The auroral contingency, p.2
The Auroral Contingency, page 2
She turned and gripped the door frame. “No! No. Don’t do it, please.”
Blake shook his head. “No. Ma’am, listen to me. The cops are going to come and take him away. I am—”
The door let out an eerie creak as it swung open, as if it were begging for a generous application of lubricant. She stepped toward Blake with outstretched arms, attempting to grab his mobile. Panic in her voice. “No. Gimme the phone.”
He batted her arm away as he retreated. “Hey! Stop it! What’s wrong with you?”
He dialed 911 and put the phone to his ear. “Even if you won’t file charges. I will. The fool assaulted me and brandished a firearm. If I had to guess, he doesn’t have a permit for it.”
The police answered and while he spoke to them; he observed the woman acting strange and nervous. She would dart a glance at Randy, then back at the van and out over the road, then back to Blake. She was wringing her hands and mumbling.
“Hold on officer.”
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
She continued to wring her hands and mumbled under her breath. “No, no, no. I can’t do this. I gotta go. No, oh shit!”
“Ma’am?”
She turned and ran to the other side of the van and got into the driver’s seat. Blake lifted the phone to speak. “You have the location. Get here now.” He shoved the phone in his pocket, lunged for the passenger door, and opened it. She started the engine.
He dove in and latched on to her wrists as she attempted to put the van in gear. With his other hand, Blake reached for the keys and switched the ignition off. She began slamming her palms on the steering wheel. “No! I have to get out of here! Now! I can’t do this. I can’t get caught!” She placed her face in her hands and began crying.
Blake’s brow furrowed. “Caught? What the heck are you talking about?”
He was still sprawled across the passenger seat. He angled his head to his left and saw what was in the back of the vehicle.
“Oh—my—God!”
Sirens filled the air. Blake estimated they were less than a minute away. He wiggled himself out of the van and made certain Randy was still unconscious. After scanning the area, he found a length of orange twine on the ground, which he used to tie the man’s hands and feet as a precaution.
You sack of shit.
He circled the van to the driver’s side and stood next to the window. The woman still had her face in her hands. “I’m not sure what your involvement is in this, but I suggest you cooperate.”
She sobbed while she nodded. Two police vehicles rolled in and parked to block the van. Four officers got out and Blake showed his ID. “I’m CIA. I’m the one who called it in.”
As he walked to the back of the van, he pointed toward the driver’s side door. “Someone secure her and there is another one knocked out on the other side. He pulled a pistol on me.” He made eye contact with the other two officers. “You two, with me.”
The van’s back windows were blacked out from spray paint on the inside. He opened both doors to reveal two girls, tied and gagged. Blake estimated them to be between eleven and thirteen. The police took the couple into custody and sped off. Blake and a female officer remained with the girls until Children’s Services arrived. He bought them sandwiches, ice cream, and juice while they waited. They devoured it all.
After taking care of the children, he drove home and pondered about the identities of the girls. Scolding himself for not thinking to ask them while he stayed with them. Were they sisters? Friends? Did they know each other at all? He had a lot of questions that kept running through his mind.
What could have happened to them had he not intervened? When he got home, he fixed himself a steak, cracked open a cold Scotch Ale, and watched some college basketball. While making a mental note of the things he wanted to accomplish around his farm during his time off, his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller’s ID.
What the hell? Why is he calling me?
It was Blake’s handler and Director of Clandestine Services at the CIA, Mike Brennan. “You do know I’m on vacation, right?”
“For fuck’s sake. You’re not home twenty-four hours and you save two kidnapped girls?”
Blake peeked at his watch as he took a swig of his beer. “It’s not been five hours. How the fuck did you find out?”
Laughter came from the phone. “You can’t be serious. You do know I’m a director at the CIA? It’s my job to know everything going on with my people.”
“Do you know when I take a shit?”
“I can make it happen. And you know it’s true.”
