Zero Margin: Nick Stryker, Book Three The Shallow End Gals (Nick Stryker Series 3) Read online

  Zero Margin

  Nick Stryker Series,

  Book Three

  The Shallow End Gals

  Teresa Duncan

  Vicki Graybosch

  Linda McGregor

  Kimberly Troutman

  The Characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or coincidence.

  Copyright, Vicki Graybosch 2015

  All rights reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyrighted Material

  ISBN:

  ISBN 13:

  Publisher: P.J. Publishing

  Editing, Erika Canter

  Books by The Shallow End Gals:

  The New Orleans Series

  Alcohol Was Not Involved, Book One of Trilogy

  Extreme Heat Warning, Book Two of Trilogy

  Silent Crickets, Book Three of Trilogy

  Catahoula, Book Four of Series

  *****

  The Nick Stryker Series

  Cusp of Crazy, Book One

  Twisted, Book Two

  Zero Margin, Book Three

  A very special thank you to:

  Michael Sutherland

  Sheryl Noland

  Susan Weaver

  Pam Johnson

  List of characters at the end of the book

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  List of Characters for Zero Margin:

  Chapter One

  Monday, 7:00 a.m. Eastern Time, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Benson couldn’t shake the feeling of an impending disaster. It awakened him with a jolt. It stayed with him on his commute to work, even though he had received no alerts. He could feel his other senses becoming more acute. Adrenaline racing, he searched his memory for some threat that might have escaped his detection.

  He had learned to trust his instincts and had been exceptionally lucky. The company rumor was that he possessed the powers of premonition. Benson found the rumor amusing, yet acknowledged it had probably helped propel his career. He secretly wished the rumor was true, especially today. Something was off. Something bad was about to happen.

  He juggled his coffee cup and a stack of folders as he approached his office door. His name, Benson Anders, Directorate of Sciences and Technology, was etched in brass to the right of the door. Over half of the CIA’s published budget was now consumed by his unit. His office was located to the left of the control center amphitheater, and directly across from the other Directorate’s offices. The Executive Director’s office was one floor above.

  Benson stopped at his assistant’s desk. “Darren, have there been any alerts?”

  Darren Trayer looked quickly at his monitor screen. “No, sir. Everything is quiet.”

  Benson’s gut clenched. “Start clearing my schedule of anything unnecessary.”

  Darren studied Benson’s face and saw ‘that look’, the look Benson always had before something terrible happened.

  “Shit, sir.”

  “Yeah.”

  Benson stared into the retina scanner and waited for the door to click open. His horseshoe shaped desk was surrounded by comfortable leather chairs, usually occupied by very uncomfortable people. The black desk phone sat dark and silent. Calls would be held for ten minutes after his arrival unless an emergency developed. Another 20 minutes would be allocated for him to return messages. His morning briefing would then commence with the other directorates.

  The desk monitor reminded him it was July 2, 7:45 a.m. He sipped his coffee and spun his chair to look out the window. It appeared the weather would cooperate for a beautiful Fourth of July. He briefly wondered if his ex-wife’s invitation to a barbeque was for business or pleasure. At least he could spend time with his six-year-old son, Billy.

  Benson turned back to his computer, opened his secured messages and sighed with relief. There were only a few messages this morning and they appeared harmless. Maybe his uneasy feeling was just sleep deprivation? He clearly remembered the last time he had slept well. It was last year at the hunting cabin. He hadn’t even taken a gun. His trophy would have been five days of quiet. At the end of the third day, he had been whisked back to Langley by helicopter because of a Chinese cyber-attack on Pentagon computers.

  A new wave of intense dread washed over him. Something was going to happen soon.

  Darren entered the office with a sharp rap on the door frame and quickly walked to Benson’s desk. His facial expression conveyed his urgency as much as the seriousness of his tone.

  “Sir, we have a Code 5 communication waiting. Secretary Eglin.”

  Secretary Eglin was the Department of Energy’s Director of International Sciences. His projects were all top secret and the highest priority of the CIA.

  Darren hit a few keystrokes digitalizing the north wall. The troubled face of Secretary Eglin appeared on the high resolution external display.

  “I apologize for starting your day this way, Benson. You’re aware of project DIANA in Lead, and their mirror team in Malaysia?”

  As Secretary Eglin spoke, Darren brought up informational monitors to flank the video call. The first screen was captioned ‘Lead, South Dakota’. Under that were the acronym, DIANA, and the words, Dual Ion Accelerators for Nuclear Astrophysics. Benson began speed reading the bullet points of DIANA as Secretary Eglin continued.

  “We have intercepted a communication between Dr. Gustoff Kyser, the head of the Malaysian mirror group, and an astrophysicist in Geneva.”

  Darren brought up another screen next to Secretary Eglin showing the face and bio of Dr. Gustoff Kyser. He also brought up a screen with the bio and picture of Dr. Elliott Nobel, the lead astrophysicist for the U.S. based portion of the DIANA project.

