As the Blackhawk hovered down to land behind the roadside diner, Truewell threw her coat over Will's unconscious form on the stretcher next to her to protect him from the sand kicking up off the California desert ground. She led the FBI agents helping her towards the helicopter, hefting the disassembled device and portable lab herself into the back.
"What happened to Dr. Anthros?" the pilot shouted as the copilot secured Will's limp form in a seat.
"Sedated!" Truewell shouted back before putting her headset on. "He was getting erratic - lack of sleep. I made the decision to make sure he gets some."
The pilot just laughed.
As the copilot finished securing the equipment and Will and took his seat, Truewell looked over to him. "Give me a secure connection to Wolf Creek when you're airborne."
"You got it, ma'am," the copilot said, and busied himself with preparing for takeoff.

A few minutes later, the copilot looked back to Truewell. "Connecting you to Wolf Creek now."
Truewell nodded, and heard the click and quiet tones of her headset connecting to the secure comms system and the encryption handshake. "DARPA Biotech Marin, this is Truewell."
"Authenticated," an automated voice answered. "OpCon Bravo is in effect. Please hold."
A few seconds later, Nathan answered the line. "Putting you through to the boss right now," he said.
A few more seconds later, there was a final click on the line. "Report," Bledsoe said.
"It's a nanotech nerve agent," Truewell said. "Looks like a binary agent with an organic alcohol activator, paired with an external chemical trigger. They used dimethyl sulfoxide, sprayed it over the town after they released the nanoparticles disguised as smoke. You should have images of the device already."
"We do," Bledsoe confirmed. "Put Anthros on. We need to clarify some notes."
"Anthros is sedated," Truewell replied. "He was getting erratic and hadn't slept in over 48 hours. He's probably more use to us now than he would be if I hadn't knocked him out."
"Goddammit," Bledsoe muttered. "Copy that, we'll work with what you sent. Will he be safe to wake up by the time you arrive?"
"Yes, sir," Truewell replied. "And I have the portable lab results as well."
"Excellent work, Truewell," Bledsoe said. He paused. "How are you holding up? We might need you in Operations when you arrive."
"I'm wide awake," Truewell said. "This was a test, sir. Controlled environment, limited release, and the dead body is almost certainly part of the crew monitoring the results. If that's the case, then the next question is -"
"How does it scale," Bledsoe completed the sentence. "Barcelona was in a confined space. If this group is confident enough to do a test run out in the open, we have to assume their weapon is suitable for wide dispersion." He paused again. "We found their prep site in Oakland. They had augments, biochem C-Grade. A half-dozen of them almost overmatched Sommers, for the five minutes they managed to live. And if that's what they're willing to throw at us just to slow us down, then we have to assume the worst about their main objective."
"What was at the prep site?" Truewell asked. "Tell me it was a big stainless steel reaction vessel half-assembled and gallons of chemicals."
"We're still going over the footage, and we'll scrub the site as best we can," Bledsoe said. "But I'm not liking our odds of finding it there. I think they've already moved it to wherever they're going to deploy it."
"Fuck," Truewell said.

An hour in the library after school had produced a total of four sheets of paper on Becca's desk, each an absent-minded start to sketching out the whirlwind of loose threads she'd been digging up. Of course, Becca had seen enough conspiracy thrillers to know that written notes inevitably ended up in the hands of the bad guys, but her thought process needed to see it laid out in front of her so she could move it around. Those sheets would have to go through the shredder before she left here. Leave nothing identifiable behind, she mouthed to herself once more. She went down the list of topics in front of her one more time:

Wolf Creek: Roughly 13000 hits on image search with the same six pictures of wolves near water in a bewildering variety of image sizes and annoying watermarks.
Promethean Dynamics: Stock pictures on the personnel page, both press releases I looked at plagiarized with 95% confidence according to CopyChecker. So it's a front, but for what?
Jonas Bledsoe & Will Anthros: No grand revelations beyond the fake PR and clearly unrelated hits. Seriously, how come there are so many people named Anthros? BU seemed scared of Bledsoe.
BeyondUltra: Dickheads. What's the point of a place where secrets get posted if you ban people talking about secrets?
Oscar77: …kind of a lot, actually.

