The Ties That Bind. Cliff Ryder
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suspected homicide. Good riddance, Jason thought.
When it was about time for him to go to work, he sat at the small computer console in his apartment and booted up the system. In all his years as a CIA operative, he had worked with a lot of gadgets and toys, but when compared to the Room 59 equipment, it was apples and oranges. They were years, perhaps decades ahead of what other agencies were utilizing in the often silent war to keep America safe. The virtual conference room used by field agents was just one of the more unique tools in the Room 59 arsenal.
Once the computer was booted up, Jason slipped on a pair of glasses that projected the virtual world onto the lenses. He clicked on the launch icon. This was the first of several layers of security he would have to pass through in order to report in. The icon opened a window that appeared on the lenses rather than the screen itself. All that was visible was a large text block requesting his password.
Jason typed it in, and the launch console flickered once, then vanished and was replaced by what appeared to be a long hallway. The walls glowed a faint green color and reminded him slightly of the look of the old Tron video game. This, of course, was much better. He was now simultaneously sitting at his desk and walking down the hallway. His avatar, which he’d designed himself, appeared much like he himself did. A six-foot-two-inch-tall man with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His black hair was cut short and neat, and his eyes were a cold, faded blue. He preferred to dress in a sport coat and dress shirt, with pressed slacks and polished shoes. Jason believed that looking professional was the first step to being professional, so he dressed the part every working day. He knew he was considered handsome by most of society’s standards, and had no problem finding female companionship when it suited him. He enjoyed the sex, but that was all it ever was.
Love, he knew, was out of the question. Just like family.
He knew that some people created fanciful avatars or added personal touches like wings, but for himself, he saw no reason to change who he was or how he looked. The people who ran Room 59 knew what he looked like, and it was highly unlikely that anyone he might encounter in the virtual world would care how he appeared, let alone actually see him in real life. Part of the job was not interacting with other operatives unless a mission specifically called for it.
At the end of the hallway he came to a simple door and next to it, a hand and retinal scanner. As he approached the door, he stopped.
A female voice said, “Place your right palm and eye in front of the scanner for identity confirmation.”
Jason raised his glasses and held his hand up to the scanner that appeared on his computer screen.
The voice said, “Please hold still while the scan is in progress.” A brief light flashed over both his palm and his eye. The voice said, “Scanning.” Then it continued, “Identity confirmed. One-hundred-percent match to existing record for Siku, Jason, field agent. Voice confirm?”
“Siku, Jason,” he dutifully said as he adjusted his glasses. “Reporting for virtual conference scheduled for 0800 hours.”
“Voice confirmed,” it said. “Have a nice day.”
In front of him, the door unlocked and Jason opened it, stepping into an office building that extended as far as the eye could see. He’d been told that some of the security protocols were new, but he had to admit that any system that could scan his palm, voice and retinal prints from a distance was pretty impressive. He’d also been told that anything less than a one-hundred-percent match would result in bad things. What those bad things might be, no one seemed to know.
The conference room was down a row of cubicles and to his left, and he moved there, not bothering to greet the other avatars working around him. He stepped into the conference room, and saw that his boss, Denny Talbot, was already seated at one end of the table, talking to someone on the floating screen in front of him. Denny waved him in, and Jason stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
“He’s here now,” his boss was saying. “I’ll get back in touch right after we’re done here.” Denny looked up from the monitor, then stood and offered his hand. “Good to see you again, Jason. How was the downtime?”
Jason shook the offered hand. “Boring,” he said. “I really don’t need that much of a break between jobs.”
“You’re not the first agent to tell us that,” Denny admitted. “But everything we’ve learned so far suggests that a successful agent is one who does take a break once in a while.” He gestured toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
Jason sat down, marveling again at how real this virtual world seemed. It was computer programming on a level the rest of the world only imagined in science-fiction books and movies. “Do you have an assignment for me?” he asked, stretching his legs beneath the table. “I’m ready to get to work.”
Denny picked up a file from a small table behind him. “Indeed,” he said, sliding it over. “Straight recon, nothing fancy. Get in, confirm the information, get out and bring it back.”
Jason opened the file folder and quickly reviewed the contents, committing them to memory as he read. “Supercavitation?” he asked. “No one has that kind of technology yet.”
“Not that we know of,” Denny said. “But we’ve reviewed the source carefully, and at the least, he believes it’s the truth.”
“So, you want me to find this sub—if it exists—and bring back as much data on it as possible?” Jason asked.
Denny nodded. “The plans, if at all possible. Our source believes that there are forces in Russia who want to bring the Cold War, the arms race, the whole shebang, back into full swing.”
Jason considered it, then nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “In fact, it wouldn’t even be the first time I’ve heard the sentiment. A lot of people miss Mother Russia, despite her less-than-charitable ways.”
“I suppose so,” Denny said. “But we can’t afford another war—cold, hot or anything in between. If the Russians have developed this sub, we need to find it, get the plans and immediately make it known that we can build them, too. Hopefully, they’ll realize how closely we’re watching them and focus their efforts elsewhere like food for their people.”
“Why me?” Jason asked. “I’m not usually a straight reconnaissance man.”
“According to our intel, they’re testing the sub in the Bering Sea. We want you to use the local Inuit villages along the coast up there for cover. You also speak fluent Russian, which makes sending you an even better fit.”
Jason glanced through the folder one more time, memorizing the information and calculating what he’d need to accomplish it. “Mission support?” he asked.
“We’ll put together an offshore support team by the time you’re in place, situate them on an oil barge. Just set up a coordinates beacon somewhere out of the way and within twelve hours, you’ll be good to go.” Denny tapped an icon and the image of a very attractive woman appeared. “This is Tina Kanut. She’s native, knows the area and works for a guide agency up there. We’ve already arranged for her services.”
“Sounds fine,” Jason said. “Any other parameters I should know of?”
Denny shook his head. “Nothing critical. Just remember that this is a recon mission, so I’d rather not have a trail of bodies. Get in, get the data and get out. Clean and simple.”
“Understood,” Jason said. “And if something goes wrong?”
“If you can and there’s time, check in with me and we’ll decide how to proceed. If not, destroy the sub. That will send a message, too,” Denny said.
“Got it,” Jason said. “When do I leave?”
“We’ve got you scheduled on a flight from Minneapolis to Seattle, connecting to Anchorage, tonight,” he said. “Your cover documents are being delivered this morning. You’ll be going in as an advance man for a geographic-survey team.