I have barely been home two weeks, when I get a strange call. OK lets be honest, since the Shultzinger interview broke, I've had a lot of strange calls. This one was different though. Lieutenant Webber from MU was on the other end asking for a discrete meeting. He said he just wanted to grab coffee but then was very particular about where. It was a small cafe in a fairly dangerous neighborhood. He says they have the best waffles there. I suspect there is more to it than that, but if I want to find out what this is all about, I'll just have to go and find out.

It's summer and hot out but considering where I'm going, I opt for long sleeve shirt and jeans, and a good pair of running shoes. I shouldn't be this paranoid, but we're meeting at dusk and it really is a rough neighborhood. Checking to make sure my mace is in my purse and location tracking is turned on, on my phone, out the door I go.

The bus lets me off just a block from the cafe so there isn't much of a walk and other than a couple of cat calls, no one seems to notice I'm there. I make it to the door just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Looks like the long sleeves weren't a bad idea after all. The young Lieutenant is sitting in the back with a cup of coffee and a beat up old novel. He looks very different out of uniform. The scrubby clothes and unshaven face make him fit in around here even if he does look a little too baby faced to be the street tough he's posing as.

He sees me enter and stands up and waves me over, holding his arms out for a hug. A little self consciously, I hug back, as he whispers in my ear, “not here but we need to talk”. As we part he continues louder, “Long time no see, figured since you said if I were ever in Seattle we should do it again sometimes... well here I am” He gives me a grin that doesn't quite go all the way up to his eyes.

I'm a bit confused by his act but decide to play along, “Well it was fun last time.” I return his smile but try to figure out what his game is.

He picks up the novel and puts it in his back pocket. “You wanna get coffee or you just wanna get out of here, maybe catch a movie?”

I look at him trying to figure out what his plan is but just go along with, “Well it's started raining, but hey, it's Seattle what do you want? We can check out a movie if you like.”

He smiles and I know I've guessed right, he takes another gulp of the coffee and drops some cash on the table. He wraps his arm around my waist and we head for the door. He is kinda cute, but I know this is all an act and he smells of salt water as if he's been swimming in the bay. We make our way out on to the street and he quietly says to me, “sorry for the show but I'm not really here and I think I may have picked up a tail.” I immediately start to look over my shoulder but he whips me around in a big hug sweeping me off my feel and laughing. “Don't look!” he hisses through the smile. Then hugs me up close whispering in my ear, “I'm not exactly welcome back here in the States. As an officer of the MU defense forces... Well they would rather we stay on MU.” He releases me and leads me down the street again.

I'm getting a little worried now. What has he gotten me in to? I'm just about to ask more questions when he flags down a passing taxi and we're off. Once inside he cuddles up to me and whispers in my ear. “This is a job offer. That 'Industrial Accident' last week in Denver.” he waits while I nod and giggle for the driver's benefit. “Commodore Whetherby thinks it might have been a weapons test gone wrong.” I freeze, what kind of weapon would destroy a half mile radius of a Denver industrial park and leave bizarre tropical plants in it's place?
Realizing we've been quite too long as far as the driver is concerned, I giggle and slap his chest. “I'm a good girl and you want me to do what?”

Lt. Webber chuckles and leans back to my ear, “You're good at this. We just want you to go investigate like dozens of other journalists are doing. Instead of publishing publicly you say that you are as confused as everyone else and back the cover story. Then get the actual report to us. When we see your public report we'll contact you to get the actual report.”

Loudly enough for the driver I say, “Ohh, could be fun but then what are you going to do for me if I do?”

Again a deep throaty chuckle from Webber, and then quiet only I can hear. “Six Sovereigns a week for expenses, and ten for the report. On deposit in a private numbered account on MU accessible only by you.”

The driver is pulling up in front of a night club in a much nicer part of town. “Ok sailor, it's a date.” I say as he pays the driver and we go inside. Once in we act like any other couple on a date for about twenty minutes, and then I throw my drink in his face and storm out. I figure that should be convincing for anyone following him to not be following me. I swing by my friend Debbie's place on the way home, and loudly tell her the story of the 'bad date' I was on. Just in case anyone is actually surveilling me, and here I used to be such a trusting soul.

I land in Denver about twenty hours later. Airports are always so much fun to deal with. If I could avoid it, I'd never fly again. After two trips through the TSA grope gang, and a two hour lay over in Dallas, and a fifty two dollar ride in a cab that smelled like day old goat, I can finally get to work.

I find out that I can't get within four blocks of the affected area, and no amount of smiling at the National Guard soldiers would get them to make an exception. Though corporal Sullivan was more than happy to talk to me about everything he knew, which wasn't much, or guessed, of which there was a lot more. Still the press packet he handed me gave me the official part line, drawn out all be ready for printing.

I paid an extra sixty five dollars for a taxi to take me on a quick scout of the perimeter. Press was everywhere, and amusingly there seemed to be a large group of average citizens on the south side. I paid the driver and got out to see what this unusual gathering thought they were seeing.

