Countdown

By Joseph R. Pesta

Journey on a science fiction adventure that spans three worlds, an adventure full of action, mystery, intrigue, thrills, and suspense.

A deadly missile has been stolen. A growing terrorist organization has laid down its demands. Millions will die if their deadline isn't met, and a vital economic agreement, created to unite the three habitable worlds of the Ziara system, will never come to pass.

Having already mysteriously lost four of its top agents trying to track down the terrorist leader, the Bureau-the most known and feared organization in the charted galaxy-sends out its best agent to stop the terrorist threat before it is too late. Can Agent Jake Keeler put an end to the plans of the terrorists before the lives of millions are lost, or will the countdown begin toward the destruction that will change the face of the Ziara system forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 25, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595809813

Joseph R. Pesta

Joseph R. Pesta began his writing career in the film and television industries, after having developed a strong love for the written word at an early age. He enjoys the craft of creating engaging stories that keep audiences entertained, and strives to reach that goal with every new project. Outside of the fiction world, he has written numerous articles about technology, sharing his insights and expertise about present and future developments in the industry. He continues to develop new projects for film, television, and print, devoting himself to the craft he truly loves.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jake Keeler, Agent 6175. That’s how I was known to the Bureau.

It was early that morning, too early if you asked me, but then Forester never did care about that sort of thing. He worked long hours. We all did, but Forester took it to extremes.

The Bureau had a bad habit of keeping an eye on its employees. It was my suspicion that Forester was looking to kiss up to the top brass. He wanted a promotion and a bigger office, but the higher-ups were happy keeping him right where he was. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t complain.

The Bureau wasn’t the kind of place where you could march into your boss’s office, and ask for a raise, a promotion, or anything else. If you did, a new guy would take your place, and you’d find yourself walking the unemployment lines the next day. Sure it wasn’t fair, but that’s the way it was, and Forester knew it. He had no choice but to keep his mouth shut, and take solace in the fact that he had a good track record. Like him or not, which I didn’t particularly, you had to give him that.

His agents usually came through for him, solving their respective cases. That was something even the higher-ups couldn’t ignore. Forester knew it, too, although he would never let it be said that his agents were responsible for the commanding position he was in today. No, he attributed most of his good fortune to himself, while he looked down his nose at the people who had put him there. That wasn’t fair either, but that was the kind of man he was.

I sat in the small waiting area outside his office, talking to Diane, Forester’s secretary. She was young, a beautiful girl, just out of the Academy. She was a hard worker, too, and just like the rest of us, underappreciated by Forester. After waiting for about an hour, the door to the room slid back, and Forester appeared, sauntering in with an armload of file discs and the usual pastry stuffed in his mouth.

He was a tall man, about my height, and he wasn’t much older than me, maybe a few years. That’s where the similarities ended. His build was anything but what I called athletic. His several hundred pounds jiggled with every step. He didn’t wear the well-tailored uniforms that we agents and other workers were required to wear when we entered Bureau Headquarters, either. He was administration, and just like the higher-ups, he dressed in whatever he pleased.

His clothing was casual, your basic dress pants and shirt. Forester threw it together sloppily. Quite frankly, he looked as if he smelled. It was a style which some termed as a natural look. I suspected it was due to him being too lazy to haul his considerable rear into a shower. Come to think of it, a shave wouldn’t have hurt him much either.

He stopped in front of me long enough to take the pastry from his mouth, and utter a few words in that thick, gruff tone that never failed to grate on my nerves.

You’re here, he said. Good.

And you’re late, I told him flatly.

No I’m not. You’re early. I wanted to be sure you were here when I came in.

He stuffed the pastry back in his mouth, and walked into his office. I politely excused myself from Diane’s desk, and followed Forester in.

As I entered Forester’s office, the door to the cluttered room slid shut behind me. I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, while Forester finished the last bites of the pastry in his mouth. He rested the stack of file discs on his desk, and tossed one down in front of me. Curious, I decided to pick it up.

