Part Five...Things Get Stranger
CHAPTER SIX: GREETINGS FROM THE FAR SIDE
“Predicting the future is easy. It's trying to figure out what's going on now that's hard.”
-Fritz R. S. Dressler
"Cum ist enim proprium viro sapienti supra petram ponere sedem fundamenti, stultus ego comparor fluvio labenti, sub eodem tramite nunquam permanenti." (If it is the manner of the wise man to build foundations on stone, then I am a fool, like a flowing stream, which in its course never changes.)
-Carmina Burana, "Estuans Interious"
ONE
Private Journal of Nicole Webb
10/25/04
Wow. I just don’t know how to describe this morning but as weird. That is all I can say about this morning. Sounds a little trite, but it’s the only word that can describe this. It seems as if this entire world has gone perfectly, absolutely, totally messed up.
Sure, this town has a reputation for being odd and eccentric, kind of like my old hometown of Austin, Texas. That place was odd and odd was an institution over there in a charming kind of way. This weirdness added to the atmosphere, the laid back, college-town attitude combined with the Texas flair that is world-renowned.
Over in Austin, you had the real estate agent who had a car covered in pigs. There was the suburban yard that was painted with gigantic, colorful polka dots. And there are a million other examples of eccentric behavior that lives in Austin, Texas. To show how weird Austin was, they immortalized all of the local characters, eccentrics, and oddballs in a musical/play that only people in Austin could pull off.
This state, however, is seriously messed up. Sure, this place is crazy, but the crazy people are not the “cat lady” type of crazy that is kind of lovable. It’s the weird-weird that gets onto the national news as an example of backwards thinking, science hating, ultra conservative, “I love you Jesus” behavior in a certain part of the world. Well, it’s not the kind of behavior that will get great positive publicity. The politicians and the more clueless citizens in this state wonder why everyone else thinks this state has such a bad reputation.
You’ve got a state Board of Education who thinks that proper science consists of teaching evolution and then evolves to “intelligent design” when there is too much heat. You have a state legislature that claims it is for the students and then screws them over by cutting education funding across the board. If that is not enough, you have nut-job Baptist pastors, anti-everything citizens, and swarms of self-proclaimed morality police. Just absolutely messed up.
Yeah, this school is weird in a patchouli smelling, pot smoking, keg beer drinking, kind of vibe that somehow coexists with law and order, excessive zoning, and strict regulations on everything that walks, talks, or moves or not moves for that matter. There are a whole lot of people that can be considered characters. Strange characters.
I start my day and I park at the nearby parking lot. Who should I see but David King, one of the more, shall we say, interesting people at the law school? He’s a nice guy and all, but he sure has a truckload of quirks. Very interesting quirks. [Note from Editors: We have searched the records the government stored as well as asked the estates of the relevant parties for any other documents. We and our dedicated team of research assistants (we forgot to include them in our list of acknowledgements—thanks to Bill Kerns, Bjorn Hartvig, and Gianni Bertolli) read every document and she does not write anymore about this incident. She also does not question him about this incident as well. We have concluded that Ms. Webb considered this another strange quirk of Mr. King. This is one time when having the reputation of being eccentric is good as it reduces the chances of being questioned for unusual behavior.]
I’ve only known him for a few months and I think I have come up with a good idea of his personality. I spend a lot of time with him as he is in my small section and if you are in the same small section, you all have the same classes and you socialize a lot inside and outside of the law school during your first year.
He seems like a law school gunner as he is always—at least when I am around him—is looking at a law school textbook. How he manages to keep a certain level of consciousness is quite amazing. Then again, he is not as strange as a guy I know in a different small section at this law school. Now Mike Neilson, that guy defines weird to a tee. If you look in the dictionary, you might spot his picture on the same page. Hell, Dave and Mike are not as strange as one of my friends from my hometown, Jake Lau. [Note from Editors: As unbelievable as this comment may seem, we must agree with this assessment. We have read several documents, including an autobiographical novel based upon a year in his law school experience. If this autobiographical novel is a fair and accurate representation, Mr. Lau is definitely eccentric, much more so than the other three mentioned in this journal entry.] That guy takes it to a different level. I wonder how he is doing? You know, those three would get along very well.
Anyway, Dave is acting strange. Even for his standards. Which is amazing.
He’s checking and double-checking his car. He’s feeling around his car seats, thinking that there might be something stuck between the cushions. He’s checking underneath the seats, poring over every inch. Not too unusual, right? Wrong. It’s just the beginning.
He pulls out a thin metal pole with a mirror at the end. Checks the underneath of his car. Now that is weird and going into the level of paranoid. Pulls out a metal box from his jacket pocket and walks around the car. Walking intensely. Poring over every inch. Once that is over, he locks the doors and walks away as if nothing is wrong.
Seriously…that is just strange on any level of the word’s definition. Unless he is training to be an explosive ordinance disposal expert or something. That is a good possibility. I would not be surprised by that possibility. Or he is in witness protection and a very violent person is going to trace him down and kill him. Nah. He probably is just acting strange again.
I’m not going to ask him what is up with him. It’s just not worth it.
I think that I will go and email Jake this little story. He’ll get a really big kick out of this story. This place is just weird on a different level, a totally different level.
TWO
Entry in David King’s Electronic Journal (Decrypted)
{ENTRY LOG}
[LAST LOGIN DATE: 10/19/04]
[LAST LOGIN TIME: 11:58:01PM]
[LAST LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTRY TIME: 01:11:31PM]
[LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTER PASSCODE: QdePo9#vm0PiC2$LcBeqwsA6oUyWxh5HntY8u3DFjlb61PV#&y1DxQiUYVbn9mBvCeRu5OO8kHcM49uRVyPL1%Kbm3IxVbwp]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
[RUNNING E-JOURNAL]
[ENTER E-JOURNAL PASSCODE: cQ7LhG5%1DXv3Z0IkeM@9YpJdOi9#7fSZv6py!cb2Nr]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
01:11:31 PM 10/25/04
I am so sorry that I haven’t updated this e-journal in a long time, a very long time. It’s been over two weeks since I last updated. What is going wrong with me right now? Am I now really going crazy? What is going wrong with me right now? Should I worry now that I am thinking I am going crazy or am I just rationalizing that I am not going crazy despite the evidence that may show that I am entering that state? God, that is so seriously [expletive deleted] up. I might be going crazy, possibly. I’m not sure. Maybe this is a good sign as this might encourage Them to quit this situation. Once I go mentally unstable, They might consider this to be beyond repair. I might try that route later if I deem it to be strategically necessary. I might come up with something that goes against their expectations. You know, I should keep that option open until later, when I might need it. This might be sooner than I think.
Doesn’t it seem strange that I am now apologizing over the fact that I am not entering entries into a private electronic journal? And that I am now proceeding to type every single thought that is coming from my head. This might be a sign of mental instability or I am becoming a fan of Virginia Woolf and the stream of consciousness style she wrote in. [Note from Editors: Virginia Woolf was a famed English writer who adopted the stream of consciousness style of writing. She is best known for such works as “A Room of One’s Own.” The work that Mr. King later refers to as “verbal diarrhea” most likely is “A Spot on the Wall.” Since we were both born in England and given a British education up till college, we are kind of partial to the writing of Virginia Woolf. We still, despite our liking for Virginia Woolf, must agree with his opinion of “A Spot in the Wall.” It is, in our opinion, dreadful. His criticism is semi-ironic as his style of writing can be described as mild form of stream of consciousness in some cases. ] I seriously hate her style of writing, absolutely loathed it. Pure verbal diarrhea.
I met McVath [Note from Editors: David King is using Smith’s code name for an unusual reason that is not easily explained. Maybe this is due to the high level of stress that he is feeling and this is a momentary lapse of memory] last week during the weekend at an undisclosed location. Someone, I’m not sure who, maybe one of his many runners and intermediaries, met me at my apartment in a nondescript Ford Taurus. A standard shade of gray, neutral, common to all brands and models of cars. All standard features, but with some differences. The engine was modified, more powerful due to a change made in engine computer chips. A skillfully installed metal plate welded into the trunk area. Headlights installed in the rear of the car. Easily tilted from the driver’s seat. Well-hidden control panel. [Note from Editors: Apparently, Mr. King recognized such features due to his considerable knowledge of executive protector firms—crudely referred to as bodyguards—and Mr. Smith showed a level of secrecy and protection of his privacy, considering his illegal activities.]
