Something
else?
Besides one of Kearns’s operators being found unconscious and his cell and tablet in the hands of someone unknown? What could that something else be?
“Yes.” This time Springer didn’t hide the coldness in his voice and he could practically hear Kearns wincing. Quite right. Springer affected an attitude of
bonhomie
, a civilized man who could be counted on to behave in a civilized manner. But they were playing with fire here and though he was certain of the ultimate triumph of The Plan, nothing was absolutely certain in this world.
World-altering events were in play, events as momentous as World War II. The world would look entirely different once The Plan came to fruition. Only instead of a four year war costing two hundred million lives with a combined military force of seven hundred million troops that left the civilized world in rubble, it would be using cyberwarfare with minimal damage.
No, this was going to be a thoroughly modern operation with very few soldiers, leveraging data instead of bullets. No atom bomb leaving ruins lasting generations. Oh, no. As a matter of fact, it was entirely possible that by the end of The Plan, many Americans wouldn’t even realize that they’d fought in a war and lost. Much would go on exactly as before except the ruling class would change.
They were mid-way through The Plan, so any unforeseen events were borderline dangerous, possibly catastrophic.
He waited for Kearns to explain.
Instead of explaining, a photo appeared on the screen of his cell. At first, Springer couldn’t figure it out. The photo was dark and most of the light came from the sky, the fire which appeared to be about a block away. A human figure, standing outside a vehicle. One of those small hybrid vehicles that looked quite out of place among the manicured grounds of the area. The photos were on a carousel and as they flicked across the screen, a feeling of deep unease, akin to fear except Marcus Springer didn’t do fear, pooled in his guts.
The figure was female. In increments, she closed the door of the vehicle, moved to the front of the car. Moved to an intersection. Shaded her eyes with her hand, as if from that position she could see straight to the fire that was too bright to look at directly. Then she turned and Springer got a clear look at her, full face, and gasped.
Summer Redding.
Summer Redding who owned and ran
Area 8
, a famous—and in his circles notorious—political blog. What was she doing at the blazing fire destroying Hector Blake’s home? It had just hit the news services, and the time tag on the photo was half an hour ago, so she wasn’t ambulance chasing. Did she have prior knowledge? She must have had, to be there so early. But how?
She had to be connected to whoever had taken down Kearns’s operator. Clearly she was investigating Hector Blake and clearly she had some inside knowledge.
She was a liability. She had to be stopped right now, before anything she learned appeared in
Area 8
. Whatever she knew, it was too much. If who she was with identified Kearns’s operator, there was a path that led straight to Springer. And it would be published in
Area 8
.
This had to be stopped. Right now.
“That is Summer Redding,” he told Kearns. “Find out where she lives and eliminate her. Immediately.”
And he heard his two favorite words. “Yes, sir,” Kearns replied.
Chapter Four
Summer waited and waited and waited. And waited some more. It felt like hours went by, though her watch—which must be broken—showed that only twenty minutes had passed since Jack slipped out of the car and disappeared into the night.
Amazing. He was a huge man, took up a lot of space. He’d been there on the sidewalk and then suddenly he wasn’t. Gone in an instant.
So he’d been a good Clandestine Service agent. Had to be if he’d spent these past fifteen years undercover, and if he’d managed to disable her security.
So if he was so good, what was taking him so
else?
Besides one of Kearns’s operators being found unconscious and his cell and tablet in the hands of someone unknown? What could that something else be?
“Yes.” This time Springer didn’t hide the coldness in his voice and he could practically hear Kearns wincing. Quite right. Springer affected an attitude of
bonhomie
, a civilized man who could be counted on to behave in a civilized manner. But they were playing with fire here and though he was certain of the ultimate triumph of The Plan, nothing was absolutely certain in this world.
World-altering events were in play, events as momentous as World War II. The world would look entirely different once The Plan came to fruition. Only instead of a four year war costing two hundred million lives with a combined military force of seven hundred million troops that left the civilized world in rubble, it would be using cyberwarfare with minimal damage.
No, this was going to be a thoroughly modern operation with very few soldiers, leveraging data instead of bullets. No atom bomb leaving ruins lasting generations. Oh, no. As a matter of fact, it was entirely possible that by the end of The Plan, many Americans wouldn’t even realize that they’d fought in a war and lost. Much would go on exactly as before except the ruling class would change.
They were mid-way through The Plan, so any unforeseen events were borderline dangerous, possibly catastrophic.
He waited for Kearns to explain.
Instead of explaining, a photo appeared on the screen of his cell. At first, Springer couldn’t figure it out. The photo was dark and most of the light came from the sky, the fire which appeared to be about a block away. A human figure, standing outside a vehicle. One of those small hybrid vehicles that looked quite out of place among the manicured grounds of the area. The photos were on a carousel and as they flicked across the screen, a feeling of deep unease, akin to fear except Marcus Springer didn’t do fear, pooled in his guts.
The figure was female. In increments, she closed the door of the vehicle, moved to the front of the car. Moved to an intersection. Shaded her eyes with her hand, as if from that position she could see straight to the fire that was too bright to look at directly. Then she turned and Springer got a clear look at her, full face, and gasped.
Summer Redding.
Summer Redding who owned and ran
Area 8
, a famous—and in his circles notorious—political blog. What was she doing at the blazing fire destroying Hector Blake’s home? It had just hit the news services, and the time tag on the photo was half an hour ago, so she wasn’t ambulance chasing. Did she have prior knowledge? She must have had, to be there so early. But how?
She had to be connected to whoever had taken down Kearns’s operator. Clearly she was investigating Hector Blake and clearly she had some inside knowledge.
She was a liability. She had to be stopped right now, before anything she learned appeared in
Area 8
. Whatever she knew, it was too much. If who she was with identified Kearns’s operator, there was a path that led straight to Springer. And it would be published in
Area 8
.
This had to be stopped. Right now.
“That is Summer Redding,” he told Kearns. “Find out where she lives and eliminate her. Immediately.”
And he heard his two favorite words. “Yes, sir,” Kearns replied.
Chapter Four
Summer waited and waited and waited. And waited some more. It felt like hours went by, though her watch—which must be broken—showed that only twenty minutes had passed since Jack slipped out of the car and disappeared into the night.
Amazing. He was a huge man, took up a lot of space. He’d been there on the sidewalk and then suddenly he wasn’t. Gone in an instant.
So he’d been a good Clandestine Service agent. Had to be if he’d spent these past fifteen years undercover, and if he’d managed to disable her security.
So if he was so good, what was taking him so
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