Chapter 48
*** At the same time ***
Walking down the long hall, Pendley reached inside his suit coat and pulled his identification card from his lapel pocket. Reaching the massive steel door, he fitted his card into the black slot and waited for the electronic eye to read the encrypted magnetic strip. After a second, the light changed from red to green, and the man watched as each of the locking bars snapped away from the door – one by one – clanking heavily as they released the latches, freeing the door from its lock. When they finished, the door swung slowly open on automated hydraulics – after all, no human being alive possessed the physical strength to open such a huge plate – and he stepped into the 'Crypt.'
The 'Crypt' – he had dubbed it with the name long not long after its construction – was three levels, each descending like concentric circles, the outermost top layer being the widest, and the third layer – the deepest – held the core for all activity that took place within the fictitious entity that was Darlington: it held the Cubicle. A single central stairway – much like a fixed escalator – led down from the doorway to the Cubicle, and Pendley stared out across the structure that had once only populated his wildest dream.
Yes, he agreed with Dr. Eli Watanabe, the entire complex looked very much like something out of a James Bond film, but the significant difference between the facts and the fantasy was that the 'Crypt' served a purpose while the movie sets of spy movies were little more than fancy blinking lights and well-lit aluminum rafters. Here, within the sealed door, this set worked. It was real. From here, Arthur Pendley was going to set his plan in motion for the betterment of mankind. He was no stock villain with a catch phrase and some Hollywood scar. He was a war hero. He was a respected senator. He was part of Washington's intelligence elite. Now, with the help of secret government funds, he would be a savior.
Level Three housed several work stations – each lined to the curve of the wall – and these posts monitored events from around the world. News. Weather. Everything. Anything that happened anywhere was being monitored by his technicians. His tenure with the U.S. Senate had taught him that, more often than not, the truth of reality was hidden in scraps of information. There were no magic wands. There were no blackboard equations. Here, life was measured through the composition of hundreds – if not thousands – of complex variables that he watched over ... yes, like a God. If it was happening, he needed to know. If covert U.S. operatives fell under enemy fire in Afghanistan, he needed to know. If temperatures over the North Pole rose a staggering three degrees and the water level of the Earth's oceans was going to rise by one-tenth of one-tenth of one-tenth of one percent, he needed to know. The sum activity of life itself could be monitored on Level Three, and Arthur Pendley watched over it all.
Level Two housed, mainly, the technology that made the Cubicle possible. Massive conduits sending incredible volts of energy through this secret base's power support systems – it had been designed to be maintained in the event of nuclear assault, thanks to the materials recovered in UFO craft retrievals – lined the walls. They were bundled six to a stream, knotted six streams to wall, and a walkway that led the entire way around the level was constructed of the highest grade titanium available. On Level Two opposite the stairway was a single work station – a power monitoring port – and, even from this distance, Pendley could read all of the meters registering their green lights at full capacity. This base was fully operational. It had been for two months. All it needed was a single test ... and that would happen shortly.
Level One was the brain: the Cubicle. It was a globe – a sphere – encircled by a bank of monitors hanging on massive steel arms. Another steel walkway surrounded the Cubicle, and there was only a single doorway – an open frame – that allowed one to enter or exit the control chair within the hanging monitors. The power lines led up to the brain, and it reminded Pendley was the way the spinal cord stretched down from the grey matter inside one's head. It was perfectly designed, perfectly envisioned for a single purpose:
Achieving the perfection of a wholly imperfect world.
"But not for long," he said to himself.
Walking down the stairway, Pendley nodded politely at the technicians going about their duties. He knew, for the time being, they were necessary. After all, someone had to monitor all of the data coming into the installation. Someone had to watch and measure and collate the information that he needed to make the decisions that would be forthcoming. However, once the Cubicle was brought on line, he truly believed that the facility could be operated by a single person. It was designed as such, but, without a test, he wasn't willing to take a chance. Too much effort, too much money would be squandered if he failed. Once the test was complete, the technicians would be disposed of ... eventually. At that point, they would serve no other purpose but to a drain on his resources. At that point, perhaps he would find that even Dr. Watanabe was expendable, and Pendley would survive – alone – in the center of a universe that would inevitably revolve around him.
"Maybe I am a Bond villain," he told himself, and he chuckled.
Reaching Level One, he nodded as Watanabe stepped out of the Cubicle. His expression was grim.
"What is it, doctor?"
Smiling weakly, Watanabe held up an active satellite phone. "There's been ... an unfortunate development."
Pendley had made a career of distinction out of disposing of unfortunate developments. He wasn't about to see his dream derailed.
