Chapter 3

Meissa Bellatrix

I

Robin and Julia were passing through Chicago on Interstate 90, a few hours into their 16-hour drive to Langley. It was late morning, sunny and clear, yet frostbitten. Inches of snow covered the buildings and surrounding flora, and as they passed over the Chicago River, they saw it was frozen over. Apparently, the Great Lakes were too, though the route they were taking wouldn't quite give them a good view of that spectacle.

Julia had settled into a resigned comfort since Robin had found her. In spite of the potential threat to her life, she resolved she couldn't simply sit there and remain terrified until the end. Perhaps she could find a way to minimize personal risk….

Something about Robin intrigued Julia. Her custodian seemed very new to all this; resourceful, and probably quite intelligent, but not the least bit stoic. She could tell as much when the shivering didn't cease in the hours since they had first cranked that radiator and left Wisconsin.

Perhaps, Julia thought, I could engineer a beneficial relationship? This wasn't something she was used to (she always valued a genuine character), but it was worth a shot.

"Can I ask you something?" Julia posited, breaking a silence that had lasted since they ate in Wasau.

Robin shook herself alert, as if startled by the impromptu question. "Uhh, sure, it'd probably make the drive less boring."

"Is this your first 'mission'?" She used air-quotes on the word "mission."

Robin sighed. "That obvious, huh?"

Julia attempted to feign compassion: "Oh, I didn't—"

"I didn't really join the agency to do field work," Robin interjected. "I'm mostly just interested in cracking codes and solving puzzles. Jason claimed he thought I should do field work. But he was also making some creepy 'jokes', so I don't know. Still, from his recommendation, the CIA Director herself, Diane Beckman, asked me to take you in. I don't know why they want you or what they're planning on doing – well, I can at least say they're not gonna kill you, that's just ridiculous." She let out a nervous chuckle, as if she was saying it to convince herself as much as Julia. "But yeah, she recruited me and here we are.

"Easiest mission in the world," she continued, voice growing glum. "All we had to do is escort you to Langley, and we screw it up. Now an agent's dead, and…" she went quiet.

Julia tried to boost the mood: "Well, if someone had to go…" she shot a small smile at Robin, who returned a fierce look.

"Agent Gordon may have been a creep," she fired back, "but he was a very well-decorated Agent of the United States Government. Show some respect."

Julia felt a tinge of real guilt, and returned a small "sorry."

They spent a couple minutes in silence. Robin eventually broke the tension: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so hard on you. I know you can't possibly be having the most exciting time right now. But you know, what the government – what we do for people like you, it's for the greater good of our country. We may not be the most forthright, and we may even do some things you'd consider 'unethical', but what you need to understand is, we have to do it to keep people like you safe."

What a load of horseshit, Julia thought. But she nodded in agreement when Robin glanced at her, to give the impression that she respected the philosophy.

"I am sorry for the manipulation with the fake aunt," Robin resumed. "I… I know what it's like to be searching, I know the sting of finding out it was all for naught."

Julia saw an opening. She couldn't help but admit she was genuinely intrigued, too. "Were you searching for your family too?"

"I was orphaned myself," Robin confirmed. "Lived in various group homes until I was recruited. Spent some time on the street, even. And yes, I was searching for my own parents all the while."

Robin took a moment, then explained in a downcast tone: "The CIA… one of the things they offered me was an answer. They have the most detailed records anyone possibly could about this stuff. And they let me initiate a search when I agreed to work with them. It turned out, though, that after all that searching, my parents ended up being just a couple of dead drunks."

Julia went deep in thought. Is she telling the truth? Maybe she's socially engineering me? Does it really matter?

Robin glanced at Julia and misinterpreted the expression on her face. "You know that's not to say your parents are the same. You never know until you find out.

"And who knows," she continued, suppressing skepticism from her voice, "once we're able to discharge you, perhaps we'll let you initiate a search of your own."

II

It was evening in Langley. The sun had just crept below the horizon, leaving a darkening red glow across Director Beckman's office, around which she paced furiously. She had expected a status report from Agent Gordon no later than tonight at five PM, and the bumbling agent had failed to deliver. This was not an assignment for which she could stomach any threat of failure.

The Director flinched when someone rapped at her door. "Come in," she ordered. In came a secretary of hers. "Mr. Hobbs," the Director addressed, "status report from Agent Gordon?"

"No, Director," the secretary responded, to her dismay. "One of our programs picked up this news article from the Waukon Standard." He handed a copy of the article to the Director. "It appears an Agency vehicle was found overturned on the highway. Agent Gordon was deceased inside the vehicle, probable homicide. Agent Miller and Miss Howard have not been located, but three sets of DNA were detected in the wreckage and are likely being analyzed by the local forensics team at this time."