There were protest signs, all environmentalists. I couldn't tell if they were excited about the industrial park turning into a jungle or if they were upset that there might be invasive species being transplanted to the Denver area. I suppose there were some of both, but they all had ideas about what should be done next and weren't quiet about it. There was another odd group in this tangle. They were wearing eastern style monk's robes but not in the traditional orange. These were all in a three shades of green tie-dye and they were all wearing little plastic pointed ears. They seemed to be trying to start a new earth based, new age religion off of the event. Interesting for certain, but I didn't think they were going to be much use in figuring out what actually happened. They do have a cart selling fresh flowers and more importantly to me, some fresh apples, I haven't had anything to eat since I left home.

Munching on my apple, I go for a walk to the nearest small motel about eight blocks away. It wasn't fancy just a clean basic room, you know the kind where 'they leave the light on for you.” After finding out what a night there cost though, I was glad someone else was picking up my per diem. I ditch my shoulder bag in the room and call an Uber to save some money. Yeah I'm getting a per diem but it's not like I can access and spend Sovereigns in Denver, at least not without drawing a lot of attention to myself. I found myself listening closer to my Uber driver this time after the last one turned out to have such unusual insight but unfortunately this lady just sounded like she might be waiting for her green tie-dye toga to be printed. I'm all for saving the planet, but turning an industrial park into a strange forest doesn't sound like a good idea to me. Especially as we don't know how or why it happened.

I get out at the city records hall and am amazed at how packed the place is. Seems like everyone had the same idea I did. Ah well, sometimes there just is no help for it. I end up with a group of other reporters looking over a list of what companies where there and who owned the buildings. Another thought occurred to me and pulling out my phone I started looking up who was renting the buildings. If it was something to do with the owners of the buildings, I am not going to be first on the story, but if it is someone renting it out, maybe I can just jump to the end of the trail.

Between the resources of city hall and the all watchful eye of the internet, I am able to get myself a list. The problem is it is a long list and if I'm going to beat everyone else to the story, I need to narrow it down quickly. I scan the list and one name kind of pops out at me, Quantum Analytics. Oh don't get me wrong since the first generally programmable quantum computers came out six months ago, everything is named quantum now. It's the new buzz word to guarantee startups funding, kind of like the dot com craze dad kept telling me about growing up. Still this stuck out and I couldn't figure out why for sure but something was nagging at me. It was the map, the building was in the perfect center. I pulled up Quantum Analytics website and found out they are, or maybe were, a communications company. I almost discarded my hunch but I pulled up the CEO and founder, Dr. Scott Halvarson Sr.

The name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it until the all seeing all remember internet came to my rescue yet again. Two years ago he made the news on some ponzi investment scheme, seems like he was promising faster than light communications through quantum entanglement. He was unable to deliver the goods and his business partner sold four hundred and fifty percent of the business to investors and then fled the county. Looks like Dr. Halvarson was deemed not fit to stand trial and instead agreed to undergo out patient therapy at the University of Colorado Medial Center.

Seems like the crazy doc may have hit on something by accident. So I look up his address and swing by his apartment. This Uber driver is even a little nuttier than the last, talking about the end of days and technology taking over. He has that stupid Rev. Johnson on the radio the whole way screaming about the evils of artificial intelligence. I start to pay him and get out when I see an unmarked SUV in front of the apartment, being loaded with computers and files. Seems like I'm not the first to think of this after all. Probably not a robbery with the 'thieves' all wearing ties and the SUV with government plates on it. As I tell the driver to take me back to the hotel, I can't help but think maybe there is more to the Commodore's theory than just pure paranoia.

Whatever Dr. Halvarson was working on, weapons or communications, all of his research is going into the back of that SUV and out of my hands. Just as I am about to despair of finding out what really happened, I get a mental itch. Yeah I know your mind can't itch but I don't have any other way to describe it. I knew I was missing something important, I just couldn't for the life of me think what it is. I tell the driver to forget it and take me back to the hotel when I realize what is bothering me. If this is Halvarson Sr. then there must be a Halvarson Jr. out there somewhere. Looking this up, makes me really wish I had Ulli back, and not for the first time. Still I find what I am looking for, as we pull into the hotel parking lot. Scott Halvarson Jr. in Bolder Colorado. Not wanting to draw more attention to myself with this Uber driver, I pay and head in to the hotel.

So I go in quickly grab a shower and change into some more comfortable clothing. It's about four in the afternoon at this point and if I am going to be the men in the SUV and the suits to Bolder, I'm going to have to rent a car. Fortunately for me there are car rental offices directly across from the motel. I check out, the clerk looks at me funny but shrugs and clears my bill. I walk across the way and rent a little sub compact electric car. Wouldn't be my first choice but it is discrete and in my budget. A little fast food through the drive through, and I am off, for the long drive to Bolder.

Don't let them kid you, it may not look far on a map, but traffic here is worse than Seattle. Three hours later and I'm pulling into a nice suburban neighborhood, and up to a small home. I ring the door bell and a plump housewife in her late thirties answers. “Is Scott Halvarson in?” I ask. She eyes me suspiciously but turns and yells back into the house.

Scott is bearded man settling in to an early comfortable middle age. I can hear the kids in the background arguing over who's turn it is. Scott's wife gives him a glare and walks back into the house leaving me on the door step talking to a very confused Scott Halvarson. “Can I help you?” he asks.

