"And young man, what possessed you to walk the drone to the Armenian border?" Assistant Secretary Hannah Price glowered at Sean through the teleconference display, "Were you trying to fan the conflict beyond Azerbaijan?"

"I was told to self-destruct the DoomTrooper in case the deal went south," Sean muttered hollowly, "but I was out of warheads. I figured the drone would be flagged as a threat and taken out by the Armenian border post."

"Which they did," Julia nodded approvingly across the table, "Good thinking, Sean."

"Any word on Dawn and Bryson?" Sean looked up with listless eyes. He knew there was little chance that the Master-Sergeant had survived, but Dawn might still be alive if she had been held in one of the buildings that hadn't been vaporized.

"We'll send an extraction team when the radiation on site drops below lethal dose," growled the Assistant Secretary, a plump middle-aged woman with platinum blond hair tied in a bun. She looked like someone's favorite aunt but without the jolliness.

"May I ask why the Assistant Secretary For Arms Control is handling this informal hearing?" Julia made air quotes with her fingers around 'informal', "I was expecting the Assistant Secretary for European and Eurasian Affairs."

"You may not," Price said curtly, "but I'll tell you. My Under Secretary is concerned about proliferation of ITAR proscribed technology. I'm looking into Zero Sum's role in that."

"We are just a think tank," Julia smiled faintly, "You could say we improve market efficiency by connecting buyers to sellers and bringing warfare to its natural conclusion. To quote a movie villain, we do not cause the destruction, we simply manage it."

"Cut the bullshit, Thornton," snapped Price, "You may fool the Political Affairs division, but you aren't fooling us. I know the influence your corporate clients wield over small nations. You think I haven't noticed how pitifully small is the GDP of South Caucasus Republic compared to the market capitalization of Gibbs Consortium or Fuller Dynamics?"

"Wrong units," Sean remarked tonelessly.

"What?" Price frowned.

"You are using incompatible units to make your point." Sean stirred in his seat, "Gross Domestic Product is a unit of flow, the rate of monetary value produced per year. Market capitalization, on the other hand, is the total dollar value of a company's outstanding..."

He trailed off at the Assistant Secretary's expression. Julia grinned.

"You'll be hearing from me, Thornton," Price scowled as she cut the web link.

"I look forward to it, Assistant Secretary," Julia said sweetly, adding as the screen went dark, "Not."

"She's right, isn't she?" Sean stared at Julia, narrowing his eyes, "About this world domination thing. You are playing Gibbs and the Fullers. Using their greed to achieve your ends."

"Zero Sum's mission is to minimize death toll," Julia's face was a shade too expressionless, "Body counts are bad for business unless you are an undertaker. Whatever I do is towards that."

"Bullshit," Sean retorted hotly, "You are destabilizing the world. Zero Sum is brokering advanced weapons to conflict zones." 

"Ever heard of mutually assured destruction, Sean,?" Julia asked mildly, "Sometimes war is peace."

 "I might believe that if you weren't structuring deals around ongoing battles," Sean scoffed.

"You are perceptive, Sean, but not perceptive enough," Julia sighed and leaned back in her chair to stare out the window in silence. When Sean began to fidget she seemed to come to a decision. At the flick of a switch a transparent slab the size of a large desktop monitor slid up vertically from the desk. A virtual keyboard glowed to life under Julia's fingers. She typed rapidly and the slab - apparently a two way display - lit up with a line graph.

"Question time," Julia tapped on the line graph, "Imagine a quantity you want suppressed or minimized."

"What quantity?" Sean squinted at the vertical axis marked with a random symbol. The horizontal axis counted off  years as the trace fluctuated in squiggly spikes above the zero line."

"Forest fires for example," Julia shrugged, "In the first scenario we do nothing, just let nature take it's course. In the second scenario we actively suppress it." A console command brought up a second trace but completely flatlined. "Which one would you say has the worst case long term forecast?"

"The second scenario, I think," Sean said slowly.

"Why do you think so?" Julia smiled grimly, "After all it looks pretty stable."

