Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

“Dammit,” she barked, slamming her hand on the table. “This is an impossible choice.” She was only now beginning to understand just how underhanded Müller had become.

James looked around, dropped his head slightly and lowered his voice. “I don’t think it will matter one way or the other. Even if Müller gets what he wants, the chances of ever seeing Kayla alive again are slim.”

Yvonne buried her hands in her face.

Nathan and Emily came back to the dining room with Sven. He looked even more doleful than before.

“Sven,” James said, with assurance. “The safe return of Kayla is our main concern here. We’ve got this.” Regardless of Trish’s trepidations, James would make Kayla his top priority. Sven was certainly in no condition to think clearly, so James hoped that Nathan had some ideas. At this stage, any lead would do.

Sven sat down, and Yvonne moved in a little closer to try and comfort him. She understood exactly what he was going through, but the difference was that her twins hadn’t been beaten up by some brute. She was horrified at the thought and couldn’t get the images of Kayla’s bruised and frightened face out of her mind. That poor, innocent and defenceless child; alone and no understanding of what was happening or why. Tears started welling in her eyes again.

“Trish,” Emily said, abruptly. “If I recall from the surveillance video, the exact time was two forty-five p.m. when Kubacki’s mine exploded and wiped out the drone.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Nathan said.

“Isn’t that also the time Trans-Commercial’s 737 ran into trouble?” she asked, looking to the others. “The Federal Aviation Authority stated that it wasn’t equipment failure and cleared all 737s for normal service.”

Trish was suddenly way ahead of Emily. “The FAA also stated that something hit the portside engine causing it to disintegrate and create that large hole in the side of the passenger compartment. Emily, you’re a genius.”

Trish looked at the time. It was eight p.m., making it five at Groom Lake. She grabbed her phone and punched in a number.

Emily looked at her. “What are you thinking?”

“One sec,” Trish said, acknowledging Emily. “Good afternoon, staff-sergeant, Director LaForgue here. Is Major Kovak still on base? Please put me through.” Trish waited a few moments. “Kovak, Trish LaForgue. I need you to do something for me immediately. You know that Trans-Commercial that ran into trouble? Take the Huey to McCarran and get hold of whoever stripped and catalogued the remains of its engine. There’s a slight chance that they came across a lump of lodestone… Great, get back to me directly with any news and it doesn’t matter on the time. Transfer me back to the communications centre and I’ll have everything cleared with the base commander. Good luck.”

It took Trish less than a minute to get clearance for Kovak to do whatever was needed.

“Well done, Emily, and good thinking, Trish,” James said. “You seem to have a lot of clout at Groom Lake. You may yet get your sample.”

Guido was hardly the brains behind any operation, and he knew it. Mr. Müller paid him for his ability to follow directions, not to figure things out for himself. What was there to figure out, anyway ? Guido thought. Abduct a young girl from the care of an old lady and keep her prisoner until further instructions. And those came a few hours later. Beat the girl, ensuring there were lots of visible bruises on her face and make a short video. It seemed important to Mr. Müller that her face was clearly visible. Okay, if that’s what he wanted, no problem .

Guido knew how to take videos but sending one as an email attachment proved a real challenge. After several phone calls back and forth to Mr. Müller, he finally got it. Mr. Müller was starting to get angry that Guido was having such difficulty, but he wasn’t tech savvy. Not like Mr. Müller. Still, he was glad that the video was finally sent off successfully. Mr. Müller was a really smart man for knowing how to do these complex things.

“What do you want me to do with the kid?” Guido asked.

“Do what you want. Just make sure she’s dead within the next forty-eight hours.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Guido could never remember how to hang up on a phone conversation. Was it the little picture of the phone handset on the left, or the one on the right? He always waited for the other person to hang up first. He knew this because the display showed ‘Call Ended’. Guido prided himself on being able to figure that out; and all by himself too. Yes, maybe modern technology wasn’t all that complicated after all. He had had that call with Mr. Müller the previous day and if memory served him correctly, forty-eight hours was the same as about two days.

He had been told to kill the girl, which he would. Guido always followed instructions and Mr. Müller was a real smart man. Well, if he had to kill her anyway, he may as well have some fun first. Old women, young girls, he didn’t care. Sex was sex.

“Do you know who was heading the investigation into the cause of Trans-Commercial’s Boeing 737 tragedy?” Kovak asked the chief maintenance technician on duty at McCarran International.

“I can check it on the log,” the technician said. “What’s it in connection with?”

“We believe we know what hit the engine and caused it to disintegrate.”

The technician’s eyes lit up. “That’s great. Please come with me.”

Kovak was led to the maintenance hangar where the engine had been stripped and all remaining parts catalogued.

“Good, he’s still here,” the technician said, pointing to a young man lubricating the undercarriage of an older United Airlines Boeing 720.

“Liam,” the technician shouted. “This is Mr. er…”

“Kovak.”

“This is Mr. Kovak. He wants a few words.”

Liam grabbed an old cloth, wiped the grease off his hands and walked over. “What’s up?”

“Hi Liam, I’m Kovak. We’re following up on the Trans-Commercial disaster, and in particular, the jet engine that was destroyed.”

“Yeah,” Liam said. “What a mess. There wasn’t much left of the aircraft or the engine. Do you want me to get the listing of the remaining parts?”

“Did you happen to come across a small black rock? It would have looked like a small lump of coal.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Liam said. “Wasn’t any engine part that I knew of, so I chucked it. Weirdest thing though, I needed a crowbar to pry it off the jet’s combustion chamber, well, what was left of the chamber, but then it attached itself to the crowbar and I couldn’t get it off.”

“Where is it now?” Kovak asked, with urgency.

“Probably in one of the dumpsters out back,” Liam said. His face suddenly looked worried. “Hey man, it was an old crowbar. We got dozens.”

“No, no,” Kovak said. “It’s the rock I’m interested in. I couldn’t give a shit about any crowbar.”

Liam’s face relaxed. “Let’s go check. They may not have carted off any of the dumpsters yet.”

Kovak was in luck. The dumpsters were still full, but it had taken almost an hour to find the crowbar and its devoted rock.

With the prized possession back at Groom Lake, Kovak readied the Lockheed Blackbird for immediate take off and flight to Baltimore. Afterburners ignited all the way, he made the trip across the continent in just over an hour. A government vehicle was waiting to deliver the lodestone to the labs at Fort Meade. By eleven eastern time, Uri had his sample.

Phil put a call through to James. “I’ve identified the signature of the virus,” he said. “I’ve created a ‘chaser’ program that will destroy it before any further damage is done to our data. Problem is that a replication of the virus keeps on popping up somewhere else, each one a little closer to the IBM’s main databanks.”