Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chap. 29/34

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Air Force Sweetheart
TacPzlSolGp
Chapter 29/34

 

by T. D. Aldoennetti

previously:

Once back at the conference room, Nora goes to the safe for our typed notes, the pink tablets and my conclusions tablet. When she returns we begin again, still looking through the information for the elusive answer we need to identify the country which could be behind this. I’m beginning to think I won’t have the answer before the General returns. Nora has to leave; she’s scheduled to watch the desk while Jenny has lunch, so I continue the search on my own for the moment.


Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Wed, 2008/11/26 - 8:21am, Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 29 is revised and reposted on Thu, 2009/12/31 - 07:12 PM. ~Sephrena


 

Different Roots:

 

Chapter 29

 

When Jenny returns from lunch, Nora comes in to assist me again. I’m no closer to the answer than I was two hours ago. She asks if I would like some coffee and I say, “Okay, with a touch of sugar, please.” Five minutes later she’s back with the cups and we sit for a few minutes sipping our coffee and chatting about her favorite topic…: Men.

“I really like Bill,” she says. “Once he opened up, he’s very interesting. I don’t think he ever took the time to get to really know a girl. I managed to learn a lot about him.”

She goes on for a few more minutes telling me more about why she likes him and asking what I think about him.

I’m still thinking about my problem with moles, and wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been, but…. Suddenly, I asked, “What did you just say?”

“What? That he took first in light heavyweight boxing while at Candidate School?”

“No, about his name.”

“Oh that. Bill is just his nickname. His real name is Wilhelm. German ancestry you know.”

Everything falls into place. “That’s it!”

She looks at me like I’m crazy.

“That’s the answer to the problem I’ve been trying to figure out. Oh, not German, but that elusive answer about how someone could be American and also something else.” By now I’m scanning through my conclusions list and find the nationalities I listed under 1, 2, and 3.

“Now it makes sense. The people we’re looking at here have two nationalities. They may be Americans, but their ancestry is foreign. They were brought up in America, but are still thinking like foreign nationals, with some sort of loyalty to their country of origin in place of their duty to the USA. Here, let me add some information to this tablet and then you please type it up and make three copies. Then everything except one full copy should go into the safe with the folders.”

The General returns thirty minutes late. Nora has completed the typing and we have our original hand-written, and the original typed copies, in the safe. One of the duplicated copies of both the source and conclusions plus my notes for both, plus my own conclusions are in my briefcase awaiting the opportunity to be presented.

I change my mind — woman’s prerogative — and have all the folders brought into the conference room where we spread them out to show the time line, the duplicate conclusions and the missing ones. Now I wait. Nora exits the conference room to perform her normal duties as time continues to tick by. Finally, about 1600, he’s free and I ask him to come into the conference room. I seat him before the folders and begin to explain everything.

-o~O~o-

About 1730 I have finished and answered his questions. I covered the material again, but interactively, varying my presentation to accomodate his questions. I lead him through the incorrect conclusions and explain why they are incorrect. Then I take him through what I believe is the real megillah. He follows my explanation quite well, and understands the roundabout way I arrived at my theories and recommendations. He’s extremely interested in the nationality issue, and in the relationship between the first supposedly raw data and that of the conclusions.

I didn’t quite go so far as to say that there’s a mole in the Agency, but the inference is there, plain as the mole on someone’s face, and twice as ugly.

He takes another five minutes to digest everything and then asks more questions. I check my watch from time to time and he finally gets the hint.

“I want you to come present this tomorrow.”

Geez, there goes my chance to be ready for the embassy bash.

“I’d love to, Sir, but I have a commitment tomorrow at noon which cannot be changed.”

“A commitment?”

“Yes, Sir, at the Israeli embassy.”

He catches on fast.

“Oh. All right, I’ll arrange for the presentation to occur tomorrow morning at eight. Wait here a minute while I confirm that.”

He goes out and returns three or four minutes later.

“All right, Colonel. A car will pick you up at your father’s at 0700. It will stop long enough to pick up Sergeant Joi and then bring you both here and wait for you. Staff Sergeant Joi will remove all this stuff from the safe and the two of you will take the car to the briefing location.

Bring twenty copies of your conclusions, plus anything else you need, like extra copies for yourself and Sergeant Joi. How much was she involved in this?”

“I showed her how to make the deductions and some of this is her product. I double checked it, of course, but she developed the initial conclusions in some cases.”

“Good, then the two of you will be there. I’ll be there as well, but I’ll come in a different car. I want to hear this again and see the look on some of their faces, to gauge their reactions.”

“Yes, Sir. Is that all for today, Sir? It’s getting late again.”

“Yes. I’d advise making the copies now, since there may be no time in the morning.”