What’s this?

It’s your new assignment, he replied, as he eased into his chair. Look at it.

I slid the disc into the computer on Forester’s desk, and entered my access code. The usual blue beam from the computer hit me within moments, scanning me up and down, while it decided if I was who I claimed to be. After a few seconds the process ended, and the computer shut off its beam.

Access approved, it said, in a tone as blank and rigid as Forester himself. Agent Jake Keeler, Number 6175.

A few seconds later, the file’s information appeared in the form of a three-dimensional hologram. The images hung in the air in front of me. The faces of three psychotic looking men appeared before me, their personal data listed to the side. They were a group of radicals as near as I could tell. Their leader, Sironsen Kenn, a man in his mid-thirties, with slicked back hair, a narrow face, and cold, gray eyes was the worst of the bunch. A cold-blooded killer with a cause, Sironsen was definitely a man to look out for.

Ziara wasn’t the richest of systems, and ever since the trade agreements between its three habitable worlds, resistance was strongly rising. With the agreement, business was now booming, but as usual, the workers who slaved to make it happen were getting the short end of the deal. They wanted more, and I agreed with their point of view, but terrorism wasn’t the answer. It destroyed too much property, and killed too many innocent people. Sure, there were a few groups that fought the cause legitimately, but most were nothing more than a mindless bunch of thugs who figured if they threw around enough muscle, eventually they would get their way.

Sironsen’s group was definitely the worst of the litter. As the information kept pouring out from the file, I soon found pictures of blown out buildings and mangled, twisted bodies looking me in the face. I noticed Forester staring at me intently when the pictures came up. Whether he was looking for some sort of shocked reaction on my face, I didn’t know, but if he was, he wouldn’t find one.

During my twenty-two years with the Bureau, I had seen death many times, and in many forms. I had even invented a few of those forms myself, when the occasion called for it. I wasn’t proud of the killings, but it was part of the job. Even though I didn’t like doing it, I did it fast, clean, and Forester knew he wouldn’t have to worry about any incriminating evidence coming back to haunt him.

After looking at the information, and satisfied that I had seen enough, I switched off the computer, and handed the disc back to Forester.

All right, I said. I’ve seen it. Now what?

Now I tell you the rest. Four days ago, our man on Boranna got word to us that Sironsen Kenn’s group of radicals got hold of a Triax missile system from the plant that manufactures them over there. Since then, he’s been telling everyone that he plans on using it if his demands aren’t met.

What does he want?

He wants complete control of Boranna’s mining operations, Forester replied. He’s already promised the workers there a fair cut of the profits from the facility. From what we’ve been hearing, the locals are going for it. His group’s numbers are increasing every day. If this keeps up, we’re looking at what most likely could turn into a full scale revolution. It could destroy the years of work that went into making the trade agreements possible.

Has he said where he plans on detonating the missile if he doesn’t get what he wants? I asked.

Yes, Forester said. He plans on detonating the missile at the ceremony on Coralla.

You mean the agreement signing ceremony? That’s only seven days from now.

I know. He says if his demands aren’t met by then, the Zicarian, Borannian, and Corallan ambassadors won’t be able to sign the final trade agreements. They’ll be dead before they get the chance.

Yeah, them along with about half of Coralla’s population. Have they said what they plan to do?

They don’t plan on doing anything. The ceremony is going on as scheduled.

Wait a minute, I responded, almost unable to believe my ears. Are you telling me that rather than hold off on this ceremony for a few days, they’re going to risk the destruction of half of Coralla, just to sign that damned agreement? That’s crazy.

You might think so, but that agreement is the thing that’s going to make this system a heavy hitter in this galaxy’s export business.

That’s all fine and good, Forester, but I happen to place a little more value on the lives of those people, than I do some business arrangement designed to make a bunch of stuffed-shirt executives richer than they already are. What are they doing about security?

They’re tightening it as much as possible, but they don’t have the manpower to cover the entire ceremony efficiently.

