Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 04
Five Days, Twenty-Three Hours, Eight Minutes
Glancing up from the command chair within the Cubicle – turning his attention away from the multitude of plasma screens broadcasting the images being collected from nineteen satellites all focused on northern Alaska – Dr. Eli Watanabe said, "I think your announcement was a bit premature."
Senator Arthur Pendley, his fingers tracing the infrared signatures of two men moving – running as if for dear life – across the expanse of pure white snow, smiled to himself. "Eli, I give you my word: there is nothing remotely premature about global domination."
Pointing at the men running across the monitor, he argued, "But, Mr. Pendley, you can see the image right there. Trace Hightower is not dead. He is alive. He is heading in the direction of Zulu Base." Sighing, he relaxed in the heavily padded chair. "It is only a matter of time before the President is aware."
Pendley shook his head. "It is far more than a matter of time, Eli. Hightower has been hiking that terrain for two days. Even at top speed – even if the Secret Service agent accompanying him presses him to the limits of human endurance – there is no way possible for them to make it back to Zulu by noon tomorrow ... and, by that time, we will have past the point of no return on this little game of ours."
His eyes fixed to the picture, Watanabe offered, "It is not too late. We could still use the Temporal Particle Weapon to kill him. Kill him and the secret service agent. They serve no purpose any longer, if what you have said is true."
"No, no," the senator insisted. "I may be cruel, but I'm not heartless." He tapped his finger on the screen. "Let them run. Let them waste their energy. At best, the agent may have a satellite phone. If he does, then he will use it once I return control of the grid to the White House Sit-Room and to the Pentagon. Then and only then will Stoddard understand that they are too late to stop what has been set in motion." He smiled. "Our first strike is a complete success, Eli. Don't worry. You'll be doubly rewarded in the new regime."
At a loss for any further arguments, the scientist went back to work retasking the satellites to their original orbital paths.
Satisfied, Pendley began the long walk back up the flight of stairs.
Back in his office, the senator sat down behind his desk. He imagined that, at the White House, decisions were already being made, and these decisions – despite the fact that they were long ago designed to leave an effective leadership structure in place – would set about a complex series of actions and reactions that would slowly but surely cause diplomatic chaos. In the Cubicle, he was aware that several governments – Israel, China, Japan, India – had already placed calls to the President, demanding an explanation for what their satellites had detected in northern Alaska. Over the course of the next hour, Pendley had no doubt that calls from Germany, Great Britain, and France would start pouring into the White House's switchboard. By then, Pendley would no longer be concerned with the President: next, his attention would have to focus on Chief of Staff Stoddard. The man was impeccable. Unlike the President, Stoddard was a strategist, a force to be reckoned with. Given time, however, every wall crumbles, and Stoddard would be no different.
His personal line rang, and he answered it with a calm assuredness he hadn't yet experienced in this lifetime ... until today.
"What is it, Chamberlin?"
"The Mallathorn has been briefed on Project Kupher's first strike?"
"My, my," the senator admired. "That auditory surveillance system of yours has certainly paid for itself."
"As I said, sir," Chamberlin said, "British intelligence is light years ahead of what our CIA field agents are being provided."
"What is Larnord's reaction?"
There was a break on the line before the colonel replied, "He's ... indifferent to the situation."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir," the man affirmed. "It's almost as if ... sir, it's almost as if Larnord expected something of this magnitude to finally happen. Now that it has, he appears unsurprised."
Pendley imagined that the alien – with his unique perspective on temporal events – had possessed some gift of seeing into the future, but precognition didn't seem to be one of Larnord's strong points. If it had been, then how could the War on Terror have lasted so long? Wouldn't the 'time lord' simply have glanced into his mind's eye – that cerebral crystal ball of his – and wouldn't he have informed the President or the military of which campaigns would succeed and which were destined for failure? Perhaps the Mallathorn was not so much the ally he pretended.
"I am not concerned of Larnord's present activities, colonel," Pendley assured the man. "At this point, the alien has proven himself little more than a doddering advisor, and his advice has put this administration is more hot water than the President would like to admit." He shook his head. "No. Presently, my only interest in the Mallathorn is his request for a meeting with Frank Parker. Tell me: what's the status of the BackStep Team?"
"They've only departure Area 51," Chamberlin said. "They won't be in Washington for five hours, at best."
"By then, Washington airspace will be in total chaos."
"It would certainly appear so, sir."
Pleased with the report, Pendley said, "Very good, colonel. Back to your post. Also, I'd ask you to refrain from contacting me any time soon. The next few hours are critical to the success of Project Kupher. If we are to succeed – and there's no doubt in my mind that we will – then the next few hours are going to require a level of commitment to our mutual goals that cannot be jeopardized by unnecessary communication."
"Understood," the colonel answered. "When would you like me to check in again?"
Pendley sat back in his leather chair. "My guess is that, once the BackStep Team lands in Washington – or should I say 'if' they are allowed to land – I would imagine that Mr. Parker will be rushed to Larnord. Once you've ascertained whatever message the Mallathorn has for the chrononaut, kill the alien."
"And Frank Parker?"
"Of course, he is to be captured, colonel," Pendley concluded. "Once he's in your custody, contact me immediately. I want that man delivered to me. The next phase of Kupher may very well depend upon what government chooses to serve: the present administration ... or ours."
