The Soul of a SEAL Page 15

  “Let us move forward on this lead and see where it takes us,” Melo offered.

  A murmur rose around them. Several of the scientists, designers, and engineers were standing in their cubicles and watching the action. One of them was filming it on his phone and adding commentary. What had the world come to?

  “Quiet!” Hubbard shouted. “Sally, by order of the facility manager—match my voice print on this—move all recordings of this event in the R & D Center to my computer only. Do not leave any material on any other devices such as phones, tablets, computers, et cetera.” Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his brow. He murmured under his breath. “Why people need to record every moment of the day is beyond me—as if we’d allow them to get one iota of info out of this place. Thank God we have several levels of blockade to keep it from the outside world. Hell, there’s no live streaming from inside the Lester Facility anyway.”

  Melo pushed past the guards, getting to within a hair’s breadth of Rigley. “Wait! That was the whole point. You found a way past the information blockade. You were sending data to the outside. What was it…espionage or the highest bidder?”

  “No, I can’t. You don’t understand. You wouldn’t be able to protect me if I told you some…of the truth. That’s all…I can share…” Rigley was sweating up a storm. How could someone sweat that much in such a short time? He had to be up to his eyeballs in this whole mess. His clothes looked like a hiker’s after several hours of walking through a lake or stagnant pond with pit marks, slime, and other stains. Wasn’t there water about two miles from here, but still on the facility’s property?

  “You want to bet?” added Melo. “Visit any nice bodies of water?”

  “How did you know?” Rigley asked. “Were you watching me? I…can’t talk to you.”

  “Hold off there.” The guards made a move to pull Melo off Rigley. Bennett stopped them, grabbing their arms and pulling them to a halt. He gestured for them to give Melo a minute. When Hubbard nodded his consent, the guards complied.

  “I can’t handle the stress. I don’t sleep. I just…” Rigley said. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you everything. The first part is, yes, I’m selling information to the highest bidder and I was meeting someone by the far pond. But I’m not alone, and if you want all the information, you need to speak to…” Rigley sucked in air as if he was deprived. His hand pushed hard against the wall of Melo’s body without budging it.

  Bennett reached back and eased his Teammate until they were standing next to each other. Melo cut him a glance that said he was none too happy about being pulled off Rigley and that he would get further with some bodily harm.

  Suddenly, an odor that smelled like burning hair permeated the room.

  Rigley’s eyes bulged. His body jerked and spasmed. “My p-pacemaker.” His mouth opened, and foam came out the side as he shook and then went limp. He crumpled onto the ground.

  Melo stepped toward him. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he touched the man. A shock came from the body.

  Kimberly leaned down and touched Rigley’s neck. “Move over. He doesn’t have a pulse.” She did chest compressions until the medical staff arrived. They took over for her, but it was clear the man was deceased.

  Rigley was removed on a stretcher.

  No one spoke for several minutes.

  Static broke the silence, followed by a buzzing.

  Her attention went to her phone.

  “Kess, come to R & D. We need to talk,” Hubbard said into his phone. “Kimberly, I’m ready to close up shop and call it a day. We cannot continue this way. I understand this launch is of national and international value, but how many lives can we risk on it?”

  “Please, give me some time,” said Kimberly. She wiped tears from her eyes, obviously moved. Whether it was the death or the threat of canceling the launch, Bennett didn’t know. “We’re close to finding answers.”

  Bennett listened to their conversation for a few seconds and then noticed a black spiral pattern around a wall socket. He nodded to Melo. The two of them inspected the area where Rigley had stood. A small silver device was set in the wall, plugged into the socket. The device on the wall—this silver box—had given Rigley a fatal dose of electricity that made his body dance and his hair fry.

  My p-pacemaker. These were the only words Rigley had managed to add before he died.

  “Sally, what does this silver box do?” Bennett was careful to ask very quietly via his phone.