"We can think of any dynamic system as a series of stocks and flows," Sean continued reluctantly, "When we put out forest fires, the stock of combustible material - dry leaves and branches - keeps growing. When it finally gets ignited we get one gigantic conflagration instead of a bunch of little ones."

One the display the first graph continued simulating its squiggly trace. The second graph extended its flatline zero trace, monotonously dull, then suddenly spiked up so high it dwarfed the squiggles on the first trace.

"What used to be a local problem is now a global outbreak consuming vastly more lives," Julia's ghastly smile grew wider, "All because humans can't leave well enough alone."

"Are you saying..." Sean didn't like where this was going.

"I'm saying it is sometimes better to have lots of little wars instead of one big one," Julia whispered, "The First World War would not have occured if Europe hadn't polarized itself into armed camps that effectively stamped out conflict within member states. Medieval Europe for all its nastiness did not face the devastation of world wars. The God of War demands routine sacrifices, or else... "

Sean stared at her. Julia's smile faded, "What do you know of GORGON?"

"Um, they control large parts of Eastern Europe and the US Army is fighting them," Sean scowled fingering the cast of his broken arm, but didn't mention the part GORGON had played in it. He could hardly wait until tomorrow when the cast was scheduled to be removed.

"What may not be obvious is that GORGON's diplomatic reach far exceeds its military capacity," Julia nodded and tapped her fingers.

A map of Europe with a roughly circular crosshatching inscribing the area between Germany and Russia, marked 'Ostland Autonomous Region'. The map zoomed out, a checkerboard of nations color-coded by their official diplomatic status with GORGON. Most of the world was shaded in the grey or green of neutrality or friendship. Only NATO countries in western and southern Europe showed the red of hostility.

"Didn't know GORGON had so many friends," Sean muttered.

"It's why they have survived so long," Julia pursed her lips, "GORGON has done more to suppress violent conflict outside Europe than the United Nations. Which isn't saying much, I suppose."

"You got to be shitting me," Sean stared suspiciously at Julia.

"I'm serious. Their English acronym is Global Organization for Optimizing Nations," Julia nodded, "Note that I said suppress, not defuse. Take any hotspot that hasn't erupted into open war: South China sea, the Korean Peninsula, the India subcontinent, North Africa. GORGON is acting behind the scenes. Putting a lid on the pressure cooker."

"And you think they are setting us up for World War Three," Sean frowned at the outlandish idea.

"A series of geopolitical dominoes carefully arranged to be triggered at the right time," Julia bared her teeth.

"But... but it's ridiculous," Sean protested, "There's too many variables to control. Too many things that can throw a wrench in their plan. GORGON would almost need to be clairvoyant to pull it off." 

"Sometimes I wonder," Julia muttered, "But not all their dominoes need to fall, just enough for the conflict to go global. They do have the intellectual base to pull it off. GORGON has been recruiting the best and brightest around the globe for most of its existence. At first they simply kidnapped scientists, when GORGON was just another extremist group operating in the power vacuum created by Soviet withdrawl. These days they pay enormous sums to scientists willing to relocate."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Have you talked to anyone who used to work for GORGON?" Sean asked curiously.

"No," Julia shook her head,  "No scientist has ever returned from the Ostland Autonomous Region."

"No one?" Sean stared, "Not even those recruited through official channels? Sounds like a bummer of a deal. Why would their families agree to move if they could never leave?"

"The families don't relocate," Julia explained, "The scientists who take the bait know it's a one way trip. But some of them are desperate for employment and their families are set for life."

"I'm sorry, your doomsday hypothesis sounds too fanciful," Sean crossed his arms, "Show me the analysis to back it up."

"You aren't cleared for it," Julia shook her head in regret, "I tell you what, let me petition the DoD to upgrade your clearance. On one condition. If you agree with my conclusions, you must be willing to throw away millions of lives to save billions. That's what seperates the men from the boys, Sean." 

"No," Sean spat bitterly, "I'm done getting people... kids killed." Mariam's stll scream echoed within his skull. The little girl who hacked her Barbie doll with cutting edge robotics and paid the price for her intelligence.

"If you change your mind," frustration spasmed briefly across Julia's face, "my door is always open."