I was told to put a blindfold and a mask over my head so I could not see where we were going. After a long drive, a very long drive, most likely making large circles, turn backs, and Lord knows what, we arrived at McVath’s hideout.
His place is a truly technological marvel. Racks of electronics. A massive array of servers and mainframes and God knows what. Monitors. Specialized equipment that I can’t describe or know what purpose they had. There are bookcases full of documents. I’m thinking that most of this equipment is illegal or if not illegal, specially modified to be a tiny step away from being illegal. He truly is dedicated.
McVath presented himself in a different fashion. He was a tall man—at least 6’3, probably closer to 6’5. Not the skinny stereotype of most computer guys (computer guys generally are Bulkies or Skinnies and not in between. Think 97 pound weakling or 300 pound slob). He was wiry with muscles. Flaming red hair closely cropped to his skull. Black aviator sunglasses that obscured his eyes. I’m not sure what color his eyes are. I’m not sure if ANYONE knows what colors his eyes are. Wears those sunglasses all the time. Never seen them take his sunglasses off at any time at all. His wardrobe is black. Black shoes, socks, pants, shirt, leather jacket. Very anarchistic look if his skin did not have monitor tan that gave his skin a slightly greenish tone. That was something I haven’t seen since I took a computer science class in college. All the hardcore Comp Sci students had that greenish look to their skin.
He extended his hand out. It was lightly cool and dry from being in an air conditioned room all day. “Mr. King?”
I took his hand and shook it. He had a surprisingly strong grip. “Yes, you are correct. Mr. McVath, I presume? I’ve been looking for your help.”
He had a bemused smile on his face. “Ah yes, just like the Oracle at Delphi. You have come here to ask a question and to receive an answer.”
“Unlike the Oracle at Delphi, I am sure you don’t give ambiguous responses that lead to the end of kingdoms like the King of Lydia. Nor do you inhale mildly hallucinogenic and possibly poisonous hydrocarbon fumes to obtain your state of knowledge.”
“Point taken. But first, to continue with this ancient rite, you must give me the answers to mystic questions that will determine whether you get what you want.”
“Now you’re speaking like a Freemason. Get on with it.”
A barking laugh. “What are the first twenty decimal digits of pi?”
“3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971. Wait, that was thirty. I could go on if you are not convinced.”
“That was correct. Anyone can know that. If I go to the Varsity and I order a glorified steak with cheese, strings, and a F.O, what have I ordered?”
“You forgot the Georgia fried pie made of peach. But if you eat a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise; an order of French fries; and a large frosted orange, you wouldn’t have enough room for one of their excellent peach pies.”
“Again, you are correct. What are the advantages of asynchronous data transfer when it comes to a high-speed G3 wireless network?”
“This sounds suspiciously like the Dilbert cartoon involving Dogbert’s cartoon creation of Captain Boron. What does that have to do with anything?”
A loud barking laugh. “Sorry about the security measures I was taking. With that answer, you’ve proven your identity. You are as Pedarenko described. Come, I will give you the answers that you want.”
Once the preliminaries were done, he gave me the information that I wanted. With his skills in breaking into the phone systems, Mr. McVath obtained the information that I wanted through means that I do not know. McVath did give a description, but it soon became so technical that it went completely over my head. Some stuff about tracing cookies through the data network and going though the relay switch and…too much, absolutely too much. All I know that he could trace these IP addresses. He managed to narrow the IP addresses down to a specific area in the city. The size of the area he narrowed down the IP addresses wasn’t that big, maybe one or two city blocks in area. This might require some further detective work to narrow it down to a specific address, but he has done more than I could ever do. It should not take too much work.
He also gave me some other goodies that I would possibly need. I used the extendible wand/mirror tool to check the underside of my car. That was quite fun to do. I think I managed to scare Nicole while doing this. It will add to the King mystique. I guess I won’t be able to get any more dates while in law school after this little incident. You know, I have a reputation as being to keep up and I can’t afford to lose it. [Note from Editor: This is ironic as Mr. King was notoriously single while in law school and while in law school, he did not have a girlfriend or a date. At least none that he writes about or others knew about. Mr. King would later prove to be successful, but this was due to the influence of the Itanimulli. The person he would later date and ultimately marry, much to his horror, was an Itanimulli who had the power to control the weather. How he managed to figure this out will be later discussed in this work.]
That’s all I have to say in this entry. It’s a good thing that I’m a glutton for punishment as I will have to do some reconnaissance to get a lay of the land. I haven’t been down in the underground tunnel system here since my college days. It will be a good feeling to be back down underneath these crowded streets. Got to find my tunnel maps. They’re somewhere in one of these boxes. I might have to contact Tunnel Rat [Note from Editors: We do not know who Tunnel Rat is, but we assume that Tunnel Rat, along with King, spent time in these underground tunnel systems. For the historically inclined, Tunnel Rat is also the nickname of the men of the 25th Infantry Division who explored the VietCong tunnel system. Their motto in Latin, “Non Gratum Anus Rodentum” translates into “Not worth a rat’s ass.” These soldiers were a special breed and were highly decorated for their bravery as the job entailed crawling blindly in dark, tight tunnels filled with giant rats, poisonous snakes, bats, and deadly booby traps. There were literally, hundreds of ways to die in a tunnel. ] for a copy.
That’s all for now, at least for today. I have to get ready for Legal Writing I...one of the most boring and most useless classes in law school. [Note from Editors: Legal Writing is a mandatory class for all ABA accredited law schools. It is part of the ABA recommended courses for first-year law school students. Apparently, the ABA noted that many law school students graduating from law schools had a poor sense of legal research and poor legal writing skills. The people responsible for academics at the ABA did a study and in a lengthy report, stated that law schools should teach legal writing skills to law school students. So that is why law schools make 1Ls take Legal Writing or an equivalent class going by a different name. Nearly all, if not all law school students consider this to be an absolutely class as if you can’t figure out how to find a book in a library, then you probably should not be in law school. Most of the class is spent learning about legal history, writing unrealistic legal memos, and learning how to write proper legal citations using the Bluebook. Why the class could not be taught in a more realistic manner is beyond the comprehension of law school students as well as law school faculty members. Even the law library staff consider guiding law school students around the library to be a pointless exercise. After a semester of this bull, it is no wonder why law school students consistently loathe this class.] If this is any indication of what law school is going to be like, then maybe I should quit while I am ahead.
THREE
Note From Tunnel Rat (Handwritten)
[Note from Editors: This is the only document from Tunnel Rat that we could find in Mr. King’s possession. In fact, we were extremely lucky to find such a document in Mr. King’s possession and the discovery of this document makes for an interesting story. While looking through Mr. King’s personal library—totaling about 3,000 books—we happened to open a Federal Reporter and this piece of paper fell out. When we had the document properly preserved, photographed, and scanned, we managed to get the full message. This was truly a great discovery.
Again, you should note that this is another message made in code. When translated, it refers to when and where they will meet to scope out the tunnel systems running underneath certain target areas mentioned by Smith. Mr. King’s use of another code word system shows his cleverness and possibly, his level of paranoia about secrecy.]
I just received your accounting books by certified mail today. I know you wanted me to audit your books to see if there might be any possible accounting errors. I ran the numbers through the accounting program this afternoon and everything seems to be in order. All the figures add up and there should be no problems with your mathematics. In order to be absolutely sure, I will need some extra documentation.
Could you please stop by my main office on Saturday night after closing hours? Bring your receipts and other business documents so I can verify my calculations.
Note To Tunnel Rat (Handwritten)
It is good to know that based upon a cursory check, my accounting is correct. You’ve predicted correctly. I want to be absolutely sure my accounting is correct or not.
It will be no problem for me to meet you at your main office located downtown. I will be bringing my receipts as well as other business documents for you to look over.