I guess I’m back to briefing Command-level decision makers. The only difference I see now is that I’m in skirts and have greater rank. And more difficult assignments.

-o~O~o-

“…that pretty much sums it up. Any questions?”

We’ve been here since 0800. The presentation was ready and waiting since 0810, and waiting and waiting. They finally all come in about 0850 and immediately launched into a round table discussion of other matters. Unfortunately being outspoken is one of my worst faults. I basically tell them, “Mr. President, gentlemen, I’m here to present developments concerning our vital national interests, but I don’t need to be here if you’re not interested in the information I was brought here to present. Go ahead and let World War III start without you. This time, the only thing that will survive is the amoebas.”

Even that didn’t sink in for almost thirty seconds. The Science Advisor was the only one who picked up on it. The General just sat back and watched. He’d already told me this was my show so whatever happened I needed to control it.

The Science Advisor manages to catch the atention of the President who quiets the whole group down as the Science Advisor asks, “Would you mind clarifying that statement?” The others just looked around like, ‘What did I miss?’

A few questions are directed at the Science Advisor with the hubbub starting to climb once more, until I finally yelled over them all, “Shut the hell up and listen and you just might learn something that will keep you alive for the next week.”

That got their attention for perhaps ten seconds. This group is good at talking but not so good at listening or comprehending. Maybe they simply can’t grasp the idea that any woman might know anything of importance. I start to feel like I’m not even in the same room with these men. I ponder the problem for a while, then direct Nora to pack our folders back into the briefcase. Looking around, I identify the major problem, the President’s Science Advisor, who’s engaged in an earnest discussion with the man sitting next to him, and decide to take decisive action. I pick up a pitcher of ice water and walk over to him.

“Would you care for some ice water, ‘Sir?’ ” I’m hoping that he won’t notice my sarcasm, so affect a pleasant lilt in my voice.

“Yes, thank you,” he says absently, without even looking at me, as if I were his waitress.

I calmly pour the pitcher over his head, which effectively halts all conversation and brings him to his feet sputtering and yelling. He sees me smiling and tries to give me a backhanded slap, the big bully, which I deftly counter before sitting him gently back down in his chair, which unfortunately has a small pool of ice water in it. It must have been uncomfortable, because he’s back on his feet a moment later, cussing a ‘blue streak’ as I walk away from him and take my place beside Nora. The rest of the men are now silent, wide-eyed, but silent.

I ask them calmly, “Are you all paying attention now? If so, then you might be interested to know that all life on Earth is on track to be destroyed.”

That produces a lot of smirking and snickers, until the President gets up and tells them all to shut up and listen to me. “I want to hear what she has to say,” he says, “and if I have to send you all out of the room in order to do it, then that’s what will happen. But if it does, don’t expect to continue working for my administration.”

Finally, a man said something, so that wakes them up enough that they start looking towards the small military contingent at one end of the table. They all sit back and for once are all ears.

I start with the ‘red meat,’ “I’ve discovered that a foreign interest is trying to manipulate us into attacking some foreign location, although we still don’t know where the imputed target is located, but their purpose, apparently, is to gain sympathy and followers who are willing to help destroy the United States. The target is apparently a self-regenerating biological weapons system of such potency that, if anything more than a thimbleful survives our attack, we can kiss all life on Earth, people, animals, trees, and mushrooms, goodbye forever.”

They don’t believe it, of course, but they are encouraged to listen, at least, as I explain.

I have only two hours remaining to make this presentation and answer questions so I launch into the spiel I’ve gone over several times by now. I finish the entire presentation in an hour and twenty minutes, carefully guiding them through the information and all the deductions springing from it, both those of the Agency and mine.

I show them why the source Intel is tainted, and how we know this, and then I prove what the compromised Intel is hiding. Then I do the same thing for each of my findings, including why I think that the report from the Agency was slanted, how it deliberately led decision-makers away from any consideration of biological weapons, and what that implied.

I demonstrate the ripple effect and how it helps us to find the truth, and shows us where to look for the real answers. I show them how the real intelligence was camouflaged, buried in visual and intellectual ‘noise’ until the ideas which it concealed were rendered inconsequential.

“This is a serious danger, I believe. From the hints I’ve gathered, one national entity has been working for some time on a kind of ‘Doomsday’ deterrent to ‘protect’ themselves. Another group knows about this, but evidently doesn’t take their effort seriously, but does see that the first group’s paranoia about the USA would make them tempting targets, since any preëmptive attack would backfire, in their minds, because it would ‘only’ cause massive civilian casualties in the vicinity of the operation, and show the world that the original party was justified in feeling paranoid.” I look around the room and see a few of them are taking such a threat seriously, but I need more of them nodding their heads and looking grim.

