12.
Thank God for Little Girls.
*** Warning- Sensitive Material***
"Incoming." Dale announced, almost reflexively.
Chapman -who always had remarkable timing- called in at exactly the same time to ask the crew if they knew about the latest four-point-five earth tremor only minutes earlier, this time under LA, so nothing the locals would look up from their almond milk lattes for.
Sitting at the magical ten kilometers, meant that it was one to keep an eye on.
He was swiftly briefed on Airwolf's pending advisory and patched into the incoming display, ironically also originating from the direction of LA.
"Bringing it up," Le stated, while everyone closed in to focus on the array of screens in the Dolphin's conference room.
The Lady's EDCC information came up in front of them, there were no images, only attributing coordinates. Le collated the information to create the moving object on a grid like an old radar screen, only it was in three dimensions overlaid by a sonar image.
"Is that… sub sea level?" Dale asked, in a confused tone.
"Twenty miles and closing fast at…" there was a pause "a hundred and eighty knots?" Dale questioned further, knowing the unlikelihood of those stats, with a little imagination Airwolf may have resembled the deadliest animal in the ocean, but she was definitely engineered to keep the blue side up.
As such, even with her recently installed Photoacoustic Airbourne Sonar System (PASS), she shouldn't have been able to read any signals with a boat in the way.
"What?" McKeirnan asked inwardly while he scrutinized the readings.
"Le, can you bring up The Dolphins MBE, I want to confirm. Nothing typical can move that fast underwater."
Le made quick work of it, but nothing showed up except the sea floor at depths around a hundred and thirty feet.
"Somethin' aint right," Saint John mumbled, his eyes darting between the two screens.
Cait chimed in, "Look! It's coming in underground, The Lady has the Depth at thirty two thousand feet!"
"Ten kilometers," Nash said, glancing at Chapman's image up on the screen.
Chapman nodded knowing the likelihood of that coincidence.
No such thing.
Le's hands flew over the keyboard, fearing that Airwolf was having a malfunction of some sort, but everything came up squeaky clean.
He brought up the data analysis and his eyes grew larger. "She's picking up on an emitting frequency."
"What from?" Cait asked.
"Not sure yet, we might get an image when it's near enough, but I know why she's picked up on it." Le said, completely focused on his task.
The others looked on expectantly, the silence prompting him to glance up for a moment.
"The frequency mirrors her own," he said pointing out on the screens, somehow making sense of the jumbled language of "his people" - referring to the fellow tech geeks of which he sometimes joked.
"The Lady is using the Dolphin's sonar to piggyback off and the frequency is being amplified to the PASS system through her graphene skin. Her AI has been activated to analyze the frequency signal and find a way to decode it into coordinates.
"Seems the PASS technology has enhanced her AI capabilities. I'm ashamed to say I didn't expect that."
"But let me guess. You're pretty stoked about it, no?" Nash asked, giving Le a pat on the back in encouragement.
Le smiled awkwardly, "Maybe." He said, hoping the improvement wouldn't bite them in the ass.
"So, what is this frequency thing then?" Nash continued to ask.
"Well, I don't know, b…" Le said, before he was cut short on his explanation when the pinging became stronger, though less frequent.
The anomaly slowed as it neared the coastline and the location dot indicated at three-hundred-foot intervals that elongated, but faded once it passed the "ping line".
Its speed washed off further before it came to a halt in the vicinity of the Airport on the grounds of the Catalina Island Conservancy where it faded before disappearing completely.
Le locked in its last coordinate and made sure to leave the monitoring systems on standby.
Chapman shared the information through his channels before signing off.
The RV Dolphin had been strategically positioned because of a classified shut down NOTAM alert for Catalina Island that was sent through a few of the three letter agencies months ago.
Of course, Project Guardian got wind of it and Chapman's ears pricked up when it coincided with the Gallery Auction Day. After a bit of digging, it was interesting indeed the caliber of people that were likely to be at "both events".
Coincidentally, the whole of the island north of Two Harbors had been exclusively hired by the "entertainment industry". A hefty exclusion area had been implemented with a level of security worthy of the highest level VIP's.
Chapman knew how to math… two plus two equaled Operation Angel Wings.
By contrast, The Dolphin was anchored well south-west near Avalon Bay, in the deeper water on the periphery of the general mooring area w2here a plethora of boats and yachts were tied.
Their owners and passengers set to enjoy a day trip, or the weekend playing golf or being entertained at the Casino, most with no idea what was about to unfold at the other end of the island.
Being four hundred feet long, the Dolphin was not exactly what you would call inconspicuous - in more ways than one.
She'd come under the guise of being part of a new research project in conjunction with the local Marine Science Centre, but they learned that the entertainment project had been delayed with all the Hollywood shenanigans leading up to the event, causing the Dolphin to have to wait before she could dock until after both the exclusion and no fly zones were lifted on the conclusion.