FOUR
Entry in David King’s Electronic Journal (Decrypted)
{ENTRY LOG}
[LAST LOGIN DATE: 10/25/04]
[LAST LOGIN TIME: 01:11:31PM]
[LAST LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTRY TIME: 10:28:59AM]
[LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTER PASSCODE: QdePo9#vm0PiC2$LcBeqwsA6oUyWxh5HntY8u3DFjlb61PV#&y1DxQiUYVbn9mBvCeRu5OO8kHcM49uRVyPL1%Kbm3IxVbwp]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
[RUNNING E-JOURNAL]
[ENTER E-JOURNAL PASSCODE: cQ7LhG5%1DXv3Z0IkeM@9YpJdOi9#7fSZv6py!cb2Nr]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
10:29:02 AM 11/01/04
I had an interesting weekend. It was quite fun to go back into the tunnels underneath this town. Me, Tunnel Rat and a few others at the Big School used to spend hours exploring those spaces, sometimes with humorous and not so humorous results. Like the time that Vertigo accidentally slipped and fell into a big pool of God know what while we were first mapping the Sewer Maintenance Tunnels underneath what we called Not-So-Grand Central Station. [Note from Editors: This was their mocking name for the City’s Main Bus Station, notorious for being inefficient and being late.]
The Public Utilities and Works Department (PUWD) said there are five distinct yet interconnecting, tunnel systems: telephone, water, sewer, gas, and basic maintenance. The first four are self-explanatory, but the final one—basic maintenance—might need a little explanation.
I asked a person at the PUWD what the basic maintenance tunnels were used for. He gave a long story that I found fascinating. Apparently, in the early days, this city wanted to be like New York City, complete with a subway system. This did not pan out, obviously, but since the city was expanding at a furious rate, they could use the subway tunnel system as a basic maintenance tunnel system making it possible to use this tunnel system if a part of another system shut down. In addition, they had all of these free tunnels dug, so why not make the most out of it? He mentions that while he was working down in the city water section of the PUWD, he spent lots of time down checking water mains. In the basic maintenance tunnels, there are large spaces that were converted to workers lounges where he could rest and watch TV and a bunch of other activities.
McVath narrowed the area down to the Cedar Hills North Industrial Area located about a mile north of the Cedar River. Strangely enough, the Cedar Hills South Industrial Area is located a mile north of this site. I guess it’s the South Industrial Area since it is on the south riverbank and not the north riverbank. Go figure. It’s just inside the city limits, a short distance away from the interstate. It is an ugly area that looks like the stereotypical industrial zone you would find in movies. Big, sprawling buildings made of metal and glass that look like giant boxes. Wide, flat boxes stuck side by side with other flat, wide boxes. Narrow, tall boxes piled on top of other narrow, tall boxes. Any one of those buildings could be the home base of the They.
Being a law school student, and being a fan of spending time poring over records, I went over to the county courthouse and spent Friday afternoon checking the property records. I narrowed the search area down to four buildings that changed ownership about six years ago. Six years ago, I moved to this city to go to college and ultimately, extending the stay to law school. [Note from Editors: The string of logic that he follows is extremely precise, though one might argue based upon possibly flawed assumptions. Then again, his logic is based upon a relatively solid base. It is safe to assume that the Itanimulli would have a central base located in the same region he was staying in. Logically, the headquarters has to be set up after King moved there. One cannot predict what anyone will do with 100 percent certainty. Generally, it would not be very smart to locate a local headquarters that is located miles away from the agents, especially if they spend most of their time near the law school. In addition, by being located by a major road like an interstate, transportation is easier and if any local agents live out of town, the headquarters is located at a convenient location. Finally, by choosing an industrial area located by the interstate, few people will question any activities that happen there like the movement of heavy machinery and large containers. This search, though possibly unorthodox, works well.]
The first two choices on the list were immediately excluded, as they were a scuba supply store and a sporting goods store. If I were going to have a local headquarters that could hold all of their equipment, then it had to be a large area with lots of empty space. I also checked both stores and every single square inch were packed with inventory. As an extra precaution, I also took a peek in their storage areas in the back and the warehouses they used to store extra inventory. Nothing but inventory, sadly to say. I even got a copy of the blueprints and double-checked those for secret hiding places.
The third building, a storage facility, checked out as well. It was what it claimed to be. I borrowed a friend’s SUV and drove up to the storage facility. I pretended to be a customer who was from out of town and moving into a brand new house. The only problem was that I was lacking storage space and I needed a temporary storage spot for a month or so. It took some of my social engineering skills (learned by personal experience), but I got to take a look inside some of the storage units. Nothing important. Just the usual stuff that people can’t store in their garage for fear of their car not fitting inside or items that overflow from their closet. Toys, sports equipment, exercise equipment, and other bits and pieces. I really hate it when things don’t pan out. Three down, one more to go.
I finally hit pay dirt with the final location. According to the county courthouse records, actually a property deed, the building in question was bought by a person with the name of John Littlejohn (a name that I associate with a bad spy novel or a name chosen by an alien for that matter) and in cash. About a half-million dollars. It was done all at once in one lump sum.
I called the former owner and did some more social engineering. I pretended to be an interested property buyer and started asking questions. You know what I mean. They were the usual questions like “How much does an average building cost,” “What is the market like around this area” and “What kind of businesses are common around here.” I hit pay dirt and did I strike it rich.
The former owner, Vince DiCastello, talked about John Littlejohn and the strange experience he had with “Mr. Littlejohn.” Mr. Littlejohn sure did act “pretty peculiar, almost inhuman” according to DiCastello. He was intrigued by DiCastello’s strong Southern Italian accent (from Calabria, no less) and his forceful manner of bargaining. Apparently, Littlejohn was not used to this style of negotiation. After a one-sided conversation, Littlejohn finally understood this process. Not so unusual, of course, as some people are not used to this, but the manner in which he stated this, seemed unusual to DiCastello. Mr. Littlejohn kept repeating, “Fascinating. I must remember this and write this down for my action report for Smerlon. Yes, he will enjoy this Earth custom.” Kept repeating this over and over again. And Littlejohn could not keep his eyes of a ballpoint pen. Thought it was an engaging object to behold.
Once the negotiations were complete (not even looking over the property for more than ten minutes at most), Mr. Littlejohn agreed to pay the asking price. Littlejohn just happened to have a bag filled with money, neatly stacked in nice bundles. Assorted bills, all in denominations less than $100. Just handed it over like it was nothing. “Mighty strange if you ask me. I like watching movies and it was like a scene from an action flick. An illegal drug deal or something. But hey, it’s cash and it was all real cash, so I didn’t question where he got it from, ya know? I ain’t gonna complain about that. Easiest deal I ever made in my life. Dude was strange, but if he pays money like that, I could t care less if he came walking in here wearing a clown suit with a big red nose.”
Of course. I knew that I had the right place. One problem. The only way here was by driving on the Cedar River Bridge. No tunnels were lying underneath the Cedar River. Too cost prohibitive according to the city. Bad news for me. Ah, but Tunnel Rat did more exploring than I did. He found a secret entrance into the guts of the bridge and by going down this way, the tunnel in the bridge led to a smaller subsystem underneath the Industrial Area. Excellent.
The trip to the Industrial Area wasn’t that exciting. Just the normal stuff that normal people do on a Friday night at 11PM. Breaking and entering by picking a padlock with a lock picking set. I think the summer at MIT might have something to do with Rat’s skill. [Note from Editors: According to Steven Levy’s book Hackers, students in the Computer Science/Engineering department were proficient at lock picking and safe cracking. Apparently, the administration locked vital computer parts and tools inside locked rooms and safes. For example, if you are writing code at a late hour and a circuit board burns out due to a broken part and it’s locked in a room, you are going to break in the room and fix the broken circuit board. At least if you were a computer science major at the time. In order to break into the room and get the parts you need, you had to know how to pick locks and crack safes. Either that or make a set of master keys. All perfectly illegal, but fine, as long as you didn’t get caught. This attitude is not condoned currently, but this was happening in the sixties, so they were more lenient then. Even now, however, some in the Computer Science/Engineering department at MIT consider this to be a valuable skill. But this leads to another more basic question. How did the homeless people pick the locks?] Safely making our way past extremely territorial homeless people trying to keep warm. Crawling underneath a pipe set a little less than two feet off the ground. Crawling through a warm puddle of some unknown yet smelly liquid. Walking fifty feet above the Cedar River. Absolutely normal stuff.
