Thursday, 2 April 1998, 0649 FT
Those brutal sons of bitches, Tom Chandler thought.
When Chandler had heard that some woman was here to see Jon Masters, he figured it was his wife or girlfriend. He’d make up an excuse, maybe flash his badge, and send her on her way. When it turned out she was a high-ranking company officer, he shifted gears: She might prove useful for putting the pressure on, make a pretty good hostage, someone to help guarantee their safety until they made their escape. But Townsend’s men had different plans for her, once they too learned she was the corporate vice president, and they notified Townsend in Newcastle.
Chandler had listened to the sounds of Kaddiri’s cries echoing through his closed door from the chief- engineer’s room across the corridor until he could stand it no longer. He was barred from the scene, but it took no imagination to work out what was going on. He broke communications silence, picked up the telephone, and called the Newcastle number.
“Hey, Townsend, I am not going to be your goddamn wet nurse for another day.” He was calling from Patrick McLanahan’s office. Outside the office, several of Townsend’s people were hunting through the computer files at the workstations. But the heavy-duty work was going on in the office opposite, where two of the soldiers were busy working not on computer workstations, but on Helen Kaddiri.
When Townsend learned that the woman Chandler had captured was the company’s vice president-that this was the organization that had developed the astounding weaponproof suit-he had given orders to postpone the evacuation of the R amp; D center. If threats, torture, or bribes succeeded in presuring Kaddiri to unlock the company’s extensive computer files, he would have access via the Internet to thousands of companies and government agencies all over the world. One password from Kaddiri-that was all it would take-to open many of the West’s most critical engineering and research files: data on weapons, aircraft, new designs in the pipeline, intelligence information. And there it would be, at Gregory Townsend’s fingertips.
“Your soldiers are going to kill Kaddiri if they keep this up,” Chandler warned. “For Christ’s sake, pull them out of there.”
Townsend was furious. “You are not in charge, Chandler. I am! I must have access to those computer files before we evacuate. I need access long enough to change the password or enter in my own back-door password.”
“We can’t wait. This is Masters and McLanahan’s company. Look at the charges against them! I can hold off the sheriff’s department and DA investigators only so long,” Chandler warned. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m out of my jurisdiction. What do we do when more investigators show up? And Masters has government military contracts here-we’re likely to have the FBI and the Defense Investigation Service here any minute.”
“Then I’ll turn Kaddiri over to you.
“You’re going to kill her anyway, aren’t you?” Chandler asked.
“Once I have what I want, Kaddiri is free to leave,” said Townsend. “I prefer not to kill women, but I will do anything necessary to protect my organization. Now
Chandler slammed down the receiver. Bullshit, he thought. Kaddiri was going to die-and probably so was he- the second they got access to those files. In fact, Kaddiri was far more valuable to Townsend than he was. He had twenty thousand dollars waiting for him in a Cayman Islands bank account-not nearly enough. For another hundred thousand it had seemed worth the tricky effort of keeping the DA and the sheriff’s department out of the facility, but now that he’d actually seen Townsend in action, he realized he wasn’t likely to live to get his hands on the money. Past time to get the hell out.
He dialed the number for the Sacramento office of the FBI. It rang once, then a voice with a German accent came on the line: “Who are you trying to call?” He slammed down the receiver. Shit! Townsend’s men were monitoring all phone calls from the security office. His life span was even shorter than he expected. He had to get a message out to somebody,
Looking at the phone at McLanahan’s desk, Chandler saw a button marked WENDY VM. He picked up the phone and hit the button. It was a direct computerized link to Wendy McLanahan’s voice-mail system-it could not be intercepted or cut off by the security office. He spoke fast into the recording. “This is Tom Chandler. I’m at the Sky Masters research facility at Mather Jetport. Townsend’s men are trying to break into the company’s computers. You’d better get someone out here, right now, or Helen Kaddiri is dead. There are twelve of Townsend’s men here. They’re…”
The office door burst open. “You!” shouted a German soldier. “Stop! Hang up that telephone immediately! Orders from
Time had just about run out.
Mount Vernon Road,
Newcastle, California
the same time
Townsend hung up the phone after speaking with his lieutenant in charge at the Mather site. Sure enough, Chandler had tried to call someone right after he got off the phone with him. He ordered the lieutenant to cut off all communications from the R amp; D facility except for secure radio communications, and to place Chandler under arrest. He had outlived his usefulness. He would dispose of him before long.
It was just about time to complete the final phase of this operation and get out of the area.
He went into the mess hall. Reingruber was waiting for him, ready to give a report, and Richard Faulkner came over and sat down. “How are you progressing, Faulkner?” Townsend asked. “We need to be able to operate that suit now.”
“Not quite yet, Colonel,” Faulkner replied. “But Masters is falling into line very well. I think he is cooperating fully.”
Reingruber agreed. “It does appear that he has turned into a proper little soldier, sir.”
“Small doses of you and large doses of me do seem to be working,” Townsend said. “But it is going much too slowly. I want a demonstration outdoors in two hours, Major. If Masters is not ready, you will ask the reason for the delay-
After Faulkner left, Reingruber warned Townsend: “We may be running short on time, sir. Our informants tell us that the targets are entering final inspections prior to buttoning up. Sign-offs could be completed by this afternoon or tomorrow morning. The targets could be ready to depart within twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”
“No better estimates than that,
“I am sorry, sir,” said Reingruber. “Security is still very tight, especially with the National Guard troops. The normal security forces appear to be deployed the same, but the forces outside the target area have increased.”
“Very well then, we will put the Phase Three contingency plan into action at once. Assemble your men, Major. H-hour will be at zero two hundred hours local time. Instruct your men at the Sky Masters research facility to start confiscating all the materials they can carry and rendezvous with us here immediately. Have them bring Kaddiri with them-and execute Chandler just before they depart.”
“Very good,
“We may have use for Dr Masters in the future; his psychological reprogramming has been very successful. Bring him along too.”
Townsend walked over to the room where Jon was working on the suit. He was eating breakfast. Faulkner was wearing the suit, experimenting with its mobility. Jon put down his coffee cup and stood at attention. “Good morning, sir,” he said.
“Good morning to you, Dr Masters.” Townsend extended a hand, and Jon shook it, formally bowing his head