  “It is a projection/speaker amplifier for the room, controllable by any device.” Sally went on to explain how it could be used as a speaker for music or to project information or as an extra electrical conduit.

  Melo furrowed his brow. “Great. So anyone in this room could use this device.”

  “Correction,” said Sally. “Anyone in the Lester Facility can control it.”

  Bennett sighed. So much for our pool of suspects, It went from smaller to larger again. But what about Yuri? Was he involved in this, or was his text conversation with Rigley more misdirection? They couldn’t afford any more red herrings if they were going to stay on track.

  He watched Melo pull the pieces of the computer together and place it in a bag. Whatever they planned next, it had sure as hell better work out more effectively.

  * * *

  Kimberly stood with her hands on her hips in Hubbard’s office. Her anger was practically producing steam out of her ears. To keep herself calm, she was tapping her foot and trying to ignore the strange rotten-egg odor in the room. “If you invited me in here to take away my control over who becomes pilot, you have another thing coming.”

  Hubbard sat unmoving behind his desk, taking the silent route. His half-eaten lunch of Caesar salad looked like it had been sitting there for hours.

  She wrinkled her nose, but it wasn’t just the meal that made her queasy, it was the two backstabbers confronting her. “This is my shuttle design. Without my solving the return-trip safety issues with the shuttle’s unique combination of hardware and software, none of us would even be here. We have one more change for a safe and effective round-trip. So do you want to tell me why I’m getting berated by Kess? I’m doing my job, and I’m doing it well.”

  Kess smiled at her. That idiot was sitting nonchalantly in a chair by the window, sipping coffee as if this discussion were a commonplace chitchat between friends. He was the enemy, and nothing was going to make her give up her ground.

  “I’m simply saying that if Kimberly cannot respect our rules, why should she be making the big decisions?”

  She spun in his direction. “So, I go to a vendor’s to check on a part, and I’m the bad guy here. What a load of crap!” Her laughter started slowly and grew louder. “I’m not giving up my role of choosing a pilot, so you can suck it, Kess!”

  “Miss Warren…” began Hubbard.

  “Dr. Warren,” said Kimberly through gritted teeth. “I’ve earned the right to be here, and if you have a problem, call the Secretary of the Navy. Now, get off my back and out of my way.” The last line was shouted, and she knew her temper had taken control of her, but she was done with them. Whatever was going on, she had had enough.

  * * *

  The two SEALs decided it would be a good idea to conduct interviews with the trainees. Each trainee would be brought to them one at a time, without prior briefing, and they would be separated until the questioning was over.

  They were given a small room—basically a shoe box with one door—containing a small table and two chairs. Hubbard had told them to “be gentle” with the pilot candidates. Bennett didn’t give a rat’s ass about their comfort. He just wanted to get to the bottom of the deaths and the issues with the shuttle.

  After a brief discussion with his Teammate, they decided that Melo would do the questioning and Bennett would observe. Melo was a talker, and he chatted away as he positioned a chair on one side of
the table and took a seat on the other side. Bennett took up residence in a far corner. It was in shadow, but it gave him a great view of the door and the interviewee. He was a visual learner and preferred this role, as it gave him greater insight into the involuntary emotional cues tied to body language.

  The first man in the hot seat was a man with the singular name Nyambi, an African astronaut who nodded at them both before he took his seat across from them. “What topic will we be discussing?” he asked.

  “Several. What brought you to the Lester Facility?” Melo kept the tone casual. There was no time limit for the interview, so they were going to make the most out of it.

  “I arrived a few days before you. Our first representative took ill. An emergency appendix operation, I’m told. I was asked to come out here and represent our country and am pleased to do so.” Nyambi spoke with animated hand gestures. “We’ve been performing similar simulations. Several private corporations are having their own space race, but as a soldier, my first duty is to my country. Monetary concerns come very far down the line. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Married?” Melo asked.