Tunnel Rat did notice something unusual. Like the second fiber optic cable. And the additional electrical cables. Not a regular cable you normally see, but a super thick one. Whatever was across the Wet Trench [Note from Editors: an affectionate local reference to the Cedar River] was sucking up a large amount of power. Tunnel Rat, being a computer nut, guessed that it might be a small supercomputer. Nothing like the IBM supercomputers like Blue Gene, but pretty powerful none the less. I’m thinking that he is right. I do dabble in computer science and stuff, but not like him. I trust his opinion. There were tangles of additional wire that indicated something serious.
“Damn, Dave, you’re getting us into some big stuff. I wouldn’t mind seeing what these people have up and running. It seems to be a big one.”
“Tunnel Rat, you don’t want to know. Trust me.”
I let Tunnel Rat lead us down the twisting tunnels. I’ve been down in the tunnels many time, but as his name suggests, Tunnel Rat is just the best. He lives for tunnel exploration, in addition to his fascination with all things related to computers. I don’t know how he does it, but he is the best when it comes to tunnel exploration in this town.
“Well, we are nearing what I like to call River Five Points. Where you want to go, the Cedar Hills North Industrial Area, is up here.” He pointed to the tunnel in the middle. “Now, this part of the tunnel system is pretty dangerous. It might be some of the newest tunnels, but the tunnels are carved into real crumbly rock that the local geologists call popcorn, cause it cracks and pops into little chunks that look like gray popcorn. The tunnels are cramped and dirty, lots of water seeps and drips through, even though the engineers used the special cement. Real nasty place. Real nasty place. But given what we saw earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if the conditions have improved a bit.”
We walked down the middle tunnel. It’s quiet, perfectly quiet. No sound at all. Too quiet. If this place is wet, there should at least some sound like splashes or the constant plop-plop of drips.
“This is mighty strange, Dave. Mighty strange. I don’t like this at all.” He turned on a flashlight and a bright beam cut through the darkness. “What the hell? This is not right at all. Not right at all.”
And I knew I was on the right track. Perfectly smooth walls and floor made out of some material that was shiny, but not metallic, but not exactly plastic. All the wires that snaked in the bridge and wound their way in the previous tunnels disappeared. I guessed they were underneath this weird material. They just couldn’t have vanished.
“I’m getting a bad vibe. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.”
I did feel strange. I had this odd feeling like we were being watched somehow. It was a good thing we were wearing ratty and dirty clothes, that we were disguised to look like homeless people. You can never tell who might discover you. If you blend in with the locals, it’s all good. Trust me, you will never recognize me when I dress up like this.
“Yeah, I feel it too.” My eyes darted around. Up there. Up at a little corner. I saw a flash of red. Damn. It could be anything. Maybe it was a video camera of some sort. Maybe it was a motion detector of some sort. Maybe it was some kind of alien technology that They brought along with them from their home planet. I don’t know what it was and where the flash came from. I don’t know anything about this thing. All I know, that it was something and it was not good. Time to get the hell out of there.
“Did you see that flash of red?”
I nodded.
“This is not a good sign man. As much as I want to see the killer rig these people have, this is just not worth it. I’ve never been in a tunnel system that scared me this much. Something about this place has got me on edge right now.”
“I agree. I totally agree.”
Tunnel Rat and I turned around and casually walked away. Once we got to River Five Points, we gunned it. We didn’t care if we woke everyone up. We weren’t going to assume anything. If anyone was following us, we were going to put as much distance as possible between them and us. Sure, this isn’t the best strategy to use, but what did we care. Besides, I didn’t know what They had on us. I didn’t know if They were quick or slow, lazy or active, nothing. You might as well run like hell and hope the ones chasing you don’t catch you. That’s all.
We quickly made our way across the Cedar River Bridge. Quickly crawled through the muck, under the pipe. Once we made it to the homeless people, we slowed down and wove our way past the homeless people. Don’t want to piss them off. They’re dangerous when they get angry. When these people get angry, they get really angry. This leads to a lot of noise and a whole mess of trouble. This will lead you to bigger problems like the police. The police give me an allergic reaction that is not worth it.
Once we got past all the sleeping people, we quickly made our way out of there. Far away from there. Far, far away from there.
Since it was a Saturday night and we were a little hungry from the exploration, we decided to get a bite to eat from a local diner. Yes, diners have a bad reputation for having lousy food, this place actually has great food. Simple, but well-prepared and fantastic tasting food [Note from Editors: The place he is referring to is Calvin’s Light Rail. Founded by Calvin O’Neil in 1989, he served burgers (plain, with cheese or with anything you would like) and fries to hungry university students. It soon became an institution where locals and visitors alike gathered to eat the best burgers and fries in the city. After nearly a hundred and fifty years, this institution still lives, though in a different location and under new management, the sixth generation of O’Neils. Their cheeseburgers and fries are still excellent. Some of the best ever. We tried them when we visited the city while doing research for this book.] There’s nothing like crispy fries and a cheeseburger at midnight.
“That was a weird place. Real weird.”
“I didn’t expect that,” I said. “I have to agree with you. That place was weird.”
“You don’t seem so surprised. [Note from Editors: Apparently, Tunnel Rat is very shrewd or Mr. King is not that good at hiding emotions. We are of the opinion that Tunnel Rat is very, very shrewd at reading the human mind.] I’m guessing you know more that what you’re saying. But I’m not going to ask since we agreed to total secrecy.”
“You’re right on both counts. Let’s say I can’t tell and I won’t tell. We’ll leave it at that.”
“Fine.” He paused and said, “It’s only 12:20 AM. Let’s go over to Shooter McGee down the street and have a beer.”
“Rain check on that. Got to drive home and I’m tired. Maybe next week.”
That was my weekend. I went home and slept. And wondered who noticed us. And what They know about this expedition. They might decide to lay low or increase their security or I don’t know what will happen. I just hope They don’t bother me. What ever happens, happens. I’ve chosen the path that I am going to take and I have to take that path without fail. I, like King Lear, must stand the course.
I don’t know where this course will take me.
FIVE
Memo to MCRGES from Local Headquarters, Security Department, November 1, 2004 (Earth Time)
To: MCRGES
From: Head of Security Department, Local Headquarters
On October 30, 2004 at 11:31:47 PM, there was a possible security breach occurring in the underground tunnels located near the local headquarters. Please refer to Map LHQUT2, Map Grid C4-Subgrid D3. After looking at the security tapes, two humans got to Point Delta One, which is just beyond the main intersection in the tunnel system. This is the farthest breach we have had on the tunnel security system, which was operational at the time.
The two subjects were dressed like what people on Earth call “homeless.” They were extremely dirty and unkempt, with ragged, dirty, and torn clothing covered in dirt and oil and other filth. Their shoes were rugged boots, well worn and covered in dirt and mud also. Their faces were covered in knitted wool masks and a heavy layer of dirt and oil as well. Due to the amount of mud and dirt and oil and other foreign substances covering their face, as well as the clothing worn by the individuals, it is very likely that the two individuals were homeless people and not of importance. There is the chance that the two individuals were not homeless, but youth interested in adventure. I have done research on this topic and it is very likely that they are what the Internet calls “urban explorers” or “tunnel explorers.” I am of the opinion, however, that these two individuals were homeless people who wandered into the tunnel and decided that venturing farther was worthless.
I must commend the technology section of the Security Department for the advancements they made to the ThetaPlus Mind Manipulation Machine. Their modifications have turned a generally focused wave into a multi-spectrum, multi-wavelength machine that can affect multiple people. [Note from Editors: The ThetaPlus Mind Manipulation Machine manufactured by the Itanimullian company of ThetaPlus, is the same machine used by the Local Agent to modify the mind of the law school dean. How the Security Department of the MCRGES local headquarters managed to do these modifications is not known. We have checked all the records available and there are no records. The MCRGES Local Headquarters seem to have destroyed all records.]I suggest that we increase the security around Point Delta One. Our computers have suggested putting in extra motion sensors and having a regular patrol of the area. In addition, if needs be, keeping all the homeless away. This may be considered overkill for such a minor intrusion into this area, but an intrusion is an intrusion, no matter how minor. After all, this experiment is a major and important experiment and security is paramount. Any breach of security leading to failure of this experiment would be bad.