The Director was mortified. How such a mission could go so very wrong….

"Shall we mobilize our recon team to search for sur—"

"NO!" the Director responded. Alarmed at her own vigor, she scaled back. "I mean… we have to keep this off the record as much as possible, Hobbs. I'll make some calls to the local PD, but otherwise, we must wait for now. If by this time tomorrow we have no news of the other agents, then we can mobilize."

"Yes, Director." The secretary wondered why Beckman would stall on such a matter, but obeyed his formal duties.

"Do not tell anyone else of this, Mr. Hobbs. You are dismissed."

The secretary exited the room, leaving Beckman to stew.

The Director felt ill. That this mission had gone so wrong…. One of the simplest operations, personally ordered by her, led to the death of one of her top agents. Not to mention, a critical target was missing! In the regular world, this would cost her some confidence from Congress, maybe even her job. Her real bosses, on the other hand, wouldn't hesitate to kill her. All she could do now was delay her report as much as possible, and wait as the night closed in on her.

III

Robin and Julia watched the sun set in Toledo before conversing again.

"I think we should probably stop for the night," Robin said, "if we keep going, we'll get to Langley around 5 AM; hours before anyone's even in the office. Not to mention, I didn't get any sleep last night either." Robin thought for a moment. "Will you be cooperative if we stop at a motel to rest?"

Julia thought for a moment. Is this my chance? Could I actually escape? Would it even be worth it, thousands of miles from home with the full force of a government agency after me?

Could not escaping help build trust with Robin?

Robin sensed the hesitation. She exited the highway into Toledo and pulled into an empty parking lot. "Look," she started, turning to face Julia, "I'm not going to make some bullshit threats on your life. My job is simply to bring you in alive and safe.

"If you want to run," She continued, gesturing her broken arm, "I'm obviously in no shape to stop you. But you'll be thousands of miles from home, with no resources to get back safely. With me, on the other hand… I may be new in the field but I can promise you, no harm is going to come to you."

Julia started to wonder: was there a hint of color in the personality she initially pegged as black-and-white? The compassion in Robin's voice didn't feel fake or forced. Of course, a good agent probably would be able to pull that off, but could such a new one achieve the same effect?

Regardless of what she thought, her mind was already made up: Julia relaxed and nodded her head, indicating cooperation.

IV

It was a rough sleep for both Robin and Julia, who each had their own anxieties to endure.

At four AM, Robin pounded on Julia's door. The latter was still trying to get some shuteye, but Robin, fearing an attempted break, started kicking on the (impressively reinforced) structure.

"I'm up!" Julia eventually shouted, perturbed by the commotion. Within minutes, she exited her room and the pair got on the road again.

V

The duo had barely spoken on their second day to Langley. Robin seemed more anxious than she had been the day before, and Julia found her completely unreceptive to her attempts at relationship-building small-talk.

It was one PM when the pair reached the gate of the Langley building's parking lot. Director Beckman was alerted immediately to their presence, and, with extreme relief, instructed security to escort them directly to her office.

"So," the Director angrily began as they entered, "I assign you, Agent Miller, with an extremely simple task. And not only do you let your partner get killed, but you and the asset amble in looking like you're about to die?"

The pair were in worse shape than they realized. Bruising all across both bodies, Robin's arm shattered and starting to look gangrenous, Julia's jeans torn and bloody….

Beckman pressed an intercom button on her desk. "Requesting special medical transport for two individuals, pick up at my office." She then looked at the two women and sighed. "I apologize for my tone. I understand that many circumstances surrounding this mission were out of your control, Agent Miller.

"And as for you," she said, turning to Julia, "I don't expect you to understand why you're here, but rest assured, you have nothing to worry about. Your country needs you for a crucially important test, but I give you my word, you'll be out of here unharmed by the New Year. If it weren't for your existing injuries, I might say Christmas, but that's out of our control now."

At that time, a crew of doctors arrived at the Director's office, bringing along two gurneys.

"Come in, Doctors," the Beckman beckoned. "I'll brief the two of you individually, after your exams."

VI

Betelgeuse watched the snow fall out the sole window of his rural Minnesota cabin. It was serene: snow drifting down weightlessly onto the frozen lake. Leafless trees swaying their tender branches gracefully in the light breeze. A fire crackling in the cabin.

But peace was long gone for Betelgeuse.

He turned back to his work: A centrifuge spun on a laboratory table in his one-room cabin, in which he had earlier placed one strand of Julia's hair and one of his own. Beside it, a giant monitor displayed a large, green "NO SIGNAL" message. Those items were placed neatly at the far wall of the small structure. In the middle, a single, ratty leather chair faced the monitor; a bottle of cognac and sipping glass rested on a small table adjacent to it, and the fireplace lay at the opposite side by the wall. Finally, simple kitchen appliances lined the wall beside the only door to the building.