The last item deserved more space in Becca's thoughts, because she'd actually managed to dig up a surprising amount of bits and pieces. Plugging the account name into a neat little darkweb search for compromised accounts and their passwords had gotten her a couple of hits, and while none of those accounts were actually still using those same passwords - or showing much activity at all - what those accounts had posted to various sites was still telling. Oscar77, whoever they were, had at least three hobbies:

Photos of abandoned structures
Ham radio
Getting mad about Operation Iraqi Freedom

The last one seemed to favor the theory that the "77" part of the nickname was their year of birth, if they were some kind of soldier or otherwise military-affiliated. That would explain them hanging out at BeyondUltra and being pals with the admins there, to respond so quickly to Becca's post, but didn't exactly narrow anything down to a useful degree. Becca sighed and alt-tabbed from the browser to a console window, where a script of hers was patiently trying to log into every listed Oscar77 account with every known password on the list - far more targeted than a complete brute force password guesser, but still, extremely tedious. Glancing at the output, Becca's eyes zeroed in on a "HTTP 200 OK" response to one of the attempts. Plugging the info into her browser got her to…the account page for a wholesale club ID, registered to one "Sara McBride'' living in Carrollton, which (search) was a part of the Dallas-Fort Worth metro area, apparently. The account dutifully listed the history of purchases. "Sara McBride'' seemed to have a bit of a sweet tooth, but beyond that, the only interesting part of the purchases was that they had stopped in May 2006.

Becca groaned. Sometimes making a little progress and hitting a new wall was so much worse than finding nothing at all.

Hacker instincts compelled her to at least browse all the pages accessible to that account, and within three clicks, she had the payment methods pulled up. Her eyebrow raised at the name on the credit card. "Thunderbird Shipping LLC", with a billing address in…Modesto, California? Becca felt a tingle in her fingertips. All frustration from a moment ago seemed wiped away now, an end to the trail of breadcrumbs inside. So what if (search) they didn't have a website? One quick query to the California Secretary of State website dug up the business registry record and with it a phone number.

"Ho. Ly. Shit," Becca mumbled. She stared at the phone number for a few seconds, long enough to get a tap on the shoulder. When she turned, she found herself looking up at Kate.
Hey, Kate signed to her. I'm about to go home. Are you all right?
Yes, I'm fine, Becca signed back. She looked back over her shoulder at the screen for a moment. See you tomorrow.
Kate followed Becca's glance, then looked over the desk at what Becca had scribbled down. I thought your sister would pick you up, Kate signed. Do you need a ride?
Jaime's busy today, Becca signed. She will text me when someone's coming to pick me up.
Someone? Kate signed. Becca, I'll help you. Just tell me what you need.
I'm in the middle of something right now anyway, so it's all right - Becca started.
It doesn't look all right to me, Kate cut in. You were trying to get rid of me earlier today, too. She sighed. How bad is it?
It's Jaime and Will's boss, Becca started, signing a bit slower for Kate's benefit.
Kate raised an eyebrow. Explain, she signed back.
Jaime got a new job working with the company Will works for as a research assistant. She's been weird since getting the job and so has Will, Becca signed. I'm just looking into it. He's some weird government guy. I don't want to get you into trouble.
Trouble? Kate signed. She met Becca's eyes. What kind of trouble? Why trouble here? She paused. Are you hacking?
Becca paused. Not exactly. But I just want you out of danger if it goes wrong.
Kate rolled her eyes. That never works in the movies, she signed. You know I'll just come chasing after you anyway if you disappear or whatever, and I don't want to find your research notes on a hidden thumbdrive taped under your desk. She turned to look back at the screen. So, you have a phone number. Want me to call it?
I was gonna use TTS, Becca said.
So they'll immediately know a deaf person is snooping around, Kate signed back. Write down some questions. I'll do the talking.
Becca paused. Are you sure?
Of course I'm sure, Kate said, then grinned. Besides, you'll owe me big time, right?
Becca nodded. You bet.

By the time Kate had dug up her cell phone, Becca had already gotten out a new sheet of paper and started writing some cues for Kate. Half following Becca's writings, half looking at the screen with the business registry entry, Kate tapped in the number. One more glance between the two of them, then Kate pressed the button to dial. It rang four times, long enough for Kate to feel her hands get sweaty.

