seems to have disappeared. If the cartel caught them, we’d be seeing it on CNN, so we’re not sure what’s happened. As I said, the Pentagon wants it handled discreetly, so we’ve been called in to sneak and peek.”

“Well, good luck with it.”

“This initial tasking is for you and Lieutenant Jackson and Sergeant Barnes,” Kirtley said.

“You’ve got your men here,” Dalton argued, knowing the answer even before he asked the question. “Why us?”

“My men have to be fitted and then trained as Psychic Warriors. That will take a while, according to the schedule Dr. Hammond has given us. You prefer to have this search for your comrades delayed that long?”

“I’ve never been asked my preferences,” Dalton said. “They’ve never really seemed to matter in the course of things.”

Not even the slightest hint of a smile touched Kirtley’s face. “True. They don’t. I want you, Jackson, and Barnes to prep and depart immediately. My men will observe and learn.”

“Who are you people?” Dalton asked. “CIA?”

Kirtley shook his head. “NSA.”

“And if we find the team, what are we supposed to do?”

“Report back.”

“And leave them there?”

“You can’t bring them back via Psychic Warrior, can you?”

“No, we can’t.”

“Then you leave them there, return, and file a complete report. Then someone else goes in and rescues them.”

Valika gripped the arms of the seat while forcing her face to remain expressionless as the Lear dove toward the ocean. From her first time in a plane, the initial jump at the Russian army parachute school at Mukchevo, she had never been fond of flying. She’d enjoyed jumping that first time, simply to be under her own control and out of the plane, where she had to trust the pilot and the mechanic who serviced the plane and even the slugs who built it. She’d seen the mechanics in the hangers, drinking hydraulic fluid they drained out of the airplanes to get drunk. Certainly the pilots of this jet were professionals-Cesar only hired the best-but she still preferred to be in charge of her own destiny.

Valika had received her initial training as a member of the GRU-the intelligence arm of the Soviet army. She served as an assassin, working with elite Spetsnatz teams, killing enemies of her country both inside of Russia and out. When the Wall came down in 1989, she had been one of the first to realize her talent might be better appreciated elsewhere. She’d found work with Cesar as he was taking over the reins of the Ring from his father, and she’d been with him ever since.

Across from her, Souris was engrossed in her laptop computer, her fingers flitting across the keys. They had not exchanged a single word the entire flight from Bogotá.

The blue sea of the Caribbean flashed by below, then suddenly a rocky cliff appeared and the wheels touched down a second later. In her intelligence files she had read this was the shortest airfield in the region, only four hundred meters long, and the first time she landed there had confirmed the data. The screech of brakes and the savage jerk as the pilot went one hundred percent reverse thrust confirmed that. The seat belt dug into her belly and she cursed, as she did every time she landed on Saba, in the Lesser Antilles.

“Still the problem with flying?” Souris broke the long silence. “I could help you with that. A little therapy using Aura.”

“No, thank you.”

While Valika was almost six feet in height, Souris was less than five feet tall and thin under the robe she wore. But there was a sense of something about the other woman that Valika had never been able to pin down that she picked up every time she looked in Souris ’s dark eyes. Not a physical threat, but more a piercing gaze that cut through to her core. Of course, the professor’s shaved head with the red marks tattooed onto the skin gave her a bizarre appearance.

The plane stuttered to a halt less than thirty meters from the end of the runway, beyond which the ground dropped once more into the ocean. Juancho E. Yrausquin Airport occupied the only level terrain on the tiny island, etched across a small peninsula on the northeast corner.

The door to the Lear swung down and Valika let Souris get off first. The sea battered three sides of the cliffs that surrounded the runway. In the fourth direction, the land rose precipitously to a volcanic peak, and a single-lane road snaked its way upward.

The man who stood on the tarmac next to a shiny Jeep was dressed in very expensive casual clothes. Valika found it amazing that those in the West could spend so much money on a simple pair of pants and shirt. Her own outfit was a nondescript set of khakis that did little justice to her well-conditioned body.

