Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“You were a pacifist,” he said.

“So were you.”

He nodded slowly and reapplied his beard. “It seems we’ve both realized the truth. Pacifism in a violent world is another term for suicide. Only the evil and violence I see resides in government buildings and ivory towers.”

“There’s a difference between governments and terrorists.”

“Only in the scale of their atrocities,” he insisted. “Learning that was the key to everything. Despite my desire to simply leave it all behind, I soon learned that the Nighthawk project had been transferred to the NSA and that the unthinkable was going to be attempted. I began to obsess over ways to expose it without exposing myself. Ways to prevent what you might do. Eight long years has led to this.”

“And what exactly is this?” she asked. “How is it better? The whole world put at risk so you could take the mixed-state matter away from us and give it to the Russians? That’s your solution? Hand the most powerful substance ever known to a nation that invades its neighbors, crushes any form of freedom or human rights and poisons its detractors with radioactive isotopes?”

As he stepped toward Emma he said, “You’re so focused on winning. You fail to see the forest for the trees. You fail to understand my position even as I shout it at you. All governments are evil. All power corrupts. Of course I’m not working for the Russians. Or for the Chinese. Or for the Americans.” His voice grew tighter and louder. “They, and you, are all working for me.”

The statement rang of such megalomania, she could hardly believe it had come from his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

She tried to step back but was frozen by the depth of hate in the eyes that bore deeply into hers. “I needed allies,” he said smugly. “I made them a deal. I would hack into the NSA’s system and divert the Nighthawk into their clutches if they would provide the means to collect it.”

“You’re the Falconer,” she said.

“I see you’ve heard the name.”

It made perfect sense now. She realized they’d played right into his hands. “You designed the automated computer system that operated the X-37 and we used it virtually unchanged in the Nighthawk. No wonder you were able to hack into it and redirect the aircraft. No wonder we never found a mole. You were operating remotely the whole time and we weren’t looking for a dead man.”

“Your mistake,” he said arrogantly. “One of many.”

“How’d you do it? How did you get past the encryption?”

He stepped so close to Emma, she could feel his hot breath. “NASA left a huge back door open to your project,” he said. “It was so easy to hack, I thought it might be a trap. I received data from every division like clockwork. I probably had more information about the program than any single person actually working on it. And when you decided to bring it back a week early because of the storm, I was literally the first to know.”

Their betrayal was complete. “But why? To what end?” She hesitated. “What’s the point of all this?”

He stared back at her, his eyes never blinking. She saw him now. The same man but changed, deranged by some mad desire. “Balance,” he said. “I gave the Russians a choice, I gave the Chinese a choice and now offer you the same one.”

“Which is?”

“To fight me,” he taunted. “Or to work for me. And, by extension, to work for the common heritage of mankind.”

She wasn’t sure where this was going, but it was not something to refuse out of hand. It might give her a chance to seek help. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“It’s very simple,” he said, his voice teeming with vengeance. “I intend to undo what you and your nation have done. Obviously, I can’t give the mixed-state matter equally to all the world’s citizens or even to each nation or a large group of them. Few have the technological capability to handle it. One part to the Russians, one part to the Chinese, one part to your government and the rest to another group of my choosing.”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was he serious? Her mind drifted back to the Beric she had known and some of his causes. Not only was he a pacifist like her but also an antinationalist, of sorts. He’d written an article he’d titled Duty of the Commons that argued ownership of anything by a nation-state was the cause of wars and strife. It tied in with what he was suggesting now. “You want us to share this?”

“Far better that than one country hoarding all of it,” he said.

“Who are you to make such a decision?”

Urco stepped back and smiled. “The only one who can,” he said smugly, “since I now control the entire stock.”

She struggled to process the situation. It was all too new. He was unstable, delusional and perhaps even certifiably insane, but he was also brilliant, devious and determined. And, at the moment, in an unquestionable position of control.

“Cooperating with you would be considered treason,” she explained.

“Better to live in prison than to die in a cataclysm.”

She looked away. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to help him in any way. But no matter from what angle she approached it at, the answer was always the same: What choice did she have?

His plan sounded like madness, but even that was preferable to Armageddon. “How will I take our portion back to America? Will you let us fly it to Cajamarca?”