Read Online The Tesla Legacy by Robert G. Barrett - Free Book Online

into computer systems all over the world. Tall and fit, with close-cropped dark hair and pensive eyes, Floyd, and a cell of other agents, worked Room 90 on rotating shifts, waiting for a particular combination of words to appear on a particular monitor. Agents had come and gone, right up until the Central Intelligence Agency transferred the search over to the super-secret National Security Agency after 9/11, but the words had never appeared. They’d never shown up on radio or morse code or anywhere else since the search began just before the Second World War. Nobody knew what the words were all about or if they even existed. To the current team of younger agents waiting for the words to appear, it was comparable to sitting under a radio telescope at SETI—the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence—waiting for little green men to ring in from outer space. But the agents did know,whether the words existed or not, that they were top priority and vital to national security. And if any agent fouled up, not only was it the end of his career, it also meant a hefty gaol sentence for dereliction of duty. So every agent did take his shifts seriously. Nevertheless, the agents assigned to Room 90 had to admit it was a good gig and a chance to catch up on some reading or study, with all meals delivered to the door.
    Agent Moharic stretched and yawned and checked the clock set on Washington time above the door. Another hour, and if the roads weren’t iced over he’d be home in bed with his electric blanket on high. He’d sleep till early afternoon, then he had a date with a girl from the British Embassy. He was debating whether to see an art-house movie near Logan Circle, or go for something more mainstream in a theatre downtown, when Agent Moharic nearly fell out of his chair.
    The monitor he’d been watching suddenly lit up and an alarm on the wall went off. Every control panel in the room came to life and a large blue screen linked to a Global Positioning Satellite began zeroing in on countries all around the wall. Agent Moharic’s monitor faded momentarily, then lit up with five flashing red lines of block type:
    ALERT TESLA PROJECT PIGGIE
    ALERT TESLA PROJECT PIGGIE BREACH BREACH
    For a second, Agent Moharic gaped at the screen in disbelief. ‘Oh shit!’ he said. Then followed procedures.
    He clicked every switch and pushed every button to record what was going on and to alert the agency that Project Piggie had been breached. He punched in the code to the satellite so it would find where the breach had occurred, then secured the door and switched off the alarm. Satisfied all was in order, Agent Moharic picked up the receiver on the red phone next to the monitor and quickly punched in a silent number.
    ‘Bousseal,’ came a dull, cold voice at the other end.
    ‘Sir. Project Piggie has been compromised. We have a breach.’
    ‘I’m on my way.’
    Secretary Clay E. Bousseal’s office was five storeys above Room 90. In his private elevator, he was at Room 90 with Section Head Hoyle Creelman in one minute and seven seconds.Secretary Bousseal was lean with dark hair and a bony, expressionless face. Section Head Creelman was beefier, with a full face and fair hair. In their grey suits and vests, they were a formidable pair. Secretary Bousseal walked straight up to where Agent Moharic was seated and stared at the message flashing on and off on the monitor.
    ‘This only just happened?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Agent Moharic.
    ‘Do we have a GPS fix yet?’
    ‘It’s triangulating now, sir.’
    A sheet of paper worked its way up on the printer. Agent Moharic tore it off and handed it to Secretary Bousseal.
    ‘You read it,’ ordered Secretary Bousseal.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Agent Moharic looked at the printout. ‘Sir, it was breached in Australia.’
    ‘Australia,’ growled Section Head Creelman. ‘So that bastard Tesla was out there. Whereabouts, Agent Moharic?’
    ‘Newcastle, sir. It’s a city in the state