“Welcome, ladies.”

Souris walked past him as if she weren’t even aware of his presence. Valika knew all she cared about were her computers and where they could take her.

“To what do we owe this honor, Señor Cesar?” Valika tossed her duffel bag over her shoulder as she headed toward the man and the Jeep. Cesar was a young looking sixty. He had well-tanned skin, a startling contrast to the thick silver hair that crowned his head. A nose more like an eagle’s beak highlighted his face.

“Ah, my dear Valika.” Hector Cesar shook his head. “You must let me take you shopping someday. I can think of many outfits you would look better in.” He held out his hand to take the bag, but she ignored him, tossing it into the back of the open Jeep and climbing in after it as Souris took the passenger seat. “You both travel light as usual.”

“Just my guns,” Valika said. She nodded toward the professor. “And her computer.” Behind them a small truck had pulled up to the plane, and the Aura transmitter was unloaded from the Lear’s cargo bay.

Cesar got behind the wheel. “You did well with the American commandos. You both did.”

“You should kill the survivors and dump the bodies at sea,” Valika said. “If the Pentagon discovers we hold them, they will attack the villa in Colombia to rescue them.”

“That may be something I want in the future,” Cesar said. “And I am here, not in the villa in Colombia, so it is not an immediate concern.”

Valika saw no reason why he would want the Americans to attack, but she said nothing further. She was only a piece in the machine, and she didn’t know what the big picture was. She hoped this visit would bring some enlightenment. From the results the previous evening, she knew that meant things were developing well after years of work. Where that work was ultimately headed, she had no idea, nor did she deem it her place to ask.

Valika held on to the side as Cesar accelerated down the runway, then spun the wheel, fishtailing onto the thin road. It switchbacked a dozen times as they gained altitude, heading toward the two-thousand-foot-high peak that dominated the terrain. They passed through a small village where the small whitewashed houses pressed in on either side. No one waved a greeting or even looked at them. The few natives who still lived on the island knew their place.

“Did you know this used to be called Lower Hell’s Gate?” Cesar asked as they exited the village and took another hairpin turn.

“Excuse me?” Valika asked.

“That was the name of the town. Very imaginative, don’t you think? Was that in your intelligence report on the island?”

It had been, but Valika saw no need to mention that. They rounded a corner and a steel pole barred the way, two men with submachine guns standing nearby. They immediately lifted the pole and waved Cesar through.

The gate was probably unnecessary, Valika knew. This was Cesar’s island. She’d studied it years ago, before she accompanied Cesar on her first trip here and the decision was made to make this the heart of Aura’s development.

Saba was the smallest inhabited island in the Lesser Antilles, about a hundred miles southeast of the Virgin Islands. Saba and the surrounding islands of St. Martin, Curacao, St. Eustatius, and Bonaire were originally claimed by the French in 1625, but that didn’t last long, as they were taken by the Dutch in 1636. The larger islands were used as way stations and slave markets, but Saba was pretty much ignored due both to its small size, less than five square miles, and to the lack of any harbor or even a beach for ships to off-load. Over the centuries, a handful of people-mostly ex-slaves-had made the island home.

Cesar’s father had first come to Saba just after the Second World War while sailing in the area. Valika had to allow that the old man had had great foresight. While everyone else began using the Caymans to funnel their money offshore, Cesar’s father decided to have his own private island. He bought out the people. Those who stayed owed everything to Cesar’s family. The islands of the Lesser Antilles had been given self-government after the war, which meant essentially that Cesar’s father and now Cesar ruled. It was not a tourist destination, had no industry or business of note, and thus was basically unnoticed among the many islands in the region.

From a security standpoint, Valika believed it was almost the perfect setup. She’d had Cesar position snipers on the flanks of the volcano that dominated the center of the island, able to cover all avenues of sea and air approaches. Two radar dishes were secreted near the top of the volcano, on either side, each covering 180 degrees. Infiltration from the sea had been-and still was-Valika’s greatest concern. The two tiny beaches where a very small craft might be able to land with great difficulty were mined. Sensors had been strung along the cliffs that faced the sea for the rest of the shoreline. It was as secure as Valika could make it, although she always came up with a way to improve the defenses each time she came here.

