Harmonics: Rise of the Magician (Harmonics Series Season One), page 1
HARMONICS - Season 1:
Rise of the Magician
By Collin Earl & Chris Snelgrove
Copyright 2010 SilverStone Books
More stories at CollinEarl.com
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Desert Warfare
Chapter 2: Cold as Ice
Chapter 3: The Project
Chapter 4: Lady in the Lake
Chapter 5: The Lion and the Lamb
Chapter 6: Houdini’s Failed Escape
Chapter 7: Everyone in the Pool
Chapter 8: Boom Goes the Methanol
Chapter 9: Pomp and Circumstance
Chapter 10: Black Magic
Chapter 11: Have Credits, Will Shop
Chapter 12: Adam and Evening
Chapter 13: MESA Labs
Chapter 14: Big Sister
Chapter 15: Boxed In
Chapter 16: An Indecent Proposal
Chapter 17: Doughboy
Chapter 18: Twinkle, Twinkle Lonely Star
Special Bonus: Chapter 1 from Season 2
Desert Warfare
Time: Five years ago
Scene: Unmarked Desert Base
"'Gone'? What do you mean 'gone'?"
Two nondescript Lab Coats stood in front of a Suit wearing expensive black glasses. This Suit was the sort of man who answered to no one about no thing. He looked very angry.
"Just what I said. Both projects are gone. It's as if neither ever existed," the Lab Coat's voice lamented. "So many years of research. And just after we get the Alpha 1 prototype up and running and Beta 1 finally showed signs of the phenomena, this happens. Up in smoke. Both projects gone, just like that."
"Control yourself, doctor. I'm not interested in your emotional turmoil. What I'm not understanding is, how does a multi-part research project worth billions just disappear from one of the most secure facilities in the world?"
"We're not really sure. I checked the weapon last --"
The Suit stepped forward and struck the Lab Coat in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.
"We don't use that word around here, Doctor. This isn't that sort of facility. I assumed you were aware of that."
The doctor spat blood as tears ran down his face. "I apologize, sir. What I meant was that I checked the data feed from the project just last night and everything seemed to be in order."
The Suit sneered. "This is getting us nowhere. Get me security; let's see what they have to say about all of this."
"Security is dead, sir." The doctor fidgeted, still on the floor. "That's why we called you. Everyone else is dead."
The Suit flinched. "They're dead? All of them? I handpicked those men myself from the United Delta Force. There is no way that all of them are dead. Not unless they were up against a small army."
The second doctor reached into his pocket and held a shaking hand out to the Suit. "No army, sir. We didn't even hear anything. I think you need to see this."
The Suit removed his sunglasses and took a small security drive from the doctor's hand. He gave the Lab Coat a withering look, and then walked over to a large display screen, touched a number of on-screen commands, and system began interfacing with the drive. A security reel started to show a slideshow that none of them would soon forget.
The Suit's eyes widened. "Oh my--"
Death scenes, one after another, flipped across the screen as if the display were nothing more than a family picture album. The Suit examined the time stamp of each still image. The images were taken less than an hour ago. "This…this is impossible."
The scenes depicted stalagmite-like protrusions jutting from random places in the room, most running cleanly through bloody, fatigue-wearing men. The next slide loaded. More images of what the Suit could only assume were the security force, completely wasted. Several lightweight Series 7 Vector machine guns were strewn across the floor in each image, but the guns were the only things easily distinguishable; the rest was a charred, smoking mess. The scene flipped again. Yet more destruction; doors torn off hinges, terminals and other equipment destroyed, and many more dead in gruesome and deliberate ways.
The Suit spoke, his voice very quiet. "You're telling me that the entire research facility's security force is dead and no one saw anything? What about the rest of the staff? The scientists in charge of the project? Are they dead as well?"
The Lab Coat shook his head. "I have no idea, and I don't intend to find out. We are leaving right now --"
"Who gave you permission to leave? We still have work to do, Doctor, like figuring out what happened to the projects. Luckily all the research should be backed up to the remote data drives. So really we just need to contain this incident."
"Sir," the second Lab Coat interrupted, "I don't think you get it. There is no containing this incident."
The Lab Coat pointed as the last of the reel loaded. The three men stared up at the screen. The Lab Coat's face beaded up with sweat, fear shining through as the Suit's face darkened.