  Secretary Eglin’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no good way to say this; Dr. Kyser is no longer to be trusted. Our conclusions are based on irrefutable statements made by him in these communications. He is a conspirator of this astrophysicist in Geneva, and is an active participant, if not the lead, in an unsanctioned project.”

  Benson resisted the impulse to curse. A security breach of the DIANA project was one of the worst scenarios he could imagine. If Dr. Kyser had shared DIANA intelligence to an outside research group, the consequences were immeasurable.

  Benson leaned forward. “Is Dr. Elliott Nobel implicated in this?”

  Secretary Eglin’s brows creased. “We don’t think so. God, I hope not. This is potentially catastrophic either way. Dr. Nobel has been in Malaysia the last four days supposedly briefing Kyser’s team on some fatal flaw discovered in the science. Perhaps it’s true, perhaps not. That in itself is devastating news. Kyser’s Geneva astrophysicist belongs t
o a research team that appears to be well funded and scientifically sophisticated. I’ll have more intel on them directly. Who knows what they’re working on. Do what you do and report back to me.”

  The monitor went black. Benson glanced at Darren. “Get NSA to retrieve all communications to and from Dr. Kyser, his contacts, and anyone they have spoken to for the last two months. I want results transmitted here in real time. We want full conversations. Have bios and backgrounds generated as we get names. Tell the control room manager that I want a full digital web of all known associates and contacts. I want to know the last time each of them logged on to any digital device. Use remote access to scan for all keyword algorithm databases of DIANA.”

  Darren rushed from the office as Benson dialed the direct line to his Pentagon counterpart. “Give this a National Security priority one. Locate both Dr. Gustoff Kyser and Dr. Elliott Nobel. Detain them for questioning immediately.”

  Benson pressed his forearm to his stomach as excruciating cramps reminded him he had delayed his medical review beyond two deadlines. His ulcers must be bleeding again. He hoped that was all that was wrong. A few deep breaths and the cramping stopped. His mind returned to the immediate crisis. Benson had argued all along that the security risks of an offshore mirror team on DIANA exceeded any funding benefits. His concerns had been ignored in favor of large corporate and private donations. The DIANA project could not get in the hands of anyone other than the U.S. government. Not now. Not ever.

  Benson’s Pentagon line rang. “Benson.”

  “Dr. Gustoff Kyser has been located and will be secured shortly. He was still in Malaysia and we got him at the airport. Dr. Elliott Nobel and his team, departed for the U.S. on a Malaya Pacific Airline commercial flight 20 minutes ago. There are two hundred and thirteen passengers.”

  Benson knew the decision was his to make. He had to leave the Director plausible deniability. Benson considered his options. None of them worked well on U.S. soil. “Take the jet.”

  *****

  Monday, 6:00 a.m., Mountain Time, Lead, South Dakota

  Chris slid into the back booth of the diner and folded his newspaper to the crossword puzzle. He propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. The early morning sun blared through the glass of the window as he shifted his hand to shield his eyes. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling like a failure. The world was different when you had no purpose.

  Elliott, his boss, had been in Malaysia for four days advising their mirror team on the fatal flaw he and Chris had discovered in project DIANA. They had witnessed six years of work destroyed in mere seconds. They would have to start over.

  Chris swiped at the light brown tuft of hair that fell over his eyes. He needed a haircut. The crossword puzzle was a blur; he didn’t want to do it anyway. He should have just stayed away from the lab until Elliott returned, but he couldn’t. The test results had shocked him. Now it seemed so obvious. The pattern was there; they hadn’t wanted to see it. He’ll go back in today and run more tests. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Sally placed a mug of hot coffee on the table and tapped her pad until Chris glanced up. She frowned, “You look like hell. You haven’t been here in two days. I bet you’ve been livin’ on crackers and tuna.”

  Chris struggled to smile. “Peanut butter. Crackers and peanut butter. Just load up a plate of GMOs and keep the coffee coming. I need a new attitude today.”

  Sally smiled and leaned forward, “Here comes an attitude changer if I ever saw one. Your girlfriend is crossing the parking lot comin’ this way. Ain’t she just the pretty one now?”

  Chris glanced out the plate glass window and saw Angel waiting to cross traffic. She gave him a brief wave. Chris felt his cheeks warm and looked back to Sally. “I wish. The rumor is that she doesn’t like geeks.”

  Sally stuck her pencil above her ear and snorted a laugh. “Then she’s sure livin’ in the wrong town.”

  After six years of living in Lead and working at the Sanford Underground Facility, Chris believed the rumors that even the town drunk was really CIA. If you didn’t work underground, you spied on the ones that did. With a population of 3,012, there was only one property owner, the U.S. government.

  He watched as Angel quickened her pace to cross traffic. Her long, black hair glistened in the morning sun and waved behind her in the blustery July breeze. This morning her crisp, white suit was accented with red heels and a red and white shoulder bag. Chris looked down at his wrinkled khakis. He had worn them yesterday and put them back on this morning.

