The Silver Strand Legacy, page 3
part #1 of Eritis Trilogy Series
Carson glanced at Jenkins and greeted him with a quick nod. Jenkins responded in kind.
“I’m afraid we’ve started without you, Mr. Carson,” said Leicester. “To summarize, we had an incident at our facility near the French-German border. Mr. Jenkins can fill you in on the details later.” Leicester leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs under the table. “Please continue Mr. Jenkins.”
Jenkins resumed his report. “Once I realized Control had been compromised, I left Capitaine Le Grand and his men to proceed with their search and returned to the facility. Upon arrival, I confirmed the lockdown had been lifted.”
“Who gave the order to lift the lockdown?” the woman asked in a strong French accent. Her tone was curt and antagonistic. She was eyeing Jenkins from behind a pair of glasses that looked too big against her long gaunt face.
“The unit leaders had received instructions directly from Control,” Jenkins replied.
“And no one thought to verify those orders with you?”
“They knew I was in pursuit of the stolen prototype. Besides, they were given the correct authorization codes.”
“Please go on,” said Leicester.
“The compound was in a state of total chaos. A search was underway, in and around the premises, and the main building was being evacuated. There had been an explosion. No doubt to create an added distraction. Anyway, I went up to the control room and confirmed it had been breached.”
“How?” the woman asked.
“They knew the passcode and had a key card. Like the technicians said, they simply walked in.”
Leicester was surprised. “The technicians are alive?”
“Yes,” said Jenkins, “as were all the scientists. Only guards and soldiers were killed.”
“Odd,” said Leicester. “What do you make of that?”
Jenkins let out a faint sigh. “I’m not sure. Maybe they only killed those who tried to stop them from escaping. Or maybe they’re sending us a message: Stay out of our way and we won’t cause you any trouble.”
“Or maybe they were taunting you,” Renard croaked.
“Perhaps,” said Jenkins.
“It doesn’t matter!” Schaffer declared, breaking his silence at last. He spoke with a raspy voice and a slight German accent. He had thick eyebrows and dark brown hair shooting off in every direction, like a frozen firework explosion.
Up until now, Schaffer had seemed content to stare into space as he sat sunk into his chair with his hands buried deep inside his long black overcoat. He had been facing away from the others the entire time and still hadn’t bothered to look at them as he spoke. All eyes converged on him, expecting he would elaborate on his comment. But it soon became clear from his demeanor that, at least for the time being, those three words would constitute the sum total of his contribution to the conversation.
“I thought this place was equipped with state of the art security,” said Renard, pursuing her unrelenting criticism of Jenkins. “It certainly costs us enough money for it.”
“It is,” Jenkins confirmed. “There are over a hundred soldiers and private security personnel posted in and around the compound at all times. The grounds are equipped with cameras, motion sensors, and heat sensors. Of course, the most sensitive areas are in the lower levels of the main building, access there is highly restricted. The whole of sublevel one serves as a buffer security zone. On the floors below, there are armed sentinels posted at every point of entry, and all main access doors are electronically sealed and fitted with a number of security measures: key card access, palm print scan, retinal scan, voice authentication, etc. Even the scientists complained it was too much trouble just getting around.”
“So how did they escape?” Renard asked.
“Our engineers are still looking into it. Preliminary reports suggest they may have used the weather.”
Renard wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. “The weather?”
“Yes. Lightning to be exact. They rigged the circuitry and redirected lightning strikes to short out the power systems, including the back-ups. Soon after that, we heard the prototype helicopter flying away from the base. I decided to give chase and called for air support.”
“What did Capitaine Le Grand report back from the crash site?” Leicester asked.
“They didn’t find any bodies. Or any other trace of the prisoners.”
“We prefer the term subjects, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Of course, sir.”
Renard frowned. “Are you trying to tell us the damn thing flew itself?”
“Yes, I’m guessing it was either remote-controlled or on auto-pilot.”
“I was under the impression the prototype wasn’t operational yet,” Leicester remarked.
“That’s what we were led to believe. The prototype is highly computerized. Our engineers are now speculating that its unsuccessful launches were not due to a mechanical issue as we previously thought, but rather to some sort of software block. The priso … the subjects must have planted some kind of virus.”
Nathalie Renard erupted in anger. “What were you doing all this time? Wasn’t anybody watching these people? I’m beginning to think they could have built a spaceship down there without any of you noticing.”
Jenkins ground his teeth.
“Come now,” said Leicester, turning to Renard. “It may be tempting to lay all the blame at Mr. Jenkins’ feet, but the truth is we should all have been more vigilant. It hasn’t been a year since you were appointed France’s representative on this project following the tragic accident which claimed the life of your predecessor. And while I’m sure you’ve familiarized yourself with all relevant files, you cannot yet truly comprehend what we are dealing with.”
Renard leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her berry-colored sheath dress. “If you say so, Andrew.”