That, of course, was never the primary intention but it made for a legitimate sounding story that went along with Branson's eccentric public persona.
His fingerprints all over the collaboration by doing his philanthropic best to fund the project and to loudly announce his involvement through showcasing the pair of SEXII birds parked on a Research Vessel superyacht deck.
That of course had tongues wagging and eyes peeled to catch a glimpse of the often-elusive billionaire who'd become very popular with the media industrial complex as of late.
That's how intentional narratives worked.
There were multiple venues located within the northern tip of Catalina Island, none so grand as Catalina Casino, but they did suit more laid-back activities consisting of campgrounds ranging from sparse open tent areas to well-equipped villages.
One of two of these villages was chosen to hold the event that had essentially cut off half the island.
There had been a rumor in the media that Hollywood was going to film there and as always, someone "leaked" pictures of the construction on the site.
Normally used by scout groups, religious retreats, sailing clubs etc. It had entertainment facilities like basketball courts, a swimming pool, and a sizable amphitheater.
About fifty buildings were strewn throughout the complex varying from chalets to assembly halls, all with matching blue rooftops.
The whole place was transformed into a movie set for some sort of Babylonian era motion picture.
So, in a way as they always did, this dark group of elites were showing their hand and to sit by idly was to give permission.
Because it was just a movie, right?
Only this time, someone was paying attention and was actually going to try to do something about it.
Back at the gallery, the artworks on the wall were transformed to screens when looking through the opera glasses.
Testing the phenomenon a few times - glasses on glasses off - the experience was reminiscent of the movie "They Live".
"Art imitating art, imitating life." Branson said, mumbling to himself.
The same image came up on the interactive tablet and holding up the cumbersome glasses while looking at a large screen in one hand while having to utilize the tablet, didn't make much sense, except to show off the novelty of it, or maybe to distract each "client" from the rest of the large room.
And that distraction became evident when out of the corner of her eye, Jo spotted a small group of people making their discrete entrance, a male and a female on foot, and one old guy in a wheelchair, holding of all things, an ice-cream cone, busily licking at it and seemingly completely oblivious to his surrounds.
An escort helped guide them and silently pushed the wheelchair through the room before disappearing behind the stage.
Nudging Branson, "Did you notice them?" Jo asked, wondering whether she was seeing things, or if she was sobering up.
"I sure did my love," he spoke in a whisper, "seems like the Clown in Chief has arrived and he didn't even get dressed up for the occasion," he said, referring to the fact that there had been no attempt to cover up the frail man's face for the occasion, unless you counted the aviator glasses he was wearing.
The auction started and images of furniture came up on the screen.
Furniture.
With names.
Names like Joey, Crystal, Georgy and...
"Angela!" Jo gasped, her voice at a whisper while pointing at the plain cabinet pictured up on the screen.
Branson nodded in agreement, this name deserved more attention and in all likelihood, was the operational target.
The furniture was plain, like a catalogue from a secondhand shop. Every piece came with a rating, five stars being the highest, which contained the most desirable traits.
The strange developments of the event felt confusing, like watching "The Labyrinth".
A bit like a dream where you felt your body desperately tugging at your eyelids to open, like a dream that you couldn't wake up from, like a dream that you feared would become a nightmare.
Clicking onto the furniture pictures, they opened a once only short, five second image followed by a description of the actual auction item, and bidding started from there.
Like all auctions, they always took forever.
When "Angela" finally came up, it was obvious that she was a very popular item, a nine-year-old white female with light blonde hair and blue eyes. She had been bred into the program and came with a five-star rating indicating she was an elite offspring that knew how to serve her master.
She was clean – which meant a virgin.
That the virtue needed to be on the girl's resume, made Branson's stomach churn.
Jo had to shake her head and think of something else to distract herself from crying.
She had well and truly come down from her high.
It was imperative that they win the bid.
Sneaking a look around the room gave her the sense of two different kinds of guests…
Those who wanted to be there, who made the most of, and embraced the moment.
And those that had to be there, who were caught in a trap.
And then there was Brandon and Jo, who were thankful there was a second group, because there was no way they could act like the first.
This was an exercise in apathy and dehumanization, and what came after, the pair simply couldn't bear to think about.
Finally, there was a conclusion and while everyone had been distracted with their back to the center of the gallery, the stage had been removed and a clear path had been made to the exit at the back of the room.
Minutes later, while filing through the large archway in the wall, they were ushered into a sorting area, similar to a boarding line at the airport.
Only the difference was that instead of scanning a pass, it was the tablet and the opera glasses that determined how you were to proceed.
Back on the Dolphin, facial recognition software had been busy making sure each masked face that came into view through the eyes of the contact lenses, was scanned and matched to its identity.
Thanks to the Deep State, the technology - masked or not - had made some real progress over the last few years and it would have been easier to name who didn't make the list.