Blake stood and walked to his kitchen. He held his phone to his chin with his shoulder while he retrieved another beer and opened it. “No. Sorry, I asked.”
They both chuckled.
“Listen, I won’t keep you. I know this is your time off. However, I need you to come in tomorrow for perhaps an hour. I have a few things to discuss with you and they can’t wait. And, knowing you, you’re going to want to know about those two girls you saved today, and I’ll have a detailed update on them at the same time.”
He replied as he walked back to his living room. “Sounds okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
#
The next morning, Blake woke early and went for a five-mile run. Joy filled his heart to see horses in his fields once again. Along the route, he made mental notes of the few boards on his fence line, in need of some attention.
Letting the water warm up in his shower, he stood before his mirror. Three weeks in the Syrian sun had turned his already tan complexion darker. His beard had grown out to blend in with the population. He turned his head from one side to the other.
Yeah, I can understand why that asshole called me a terrorist.
He laughed to himself and retrieved his razor from the drawer. After getting dressed and eating, he drove to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia and strolled to Mike’s office, rapping on the door frame. Mike was behind his desk. “Blake! Come in.”
He stood and sauntered around his desk to greet him. The short, gruff man with a flattop haircut extended his arm.
Blake reciprocated. “Mike.”
They shook hands and Mike gestured for him to have a seat. Blake sat on the leather couch in front of Mike’s desk. Behind the desk, several pictures chronicled his handler’s career during the Cold War. Over the past few years, Blake had gotten to know Mike well. He wasn’t only a terrific boss; he had also become a trusted friend.
There was a photo of his handler accepting an award from Ronald Reagan. At six foot one, Reagan towered over Mike and his five feet, eight-inch frame. For the next thirty minutes, they made small talk, and he also gave his boss an abbreviated summary of his mission in Syria.
Mike scooted his chair back, went to the coffeepot in his office, and refilled his cup. “So, I told you I’d fill you in on those two girls.”
Blake shifted his position on the couch. “Yeah. What was it all about?”
Mike set his coffee on his desk and sat in his chair. “Well, it turns out the younger one, she’s ten and was abducted from a mall in Maryland a week ago. The other one, she is thirteen and has been missing from Portland for almost two months.”
“Maine?”
“Oregon.”
“Holy shit! That piece of crap went all the way to Oregon?”
Mike shook his head. “No. This is where it gets quite messy. He was the buyer.”
Blake frowned. His forehead wrinkled. “The buyer?”
Nodding, Mike took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, the buyer. I think you uncovered a whole major ring of child sex traffickers. This asshole was going to use them to make kiddy pornography and sell access on the dark web.”
His jaw clenched. “The mother fuc—”
“Yeah! But now he’s looking at life in prison and he’s singing like a canary trying to make a deal. We’ve got the FBI and U.S. Marshalls involved. We don’t have any idea how deep this goes, but they’re going to follow it to the end.”
“Okay. Well. Fantastic. Please keep me informed of what happens.”
“I will, and so you know, the two girls you saved are being reunited with their families today.”
“Thanks, Mike.” Blake slapped his knees and stood. “Well, time for me to head back to the farm.”
“Uh, only one more thing. Not a significant deal—yet. But I want to put it on your radar.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“We got a call from a station chief in Russia. They dispatched someone, a young and inexperienced agent, no less.” He shook his head. “Fucking dumbass. What a colossal mistake.” He sat at his desk. “Anyway, they sent him to observe from a distance. Some guy named—Pesterbitch? Sonovobitch? No. Fuck. Hold on.” He scrolled through his emails. “Petrovich. Yeah. Got it. Nikoli Petrovich.”
Blake shrugged. “Okay. What’s he done?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue. But this station chief says his guy is about twenty-four hours late from checking in.” Mike made a dismissive wave with his hand. “Probably nothing, but only in case it develops into something. I was told to make you aware. You might have to go and find this kid.”
