29
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
Steve Kaufmann leaned against the break room counter, arms folded across his chest, his eyes glued to the TV across the room. It was dark outside, and Kaufmann was the only person on the fourth floor of the Clark Curtain Laboratory building. There’d normally have been a dozen other employees working late, but after the news broke, everyone else had scurried home to watch events unfold in Europe.
Kaufmann had been about to do the same when Rich Underwood, Director Jacinta Mascarenhas’s aide, stopped by, directing him to stay at work. Mascarenhas would meet with him later tonight. Underwood hadn’t elaborated, but Kaufmann harbored hope that his oft-requested transfer to another program had been approved. His thoughts about the matter had been shelved, however, once the first images appeared on TV: Russian tanks and armored vehicles pouring across the borders into Ukraine and Lithuania.
Rich Underwood appeared beside Kaufmann. “Mascarenhas will see you now.” Underwood’s complexion was pale and there were beads of sweat on his upper lip. His fingers fidgeted with a leather notepad in his hands.
“What’s up?”
“Just come with me.”
Underwood escorted Kaufmann to the top floor, into a conference room filled with Curtain Lab’s top management; Director Mascarenhas was the low person on the totem pole. Along the side of the room were a half-dozen men and women in suits whom Kaufmann didn’t recognize. It was silent in the room and Kaufmann immediately registered the tension.
Underwood pointed to an empty chair and Kaufmann slid into it uneasily, eyeing the room’s occupants. Nothing was said as four other Curtain Lab employees arrived; experts from other divisions. Kaufmann connected the dots. They all worked on the same contract.
The door closed and Diane Traweek, the company’s CEO, rose. “Before we begin, I want to stress that the topic we’ll be discussing this evening is Top Secret, Sensitive Compartmented Information. Each of you has a Secret clearance, which is being upgraded to an interim Top Secret, SCI clearance, effective immediately. You’ll be briefed and sign nondisclosure agreements tonight.”
Kaufmann considered Traweek’s words. They weren’t being given an option.
Traweek continued, “This issue is extremely sensitive and will not be discussed with anyone not in this room. NCIS Special Agent Joe Gililland will brief you on the matter.”
One of the six strangers stepped forward. “As Miss Traweek mentioned, I’m Special Agent Joe Gililland, in charge of this investigation. This afternoon, during a nuclear response exercise, four B-2 bombers lost power and crashed. At the same time, a submarine-launched ballistic missile changed course in midflight, releasing its instrumented warheads onto new aim points. We’re still early into the investigation, but there’s one thing the B-2 bombers and Trident missiles have in common. Both recently had their navigation systems modernized. Those new navigation components were designed and built by Clark Curtain Laboratory.”
Gililland paused to let the implication sink in. Several Curtain Lab employees looked around the room, casting uneasy glances.
“I’m not accusing anyone in this room of wrongdoing. You’re here because we need your help. You have to figure out how the navigation upgrade is interacting with the B-2 power system and Trident missile targeting.”
Gililland added, “We’re not certain the navigation upgrade is the culprit, but it’s the leading candidate. I want you to assume it’s responsible and find the software or hardware bug. Once that’s accomplished, you’ll have to figure out how to fix it.
“Time is critical, as is the classification of this project. I regret to inform you that until this investigation is complete, you will not leave this building. There’s a gym and locker facility in the basement where you can shower, and you can have someone bring whatever clothes and personal articles you need or we’ll send an agent out for you.”
There were protests from two Curtain Lab employees; each had important family events. Kaufmann also had plans and considered objecting too, but Gililland stared at the two men until they fell silent. Kaufmann decided it was pointless to complain, his mood souring as he considered the prospect of being cooped up in an office building for who knows how long.
Gililland continued, “You’ll be moved into a secure location on the top floor where you’ll work on this issue, and as Miss Traweek mentioned, you will not discuss this with anyone not in this room. Your new workspace is almost ready, and once you’ve completed your security in-brief, you can collect whatever you need from your current workstation and report back here. From now on, each of you will be assisted by an NCIS agent, who will accompany you whenever you leave your new workspace.”
Gililland pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. He read two sets of names: a Curtain Lab employee and an NCIS agent, the two pairing up each time.
“Steve Kaufmann.”
Kaufmann raised his hand and Gililland read off the NCIS agent’s name.
Kelly Lyman, an attractive woman in her late twenties, stepped forward.
Kaufmann’s mood lifted. The situation wasn’t entirely bad after all.
30
GELENDZHIK, RUSSIA
Christine O’Connor stood at the edge of the console in the six-by-eight-foot concrete room. Hours earlier, her eyes had been fixed on the monitor as a Russian colonel held a gun to Kalinin’s head. She’d been up all night, her mind racing through Kalinin’s apprehension and General Andropov’s intentions. As she considered her options, she glanced frequently at the four pistols in the stand, looking away quickly each time.
As the time approached 6 a.m., her eyelids had grown heavy, but it was no time for sleep. She couldn’t stay in the room forever. Sooner or later, she’d have to exit through one door or the other. She decided to explore the rear passage. The back door opened to reveal a staircase leading down fifty feet, then the passage leveled off and ran straight into the distance; as far as Christine’s flashlight would illuminate.
Rather than flee through the tunnel to who-knows-where, her thoughts pulled her back into the mansion. After Kalinin was arrested, it was clear General Andropov was up to no good. One of the monitors Christine watched through the night was a television news feed, and her suspicion was confirmed. Russian troops had invaded Ukraine and Lithuania. Whether Andropov intended to stop there was unknown. Somehow, Kalinin had to be freed and returned to power. As the night wore on, a plan to accomplish the first part had slowly formed.
Christine glanced at the pistols again, then her eyes returned to the displays she’d been watching all night. The distribution of the Russian soldiers involved in the coup had become clear. Most were outside the mansion, patrolling on foot and in armored vehicles. Inside the mansion, along with General Andropov and the Army colonel, were a dozen men: two outside Kalinin’s room, with four more making rounds, plus six other soldiers forming another shift, who were currently sleeping in the upstairs bedrooms. After watching the soldiers make their rounds, Christine had determined their routes and timing, as well as the mansion layout.
The servants had been sequestered in the staff apartments, also patrolled by guards. For her plan to succeed, however, she’d have to convince the Russian soldiers outside Kalinin’s room that she was a maid. Unfortunately, she was wearing a red evening gown, which wouldn’t do. But she had a black business suit and white blouse in her luggage. If she ditched the jacket, it should work.