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San Diego International Airport
An elderly couple disembarked the off ramp of gate twelve. They made their way slowly down the hall, shuffling as they hunched over their canes. The bustling crowd had to make way and move around them—some more patiently than others. The old man checked the clock on the arrival board; they were early. He decided to sit down on the nearest bench and let the bulk of the crowd pass on. As he settled in his seat, he looked around, making a mental note of the location of all the security cameras in the lobby. The old woman eventually caught up and sat next to him.
She smacked her gums. "This is the last time I fly coach for you, brother. Why couldn't we've taken a company jet from New York?"
"My apologies, sister, but I don't want the company privy to my movements. As a result, I'm funding this operation out of my own pocket."
After picking up their luggage, they both made their way to the customer loading ramp. A valet offered to help them to carry their baggage. The old man, balancing on his cane, smiled appreciatively and handed the suitcase over to the young man. The valet eagerly took the proffered case but stumbled when the weight of it brought it crashing to the ground. Using two hands, he picked it up and limped behind them, struggling to keep up.
The old woman cackled at the display. "When is our brother going to pick us up?"
"He isn't. Our ride is already here."
The old man led them to a limousine parked along the curb. There was a man in a driver's uniform holding up a sign that read "SMITH". The old man walked up to the driver and introduced himself:
"I'm Smith."
The driver regarded them briefly. "Did you track any blue grass on your shoes while in New York?"
The old man replied with the appropriate counter phrase, "The only Bluegrass I know is grown in Kentucky, young man."
Satisfied, the driver nodded and opened the door for them. "Welcome to California, Mr. Smith."
The elderly couple entered the vehicle. After the driver closed the door, they made themselves comfortable. The old woman poured herself a drink from the mini-bar, while the old man took off his gloves. Once the driver loaded their luggage and tipped the valet, they drove off.
The old woman casually took a sip of her drink. "Mind your hand, old man."
The old man looked down at his hand on the armrest. The sunlight shining through the window had turned the skin a dark shade of blue. Cursing, he moved his hand to the shadows and massaged the skin until it returned to its usual pink color.
"Who is he?" she whispered, nodding in the driver's direction.
"An acquaintance, from the old days, who owes me a favor."
When they left the main ramp, the old man pushed a button on the armrest. A privacy window rose from the front seat, separating the driver from the passengers. The old woman was about to speak when her brother raised a hand to stop her. She watched him take an electronic device out of his pocket and wave it about the cabin for several seconds. After several beeps, the display on the device turned green. It was then that he gave her the signal that it was safe to talk.
The old woman ripped off her mask and spat out her dentures to reveal the face of someone much younger. "Is all this subterfuge necessary, Zartan?"
"I'm afraid so, Zarana." Zartan removed his prosthetics, although he handled them more carefully than his sister. He put the remains in a special plastic container and poured acid inside before sealing it. He then reached into his briefcase and handed her a dossier. "It's time to brief you on the current situation."
She opened the envelope and removed the contents. The top page was a picture of an old man with grey hair, "Who is this bloke?"
"Harvey Gabor. He's a mega-industrialist with holdings and assets that rival that of the Twins."
"Nice. I take it that you want me to put the sweets on this wanker? How much do you want to bilk him for?"
"I'm not after mere money here with Gabor. And our objective is time-sensitive."
He referred her to the next sheet that had a three-dimensional graph that was plotted with a number system that she did not recognize. She held the page up to the light and turned it upside-down to see if it would make more sense with a different orientation.
"What is this?" She asked.
"It's a wave-form diagram of a harmonic cipher. A Cobra asset at the Pentagon came across this in a DIA memo sent to General Flagg. This plot showed up as a blip in one of NORAD's satellite streams. It was reported as being part of an old code that was grand-fathered into the system; as a result, it was written off as a system malfunction. Fortunately, I intercepted this before Major Bludd scrapped it. The fools didn't realize what they've stumbled upon."
"I must admit that I'm at a loss myself, brother dear"
"It's possible that this particular wave-form is associated with a Quantum Encryption signature. The technology that relied on this particular cipher was part of a black-budget project that was abandoned in the seventies. Gabor Industries was the primary defense contractor on that project"
"The seventies? How could decades old technology benefit us?"
"Let's just say that if I'm right, it could change the face of modern warfare."
"That'll certainly give us leverage against Destro. We won't need him anymore."
"Sister, if this pans out, we won't need Cobra anymore."
"So, why the rush if the Pentagon is sweeping this under the rug?"
"If I spotted this, chances are someone in SOCOM will have also. We'll have a much needed head start only if we can get to Gabor first."
Zarana finished skimming through the profile. "This Gabor fella looks like a powerful man. How are we gonna put the squeeze on him?"
"Through his daughter."
Zartan pulled out the last page and handed it to her. It was a picture of a woman in her mid-twenties with green eyes and hair dyed to match. Zarana studied the picture, and she snorted quietly when she recognized the subject. She began to see why her brother needed her on this mission.