Blake laughed. “Okay. Thanks. Keep me up to date if it evolves into anything. And I’m happy to hear the news about the girls.”
He turned and left. Mike called after him as he left his office. “I’ll let you know if this Petrovich thing gets any traction.”
3
Petrovich Research Facility
Eastern Siberia
1 Year Ago
08:56AM (00:56 GMT)
#
Fifty feet below the antenna, the humming of the array kicking on echoed throughout the massive underground cavern. As far as the eye could see, florescent tubes reflected off the polished gray floors, punctuated only by regimented rows of concrete columns.
The brightly painted paths in the area looked like interconnected circuits on a board. They helped to navigate the golf carts from one end of the vast expanse to the other.
In the center was an elevated glass-walled control room. From here, they controlled the HAARP and satellites. Nikoli Petrovich paced back and forth behind the wall of monitors. His expensive loafers made almost no sound on the hard, raised floor. On his wrist, a Patek Philippe wristwatch with a golden glitter showcased his success and status.
He continued to glance at his watch.
Another two minutes? How is time moving so fast?
His stomach churned, and he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a handkerchief. A spider crawled across the otherwise pristine surface. With no regard for his fancy footwear, he squashed it with extreme prejudice.
“How much longer? Have you verified the calibration calculations? I wanted this done by the top of the hour. We have little time left. No excuses!”
The technician in the white lab coat sitting at a terminal answered without looking. “Yes sir. Everything is on schedule. Three minutes until initiation.” His fingers danced along the keyboard as he remained focused on the screens in front of him.
“And the Global Relief rescue team? They should be on standby, ready to roll.”
“Affirmative, boss. The solar gathering ships are secure and anchored in Manila harbor. Everyone is waiting for your directions.” Turning to the man in charge, he smiled. “Don’t worry, we have everything under control.”
Nikoli Petrovich was a brilliant entrepreneur and scientist, driven by a desire for money and power. At the age of thirteen, they accepted him at the prestigious Moscow Witte University School of Mathematical and Science Studies. After completing his bachelor’s degree in only two years, he then pursued his master’s in Natural Sciences at Cambridge.
Nikoli’s father, Andrei, was a genius in his own right. He co-founded a bioengineering firm and created many medical products. Yet, after incredible achievements, his partner got greedy and accused him of crimes against the state. The police arrested, tried, and jailed him for espionage. Only one year into his sentence, someone killed him in his cell. The events surrounding his demise remained a mystery.
Petrovich strolled over to the panel controlling the satellites, eyeing each monitor along the way. His stomach was in knots, and he took out a pill case from his pocket. From it, he popped two Xanax, swallowing them with a swig of vodka from his flask. While retrieving his cell phone, he cast a quick peek at the wall clock. Pulling a number from his favorites, he connected the call.
“Good morning, Mr. Petrovich. How may I help you?”
“The puts I have for Sri Lanka. Can you confirm when they expire?”
“Let me find out for you, sir.”
“Hurry, please.”
The person on the other side typed on a keyboard as he listened. “I have it. Okay, wow. You have sizeable investments with hundreds of companies. Was there one in particular—”
“No. All of them!”
His frustration came through with his gruff answers.
“Sir?”
“Yes.”
“It’s today. As soon as the markets open there in India.”
“And what time is that? I’m in the middle of Siberia.”
“A little over an hour.”
Nikoli pressed the end button and glanced out over all those working in the room to prepare for the test.
Billions of dollars are on the line. They’re all contingent on the auroral array functioning as it should.
Wiping a nervous sweat from his brow, Nikoli shouted out. “All right everyone. This is it.”
Pitor was his lead scientist in charge of the High-frequency Auroral Array Research Program (HAARP). Pitor leaned over the central control panel and turned four switches, as well as a yellow knob, which he rotated 180 degrees.
A strange hum filled the room. People all around were monitoring various dials and digital readouts. Petrovich kept his eyes on a live satellite view of the Laccadive Sea. He focused on an area 182 kilometers south of Kanyakumari, India, and 145 kilometers west of Colombo, Sri Lanka.
