Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 88
Five Days, Four Hours, Forty-Seven Minutes
Pointing to the remaining half of the ham, swiss cheese, and tomato on rye, Parker asked, "Are you going to eat that?"
Waving him off, Talmadge replied, "It's all yours."
"Thanks."
The chrononaut lifted the half-sandwich from the china plate and bit into it.
"Besides," the director mumbled, "I don't know how you can think of food at a time like this."
Using his tongue, Parker shoved his mouthful of sandwich to one side. "You're right," he said. "I should be thinking about sleeping."
Lowering the latest dossier, Talmadge said. "When's the last time you slept, Frank?"
"What timeline are we in now?"
"That isn't funny."
"Then," the young man replied flatly, "it certainly wouldn't be of any consequence now. If I shouldn't have the stomach to eat, then I certainly shouldn't have one to eat."
"Forgive me, Frank. I guess … I guess it's me who's tired."
"Who can blame you?"
Sitting back in his chair, Parker swallowed the bite. He thought about the Sphere, he thought about the Mallathorn, he thought about Channing Michelson who was – no doubt – on board some secret military aircraft right now, en route to NeverNeverLand, and he wondered when any of this craziness would ever end.
"Mr. President?"
"Yes, Frank?"
"Have we heard from the illustrious senator?"
"Not since his last attack," Campbell asked, his face buried in another of the numerous intelligence transcripts. "I think we can all assume that that's a good sign."
"True," Parker agreed. "He isn't calling to gloat." With his eyes closed, the chrononaut tried to imagine himself at the controls of his own Sphere. Within those confines, he had found peace with himself. Despite his anatomy being jumbled around by the temporal circuits, he had found it oddly peaceful to know that – once he piloted the Sphere to wherever the mission was to deliver him – his destiny, his Fate was in his own hands.
"We certainly don't need Pendley's arrogance at a time like this," the President said.
"You're not kidding," Parker snapped. "I mean … what besides taking hold of the entire world by the short hairs and hanging on for dear life, what does the senator have to proud about anyway?"
"It's a wonder to me."
In his mind's eye, Parker saw the target points on the sphere's command console. In flight, he had to line up the counter with these temporal constants – they had to stay in nearly perfect alignment – in order to cruise from one end of the time line to the other.
"You'd think the guy had better things to do," Parker quipped.
Loudly closing the folder he had been studying, Talmadge slapped the dossier to the table. "Frank, that's enough!"
Opening his eyes, the chrononaut stared over at the director. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?"
"You know as well as I do that it isn't so much what you said as how you said it," he bellowed. "You've done this before. You've been in this situation before. How does it feel to have the future on an entire world in your hands, Frank? How in the hell can you be so flippant?"
"Flippant?" Parker quizzed the man. "How am I being flippant by saying that a United States senator should have better things to do, Bradley? Am I wrong?"
"Of course, you're not wrong!"
"Gentlemen!" Campbell shouted over the two of them. "Take it easy! Just … please … take it easy!" He leaned forward, softening his tone. "Look, we're all tired. Director, I understand why you took issue with Frank's statement. Frank, if you think about it, I'm sure you can understand it as well. The last thing we need right now, however, is to find ourselves flying off the handle taking one another to task when our energies would be far more usefully expended trying to get to the bottom of what we're up against." Quickly, he glanced at his watch. "Ethan will have made his statement to the press, and I'm going to need to have some answers before I go before the public … so I implore you: help me."
Sitting forward in his chair, Parker shoved the stack of paperwork away from him. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but I … I need a braek."
"We don't have time for a break, Frank!" the director exclaimed.
Rising, the chrononaut argued, "That's all we do have, Bradley! All we have is time! Time from now until whenever the senator decides to take out his next target … whether it be a military, a political, or even a civilian target! This is all about time, and that's why I asked what the senator has been spending his time on before he decided that this was a far better use!" Angrily, he stood, the feet of his chair squeaking their protest against the marble floor. "I mean … we're talking about a senator here! A United States senator! Doesn't this guy have any love for his country?"
"Of course, he does, Frank," the President tried gently. "You have to understand the politics of our world, though. In this day, translating one's love for his country doesn't necessary equate with getting the Congress to allot more tax dollars to his state in order to keep his constituents employed. Global terrorism changed much of the way Washington does business."