“Predicting the future is easy. It's trying to figure out what's going on now that's hard.”
-Fritz R. S. Dressler
"Cum ist enim proprium viro sapienti supra petram ponere sedem fundamenti, stultus ego comparor fluvio labenti, sub eodem tramite nunquam permanenti." (If it is the manner of the wise man to build foundations on stone, then I am a fool, like a flowing stream, which in its course never changes.)
-Carmina Burana, "Estuans Interious"
ONE
Private Journal of Nicole Webb
10/25/04
Wow. I just don’t know how to describe this morning but as weird. That is all I can say about this morning. Sounds a little trite, but it’s the only word that can describe this. It seems as if this entire world has gone perfectly, absolutely, totally messed up.
Sure, this town has a reputation for being odd and eccentric, kind of like my old hometown of Austin, Texas. That place was odd and odd was an institution over there in a charming kind of way. This weirdness added to the atmosphere, the laid back, college-town attitude combined with the Texas flair that is world-renowned.
Over in Austin, you had the real estate agent who had a car covered in pigs. There was the suburban yard that was painted with gigantic, colorful polka dots. And there are a million other examples of eccentric behavior that lives in Austin, Texas. To show how weird Austin was, they immortalized all of the local characters, eccentrics, and oddballs in a musical/play that only people in Austin could pull off.
This state, however, is seriously messed up. Sure, this place is crazy, but the crazy people are not the “cat lady” type of crazy that is kind of lovable. It’s the weird-weird that gets onto the national news as an example of backwards thinking, science hating, ultra conservative, “I love you Jesus” behavior in a certain part of the world. Well, it’s not the kind of behavior that will get great positive publicity. The politicians and the more clueless citizens in this state wonder why everyone else thinks this state has such a bad reputation.
You’ve got a state Board of Education who thinks that proper science consists of teaching evolution and then evolves to “intelligent design” when there is too much heat. You have a state legislature that claims it is for the students and then screws them over by cutting education funding across the board. If that is not enough, you have nut-job Baptist pastors, anti-everything citizens, and swarms of self-proclaimed morality police. Just absolutely messed up.
Yeah, this school is weird in a patchouli smelling, pot smoking, keg beer drinking, kind of vibe that somehow coexists with law and order, excessive zoning, and strict regulations on everything that walks, talks, or moves or not moves for that matter. There are a whole lot of people that can be considered characters. Strange characters.
I start my day and I park at the nearby parking lot. Who should I see but David King, one of the more, shall we say, interesting people at the law school? He’s a nice guy and all, but he sure has a truckload of quirks. Very interesting quirks. [Note from Editors: We have searched the records the government stored as well as asked the estates of the relevant parties for any other documents. We and our dedicated team of research assistants (we forgot to include them in our list of acknowledgements—thanks to Bill Kerns, Bjorn Hartvig, and Gianni Bertolli) read every document and she does not write anymore about this incident. She also does not question him about this incident as well. We have concluded that Ms. Webb considered this another strange quirk of Mr. King. This is one time when having the reputation of being eccentric is good as it reduces the chances of being questioned for unusual behavior.]
I’ve only known him for a few months and I think I have come up with a good idea of his personality. I spend a lot of time with him as he is in my small section and if you are in the same small section, you all have the same classes and you socialize a lot inside and outside of the law school during your first year.
He seems like a law school gunner as he is always—at least when I am around him—is looking at a law school textbook. How he manages to keep a certain level of consciousness is quite amazing. Then again, he is not as strange as a guy I know in a different small section at this law school. Now Mike Neilson, that guy defines weird to a tee. If you look in the dictionary, you might spot his picture on the same page. Hell, Dave and Mike are not as strange as one of my friends from my hometown, Jake Lau. [Note from Editors: As unbelievable as this comment may seem, we must agree with this assessment. We have read several documents, including an autobiographical novel based upon a year in his law school experience. If this autobiographical novel is a fair and accurate representation, Mr. Lau is definitely eccentric, much more so than the other three mentioned in this journal entry.] That guy takes it to a different level. I wonder how he is doing? You know, those three would get along very well.
Anyway, Dave is acting strange. Even for his standards. Which is amazing.
He’s checking and double-checking his car. He’s feeling around his car seats, thinking that there might be something stuck between the cushions. He’s checking underneath the seats, poring over every inch. Not too unusual, right? Wrong. It’s just the beginning.
He pulls out a thin metal pole with a mirror at the end. Checks the underneath of his car. Now that is weird and going into the level of paranoid. Pulls out a metal box from his jacket pocket and walks around the car. Walking intensely. Poring over every inch. Once that is over, he locks the doors and walks away as if nothing is wrong.
Seriously…that is just strange on any level of the word’s definition. Unless he is training to be an explosive ordinance disposal expert or something. That is a good possibility. I would not be surprised by that possibility. Or he is in witness protection and a very violent person is going to trace him down and kill him. Nah. He probably is just acting strange again.
I’m not going to ask him what is up with him. It’s just not worth it.
I think that I will go and email Jake this little story. He’ll get a really big kick out of this story. This place is just weird on a different level, a totally different level.
TWO
Entry in David King’s Electronic Journal (Decrypted)
{ENTRY LOG}
[LAST LOGIN DATE: 10/19/04]
[LAST LOGIN TIME: 11:58:01PM]
[LAST LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTRY TIME: 01:11:31PM]
[LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTER PASSCODE: QdePo9#vm0PiC2$LcBeqwsA6oUyWxh5HntY8u3DFjlb61PV#&y1DxQiUYVbn9mBvCeRu5OO8kHcM49uRVyPL1%Kbm3IxVbwp]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
[RUNNING E-JOURNAL]
[ENTER E-JOURNAL PASSCODE: cQ7LhG5%1DXv3Z0IkeM@9YpJdOi9#7fSZv6py!cb2Nr]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
01:11:31 PM 10/25/04
I am so sorry that I haven’t updated this e-journal in a long time, a very long time. It’s been over two weeks since I last updated. What is going wrong with me right now? Am I now really going crazy? What is going wrong with me right now? Should I worry now that I am thinking I am going crazy or am I just rationalizing that I am not going crazy despite the evidence that may show that I am entering that state? God, that is so seriously [expletive deleted] up. I might be going crazy, possibly. I’m not sure. Maybe this is a good sign as this might encourage Them to quit this situation. Once I go mentally unstable, They might consider this to be beyond repair. I might try that route later if I deem it to be strategically necessary. I might come up with something that goes against their expectations. You know, I should keep that option open until later, when I might need it. This might be sooner than I think.
Doesn’t it seem strange that I am now apologizing over the fact that I am not entering entries into a private electronic journal? And that I am now proceeding to type every single thought that is coming from my head. This might be a sign of mental instability or I am becoming a fan of Virginia Woolf and the stream of consciousness style she wrote in. [Note from Editors: Virginia Woolf was a famed English writer who adopted the stream of consciousness style of writing. She is best known for such works as “A Room of One’s Own.” The work that Mr. King later refers to as “verbal diarrhea” most likely is “A Spot on the Wall.” Since we were both born in England and given a British education up till college, we are kind of partial to the writing of Virginia Woolf. We still, despite our liking for Virginia Woolf, must agree with his opinion of “A Spot in the Wall.” It is, in our opinion, dreadful. His criticism is semi-ironic as his style of writing can be described as mild form of stream of consciousness in some cases. ] I seriously hate her style of writing, absolutely loathed it. Pure verbal diarrhea.
I met McVath [Note from Editors: David King is using Smith’s code name for an unusual reason that is not easily explained. Maybe this is due to the high level of stress that he is feeling and this is a momentary lapse of memory] last week during the weekend at an undisclosed location. Someone, I’m not sure who, maybe one of his many runners and intermediaries, met me at my apartment in a nondescript Ford Taurus. A standard shade of gray, neutral, common to all brands and models of cars. All standard features, but with some differences. The engine was modified, more powerful due to a change made in engine computer chips. A skillfully installed metal plate welded into the trunk area. Headlights installed in the rear of the car. Easily tilted from the driver’s seat. Well-hidden control panel. [Note from Editors: Apparently, Mr. King recognized such features due to his considerable knowledge of executive protector firms—crudely referred to as bodyguards—and Mr. Smith showed a level of secrecy and protection of his privacy, considering his illegal activities.]
