Twisted Spaces: 1 / Destination Mars Read online

  ''Faster in what way?''

  ''Faster to get into space, mon Colonel. As soon as we have the antimatter we'll leave the planet and set up an experimental platform in the Mars orbit, returning only occasionally to pick up supplies.''

  ''Why Mars?'' someone asked, stricken with awe.

  ''Well, it's close, there is a planetary base, if needed, and we should be quite safe there.'' He didn't have to add ... from human danger.

  Mars is close echoed silently in the room. This drew a collective gasp, but again the Colonel stayed focused: ''Return to where?''

  ''Mon Colonel?''

  ''You said: 'Return only occasionally to pick up supplies' ...''

  ''Oh yes. If we succeed, Colonel, we will have many friends all over the world. Can you imagine what will happen when the first live video transmission from Mars arrives, dropped directly into the Internet? Just think of all those trekkies ... for them we are Dr Corcoran. They will bend over backwards to support us in any way.''

  ''Maybe. But this means you plan to go public.''

  ''Sure. As we stated before, the star drive will be for all mankind. And if CERN is smart, they will be the guardians of that technology.''

  ''But it will take you months to get to Mars,'' the Lone Wolf objected.

  ''No, Mrs Palmer,'' Michael replied, ''it will only take a single heartbeat. If you can fly through wormholes, everywhere is right here. Like in the Internet. You can take my word for it.''

  A moment of silence persisted, but Leclerc was still not satisfied.

  ''My friend, I'm sorry if I have to play the spoil sport, but I really think you will be in deep shit shortly and urgently need some serious help to keep you and your troop secure. The information about the new toys will be out soon, and the race for your group will commence. Let me assure you: a nation does have an awful lot of resources if it decides to get hold of someone. And no scruples at all.''

  ''You are right, of course, mon Colonel. Actually you are echoing the warnings of my own security chief. Well, that's life: pay your money, take your chance.''

  ''We could help you. Seriously.''

  ''But you already are. And if your CERN colleagues want to join, they can equip us with the antimatter ASAP, at least with half a kilo. This would render us operative in case of emergency; we could lift off and wait in high orbit. If they want to do even more, we can discuss that later.'' Michael looked to someone outside the camera's field of view. ''Ladies, gentlemen, my security guys indicate to me that it's time to depart.'' Then he bowed to Leclerc: ''Honneur et Fidélité, mon colonel.''

  These words made Leclerc flinch.

  Next the young man said to Andrea: ''One last thing, Miss McNamara. Please don't forget to grab the next decryption key right after this transmission, you won't have a second chance.'' A nod to the assembled: ''Till next week - guten Tag.''

  The video link broke, the Quadricopter rose, floated through the open window and was gone. Andrea took her notebook back, inserted the SD card and started typing away.

  A long pause followed, then Whitewater laughed out loud. ''What other wonders can we expect? And what a clever set-up. We might have the gun ...''

  ''... but they hold the trigger,'' Leclerc concluded, smiling. He turned to the director: ''I actually like the guy, Ralf. Seems genuine to me. Even listens to his security pukes.''

  That caused some giggling.

  ''There are some minor things I would like to point out, though,'' Leclerc continued. ''The man consistently talked of security, but what he constantly demonstrated was excellent intelligence - on us.''

  ''How can you be sure of that?'' Palmer was dismissive.

  ''How could he know of Andrea?''

  ''Read it on the net?''

  ''Not a chance. All arrangements around the director are secret - security considerations.''

  ''Maybe a leak.''

  ''He referred to you by name, madam''

  ''I'm famous,'' Palmer smirked.

  ''No doubt.'' The colonel returned dryly. That drew laughter. ''But he referred to you by name, madam - identifying you by just hearing your voice ...''

  This time there was no reply.

  ''Anyway,'' Leclerc continued, turning back to Mrs Palmer, ''ever heard of the battle of Kinshasa?''

  ''No.'' She appeared dismissive.

  ''No wonder, it's a secret,'' Leclerc said, ''and a well guarded one.''

  ''So?''