Betelgeuse checked his watch: it was 12:13 PM. He didn't know when exactly to expect his system to activate, but it should be any mo—

Right on cue: the monitor flashed white "CONNECTION ESTABLISHED" text on the black screen, then transitioned into a large network of small video feeds.

The pen Betelgeuse gave to Julia wasn't just a tool she could use with her mini-Intersect; it was also a highly-advanced electronic device capable of cracking and infecting the CIA's intranet. Specifically, Betelgeuse used the device to securely capture and route video feeds from every security camera connected to that intranet to his monitor. Now he could see if his plan would truly come to fruition.

VII

Robin laid in a bed in a solo medical room, her left arm suspended and wrapped from elbow to fingertip in some sort of tight black material that warmed it almost to the point of burning. From her medical exam, she was told that a combination of the initial break and subsequent tourniquet she had fashioned as a cast had killed some twenty percent of the cells in her arm. Yet, somehow, they followed up by saying a simple injection and warming cast would heal her completely within hours. It defied all medical logic, but Robin was simply relieved not to lose her arm, and chose not to bother the doctors while they worked.

Aside from the broken arm, her cuts were healing on their own, and the rest of her condition was no worse than some bruising.

The hours she would spend in that room were boring: the room was windowless, was lit by terribly ugly fluorescent bulbs, and was devoid of anything Robin could use to distract herself. Unnervingly, a camera on the opposite wall was trained directly at her hospital bed; the only way to get out of view was to hide in the tiny bathroom which hid below the camera.

Suddenly, the entrance door opened. Director Beckman walked in, closed and locked the door, reached up, and disabled the camera (or so she believed). She then walked to Robin's right side and, despite her short stature, towered over the agent laying below.

"I am here to debrief you on the status of your mission, Agent Miller," she said, "but first, I need you to tell me exactly what happened the night you acquired Julia Howard. Why is Agent Gordon dead; do you know who killed him; and what, if anything, did the killer or killers do with you and Julia?"

Robin told the truth: she explained how the agent had been sniped by an extremely precise gunner, how Julia had been taken, and how someone – the gunner, most likely – led Robin back to Julia soon afterward.

Beckman took some time to digest this information. Finally, she spoke: "First of all, I want to commend you. Your superior officer was killed in the line of duty, and yet you still managed to single-handedly bring your target in." Robin wanted to interrupt to correct the Director, who seemed to have omitted the abduction part, but remembered her place and stayed quiet.

"I think you have a lot of field potential, Agent Miller," the Director continued. "I'd like to ask if you would be willing to join our task force for the Julia Howard experiment."

Robin was surprised and thrilled at the offer. To be given such a commendation from the Director herself was a higher honor than she ever expected; even if she was still skeptical of her own abilities in the field, she would never turn down such an opportunity.

"Good," Beckman replied, "then it's time you understand what exactly we need Julia for.

"First of all, this is all extremely confidential. Only a select few agents know about this project, and you must not breathe a word about it to anyone unless they give you the official code-name for the experiment: Meissa Bellatrix."

Robin thought that code-name was odd, even stupid, but nodded in agreement. The Director continued:

"Thirty years ago, in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the CIA and NSA were ordered to work together to more efficiently handle, process, and analyze our data. The terrorist incident was, after all, the result of multiple failures of U.S. intelligence.

"The result of this co-working strategy was a supercomputer, essentially a neural network that constantly ingested and mined intelligence data for patterns, ways to detect future threats on our country. This supercomputer is actually still in use today, and it does a decent job for us.

"However, we had another project working in parallel, a data encoding project that would immensely reduce the size of the data we stored in our government databases – a natural way to improve cost and performance of many government resources. This project began development many years before 9/11, principally led by an engineer codenamed Orion.

"Orion didn't just manage to compress data for us, however; he did it in a very interesting way: he encoded ordinary images with thousands of individual pieces of intel. And he discovered in this process, these images could be read by individuals as well as machines, and those who read the images would retain and, in certain situations, be able to recall that intelligence as if they had instantly learned it.

"The implications of this discovery were profound for us. And when our supercomputer was developed, we initially married it with this compression system to form a machine we called 'The Intersect.' This, we thought, would allow us to encode snapshots of our intelligence directly into our agents, giving them the upper hand in missions and strengthening our country's defense capabilities.

"Unfortunately, we quickly learned that pretty much any amount of encoded intelligence would, to use a non-technical phrase, 'fry the brains' of our agents. It was simply too much data to handle; we thought our project was a bust.

"But in 2007, one civilian received and uploaded – without incident – this machine into his brain. The later-inaugurated Agent, code-named Carmichael, showed an uncanny ability to handle the Intersect. Within four years, he came to lead our most impressive and accomplished team of agents. Then, he abruptly retired.