Patrick Jenkins was a career soldier and a pragmatist, the kind of man who preferred to focus on the problems in front of him rather than mull over past decisions. “Should I assemble a team to track down the fugitives?” he asked.
Even though Jenkins’ suggestion had come in the form of a question, it was more a rhetorical question than an actual inquiry. The answer, he thought, could not have been more obvious, which was why he, like all the others in the room, looked as though the floor had just vanished from under his feet when Leicester replied, “Not yet.”
Renard nearly fell out of her chair. Before Jenkins could ask the reason for this incomprehensible objection, she was already complaining to the Briton. “Not yet? You want to wait? Are you insane, Andrew?”
“My dear Nathalie, please calm down,” said Leicester. “We can’t afford to make any rash decisions. There are certain delicate aspects of this situation which we need to take into consideration.”
Renard stared at him wide-eyed. She could not believe what she was hearing. “Karl, talk some sense into him, will you?” she said to her German counterpart.
But to her astonishment, Schaffer sided against her. “Andrew’s right. We can’t have Mr. Jenkins and his men running around in the streets. We cannot risk exposure. The project is too important.”
“Indeed,” said Leicester. “We need to proceed with extreme caution. Someone else should lead the search for the fugitives, someone who’ll be free to move around in the open. This will allow Mr. Jenkins to operate more discreetly, thereby protecting his anonymity, and ours. We’ll need to procure the services of professionals, people who are reliable but also expendable, in case things take a turn for the worse. They would also have to be outsiders, with no connection to any of us.”
Outnumbered two to one, Nathalie Renard did not insist further. She didn’t like the idea of delaying the search, but she understood the need for discretion given the stakes. Having calmed down a little, she asked her associates, “And just how long do you imagine it will take us to find the sort of people you described?”
A smile flickered across Leicester’s lips. “As it happens, I may already have a solution.”
Chapter 4 – Proceedings
Later that day, at 5:18 p.m., a black limousine with diplomatic plates pulled up in front of a building inside the US military facility Joint Base Andrews, located in Maryland.
A soldier approached the limousine and opened the rear passenger-side door. A tall man in an expensive-looking gray suit alighted from the vehicle. He was greeted by a small man in a blue suit and by an officer in uniform.
“Good morning, Mr. Leicester!” said the small man. “You probably don’t remember me. My name is Matthew Hall. We met during your last visit to Washington, at Senator Stanton’s house. I was working as his aide back then.”
“Of course, Matthew. I trust you’ve been well.”
“Very well sir, thank you. This is Major Harris!”
The major extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leicester.”
“Major.” Leicester shook the officer’s hand and then turned to Hall. “Has it started?”
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago. The general was eager to get on with the proceedings.”
“Has he been briefed yet?”
“No, sir.” The former aide exchanged an uneasy look with the officer. “As you know Mr. Leicester, this is very unconventional. The major and I thought it best to wait until you arrived.”
“Hmm … I suppose there’s no harm in it,” said Leicester. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” said Hall.
“It may be easier to persuade our friends after they’ve had first-hand experience of the general’s … resolve in this matter.”
“I see what you mean, sir.”
“Shall we go?” said Leicester.
“Of course, this way please.” Major Harris steered the two visitors inside the building.
The proceedings in question began with a preliminary hearing to determine whether or not a court-martial could, and should, be held. A panel of five officers, led by Brigadier General John McKenner, presided over the session.
Through the years, McKenner had acquired a solid reputation for being an intransigent hard-liner. He believed in following the rules and was notorious for his aversion to compromise. So it came as no surprise to the people who knew him that he had used all of his influence to find himself at the head of this particular panel.
Inside the hearing room, opposite the panel of judges, two smartly dressed men were seated at the table of the accused, listening to an officer’s detailed account of the events that had brought all of them here.
At the end of the officer’s testimony, McKenner glowered at the accused. “You’re already aware of the charges against you. Now, after hearing the captain’s report, do you have anything to add in your defense?”
The man sitting on the right leaned towards the microphone placed in front of him. “Yes, General. As the captain mentioned, my team located the drugs and weapons cache and was successful in destroying it. But after the explosion, enemy reinforcements arrived faster than anticipated. Our escape route was blocked. We were forced to search for an alternative route back to the rendezvous point where we had agreed to meet with the captain and—”
“Why weren’t the captain and his men with you?” the general interrupted. “You were supposed to complete the mission together, were you not?”
“After we surveyed the site, I re-evaluated our plan of action.”
“Why?” McKenner asked in a forceful tone.