  “Engaged.” Withdrawing his phone, he showed Melo several snapshots of a woman with short hair. “Ella. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Yes,” agreed Melo. “What do you think of your fellow candidates?”

  Nyambi’s face fell as he pocketed the phone. “I expected like-minded individuals who were fascinated by space. Instead I have faced tremendous competition and ungentlemanly behavior.”

  “How so?”

  “The first set of shuttle specifications was outdated. I check such things. If I had gone into the flight simulation with the old specs, I would have failed. When I brought the issue up to Kess, it angered him. He said there were several issues happening and I should take care to double-check everything. I did.” Pursing his lips, Nyambi considered his words. “I did not want to be suspicious, but I have had items stolen from my room too, including my computer.”

  “And you brought this computer from home or received it from…”

  “What was his name…like the gum, perhaps?”

  Melo leaned his elbows on the desk. “Rigley.”

  A smile lit Nyambi’s features. “Ah, yes, that is the IT person who gave me my equipment. He appears nice enough. Do you need me to do an assignment with him?”

  “Not exactly. Where have you been for the last hour?” Melo didn’t let anything show. Rather like a conductor leading his orchestra, he led the conversation where he wanted it to go.

  “I was spending time with Donner and Leon, having my test in the anechoic chamber. A strange place—felt like I was in a tomb, though I suppose that is the point. My time was twenty-two minutes. I’m told it is acceptable. Dr. Leon was escorting me back to my room when I was redirected here.” Nyambi looked at Melo and then Bennett. “What has happened?”

  “Where were you before the test?” asked Melo, sitting back in his chair.

  “Playing Beethoven’s Fifth and attempting to gain a few hours of rest. My roommate snores.” He placed his hands on the table. “How does any of this concern Mr. Rigley?”

  Melo glanced at Bennett. This guy knew nothing. It was clear. “It does not. Thank you for your time, Nyambi. You are welcome to leave.”

  Puzzled, the man stood, nodded at each of them again, and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him.

  The room seemed bigger with only the two of them in it.

  “Do you think they will all be like that?”

  “Mostly transparent?” Bennett shrugged. “Perhaps. All we can do is interrogate them and find out. The good part is, we can ask them anything we want.”

  The next six interviews yielded nothing useful. Five men and one woman from different countries, and they all had verifiable alibis. There was only one interview left—Yuri Pelsin, the astronaut from Russia.

  Of course, when they’d asked the security guards to bring him in, the man had already gone back to his quarters and wasn’t answering any pages. So Melo and Bennett trekked the length of the Lester Facility to reach Yuri’s quarters. It was a tediously long walk.

  They passed several of the astronauts and a few translators. Assistants trailed along with a couple of them, and one of them took dictation as he moved.

  Finally at Yuri’s door, Melo knocked. Nothing. He rang the buzzer on the side of the door. Nothing. Looking at each other, they silently agreed they weren’t going back empty-handed. They were going to find some information on Yuri Pelsin.

  Fed up with wasting his time, Bennett said, “Sally, let us in to Yuri’s chamber.” They had been given carte blanche, and this seemed like a good opportunity to take advantage of it.

  “Affirmative.” Sally accessed the door and it slid soundlessly open. Bennett decided she was an excellent computer and a decent force for good in this crazy place.

  He stepped inside. The room was dark. “Lights.”

  Instantly the lights lifted to full, showing Yuri stretched out on his bed, wearing earphones and with a surprised look on his face. “Did we have an appointment?” he asked, and then mumbled, “It appears to be a strange time, when people are allowed access to what should be a private chamber.”

  The room was large, almost as big as Kimberly’s. Someone had assigned Yuri a generous living space. The furnishings were plush, with two overstuffed chairs, a table with bottles of vodka, and a humidor most likely filled with premium cigars, probably Cubans. The color scheme was different from other personal quarters, as though it had been professionally decorated in tones of gray and black. The bed was a California king, unlike the queens in all the other rooms. Even Kimberly had a queen, and she’d said that was standard.