Pitor shifted his attention to Petrovich. “Everything is looking perfect so far, sir. The satellites are in line and ready.”
Petrovich nodded. Pitor raised his hand and pointed to another scientist. “Now.”
Petrovich’s eyes swept back and forth between the satellite image and the seismic readers, his eyes darting. His nerves were like pinpricks. No change. He took three steps away from the console and then turned back. “How much longer?”
“You need to give it a few minutes. We’re pushing to a depth of thirty kilometers below the seabed.”
Petrovich eyed the yellow knob. “What’s the percentage of power?”
Pitor walked over to the console and glanced at it. “It’s at forty percent. The standard amount.”
“Go to sixty.”
Pitor’s eyes widened. “Sir?”
“You heard me. Sixty. Do it now!”
Pitor pressed his lips together and obeyed without saying a word. With considerable trepidation, he rotated the dial to match his bosses’ orders. The humming increased in volume and pitch. The floor had a slight vibration. Petrovich was laser focused on the seismic monitors. They shifted.
“Sixty-five.”
Pitor adjusted the dial. The pitch and hum got even louder. The seismic monitors’ needles changed, but not enough.
“Seventy-five.”
Pitor’s gaze shifted to one of his colleagues. They both swallowed hard.
“Seventy-five, God dammit!”
“Yes, sir.” A reluctant Pitor rotated the knob. The humming and pitch grew uncomfortable, causing several people to cover their ears. The shaking rattled their teeth, intensifying the quaking vibrations. Petrovich stared at the monitors.
“Dammit! All the way!”
Pitor cupped his hand over his ear. “What? I can’t hear you!”
Nikoli stomped over to the control panel, brushed the scientist aside, and cranked the knob all the way to the right. The noise was deafening, and the ground vibrated more. Pitor grabbed Petrovich’s arm. “Sir! We’ve never tested it this high before. We need—”
Petrovich knocked off the unwelcome touch and regarded him with narrowed eyes. His attention returned to the seismic monitors. They registered an earthquake thirty kilometers below the seabed. It was registering a 9.4 on the Richter scale. Early wave-detecting beacons were reporting 30- to 38-foot-tall waves.
A smile formed on Petrovich’s face and he motioned for Pitor to cut everything off. Without hesitation, the man turned the yellow knob to zero and flipped off the switches in reverse order. The shaking and noise subsided. Petrovich stepped toward Pitor. “There. Do you see? You have to push limits in order to break them.”
Pitor‘s face was red from the blood rushing to his head out of anger. “Are you fucking crazy? We’ve nev—”
Petrovich backhanded Pitor, who flew back and onto the floor. Others in the room stopped talking and observed the commotion. Nikoli leaned over and shook an accusatory finger at him. “Shut up! You do not tell me what we can and cannot do. You’re weak! Afraid to take risks! You’re pathetic.”
He slammed his hand on the table nearby. “If you ever dare to repeat such behavior, I’ll take you fifty kilometers beyond the gate and leave you.” Nikoli stood tall and addressed everyone in the room. Raising his arm, he pointed in a sweeping motion. “And anyone else in here who disobeys my orders will get the same treatment.”
Pitor sat on the floor and leaned back on his arms, his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. He avoided making eye contact and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “So, what do we do now?”
Petrovich turned toward Pitor. “Now? We wait.”
#
Kudankulam, India
07:35 AM (02:35 GMT)
Darpan Sharma and his eight-year-old son, Avi, completed stocking the shelves at their tiny store in the village of Kudankulam. They opened at 08:00 daily and Avi helped by placing the produce on the outside stands for his father before he walked to school.
Avi ran into the shop and yelled out for his father, who was putting canned goods on a shelf at the back of the cash register. “Pappa, I finished arranging the fruit on the street. Can I go to school now?”