  ''What I will tell you now, is top secret. In the French meaning of it, do you understand?''

  The assembled nodded, sobered up by the Colonel's sincerity. The French killed traitors, everybody knew. Or at least thought they knew.

  ''In 2003 a murderous group of religious fanatics assaulted the city of Kinshasa,'' Leclerc continued, ''practically taking it over. Killing off the population like rats: men, women, kids, butchering people just for the fun of it, all in the name of Allah. When the death toll exceeded five thousand souls, Congolese officials cried for help. My government - it still has moral obligations to the Congo - ordered the paras in. My own troop was deployed; I commanded the operation and the counter-attack. We smoked them out, killed over a thousand of those forsaken barbarians.'' He breathed deeply, heavy with memory. ''Our friend Michael knew about the campaign and my role in it.'' He turned to Mrs Palmer: ''That's what I call first class intelligence, madam, not some newspaper bullshit, not simple security. They are well positioned ... his chaps - as he calls them. No way they are just 'security'. They have an intelligence troop, and one of the better ones. We shouldn't underestimate them - again.''

  ''Meaning what?' Whitewater asked.

  ''I think their position is not as weak as they want to make us believe.''

  ''What do you make of it, Paul?'' the director asked his friend.

  ''He asked for speed, Ralf. We should hurry. As much as we can.''

  Kaiser, nodded, decided and rose: ''OK, people, we will study the data, and get the parts simultaneously. After all, he said 'nothing to it', if I recall correctly. So we'll start production as soon as possible.'' Turning to the Colonel, he added: ''Is that satisfactory for you, Paul?''

  Leclerc nodded: ''Yes. Absolutely.''

  Agreeing noises were made all around the table.

  Andrea abruptly looked up to Kaiser: ''Sir, the SD chip contains a complete web site including several PDFs. Main page is structured along disciplines and sub-disciplines - physics, construction, accounting, stuff like that. Even has an MS Project file to download. Good overview. The site map shows more than a hundred pages.'' She suddenly grinned: ''And a big fat link on the front page saying: Fools rush in: The ultimate HOW TO on Antimatter.'' She clicked the mouse, read a few seconds: ''Looks like Antimatter Production for Dummies to me.''

  ''Not bad,'' Kaiser replied, ''the man wasn't boasting. Please put it all onto my private web server until we've decided what to do with it.''

  ''Already done.''

  ''You're an angel, Andrea.''

  ''So I've heard,'' she replied smugly, imitating Michael's tone: ''Smart and very pretty. Enviable. Lucky you, Dr Kaiser.'' She blew a kiss to her boss.

  That made everybody laugh, and the laughter grew louder and louder, right to the point of hysteria, blowing off the pressure that had accumulated over the last few days.

  Chapter 23

  Spangdahlem

  Tuesday, 01.11.2016

  Ellie, having stood behind the video camera, had observed her partner closely during the conference. Again he had shown the traits that she loved so much in him: patience, cleverness, superb negotiation skills. And foresight. Watching the stupefied, sheepish expressions on the faces at CERN, when Mike had simply dropped the secret of the antimatter production into their lap nearly had made Ellie laugh out loud. She had caught herself at the last moment, remembering Simone Goldman's stern warning: don't offer the lightest additional information to the 'opposing force' - as she called them - not even the presence of other people in the video studio.

  But some of the
words from CERN's security chief had stirred bad memories in Ellie. There had been a time in her life, when even she - young as she had been then - had been considered one of the bad guys. Being a girl and the youngest of four in a Catholic Donegal family did not automatically make you innocent, at least not in the eyes of an ever-suspicious British Inland Security Service. Especially if one of your brothers had been killed under dubious circumstances during an unrest in Belfast, two of your other brothers were jailed on riot charges and your father has been a long time suspect as a hit man for the IRA. Only twenty years ago, in a time noted in history books as relatively peaceful, Elisabeth Eve MacMillan had grown up with the violence of a very discreet, but nonetheless remorseless underground war. She was able to handle a pistol before she turned twelve, at fourteen she was an expert shot with three types of assault rifles, knew how to crimp a detonator cap to a fuse and could identify plastic explosives just by sniffing them. This all seemed normal to her; it was the way of her family.