And Sironsen?

That’s where you come in.

Why me? I asked. I couldn’t believe that Forester would think that this case could possibly interest me. Not that I wasn’t concerned about the safety of the innocent people on Coralla, but hand-holding a bunch of planetary officials wasn’t exactly what I considered my line of work. I was waiting for more. When Forester answered my question, I got it.

Four of our agents have died within the last three months, working on cases related to Sironsen and his group, that’s why, he growled.

Died? How?

The police reports say that simple accidents were the cause of three of the deaths. In Johnson’s case, he was listed as dying from natural causes, some kind of seizure, or something.

Johnson’s dead?

That’s right. Brookman, Kessler, and Rosama, too.

All within three months?

Yes, he said, and all within a few days after they arrived at their designated locations.

You’re not believing the police reports, are you? I asked.

Forester looked at me coldly. Would you be here if I did?

Just asking, I answered. Around here, you never know.

Well, try to give me some credit. I’m not a complete imbecile.

Like I said, just asking...Do you have any idea what really happened to them?

None. The lab boys went over the bodies thoroughly. None of them could find anything out of the ordinary. The only causes of death they could come up with were the same as the ones the police reports listed.

You think Sironsen killed them?

It wouldn’t be the first time the man committed murder. Sironsen and his group are dangerous. I don’t know what our four agents stumbled onto during their investigations, but somebody didn’t want them talking about it. Whatever it is, I want you to get to the bottom of it, and put a stop to that bunch of terrorists, before the ceremony on Coralla.

Seven days, I said. That doesn’t give me much time.

I don’t care how much time you have. Forester shot back. You just get me what I need to know.

And if Sironsen is responsible?

You know your job, Forester replied.

I did know my job. I knew all too well. I stood up, and moved to exit the office. As I reached the door, Forester called out to me.

I want full reports from you as soon you find out anything, Forester said. Since Sironsen has threatened to detonate that missile at the ceremony on Coralla, your best bet would be to start there.

What about my cover? I asked.

Do what you have to, Forester answered. Your name and face aren’t that well known on the other planets, so you can probably use your own name. I’ve already alerted the Corallan authorities that you’re on your way, just in case you run into any trouble, or need to ask a few questions. They’ve promised me that they’ll give you full cooperation.

Sounds good to me.

This isn’t a vacation, Forester grumbled. It’s an assignment. Remember that.

Anything else?

Try not to get yourself killed, Keeler. I don’t need another one of my agents coming back to me in pieces.

Don’t worry, Forester, I said, I wouldn’t want you to have to go through the paperwork. I’ll leave tonight, and call you as soon as I get anything.

I turned, leaving Forester sitting at his desk. The door to the office slid shut behind me.

As I marched into the waiting area, I noticed Diane looking up at me from her desk.

Trouble? she asked.

No, I replied, just another new assignment.

How bad is it?

I’m not sure, yet. I leave tonight. I may have to call you. I may need to bring a few things with me. I’ll give you a list if I do.

Okay. Anything else? she asked, with just a hint of concern in her voice.

No, that’s about it. I’d better get going. Take care of yourself. Don’t let Forester work you too hard. I’ll see you when I get back.

You just make sure you do.

I’ll be fine.

That’s what you always say.

I’m still here, aren’t I? I said, giving her a reassuring smile. You take care. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and left the room, feeling her worried eyes resting on me until the door closed behind me.

As I stepped into the elevator, I couldn’t help but think about Diane’s reaction to the news of my new assignment. She seemed more concerned than usual, almost as if she were sensing that something bad would happen, something that I didn’t know. I shook the thoughts from my head, and concentrated on the task at hand. I had to find out the truth behind the murders of my four colleagues. I couldn’t let anything distract me from that goal.