“But I don’t believe that the first party can be that easily dismissed. The intelligence that slips through underneath the other party’s ‘painting the roses red’ strategy, and the quality of the scientists they’ve recruited, leads me to believe that the first party may have been successful in their effort, and have developed, as they planned, a self-replicating quasi-biological agent which attacks all carbon-based life forms, the ‘grey goo’ implied by the famous mathematician John von Neumann in lectures he delivered in 1948 and 1949, describing what he called kinematic self-reproducing automata which could make use of any and all environmental substances to recreate themselves, and only themselves, on a microscopic scale. The idea was reiterated, in a popular form, in a 1955 issue of Scientific American magazine, but evidently our first group has been running with the original concept for quite some time now.”

“The only way to destroy such creatures is to burn them out with plasma fire, that is, thermonuclear weapons, but a first nuclear strike by us, anywhere on the globe, would undoubtedly ignite World War III, and the von Neumann machines would eat whatever is left after the bombs stopped falling. It’s exactly this which causes me to desire more information, untainted information, about the potential target before it can be either moved or released, accidentally or otherwise, so we can create a strategic approach aimed toward neutralizing or destroying it safely. I sincerely hope that we can rise to the occasion, because otherwise it just might be that mankind has finally stumbled onto something that will end all complex carbon-based life on the face of the planet without even a whimper left behind.”

By the time I finish my presentation, they all look sick.

The first question comes and I answer it to the best of my knowledge, using the compromised information we presently have. I then present my argument for the existence of a highly-placed mole in the Agency providing the information for us. I provide my assumed foreign heritage and the ancestral background of that mole, suggesting that his parents, or his grandparents, are likely immigrants. They themselves aren’t necessarily involved in the treason putting us at risk, and the individual involved could have been recruited during the past few years, possibly during a visit to his or her ancestral homeland. My money is on it being a man, because whoever it was seemed to think like a man, but the probability is only eighty percent.

I continue, “We should CAREFULLY investigate the target that’s been dangled in front of us, just as we should VERY carefully investigate the parties behind this effort at sabotage, who are the real target. The best course of action might be to use a special forces team to infiltrate the development site, capture and spirit the weapon away to our underground nuclear test site in Nevada, and then destroy it there, with no chance of release into the atmosphere or the ground water.” I look around the table and see quite a few pale faces as the enormity of the problem sinks in.

Glowing in the dark as a result of war has just taken a great back seat to the potential for all of us to just melt away into puddles of goo, or some other equally undesirable transition into nothingness. “This is not so much a biological weapon as it is an ultimate doomsday device. We must place it somewhere where it cannot harm anything, and then burn it away. Destroying it where it presently resides might be just as dangerous as having it suddenly appear in the middle of our country. I think the scientists will bear me out when I suggest that the winds could carry any tiny remnants of this… ultimate poison all around the globe. And it’s not just a defense, but also a potential tool for global blackmail in the hands of anyone crazy enough to use it. If we don’t do whatever they say, then they might threaten to destroy all life, possibly including their own, by simply taking this weapon up to the top of a hill on a windy day and opening a jar of the vicious stuff.”

“I find it difficult to believe that the original developers, hard-headed scientists who wanted to protect their country after the war, would plan to kill themselves, or their countrymen, deliberately, so they may have had some sort of antidote or counter-agent in mind to attack the original weapon, but there’s no guarantee that any putative antidote has gone beyond wishful thinking, if they’ve made any effort at all. The other party may see it as just a plausible threat with no reality, or may simply not care. Blackmailers always seem to think that they hold all the cards, so people will instantly give them everything they want, but things will almost certainly slip out of their control, and with any slip, no matter how tiny, the damage would be done.”

I look at Nora beside me, who looks exactly as frightened as I feel. “All animals, fish, people, any life that is carbon based would die, eaten by these tiny machines. Bacteria might survive, or some forms of amoeba which are not carbon based, but I don’t know if any such life exists, since that sort of thing is not my field of expertise. You need to talk to scientists about that, perhaps the Science Advisor here.” I smile at him winningly, and he seems to have forgiven me, or has at least realized that he has enough trouble on his plate right now without pursuing a quarrel with the messenger. “The important thing right now is their timetable, which appears to offer us less than two weeks to not only find the location of the device or mechanism, but to determine any potential vulnerability of the target to infiltration or sudden assault, and to neutralize it.”

“Now the real problem. We can’t use our present agents in any way, other than as camouflage for our own operation, allowing them to wander down the primrose path laid out before us. We can specifically do nothing whatsoever to alert them, even if they’re in danger, because they’re already known to our enemy, as witness our enemy’s provision of intentionally misleading information to all seven collection teams over a multitude of collection times. We’re being led around by our noses, like cattle to slaughterhouse. Where we go from here is up to you. I’m only an analyst; I can advise, but can’t fly off to solve the problem in my invisible jet plane. I’m sure that we have teams available which specialize in these sorts of highly sensitive operations.”

