In the privacy of her apartment, Dylan glanced at the mill explosion case photos once again. Not that it changed anything. Guy’s face was obviously hazy, despite knowing every shot she took was strikingly focused. His face was the only obscured part of any of the photos. That meant only one thing: the Blurred Man was real.
Dylan knew the urban legend. Bits and pieces were readily available on the internet, touted by fly-by-night bloggers with less than credible sources. A CIA case file was reported to exist on the subject, but if so it was buried somewhere in the same vault with Area 57 data. But like Bigfoot and Elvis, the sightings never truly went away.
“Chip, pull up all relevant data on the Blurred Man.”
Her palm-sized, synthetic assistant whirred from its position on her desk. “The Blurred Man. Chasing ghosts in the night, are we? Very well.” The pyramid-shaped automaton emitted a holographic screen flooded with scrolling data from its apex. Dylan’s sparsely furnished studio apartment flooded with light as statistics and pictures flickered, absorbed by her optic receptors and processed by her quantum core at inhuman speed. Seconds later she digested all that was available on both public and private online databases.
“Unfortunately, credible information is quite scarce,” Chip said.
Dylan nodded. “Worldwide intelligence agencies only reluctantly acknowledge the existence of an individual or group of operatives possibly responsible for manipulating a number of catastrophic events.”
Light pulsed across Chip’s alloyed surface. “The implications are frightening if true. Such events include the Trinity explosion and the WWII atomic bombing of Nagasaki — which many conspiracy theorists claimed was never supposed to be a target after Hiroshima. The 1980s Chernobyl meltdown disaster was also supposedly instigated by the Blurred Man, along with other less threatening but still disastrous events since that time.”
Dylan interacted with the holographic screen, sliding over to a photo of a young black man sitting in front of a computer. “Strange that a conspiracy theorist blogger would be the person to connect the dots. What do we know about Nathan Ryder?”
Chip whirred. “He had been blogging for several years with only a small following before he turned his attention to government conspiracy. His early work details mostly his life growing up as a young black man with a stereotypical background of low income and poor schooling, separated from his peers because of his mental gifts. Instead of feeling alienated, he embraced his solitude, excelling scholastically and earning a scholarship from Yale, where he distinguished himself in law, mathematics and psychology.”
“How did he discover his information on the Blurred Man?”
“A combination of luck and obsessive behavior,” Chip said. “He has a passion for photography, which led to a study of its history, particularly of catastrophic and wartime events. His detailed examination of thousands of photographs revealed a disturbing aberration: more than a few photographs displayed a man’s image, always with his face obscured despite the clarity of the photo. At times more than one person’s face was blurred, but it was never more than two at a time. Ryder stuck with the singular label of ‘Blurred Man’, a term which instantly caught on with the fringe elements of the blogging community.”
Dylan motioned with her hands, enlarging a college newspaper article. “He published his work two years ago, insinuating the intelligence agencies covered over proof of the Blurred Man’s existence. His findings created a firestorm of controversy as mainstream media leaped on the bandwagon.”
“National attention came soon after.” Chip’s beam flickered, switching the holographic display over to a collage of news articles. “A six-figure book deal, speaking engagements, even movie and television offers.”
“What’s interesting is what didn’t happen,” Dylan said. “Ryder didn’t take any of those lucrative propositions. He accepted an offer for a consulting position with Chimera Global instead.”
“A global corporation with a number of umbrella operations including nuclear energy, international arms supply, military science, and mercenary employment.” Chip switched the display to a screenshot of the imposing Chimera Global headquarters building. “Ironic since Ryder blogged many times about the danger of such operations.”
“What are you up to, Mr. Ryder?” Dylan processed each data point almost instantaneously, her algorithms mapping and eliminating thousands of different scenarios. “Which branch of Chimera is he currently stationed at?”
“A military institution just outside of San Francisco,” Chip said, switching the screenshot over to a satellite image of the area. “Officially designated an office of the newly founded Aberrant Investigation Team. It’s currently funded and staffed by Chimera Global operatives. I’m accessing their records.” Tiny dots of light winked across Chip’s frame. “This is interesting.” It exhibited the information on the holographic display.
“Michael McDaniel is being held there,” Dylan said. “The only survivor of the mill explosion where Guy Mann was last seen. It’s all connected somehow. The fact that Chimera has sequestered this investigation only confirms it. That means I have two goals to accomplish: discover what Chimera wants with Michael, and find out what Nathan Ryder knows about the Blurred Man. Fortunately I know a way to accomplish both tasks at the same location.”
Chip shut off the display and rose from the table, its tiny repulsors firing as it drifted over to land in the palm of Dylan’s hand. “I believe that means I have work to do.”
Dylan glanced in the mirror and focused, accessing the portion of her mind that manipulated self-image. A tingling sensation was the only indicator of the slight alteration in her optical receptors to visualize herself with darker hair and eye color. Picking up a pair of thin-rimmed glasses off the table, she tried them on and studied her reflection. “That’s right, Chip. I need an additional profession. One that can get me access to Michael McDaniel. It will have to be able to withstand a thorough investigation and background check. I’ll be using chestnut hair color and hazel contact lenses to give me a slightly different look, so make sure to include that in the ID photos.”
“Not much of a challenge,” Chip said. “Consider it done. May I suggest caution this time? Chimera is known for ruthless maneuvering to achieve their goals.”
“That’s why you won’t be coming,” Dylan said. “I need you to prepare another safe house. My calculations indicate an eighty-six percent chance of this expedition turning disastrous. Dylan Plumm may no longer be a valid alias afterward.”
Chip buzzed in a distressed manner. “I’ll purchase your airline tickets.”
II
Dylan studied Nathan Ryder as he leaned back in his cushioned office chair. It didn’t appear to be a relaxed gesture at all. He also avoided eye contact for the most part, glancing anywhere but her as they exchanged formalities. Merging his behavior with the personality exams Dylan had already downloaded allowed her to run an analysis in her mind.
The retreating posture is his unconscious indication he feels uncomfortable in my presence. Combined with his irritated expression and terse manner of speech, it reveals his social handicap. Although gifted with brilliance in logical thinking, he is at odds with basic personal interaction. Schizoid personality disorder would best account for his behavior. His preference is isolation, being able to operate individually with little or any supervision. His office is his comfort zone, and I’m intruding simply by being here.