  Angel slid into the booth across from him and motioned to Sally for a coffee. “I was hoping I would find you here. At least you’ve finally left the lab. Are you okay?” Before Chris could answer, Angel asked, “Why don’t you spend the day with me today? We could do something fun.”

  Chris moved his folded paper to the side and made way for the heaping plate Sally placed in front of him.

  “Genetically Modified Organisms made to order.” Sally turned to Angel, “You ready?”

  Angel smiled, “Oatmeal with honey, please.”

  Chris and Sally each stuck their tongues out in disgust. Sally tore off the ticket for Chris’ breakfast and left.

  Angel gave Chris a soft kick under the table. “When’s Elliott coming back?”

  “His jet leaves this morning.” Chris wasn’t looking forward to Elliott’s return home. He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for Elliott to deliver the crushing results of their testing to the mirror team. Chris glanced at Angel over his fork of scrambled eggs and felt the need to say something comforting to her. “We’ll start over. It’s what we do.” He stuffed the fork of scrambled eggs in his mouth. “You look extra nice today.”

  Angel was an astrophysicist on Chris and Elliott’s team. She drizzled the honey packet over her oatmeal and smiled. “I’m not working today. I figure as soon as Elliott gets back we’ll be on 12 hour days again. I’m apartment hunting at the new South Shore apartments in Deadwood. My place is boring me.”

  Chris laughed and almost knocked his coffee over. “How can an apartment bore you?”

  “It’s all facility people there. I need some strangers in my life.”

  Sally refilled their coffee and scowled. “Did you say you need some strangers in your life? They don’t get any stranger than here in Lead.” She pointed at Chris, raised her eyebrows for emphasis and left.

  Angel leaned forward and whispered, “I have to get away from this place. I can’t breathe anymore, it’s suffocating. Come with me, Chris.” Chris wasn’t acting like himself; Angel’s concerns deepened.

  Chris nodded as he finished his eggs and waved a piece of bacon over his plate. “You’re smart to move. I wish I were more like you. It isn’t going to get any better now that we’ve failed.”

  Angel whispered again, “Don’t say that! We hit a snag. We’ll figure it out, we always do.” Her expression betrayed her words. She wasn’t even convincing herself. She wasn’t even sure she understood the extent of the problem. Elliott and Chris had gone into a meltdown and isolated themselves from the rest of the team. When they finally emerged, they looked like walking death. Elliott left for Malaysia and Chris had hidden behind his computers.

  Chris wiped his mouth, tucked his folded paper under his armpit, and reached for his wallet. “You tell yourself whatever makes you happy. I don’t believe in hope; I believe in science. I’m going back down to the lab. Not because I have any grand idea, but because I don’t know what else to do.” Chris pulled a twenty from his wallet and pointed at President Jackson’s picture. “The scientific consensus is that we have about 40 years to find a solution. That means the last President of the United States is about ten years old right now. Maybe he’ll know a superhero.”

  Angel watched Chris walk toward the facility shuttle bus joined by two security escorts. As they disappeared behind the bus doors, she gazed out the plate glass window. Hearing Chris talk like that had chilled her to the bone.
He was the team optimist, their cheerleader, and he had given up. Maybe Elliott had given up, too.

  She paid for her breakfast, crossed the traffic to the parking lot and drove toward Deadwood. The billions of dollars that were invested in their project certainly weren’t spent foolishly, were they? An entire city had been built to support the facility and the people who worked there. The expression in Chris’ eyes alarmed her. He was convinced their project had failed. Had they just lost six years in the race to save humanity? Did they really have to start over?

  *****

  Chris rode the elevator down to level three. A security escort checked his ID, retina, and security implant with a scanner. The doors to the second set of elevators took him down to within two floors of his lab. His escorts didn’t bother with small talk. They merely stood flanking him, their earpieces noticeably in place, their jackets bulging with weapons. From there, he had to wear special safety goggles and protective clothing. A new security team escorted him the remainder of the way down to his lab floor.

  Chris waited for the security men to signal that he could leave the elevator. He started the motorized cart that was in his parking space and drove to the far end of the building. Red warning lights highlighted the sign above the steel door that read DUSEL: Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory.

  The loud hiss of the hydraulic doors opening was masked by the beeping and alarms of numerous monitored experiments. No one acknowledged his presence as he drove down the expansive center aisle toward his lab. Three sets of doors opened and closed behind him as red beams scanned his retinas and other body identifiers. He parked at his computer station and logged in.

  Chris and Elliott had worked closely together for the six years of the DIANA project and shared a loathing of the constant watchful eyes of the CIA. As a secret rebellion, they had imbedded a message chat room for themselves that flashed briefly when their project was accessed. Chris saw the flash and keyed in the code that opened their communication chat room. Elliott had sent him a message 20 minutes ago.