They pulled up to a ten-foot-high concrete wall that blocked the road and extended fifty meters in either direction, following the rise of the land, before doubling back out of sight. The double doors in the center swung open and Cesar drove through. Valika noted the guards on the parapet inside the wall, making sure they were alert, then the mansion directly in front. Souris had not said a word since getting off the plane, nor had she reacted to anything they had discussed.

Cesar stopped the Jeep and shut off the engine. “We have a meeting to attend.”

They walked into the mansion, passed through a large foyer and into a centrally located atrium where a half dozen men in expensive suits were seated around a small conference table set to one side. Valika recognized all of them from previous meetings of the group-the leaders of the six major families that made up ninety percent of the Colombian drug cartel. The Ring. Cesar’s father had founded it not long after taking over Saba, and it was one of the most closely kept secrets in the world, although Valika knew that Western intelligence agencies were aware it existed. So far Saba still remained a secret, as the West focused its energies on Colombia, the source of the cocaine.

Valika had extensive files on each of the men present and contingency plans to destroy each of their cartels if Cesar gave her the word. Loyalty was never a certain thing when billions of dollars were involved. The Ring controlled an annual take of over ten billion U.S. dollars, and she knew that given the slightest sign of weakness on the part of Cesar, the jackals would be after him.

Cesar went to the remaining seat at the head of the table. Valika took a position to his right and slightly behind. Souris moved to a chair in the shadows beyond the table and sat there.

“Gentlemen,” Cesar said, nodding at them. He leaned back and clasped his hands contentedly on his lap. “Last night was a success. We have Señoritas Valika and Souris to thank for that.” He turned to the old man seated to his immediate right, the eldest member of the Ring. “And, my comrade, Señor Naldo, you have them to thank for stopping the Americans’ attempt to interdict a rather large shipment of your product and kidnap your son.”

Valika could see that Naldo was not about to shower thanks on her. The men were never happy with her presence. For the past ten years she had run into the macho Latin attitude of South American men in all her dealings. A woman who killed, who was involved in their business, was a threat to their manhood. And Souris ’s mere presence was enough to add a level of unease to any meeting. This was the first time they got to see the American scientist, and she could see many curious glances in Souris ’s direction.

“You have taken a lot of our money.” The man who suddenly spoke was the one on the opposite end of the table. Valika recognized him and wasn’t surprised at his outburst-Alarico, the youngest of those gathered here, who had been grandfathered into the Ring because his now deceased father had been a founding member. She took half a step forward but Cesar raised the pinkie on his left hand, indicating for her to be still.

Alarico continued to address Cesar, ignoring Valika. “I myself have contributed ten times what the shipment last night would have cost Naldo if lost to the Americans, so I assume he has given a similar amount. That is not a profit. I want to know what exactly has been accomplished with our shared resources. I-and the others here-joined the Ring because of your father, because he promised us a new direction through unity, but years have gone by, your father has passed on, and you have told us little. You tell us of tests, use words one would need a dictionary for, and speak of things that make little practical sense.”

“Your father joined the Ring because my father would have crushed him if he didn’t,” Cesar said in an even tone. “And you, my dear Alarico, stay for the same reason.”

Alarico stood, his chair falling back. “I did not come here to be insulted.”

“I am not insulting you,” Cesar replied calmly. “I am mentioning facts. I called you here to tell you our new direction and what you have been paying for.” Cesar leaned back in his seat and gestured for Alarico to sit. Reluctantly, the young man did so. “It began about ten years ago in the United States. They built a facility to work on developing a new type of weapon. Professor Souris was in charge of this research. The place was called the High-Energy Research and Technology Facility. The Americans were planning to develop various weapons that utilized radio waves. One of those programs was called HAARP-which stands for High-frequency Active Auroral Research Program.”

