Robert Doherty - Project Aura

She turned back to the desk, looked once more at the accusing photo, then picked up the phone linking her to the NSA operations center. At the very least she could have her agency monitor what was going to happen and be prepared to react whichever way was needed. She made sure the ops center was operating at full staffing and all the lines of communications with other government agencies were open.

Then she waited.

Dalton watched from behind Hammond ’s shoulder as the last member of Kirtley’s team was lowered into his isolation tube. “Let me know when they’re all on the other side,” he told Hammond.

Barnes and Jackson were already in the other room where the extra tubes holding Dalton ’s team were stored, preparing them for movement.

“Who are we working for?” Hammond suddenly asked.

Dalton was startled. “What do you mean?”

Hammond shrugged. “I’m just a scientist, but even I can see things here are anything but straightforward. Why did Jenkins cut off that team? He worked for the government, right? Then why did Raisor kill him? He worked for the government too. And I’m supposed to be working for the government-as are you-yet we’re getting ready to hide from our own government.”

“The government-” Dalton began, but he realized she was asking questions that didn’t have simple answers. “The government is supposed to serve the people,” he finally said. “But things have changed over the years. I’ve seen the same thing in the Army. We exist to defend our country; it’s what we swear a binding oath to. But most officers, and a heck of a lot of NCOs, are only interested in their own careers, their own interests.”

He looked at the isolation tubes and the NSA team as he searched for words. “You’re just a scientist and I’m just a soldier. Just.” He laughed shortly. “You know, people want to believe there is a ‘they.’ A bunch of other people who run things. Maybe there is a ‘they,’ but even if there is, it’s our fault for giving up responsibility. And if there isn’t a ‘they,’ then we’re at fault for not taking responsibility.”

He thought of some of the places he’d been ordered to go and what he had done. “Sometimes good people do bad things with a good motive. Sometimes bad people do bad things for a bad motive-does it matter?”

Hammond smiled, a most unusual event on her worn face. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a philosopher.” The smile was gone so quickly, Dalton wondered if he had really seen it as she continued. “I think I became a scientist to avoid asking all those questions. I wanted things in black or white. It either worked or it didn’t. You either proved a hypothesis or you didn’t. Then they sent me here, and if there’s one thing Bright Gate isn’t, that’s black or white. Even when we go over to the other side, it’s all gray.” She leaned forward and typed instructions into Sybyl. “They’re all on the virtual plane now.”

Dalton turned to give Barnes and Jackson help, when Hammond placed a hand on his arm, halting him. “Can I ask you something?”

Dalton was afraid she was going to ask him who he was working for now, but the question was different.

“Why did you go into the Army?”

Dalton laughed. “I’m an old soldier. We had a thing called the draft way back then.”

“Then why did you stay?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “The people.” It occurred to him that at parties he would joke if someone asked him that question and answer that by the time he was released from the POW camp, he was a quarter of his way toward retirement, but the fact he had well over thirty years in now had proved that to be a lie.

Hammond was nodding. “A good reason.” She looked about the control center. “I wish I had one as good for doing what I’m doing.”

“Tell me,” Dalton said.

She shrugged. “Why am I here?”

“No,” Dalton said. “Why did you decide to become a scientist?”

“Knowledge. To learn new things. To discover.”

“All good reasons,” Dalton said. “Hang in there, I have a feeling we have a lot more to learn,” he added as he headed for the freight elevator.

The Aura IV satellite had been launched from Kouro the previous week using a French-designed Ariana 4 rocket. The basic design of the satellite was the same that the HAARP team was using to renovate the MIL STAR satellites. The retransmit plans were part of the wealth of information Souris had taken with her when she defected.

To implement the plan and build the satellite, Cesar had been able to hire Russian scientists. Getting the European Space Agency to launch it had simply required putting the appropriate amount of money in the specified bank account. With the establishment of Kouro as an international launch center, space was truly becoming open to all, as long as they had enough money.

Given that there were over eight thousand objects in space, one more small satellite had excited little interest among the world’s intelligence agencies. ESA had announced the launch as a communications satellite for a private company. It was now in a geosynchronous orbit, centered over the Caribbean Sea, halfway between Saba and Colombia.

Once the satellite was released from the rocket, it had unfolded and spread the retransmit antennas, forty feet wide on either side, mirror images of the towers at HAARP. The bulk of the rest of the satellite was a very powerful battery, capable of adding strength to the signal when it came. The uplink was a specially designed antenna on top of the volcano on Saba. Souris had estimated they would get only one burst out of the battery, maybe two. But all they needed was one to confirm they could do what they needed.

Farruco had to climb over one of the women to get to his cell phone, which was on the nightstand. He ignored her yelp of pain as his knee pressed into her stomach.

“Yes?”

“The Americans are coming,” Cesar informed him.

Farruco jumped out of the bed, one hand on the phone, the other reaching for his pants. “I will-”

“Shut up and listen,” Cesar cut him off. “I want you to do exactly as I say.”

“Careful,” Jackson warned Dalton as he and Barnes finished unhooking the dolly under the last tube in line. They wore heavy work gloves, as the eight-foot-high tubes were still supercooled. Cables looped all around, providing power from portable generators and life support for the bodies inside the tubes. The job had been made considerably easier given that the iso-tubes were designed to be moved if needed.

Dalton wiped the sweat off his forehead and surveyed what they had accomplished so far: All ten cylinders that held his team were free and ready to move; ancillary equipment had also been loaded on the movable platforms.

“What about Raisor?” Barnes asked. “And the other team?”

Dalton shook his head. “We’ll be lucky to get all these in the sling loads. Hammond says they’ll last like this on generator power for about two hours, then we’ve got to hook everything back up.”

“Where are we taking them?” Barnes asked.

“We’ll see it when we get there,” Dalton said.

“Enough yacking,” Jackson said. She had her padded shoulder against the first tube in line. “Let’s get these to the landing pad.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dalton snapped a half salute and joined her.

Valika had secured the Barrett to the floor of the helicopter. She doubted whether she would need the long gun, but she had always thought it best to be prepared. She checked the function of the MP-5 submachine gun Gregory had brought for her.

She leaned close to Gregory, who was seated next to her. “How long?”

“Thirty minutes.”