"Um," Sean coughed, "About that letter of recommendation you promised..."

"I have it here," Julia walked up to a filing cabinet and rummaged through it. She pulled out an envelope and dropped it in front of Sean.

"Thank... you," Sean hated the whine of gratitude that crept into his voice. He couldn't help it. The note was printed in Zero Sum's letterhead and praised him in glowing terms. Below Julia's signature as think tank director was a list of endowments she had donated to every Ivy League school in New England. It practically guaranteed admission to any college of his choosing.

"Of course, the best schools aren't too eager to hand out full-ride scholarships," Julia chuckled, "And if you find yourself unable to afford it, well then, you know where to find me."

"If I do your bidding," Sean said slowly.

"If you do my bidding," Julia nodded, "Tell me, Sean. What do you want from life?"

"Money," Sean said prompty, "To get wealthy enough so I don't have to work for anyone."

"Understandable," Julia's lips turned up slightly, "but let me give a bit of advice. The number one rule I learned from my husband. To get rich you must first survive."

Sean jumped as Julia slammed her hands on her desk, "I know, but..."

"I've seen your file, Sean," Julia leaned back, "I don't know what you were trying to pull at the Fuller residence, but you almost got yourself into juvenile detention. Not to mention nearly getting killed in the GORGON attack on Fuller's plant. Ah, I see you are surprised."

"How... why do you think..." Sean caught himself.

"I have sources in the government," Julia suddenly reminded Sean of a spider, "That incident, by the way, was a message from GORGON intended for me. I am the power behind the throne in Portsmouth, Sean. Not the Gibbs or the Fullers. You need a mentor, someone like me to steer you away from bad decisions."

"I prefer to be the master of my destiny," Sean muttered as he got up to take his leave.

In time you will call me your master, was the gist of Julia's thoughts in the silence of her office. The boy was distraught over the casualities in his 'field' assigment even if he hid it well. Julia smiled. Guilt was an excellent tool for manipulation even if she herself was immune to it. An apprentice who understood the causal structures of the world was worth their weight in gold. But such competence usually came only with experience and the experienced served none but themselves. On the other hand, teen polymaths could be loyal as a puppy but hopelessly idealistic. Julia had searched the Connecticut school districts long and hard for amoral prodigies of the kind she had once been, but the Collection Agency hid its tracks very well. Sean Cook and Tiffany Brooks were the most promising yet. It was worth the time and effort needed to dismantle their youthful ethical compass and remold them in Julia's image. GORGON could pry the world from her cold dead hands if Julia had anything to say about it.

 #

 "... experts at the International Atomic Energy Agency... full extent of fallout from last Friday's nuclear detonations in the South Caucasus... cause is yet to be determined... has heightened tensions in the region... the SCR has accused its neighbors... closer scrutiny into the role of Gibbs Consortium, one of Portsmouth's Big Two..."

"That should put a damper on Gibbs," Richard Fuller chuckled as he switched off the TV. Susan sat beside him on the couch in their living room sipping a glass of wine.

"You think GORGON is behind it?" Susan turned to her husband.

"Probably," Richard shrugged, "Those pricks are getting to be a pain in the ass. The Army needs to step up their game." He hesitated, "Speaking of Gibbs, you think we should stop Judith from seeing Reginald? She's all set to begin her new life at the private school but that won't protect her if Reginald Gibbs was really behind..."

"No," Susan shook her head, "Judith will disown us. You know how she feels about that charity foundation she is co-chairing with the Gibbs boy. I think you are looking at this all wrong. The Gibbs family may be bitter business rivals and I wouldn't put it past Gibbs senior to sabotage your product launch or... even steal your IP. But why would they harm Judith and ruin what might be a future union of our two families?"

"Union of familes?" Richard looked incredulously at his wife, "Susan, they are just kids! You can't plan who they might settle down with ten years down the road..."

Soft measured footsteps approached, and a discreet cough, "Beg pardon sir, ma'am. Dreadfully sorry for interrupting."

"What is it, Elliot?" Richard waved him forward.

"Thought you might want to see this, sir," the butler carried an ice cooler and a manilla folder. He set the cooler box on the floor and handed the folder to Richard.

