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Authors: Richard Phillips
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magnitude that scientists initially dismissed the results. Later correlation with ATLAS detector data showed them to have been caused by the November Anomaly.
For Big John, this series of apocalyptic events occurring nearly simultaneously had raised a red flag, one that tugged at Denise’s curiosity. Thus seduced, she had added a new priority intelligence requirement to Big John’s list, and yesterday Big John had delivered.
A recently published paper by Dr. Frederick Botz, an obscure physics professor at Arizona State University, offered up a triangulation of the three gravitational wave observations that placed the origin of the event not at the ATLAS detector, but in the general vicinity of the New Mexico–Colorado border. Although the paper had drawn almost no attention in the scientific community, it had brought beads of cold sweat to Denise’s brow. Due to her long relationship with Big John, her mind had come to function in harmony with the machine. Like tumblers in a lock, the pieces clicked into place.
Los Alamos. The gravitational event had originated at Los Alamos at the same time that the Rho Ship had died, just as the November Anomaly appeared in Meyrin, Switzerland. Everywhere she looked, Dr. Stephenson’s tentacles touched the surface. He was the common factor. Stephenson had been the first to open the Rho Ship. He had been in charge of all the research on alien technologies, behind the scheduled release to the public. Add to the pot the fact that every serious political opponent of the Rho Project had turned up dead. Then, on the night his plans came crashing down, the Rho Ship had died, somehow triggering a gravitational event detected across the world, possibly causing a quasi-stable singularity to form at the heart of the ATLAS detector.
Now Dr. Stephenson was about to be exonerated and placed in charge of the scientific effort to save the planet from the November Anomaly. Of course all of this was speculation on Denise’s part. No one else would believe her even if she brought itto the NSA director’s attention. Besides, she didn’t relish the idea of going public with her allegations against Dr. Stephenson.
But Big John had identified another anomaly, this time a statistical one. Through a correlation so mysterious that it had bypassed everyone else’s notice, Big John had identified a group closely connected to Dr. Stephenson’s current situation, a group for which the connection made no sense. That’s what drew Denise in so irresistibly. Score one for curiosity.
Turning her attention back to the bank of LCD monitors, Denise finalized Big John’s new command.
Highest priority intelligence requirement.
Heather McFarland. Mark Smythe. Jennifer Smythe.
Restricted access override...Denise Jennings...eyes only.
Buried far beneath Chekhov, Russia, the spartan briefing room represented an insignificant fraction of the Russian General Staff’s wartime command post. The assemblage of military officers sat in total silence, a silence that the scientist who had just concluded his briefing dared not break.
General Sergei Kharnov leaned sideways in his chair, his chin propped on his left hand at an angle that made it difficult to see his eyes through his bushy brown eyebrows. He didn’t trust the American, despite the fact that he was the most important Russian spy since Klaus Fuchs penetrated the Manhattan Project. Still there was no denying the quality of the scientific information he had provided to the Ministry of Defense. The American government’s furious reaction to Dr. Frell’s defection had held no surprises for Kharnov, coming as it did right after the news about Henderson House. That, and the tremendous effort the Russiangovernment had thrown into smuggling Dr. Frell out of the US, should have convinced him of the man’s loyalty.
But General Kharnov had a rule of thumb that had served him well throughout his long career. Never trust politicians or spies.
A drop of water fell
For Big John, this series of apocalyptic events occurring nearly simultaneously had raised a red flag, one that tugged at Denise’s curiosity. Thus seduced, she had added a new priority intelligence requirement to Big John’s list, and yesterday Big John had delivered.
A recently published paper by Dr. Frederick Botz, an obscure physics professor at Arizona State University, offered up a triangulation of the three gravitational wave observations that placed the origin of the event not at the ATLAS detector, but in the general vicinity of the New Mexico–Colorado border. Although the paper had drawn almost no attention in the scientific community, it had brought beads of cold sweat to Denise’s brow. Due to her long relationship with Big John, her mind had come to function in harmony with the machine. Like tumblers in a lock, the pieces clicked into place.
Los Alamos. The gravitational event had originated at Los Alamos at the same time that the Rho Ship had died, just as the November Anomaly appeared in Meyrin, Switzerland. Everywhere she looked, Dr. Stephenson’s tentacles touched the surface. He was the common factor. Stephenson had been the first to open the Rho Ship. He had been in charge of all the research on alien technologies, behind the scheduled release to the public. Add to the pot the fact that every serious political opponent of the Rho Project had turned up dead. Then, on the night his plans came crashing down, the Rho Ship had died, somehow triggering a gravitational event detected across the world, possibly causing a quasi-stable singularity to form at the heart of the ATLAS detector.
Now Dr. Stephenson was about to be exonerated and placed in charge of the scientific effort to save the planet from the November Anomaly. Of course all of this was speculation on Denise’s part. No one else would believe her even if she brought itto the NSA director’s attention. Besides, she didn’t relish the idea of going public with her allegations against Dr. Stephenson.
But Big John had identified another anomaly, this time a statistical one. Through a correlation so mysterious that it had bypassed everyone else’s notice, Big John had identified a group closely connected to Dr. Stephenson’s current situation, a group for which the connection made no sense. That’s what drew Denise in so irresistibly. Score one for curiosity.
Turning her attention back to the bank of LCD monitors, Denise finalized Big John’s new command.
Highest priority intelligence requirement.
Heather McFarland. Mark Smythe. Jennifer Smythe.
Restricted access override...Denise Jennings...eyes only.
Buried far beneath Chekhov, Russia, the spartan briefing room represented an insignificant fraction of the Russian General Staff’s wartime command post. The assemblage of military officers sat in total silence, a silence that the scientist who had just concluded his briefing dared not break.
General Sergei Kharnov leaned sideways in his chair, his chin propped on his left hand at an angle that made it difficult to see his eyes through his bushy brown eyebrows. He didn’t trust the American, despite the fact that he was the most important Russian spy since Klaus Fuchs penetrated the Manhattan Project. Still there was no denying the quality of the scientific information he had provided to the Ministry of Defense. The American government’s furious reaction to Dr. Frell’s defection had held no surprises for Kharnov, coming as it did right after the news about Henderson House. That, and the tremendous effort the Russiangovernment had thrown into smuggling Dr. Frell out of the US, should have convinced him of the man’s loyalty.
But General Kharnov had a rule of thumb that had served him well throughout his long career. Never trust politicians or spies.
A drop of water fell
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