Chapter 1: Plausible Deniability

Icosa-core:20 core, like quad is 4

A high of sixty degrees and continuous heavy drizzle; this was the standard weather fare for anyone who decided to live in the Northwestern corner of the country. The Pacific Northwest: specifically the State of Washington was known to the rest of the country as the land of flying fish, coffee shops across from one another, aerospace, information technology, horrible traffic, rain, a football team that finally started being decent, pine trees, and moss.

Out the windows of his company's high-rise was grey, grey, and more grey. He could barely see the Space Needle on days like this, maybe CenturyLink field, but no, just drizzle, and water cascading down the glass. It made him turn his head back to his desk in defeat; how easy would it be to have his pilot get the jet ready for a flight to Kailua-Kona, on Hawaii? Unfortunately, corporate life didn't make that as simple as some would think. His eyes drifted over the single pane of glass built into the desk that made up his keyboard while his fingers danced over a few keys, a heavy, low beep emanating from the terminal with each keystroke.

The blue logo up in the corner of the screen that was elevated out of the surface of that mahogany desk spun slowly in continuous circles as it always did, two bold letters with a slanted, accented font: "AE", the initials for his company. He didn't notice it these days anymore as his eyes continued to swim over text, document after document: shipping orders, Requests for Quotes, purchase requests, memorandums of understanding, many of which baring the signatures of some of the highest level people at the Pentagon and within the DoD.

The buzzer for his intercom calmly chimed, distracting him, his hand reached for the button to activate it. "Yes John, what is it?" he asked quickly, not giving the voice on the other end to identify itself.

There was a pause for a second, then a thirty-something male voice came through the speaker, "Mister Anaheim, your three-thirty would like to reschedule for Monday morning at nine, in the Timberline conference room."

The young man sighed for a bit, wanting to get back to his reading, his research, "Fine, fine, not a big deal, thanks John. Oh, and John, can you send someone down to get me a triple-shot, venti, Crème-de-Mint Mocha please? 2% with no whip, thanks," he asked and let go of the button, left to his silence of rain drops along the floor to ceiling windows behind him.

He looked back down at the paperwork, reading the contract that he himself had signed, looking at the names on the bottom of it, those the document was cc'd to: Agt. William Fowler: Defense Department, General Bryce: US Armed Forces, Pentagon, even the Secretary of Defense himself was cc'd on the document, before his eyes settled on his own signature; messy, accentuated, eccentric, but then again, for a man who typed his whole life and barely picked up a pin except to jot down useless notes in handwriting so bad only he himself could read it, "Alex Anaheim", then below that was his title, Owner and Operator of Anaheim Electronics.

The document in question was the order contract for millions of dollars of computer equipment; servers, network switches, cabinets, wiring, super computers containing hundreds upon hundreds of the top of the line AE Acela icosa-core processors. What on /earth/ would they need such a heavy order for? Langley AFB wasn't due for its refresh cycle, the recent NSA scandals had put any hope of heavy appropriations for that agency thoroughly out of reach. But what got him, what really twisted his mind was the location: Jasper, Nevada. He'd passed through Jasper himself a few years back on his way to Vegas for a technology expo, it was a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere, the nearest military facility was over fifty miles away, and they had no need for such heavy duty processing power. So why, why on God's green Earth would they need so much equipment?

He picked up his pen and stuck it in his teeth as he brushed his blonde bangs out from in front of his blue eyes. Anaheim Electronics was the world's largest manufacturer and designer of information technology components, surpassing the giants from the eighties long ago, and even then it was a heavy competitor when his father ran things. Its defense subsidiary held thousands of contracts with the Pentagon for all branches of the military, developing everything from road vehicles, to jets, to missiles, to the rugged laptop that some Jarhead in Afghanistan was brushing dirt off of. He knew almost every top secret project there was to know, so what was the Government doing that was so sensitive, so secret, that they decided that he didn't need to be involved any more than just a supplier.

It was irritating, infuriating, he didn't like being kept in the dark, he couldn't stand it. For this planet to move forward, this country had to move forward, and for this country to move forward, he needed to be involved; a couple PHDs under his belt, and only in his late twenties can give someone that level of cocksureness, confidence, arrogance, whatever you wished to call it.

He suddenly reached his hand forward and hit the button for the intercom, "John, call our office at SeaTac, tell them to get my plane ready and file a flight plan for Jasper Nevada's regional airport. And get ahold of an Agent Fowler, William Fowler, he should be reachable through our contacts at the Defense Department, and tell him I will be meeting him at his off the books missile silo; I'm going to inspect the location where my equipment is going on the basis of my company's liability." He asked, his young-sounding voice fatigued, laced with irritation and annoyance.

"Yes sir, right away Mister Anaheim." Came the obedient reply, but not from the intercom, rather it came from the huge mahogany double doors that opened on the far wall of his office. John had entered with the coffee that Alex had earlier ordered, and set it on his desk. "Everything alright sir?" he asked, his brows arched behind his designer glasses.

"Not sure, something is going on down with Jasper, no one orders supercomputers of that magnitude to go to a backwater town in the middle of Nevada, not when the Groom Lake Facility, or Nellis isn't that far away. Something else is going on that Uncle Sam seemed necessary to not involve me in, and I'm going to find out it is" he murmured in response, chewing his pen as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over the back of his head while his simple casual button down shirt threatened to pull out of the waistband of his khakis.

Worst case scenario, it got him away from the god damn rain and he just wasted his time, maybe ruffled a few feathers at the Pentagon. Backwater towns did have their charm: no traffic jams, no panhandlers, no random shootings, maybe he'd just make a mini vacation out of it, who knows; there might be good off-roading in Jasper after all.

"You know they don't like it when you're demanding" was the reply from his assistant.

The response was a sudden snort and a snicker, "Well that's too fucking bad. They knew what they signed up for when they got into bed with AE, and that was when dad was around. I really couldn't care less if they don't like dealing with a twenty-eight year old geek who got the silver spoon treatment, I really don't. It's my company now, and it's my legacy now, if they're doing something stupid with my stuff down in Jasper I want to know about it."

Alex stopped for a minute and continued chewing on his pen, "Cancel the rest of today's meetings, I want to get out of here as soon as, and you know what? Change the flight plan, I'll fly into Reno and drive down, have them load the Pantera into the cargo hold. If I'm just wasting my time I'm going to at least try to enjoy myself, I haven't taken him out for a while."

The response was a chuckle as John nodded and turned to leave, "Very well sir."