Dead Water

9

After Starr and company had transferred from their home-based helicopter to the group's jet, Starr came walking back from the cockpit after spending over an hour with Christman in what had amounted to a flying lesson. After the autopilot had been turned off, Starr had flown the plane, getting a feel for it. He noticed that Phillips had a cross look about her.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

"Don't know yet," she replied, stopping what she was doing to address him. She stretched and sighed. "I've got programs in place pretty much all over cyberspace. You'd never believe it. One program I've installed notifies me if anyone does a search on any of the four of us. This program will also tell me where the search is originating from. Well, someone is doing a search on me."

Styles, who had been busy doing push-ups, stopped and joined them at the table. "What'd you say? Somebody is doing a search on you? Why?"

"Good question. Currently, it seems rather generic, but it's the location of the searcher that has me a bit uneasy."

"Where?" quizzed Starr.

"Langley."

"The CIA?" questioned Styles.

"Yes, and it's coming from the head of their cyber division herself, Myra Banks."

Starr looked at her and stated, "You know, there was a time I'd have asked you how you know that."

"You're learning, Starr."

"Can you tell what she's trying to find out?"

"So far, pretty much what my assignments have been since I transferred over to the DPO. I worked under her for three, maybe four years. She's pretty good. I don't like the idea that the CIA is investigating me. I have a bad feeling that me will ultimately mean us."

Styles spoke up. "Why would the CIA want to know what you, or we, are up to?"

"Bernard Backersley currently runs the CIA. He is off-the-charts smart and has an ego that would stretch across the Pacific. He does not like to not know about everything."

"What do you mean?" Starr questioned.

"You have to figure that he was shown the video I came up with. He won't like the idea that he didn't know about it, particularly where it came from."

Starr broke in. "The president specifically told me, when I asked about how he was going to explain how he got that, that he didn't have to. Rank has its privilege."

"True," Phillips answered. "But that won't stop Backersley from having a shit fit."

"So what do we do?" Styles posed.

"We don't do anything. I will keep a close eye as to where she goes with this and what she finds out. If it gets serious, we might have to address it in some manner."

"What do you mean by that?" Starr asked.

Phillips looked straight at him. "Make no mistake, Backersley could become a real pain in our asses. Maybe even an outright problem. He's an egomaniac who thinks he's above everyone else. Maybe nothing at all will come of any of this. However, we need to be vigilant."

"I agree with you," Styles broke in. "We don't need any bad surprises from the damn CIA."

"Trust me. I'll know what they're up to when they know what they're up to."

"Okay, I have to ask. How will you do that?" Starr inquired.

"Short version is that back when I was with the CIA, I installed what I call a 'mirror' program into their mainframe. What I mean is when someone uses a computer, there's a one picosecond delay that even the best firewalls can't pick up. During that delay, the mainframe splits the signal into two paths; one goes back to the originating computer accessing it, and the second signal goes to my installed program. Every single operation done by computer at Langley is backed up in real time to my program. I've downloaded every single word written at any computer there for almost three years now. Most are just filed away, unless certain ones I've earmarked are used."

Starr were stunned. The look on Styles's face suggested he was too. "You mean you hacked the whole fucking CIA?" gasped Starr.

"Well, yeah."

Styles asked, "Exactly what is a picosecond?"

"It's one-trillionth of one second."

He just looked at her dumbfounded. "One-trillionth? How far down does time go?"

"Currently down to one Planck time unit, which is the time required, at the speed of light, to travel one Planck length. Basically, it's the briefest physically meaningful span of time. Please don't ask me to explain any further; it gets very complicated."

Starr just shook his head. Finally, he said, "Is there any place you haven't hacked into?"

"Of course. I only infiltrate the important ones. I hacked the CIA because I thought we had a mole. Turns out I was wrong, but I didn't see any sense in removing the program. Never knew when it might have come in handy. Now we do."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned someone might find it?" asked Styles.

"Not really. If someone did come across it, the instant they tried to access it, it would self-terminate, leaving no trace."

"How did you learn this shit?" Starr asked, still stunned.

"I honestly can't tell you. It just came naturally. Some people can sing. I know computers. I learned how to type at eight, and the rest is history."

Styles looked at her and remarked, "I'm damned glad you're on our side."

"Yes, you are."

Starr got up and returned to the cockpit and rejoined Christman, leaving Phillips alone with Styles.

Phillips looked at Styles and said, "Okay, your turn."

"Huh?"

"I just relayed how I got to be where I am. What about you?"

Silence. Phillips was concerned she had touched a nerve.

