Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

“A neutrino is a subatomic particle created by nuclear reactions, such as those within the sun or from cosmic rays. Normally, they’re very hard to detect.”

“Why?”

“Because they are so small they can pass through matter without stopping. It would take six trillion miles of lead to stop half the neutrinos flowing through the earth, so the earth and everything on it are subjected to constant bombardment from them. But suppose we had a way to observe those few neutrinos that did interact with their surroundings. My long-lost great-uncle, a brilliant physicist named Gunther Lutzen, anticipated neutrinos decades before they were discovered. Not only that, he provided a basis for intercepting them and deciphering the spatial equations that would allow us to view the matter they had already passed through. If his work had been taken seriously at the time, he would have won the Nobel Prize and been mentioned in the same breath as Einstein.”

“And the equipment in that Haitian cave is the neutrino telescope? That’s Sentinel?”

“Yes. Uncle Lutzen theorized that he would need a very particular environment in which to build the telescope, a cavern that had the perfect level of natural radioactive ore and copper impurities to allow for the right conditions. He tracked a rare sample of the ore to Haiti and was about to return to Germany with his discovery when his ship was destroyed by a volcano. He called the cave Oz, but because of the green tinge from the copper in the cave’s selenium crystals, I think he should have called it the Emerald City.”

Washburn nodded in agreement. “So how are you seeing the images from here?”

“I have a transducer that uses the same technology to beam the images directly here from Sentinel, so I can be anywhere in the world and use it. I prefer to be mobile.”

“But you could make millions of dollars with this technology,” Washburn said in awe. “Imagine the potential.”

“Billions of dollars, actually. Perhaps even trillions. And I will make that much. But you aren’t imagining the true potential. I don’t limit myself to thinking of what I can attain financially. Don’t you realize that with Sentinel at our disposal, we can change the world? And I mean that literally. Shaping the future of the United States is only the first step.”

“What more could there be?”

Kensit sighed. He supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised at such limited thinking. “In this day and age, there is only so much one country can accomplish on its own. Think what I can do when I have control of Russia, China, and the European Union.”

“You? What about me?”

Kensit shook his head. “You still don’t understand, do you? I am the only indispensable part of this equation. I’m the only one who knows how to build the neutrino telescope. And you’re looking at Phase One. Currently, I can see only a single location at a time, a distinct disadvantage that I will improve upon soon. I’ve found a second underground cavern even bigger than Oz and I’ve already purchased the land around it for miles. Once Phase Two is built there, I will be able to view as many as a dozen locations at once. With advances in real-time translation software, I will be able to pass on secrets even the NSA can’t deliver to you when you’re president.”

“And that’s how you plan to get me elected,” Washburn said, finally comprehending the possibilities.

“You will know every strategy your opponents plan to use, every secret they want to keep, every scandal they try to hide. You’ll be able to anticipate their every move. Or I will, and then I will pass it on to you. So don’t ever think about betraying me or getting the deluded notion that you could do any of this without me. Because I will find someone who does understand that I am the one making the rules from now on.”

Washburn swallowed hard and nodded. He understood. Kensit had no doubt he would do as instructed.

“You said the first step is to shoot down Air Force Two. How, exactly?”

Kensit manipulated the controls so that the telescope descended on Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida until he had the orange-tipped QF-16 drones on the screen. Then he switched to the drone pilots’ control room.

“Those are modified F-16s, with all the same performance capabilities of the actual fighter jets. I did a test a few days ago. I could take over any of the planes’ command streams by mimicking

the encrypted frequencies that the satellites use to connect them with their control base. The pilots couldn’t tell anything was wrong even when I tried a slight maneuver to make sure I had control.”

“You can fly those drones?”

Kensit nodded. “And they won’t even be missed, because I can spoof the video feed and data relays. Air Force Two is currently sitting on the tarmac in Rio de Janeiro, having taken the VP there for a South American trade conference. In two days it will take off for its return flight to Washington. At the same time, this flight of six QF-16s will be flying toward the UNITAS exercise in the Bahamas for a demonstration. I will commandeer control of those planes and intercept Air Force Two when it’s over Haiti.”

Washburn leaned in, now more fascinated by than appalled at the prospect of killing to reach his goals. “I get it. You’re going to use the drones’ missiles to shoot it down.”

“No, of course not,” Kensit said, pausing for effect. “The drones don’t carry any missiles. I’m going to fly them right into Vice President Sandecker’s plane.”

It was nearly midnight when Juan and Eric rendezvoused with the Oregon in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Juan felt proud of his quick-thinking crew as he read the after-action report about the events at Saint-Pierre. The Oregon had sailed from Martinique after Max and the crew gave statements to the local authorities, corroborated by the submarine passengers, that the ship’s crew were simply innocent bystanders who happened to be in the right place at the right time to rescue the grateful hostages. When he assumed command again, Juan took a calculated guess as to where the evidence from the Roraima would lead them and ordered the ship to head west.

He and the rest of the senior officers had slept during their respective journeys, so he called a late-night meeting in the boardroom to plan their next move. Along the way, he stopped by Maria Sandoval’s cabin. She answered the door wearing a pair of silk pajamas that Julia Huxley had loaned her. Juan thought they suited her well, but he made no comment.

“Thanks for seeing me, Captain Cabrillo.”

Juan leaned against the door, creating the unspoken impression that this would be a short visit. “Are you being treated all right?”

“Every amenity I could ask for. Your facilities are marvelous. I wish we had them on my ship.”

“The benefits of our chosen profession.” He left it at that to keep up the appearances that they were simply smugglers. “I understand you called your company and your friends to let them know you’re alive and safe.”