The screen then darkened a moment before finally transitioning to a photograph of the ruins at Delphi, Greece. A line of text appeared at the top of the screen: THE DELPHI GROUP — VIDEO CONFERENCING BEING INITIATED.
The man, whose name Zane Watson, took a sip of coffee while he waited for the connection. A former Navy SEAL, he had been honorably discharged after suffering a severe knee injury while on duty in Yemen. Disappointed at not being able to serve but determined to make the most of his life, Zane enrolled in computer science at North Carolina State University. He was able to obtain a bachelor’s degree in only two and a half years, a testament to his strong work ethic and intellect.
The injured knee was later repaired to near normal, using advanced surgical techniques developed at Duke University, but by then the former SEAL had settled into a civilian career as a flight instructor, based at Raleigh-Durham International Airport (RDU). It was at RDU that Zane reconnected with a former high school classmate named Claire Williams, a flight attendant for a regional airline. The two fell in love, the seed having been planted years ago when they were teenagers, but the time spent apart eventually brought the relationship to a halt. Many still predicted the two would get married one day. Zane had his doubts. As he often said to those who inquired, sometimes when a ship sails, it never returns to port.
Zane was single, childless, and enjoying life as a flight instructor when approached by Dr. Alexander Ross, otherwise known as the Oracle, in the mid-2000s. The Oracle was determined to make the former SEAL the senior operative of the Delphi Group. He had heard of the man’s reputation through various channels; Zane was known as a fearless soldier with a mind like a steel trap. It took a number of flights between Reagan National Airport and RDU, but the Oracle was eventually able to bring Zane on board by agreeing to let him live in Raleigh. The new operative would even be allowed to give flight lessons, as time permitted. The shrewd Oracle knew that it couldn’t hurt to have a point man who was also a trained pilot.
On the screen of Zane's laptop, the face of a girl wearing a headset appeared. She was in her early thirties with auburn hair. She broke into a large grin when video contact was established. “Nice to see you, sir.”
“Nice to see you too, Kristine.”
“I’m patching you through to Dr. Ross.”
Almost immediately, a new face appeared. It was the face of Dr. Alexander Ross, a man better known in the business as the Oracle. He was late middle-aged and had a thin build. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed straight back, and he wore stylish, wire-rimmed glasses. He appeared to be sitting in a dark office with a glass window behind him. The lights of a city twinkled in the distance.
“Zane Watson, you are still alive. Three more minutes, and we were going to have to send out another text. That might have put us over budget,” quipped Ross.
The operative smiled. “You know me — never early, but never late. If you ever have to send me a second text, it'll mean I died of old age.”
“I’ll have Kristine make note of that in your file,” replied Ross. “By the way, nice beard… and nice hair. Trying out for a Christmas play?”
“Unfortunately I didn’t have much choice. It seems Kristine forgot to have a razor waiting for me at the Lodge, and the Rocky Mountain wilderness isn’t exactly crawling with barbers.”
“Haven’t spooked the neighbors, have you?”
“When you say neighbors, are you referring to the resident population of spotted skunks, black bears, and mountain lions? Or are you referring to the old woman who keeps marching across the property and setting off the sensors?”
Ross chuckled. “Ah yes, Margaret Honeywell. When O’Brien stayed at the Lodge, he was convinced she was a foreign operative. He made us run a full diagnostic report on her. It seems she’s a bona fide naturalist, a retired professor of botany from the University of Colorado at Boulder. We even sent an agent out to her house, disguised as an insurance salesman. A little flirtation got him in the door, and he was able to talk to her for several hours. It turns out she is quite feisty and doesn’t seem to like men very much. Something about three bad marriages.”
“She does seem to have issues,” Zane replied. “I followed her a few times. She likes to mumble to herself.”
“Did she ever get close to the Lodge?”
“Never. Apparently our stand of aspen trees isn’t botanically significant.”
“Good. I’d hate to think of the stories she might tell if we had to run her off.” The Oracle stared off camera, as if gathering his thoughts.
“Why the code orange?” Zane asked.
The Oracle leaned forward, put his arms on the desk, and said, “We need to pull you out early.”
“I’m sorry, I must not have heard you correctly,” Zane replied sarcastically.
“I thought that might surprise you. Yes, we need to pull you out… assuming, of course, that you agree to it. We fully intend to comply with the terms of your contract, and if you want to stay dark for another three months, we’ll honor that. But both the president and the director have requested that you run this next operation, and it’s one that can’t be put on hold.”
“You know I’m fine with coming out. I’ve never felt the dark period was all that useful. It’s just that the Ross I know doesn’t violate protocol.”
“Well, and I wouldn’t have if the president hadn’t called me and made a personal plea," said the Oracle. "I'd already decided to have Carmen look into it after she finished up in Sicily, and then once we knew what we were dealing with, we could adjust accordingly. But the president made it very clear that this was a top national priority, and he wanted you to lead our effort.”
“Do you agree that it's a ‘top national priority’?”
“Not yet. It has that potential, but it also has the potential to be nothing more than a series of strange coincidences.”
“Tell me more,” said Zane.
“Let me start at the beginning. Does the name Ian Higgs ring a bell to you?”
Zane rubbed his beard and thought for a moment. “It does. NASA engineer. Brilliant man.”
“Yes, that’s him. And not only NASA, but he was part of a joint venture between NASA and the Department of Defense.”
Zane took another sip of coffee and set his mug on the table. “I remember he was all over the front page of the Wall Street Journal four or five years ago. I read the article. It named him as one of America’s brightest, an engineer that had us on the cutting edge of futuristic technology. The gist was that he was solely responsible for the expanding US lead over the Russians and the Chinese.” He paused for a moment, as if more information was being pulled out of the recesses of his mind. “I also seem to remember the article was written in the wake of his resignation. He had taken a job somewhere. Western Europe, I think? It was a major blow to both NASA and the US. He might have had financial problems, but those were never confirmed.”
“And I’m sure you also remember that two of his colleagues followed suit shortly thereafter,” Ross added.
“I do. It was the proverbial salt in the wound for the US.”
“That's the guy,” Ross replied. “We’re concerned because he was murdered in London a week ago.”
“London? The article didn't say he was in England.”
“He wasn’t. Not initially anyway. The company he went to work for has several offices, none of which are in the United Kingdom. And of course, his presence in London is part of the mystery.”