Kelley grunted in surprise and said, “Uh, the power just went off in several offices and part of the hallway. The copier right outside this door is still running, though.” He paused, then added, “The emergency lights aren’t kicking on like they should.”
Franklin then twisted the handle to its original place, and the lights came back on instantly.
“Uh, huh! I got it,” Franklin said triumphantly as he walked back to the table. He set the box down and took it apart again.
“Can I take this thing off the wall?” asked Straub, who was still bent over the outlet across the room.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Bring it over here.”
“So, what is it?”
“It’s an active relay power switch of some kind. Not only that, but it’s an intelligent hard-coded network device. Their power source is some iteration of an electromagnetic Tesla machine, incorporating magnets to siphon energy from the nearest electrical source.” He glanced up from the device and turned to the EOD officers. “Do you guys have an EPROM reader?”
Kelley gave him a blank look. “We’re bomb squad, not geek squad. Speak English.”
Franklin thought for a second and translated into laymen’s terms. “They’re computers that are powered by pulling energy into the magnets under the board inside the box. The magnets are activated by turning the handle on the front.” He pointed to the board and continued. “The EPROM’s are these little, rectangular black silicon chips that are soldered onto the board. Each one has a code programmed with a particular set of instructions. The devices are set up to communicate with each other across a network of regular electrical wires. You put one at one end of a circuit, the other at the other end. Turn them on, and voila! When the two devices see each other, they run a command to disrupt the circuit between them. They turn off the power to everything in that line.”
“Wow,” Straub said. “That’s incredible.”
“Actually, it’s a fairly simple machine. Not very fancy, but effective,” Franklin answered.
“So, how did you know the combination?”
“Oh, that was easy. The designers must not have expected anyone to capture one. They used a simple electronic door lock keypad and just wired the active buttons directly to the board. They didn’t even require a particular order. You just had to hit all six numbers in any sequence. When I did it, I actually typed the numbers in different sequences on each box and it still worked. They dumbed it down so a less-than-stellar grunt could run them.”
He turned back to the computer and said, “If I had an EPROM reader, I could find the code that’s on those chips and get more detail as to exactly how these things work. But if we can’t do that, I’m pretty sure my guesses are almost on the bull’s eye.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” said Straub.
“Remember when the lights went out in Baghdad just before the Marine invasion in ’03?”
“Yeah, saw it on CNN. I watched the whole thing.”
“I did that, with a similar but much more complex device. We were trying to make it dark without destroying the electrical infrastructure. Saddam’s guys ended up blowing up the grid on their own as a bridge-burning retreat kind of maneuver. The news networks blamed our planes for smashing their infrastructure, but we were actually working our butts off trying to save it.”
“Man, Eckert, what in the world are you doing as a dispatcher at TVEC? You should be at the NSA or at least with the CIA or something.”
“Not unless they open an office here in Fairbanks. I’m not leaving Alaska again, even if I have to work as a logger to make a living.”
Chapter 29
“I don’t know who you think you are, mister, but we do not torture people in this country!” Tomer’s face was beet-red as he recovered from Marcus’s aggression. White flecks of spit sprayed from between his teeth as he flung the word ‘torture’.
Marcus ignored him. He turned his back to Tomer and watched Lonnie talk softly to Sergeant Choi. He tried to listen to what Choi was saying. The FBI agent’s harangue made it impossible.
“Everything that went on here is going to be reported in writing, and you will be held accountable for any illegal actions.”
Wasner approached Tomer, a genteel grin on his face. “Agent Tomer? Can I call you Tony?”
“Who are you?” Tomer demanded.
“I am Chief Warrant Officer Harley Wasner, US Navy, Special Operations Command. I am in charge of this team of elite warriors. I also happen to have an above top-secret level security clearance and direct access to the director of Homeland Security, who, under the recent reorganization, I believe is now your boss. I also, as it happens, am on a first-name basis with the president of this fine country. You know, he calls me Harley and I call him Mr. President.”
Tomer eyed Wasner as he continued speaking.
“We are dealing with a matter of utmost national security here, an extremely urgent matter having to do with the potential use of weapons of mass destruction against a civilian population in this country. Are you getting the picture here, Tony?”
The FBI agent pointed at Chief Wasner, the heavy gold chain around his wrist swung like a tiny pendulum as he jutted his finger on every other syllable. “I don’t care how high your connections may be or what you think the threat may be. You cowboys are not out in some far-off dessert where you can get away with this shit. This is still America, and I have been put in charge of this investigation. You will be following my command now.”
“Agent Tomer,” said Wasner in a clinical tone, like a psychiatrist counseling a troubled client, “I believe this investigation has surpassed your scope of responsibility. It is no longer a law enforcement issue. It took place on a military installation involving known members of a foreign military service, and has become a military operation. I also believe that we need to act immediately on whatever Trooper Wyatt discovers while talking to this man. And I believe that if you have a problem with the way I’m running this operation, you will need to discuss that with my good friend and fellow SEAL, Torrence Hall, Deputy Director of Homeland Security, Western Region. He’s in Anchorage, I believe, this very night on some other business. I’m sure you have his direct cell phone number, n’est pas? If not, I do, and would be more than willing to share that information with you.”
Tomer curled his lip and sneered contemptuously as he realized that he had been checked. He was not willing to let Wasner get the last word in.
“So, you’re the leader of this outfit of baby-killers, huh? You must be the one who’s banging the pretty trooper, then.”
Marcus stiffened. Wasner noticed Marcus’s reaction, and a sly smile slid across his lips.
“I beg your pardon?” Wasner asked. His face softened to an expression of innocence.
Tomer leaned in close to Wasner’s face. His voice came out in a low, hoarse whisper. “Don’t think that just because you’re friends with a deputy director and may be banging an Alaska State Trooper you can get away with breaking the law, bub. She may have an exceptionally nice ass, but she won’t be able to shake that thing in court to defen…”
Before he could finish the sentence, Marcus spun around and heaved Tomer back into the log wall, his long, thick fingers clenched around Tomer’s throat. The FBI agent found himself suspended in the air, feet dangling six inches off the floor, held only by Marcus’s strangling one-handed grip.
Tomer’s face turned an even deeper red as he gasped for breath. He reached up with both hands to pull Johnson’s fingers from his throat, but couldn’t break the iron-like hold.