"Guess it would be rude not to tell you some things. Short version is my mother died when I was quite young — before school, to be exact. Affected my father and me tremendously. I had always been somewhat of a loner, I guess, and that just drove me further away. I took to the woods. I liked being there, learned to track and later became adept enough to observe. By the time I was seven, I could tell you what animals had been through any part of the woods and how long ago. My dad got worried, so one Saturday morning, think I was about eight, he asked me to take a ride. We wound up at a karate dojo. Hell, I didn't know what karate was. He'd obviously been there previously; it was like they were expecting us. Next thing I know, I'm going there three afternoons a week and on Saturday mornings. The instructor said I had a natural aptitude for it. It also gave me a way to work out my anger issues about my mother. It didn't keep me out of the woods — that was my first love — but martial arts became a close second. Before the year was out, I was going five days a week plus Saturdays. Within two years, I was more than equal to boys who were five years older than I was and twice my size. At that point, my sensei took me aside and informed me that he wanted me to start training with his father. I'd seen him come around a few times but knew nothing about him. He spoke little English. He also held high-degree black belts in five different styles. He was tough. Next five years of my life, I always had bruises. I learned not just the different approaches and philosophies but how to easily blend them. Ultimately, I guess I just kind of conjoined them. Now the challenge is to keep my body in the proper condition to be able to do what I know."

"I never see you practicing any techniques, though," inserted Phillips.

"I don't have to. It's all totally ingrained in me. I've been doing this for over thirty years; you don't forget. You just have to be physically able to do what your mind doesn't forget."

"Well, I've never seen — hell, even heard of — anyone who works out like you."

"Doubtful if many do. It's just who I am, what I am."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"I'm not sure I fully understand what regret really means. Everything happens for a purpose. It's all part of a bigger picture. For whatever reason, I was, hell, I don't know, chosen for this life. I accept that."

Phillips looked at him intensely. "You've never spoken of this before, have you?"

"No."

"Why now?"

"You shared with us; only fair to return the trust. I've also come to terms that what has been my life for the last twenty years is over. I'm turning the page and moving on. I also realize that I'm not alone in this quest of ours. I have to learn to be more open, to accept the fact that I'm part of a team. This is uncharted territory for me. It hasn't been easy. From what I've seen and have begun to understand, make no mistake, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Phillips allowed herself a small smile. "That almost sounds like a compliment."

"It's fact. It is what it is."

"Still…"

Styles pretended to glare at her. "Don't push it." Changing the subject, he asked, "What do you really think of this CIA intrusion?"

"I think it's Backersley's ego. He doesn't like the idea that possibly someone else has a hit team. He wants to be the quarterback of that."

"Yeah, I've noticed a few of the CIA boys from time to time."

"How's that?" Phillips asked.

"I've run across them on and off. I can spot them blindfolded."

"Did they spot you?"

Styles laughed. "Not a chance in hell. A couple of them are actually quite good, but I can spot them just from the way they walk, the way they move. If we were observing one right now, watching him follow a target, I could tell you exactly what he was going to do before he ever did it. I gained that instinct from those years in the woods observing animals and their behavior. We're not that much different. I've learned you can't really teach instinct. It's something you either have or, with enough time, are lucky enough to partially acquire. You're not going to learn it from some instructor or in a classroom. Patience is the ultimate key."

"I found out that there's some top-secret location that the CIA utilizes to teach their best candidates. I know the CIA performs assassinations all over the world — inside our own borders, as well — even though that's completely against their mandate," Phillips offered.

"Yeah, I had to stop one once. The target had innocent company, and the agent was going to take them both. I couldn't allow that."

Phillips looked at him with slight admiration. "No, you couldn't."

Christman announced that they would be landing in Portland, Oregon. in half an hour. Starr, Styles, and Phillips gathered around the conference table. She announced she'd already made room reservations at a Holiday Inn located next to the airport.

Starr asked, "So how should we approach this, what'd you call it? Something Hunting Adventures?"

Phillips, with a look of disdain, corrected him. "Northern Hunting Expeditions. How many years did it take for you to get through high school?"

"No need for sarcasm. I'm just throwing out the obvious for ideas."

"Here's a novel approach," retorted Phillips. "Why don't we go in to inquire about a hunting trip? I mean, that is what they do."

Styles burst out laughing with Phillips joining him, leaving Starr looking exasperated. "I'm so happy to provide you both with humor," Starr deadpanned.

"Sorry, Starr, but that was funny," cracked Styles. "So who goes in?"

Phillips interjected, "How about Christman and me? He can do the talking and let me look around the place to see what they might have for electronic gear."

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Starr. "Marv?"

"Okay by me. J. C. knows what to say. Somehow see if you can work it around where the lake kill was without being too obvious."

"No shit," Phillips shot back dryly.

"This is about the easiest plan we've come up with yet," Starr said.

"What are you two going to do?" asked Phillips.

Starr and Styles looked at each other with Styles answering, "I think we'll nose around and see if we can figure out where the chopper came from. Figures that they probably work together since the floatplane damned sure couldn't land on a lake full of dead fish. Plus that keeps the copter out of your recon. Don't need to tip anybody off about anything."

"That makes sense," Phillips stated, nodding.

"Okay, that's it, then," Starr declared.