I look at my watch, 1230, I’m unbelievably late.

I start gathering up my things, and flash to Nora, ‘It’s time to go.’ as I rise to offer my final words. “Thank you for listening. If there are no other questions I can answer, the information just covered is in the small synopsis folders before you, and it’s really all I know. I have another engagement. Thank you for listening, Mr. President, gentlemen.”

The President says wryly, “Thank you for enduring us. The next time you need to get our attention, though, would you just blow a whistle? I’m certain my science adviser would appreciate it.”

I give him a mischievous smile, “I’ll try to remember to bring one along, Sir,” and I sincerely hope that there is a next time. Thank you so much for your valuable time.”

Staff Sergeant Joi and I pack up our things and I put my uniform jacket back on.

This is the first that the men have noticed I’m an officer and not some kindergarten teacher in a uniform. Nora and I walk out of the room without waiting for a dismissal. The General follows us a minute or two later.

“You were kind of hard on them, Colonel.”

“Children should be seen and not heard, Sir. I’m unbelievably late, I need a fast ride home.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “Your Father warned me you were outspoken. He failed to mention impulsive and self-assured. One good thing though.”

“What’s that, Sir?”

“The next briefing you give to them, they will likely shut up and listen very quickly. I think I’ll only use you when we need the big guns.”

“Thank you, Sir. Nora and I make a good team. About the car, Sir?”

“Come on. I think that we just may be able to arrange something to get you home in a timely manner.”

He was correct. I did get home very quickly, in about a third of the time it would have taken by car. However, helicopters tearing up Father’s front lawn might just need to be removed from the list of usual options, even though it was a very small helicopter.

Geez, 1300. I have four and a half hours, at the most, to do everything…. Oh well, here goes. Calling down to security, I let them know that Lieutenant Colonel Scott is coming to pick me up sometime between 1700 and 1800. Now I dump my uniform clothes on the bed, sit at the vanity and remove my light peach fingernail polish.

Then I jump into the shower and rapidly clean off my makeup and scrub down.

My hair is next. Finally, I stand a moment to allow the water to drain off before wrapping my hair in a towel and then patting myself dry with a second towel.

I throw on my robe and make tracks for my vanity again. I dry my hair as best as the towels allow, using the hair dryer sparingly so I don’t turn it into a fly-away mess, then begin brushing. It’s 1330; I’m falling behind. Finally my hair is dry and silky, 1345. Getting everything out of the dressers and putting away my uniform takes another five minutes bringing me to 1350. I dust myself in scented powder, then dress in everything but the gown and shoes. Sitting at the vanity again, I put on my makeup and then do my nails. If worse comes to worst, I can finish touching it up in the car.

Makeup, twenty minutes. Two layers on the nails, fifty. Not bad, got them right on the first try.

Now fifteen minutes for the hardener. Geez! Okay, twenty-five. That took longer to dry than I’d allowed for.

Call down to the kitchen and ask for some carrot sticks, celery and mixed fruit to tide me over until later, less than five minutes. Check the nails…. Okay. Put my hair up, ten minutes. Check the time. Still looks close. Throw on my robe and answer the door. Receive the tidbits and return to my vanity while starting to crunch on a carrot stick again less than five minutes. Check my eyes and finish them to compliment the dark blue gown, ten tops. Check everything again….

Add perfume to all the vital places and a few not so vital. Check my hair and touch up my makeup just a smidgen, five. Put on my gown, situating it as I zip it.

Yes, I have lost just a little weight, nice. Find the matching shoes. Oh goody, where are the shoes? Find the shoes in the wrong closet and bring them out. Eight minutes. Open the safe and find the sapphires and the diamond tiara.

Remove them from their boxes, return the boxes to the safe and lock it, five. Put on the sapphires, and the tiara after three attempts. Check everything once again. I’ve lost ten minutes somewhere. Finish my tidbits, fifteen minutes. Wash and dry hands, four. Transfer money and ID, compact and lipstick to my clutch. Locate the invitations…. Okay, where did I put them? Oh, yes. Over there. Walk across the room to retrieve them and place them safely with my clutch, ten minutes. Take fur from closet, put on shoes, pick up clutch and invitations and go to bedroom door, three. Walk back to closet and return jacket, taking coat instead, wonderful, four hours and ten minutes and I’m ready. If he shows early, great. If he’s on time, great. Out the door and down the stairs…. In the hall, I place my fur, clutch and invitations on the couch ready to go, 1714. Whew! Sixteen minutes to spare. Nothing like a timetable.

