“Not entirely,” Nathan said. “Sven, you want to send it back to the IBM?”
“Already done, and analysis has started,” Sven said. “Let’s see what happens.”
The IBM had already completed the diagnosis and recorded its assessment before Sven finished what he was saying.
“No threat detected,” Sven said, reading the results from the associated log file. “Let’s open it on my computer and see what materialises.” He double-clicked the file.
Sven’s computer responded◦– ‘Invalid Media Format or Corrupted Data.’
“The computer’s operating system still thinks it’s an audio file and trying to run it with one of my media players,” Sven said. He opened the file with the same program Nathan used a few moments earlier.
Embedded in between various unreadable control characters, Sven, Nathan and Emily were looking at fragments of regular text.
“I’m going to change the metadata and try different document types,” Sven said. “Let’s start with the most common ones first.”
Watching Sven’s fingers flying across his keyboard, Emily and Nathan waited in eager anticipation.
Sven had it after the third attempt◦– a regular PDF document.
“Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing,” Nathan said. “The question is, why?”
“Well. Open it up, Sven,” Emily said, impatiently. “Let’s have a look.”
All three now had their faces glued to the computer monitor as Sven opened the document with Adobe Reader. After a few minutes perusing the opening pages, Nathan shifted away from the screen in annoyance. Emily and Sven did likewise.
“Damn,” Nathan said. “The text is useless on its own. The illustrations it refers to are all scrambled. We’re only getting half the information.”
“Yes, but information on what?” Sven asked.
“Scroll up to page one,” Emily said.
Sven did so.
“Look,” she said. “Just after the introductory paragraph◦– Inertial Engines◦– A Practical Solution.”
“Impressive. Good catch, Em,” Sven said. “So, someone broadcast to the world how to create a reactionless drive, but if we want to see the complete instructions, pay up.”
They sat silent for a while.
“No,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “That isn’t it. If whoever sent this wanted to con someone out of money, they would have put it in clear-text on the internet, but without the associated pictures.”
“Thoughts?” Emily asked, turning to Nathan.
“Without knowing what the illustrations show, we have no way of telling if it’s authentic,” Nathan said.
“So, what exactly is an inertial engine?” Emily asked. “What did you call it, Sven, a reactionless drive?”
“It’s totally theoretical,” Nathan explained. “And a popular concept among science-fiction writers.”
“It completely defeats the laws of conservation of energy,” Sven interrupted. “People like Galileo, Huygens and Isaac Newton published many articles on it. Newton’s third law of motion is the most common reference used today.”
“If I recall,” Nathan continued. “The notion goes as far back as Thales of Miletus around 550 BC.”
Where did these guys get all their stuff? Emily thought in amusement. “English, please,” she said with a frown. “Inertial… reactionless… what does it all mean?”
“Think of a pendulum that never stops,” Nathan said. “It just carries on swinging to and fro forever. Now, take it one step further. Besides never stopping, the arc of its swing gets progressively broader after each sweep.”
“Okay, I get it,” she said, giving it some thought.
“Thing is,” Sven cut in. “A pendulum doesn’t have too much use but imagine an engine that gives out more energy than it consumes.”
“Like an electric motor-generator that runs on its own power, but has surplus electricity than can be used elsewhere,” she said.
“That’s it exactly,” Nathan said, looking at her. It always impressed him how quickly she caught on. Not only technically knowledgeable, but with unassuming sex appeal as well; a real turn-on for Nathan.
“I’ll email this document to each of you,” Sven suggested. “Let’s read it, see what it says and regroup in what… about an hour?”
Nathan agreed. “Sounds good.”
Chapter Ten
“This meeting is over,” boomed a gruff and obnoxious voice behind James. He turned around and looked directly into the face of the most unappealing woman he had ever seen.
“And, you are?” James asked.
“Trish LaForgue, Office of Security,” she said, studying James briefly with penetrating dark-brown eyes.
“James Clark,” he replied.
“I know who you are,” LaForgue said, walking briskly around to the opposite side of the conference table, tossing a binder in front of her and sitting down. “Thank you for coming to the NSA’s office this afternoon.”
That was likely the most formal introduction he was going to get, James thought with mild amusement.
LaForgue faced Yvonne. “Miss Baird, you can leave,” she said, brusquely.
Yvonne stood up, and, with an affronted look on her face, walked out the conference room, clumsily bumping into the coat rack where James had hung his suit jacket. James thought she appeared a little uneasy before LaForgue’s abrupt dismissal, but now she looked flustered. It was almost as if she had something very urgent she needed to say before they were so rudely interrupted.
Yvonne was certainly attractive and had exceptional taste in clothing. Short, and a tiny bit on the plump side, she reminded him a little of Emily. She also projected an aura of determination.
“Close the door behind you,” LaForgue instructed.
Contrary to the soft features and mannerisms of Yvonne Baird, Trish LaForgue was exactly the opposite and seemed to have a gift of creating an instant loathing from those around her. Tall and scrawny, with gaunt, wrinkled skin, it was impossible to guess her age. Somewhere in her early-seventies, James estimated. He was out by almost twenty years. LaForgue had just passed her fifty-third birthday.
Pale, sickly skin suggested that sunshine was completely foreign to LaForgue and her short thinning hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in weeks. The only hair that wasn’t a dull grey was that bristling out her narrow beak-like nose. Brown slacks hung around her midriff like an old sack, and she should have considered wearing a top with less transparency. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d at least put on a bra. James was also sure she could have done something about that large black wart in the middle of her forehead.
James was relieved that LaForgue didn’t sit next to him. Fingers and thin lips stained, her body emitted a strong and unpleasant nicotine odour.
“May I ask why Miss Baird is no longer part of this meeting?” James asked, coolly.
“She only has Level-4 security clearance,” LaForgue said. “As Director of the OS, I am cleared at Level-7 and report directly to the President of the United States.”
She was obviously trying to elevate her station in life, James thought. He wasn’t impressed. Intimidation tactics very rarely had any effect on him. He concluded that anyone as hideous as LaForgue needed to do something to project importance and self-worth.
What James didn’t know about her was that she had an IQ bordering one hundred and eighty.
LaForgue took a single sheet of paper from her binder and slid it across the table.
James looked at the non-disclosure agreement which LaForgue had already signed and dated. Typically, it said nothing out of the ordinary for a government security agency. Nothing was to be divulged to anyone or discussed with other agencies, including the Office of Security. They truly were mistrustful, James reflected, recalling Nathan’s comment. He chuckled inwardly, almost expecting LaForgue to advise him that this meeting never happened. He already felt like he was in one of those cheap spy thrillers.