“The place was too well guarded. More than the intelligence report had estimated. I decided it was best to send in a smaller unit, one who could sneak in under the cover of darkness. The unit consisted of myself, my second-in-command, and my explosives expert, who is sitting here with me today.” He paused to collect his thoughts. Some of the officers on the base had obtained permission to attend the closed-door session. They sat in rows of benches behind him, listening with ardent interest. Even without looking back, the accused could sense the deep hostility they harbored towards him and the co-accused. He tried his best to ignore them as he resumed his explanation. “We were able to find a new route to the meeting point. But it caused us to approach from a different direction than the captain had been expecting. And the enemy was right on our six. We were coming in hot. The forest was dense, it was dark … I guess some of the captain’s men got jumpy when they spotted us. Next thing we knew, they opened fire on us, and—”
McKenner thumped his fist on the table. “And your man ended up killing a United States Army soldier and wounding two others.”
“He didn’t mean to do it. They never gave us a chance to identify ourselves.”
“Mr. Kincade!” the general growled. “As a former officer yourself, I’m sure you understand that the actions of your men in the field are ultimately your responsibility.”
“Yes, General. I do.”
“Good. Now, I would like to hear from the man next to you.”
Kincade leaned back in his chair and shot a concerned glance at the co-accused to his left. Even sitting down, the man was an imposing figure. His perfectly shaved head glistened under the ceiling lights as he leaned forward towards the microphone. He looked up at the officers on the podium and waited.
After a while, the general frowned and said, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Don’t you have anything to add?”
“Not really.”
McKenner was so infuriated by the man’s cavalier attitude that veins were starting to bulge on his neck and forehead. It required every last bit of self-control in his body to keep from ordering the entire team be thrown in jail without further deliberation. But the general was determined to maintain the integrity of the proceedings. “Did you know whom you were firing at?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the big man replied. “I shot the guys who were shooting at me.”
The audience grumbled in disbelief.
Kincade squeezed the armrests of his chair in frustration. He wondered if it wouldn’t be less damaging to snatch the microphone away from his tactless comrade.
“You admit to having deliberately returned friendly fire?” the general pressed on, still half-stunned.
“What’s that?” the huge man asked.
The entire panel, including McKenner, stared back at him with puzzled gazes.
“Friendly fire,” the man repeated, “what’s that?” But seeing that the fog of confusion was still heavy over their faces, he attempted to dissipate it. “Look, I don’t know about you, but when someone starts shooting at me … we’re not friends anymore.”
The general was speechless, as were all the other members of the assembly. This was simply not an answer they had ever expected to hear. The utter lack of remorse from the accused was not something any of them had ever considered.
But soon, the initial shock gave way to anger.
General McKenner, in particular, was beside himself with rage. “Do you think this is a joking matter?” he yelled. “I will personally see to it the both of you serve the maximum sentence for this. As for the rest of your team, they will not—”
The general was interrupted when Major Harris barged into the room. The major ran up to the panel and paused to salute. “I have an urgent message for you General.”
McKenner glowered at him. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a session?”
“My apologies, sir, but I was instructed to deliver it right away.”
A little intrigued, the general nodded for the major to approach.
McKenner took the piece of paper handed to him and unfolded it. The room fell silent as he began reading the document. But as the general’s eyes traveled down the sheet of paper, his expression gradually changed. By the time he reached the end, he looked like a man who had been condemned to the firing squad. He glared at the major. “What’s the meaning of this?”
The major leaned down and whispered something in his ear.
After a long pause, General McKenner announced an adjournment to the proceedings without offering any explanations. Baffled gazes bounced around the room as the General shot up from his seat and left at a hurried pace.
Major Harris walked over to the accused. “Come with me please.”
Escorted by four soldiers, Kincade and his comrade followed the Major out. He led the group up a staircase to a room one floor above. Once there, the Major opened the door and waved the accused inside while the four soldiers stood guard on the outside.
After the Kincade and his companion had gone in, the Major closed the door and left.
A man in casual attire that showed his trim and athletic figure was waiting inside.
“Doc, what are you doing here?” Kincade asked him.
“They moved me here ten minutes ago and told me to wait for you guys. How did it go with the general?”
Kincade spun around and glowered at his companion. “Why don’t you ask this idiot?”
By any common standard, Kincade would be considered taller than average—with a muscular body forged through years of rigorous training. But despite his more than respectable frame, he was dwarfed by the colossus planted in front of him.
Kincade stared up at a towering mass of bones and muscles on top of which rested a polished head. A head whose hard but smooth features were evocative of a bust carved out of solid rock by some skilled sculptor. Rock. Incidentally, that was his nickname—the name given to him by the other members of the team. It had started as a joke, when he had won a bet that he could crack open a coconut with his head. From that moment on, the name had stuck with him. He didn’t mind. He had gotten used to it over time.
The giant put on an innocent air. “What did I do this time?”
Kincade was furious. “What the hell were you thinking back there?”
“Hey, you said to tell the truth,” Rock protested.
“No one told you to be a smart-ass.”
“Hehehe! I don’t know, I think they were starting to warm up to us.”
“You think this is funny?”
The big guy bowed his head and apologized. “All right, I’m sorry, Nate.”