Valika could see Alarico roll his eyes, but Cesar either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it.

“Two years ago, a good portion of the money that you contributed to our organization was used to lure Professor Souris away from the United States and to our lovely island. Before she left, she took all her research data and the prototype of the HAARP computer which she has developed into what we now call Aura.”

Valika was watching the men’s faces, noting their reactions. Even though she was Cesar’s security chief, the inner workings of the Ring he kept to himself. He had never confided in her what his ultimate plan for Aura was. She could tell some of the men around the table already knew the information he was giving them; to others it was completely new. That gave her an idea of Cesar’s confidence in the various men.

“What is this HAARP and Aura?” Naldo asked.

“I will get to that,” Cesar promised. “First, though, let me ask you all to think about something. We are very rich from our work, are we not?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But we are always being threatened. The Americans with their Task Force Six have taken their drug war illegally into our own country, and the world turns a blind eye because we are criminals. What are they then when they thumb their nose at international borders and assassinate people? Are they not criminals also, hiding behind a flag?

“Up until now we have dared not fight back, because we did not have the means to do so with any hope of surviving. And then there are others who seek to take our part of the market-the Mafia, the Russians, now even the Chinese Triads with support from Beijing are getting stronger and stretching their muscles overseas into our markets. There is no future in this.”

“And?” Alarico asked impatiently. “What future are you crafting here on your private island?”

“The means to keep track of our enemies and when necessary defeat them. To make them fear us.”

“How?” Alarico’s question earned him hard looks from the other men at the table.

“Professor Souris has developed a computer called Aura that-”

Alarico snorted. “You’ve used our money to make computers? The Americans are supposed to be scared of a computer?”

Valika could tell that Cesar was controlling himself with great effort. “In a manner of speaking. The computer is just one piece of the entire system.”

“I am an old man,” Naldo said, interrupting and trying to throw a little water on things. “I am not, how do you say, technically proficient. My grandchild knows more about computers than I do. I do not see the connection between what you are speaking about now and what happened last night, not that I do not appreciate what happened.” Naldo nodded slightly toward Valika, the equivalent of a standing ovation in this group.

Cesar nodded in turn. “I will let the expert explain it to you as best she can.” He crooked a finger and Valika took a step back as the American came out of the shadows. “Professor Souris has been in charge of developing Aura.”

Souris inclined her head briefly in greeting to those gathered around the table. “Gentlemen. You want to know what Aura is.” A thin hand fluttered briefly from out of the robe’s sleeve. “It is all around you. It is everywhere. And nowhere. It is where we want it to be.”

Alarico shifted in his seat impatiently but said nothing as Souris continued.

“Using Aura, I was able to see the Americans last night. But not with my eyes. And I was able to direct Valika and her men to capture them. All without moving from my seat in a Land Rover a half mile away. I traveled through Aura. And I saw them from my place in Aura.

“The best way to think of Aura is that it is a virtual field like a radio transmission that we can generate that is practically on the same frequency and amplitude as that of our thoughts. Thus we can travel outside of our heads into an Aura field.”

“What is she talking about?” Alarico couldn’t hold back any longer. “She babbles like a loco woman. And what is with her head? Those marks?”

Cesar spoke up. “Think of having access to a machine that allows you to be able to travel anywhere and see and hear what is happening without ever leaving where you are. Start imagining the potential. And it goes well beyond that. It can also be used as a weapon, as we did three days ago to wipe out the crew of an American Coast Guard cutter, allowing us to land one of the largest shipments we have ever sent.”

“A computer that kills?” Naldo was leaning forward.

“Yes,” Cesar said.

Naldo ran a finger across his upper lip as he considered that. “Interesting.”

“The computer is only one part of it,” Souris corrected. “What killed was the Aura field projected by the computer through a specially designed antenna system that I have developed.”

Alarico spit once more. “This is nonsense. You bring this loco scientist and your Russian whore here and you waste our time. Just as you have wasted millions of our dollars. I am tired of paying the Ring and getting nothing out. I can protect my own.”

