Before going to bed Tony uploaded into both GAIC and myself the files that he had recovered from Dr. Larson’s computer. The Monsignor asked us to review all the data and see if there were any that have crucial data about Lutts’s nano-vector project. He specifically asked us to see if we could determine if Lutts had a timeline for releasing this infection on the world. I found it funny that he said he wanted to see what we found first thing in the morning. We could have told him then as a task like that doesn’t take a digital intelligence that long. I suppose he was tired and didn’t realize his rather silly mistake. Then again, maybe the Monsignor realized he was too tired to deal with our findings and needed to rest his organic processor, I mean his brain.
In the morning it was the Monsignor who woke up Frank. Since Frank had not used his usual sleeping potion he woke up right away. It took both no more than forty minutes to be ready for breakfast. The Abbot was going to join us, but the Monsignor told him outright that what he and Mr. Huntington had to discuss was highly sensitive and that it was best if he was not present. I could see the Abbot was a little miffed at this. I’m sure he felt put out. After all, he was not exactly a novice. Once the Abbot was gone the Monsignor and Frank started eating. After a few bites he asked his GIAC if he had found anything in the recovered data.
“Yes sir, if you look at my screen you will see an email from Sir Terrance Lutts dated two weeks ago. In it he wrote:
Based on our manufacturing capacity we will have 110% of the nano-vectors by 10 March. I would like to deliver them on the Ides of March. I am sorry that will be during your normal weekend off. Please arrange to take your time off either one week before or after. TL
“That was the only document that I found that seemed to pertain to your parameters” the GAIC intoned with a rather flat sounding voice.
Frank spoke up and asked me, “Did you find anything else, Jack?”
“No sir, that email was the same thing I found in my data analysis.”
“I guess you have another smoking gun, Mr. Huntington” the Monsignor said between bites.
“I think I have enough smoking guns to form an army, too bad they are only metaphors as we could use an army.”
“I think I might be able to arrange something. I have friends in other religions that are in the same line of work as me.”
“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re going to get some Ayatollah to get Iran to nuke Lutts” Frank said in all seriousness.
“At this point I better not say, but I think you need to hint to your boss that you know who caused the Old Jerusalem disaster. It may be necessary to flood the news pipeline quickly in order to shape world opinion.”
Frank mulled that over as he finished a piece of toast with marmalade. Finally, he said after washing down the toast with a swallow of weak church coffee that probably was a good idea. Even if he forwarded all his proof, his editor might balk at taking on so famous a humanitarian. If he dribbled out some tasty crumbs his editor would start to be so hungry for the whole story that when he gave the whole meal he would stop the presses to get it out. It would spread through the world like wild fire.
“Jack, put together a paragraph that does that and let us see it on your screen. You know, Monsignor, my experience is that whenever people try to plot something it usually goes horribly wrong,” Frank said in all sincerity.
“This is where it helps to have faith.”
“My experience is that it is better to have more lawyers.”
“That sounds more like Chaos Theory,” the Monsignor said with a chuckle, “But seriously, Mr. Huntington, I need to leave you. Good luck with Dr. Larson. Contact me if you get anywhere with her.”
“My guess is I will not get squat” Frank said shaking his head. “Jack, check flight plans for Edinburgh for today and see if there are any flights from Maidstone.”
“At four o’clock, Sir.”
“Thanks Jack, looks like we can play tourist until four.”
After reviewing the message to his boss we took a taxi to the Royal Mile and Frank checked out some home grown Scotch. After several tastings Frank threatened to dress me in a kilt. I failed to see why he laughed so hard.
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