"Hello?" a voice on the other side answered. Male. Accent? Kate swallowed the saliva gathering in her mouth and went for it.
"Oh, hello, Sir," Kate said. "Is this the Thunderbird Shipping office?"
"...yes," the man said. "What is the reason of your call?"
"I want to get in touch with one of your employees," Kate said, glancing over at Becca's notes. "Sara McBride. Is she still in?"
"...she is not still in," the man said. "I can take a message. Can you tell me who you are and why you are calling?"
"Uh, yeah," Kate stalled. "Yeah, so my name is Daphne, I'm doing an article for our student newspaper."
"Oh," the man said. "I hope you will write something good about us, then!" He chuckled. "We can get in touch with your teacher tomorrow. Can you give me their name and phone number? Or can we just call your school?"
The man's question gave Becca time to scribble down a question for Kate. "I'm just doing an article on veterans coming back from Iraq, and just need to ask a couple of follow-up questions. I had her phone number but lost it, do you have it?"
There was a brief pause on the line. Then a not so brief one. "I am very sorry, Daphne," the man said. "I tried to call her but she must have her phone off. I cannot give you her private number. You understand, yes? I really think it is easiest if we talk to your teacher. Your article can wait one more day. Yes?"
Kate glanced at Becca's notes again. "I just have one more quick question about Wolf Creek, so if I can just get her number?"

That pause was even longer. Long enough for Kate to look at Becca and mouth What The Hell before turning back to wait. Finally, the man spoke again.
"I don't know what you mean by that," he said. There was a…thump? Some sound in the background of the call that Kate couldn't place. Then another sound, like…a whole pile of plates shattering on the ground from a fall. "I have to go now," the man said. "Goodbye."
"I just need to -" Kate tried, but only got a click from the line.

Kate took a deep breath, put away her phone and then turned to look at Becca. That was so weird, she started to sign, but Becca just raised her hand to stop Kate. She turned back to her pile of paper, found an empty sheet and handed it to Kate, along with a pencil.

"Write down everything," Becca said.

Two minutes into Kate writing down everything, Becca had turned away and left her friend to it. Staring at Kate was just making both of them nervous and not speeding up the process, and besides, Becca had her own notes to update. The phone number was probably no good for calling again, but that man on the other end was suspicious. Maybe he even was Oscar77, but then what was that Sara McBride thing all about? The puzzle pieces didn't really fit together yet, but to Becca, that just meant she needed more. She stared at the new scribbles on her own sheet of paper. Remember all of this…and then remember to shred it on the way out.

After closing several windows on the computer, Becca found herself back at the browser window with the BeyondUltra page open. Her eyes were drawn to the notification for a new message, and she smiled. It looked like shaking that tree had been worth it, after all.

FROM: Oscar77
TO: gmhfeynman

Don't EVER do that again. STOP DIGGING RIGHT NOW. The only thing between you and an unmarked grave is that THEY DO NOT KNOW you are on to them. KEEP IT THAT WAY!

Becca's blood boiled. Hadn't she proven herself enough yet? This Oscar has no idea what the stakes are.

FROM: gmhfeynman
TO: Oscar77

Well SOMEONE needs to be doing something. Whoever this Jonas Bledsoe person is, he's done something to my sister and she needs MY help. So either HELP ME and tell me what you know or STOP TRYING TO STOP ME because I'm NOT giving up on her.

There were 138 agonizing seconds until she got a reply. Yes, Becca counted.

FROM: Oscar77
TO: gmhfeynman

I AM HELPING YOU you brat

I AM HELPING YOU stay alive

FROM: gmhfeynman
TO: Oscar77

Then who's helping my sister?

Again with the waiting. This time, Becca was well into the 300s.

FROM: Oscar77
TO: gmhfeynman

Fine. But before you do ANYTHING, you need to know what you're dealing with, and I'm not putting any of that online. We need to meet face to face.

No arrangements here. I will send you a message by another means. I'm going to delete this account, you should do the same.

FROM: gmhfeynman
TO: Oscar77

How do I know you're not just blowing me off?

The next message came quickly, quicker than Becca had expected, even. It only contained a link to a file hosting site. Becca clicked through and was greeted with a picture of a drab stage surrounded on all sides by concrete and wiring ducts. On the stage stood…Will, looking a good deal younger than she'd ever seen him, and a similarly younger Jonas Bledsoe, dressed in military fatigues and with no trace of the thin smile he had affected for the PR shots. In the foreground of the picture was a row of shaved heads, also in fatigues, apparently sitting in on whatever Will and Bledsoe were talking about. Becca zoomed into the picture, attempting to decipher the presentation projected on a screen between the two men. There were maps and images, that much she could tell, though the details were lost in a mush of pixels - deliberately so, as the picture itself around them was of much higher resolution. Becca scrolled down, finding some text inserted into the lower right corner of the photo.