"What do you mean?"
"I think ... I think you had better hear this for yourself."
Reaching out, he took the sat/phone. Placing it to his ear, he said, "This is Pendley."
"Senator, this is Colonel Chamberlin."
The senator smiled. It was good to have friends in high places. As a matter of fact, those friends were one of the linchpins to his success. Darlington would never have been possible without the support of patriots like Chamberlin ... patriots who realized that their government had lost its way long ago. The colonel shared Pendley's vision for a new tomorrow, and, together, they were about to make it happen.
"I'm about to change the course of human history, colonel," Pendley told the man. "I hope this isn't trivial."
"It isn't, sir," Chamberlin replied succinctly. "Information has recently come to my attention that I believe is of concern to the success of Project Kupher."
"What is it, colonel?"
"As fate would have it, sir, Frank Parker has returned."
The senator suddenly sucked in a breath of air and choked. He wasn't entirely certain he had heard the colonel correctly, despite the scientific accuracy of satellite telephones.
"Colonel, either we have what would appear to be an extraordinarily poor connection or I'm in the process of losing my mind. Would you kindly repeat what you just said?"
"Yes, sir. Frank Parker is here."
"Frank Parker is dead," Pendley insisted flatly.
"That's correct, sir," the colonel agreed. "The Frank Parker from our timeline perished on September 11th, sir, in an act of service to his country. It is the opinion of the NSA temporal theoreticians that the Frank Parker currently being contained in Area 51 is, in fact, a rogue chrononaut from another continuum."
"Another continuum?"
"Yes, sir."
"Really?"
"That is what I've been led to believe."
"But how did he get here?"
"At present, I do not have an answer to that question. My theoreticians have several theories, but none of them appear to be set in stone, if you'll pardon the expression, sir."
Pendley closed his eyes, losing himself in thought for a moment. He knew who Frank Parker was, and he knew what Parker represented. The senator's only fear throughout the process of bringing his dreams to life was that damned BackStep Program ... a bunch of temporal Boy Scouts hoping about the timeline setting things right that the government had determined needed fixing. Now, here was a variable he couldn't account for, he had no means to possibly predict. There was no such thing as coincidence, he knew. There were only absolutes, and the universe was filled with them. Finding them – deciphering them – was the only edge any living creature had over another. That was survival of the fittest.
"Colonel, what has been the reaction of the NSA Oversight Committee?"
"Once they were assured by field operatives that the man in custody was, in fact, Frank Parker, they convened an emergency session," Chamberlin elucidated. "They have ordered Mr. Parker to Washington."
"For what purpose?"
"They have ordered Mr. Parker to meet with Larnord, at the request of the Mallathorn himself."
Sniffing, Pendley asked, "Why do I find that of little surprise?"
"Once I learned of this, I thought it prudent to contact you, despite the lateness of the hour," the colonel continued. "How would you like me to proceed?"
As he knew, the universe was full of absolutes, and, of one thing Arthur Pendley was absolutely certain: he wouldn't let the wild card named Frank Parker or that tinkering temporal overlord of the Mallathorn to stand in the way of achieving what others dismissed as impossible.
"Colonel, I want you to capture Frank Parker."
"Understood. That can be accomplished with little risk to the program. As you know, we've been prepared for every possible contingency ... with respect to the Mallathorn."
"Yes, but I do want you to allow him his meeting with Larnord," Pendley added. "After all, when the master controlling the flow time itself asks you to Washington for a chat, I'm quite certain it isn't to talk about the weather. I want to know what they discuss. I want to know every detail. Do not abduct either of them until the purpose behind their meeting is absolutely clear. Do you understand? Information is absolutely essential for us to remain one step ahead, colonel, and whatever information these two men exchange, I must know what it is."
"Understood, sir."
"Contact me for further instructions ... once you have them in your custody."
"I will, senator."
"And colonel?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If Mr. Parker resists being detained," Pendley added, "feel free to use whatever force necessary to bring him under your control with the exception of lethal force. I repeat: do not kill him." The senator paused, considered the variables that were configuring into one glorious pattern inside his mind's eye. "However, if Larnord dies in the process, you'll not hear an ill word from me. Are we clear?"
"I understand perfectly, sir."
Pendley switched the sat/phone off and turned to the doctor.
"That has been dealt with," he announced.
"Is it anything we should concern ourselves with?" Watanabe asked.
"No," Pendley decided. "At this point, there's no turning back." Retrieving the single page of paper from his shirt pocket, the senator explained, "Besides, I think it about time that you and I went hunting, Eli."