The screen depicted a cave of a room. Large servers, huge fans, and suspended steel-framed walkways connected a variety of different exits and stairways sprouting off in all directions. Easily recognizable, this room was situated deep underground. It was the brain of the entire desert facility. The room was designed to withstand anything a military could throw at it, from Bunker-Buster bombs to nuclear warheads. It was ironic really. The company had designed this place to be impenetrable from the outside, but no one could anticipate every threat.
"What the hell…?" The Suit's words faded away. He barely comprehended what he saw. In the middle of the picture, resting directly between two of the largest cloud-frames, sat a huge multi-layered crate. Affixed to the crate was a banner with two words on it.
"Good-Bye?" The first Lab Coat's eyes squinted at the chicken scratch painted in huge red letters.
The Suit started swearing. He turned and opened a comm channel. "MESA One this is Outpost Whiskey. We have a security breach. The Farm is compromised. We need full tactical support. Send in Containment and S&D teams, priority one!"
The Lab Coats stumbled over their words. "Sir, do you really think both Containment and S&D are needed? The threat seems to be gone; all the departments are sealed."
"Fools," said the Suit, walking over to a weapons cache, unlocking it and pulling out a Tiger 35 Assault Rifle. The Suit loaded a clip and slid the action back. "Look at the bottom of the picture. Do you know what that crate is?"
The Lab Coats looked again at the final picture of the morbid slideshow. The banner mostly covered the crate, but there at the bottom two more letters could be made out. Two more characters that read clearly,
"X9," mouthed one of the Lab Coats. "That crate is a palette of thermobaric explosives? Oh Lord. How could they have--no this isn't happening!"
"That isn't the half of it," whispered the other Lab Coat, still staring at the image. "Is that a clock?"
All three of the men stepped closer to the massive screen. The Suit touched the screen zooming in on the corner of the image. The second Lab Coat was correct. There was a small clock and its numbers were moving.
The three men stared, reaching out as if to touch the clock through the screen. They watched the numbers count down. 10, 9, 8, 7…
"Isn't this a compilation of security feed stills?" questioned the Suit. "How--how are the numbers moving?"
The question went unanswered as the countdown hit zero.
Cold as Ice
Time: Five years, three days after the desert facility was destroyed
Scene: Remote island estate, nighttime
The German shepherd sniffs the fence as his handler leads him along the perimeter of the estate. Other dogs trot along the opposite side of the property, each with a gun-toting handler. While none of them wear an official uniform, their fatigues all match in color. Other dogless guards patrol the inner property line closest to the house. Invisible to the untrained observer, FLIR cameras dot the property and swing in a steady rhythmic motion from one side to the other.
A short way off from the fence near the top of a tall pine, a man lies prone on one of the outermost branches of the massive tree. Wrapped head to toe in a black synthetic material, the man looks through his night vision lens at the sentries below. Through the blue-lit haze of his display, the man watches as the sweeping beams of infrared track along the ground around the estate.
He is almost ready for his insertion.
Slowly, methodically, he pulls out a grappling gun and levels it along the branch of the pine. Using the gun's site, he adjusts the minuscule laser dot shimmering off the side of the estate. Silently locking the gun's mounts into place, the man reaches down and wraps his arm and hand along the thick branch that is supporting him.
He closes his eyes and remains still for many moments. Slowly, he raises his foot off the branch at the trunk of the tree and swiftly brings it back down. Gripping the tree branch tightly with his wrapped arm, he
Once at the side of the house, he effortlessly flattens himself against the brick, blending in with the shadows created by the overhanging roof. The man quietly slaps his thigh with his free hand and then reaches out to touch the brick of the house. Astonishingly, he hangs from the brick. Unhooking himself from the line, he stretches out his other hand, repeats the same process, and begins to shimmy across the face of the wall.
Down below, a guard and his dog come around the corner of the house, running towards the group of others gathered at the far end of the estate. The man flattens himself tighter against the brick, motionless as the guard passes him without notice. Tapping his hand against the brick, the man continues to ascend the wall. Finding himself at the topmost floor, he moves laterally across the wall towards a darkened window. He stops and rests the side of his head against the brick, just out of reach of the faint light emitting from the window. Closing his eyes, he remains there, intently focused on something that only he can hear. A wide grin slowly creeps across his face.
***
Vice-Chairman Reed sat across the mahogany table from the small Jadian man. Reed hated the little gooks, as his great-grandfather called them. Years fighting them didn't soften easily, despite the requirement of political cordiality. But if there was one thing that Reed could do well, it was put on a show. Whether it was stumping on the campaign trail making empty promises to moms and veterans or sitting across tables from small slant-eyed weasels who were trying to advance their pathetic empire, his ability to change the color of his true emotions was second only to a chameleon.