Cesar ignored him. “Using Aura, Professor Souris was able to discover who gave up the time and location of Señor Naldo’s shipment and thus we were able to ambush the ambushers who sought to kidnap his son.”

Valika knew that was partially a lie. Souris had discovered the source of the leak that had initiated the planning for the location of the ambush, but the information about the timing of the deployment of the Task Force Six team had been given to her from one of her sources in Bogotá.

“This is ridiculous!” Alarico was on his feet.

Valika had spent thousands of hours on live fire ranges and negotiating close-quarter combat courses. Alarico’s hand was still reaching under his jacket when she had her pistol free of the holster. By the time his cleared leather, she was in a classic shooter’s stance, a bead drawn directly between his eyes. Her finger was a millimeter from the hair trigger as Alarico froze, his gun still pointing down, his eyes fixed on the muzzle of her weapon, his face flushed bright red.

“Drop the pistol.” Cesar had not even flinched during the encounter.

It fell to the ground with a clatter.

Valika edged around so she had a better field of fire. “Move back two steps,” she ordered, staying far enough away from him so he couldn’t reach her with a surprise move. Only amateurs pressed a gun up against a foe, negating the standoff advantage inherent in a pistol.

“If you do not do as she says,” Cesar added, “I will have her shoot you in your testicles.”

Alarico shuffled back, veins in his face bulging from anger. He was now about two feet from one of the atrium pillars.

“Turn around.” Valika waited until he complied. “Now grab that pillar without moving your feet. Lean forward and press your forehead against it. Now, remove your hands and place them behind your back.”

Alarico’s weight was now distributed between his feet and his forehead. He couldn’t move without falling unless he put his hands back on the pillar. She pulled a pair of cuffs from her belt and quickly snapped them around his wrists.

“Cesar, why are you doing this to me?” Alarico asked, his voice slightly muffled as it bounced off the pillar. Unnoticed by everyone but Valika, Souris made her way out of the courtyard, through a dark doorway, and into a descending staircase.

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” Cesar said. “You made a deal with the Americans. You gave up the route of Naldo’s shipment as a sign of good faith on your end. You wanted his son dead or kidnapped. You were planning to give up all of us eventually and be the only one left standing. You should have had more patience. That was your father’s problem, which is why I had him killed. He died like the dog he was.”

“You bastard.” Alarico started to move and his forehead slid.

“Fall to the ground and you die,” Cesar said.

“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“No, I’m not. If you admit what Professor Souris learned through Aura in front of the others, I will let you go. You are part of one of our tests of the system. I care more about that than I do about you.” He turned to the others at the table. “Professor Souris was in Bogotá two weeks ago. I had her follow Señor Alarico using Aura. She ‘saw’ him meeting with an American intelligence officer. He told them of the shipment and that Naldo’s son would be with the shipment.”

Valika had seen many face death, whether at her hands or others. Any opening was like placing a meal in front of a starving man. Brave men could resist so long, but eventually they all gave in and grasped for the opening, even if it was an obvious illusion.

“You’re old,” Alarico said. “Your time is past.”

“So it’s true,” Cesar pressed.

“Yes.”

“He’s yours,” Cesar said to Valika.

“You said you would let me go!” Alarico protested.

“I am,” Cesar said. He laughed. “All you have to do is get past my Russian whore and my loco American scientist and you are free to leave.”

“In handcuffs and with her having a gun?”

“You whine like a baby,” Cesar said. “Are you afraid of a woman?”

Valika stepped forward and uncuffed Alarico and quickly backed away. She put the guns on the table in front of Cesar.

Alarico pushed away from the wall, face flushed. He ripped off his suit jacket, then his shirt. Muscles bulged as he smacked one fist into the other hand. Valika knew he took steroids to supplement his weight lifting.

“I will break her, and then you,” he said to Cesar.

“Again, you have no patience,” Cesar said. “I suggest you concentrate on the immediate task.”