Really, delete your account. Talk soon.

With the port warehouses emptied from the close of day, there was no one there to see Jaime slumped back in the driver's seat, head in her hands as she tried to get her breathing under control. By the time she got back into the offices, the super-steroid-boosted thugs had left, haphazardly grabbing some files and drives and setting some others on fire in a trash can. Without anything in the way of crime scene training, Jaime had simply tossed her now-ruined suit jacket in the back of the car and climbed in the front, trying to compose herself after being shot at, chased down by some kind of supersoldier, and maybe almost killing one of them.

"Hey, Sommers," Nathan said, pulling her out of her millisecond of Me Time. "Just letting you know I jacked their wifi to download everything your bionics recorded."
"Good," Jaime replied.
"There should be some granola bars in the glovebox," Nathan added. "Water bottles are supposed to be in the back, but I know the drivers like to stash one or two up front, too."
Jaime was about to protest, but it was only a moment before she realized how hungry she was. She grabbed three bars and started scarfing them down. "I guess the hunger is from the bionics?" Jaime asked between bites.
"Yeah," Nathan said. "That two-minute mile doesn't come for free." He paused again. "How are you holding up?"
"Scared," Jaime said. The pounding of her pulse in her ears was getting a bit quieter. "But…what those devices did to those people, that's small compared to what's out there, right?"
"Well, Corvus is out there, so, yeah," Nathan said. Jaime felt her pulse speed up again. "But that's the problem. We've got you and then it's nothing all the way down until you get back to guys with guns. Those devices might be crude, but you saw what they were capable of. For a couple of minutes, they almost kept up with you."
"And whatever killed all those people in Paradise, these are the same people, for sure," Jaime said. The plastic bottle creaked from being squeezed in her hand. "So much for no risk."
"It's always worse than briefed," Nathan said. "Usually not that much worse. I've got Mr. Bledsoe on the line for you now. Can I put him through?"
"Can I say no?" Jaime asked, then gulped down the rest of the bottle.
"I'd be tempted to listen if you did," Nathan said. "Putting him through now."
"Miss Sommers," Bledsoe said, sounding even more terse than usual. "Good job."
"We're done with the download, Sir," Nathan cut in. "Forwarding the data to our analysts."
"Understood," Bledsoe said. Jaime heard him sigh. "Miss Sommers, I need you to remember anything you found odd. We need to narrow our search as much as possible."
"There was this…workshop off to the side, they didn't want me going in there," Jaime said.
"Could be a staging area," Bledsoe said. "Ambrose?"
"Twelve seconds of footage," Nathan said.
"Make that a priority," Bledsoe said. "Anything else, Miss Sommers?"
"Bunch of stuff in the office, but I didn't see anything, the lab container…" Jaime rattled off.
"I suppose I should tell you what we're looking for, Miss Sommers," Bledsoe said. "Dr. Truewell and…Dr. Anthros were able to recover the weapon used for the Paradise attack. It was small enough to be concealed in the engine bay of a semi-truck. Just a few reagent tanks, a mixing chamber and control electronics, all made out of stainless steel. We now believe that there is a second device. A…substantially larger one. I don't suppose you saw anything like that, did you?"
"That workshop, they had a bunch of tools and some spare stainless steel parts in it," Jaime replied.
"Lab team just reported," Nathan cut in. "They went through the footage Sommers indicated and they think they've identified an outline on the floor of the tarped-off area in the warehouse. Looks like they were working on assembling something large there."
"How large?" Bledsoe said.
"At least 10 by 10 feet, probably no larger than 20 by 30, based on the footprint," Nathan rattled off.
"I think Miss Sommers would've noticed something that size if it was still on site," Bledsoe said. "With our luck, they probably already moved it into position."
"...we could try traffic cameras," Nathan suggested.
"Check the California DoT transit permits office," Jaime said, leaning back and taking a deep breath, still trying to calm her nerves. "It'll have their route. If they did it legally. It should start here."
"Ambrose, get on the phone -" Bledsoe began.
"Already in their database, Sir," Nathan said. "Okay, so…Vendaval SL, applied for an oversize load permit, granted and…scheduled for earlier today. Says here the route was from the port to…a warehouse on Treasure Island." He paused. "How did you know that?"
"I worked at a library," Jaime said. "If there's a California state form for it, I've helped someone fill it."
"I think the DoD handles our permits, Sir," Nathan admitted.
"Goddamn it, Ambrose," Bledsoe muttered. "That's enough time wasted here. I need boots on the ground at that warehouse. Sommers, you'll be going in with Captain Ginsburg's team. They'll pick you up within five minutes, so go ahead and find some free space. About a hundred by a hundred feet would be nice. Try the parking lot."
"What for?" Jaime asked.
"The helo," Bledsoe said. "You'll be joining Captain Ginsburg's strike team as our insurance policy."
"...insurance?" Jaime asked, her breath starting to shorten again.
"The Augments in OpFor," Bledsoe said. "They had a few here, chances are they'll have more at the warehouse. And they'll be doing their damndest to make sure we don't get to the device before they can use it."
"What do you want me to do, I don't know -" Jaime said. Everything is under control, a voice said, but her vision had started to swim and she leaned forward against the steering wheel to steady herself.
"It doesn't matter what you think you know," Bledsoe said. "We made you more powerful than a platoon of soldiers and able to hit a target at 100 meters with a handgun. All you need to do is trust the systems we installed and they will do the work for you."
"Sir?" Nathan said, trying to step back into the conversation.
"I can't - I won't -" Jaime gasped. Everything is under control.
"We are past the time for 'can't' and 'won't', Sommers," Bledsoe barked. "There are millions of lives on the line and you are the only chance we have to kill an augment before it tears the rest of the strike team apart. It's time for you to cowboy up and do what only you can do. If you don't like it, take it up with your boyfriend because he knew what that equipment was for when he sewed it into you."