I go to the hall mirror to check myself over once more. Okay…? Uhmm…, no. Out comes my compact from my clutch so I can touch up my nose, just a smidgen. Good. Not I can put my compact away and just lounge around, standing, of course. I know better than to sit in this gown.

-o~O~o-

“You look nice, Lucy. Your young man had better appreciate your effort.”

“Thanks, Mom. Wow, you look great in that. I don’t remember seeing it before. Is it new?”

“No. I’ve had this for several years. It was just in storage until we returned stateside. I didn’t bother getting everything out until just a couple of months ago. Then I put it all through the cleaners over the course of the last month and a half to freshen them. I really haven’t had the need for it until now. I thought, since you’re in dark blue, I could wear this dark maroon.”

“I thought I heard voices down here. Now this isn’t something I see everyday. You two are going to be the envy of every lady at the embassy.”

Daddy walks over and kisses Mom, “I hope I can keep my hands off you all evening. Maybe you’d better carry some Mace. I may become uncontrollable.”

I smile and Mom starts laughing, “Well, Phillip, you had best rein yourself in, at least until we return home again.”

He turns and looks at me, “Lucy, for someone who doesn’t want to go tonight you certainly have gone out of your way to make every other young woman envious. I hope your ‘Randolf’ is carrying a stick.”

“A stick? Oh, no.” I shake my head, “We used to say, ‘I’d better carry a baseball bat to keep the men away.’ Almost the same idea, and thank you for the compliment.”

The doorbell rings and it’s the driver for Mom and Daddy. Daddy asks if I have everything and I show him the invitations. He gets this stricken look on his face for a moment, but then he remembers and he checks his breast pocket, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds them. “I put them in there, so I wouldn’t forget them, and then forgot where I put them. When is he arriving to pick you up?”

“It should be any minute. Go ahead, we’ll find you when we get there.”

Mom lifts her mink from the couch and Daddy helps her with it, then they go out the door to the car.

I check the time and it isn’t quite 1730 so we’re okay. Even if we arrive a little later than 1800, that would still be all right.

They’re headed down to the gate as I close the door again. Winter isn’t here, but you can tell it’s on its way. The night air is getting chilly.

Mom and Daddy have been gone all of a minute when I notice car lights hitting the windows around the door. They must have forgotten something, they barely had time to get out the gate. I go open the door and see Randolf’s car driving up. Leaving the door open, I go to collect my coat, clutch and the invitations. I manage to work my coat on before I hear him at the door.

“Come on in,” I say distractedly, checking myself in the mirror again.

When I’m satisfied, I check to be certain I have everything and then turn in his direction, just as he enters the room.

He stops with a stunned look on his face.

“Wow. I told you that you’re a Princess. Nice. Very nice. I’ll be the envy of every guy there.”

“At least until they see Mom.”

“If she looks anything like her daughter, then your father and I will have the two best looking women at the embassy by our sides.”

He offers me his arm and we go out to his car. Opening my door for me, he allows me to get in and collect the wayward portions of my gown and coat until he sees that I’m clear, then closes the door carefully. Finally we are on our way.

“You just missed Mom and Daddy. They drove out about a minute before you arrived.”

“We waved. I arrived at the gate and managed to drive in just before it closed.” He paused to look thoughtfully at me before continuing, “How are you doing, Lucy?”

“I’m okay. So far. I’ll see once we get there, and we walk into the middle of all those people.”

We arrive shortly after 1800 and quickly pass through the watchful eyes of security. My coat is taken and I place my stub into my clutch which I have no inclination of releasing to anyone other than for that short security check and sweep for bugs. We discover the room to be mostly empty but there are more people arriving every minute. We wander and I try to find Mom and Dad, finally spotting them talking with another couple whom I have not seen before.

I indicate their location to Randolf with a roll of my eyes and he turns and spots Daddy so we make our way in that direction as I listen to snippets of conversation here and there. As we approach, they part company with the other couple and again begin to start to network around the room. We catch up just before they approach someone who is in Soviet Dress Uniform. Daddy begins introductions of us all to the gentleman and after Mom, “And this is one of my daughters, Lucy, and her escort for the night, Herr Rudolf Klein of the German pharmaceuticals company Boehringer Ingelheim.

I do my best not to start at Randolf’s, I mean Rudolf’s introduction. I just continue to smile as the officer takes my hand and kisses it, in the French manner, and then tells me in French that he is enchanted. I reply, thanking him also in French, then ask how he is doing. He laughs and tells us he is afraid that all the French he knows has just been surpassed. His English contains much more of an accent than did his French. He warrants watching.

After Randolf and I wander away again, I nudge him gently and he cocks his head in my direction as we continue to walk. I tell him about the officer, his French and his English and my thoughts he might be worth observing.

“I agree, but for other reasons.”