I was told to put a blindfold and a mask over my head so I could not see where we were going. After a long drive, a very long drive, most likely making large circles, turn backs, and Lord knows what, we arrived at McVath’s hideout.
His place is a truly technological marvel. Racks of electronics. A massive array of servers and mainframes and God knows what. Monitors. Specialized equipment that I can’t describe or know what purpose they had. There are bookcases full of documents. I’m thinking that most of this equipment is illegal or if not illegal, specially modified to be a tiny step away from being illegal. He truly is dedicated.
McVath presented himself in a different fashion. He was a tall man—at least 6’3, probably closer to 6’5. Not the skinny stereotype of most computer guys (computer guys generally are Bulkies or Skinnies and not in between. Think 97 pound weakling or 300 pound slob). He was wiry with muscles. Flaming red hair closely cropped to his skull. Black aviator sunglasses that obscured his eyes. I’m not sure what color his eyes are. I’m not sure if ANYONE knows what colors his eyes are. Wears those sunglasses all the time. Never seen them take his sunglasses off at any time at all. His wardrobe is black. Black shoes, socks, pants, shirt, leather jacket. Very anarchistic look if his skin did not have monitor tan that gave his skin a slightly greenish tone. That was something I haven’t seen since I took a computer science class in college. All the hardcore Comp Sci students had that greenish look to their skin.
He extended his hand out. It was lightly cool and dry from being in an air conditioned room all day. “Mr. King?”
I took his hand and shook it. He had a surprisingly strong grip. “Yes, you are correct. Mr. McVath, I presume? I’ve been looking for your help.”
He had a bemused smile on his face. “Ah yes, just like the Oracle at Delphi. You have come here to ask a question and to receive an answer.”
“Unlike the Oracle at Delphi, I am sure you don’t give ambiguous responses that lead to the end of kingdoms like the King of Lydia. Nor do you inhale mildly hallucinogenic and possibly poisonous hydrocarbon fumes to obtain your state of knowledge.”
“Point taken. But first, to continue with this ancient rite, you must give me the answers to mystic questions that will determine whether you get what you want.”
“Now you’re speaking like a Freemason. Get on with it.”
A barking laugh. “What are the first twenty decimal digits of pi?”
“3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971. Wait, that was thirty. I could go on if you are not convinced.”
“That was correct. Anyone can know that. If I go to the Varsity and I order a glorified steak with cheese, strings, and a F.O, what have I ordered?”
“You forgot the Georgia fried pie made of peach. But if you eat a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise; an order of French fries; and a large frosted orange, you wouldn’t have enough room for one of their excellent peach pies.”
“Again, you are correct. What are the advantages of asynchronous data transfer when it comes to a high-speed G3 wireless network?”
“This sounds suspiciously like the Dilbert cartoon involving Dogbert’s cartoon creation of Captain Boron. What does that have to do with anything?”
A loud barking laugh. “Sorry about the security measures I was taking. With that answer, you’ve proven your identity. You are as Pedarenko described. Come, I will give you the answers that you want.”
Once the preliminaries were done, he gave me the information that I wanted. With his skills in breaking into the phone systems, Mr. McVath obtained the information that I wanted through means that I do not know. McVath did give a description, but it soon became so technical that it went completely over my head. Some stuff about tracing cookies through the data network and going though the relay switch and…too much, absolutely too much. All I know that he could trace these IP addresses. He managed to narrow the IP addresses down to a specific area in the city. The size of the area he narrowed down the IP addresses wasn’t that big, maybe one or two city blocks in area. This might require some further detective work to narrow it down to a specific address, but he has done more than I could ever do. It should not take too much work.
He also gave me some other goodies that I would possibly need. I used the extendible wand/mirror tool to check the underside of my car. That was quite fun to do. I think I managed to scare Nicole while doing this. It will add to the King mystique. I guess I won’t be able to get any more dates while in law school after this little incident. You know, I have a reputation as being to keep up and I can’t afford to lose it. [Note from Editor: This is ironic as Mr. King was notoriously single while in law school and while in law school, he did not have a girlfriend or a date. At least none that he writes about or others knew about. Mr. King would later prove to be successful, but this was due to the influence of the Itanimulli. The person he would later date and ultimately marry, much to his horror, was an Itanimulli who had the power to control the weather. How he managed to figure this out will be later discussed in this work.]
That’s all I have to say in this entry. It’s a good thing that I’m a glutton for punishment as I will have to do some reconnaissance to get a lay of the land. I haven’t been down in the underground tunnel system here since my college days. It will be a good feeling to be back down underneath these crowded streets. Got to find my tunnel maps. They’re somewhere in one of these boxes. I might have to contact Tunnel Rat [Note from Editors: We do not know who Tunnel Rat is, but we assume that Tunnel Rat, along with King, spent time in these underground tunnel systems. For the historically inclined, Tunnel Rat is also the nickname of the men of the 25th Infantry Division who explored the VietCong tunnel system. Their motto in Latin, “Non Gratum Anus Rodentum” translates into “Not worth a rat’s ass.” These soldiers were a special breed and were highly decorated for their bravery as the job entailed crawling blindly in dark, tight tunnels filled with giant rats, poisonous snakes, bats, and deadly booby traps. There were literally, hundreds of ways to die in a tunnel. ] for a copy.
That’s all for now, at least for today. I have to get ready for Legal Writing I...one of the most boring and most useless classes in law school. [Note from Editors: Legal Writing is a mandatory class for all ABA accredited law schools. It is part of the ABA recommended courses for first-year law school students. Apparently, the ABA noted that many law school students graduating from law schools had a poor sense of legal research and poor legal writing skills. The people responsible for academics at the ABA did a study and in a lengthy report, stated that law schools should teach legal writing skills to law school students. So that is why law schools make 1Ls take Legal Writing or an equivalent class going by a different name. Nearly all, if not all law school students consider this to be an absolutely class as if you can’t figure out how to find a book in a library, then you probably should not be in law school. Most of the class is spent learning about legal history, writing unrealistic legal memos, and learning how to write proper legal citations using the Bluebook. Why the class could not be taught in a more realistic manner is beyond the comprehension of law school students as well as law school faculty members. Even the law library staff consider guiding law school students around the library to be a pointless exercise. After a semester of this bull, it is no wonder why law school students consistently loathe this class.] If this is any indication of what law school is going to be like, then maybe I should quit while I am ahead.
THREE
Note From Tunnel Rat (Handwritten)
[Note from Editors: This is the only document from Tunnel Rat that we could find in Mr. King’s possession. In fact, we were extremely lucky to find such a document in Mr. King’s possession and the discovery of this document makes for an interesting story. While looking through Mr. King’s personal library—totaling about 3,000 books—we happened to open a Federal Reporter and this piece of paper fell out. When we had the document properly preserved, photographed, and scanned, we managed to get the full message. This was truly a great discovery.
Again, you should note that this is another message made in code. When translated, it refers to when and where they will meet to scope out the tunnel systems running underneath certain target areas mentioned by Smith. Mr. King’s use of another code word system shows his cleverness and possibly, his level of paranoia about secrecy.]
I just received your accounting books by certified mail today. I know you wanted me to audit your books to see if there might be any possible accounting errors. I ran the numbers through the accounting program this afternoon and everything seems to be in order. All the figures add up and there should be no problems with your mathematics. In order to be absolutely sure, I will need some extra documentation.
Could you please stop by my main office on Saturday night after closing hours? Bring your receipts and other business documents so I can verify my calculations.
Note To Tunnel Rat (Handwritten)
It is good to know that based upon a cursory check, my accounting is correct. You’ve predicted correctly. I want to be absolutely sure my accounting is correct or not.
It will be no problem for me to meet you at your main office located downtown. I will be bringing my receipts as well as other business documents for you to look over.