The elevator’s door opened at the basement level of Bureau Headquarters, the records division. I walked past the workers in what seemed like a room that stretched on forever. File discs rested on shelves almost as far as the eye could see. I took a seat at one of several computers situated along the wall, and switched it on. After the usual security checks, and a quick exchange of words, I called up the files of the four agents that had been killed, and skimmed through their records, hoping to find some clue as to why they had been murdered.

The first dossier that appeared was that of Agent Johnson. Johnson was a good man, an excellent agent, and a close friend. I knew him well. I had worked with him several years earlier on an assignment, when he was still a rookie. Even then I could see he had potential. We all saw it, and as the years went on Johnson turned into quite a professional. He gave Forester a run for his money the entire time.

He was as smart as they came. I knew whoever got to him must have done so with a fair amount of difficulty. Johnson wasn’t one to give up without a fight.

Whatever the cause of his death was, I knew it wasn’t due to any physical problems.

I didn’t know the other three agents as well as Johnson. They were casual acquaintances, but that didn’t make the loss any less.

You see the faces of your fellow colleagues day in and day out, and before you know it, you look up and those faces are no longer there. The experience had a tendency to make you feel as if one day you would become one of those faces, while somewhere another agent would be sitting in front of a computer, looking through your file, trying to find out who the people were that murdered you. It was a strange feeling to have, but one you couldn’t let bother you, otherwise you would find that it would begin to affect your abilities.

As I looked through the files of the other three agents, the information that came up in front of me was almost identical to that of Johnson’s. They were all good at what they did, and careful, almost to extremes.

When you’re that cautious simple accidents rarely happen, and yet simple accidents were listed in the police reports as the causes of death for all three. I wasn’t buying into that, and luckily enough, neither was Forester. At least that gave me the leeway to go about this investigation as I saw fit.

Several hours later, I still had no clues. I decided to leave the records room, and move upstairs to get a few things from my locker.

I entered the locker room, and moved down the rows, finally reaching my stall, as I liked to call it. I opened the locker, and extracted my gun, a sleek, high-powered energy weapon that fit so comfortably in my hand it almost felt like an appendage.

In my twenty-two years, it had never let me down. It had proven to me time and time again that even with all of the new technology available, it was still the best protection money could buy. It did its job, and it did it well, giving me a sense of confidence, like having a good friend at your side. When you worked in my business, sometimes your weapon was your best friend.

I strapped my gun belt around my waist, and holstered my gun. After that, I gathered the rest of my belongings, stuffing them into a small bag, and closed my locker.

Clearing my locker before each new assignment wasn’t so much a ritual, as it was a requirement of the Bureau. The way they saw it, if you didn’t make it back for some reason, they didn’t want to be saddled with the task of having to clear out your locker for you. It wasted too much time, and in their minds, decreased the Bureau’s productivity during those precious few minutes it took for one worker to do the job.

It was a cold stance to take toward those who did their dirty work for them, but the higher-ups didn’t care. We were tools for them to use. When they were through with us, they tossed us aside just as easily as they had recruited us. It wasn’t the greatest job in the world, but it was better than most.

Besides, with things the way they were jobs were hard to come by. Once you got one, you damn sure didn’t give it up. You just learned to swallow the garbage they fed you, and do the tasks required. It wasn’t always easy, but that’s the way it was. I remembered a time when things weren’t like that at all. Times change, however, and like it or not you do what you have to do to survive.

Thinking back, I could still hear the stories my grandfather used to tell me when I was growing up. They were stories about a more blissful time than even I could remember, stories about the first colonists to come to the Ziara system, when my grandfather was just a boy.

He could talk for hours about the things he had seen, and the way people would help each other when learning to survive on a new world, learning to adjust, was everyone’s most difficult task. It was a time when people could be counted on when you needed them most, where strangers would lend a hand, not for the sake of money, but simply for the sake of doing so.

That concept was foreign now, since the days where a few greedy individuals decided to get rich off the three planets’ mining potential. They slowly destroyed what was once a decent society, and turned it into the selfish, power hungry place it was today.

As I took a look around the locker room, I wondered if it would be my last. I wondered if the four agents who were killed had done the same thing before they had set out after Sironsen Kenn.