I smile my most sympathetic smile, “Mr. Halvarson, have you spoken to your father recently?”

His shoulders sag, and he sighs deeply. “No, Miss, I haven't. What's he done now?”

I just shake my head, “I don't know that he has done anything. His workshop was at the center of the Denver Event, and the investors I represent haven't heard anything from him. Given his prior issues they are a bit concerned.”

Scott looks stunned, and then falls to a knee. “Mrs. Halvarson!! We need you!” I cry out as I rush to support him before he falls over the rest of the way.

The very worried Mrs. Halvarson comes rushing into the doorway and is helping me half carry him to the couch. Once he's settled, and starts breathing normally again, he just shakes his head. “Not again. I can't go through all of this again.”

OK, Now I am confused. “I just told him that his father's offices were at the center of the Denver Event. I don't think he's taking it well.” The accusing look drained from his wife's face as she just sat next to him and hugged him.

“Look we don't know that he's dead,” she started but he cut her off.

“It's not that. I'm sorry he's gone but it's not that. Every time this happens. You remember the last time. The calls, threatening letters, the problems at Jack's school!! Every few years he finds a way to completely screw up our lives and now he's not even here and he's done it again.” Scott looks as close to a man ready to weep as I've seen. “You and the kids just don't deserve this.” His wife simply hugs him.

I'm feeling bad and figure it's time to come clean. “Uh. I don't really represent investors interested in your father's work.” He looked up with fire in his eyes. I quickly continued, “I'm a reporter, but when I went to his apartment, official looking men were piling all of his belongings into a big unmarked SUV with government plates.” I watch as all fire just sinks from his eyes to be replaced by despair. “I might be able to help though.”

He looks at me confused, “how can you help with the media circus that will be coming?”

I smile a little, “Well if you knew where there was another copy of your dad's work....”

He blew up, “Is that all you want! Are you still trying for your damn story!” His wife's hug tightened but she looked like she was going to blow up with him.

“Hey, easy now. It's bargaining power, that is all. I leak it out, rather than have it silenced. I protect my sources. I also know of a place where you wouldn't have to worry about the media hounding you or your children.” I raise one eyebrow and wait.

“Go, and leave everything we have?” He sounded if anything even more dejected. His wife on the other hand smiled.

“Where” she asks.

“Maybe Atlantis? Maybe MU?” I raise an eyebrow again.

“Some money to start over?” she continues to bargain.

“I think something can be arranged. Honestly though you need to decide right now, that SUV could pull up behind my car at any minute.”

“Jack, Susan, Time to pack, we're going on a road trip.” She yells into the other room.

Scott looks frazzled, but Mrs. Halvarson is on a mission. He looks up at me, “Dad always kept a copy of his files in the cloud, under mom's maiden name. The password is my birthday, ok so not really my birthday, Dad always got it wrong by two days.” he laughed and choked back a sob at the same time. “Here, I'll help you get them.”

Less than ten minutes later all of the files were on two memory sticks. Mrs. Halvarson is packed and the two children have both arms loaded to toys. “How is this going to work?” she asks.

I shrug, “You're not wanted for anything. Just take the kids on a trip up to Vancouver BC. Scott calls in to work, tells one story. You call into work and tell a different one. Just drive. Hit the bank now though because you'll want to use cash. Can't have you leaving a trail of credit card transactions behind you.” I pull up my phone, check the maps. “Check in at the Trade Winds motel, just off the beach, in four days time, your ride will be arranged.” Scott looked despondent but his wife was already shooing the children toward the waiting car. “Tell a neighbor you're going to a third place if you really want to confuse them. Someone just delivered you tickets to Disney World and you've decided to drive.” I wink at him. “It's going to be fine. Just drive straight through and cross the border early in the morning with all the other tourists and hopefully no one will even be looking for you yet.”

OK I sounded a lot more confident than I felt, but in for a penny in for a pound, what ever that means. It's time for me to drop the memory sticks in the mail to my friend Debbie and drive back up to Denver to post my blog entry and catch my flight back to Seattle. If all went well, no one would suspect me of anything either.

Isn't it nice to have a plan. It doesn't ever work out that way for me but the plan sounded so good when I said it. I had just dropped off the mail and swung back by the house when I see a large SUV in the drive way. I just drive on by and head back to Denver.

At the airport I am stopped, seems someone did notice my phone giving a GPS signal when I used it at their house. Fourteen hours later and two searches through all of my luggage and the confiscation of my phone and tablet, I am allowed to fly back to Seattle. Seems my disappearance would cause more of a stir than simply watching me will. Though I don't know why they are so excited by it all, my article says it is a natural phenomenon just like their press hand out told me it was. Only I and the mystery men in the gray suit know that it really was an industrial accident, that gave the world it's next weapon of mass destruction.

Debbie, bless her trusting soul, was good enough to give Webber's jacket back to him, since I never wanted to see him again. The memory sticks and note I put in the hem, should give him all the information he needs to help the Halvarsons.

Ok, so 007 I am not, but hey I'm new at this.