  The black carpet was thick and well padded under his feet, and the ceiling had a modular set of planets set into it, positioned directly over his bed. The mobile reminded him of something a baby or child might have in their room. There were no paintings on the walls.

  Instead, photos dotted one of the bookcases, mostly of a pretty blond woman who looked Swedish and two matching blond children with big smiles. On the desk were manuals and books similar to the ones Bennett was reading about piloting the shuttle and the types of problems one could encounter. Well, that was interesting. It looked like Yuri intended to sit in that pilot’s seat.

  The notes on his desk were similar to Bennett’s, except the calculations were definitely wrong. It was easy to read at a glance. Yuri hadn’t accounted for the gravitational pull of the Earth or for any drift, especially if the shuttle was struck by an object big enough to move it or give it momentum. Of course, the onboard computer could correct drift, firing the engines, etc., but one needed to take all of that into account in case the onboard systems failed. Hell, Yuri needed more experience. Make a decision tree, use some statistics—it would have yielded better results than the ones he’d arrived at.

  Bennett finished his circuit of the room and went back to the center, preferring his vantage point on both the doorway and the jerk on the bed. He nodded at Melo, who was waiting for his cue.

  Melo walked to the desk and pulled a chair over to the bed. He sat down and smiled. “I spoke with your friend, Wang.” Nice opening—the bait was set.

  “He’s not my friend,” rushed Yuri. “He’s my—” Abruptly his words ceased, as though he was about to blurt out something he didn’t want to. The look of frustration on his face indicated some kind of guilt.

  “Your what?” prodded Melo. “Are we soliciting sex?” Of course, Wang had said nothing interesting or out of the ordinary, except that Yuri had helped him with a project to plot the telemetry of the communications array—step one in the pilot’s mission after he breached the atmosphere and reached the appropriate orbit. But there could be more to the situation. Bad guys rarely announced their diabolical plans without the appropriate prodding.

  “
No!” said Yuri, pushing off his bed and getting to his feet. He looked offended. “I have a wife and children.”

  “That does not preclude a relationship, not in this day and age. Whether that is a friendship or something more…”

  “Nothing more.” Yuri scowled as he walked to the small table, where a small coffeepot and cups sat, and with his left hand, he poured a cup of dark, syrupy dregs that had to be cold, given their consistency. He took a sip, frowned, and put it down. Opening his full-size refrigerator—another thing Bennett hadn’t seen in a personal room—he withdrew a carton of orange juice, drank it down in several gulps, and dropped it in the trash.

  “What are you doing with Wang?” asked Melo. “Sharing notes? Trading secrets? Espionage?”

  Yuri’s eyebrows shot upward, shocked by the implication, even more so than the question about sex. Nope, that wasn’t the right direction either. Or, he thought, studying Yuri’s face, maybe it was the right question.

  As if Melo had plucked the thought from Bennett’s head, he asked, “How did you meet Kess?”

  “At Space Command many, many years ago, before it was replaced by Stratcom.” Yuri waved a hand in front of his face. “We were working on projects similar in nature, but were not permitted to share information at the time. Our technology was half a decade behind yours, and the information was proprietary, until Russia caught up.”

  “Interesting. So Kess slipped you the data and the technology blueprints…” Melo stood and took up a position at the wall across from his interviewee. He cocked his head to the side and waited, leaving the idea to dangle in the air, another hook and another worm.

  Yuri crossed his arms and looked up and to the right, undoubtedly tapping into his imagination. He spoke with his eyes still averted upward as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lie! Body language was such a giveaway. Pelsin’s personnel records indicated he was a lefty. If he had been looking to the left, Bennett would have given the man the benefit of the doubt, as most individuals looked in the direction of their dominant hand or side. But those looking to their nondominant side, especially upward, were clearly thinking up a story. Combined with Yuri’s changing his weight from foot to foot…well, it was clear that this man was a liar.