"I don't know that it changed it so much, Mr. President," Talmadge interjected. "From my perspective, all it did was multiply Washington politics by a factor of ten … or, somedays, twenty. Keeping in touch with the rest of the world became as important as keeping up with the folks back home, and that stress unfortunately produces men and women like Pendley."
"All that's well and good," Parker debated, "but what I'm not seeing here is a record of what Pendley did."
"Nonsense," Campbell countered. Glancing toward the stack of files closest to him, he tried, "I believe I have a listing of all the appropriations bills he worked on."
"No, no, no!" The chrononaut placed his hands against his face and scrunched his cheeks together. "I don't want to read another document. Okay? Just … don't put another document in front of me or I swear my head with explode!"
"All right."
"Tell me." Parker turned slightly to face the commander-in-chief. "Talk to me, Mr. President. You tell me about Senator Pendley."
Raising an eyebrow, Campbell crossed his arms. "Well, I'm not entirely certain of where to being, Frank, but let me say that the senator is serving, I believe, his fifth term in office."
"Has he always been in the Senate?"
"Yes, he has." After a second, he added, "I'm not entirely up to speed on the senator's political record within his state. I'm certain we have it here somewhere."
"That could be," Parker said, "but I seriously doubt he was thinking about turning this Doomsday Time Gun against the world way back then."
"That makes sense."
Once more, the young man turned and started to walk about the conference room. "I'm going crazy in here. I'm about to climb the walls."
"Take your time, Frank," Campbell offered. "Like you've said, that's all we have."
"So Pendley has always been in the Senate," he muttered. Reaching a wall, Parker reached out and pounded his closed fist against it. "Has he been behind any big legislation? I mean … really big legislation? I don't want to know about how he authored some piece to give pigs a national appreciation week. I'm talking about major defense stuff."
"Why, yes," Campbell answered. "The senator has been on the Senate Intelligence Committee for the … well, come to think of it, I believe he's been on it since his freshman term." The President grabbed a file folder, opened it, and scanned the documents for a timeline. "Yes, here it is. He's been a member of the committee since late in his first term of office. He was added to the committee's enrollment after another senator – Grayson – retired from office."
"Does the committee write legislation?" Talmadge queried.
"Of course," Campbell explained, "as their charter dictates. That isn't to say that everything they do gets passed into law, but the Intelligence Committee reviews much of what goes through the Congress in relation to defense and offense weaponry and the like."
"So it's likely that Pendley became aware of this Project Halfstep through a committee briefing?" Parker tried.
"Of course." The President closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. "He would've been aware, even, of its development from the early proposals through any possible testing and implementation phases."
Parker clapped his hands together. Turning away from the wall, he walked in the direction of the massive steel doors that separated them from the War Room. "Then, we know how the man came to be aware of Halfstep technology, and I'm willing to guess that that means he was more than aware of Backstep."
"The committee has access to limited information from NSA operations," the President explained. "Yes, Pendley would've known of Backstep. On occasion, the NSA will consult with the committee in emergency session to determine whether or not a mission is necessary or desired."
"So he knows of any possible application the government has made of time travel," Parker mused aloud. "He decides – sometime – to launch this whole grand affair of his. The steal control of the technology to serve his own goals. That isn't all he would've needed, am I right?"
"What do you mean?" Talmadge asked.
"Well, unless I'm missing some very big pieces to the puzzle here, this guy has his fingers in FEMA … am I right, Mr. President?"
Slowly, Campbell nodded. "You're right, Frank. Senator Pendley would be well aware of the current FEMA structure, timetable implementations, etc. However, the individuals within FEMA have always been kept secured at the highest levels … with the exception of the preparedness memos."
"What is that?"
"In the wake of 9/11," he began, "this Administration began talking about possible terrorist scenarios that would warrant FEMA's implementation. The Senate Intelligence Committee reviewed all of those scenarios. So … while the senator would not have had access to the enlisted men and women who comprise FEMA's individual response teams … Pendley would have met with several ranking officers of the FEMA Program."
"Right," Parker said. "He may not have known the individual soldiers, but Pendley would've known others who did know those names, wouldn't he?"