We bump across another couple under ‘Rudolf’s’ expert handling and I make introductions anew since ‘Rudolf’s’ heavily accented English isn’t quite up to the task. After a minute we are again circulating. I poke him and again he leans his head in my direction.

“Be careful, you sound more like a Hungarian than a German.”

“That’s okay, I’m a Hungarian German.”

I give him a disgusted stare, “Maybe you’d better let me make the introductions.”

“That won’t work. Most of these people are from countries where the woman is second class and usually ignored. They expect the man to make the introductions.”

We come across another couple in whom ‘Rudolf’ has some interest. He again attempts introductions but the language barrier is too great. I can’t stand it and give my apologies to the woman for my escort’s apparent inability to properly use either their language or my own. Then in near fluent Lithuanian I make introductions for us. At my use of his ‘name’ ‘Rudolf’ clicks his heels and nods his head to them. The lady is very happy to have someone with whom to talk and wants to have a conversation.

I request a brief moment and then in careful English explain to ‘Rudolf’ that I am going to remain for a few minutes so he can wander around and I’ll catch up to him. To his credit he looks like he is trying to translate my sentence as he stands there then gives a nod to us and wanders off in the direction of the Chinese.

The lady’s husband also excuses himself and he wanders in another direction toward the Soviet officer. I’ll need to be careful. Now the Soviet will know I speak both French and Lithuanian. He’ll then suspect that I know others. The lady and I enjoy our conversation and she relates to me that she speaks English although not terribly fluently and has missed having someone other than her husband and any embassy staff with whom she may converse in her native tongue.

We have an enjoyable few minutes then I excuse myself explaining that if I don’t control my Escort there is no telling what trouble he may dig up.

“He might even try selling three or four hundred kilograms of Pharmaceuticals to some school teacher.”

She laughs in complete understanding and scoots me off thanking me for the conversation. We touch cheeks, having become sisters of a sort then I rush off to find ‘Rudolf.’ As I pass people I listen to snippets of conversation and come across someone talking about German Pharmaceuticals. I pause and interrupt for a moment, “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for my Escort Rudolf Klein and I heard you mention Pharmaceuticals. Has he spoken with you and, if so, do you happen to know where he went from here?”

I asked in English, knowing they’d been talking in a different language. In halting English they explain that he has indeed been here and they point off in another direction, suggesting I might try over with the group of Israelis. I play dumb and ask which group is the Israelis. The one man comes over to me, placing a hand on my bare shoulder as he stands behind me and points out a uniform in the distance.

I give a slight curtsey and thank them. They smile and I’m off again, targeting the Israelis. The men return to their conversation, the momentary assistance to a young woman now dismissed as unimportant.


 

1996_pcc.jpg To Be Continued….

 

 

 

© 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.

 

 

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Comments

Original comments to this story

Puddintane's picture

Thanks Teddi

Appreciate the second chapter posting today. Sure beats waiting until tomorrow or the next day or two to find out what the analysis results were.

And Thanks, cbee

If it hadn't been for your note I might not have noticed the new chapter until in the morning!

Now, as smart as our girl Lucy is, she has a bad tendency to show off. That might cost her some useful gossip down the road.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather

.45

Somehow, I don't think firing a weapon in the presence of the President would ever be considered kosher. And the MP would be disciplined for allowing someone to take his weapon. That goes beyond impulsive.

firing a .45

You're quite right... In fact, if not in his defense, then firing it would rank right up there with or above 911...

Secondly there would be at least a squad of MP's through the door in just moments and she would find herself on the way to the stockade without so much as a chance to say "BioHazard".

However, this is Fiction and frequently the improbable becomes the possible...
I first wrote her screaming her head off at them but they still ignored her...

I thought she might go over and kick the main character who was mostly responsible but that led to the same scenerio as firing the .45, just took a little longer. So I decided (I'm omnipotent as far as the story goes) to do it that way.
If for no other reason than to shock not only the advisors but my readers... It seems to have worked out just fine.

Teddi

1955-12y5m.jpg Teddi (when I was more than a "few" years younger, )

God Bless You All...

Actually, in RL,

I doubt the MP would have even been in a classified briefing room. And not long ago somebody commented about the hearing loss from shooting off a .357 in a room, I think it would be even worse to do it with a .45. I might have dumped a picher of water over somebody's head, to get their attention. But, as you say, artistic license. And that certainly fits Lucy's impulsive nature.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather

MP in briefing room

Again quite right...

I just couldn't find a better way for Lucy to get her hands on a .45... He wouldn't have given it to her in reality, despite her being a superior officer.