END of Chapter 04
Five Days, Twenty-Three Hours, Eight Minutes
Glancing up from the command chair within the Cubicle – turning his attention away from the multitude of plasma screens broadcasting the images being collected from nineteen satellites all focused on northern Alaska – Dr. Eli Watanabe said, "I think your announcement was a bit premature."
Senator Arthur Pendley, his fingers tracing the infrared signatures of two men moving – running as if for dear life – across the expanse of pure white snow, smiled to himself. "Eli, I give you my word: there is nothing remotely premature about global domination."
Pointing at the men running across the monitor, he argued, "But, Mr. Pendley, you can see the image right there. Trace Hightower is not dead. He is alive. He is heading in the direction of Zulu Base." Sighing, he relaxed in the heavily padded chair. "It is only a matter of time before the President is aware."
Pendley shook his head. "It is far more than a matter of time, Eli. Hightower has been hiking that terrain for two days. Even at top speed – even if the Secret Service agent accompanying him presses him to the limits of human endurance – there is no way possible for them to make it back to Zulu by noon tomorrow ... and, by that time, we will have past the point of no return on this little game of ours."
His eyes fixed to the picture, Watanabe offered, "It is not too late. We could still use the Temporal Particle Weapon to kill him. Kill him and the secret service agent. They serve no purpose any longer, if what you have said is true."
"No, no," the senator insisted. "I may be cruel, but I'm not heartless." He tapped his finger on the screen. "Let them run. Let them waste their energy. At best, the agent may have a satellite phone. If he does, then he will use it once I return control of the grid to the White House Sit-Room and to the Pentagon. Then and only then will Stoddard understand that they are too late to stop what has been set in motion." He smiled. "Our first strike is a complete success, Eli. Don't worry. You'll be doubly rewarded in the new regime."
At a loss for any further arguments, the scientist went back to work retasking the satellites to their original orbital paths.
Satisfied, Pendley began the long walk back up the flight of stairs.
Back in his office, the senator sat down behind his desk. He imagined that, at the White House, decisions were already being made, and these decisions – despite the fact that they were long ago designed to leave an effective leadership structure in place – would set about a complex series of actions and reactions that would slowly but surely cause diplomatic chaos. In the Cubicle, he was aware that several governments – Israel, China, Japan, India – had already placed calls to the President, demanding an explanation for what their satellites had detected in northern Alaska. Over the course of the next hour, Pendley had no doubt that calls from Germany, Great Britain, and France would start pouring into the White House's switchboard. By then, Pendley would no longer be concerned with the President: next, his attention would have to focus on Chief of Staff Stoddard. The man was impeccable. Unlike the President, Stoddard was a strategist, a force to be reckoned with. Given time, however, every wall crumbles, and Stoddard would be no different.
His personal line rang, and he answered it with a calm assuredness he hadn't yet experienced in this lifetime ... until today.
"What is it, Chamberlin?"
"The Mallathorn has been briefed on Project Kupher's first strike?"
"My, my," the senator admired. "That auditory surveillance system of yours has certainly paid for itself."
"As I said, sir," Chamberlin said, "British intelligence is light years ahead of what our CIA field agents are being provided."
"What is Larnord's reaction?"
There was a break on the line before the colonel replied, "He's ... indifferent to the situation."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir," the man affirmed. "It's almost as if ... sir, it's almost as if Larnord expected something of this magnitude to finally happen. Now that it has, he appears unsurprised."
Pendley imagined that the alien – with his unique perspective on temporal events – had possessed some gift of seeing into the future, but precognition didn't seem to be one of Larnord's strong points. If it had been, then how could the War on Terror have lasted so long? Wouldn't the 'time lord' simply have glanced into his mind's eye – that cerebral crystal ball of his – and wouldn't he have informed the President or the military of which campaigns would succeed and which were destined for failure? Perhaps the Mallathorn was not so much the ally he pretended.
"I am not concerned of Larnord's present activities, colonel," Pendley assured the man. "At this point, the alien has proven himself little more than a doddering advisor, and his advice has put this administration is more hot water than the President would like to admit." He shook his head. "No. Presently, my only interest in the Mallathorn is his request for a meeting with Frank Parker. Tell me: what's the status of the BackStep Team?"
"They've only departure Area 51," Chamberlin said. "They won't be in Washington for five hours, at best."
"By then, Washington airspace will be in total chaos."
"It would certainly appear so, sir."
Pleased with the report, Pendley said, "Very good, colonel. Back to your post. Also, I'd ask you to refrain from contacting me any time soon. The next few hours are critical to the success of Project Kupher. If we are to succeed – and there's no doubt in my mind that we will – then the next few hours are going to require a level of commitment to our mutual goals that cannot be jeopardized by unnecessary communication."
"Understood," the colonel answered. "When would you like me to check in again?"
Pendley sat back in his leather chair. "My guess is that, once the BackStep Team lands in Washington – or should I say 'if' they are allowed to land – I would imagine that Mr. Parker will be rushed to Larnord. Once you've ascertained whatever message the Mallathorn has for the chrononaut, kill the alien."
"And Frank Parker?"
"Of course, he is to be captured, colonel," Pendley concluded. "Once he's in your custody, contact me immediately. I want that man delivered to me. The next phase of Kupher may very well depend upon what government chooses to serve: the present administration ... or ours."
END of Chapter 04