Finely aged scotch with ice in a crystal tumbler swirled in a mesmerizing motion. Vice Chairman Reed inhaled deeply; at least they had really good booze here. "I'm not sure how they do things in your part of the world, Mr. Cho, but the less I know about you and your organization, the better I'm going to sleep tonight."
Mr. Cho listened as his translator relayed the comment. The Jadian man nodded and spoke rapidly to his lovely intermediary.
"Mr. Cho understands your apprehension, Chairman Reed. He asks you to please understand that his efforts to evolve our empire's science programs are strictly peaceful, and that our scientists are only looking to protect our sovereign nation from rogue organizations outside the UWC that would seek to take away our people's freedom."
Reed could barely contain the sarcastic guffaw that welled up inside him. Perhaps he had imbibed enough scotch for the night. No use letting the juice compromise his ability to maintain his composure. People's freedom, he thought. The only thing free about their people was the amount of free income that they forked over to their oppressive leaders.
Reed eyed the small man across the table. His eyes roamed to the soft skin of the attractive woman sitting next to the man. Reed's mind started to wander as his eyes did the same. What I wouldn't give, thought the Chairman. His mind snapped back to reality. Had he any control over his wandering libido, he wouldn't be sitting here trying to deal with the devil to save his own skin. Reed did the math again in his head. If he could squeeze this little man out of at least seven and a half, he might just be able to avoid the repercussions of his indiscretions.
"You see, it's not that I don't trust you, but…. Well, how do I put this delicately? The fact of the matter is, I'm up for re-appointment in a year, and none of our 'business' here tonight can ever get out," said Reed.
Another stream of translation and instruction came. "Mr. Cho could not agree with you more, Chairman. There are many organizations in and out of the UWC that our empire is under scrutiny from. This . . . business, as you call it, will be kept under the tightest of security."
Reed nodded. Maybe he could get eight. Yeah, eight sounded like a good number. "Well, let's get down to that business." Reed set down the tumbler. "Now, I can't get you all of the specs at once. That would cause too much heat. But what I can get is the initial blueprints and research notes, followed by each subsequent release of the schematics."
More translation. "Mr. Cho is quite earnest in his desire for all the program files. While he can consent to a piecemeal transaction, he wonders what timeline you are suggesting."
Earnest, thought Reed. More like desperate. He picked up the scotch again. The timeline was going to be a problem. Too stretched and his eight turned into five. Too quick, and even eight wouldn't matter as a resident in a three-by-two cell. He swirled the scotch around and around as he thought. "Timeline's tricky. The last thing you and I can afford is to have people sticking their noses where they don't belong."
The translator started speaking and then looked like she was thinking through this last statement. Finally, she spit out a last little bit very rapidly. Mr. Cho looked at Reed and nodded.
"What do you say about a twelve month schedule?" asked Reed. "You'll get the first part in a month, then the remaining three iterations once a quarter over the next nine months." Mr. Cho listened to his translator and then sat contemplating. He motioned for a younger looking Asian man to come over and then whispered something in the young man's ear. The young man bowed deeply and then replied in an equally hushed voice. Reed didn't pay much attention to any of this. He was too busy noticing the skirt length of the translator, or rather the lack of length. Mr. Cho cleared his throat, which brought Reed back to the conversation. He spoke to his translator, who then looked at Reed.
"Mr. Cho is agreeable to that timeline. In an effort to secure the transaction amicably, he is willing to offer five point seven."
Reed the chameleon did not let his emotions out of their cage. Despite his mind racing to redo the math, his face was calm and collected. Five point seven, he thought. That would leave him at least two and change short. Reed cleared his throat. "Well, that is a mighty fine offer, Mr. Cho. A fine offer indeed. I was, however, thinking more in the neighborhood of eight and a half."
Mr. Cho looked passively at the Chairman. As he relayed his lengthy response to the translator, she spoke to Reed. "Mr. Cho understands the risk that is involved with this particular transaction and is also well aware of the Chairman's fine tastes. He is willing to pay seven in addition to…" The translator quickly looked at Mr. Cho. She bowed her head and asked him a question. He repeated his response to her. She looked dumbfounded. She started to ask something else and was quickly cut off by a rapid flow of guttural sounds. She bowed her head even lower and returned her gaze cautiously to Reed. "Seven in addition to my personal services to you."