End of Chapter 48
*** At the same time ***
Walking down the long hall, Pendley reached inside his suit coat and pulled his identification card from his lapel pocket. Reaching the massive steel door, he fitted his card into the black slot and waited for the electronic eye to read the encrypted magnetic strip. After a second, the light changed from red to green, and the man watched as each of the locking bars snapped away from the door – one by one – clanking heavily as they released the latches, freeing the door from its lock. When they finished, the door swung slowly open on automated hydraulics – after all, no human being alive possessed the physical strength to open such a huge plate – and he stepped into the 'Crypt.'
The 'Crypt' – he had dubbed it with the name long not long after its construction – was three levels, each descending like concentric circles, the outermost top layer being the widest, and the third layer – the deepest – held the core for all activity that took place within the fictitious entity that was Darlington: it held the Cubicle. A single central stairway – much like a fixed escalator – led down from the doorway to the Cubicle, and Pendley stared out across the structure that had once only populated his wildest dream.
Yes, he agreed with Dr. Eli Watanabe, the entire complex looked very much like something out of a James Bond film, but the significant difference between the facts and the fantasy was that the 'Crypt' served a purpose while the movie sets of spy movies were little more than fancy blinking lights and well-lit aluminum rafters. Here, within the sealed door, this set worked. It was real. From here, Arthur Pendley was going to set his plan in motion for the betterment of mankind. He was no stock villain with a catch phrase and some Hollywood scar. He was a war hero. He was a respected senator. He was part of Washington's intelligence elite. Now, with the help of secret government funds, he would be a savior.
Level Three housed several work stations – each lined to the curve of the wall – and these posts monitored events from around the world. News. Weather. Everything. Anything that happened anywhere was being monitored by his technicians. His tenure with the U.S. Senate had taught him that, more often than not, the truth of reality was hidden in scraps of information. There were no magic wands. There were no blackboard equations. Here, life was measured through the composition of hundreds – if not thousands – of complex variables that he watched over ... yes, like a God. If it was happening, he needed to know. If covert U.S. operatives fell under enemy fire in Afghanistan, he needed to know. If temperatures over the North Pole rose a staggering three degrees and the water level of the Earth's oceans was going to rise by one-tenth of one-tenth of one-tenth of one percent, he needed to know. The sum activity of life itself could be monitored on Level Three, and Arthur Pendley watched over it all.
Level Two housed, mainly, the technology that made the Cubicle possible. Massive conduits sending incredible volts of energy through this secret base's power support systems – it had been designed to be maintained in the event of nuclear assault, thanks to the materials recovered in UFO craft retrievals – lined the walls. They were bundled six to a stream, knotted six streams to wall, and a walkway that led the entire way around the level was constructed of the highest grade titanium available. On Level Two opposite the stairway was a single work station – a power monitoring port – and, even from this distance, Pendley could read all of the meters registering their green lights at full capacity. This base was fully operational. It had been for two months. All it needed was a single test ... and that would happen shortly.
Level One was the brain: the Cubicle. It was a globe – a sphere – encircled by a bank of monitors hanging on massive steel arms. Another steel walkway surrounded the Cubicle, and there was only a single doorway – an open frame – that allowed one to enter or exit the control chair within the hanging monitors. The power lines led up to the brain, and it reminded Pendley was the way the spinal cord stretched down from the grey matter inside one's head. It was perfectly designed, perfectly envisioned for a single purpose:
Achieving the perfection of a wholly imperfect world.
"But not for long," he said to himself.
Walking down the stairway, Pendley nodded politely at the technicians going about their duties. He knew, for the time being, they were necessary. After all, someone had to monitor all of the data coming into the installation. Someone had to watch and measure and collate the information that he needed to make the decisions that would be forthcoming. However, once the Cubicle was brought on line, he truly believed that the facility could be operated by a single person. It was designed as such, but, without a test, he wasn't willing to take a chance. Too much effort, too much money would be squandered if he failed. Once the test was complete, the technicians would be disposed of ... eventually. At that point, they would serve no other purpose but to a drain on his resources. At that point, perhaps he would find that even Dr. Watanabe was expendable, and Pendley would survive – alone – in the center of a universe that would inevitably revolve around him.
"Maybe I am a Bond villain," he told himself, and he chuckled.
Reaching Level One, he nodded as Watanabe stepped out of the Cubicle. His expression was grim.
"What is it, doctor?"
Smiling weakly, Watanabe held up an active satellite phone. "There's been ... an unfortunate development."
Pendley had made a career of distinction out of disposing of unfortunate developments. He wasn't about to see his dream derailed.