I didn’t think about that sort of thing often, but for some reason the usual routines didn’t feel the same to me. I felt cold, as if I were being hit by an icy breeze. I put it out of my head. I gathered my things, and made my way back to the elevator, ready to exit the building.

As I walked to my car, I turned back briefly, staring at the building I had just left. Trying to shake that same cold feeling again, I got in my car, and pulled away.

Chapter 2

It was about three hours after I had left the Bureau, when I finally made it back home. The air traffic had been heavy between Bureau Headquarters and my apartment. I found myself hovering in my car, along with about twelve hundred other motorists, over Tiandi Square for almost two hours.

It had been like that nearly every day for the past two years, and the situation didn’t seem to be getting any better. With new development on Zicaria, more people were arriving all the time. The planet’s population was growing rapidly. New business was creating more jobs, and with the creation of more jobs came even more people. That meant bigger crowds, which meant more traffic, which meant longer commutes.

There was no such thing as a leisurely drive anymore. Hell, you could barely walk. Crime was on the uprise, and it looked as if Zicaria was taking a turn for the worse. It was just one more obstacle of everyday life for people to overcome. With few other options, you just had to get used to it.

I walked into my average sized apartment, and switched on the lights. I made my way through the living room, and entered the bedroom. I threw the small bag containing my locker’s contents on the bed, and called out to my computer, a task I seldom enjoyed having to do.

Computers these days had minds of their own, and had to cope with the same emotional problems the rest of us had. If you were lucky, you got one that liked you, or matched your particular personality. If you weren’t, you got one that would tell you where to go, and give you directions on how to get there. The latter were how most were, severely lacking in the social graces.

Every time I used one, I found myself longing for the good old days, when computers just did what you told them to, and nothing more. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the way it was any longer. These days, when you asked a computer for anything, you were lucky if it did what you wanted at all.

Computers had names now, too. Mine was called Aaron. Aaron wasn’t as belligerent as most of his counterparts, but helpful he wasn’t either. No, Aaron was lazy, and didn’t like to do much of anything. Whenever I asked him to do something, I usually had to wait until he was good and ready.

I couldn’t say I blamed him much. Hell, if I were a computer, I wouldn’t want to wait on people thirty-two hours a day, either. As much as I disagreed with some of their attitudes, you had to give them that.

Aaron, I yelled.

After a few moments, a weary sigh echoed through the room. What now? Aaron said, in an exasperated tone.

Book me a seat on the first shuttle to Coralla. I’m leaving tonight.

Right now? he asked. Can’t it wait?

No, it can’t wait, I said. I need a seat on that shuttle tonight. Now, come on. Just get me a ticket.

Another low moan came back at me. Oh, all right. I’ll take care of it. Jeez!

Thank you, I said, after the struggle.

Yeah, yeah, Aaron replied, his voice fading away.

I moved in front of my wardrobe closet, and activated the screen on the wall next to it. I was going to need casual clothes, something that I could wear to blend in with the rest of the crowds on Coralla. My Bureau uniform was fine for a typical day’s work over at Headquarters, but it was hardly the outfit to wear when working on assignment.

After scanning through the wide selection from the men’s clothing menu, I opted for the more comfortable styles of shirts, pants, and shoes that I knew would be easier to work in. Once I had chosen those, I then picked a few more formal outfits from the menu, deciding what styles of suits, tuxedos, and the like, suited me best. Since I never knew what one assignment from the next would call for, I liked to be prepared for any occasion.

With that done, I entered my sizes, activated the designing mechanism on the closet’s panel, and moved into the bathroom for a quick shower, while the wardrobe closet manufactured the clothing I had chosen.

A few minutes later, I emerged from the shower, dressed in a towel, and opened the closet’s door. Everything I had asked for was hung neatly in front of me, shirts, pants and shoes all resting in order before my eyes.

I quickly dressed myself in one of the outfits, and packed