Alarico growled and dashed forward, arms outstretched, but Valika was already moving, dancing lightly to the left and snapping a waist-high turn-kick that caught the man in the midsection. As Alarico doubled over, she backed off and waited.

Alarico straightened up and glared at her. Valika smiled and raised her eyebrows in invitation. He came forward slower this time, like a wrestler looking for an opening. Valika gave ground easily. This wasn’t a fight about terrain. She knew men had a basic instinct that they had to move forward, never retreat, but it made no sense in a situation like this.

She stumbled on an uneven tile, right leg appearing to buckle, and Alarico pounced. Right into the toe of her left boot as she snap-kicked, completely airborne. He fell backwards. Blood blossomed out of his broken nose as Valika kept the momentum of her foot swinging, up over her head, and did a somersault, landing to the rear, on her feet, up on her toes, ready.

Like a wounded bull, Alarico shook his head, blood spraying. Valika could see the rage taking over and knew he was now both more dangerous and more vulnerable.

He charged, arms outstretched. Valika snap-kicked toward his groin, but he turned at the last second and the toe of her boot connected with his thigh muscle instead. As she darted back, the tips of his fingers caught her shirt, ripping material, as he scrambled to get hold of her. She jammed her right hand downward, fingers locked straight, right into his inner elbow on the hand that had hold of her shirt. The pain caused him to lose his grip and she moved back several steps. Alarico spit blood, moving his injured arm, regaining control.

Suddenly a look of surprise spread across Alarico’s face and he jerked backwards, as if hit in the chest. Valika started to move forward to take advantage, but she caught the gesture from Cesar out of the corner of her eye, indicating for her to halt and back away.

Alarico saw it also. He turned to Cesar, breathing hard, in more pain than what Valika had inflicted. “What are you doing to me?”

“I told you that you must get past both my women,” Cesar said. “You have not done well against my dear Valika, so I will give you a chance and see how you do against the American.”

Alarico suddenly gasped in agony and his hands clutched at his head. “Where is she?”

Cesar pointed at Alarico. “Right there in front of you. Don’t you see her? She’s in Aura. Using her computer. Her body is below us in the Aura center, but her essence is right here, doing this to you.”

More blood was now coming out of Alarico’s eyes and ears, turning his head into a grotesque mask of red and white. He shrieked, dropping to his knees in agony, rocking back and forth. The other Ring members were watching in shock, which is exactly what Valika knew Cesar had hoped for with this demonstration.

“If you had had more patience,” Cesar continued, “you would have learned more about Aura and its potential as a weapon. But I believe this is a most effective demonstration.”

“Please!” The word was torn from Alarico’s very soul and all present knew it wasn’t asking for release, but for a quick ending. His hands were scrambling at his head as if he could rip out the pain that was resounding inside of it. His fingers came away with clumps of hair, yet still he kept at it, tearing at the skin.

Cesar sat, impassively watching as Alarico collapsed face first onto the tiles, body twitching for several seconds before becoming still.

Cesar stood. “Do I have any more disagreements with my course of action or questions about the effectiveness of Aura?”

Raisor saw the antenna dish on the wall of the atrium pointed at the dead man as the bright ray disappeared. He had homed in on it using a series of jumps in the virtual plane. Willing himself through each leg, drawing closer and closer to the beam.

He felt more substance, or what might be called substance if there was such a thing on the virtual plane. He could also see clearly into the real plane when he wanted.

He had no idea who these people were, but he did know they were working with technology that pierced into the virtual plane. That they were using it as a weapon not only didn’t bother him, it intrigued him. He would need a weapon to make those responsible for his sister’s death and his betrayal pay.

Like an invisible vulture, he hovered over the atrium and listened and watched.

After the fourth buzz, Dalton knew something was wrong. His hand tightened around the SATPhone. After the sixth, there was a clicking noise, then a new buzz, this one somewhat different.

A voice-not Eichen’s-answered. “Yes?”

Dalton considered hanging up immediately. But then he would be completely in the dark. “General Eichen, please.”

“Who is this?”

“Who am I speaking to?” Dalton asked in turn.