  Then one day it happened. After an especially nasty bomb attack on a British squad, a swat team of the Royal Ulster Constabulary had kicked in their front door and dragged her father away, bragging they had him 'in the bag now'. A day later he had been charged under a new anti-terror legislation with multiple homicides and a month later been 'thrown the book at' - a life sentence for that successful IED blast in which four British soldiers had lost their lives.

  Claire MacMillan, Ellie's mother and a descendant from nameless generations of Irish rebels, knew all too well how this would end and finally made a very dedicated attempt to rescue at least her youngest child from this madness. With her husband and two surviving sons locked away in prison, her efforts to save the girl finally gained a fair chance.

  Ellie, fifteen and by now fully understanding what was happening around her, realised that a higher education was her only chance to escape the family's destiny. Within one year she turned into an excellent pupil, with only straight A's on her report cards. At the end of secondary school her headmaster, understanding her situation completely, had quietly recommended her for an EU-scholarship, which was promptly granted. This had made it possible for Ellie to leave Donegal and go to a university, first in Dublin, then on to the University of Berkeley in California. She graduated from there in business administration and management, second in her class and definitely marked for postgraduate studies.

  It was Ellie's Irish quirk to fancy the occasional pint that finally made her meet her personal fate. In one of the Irish pubs of San Francisco she had literally bumped into an attractive blonde guy, spilled her beer all over him and had immediately fallen for his unreal blue eyes. Ellie was by no means a spinster and had lived through quite a succession of lovers to serve her sexual appetites, but with that man it was different.

  Not only was he good looking, in possession of a very stimulating physique, he was also highly intelligent - an IT postgraduate of German origin, as she later learned. Contrary to what the prejudice about Germans said, there was no rude bone in his body - he was polite, sensible and had a wonderful humour that always made her laugh. He also consistently showed an outright super-human patience with people in his surroundings and an overwhelming gentleness towards her, and her alone.

  So first she had developed a hot crush on him, then, after a few mind-blowing nights in his arms followed by weeks of an old fashioned, gentle courtship, he had infected her with serious love. This chap was different from all the other students, somehow far too mature for his age. That he had some very impressive scars all over his body and even one of two inches clearly visible on his left cheek didn't annoy her - she had seen much worse. Only later she had learned about his outrageous visions to fly to the stars.

  Half a year had passed, when, still being students and after an especially wonderful hour in bed and dozing in his arms, he had caught her completely off guard by popping the question.

  Ellie had kept him on hold for a week, travelled back to Donegal to talk it over with her parents. There she had experienced a second surprise; she found her mother to be up to date about her life in the distant city. To Ellie's joy she agreed with her selection.

  Next she had visited her imprisoned father and ran into a third surprise - a nasty one at that: her dad, in his usual bad mood, had told her details about her lover that she'd never expected to hear: that he was known to the IRA - and other groups - as a merciless and highly effective killer and finally, he told her that her lover was no German national at all, but a naturalized American citizen.

  The young woman, badly shaken by these revelations, had flown back to Berkeley. Marrying a killer didn't frighten her - that could have been her fate in Ireland anyway - her shock had been caused by the breach of trust, of him not confiding in her. But she also knew how it worked, how the IRA used information as a weapon. So she had to find the truth herself, form her own picture.

  Confronting her lover in their small Californian flat she had received a totally unexpected answer: after patiently listening to the story she had heard, he didn't try to explain anything, just rose without a word, pulled a small, preciously made rosewood box from one of his private drawers and handed it wordlessly to her. Upon opening it, she had found five military decorations in it: three Purple Hearts, one Distinguished Cross and one she later learned to be a French Croix de Guerre. All with Michael's name and rank engraved on the backs and dated between 2010 and 2012. Although she had never seen such medals before, she had heard and read of them - and knew about the price tag attached to them: repeated bravery beyond expectation, to fulfil a critical mission or to rescue one's comrades in the face of certain death. She immediately knew in which part of the world you could earn such awards nowadays and guessed that he had brought his scars back from those places. She now also understood the true reason behind his phases of taciturnity and his unlimited tenderness and leniency towards her. This man had seen destruction and despair, seen violent death, handed it out. He had learned his lesson from it, a lesson written in blood, tears and pain. Then and there she decided to accept his proposal, become his wife.