I fired a 9mm in a closed room once... Not a pretty scenerio... Everyone's hearing was afflicted for hours.
Hit what I aimed at though...

pitcher of water runs a close second to going over and kicking the main problem maker (talker -- not the President).
Whatever I may think about any President we may have, that person is still MY President and before any antagonist gets near him they will have to come through me. I may not be formidable, but like Lucy, I am determined.

Besides, I cheat when I fight...

God Bless You all

Teddi

1955-12y5m.jpg Teddi (when I was more than a "few" years younger, )

God Bless You All...

Fair Fight

"Besides, I cheat when I fight..."

A girl after my own heart!

My brother (who acquired some very unusual skills while in the army) taught me, there is no such thing as a fair fight. You get into a fight, the only rule to follow is that you walk out at the end, while the other person is carried out.

Works for me!

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather

1911

The 1911 .45 was designed as a low velocity lead lobber. A huge hunk of lead travelling at a low velocity will bully its way through rather than breaking up. Works great on things like bamboo thickets for which it was designed, I can think of some DI's that would give me hell for forgetting which war that was but anyhow this is why it has the stopping power of a lead bean bag. Fired indoors its very likely to go through the walls or ceiling unless steel reinforced concrete.
Secondly, the Presidnt and select comittee members is no guarantee of security regardless of their security clearance. The SR-71 Blackbird, or Sled as it was known was of the highest level of secrecy. JFK knew LBJ was as loose as a sieve so even the Vice Pres was not told. After JFK died they waited a whole two weeks before they told LBJ about it and in less than a week he blabbed it to the press... they should have strung him up for treason.

Fiction

This is fiction so you can take the story in any direction you choose. You manage to cram multiple impossible things into each chapter. It is up to the reader to decide if the story is worth reading. I keep looking forward to see what Lucy will do in the next chapter.

Thus, for me, the story is successful. Judging from the votes and comments, many other readers agree.

I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow for the next installment.

DJ

Shooting a gun inside

Excellent story, am enjoying reading it. Even though some things taking place make me cringe, I understand that this IS a work of fiction and as such these things can be done without consequence.
However, in real life... please don't ever fire a large calibre handgun inside a closed room. Unless you are already deaf. And don't EVER point a gun at the ceiling and pull the trigger! The people above you will NOT appreciate it. If the ceiling is concrete (as in a secure bunker) that bullet is going to go somewhere, probably where you least want it to. Murphy's Law...
Oh, and if you are ever in the presence of a high power elected official... do not, I repeat, do not, put your hand on a firearm unless you are suicidal. I've been there and seen what the pit bulls (a.k.a. SWAT team) look like. NOT a comfortable feeling when they all look at you... and the Premier wasn't even in the building yet.
Anyhow, love the story. Looking forward to seeing the next instalment.

shooting a gun -- now you tell me...

I know, you just wanted me to experience the chunks of concrete and the "hello, can anybody hear me?" first hand...

I may imagine the .45 a 9mm was quite bad itself.
The immediate aftermath was a little difficult for I went into a sort of -- stunned -- for lack of a better word condition for possbily as long as a minute after firing the 9mm. Someone gently removed it from my hand somewhere along the way and the knife wielder was carried away later. Don't believe my hearing ever quite came back to where it was before that shot.
Oh, and I like pit bulls... There was one down the block where I used to walk, and it would run along the fence while I talked to it as I went by. Finally stopped one day and talked with it and it stood there and cocked it's head and whined (sort of) at me... Came up against the fence so I could scratch it.
Oh, not those pit bulls.

Oh well, I like German Shepherds too.

1955-12y5m.jpg Teddi (when I was more than a "few" years younger, )

God Bless You All...

Ha

You think a .45 is loud, try shooting a Barret that fires .50 BMG (Browning machine gun ammo). That fifty is slightly louder. (a blatant understatement).

Love,

Paula

Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.

The Coda
Chapterhouse: Dune

Hair out of place.

You've got a barrette that shoots bullets? Must be a B-I-G hair ornament!

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather

Hi Teddi,
Lucy's story is

Hi Teddi,
Lucy's story is wonderful. She is an "in your face" lady when need be and yet still a real lady. Her unusal method of gaining everyone's attention was very interesting to say the least. Self-important people generally tend to ignore those they think are beneath them and I believe this is what they were doing to Lucy. J-Lynn

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

May you be blessed by an abundance of food, a great nurturing for your souls, and a smathering of Love to top it all off.

See you all next week.

1955-12y5m.jpg Teddi (when I was more than a "few" years younger, )

God Bless You All...