"What am I looking at?" Richard flipped through photos, maps and sketches.

"I've been looking into the possible causes for unexplained hail patterns encountered during Mrs. Fuller's air commute," Elliot began as Richard looked bemused, "The map shows Mrs. Fuller's usual flight path in green and the red circle the region of abnormal hail. The X-marks within the red circle are candidate sites I've been investigating..."

"Investigating?" Richard looked flabbergasted, "For hail? Elliot, have you gone completely bonkers?"

"Let him speak, Richard," Susan chided.

"Thank you, ma'am," Elliot said stiffly, and pointed to a photo of a red brick factory building with a single tall chimney belching white smoke, "That is the old Connecticut Ice Factory #1 which used to ship ice blocks to mid-Atlantic states until..."

"Until I bought out Connecticut Ice and shut it down," Richard nodded, "I remember. They were in the red for years, long before I sold off their assets. But this particular factory was a dinosaur. A museum piece I sold to New Haven city. They even have tours now, I think."

"Indeed, sir," Elliot nodded, "I recall Master Jason and Miss Judith mention it when they spoke of their school field trips."

"The point, Elliot?" Richard waved him on impatiently.

"This photo is recent, sir," Elliot continued, "You will notice that the chimney is smoking. For a factory that was decommissioned."

"Ah," Richard frowned.

"I convinced the New Haven police to obtain a search warrant," Elliot pointed to a photo of a mug shot, "The factory caretaker is one Tobias McIntosh, a former employee of Connecticut Ice who runs an anti-Fuller blog in his spare time. It seems he bears a grudge against you, sir. Blames you for the loss of his former job."

"There's an anti-Fuller blog?" Richard looked amused, "People are allowed to have their opinions, Elliot."

"See those helium cylinders, sir?" Elliot tapped another photo, this one of the factory interior, "Part of the old equipment had been modified."

Elliot stepped back and opened the lid of the ice cooler he'd placed on the floor. A cluster of translucent spheres the size of golf balls rose languidly in the air drifting slowly towards the ceiling.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Richard demanded.

"No, sir," Elliot shook his head, "the factory equipment had been modified to emit these. A thin shell of ice trapping helium. Little ice balloons just slightly less dense than surrounding air. That's what you see coming out the chimney. Not smoke. Lots and lots of little ice balloons. Right into the flight path of Mrs. Fuller helicopter. Found in Tobias McIntosh's possession was a map of Mrs. Fuller's route and several photographs of the helicopter flying over. There's little doubt what Mr. McIntosh intended to achieve."

"That's the abnormal hail we kept running into," Susan broke the long silence, icy tendrils of fear that had relaxed their hold after Judith had come home now starting to grip her again, "Any one of these isn't a threat by itself. But running into a bunch of these on every flight, it's only a matter of time before the engines ingested these... and the clever thing is the ice would leave no trace once it melted."

"Mr. McIntosh is being held on charges related to tampering, since it is difficult to prove intent in court," Elliot nodded.

"Has he talked yet? Who was paying him?" Richard growled.

"That's the odd thing, sir," Elliot frowned, "He claims he received sketches in the mail one day detailing modifications to the equipment. They are quite ingenious but simple to implement for a workman of Mr. McIntosh's experience. And no one was paying him as far as the police could determine. It cost only a couple hundred dollars to rig the modifications and Mr. McIntosh apparently paid for it from his own pocket. He bears quite a strong grudge, sir." 

"I assume you have changed the flight path?" Susan asked.

"Flight path will be randomized going forward," a spasm of shame flickered across Elliot's face, "And ma'am, sir, you'll have my resignation as soon as you find a suitable replacement. I was negligent."

"Don't be dramatic, Elliot," Richard frowned in thought, "You caught it in time."

"It was Master Sean's suggestion to investigate this phenomenon," Elliot bowed his head, "It would not occur to me to suspect the weather, no matter how abnormal it is."

"Sean Cook?" Richard raised a brow.

Susan nodded, "I gave him a ride home when he came to see Judith in the hospital."

END OF CHAPTER