"No, I -" Jaime's vision started to blur and she felt her hands slacken on the steering wheel. Everything is under control.
"Sir!" Nathan cut in. "Transients are spiking, we need to -"
"You have your orders, Sommers," Bledsoe said. "I expect you to carry them out."
Jaime wanted to protest, but as she slumped over the steering wheel all she could do was gasp breath in and grunt "Buhh" in response. Everything is under control.
"Acknowledge, Sommers," Bledsoe said as Jaime felt her whole body go numb. "Sommers, do you copy? Sommers, do you -"
"Give me the channel, Sir," Nathan barked. "Jaime, if you can hear me, it's just like before," he continued. "Your oxygen is fine, you'll be fine. Try to fight through it, focus on breathing. I'm on it." Jaime wasn't able to focus on anything, but through the sludge filling her head she focused on two simple actions. Breathe in. Everything is under control. Breathe out.
"What the hell is wrong with her now?" Bledsoe said.
"Working on it!" Nathan replied. "Sedation pattern shows departure from regime while the emotional regulation system is stuck in a loop."
"Reset it!" Bledsoe barked.
"This is core systems, there's not just a big red button and I have to keep whatever this is from arresting her breathing at the same time, Sir," Nathan shouted back. "Jaime? You should start to feel better, tell me when you start to feel better."
"Somebody find Kim and get him up here, now!" Bledsoe barked in the background.
Jaime felt…well, she started feeling anything again. Breathe in. "...what is…" Breathe out. "...doing this?" she gasped. Everything is under control, the voice said again, muddled and down to a whisper now.
"System malfunction," Nathan said. "It…could be the aftereffects of what you've been through. You pushed your bionics pretty hard. You should be all right in a moment, but tell me the second you start to feel off again. We'll figure this out. Okay?"
"I hadn't pushed that hard when it started before," Jaime said, loosely fumbling to grab ahold of the steering wheel.
"Trust me, if I knew what it was I'd be fixing it," Nathan said. "Just…try to take it easy for a bit, yeah?"
"Doesn't sound like I have that choice," Jaime said.
"We don't have that choice, Sommers," Bledsoe said. "I wasn't aware of the…extent of the problems you were having with the system, but that doesn't change our situation. Ambrose will be authorized to intervene as needed and if we can we will pull you out, but…this is the mission."

Jaime couldn't think of a clever reply to that, either from nerves or exhaustion. She grasped for the shifter on the steering column, missed, and grabbed it on the second try, jerking it into reverse as she half-steered, half-leaned on the wheel. With a jerk, the car moved onto the access road, swerving until it was aimed squarely back at the exit from the port facilities. The parking lot near the entrance. Right. So Ginsburg could come pick her up with the helo. Of course.

"Keep it together," Jaime muttered. "Just…" she gasped, throwing the shifter into first gear. "Keep it together," she repeated.