Jerome Preisler: Net Force--Attack Protocol

“Or the facts,” Grigor said. “People think the cloud that powers the internet is in the sky. But it’s actually deep beneath the waves, isn’t it? No matter what they think.”

The guard cocked a finger at him. “Got a point there, Mr. Gelfland,” he said. “Anyway, good luck. Someone gives you a problem, just show the badge.”

Grigor nodded, raised his window, and drove off.

Granite Harbor Lane curved gradually up onto a craggy granite bluff at the water’s edge. He saw the Stalwart almost at once, anchored among a group of loading cranes and tugs and service boats in a wide river bend.

The turnaround appeared on his right. The plows had been through it and pushed the snow to the side of the blacktop in low, bordering rims. The blacktop was completely clear.

Grigor pulled in and stopped the Toyota and got out into the cold. He adjusted the badge so it hung over his car coat, then stepped over to the water side of the turnaround. There he looked out and down at the ship he would be boarding within days.

The Stalwart was white-hulled and wide-beamed with a large, high mission bay from which the superstructures supporting the communications arrays towered many yards skyward. Her stern was flat as it was in all deepwater cable-layers. A long conveyer belt ran from the shore to her deck. On the dock was a huge drum of wound-up fiber-optic cable. Around it, men in hard hats were running large pieces of equipment that fed the cable over the belt to the ship. The cable looked as thick as a garden hose. Deep within the ship were gigantic circular tanks holding enough of it to span four thousand miles of the seafloor. She would berth a crew of eighty sailors, engineers, and other assorted workers. They would consume thousands of pounds of food, milk, and other beverages in their months at sea.

Grigor had studied and instantly memorized every available bit of information about the vessel. Every specification. He knew her inside and out without yet having set foot on her. But he had wanted to see her once, alone, as himself, before being introduced to her in the role of Stephen Gelfland.

He stood on the overhanging bluff for a few minutes, taking her in. The wind had teeth blowing over the water. His mind on what lay ahead, he reached an arm out straight toward the ship, stretching as far as possible, holding it rigidly in front of him. His hand was turned upward, fingers fully extended.

Grigor looked down the length of his arm for a full thirty seconds. Then he lowered it slightly, like a cantilever, a small degree at a time.

For a moment, the Stalwart appeared to rest in the palm of his hand.

He clenched his fingers tightly together, a fist.

Romania

It was 7:00 p.m. and pitch-dark out when Adrian Soto’s Learjet 75 charter banked in for a landing in the cold, cloudy sky over Mihail Kogălniceanu Airport.

His Jolt parked near the runway, E4 Mario Perez at the wheel, Sergeant Fernandez watched the plane descend and felt his stomach flutter. He didn’t actually know Soto but knew everything about him, or everything that was public information, and thought of him as a father, or maybe an uncle, some kind of larger-than-life patriarch. Somebody who was up there while he was down here . In the past several hours, he’d thought about what their conversation might be, thought of a million things to say to him. But what did you say to somebody you’d always considered a hero?

“Sir,” Perez said beside him, “I’m thinking I shouldn’t have done it.”

Fernandez turned from the windshield and eyed him a little absently.

“Done what?” he said.

Mario dipped his head back toward the rear.

“That,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It was a dumb idea.”

Fernandez shook his head. “Wrong.”

“You honestly don’t think so?”

“If I thought so, you wouldn’t have done it, because I’d’ve ordered you not to,” Fernandez replied. “Which I didn’t do.”

Mario was silent. It was hard to believe he was sitting here alongside the illustrious Sergeant Julio Fernandez, someone he’d looked up to since arriving at FOB Janus seven months ago...and, really, long before that. Back at Hawthorne, Fernandez had held legendary status as a trailblazer in the military applications of AI and machine learning. The opportunity to work under him was Mario’s main reason for requesting a transfer to Janus.

“So you considered it?” he asked.

“Considered what?”

“Ordering me not do it.”

“Uh-huh.” Fernandez looked at him. “But then I remembered seeing a picture of Soto at home with a couple of cats in the background.”

“Seriously?”

Fernandez nodded. “Out of curiosity...did you ask your fiancée’s opinion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did lovely Laura think of your idea?”

“What she told me—” Mario began.

He was cut off by a shrill meow.

He rotated halfway around toward the back seat. Buttons was pawing at the zippered front panel of his carrier, his face pushed up against its soft mesh window.

“Shhh, little guy. Papi’s here.” Mario reached a hand out so the cat could sniff it, waited a moment as he settled down, then turned back to Fernandez. “Anyway, Laura’s exact words were Si te dietienes para mirar hacia atrás cruzando la calle, serás golpeado .”

“If you stop to look back when you’re crossing the street, you’ll get hit,” Fernandez said. “Heavy.”

Mario nodded.

“She said I’m impulsive. And that it’s okay to be impulsive. But that I waste too much time questioning my impulses.”

Fernandez grunted.

“And what’d you say?”

“That I just wasn’t sure it’s appropriate. Plus, I don’t want the bigwigs at home to think we’re horning in on their action,” Mario replied. “By having an animal mascot, I mean.”

“And what’d she say?”

“That Net Force’s mascot is a German shepherd and that ours here at Janus is a pesky little cat,” Mario said, “and that she didn’t think they’d feel threatened.”

“Uh-huh,” Fernandez said. “She say anything else?”

“Yeah,” Mario said. “That Buttons is resilient. And clever. You know, like we were against the ’hogs. That he represents . And didn’t quit on the base. Or us. Hiding out for weeks, waiting for everyone to come back.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mario looked at him. Waited a second. “So, what do you say, Sarge?”

Fernandez looked outside again. The aircraft touched down. He heard the whine of the drag force around its turbines as its fans were partly closed off and it decelerated and taxied toward the apron, where a couple of guys in coveralls stood waving orange batons.

His butterflies were in a flapping, twirling tizzy.

“I say your girl’s very smart,” he said after a second.

Mario smiled.

“The smartest I ever met,” he said.

“Bet she’s the prettiest, too.”

“Oh God, you’ve seen her. A knockout,” Mario said.

Fernandez looked at him and grinned. He looked back at Fernandez. And cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess you think I’ve got stars in my eyes.”

Fernandez was quiet, his expression suddenly serious.

“Keep those stars right where they are,” he said. “And when you love somebody, don’t let go.” He patted a hand to his chest. “There’s only one true love of your life, kiddo. That I know. Tell you how I know sometime.”

A moment passed. The heater hummed warm air into the Jolt. Fernandez looked suddenly melancholy. After a minute he saw the plane come to a halt and the airport workers start laying down the wheel chocks.