Noise

Noise, If you ever flown in a UH-1B Gun Ship with a pod Mounted 7.62 Mini-Gun thats 6 barrels of 7.62 Ammo(M-14 or M-60 Ammo, or same as 30 odd 6 Ammo) firing between 1500 to 3000 rounds a minute, it leaves you with your ears ringing for 6 weeks or more even when your wearing an SPH-4 helmet with foam ear plugs. We had two pods on loan from the AirForce and I volenteered to go to our free fire range in Mekong Delta to site them in. I think I was only was out there for less then two hours and my ears rang for over two weeks after that. Richard

UH-1B and noise

I was "on the ground" less than a half mile from one when it opened up once... When you are down below and wondering if they are going to make a pass that will include you in it by mistake, the sound becomes overly loud and distinctive.

No one knew I was there so if they had made a second pass and covered the area I was in then I would just have been written of as having "vanished" during mission. Those buzzsaws are scary...

1955-12y5m.jpg Teddi (when I was more than a "few" years younger, )

God Bless You All...

Still Ringing

My ears are -still- ringing; general flight line aircraft noise damage and flying around in them. UH-1B mech. I could never understand those guys that were A-4 mechs chaining an A-4 down and doing high power runups to check them out while crawling all over them. I'd sit in a mule at a safe distance waiting for armagedon to happen :)
It hurts my ears just thinking about them.

Noise

Yes I also remember flying with the AC-47 (DC-3 Dakotas) the were armed with three of the same pod mini guns and did cover for them late at night and they fired 5-1 tracer ammo and the ships got the nickname of "Puff-The-Magic-Dragons" in Vietnam those today have been replace with AC-130's firing 20mm Gatlings and they also carry 105 Recoiless Gun, very potent gun ship. Richard

-

Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

Notes on Chapter 29

Puddintane's picture
End of the World Scenarios

People have been contemplating the end of the world as we know it for a very long time, from the cyclic creation, destruction, and recreation of the Universe in Vedic Religion, to the Ragnarök of the ancient Scandinavians, to similar ideas in the many religions of the Americas and the Middle East.

It's such a common preoccupation that there's even a special branch of philosophy and religious studies called Eschatology, that part of theology concerned with death, judgment, and the final destiny of the soul and of humankind.

The notion that man-made creations might cause the end of the world made its first appearance (as far as we know) around the Fifteenth Century of the Common Era, in the form of a Golem, a creature made of clay and infused with the holy spirit.

A. E. van Vogt actually used a variation on this idea in 1943, as a plot device in his science-fiction short story "M33 in Andromeda", which was later combined with four other of his General Semantics stories to became the novel, The Voyage of the Space Beagle. The story describes the invention of self-replicating weapons factories building self-aimed weapons designed to destroy the Anabis, a galaxy-spanning malevolent life form bent on destruction of the human race.

One might also consider Karel Čapek's 1920 play, R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots), which used self-replicating robots (or clones) which destroy the entire human race, itself a variation on the Medieval Jewish legend of the Golem, although the actual science involved was necessarily vague back then.

Firing a Gun

There’s a discussion of .45 automatics in the original comments which will make no sense to readers who haven't seen the original version of the story. With approval, this scene has become considerably less dramatic.

-

Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

I just love these affairs...

Andrea Lena's picture

...let's see...compact, check, lipstick, check, ID, check, Beretta, check! Thanks again for this terrific tale and Happy New Year!


She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Possa Dio riccamente vi benedica, tutto il mio amore, Andrea

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Feelings

I don't know where this is going to go but I have a definite feeling that there are other sinister forces around to derail what Lucy's trying to do. She's uncovered something and it's not clear that her Lt Col is all that he appears to be.....It's a tough plot to follow but worth sticking with !

Not to mention

--though I suppose that I just have mentioned--that her Lt. Col. is the correct nationality for Lucy's mole candidate. Either he is being set up as a red herring, or Lucy has a mole escorting her at Embassy functions. Not a happy thought, that last.

SuZie

SuZie

Air Force Sweetheart -29

The idea in this chapter is truly terifying. It is the making of a sci fi movie.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

The Dreaded Grey Goo

terrynaut's picture

I'm not sure about the grey goo part. I think it would've been better to stick with something that people could better identify with, like a nuclear warhead. Still, I appreciate the effort.

I loved how Lucy got the Science Advisor's attention. I guess she used a gun in a previous version. I agree that doesn't sound likely, and I think the current version is both more likely and better. It would be great to see the scene played out on the big screen.

The embassy function is fun. It's nice to see what a little love therapy has done for Lucy's PTSD. Her fear of men seems to be all but forgotten.

Thanks!

- Terry

Off to the Ball?

I think if I'd just told the President we had 2 short weeks to save life on Earth, as we know it, I don't know that I would rush out the room for a date.

I can make some allowances for being a work of fiction, but at some point the whole thing gets so improbable that I switch from "what's going to happen now?" to "I wonder what irrational nonsense the author is going to feed us next?" It's like my mental state gets knocked out of the (fun) fantasy world back to the (boring) real world.