“We can play this game forever,” the voice said, “but I have to assume since you have one of these phones and are asking for Eichen that he recruited you. And you have to assume that since your call to him got forwarded to me, I’m legitimate. I know Eichen told you to tell no one other than him anything-even showed you a note from the President, correct?”

Dalton hesitated, then answered. “Yes.”

“Let me guess. You’re Sergeant Major Jimmy Dalton?”

“I don’t think you’re guessing,” Dalton said. “Where’s General Eichen?”

“General Eichen’s dead. So I don’t think you’re going to be able to report to him.”

“How?”

“Helicopter crash in Alaska.”

“Accident?”

“I doubt it.”

Dalton had doubted it too as soon as he’d heard it. “What did he discover about HAARP?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“And now?”

“Now you report to me. There are only a few of us. Eichen would have disseminated information you sent him to the rest of the group. Now I’ll have to.”

“And what do I call you?” Dalton asked.

“Are you familiar with the Greek classics?”

“Not particularly.”

“Too bad, Sergeant Major. You can call me Mentor.”

“Well, Mentor, do you have anything further for me on who exactly it is I’m supposed to be watching out for?”

“No.”

“So this is a one-way conversation?”

“Yes.”

Dalton was tempted to just hang up, ditch the special phone, and forget about the entire thing. The only problem was that he knew that wouldn’t end it. No, that wasn’t the only problem, he admitted to himself. Like Sullivan Balue, he’d sworn an oath to defend his country from all enemies-foreign and domestic.

“So what next?” Dalton asked.

“Keep an eye on Kirtley. Let me know what he has planned.”

“Is Dr. Hammond one of General Eichen’s contacts?” He knew what Eichen had told him, but it never hurt to ask again.

There was a pause. “Not that I’m aware of. We’ve been moving people, taking action. Sometimes it means placing a person like Hammond in a position that might have been occupied by someone of questionable background. Of course, with every action, there is a reaction.”

“Is Jonathan Raisor one of your people?”

Again the pause, and again the same answer. “Not that I’m aware of. And shouldn’t that be phrased in past tense?”

“I’m not sure about that,” Dalton said.

“Interesting.”

“When you have something to share with me,” Dalton said, “perhaps we can talk again.” He flipped the phone shut.

“They’ll come for us.”

Sergeant Lambier stopped tending Granger’s wound to look up at Captain Scott. “Sir, we’re in Colombia illegally. If they come for us, they’re compounding the problem. As it is, they might have some deniability. Not much but some. We all knew that when we signed on for this.”

Scott was seated with his back against a stone wall. The cell they were locked in was lit by a single naked lightbulb that cast a pallor over the survivors. The captain shook his head and repeated for the twentieth time in the past hour: “They’ll come for us.”

Sergeant Pinello walked across the dirt floor and squatted next to the dazed captain, who had dried blood from Master Sergeant Garrison encrusted on his fatigue shirt. “Sir, no one knows where we are. We have to make a plan to get out of here on our own.”

Scott shook his head. “No. We stay in place. They’ll come for us. We try to break out, they’ll kill us.”

“They’re going to kill us anyway,” Pinello said. He had to fight from grabbing the officer’s shirt and shaking him. “I want to go down fighting when it comes to that.”

The fifth man in the room, Sergeant Buhler, spoke up. “We never should have surrendered. We could have taken a hell of a lot of them with us. Made them pay. It’s what we agreed on.”

“I’m the team leader,” Scott said. “It was my decision. My command. My responsibility.”

“Everybody just calm down,” Sergeant Lambier said as he stood, hands covered in Granger’s blood. “The captain’s right. They’ll try to find us and then they will come for us, if they can. But in the meanwhile, we count on only ourselves. So if anyone has a bright idea how to get out of here, you better start talking.”

“Sergeant-” Scott’s voice cut across the room. “I am the team leader. And I’m ordering you not to do anything. We wait. They’ll come for us.”

“Sir-” Lambier began, but then he paused. “Yes, sir.”