"That's right."
Talmadge relaxed a bit in his chair. "All he needed to do was drawn one or two of these officers into his confidence, and then the senator would have troops available for his own use once he launched this scheme."
"Control of FEMA was one of Pendley's original demands," Campbell admitted. "You're right, director. I think that Pendley has drawn someone into his confidence, and that person is using his or her influence to assist in bringing these plans to fruition."
"It would explain the secret helicopter," Parker offered. "It would also explain how Pendley's been able to operate in near secrecy for as long as he has. He's limited exposure to only a select few individuals. Those individuals are controlling the other players for him. All he has to do is set things into motion." Reaching the heavy steel plates, the chrononaut reached out and punched them with his fist. The mechanical thud echoed throughout their chamber. "Think about it. These soldiers could believe they're responding to some threat against the United States when, in fact, they're being directed by a representative of the United States. By the time they figure out they're being used as pawns in some larger game, Pendley is probably having them eliminated."
"If that even becomes necessary," Campbell continued. "These soldiers are prepared for any possible scenario. Who knows? They could be operating under the belief that the White House has been taken over by a military coup. If that's the case, I could issue whatever orders I thought were necessary to get them to cooperate with the military's jurisdictional commanders, and it would do no good."
"Okay, okay," Parker said. He held up his hands to stop the conversation. "This makes sense. It's also scary as hell, but it makes sense." Turning, he asked, "So, with his position in the Senate, Pendley puts the players together in order for his plan to come together. Because of his position within the government, he probably even knew more information than necessary about your son-in-law's trip to Alaska, and he decided to take advantage of that adventure in order to swing this entire affair against you, Mr. President. That was his first strike. What about the Basilisk? It was a top-secret defense submarine on its test run in dangerous waters. Would the senator have had that information at his disposal as well?"
Talmadge saw a light flicker in the President's eyes.
"You'll pardon the expression, gentlemen," Campbell muttered, "but … sonuvabitch! Not only would Pendley have had access to the information, but he chose the name for the submarine himself! The Basilisk! That was his idea!"
Striding back toward the table, Parker reached the stack of files. He pushed through the lot, looking for the one he had studied earlier. When he found it, he threw it open on the table, glancing down at a construction photograph of the submarine. "The Basilisk," he announced. "It wasn't exactly his brainchild, but you could call him its Godfather."
"That's right."
"He gave it its name?"
"He did," the President replied. "He suggested the name, and it was approved by the Navy."
"What does that mean?" Parker asked. "Basilisk?"
"It's from mythology," Campbell said. "I'm not as handy with my Greek as I once was, but I believe the word literally translate to 'little king.'"
"You're absolutely right, Mr. President," Talmadge concurred. "I remember it being referred to as the king of the serpents. To the Greeks, it was small, but it could kill almost anything it encountered with just a single glance from its powerful eyes. It exhaled poison, even in its venom. It was the perfect instrument of death, and, certainly, Pendley was drawing on that analogy when he suggested the name for the sub."
"Mythology?" the chrononaut wondered aloud. "Why is this ringing so many bells?"
"The Sacrcophagus," the President offered. "It isn't from mythology, but it certainly holds a special place in ancient history. And we know for certain that Pendley is linked to that."
"Yes," Parker agreed, "but that's not all."
Quickly, he grabbed a file folder and dumped it out on the table. He rifled through the pictures and pages, shuffling the unimportant ones aside … until he found what he was looking for. Holding up the page, he read: "It is strongly believed that Emile Luga operated for a short time out of the country of Greece, using the code name 'Nisien' as given to him to a confidante. 'Nisien' is from Welsh mythology, the twin brother of 'Efnisien.'"
He set the piece of paper of the table. "What's Richard DeMarco's code name in the Mid-East?"
The President's mouth was open in awe.
"Efnisien," Talmadge answered.
"Right," Parker said. "The twin brother of Nisien." He rubbed a hand across his tired face. "Boys, it looks like we've got us a couple of terrorist brothers." Clearing his throat, he asked, "How much are you willing to bet me that Senator Pendley – with his fixation on mythology – did more than name these two bad boys of international terror? How much are you willing to bet … he's their father?"
END of Chapter 88