"What do you mean?"
"I think ... I think you had better hear this for yourself."
Reaching out, he took the sat/phone. Placing it to his ear, he said, "This is Pendley."
"Senator, this is Colonel Chamberlin."
The senator smiled. It was good to have friends in high places. As a matter of fact, those friends were one of the linchpins to his success. Darlington would never have been possible without the support of patriots like Chamberlin ... patriots who realized that their government had lost its way long ago. The colonel shared Pendley's vision for a new tomorrow, and, together, they were about to make it happen.
"I'm about to change the course of human history, colonel," Pendley told the man. "I hope this isn't trivial."
"It isn't, sir," Chamberlin replied succinctly. "Information has recently come to my attention that I believe is of concern to the success of Project Kupher."
"What is it, colonel?"
"As fate would have it, sir, Frank Parker has returned."
The senator suddenly sucked in a breath of air and choked. He wasn't entirely certain he had heard the colonel correctly, despite the scientific accuracy of satellite telephones.
"Colonel, either we have what would appear to be an extraordinarily poor connection or I'm in the process of losing my mind. Would you kindly repeat what you just said?"
"Yes, sir. Frank Parker is here."
"Frank Parker is dead," Pendley insisted flatly.
"That's correct, sir," the colonel agreed. "The Frank Parker from our timeline perished on September 11th, sir, in an act of service to his country. It is the opinion of the NSA temporal theoreticians that the Frank Parker currently being contained in Area 51 is, in fact, a rogue chrononaut from another continuum."
"Another continuum?"
"Yes, sir."
"Really?"
"That is what I've been led to believe."
"But how did he get here?"
"At present, I do not have an answer to that question. My theoreticians have several theories, but none of them appear to be set in stone, if you'll pardon the expression, sir."
Pendley closed his eyes, losing himself in thought for a moment. He knew who Frank Parker was, and he knew what Parker represented. The senator's only fear throughout the process of bringing his dreams to life was that damned BackStep Program ... a bunch of temporal Boy Scouts hoping about the timeline setting things right that the government had determined needed fixing. Now, here was a variable he couldn't account for, he had no means to possibly predict. There was no such thing as coincidence, he knew. There were only absolutes, and the universe was filled with them. Finding them – deciphering them – was the only edge any living creature had over another. That was survival of the fittest.
"Colonel, what has been the reaction of the NSA Oversight Committee?"
"Once they were assured by field operatives that the man in custody was, in fact, Frank Parker, they convened an emergency session," Chamberlin elucidated. "They have ordered Mr. Parker to Washington."
"For what purpose?"
"They have ordered Mr. Parker to meet with Larnord, at the request of the Mallathorn himself."
Sniffing, Pendley asked, "Why do I find that of little surprise?"
"Once I learned of this, I thought it prudent to contact you, despite the lateness of the hour," the colonel continued. "How would you like me to proceed?"
As he knew, the universe was full of absolutes, and, of one thing Arthur Pendley was absolutely certain: he wouldn't let the wild card named Frank Parker or that tinkering temporal overlord of the Mallathorn to stand in the way of achieving what others dismissed as impossible.
"Colonel, I want you to capture Frank Parker."
"Understood. That can be accomplished with little risk to the program. As you know, we've been prepared for every possible contingency ... with respect to the Mallathorn."
"Yes, but I do want you to allow him his meeting with Larnord," Pendley added. "After all, when the master controlling the flow time itself asks you to Washington for a chat, I'm quite certain it isn't to talk about the weather. I want to know what they discuss. I want to know every detail. Do not abduct either of them until the purpose behind their meeting is absolutely clear. Do you understand? Information is absolutely essential for us to remain one step ahead, colonel, and whatever information these two men exchange, I must know what it is."
"Understood, sir."
"Contact me for further instructions ... once you have them in your custody."
"I will, senator."
"And colonel?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If Mr. Parker resists being detained," Pendley added, "feel free to use whatever force necessary to bring him under your control with the exception of lethal force. I repeat: do not kill him." The senator paused, considered the variables that were configuring into one glorious pattern inside his mind's eye. "However, if Larnord dies in the process, you'll not hear an ill word from me. Are we clear?"
"I understand perfectly, sir."
Pendley switched the sat/phone off and turned to the doctor.
"That has been dealt with," he announced.
"Is it anything we should concern ourselves with?" Watanabe asked.
"No," Pendley decided. "At this point, there's no turning back." Retrieving the single page of paper from his shirt pocket, the senator explained, "Besides, I think it about time that you and I went hunting, Eli."
End of Chapter 48