"The detailed circumstances of his departure are not important. But suffice it to say, while his presence revived the government's interest in this project, and we were able to make impressive improvements to the tool's ability to train agents, we never managed to get over the hurdle of making this project accessible and safe for agents in general. We did have a handful of other successful uploads – impressive individuals indeed – but they flamed out just like Carmichael.

"Officially, we canceled this project back in 2012. Unofficially, however, we continued to investigate in the background. We realized that Carmichael was getting progressively better at handling the information uploaded, so we thought that with time, we could evolve our tool to work with the general population.

"Eventually, we found a genetic component linking those who were successfully able to ingest the intersect: a rare mutation only present in a few such people. We believed if we could find a person with that mutation, upload our intersect into them, and do some harmless tests (brain scans et cetera), we could finally crack the code, and maybe even develop a tool available to all.

"As you might have guessed, Julia is one of those genetically special individuals. The first one we were ever able to recover. We had been looking for nearly twenty years at this point for people like her, but any time we attempted to identify anyone, we'd be unable to physically find them. Julia, in fact, had her identity switched out shortly after her birth, hence why we were only able to find her from a chance DNA test."

"Director," Robin interrupted, aware of the protocol breach but feeling the need sufficiently grave, "if I may: Could it be possible that the abduction and subsequent return of Julia had something to do with efforts to 'hide' such individuals? Although… I suppose from the start, her abductor's purpose was to lead me back to her. Do you have any idea why someone would want to do that?"

The Director smiled. "You're as astute as I had hoped. I was just getting to this part: I have my own hypotheses, but that's not relevant to you. In fact," Beckman grew more serious, leaned in, and lowered her voice (as if someone could be watching): "it is critical you tell no one about what happened to Julia. Not even anyone else privy to this Top-Secret experiment. The official report is, Agent Gordon was killed in a hunting accident, and you brought Julia straight back here."

Robin wondered why Beckman would want this kept secret – and whether anyone would believe such an unrealistic scenario. But she took the Director's tone to indicate there was no room for discussion on this.

"Unless there are other questions, that is all I have. We plan on uploading the Intersect to Julia as soon as I can get clearance. You will be in attendance when it happens. I will monitor remotely."

"Just one more, Director, if it's acceptable." The Director nodded. "What if you – what if we're wrong? What if the Intersect damages or even kills Julia?"

"Rest assured, we are entirely confident that won't happen."

With that, the Director re-enabled the security camera and exited the hospital room. She took a brief detour to the room Julia was in (she had no injuries as serious as Robin's, but was held in another hospital room regardless). She made the same attempt to disable the security camera in that room as well.

"Miss Howard," she started, as the young woman looked up from the bed on which she sat. "I want to first apologize again for the circumstances regarding your arrival. I cannot imagine it was all that exciting; but rest assured, we will have you home very soon, and you will be compensated for your service to your country."

Julia nodded politely; she was never one to care about the "patriotism" of a government guilty of a laundry list of domestic and international atrocities, but she was in no mood to tell this to the Director of one of those agencies who had effectively been holding her captive.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you much at this point," Beckman continued, "but suffice it to say, you'll be helping us with a small project we're working on. As soon as we can, we will be transporting you to another office to complete an entirely safe experiment to help us understand the human brain a bit better. Then, while we would normally have released you immediately, due to the circumstances around your near-death, we will have to hold you for a couple more days until we can assess whether there is a continued threat. Do you understand?"

Julia nodded again.

VIII

Betelgeuse watched Beckman return to her office. He had watched her since establishing the connection to the CIA network earlier that day; when she thought she had disabled security cameras in Julia's and Robin's rooms, she was only disabling a wired feed – a wireless connection, only to Betelgeuse's network, persisted as a backup to any manual fault of the system. Thus, he had heard her warn Robin not to speak of Julia's temporary abduction.

This was good news to him, but he remained anxious about Beckman's next steps.

Betelgeuse watched the Director walk to her desk, unlock a hidden drawer, pull out a secure phone, and make a call. He could only hear her side of the conversation:

"Agent Beckman reporting."

"Yes."

"Secured."

"Healthy. Normal brain function."

"I would request to start the experiment at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow."

"Affirmative."

"Thank you, Chairman Shaw."

Beckman hung up.

A smile grew on Betelgeuse's face. For his plan to work, he had bet the house that the Director wouldn't tell her actual superiors about the kidnapping, and it appeared he had just won that bet.

He let out a hearty chuckle. "This time tomorrow," he said to the monitor with a satisfied sigh, "you'll be dead!" He raised a glass of Cognac – "cheers, bitch" – and took a sip.