  That night, lying in his arms, she learned more about her lover: Mike was originally German born, in Cologne. After graduating from the German higher school, the 'Gymnasium', he and six friends had volunteered for an American Army recruitment program to achieve American citizenship - in exchange for four years of service. They had been accepted, trained and then sent to the Middle East, fighting militant insurgents.

  Three 'voluntary' tours in those countries later - meaning three years of intense combat - they had received an unexpected early honourable discharge, complete with American citizenship certificates, granted by a grateful nation. Each discharge came with an equally unexpected but very welcome Army educational grant, which provided a more than comfortable livelihood for a higher education at a renowned university. Some of Mike's friends had fallen for CalTech, but he immediately had enrolled in the University of California, Berkeley.

  Asked about the five medals he flatly declined to tell Ellie how they were earned. She hadn't forced this issue - his scars told the tales anyway.

  Three months later a silent marriage took place - not in California but in Paris, in the magnificent Basilica of Sacré Cœur at Montmatre - Ellie had never found out how that had come to pass, but she suspected the Croix de Guerre had to do with it - and some kind of blood-guilt between brothers in arms.

  As a measure to offer some comfort for her angered, imprisoned father, Ellie had asked her new husband to take up her family's name, so becoming Michael MacMillan. Again surprising her he had agreed at once, didn't seem to mind the slightest. Ellie understood this one too: Michael knew who he was, no matter what was printed on his name plate.

  Four years of unclouded happiness and unquestioned trust had followed. The harder it became for her not to confide in him with her last, deepest secret of personal guilt.

  The video link suddenly broke and Mike stood up, stretched and pulled Ellie back into the
present. She walked over to him and passed a cup of coffee: ''Good speech. Here, take this ... strong and sweet.''

  ''Like you, baby. Thanks.''

  ''What comes next?''

  ''We wait. Not that I like it.''

  ''You think the Frenchman was serious?''

  ''His name is Leclerc, baby, Colonel Paul Leclerc, former commander of the French Foreign Legion,'' Mike corrected her mildly. ''Very smart guy, that. I've read part of his file - the part our Intel could get hold of. Ran into him once, too. A formidable opponent but also a man of honour. Dedicated and courageous - got some real big ones on him, that one, I can assure you. I have the utmost respect for him; he saved the lives of literally thousands of people in Kinshasa. And, oh yes, he was earnest. We should take him very, very seriously.''

  ''You really think we are in danger.'' A sober statement accompanied by a very familiar unease went crawling up Ellie's spine.

  ''That's what Intelligence says, baby: the nation states will kill remorselessly to get their hands on our know-how. Will go as far as risking a little war about it. In a few days, the wolves will be on the loose, then it's either run or die.''

  ''That's very frightening. Have we come so far ... just to fail in the face of success?''

  ''Don't be afraid, Ellie. It may look that way, but we are not totally defenceless and there's still one or two aces up our sleeves.'' He paused shortly, fondling her hair in a calming gesture, then continued: ''Ah, bad guys have to find us first.''

  Chapter 24

  Langley

  Tuesday, 02.11.2016

  The tired courier entered the CIA headquarters openly through the main entry. There was no benefit in doing it covertly; too many people went in and out of the building complex to make a single older man seem suspicious. His only desire was to turn in his bag, get to bed and sleep off his jet lag. He did this tour regularly, four times a month, and it became tiring. Maybe it was time for a desk job ... but for today there was one more thing to do: rid himself of his transport goods. He continued to the watch officer's room and, after showing his ID, delivered his attaché case to the young major behind the counter. She handed him a receipt, and that was that. Time to go home.