FOUR
Entry in David King’s Electronic Journal (Decrypted)
{ENTRY LOG}
[LAST LOGIN DATE: 10/25/04]
[LAST LOGIN TIME: 01:11:31PM]
[LAST LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTRY TIME: 10:28:59AM]
[LOGIN NAME: DKing]
[ENTER PASSCODE: QdePo9#vm0PiC2$LcBeqwsA6oUyWxh5HntY8u3DFjlb61PV#&y1DxQiUYVbn9mBvCeRu5OO8kHcM49uRVyPL1%Kbm3IxVbwp]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
[RUNNING E-JOURNAL]
[ENTER E-JOURNAL PASSCODE: cQ7LhG5%1DXv3Z0IkeM@9YpJdOi9#7fSZv6py!cb2Nr]
[PASSWORD ACCEPTED]
10:29:02 AM 11/01/04
I had an interesting weekend. It was quite fun to go back into the tunnels underneath this town. Me, Tunnel Rat and a few others at the Big School used to spend hours exploring those spaces, sometimes with humorous and not so humorous results. Like the time that Vertigo accidentally slipped and fell into a big pool of God know what while we were first mapping the Sewer Maintenance Tunnels underneath what we called Not-So-Grand Central Station. [Note from Editors: This was their mocking name for the City’s Main Bus Station, notorious for being inefficient and being late.]
The Public Utilities and Works Department (PUWD) said there are five distinct yet interconnecting, tunnel systems: telephone, water, sewer, gas, and basic maintenance. The first four are self-explanatory, but the final one—basic maintenance—might need a little explanation.
I asked a person at the PUWD what the basic maintenance tunnels were used for. He gave a long story that I found fascinating. Apparently, in the early days, this city wanted to be like New York City, complete with a subway system. This did not pan out, obviously, but since the city was expanding at a furious rate, they could use the subway tunnel system as a basic maintenance tunnel system making it possible to use this tunnel system if a part of another system shut down. In addition, they had all of these free tunnels dug, so why not make the most out of it? He mentions that while he was working down in the city water section of the PUWD, he spent lots of time down checking water mains. In the basic maintenance tunnels, there are large spaces that were converted to workers lounges where he could rest and watch TV and a bunch of other activities.
McVath narrowed the area down to the Cedar Hills North Industrial Area located about a mile north of the Cedar River. Strangely enough, the Cedar Hills South Industrial Area is located a mile north of this site. I guess it’s the South Industrial Area since it is on the south riverbank and not the north riverbank. Go figure. It’s just inside the city limits, a short distance away from the interstate. It is an ugly area that looks like the stereotypical industrial zone you would find in movies. Big, sprawling buildings made of metal and glass that look like giant boxes. Wide, flat boxes stuck side by side with other flat, wide boxes. Narrow, tall boxes piled on top of other narrow, tall boxes. Any one of those buildings could be the home base of the They.
Being a law school student, and being a fan of spending time poring over records, I went over to the county courthouse and spent Friday afternoon checking the property records. I narrowed the search area down to four buildings that changed ownership about six years ago. Six years ago, I moved to this city to go to college and ultimately, extending the stay to law school. [Note from Editors: The string of logic that he follows is extremely precise, though one might argue based upon possibly flawed assumptions. Then again, his logic is based upon a relatively solid base. It is safe to assume that the Itanimulli would have a central base located in the same region he was staying in. Logically, the headquarters has to be set up after King moved there. One cannot predict what anyone will do with 100 percent certainty. Generally, it would not be very smart to locate a local headquarters that is located miles away from the agents, especially if they spend most of their time near the law school. In addition, by being located by a major road like an interstate, transportation is easier and if any local agents live out of town, the headquarters is located at a convenient location. Finally, by choosing an industrial area located by the interstate, few people will question any activities that happen there like the movement of heavy machinery and large containers. This search, though possibly unorthodox, works well.]
The first two choices on the list were immediately excluded, as they were a scuba supply store and a sporting goods store. If I were going to have a local headquarters that could hold all of their equipment, then it had to be a large area with lots of empty space. I also checked both stores and every single square inch were packed with inventory. As an extra precaution, I also took a peek in their storage areas in the back and the warehouses they used to store extra inventory. Nothing but inventory, sadly to say. I even got a copy of the blueprints and double-checked those for secret hiding places.
The third building, a storage facility, checked out as well. It was what it claimed to be. I borrowed a friend’s SUV and drove up to the storage facility. I pretended to be a customer who was from out of town and moving into a brand new house. The only problem was that I was lacking storage space and I needed a temporary storage spot for a month or so. It took some of my social engineering skills (learned by personal experience), but I got to take a look inside some of the storage units. Nothing important. Just the usual stuff that people can’t store in their garage for fear of their car not fitting inside or items that overflow from their closet. Toys, sports equipment, exercise equipment, and other bits and pieces. I really hate it when things don’t pan out. Three down, one more to go.
I finally hit pay dirt with the final location. According to the county courthouse records, actually a property deed, the building in question was bought by a person with the name of John Littlejohn (a name that I associate with a bad spy novel or a name chosen by an alien for that matter) and in cash. About a half-million dollars. It was done all at once in one lump sum.
I called the former owner and did some more social engineering. I pretended to be an interested property buyer and started asking questions. You know what I mean. They were the usual questions like “How much does an average building cost,” “What is the market like around this area” and “What kind of businesses are common around here.” I hit pay dirt and did I strike it rich.
The former owner, Vince DiCastello, talked about John Littlejohn and the strange experience he had with “Mr. Littlejohn.” Mr. Littlejohn sure did act “pretty peculiar, almost inhuman” according to DiCastello. He was intrigued by DiCastello’s strong Southern Italian accent (from Calabria, no less) and his forceful manner of bargaining. Apparently, Littlejohn was not used to this style of negotiation. After a one-sided conversation, Littlejohn finally understood this process. Not so unusual, of course, as some people are not used to this, but the manner in which he stated this, seemed unusual to DiCastello. Mr. Littlejohn kept repeating, “Fascinating. I must remember this and write this down for my action report for Smerlon. Yes, he will enjoy this Earth custom.” Kept repeating this over and over again. And Littlejohn could not keep his eyes of a ballpoint pen. Thought it was an engaging object to behold.
Once the negotiations were complete (not even looking over the property for more than ten minutes at most), Mr. Littlejohn agreed to pay the asking price. Littlejohn just happened to have a bag filled with money, neatly stacked in nice bundles. Assorted bills, all in denominations less than $100. Just handed it over like it was nothing. “Mighty strange if you ask me. I like watching movies and it was like a scene from an action flick. An illegal drug deal or something. But hey, it’s cash and it was all real cash, so I didn’t question where he got it from, ya know? I ain’t gonna complain about that. Easiest deal I ever made in my life. Dude was strange, but if he pays money like that, I could t care less if he came walking in here wearing a clown suit with a big red nose.”
Of course. I knew that I had the right place. One problem. The only way here was by driving on the Cedar River Bridge. No tunnels were lying underneath the Cedar River. Too cost prohibitive according to the city. Bad news for me. Ah, but Tunnel Rat did more exploring than I did. He found a secret entrance into the guts of the bridge and by going down this way, the tunnel in the bridge led to a smaller subsystem underneath the Industrial Area. Excellent.
The trip to the Industrial Area wasn’t that exciting. Just the normal stuff that normal people do on a Friday night at 11PM. Breaking and entering by picking a padlock with a lock picking set. I think the summer at MIT might have something to do with Rat’s skill. [Note from Editors: According to Steven Levy’s book Hackers, students in the Computer Science/Engineering department were proficient at lock picking and safe cracking. Apparently, the administration locked vital computer parts and tools inside locked rooms and safes. For example, if you are writing code at a late hour and a circuit board burns out due to a broken part and it’s locked in a room, you are going to break in the room and fix the broken circuit board. At least if you were a computer science major at the time. In order to break into the room and get the parts you need, you had to know how to pick locks and crack safes. Either that or make a set of master keys. All perfectly illegal, but fine, as long as you didn’t get caught. This attitude is not condoned currently, but this was happening in the sixties, so they were more lenient then. Even now, however, some in the Computer Science/Engineering department at MIT consider this to be a valuable skill. But this leads to another more basic question. How did the homeless people pick the locks?] Safely making our way past extremely territorial homeless people trying to keep warm. Crawling underneath a pipe set a little less than two feet off the ground. Crawling through a warm puddle of some unknown yet smelly liquid. Walking fifty feet above the Cedar River. Absolutely normal stuff.
Tunnel Rat did notice something unusual. Like the second fiber optic cable. And the additional electrical cables. Not a regular cable you normally see, but a super thick one. Whatever was across the Wet Trench [Note from Editors: an affectionate local reference to the Cedar River] was sucking up a large amount of power. Tunnel Rat, being a computer nut, guessed that it might be a small supercomputer. Nothing like the IBM supercomputers like Blue Gene, but pretty powerful none the less. I’m thinking that he is right. I do dabble in computer science and stuff, but not like him. I trust his opinion. There were tangles of additional wire that indicated something serious.
“Damn, Dave, you’re getting us into some big stuff. I wouldn’t mind seeing what these people have up and running. It seems to be a big one.”
“Tunnel Rat, you don’t want to know. Trust me.”
I let Tunnel Rat lead us down the twisting tunnels. I’ve been down in the tunnels many time, but as his name suggests, Tunnel Rat is just the best. He lives for tunnel exploration, in addition to his fascination with all things related to computers. I don’t know how he does it, but he is the best when it comes to tunnel exploration in this town.
“Well, we are nearing what I like to call River Five Points. Where you want to go, the Cedar Hills North Industrial Area, is up here.” He pointed to the tunnel in the middle. “Now, this part of the tunnel system is pretty dangerous. It might be some of the newest tunnels, but the tunnels are carved into real crumbly rock that the local geologists call popcorn, cause it cracks and pops into little chunks that look like gray popcorn. The tunnels are cramped and dirty, lots of water seeps and drips through, even though the engineers used the special cement. Real nasty place. Real nasty place. But given what we saw earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if the conditions have improved a bit.”
We walked down the middle tunnel. It’s quiet, perfectly quiet. No sound at all. Too quiet. If this place is wet, there should at least some sound like splashes or the constant plop-plop of drips.
“This is mighty strange, Dave. Mighty strange. I don’t like this at all.” He turned on a flashlight and a bright beam cut through the darkness. “What the hell? This is not right at all. Not right at all.”
And I knew I was on the right track. Perfectly smooth walls and floor made out of some material that was shiny, but not metallic, but not exactly plastic. All the wires that snaked in the bridge and wound their way in the previous tunnels disappeared. I guessed they were underneath this weird material. They just couldn’t have vanished.
“I’m getting a bad vibe. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.”
I did feel strange. I had this odd feeling like we were being watched somehow. It was a good thing we were wearing ratty and dirty clothes, that we were disguised to look like homeless people. You can never tell who might discover you. If you blend in with the locals, it’s all good. Trust me, you will never recognize me when I dress up like this.
“Yeah, I feel it too.” My eyes darted around. Up there. Up at a little corner. I saw a flash of red. Damn. It could be anything. Maybe it was a video camera of some sort. Maybe it was a motion detector of some sort. Maybe it was some kind of alien technology that They brought along with them from their home planet. I don’t know what it was and where the flash came from. I don’t know anything about this thing. All I know, that it was something and it was not good. Time to get the hell out of there.
“Did you see that flash of red?”
I nodded.
“This is not a good sign man. As much as I want to see the killer rig these people have, this is just not worth it. I’ve never been in a tunnel system that scared me this much. Something about this place has got me on edge right now.”
“I agree. I totally agree.”
Tunnel Rat and I turned around and casually walked away. Once we got to River Five Points, we gunned it. We didn’t care if we woke everyone up. We weren’t going to assume anything. If anyone was following us, we were going to put as much distance as possible between them and us. Sure, this isn’t the best strategy to use, but what did we care. Besides, I didn’t know what They had on us. I didn’t know if They were quick or slow, lazy or active, nothing. You might as well run like hell and hope the ones chasing you don’t catch you. That’s all.
We quickly made our way across the Cedar River Bridge. Quickly crawled through the muck, under the pipe. Once we made it to the homeless people, we slowed down and wove our way past the homeless people. Don’t want to piss them off. They’re dangerous when they get angry. When these people get angry, they get really angry. This leads to a lot of noise and a whole mess of trouble. This will lead you to bigger problems like the police. The police give me an allergic reaction that is not worth it.
Once we got past all the sleeping people, we quickly made our way out of there. Far away from there. Far, far away from there.
Since it was a Saturday night and we were a little hungry from the exploration, we decided to get a bite to eat from a local diner. Yes, diners have a bad reputation for having lousy food, this place actually has great food. Simple, but well-prepared and fantastic tasting food [Note from Editors: The place he is referring to is Calvin’s Light Rail. Founded by Calvin O’Neil in 1989, he served burgers (plain, with cheese or with anything you would like) and fries to hungry university students. It soon became an institution where locals and visitors alike gathered to eat the best burgers and fries in the city. After nearly a hundred and fifty years, this institution still lives, though in a different location and under new management, the sixth generation of O’Neils. Their cheeseburgers and fries are still excellent. Some of the best ever. We tried them when we visited the city while doing research for this book.] There’s nothing like crispy fries and a cheeseburger at midnight.
“That was a weird place. Real weird.”
“I didn’t expect that,” I said. “I have to agree with you. That place was weird.”
“You don’t seem so surprised. [Note from Editors: Apparently, Tunnel Rat is very shrewd or Mr. King is not that good at hiding emotions. We are of the opinion that Tunnel Rat is very, very shrewd at reading the human mind.] I’m guessing you know more that what you’re saying. But I’m not going to ask since we agreed to total secrecy.”
“You’re right on both counts. Let’s say I can’t tell and I won’t tell. We’ll leave it at that.”
“Fine.” He paused and said, “It’s only 12:20 AM. Let’s go over to Shooter McGee down the street and have a beer.”
“Rain check on that. Got to drive home and I’m tired. Maybe next week.”
That was my weekend. I went home and slept. And wondered who noticed us. And what They know about this expedition. They might decide to lay low or increase their security or I don’t know what will happen. I just hope They don’t bother me. What ever happens, happens. I’ve chosen the path that I am going to take and I have to take that path without fail. I, like King Lear, must stand the course.
I don’t know where this course will take me.
FIVE
Memo to MCRGES from Local Headquarters, Security Department, November 1, 2004 (Earth Time)
To: MCRGES
From: Head of Security Department, Local Headquarters
On October 30, 2004 at 11:31:47 PM, there was a possible security breach occurring in the underground tunnels located near the local headquarters. Please refer to Map LHQUT2, Map Grid C4-Subgrid D3. After looking at the security tapes, two humans got to Point Delta One, which is just beyond the main intersection in the tunnel system. This is the farthest breach we have had on the tunnel security system, which was operational at the time.
The two subjects were dressed like what people on Earth call “homeless.” They were extremely dirty and unkempt, with ragged, dirty, and torn clothing covered in dirt and oil and other filth. Their shoes were rugged boots, well worn and covered in dirt and mud also. Their faces were covered in knitted wool masks and a heavy layer of dirt and oil as well. Due to the amount of mud and dirt and oil and other foreign substances covering their face, as well as the clothing worn by the individuals, it is very likely that the two individuals were homeless people and not of importance. There is the chance that the two individuals were not homeless, but youth interested in adventure. I have done research on this topic and it is very likely that they are what the Internet calls “urban explorers” or “tunnel explorers.” I am of the opinion, however, that these two individuals were homeless people who wandered into the tunnel and decided that venturing farther was worthless.
I must commend the technology section of the Security Department for the advancements they made to the ThetaPlus Mind Manipulation Machine. Their modifications have turned a generally focused wave into a multi-spectrum, multi-wavelength machine that can affect multiple people. [Note from Editors: The ThetaPlus Mind Manipulation Machine manufactured by the Itanimullian company of ThetaPlus, is the same machine used by the Local Agent to modify the mind of the law school dean. How the Security Department of the MCRGES local headquarters managed to do these modifications is not known. We have checked all the records available and there are no records. The MCRGES Local Headquarters seem to have destroyed all records.]I suggest that we increase the security around Point Delta One. Our computers have suggested putting in extra motion sensors and having a regular patrol of the area. In addition, if needs be, keeping all the homeless away. This may be considered overkill for such a minor intrusion into this area, but an intrusion is an intrusion, no matter how minor. After all, this experiment is a major and important experiment and security is paramount. Any breach of security leading to failure of this experiment would be bad.
posted by J.U. at 11/13/2006 06:03:00 AM
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