Chapter 21 Mattie #2
But that was a consideration for later. First order of business was to get off this godforsaken island.
The clan was already invested in retrieving their people from Navuh's basement, so they must have a plan of operations in motion. They were already watching, already engaged. They weren't some theoretical ally who might hypothetically be willing to help.
The trick was making them aware that they had allies on the inside.
"Wait." Petrov held up a hand. "You want to negotiate with an unknown organization that has captured Navuh and is remotely controlling the de facto ruler of this island through compulsion. And your plan is to, what, introduce yourselves and ask nicely for help?"
Mattie smiled. Petrov had a gift for reducing the most complex issues to their most absurd essence.
"We have something to offer them," Number One said.
"We have intelligence about the Brotherhood, and we can prove we are the good guys they want to ally with because we want to liberate nearly two thousand women and children from the breeding program.
That would be a strategic blow to their enemy's ability to produce warriors, which in itself is extremely worthwhile to them.
It forever changes the balance of power.
In addition, we offer them the scientists who can provide them with valuable research data on the enhancement program. "
Petrov raised both brows. "I didn't know we were for sale."
"You are not for sale. What we want to propose is a partnership."
"The distinction is academic from where I'm sitting."
"The distinction is the difference between arriving as refugees and arriving as allies. Refugees are dependent. Allies negotiate."
That was such a smart observation. Mattie was impressed.
Petrov's expressive face went through a series of rapid transitions, starting with skepticism, shifting to irritation, then reluctant consideration, and finally grudging acceptance.
He reached for his coffee mug, stared into it, found it empty, and set it down with a clink. "Dave has a point."
"That's all nice in theory, but how do we contact them?" Dimitri asked.
"That is the problem we have not yet solved," Number One said. "The clan calls Losham on his cellular phone. He does not call them."
"Can you intercept the next call?"
"Not without Losham knowing. He answers in private, and the compulsion ensures he maintains the secrecy of the calls."
"What about the Brotherhood's communication systems? The island has satellite links, radio equipment—"
"All monitored. Any unauthorized transmission would be flagged immediately.
Our phones are only good for communicating on the island, and that's true for most everyone's phones.
Only the elite commanders, Navuh's sons, and a few others who are deployed outside the island have phones with access to the outside world. "
Dimitri ran his hand through his hair again.
"We thought you might have some ideas," Number One said. "You think outside the box."
"Thinking creatively won't help if the problem is fundamentally unsolvable."
"There is always a solution," Dave said. "We just haven't found it yet."
Mattie had been turning something over in her mind since Number One had mentioned satellite surveillance.
The clan was watching the island. From space, presumably, or at least from a distance.
They had cameras or sensors or some kind of monitoring technology pointed at this rock in the middle of the Indian Ocean, and they were watching.
What if the solution wasn't about transmitting a message through monitored channels? What if it was about being seen?
"You said the clan is monitoring the island," she said. "That they have access to satellite surveillance."
Number One nodded. "That is Losham's assumption."
She leaned forward, and an idea was taking shape. "What if we give them something to look at?"
"What do you mean?" Dimitri asked.
"A signal. Something visible to a satellite that wouldn't mean anything to the Brotherhood but would mean something to the clan. Something that says, we know you're watching, and we want to talk."
Petrov snorted. "A smoke signal encoded in Morse. That should work."
"What is Morse signal?" Number One asked.
"It's called Morse code. It’s a way of encoding language using only two signals with two different durations.
Each letter and number is represented by a pattern of short signals that are called dots, and long signals that are called dashes.
The signal can be anything. It can be sound, light, radio transmission, or smoke. "
"I don't get it," Mattie said.
"Short bursts and long bursts." Petrov demonstrated by puffing out breaths. "A quick puff is a dot. Hold it longer, and it's a dash. Empty air between them does the rest of the work."
"Sounds simple enough." She turned to Dave. "Since you don't know what Morse code is, the others won't recognize it either, right?"
"The Eight are young," Petrov said. "The older ones will know what it is and probably know how to decipher it. It's not likely that we are the first ones on this island to think about signaling in Morse code to the outside world. If it hasn't been done yet, there is probably a good reason for it."
Mattie wasn't ready to give up on the idea.
Instead of a single column of smoke, they needed something that could produce discrete puffs and pauses.
Duration was the key. Short bursts for dots, longer sustained plumes for dashes, with clean gaps marking the spaces between letters and words. The challenge was precision.
"It's very difficult to control smoke," Petrov continued.
"Wind is your enemy. A steady breeze stretches signals, and gusts erase timing.
Redundancy helps. You keep sending the same message over and over again.
The problem is that anyone can see that something is being said, but only someone who is trained and attentive can tell what it is. "
Mattie liked it. It was primitive, inefficient, but oddly elegant. It was language translated to breath, fire, and time.
"Would smoke be visible from a satellite?" she asked.
She had no idea what satellite cameras could resolve from orbit, or if the smoke signal would register as intentional or random. Those were problems for Dimitri and Petrov to solve. They were the scientists. Her contribution was the concept. The engineering was their department.
"We don't know what the clan would recognize as a signal," Dimitri said. "We don't know their monitoring capabilities, their protocols, or what would get flagged as significant or just random noise."
"It's just a seed of an idea," she said. "A starting point. Now all of us can try to come up with ways to implement it."
"We will think about it," Number One said.
The plan was absurd. She knew that. She had known it from the moment the idea of rescuing the dormant women had taken root in her mind, and every new complication made it even more absurd.
But that wasn't a reason to give up.
Sometimes the best ideas arose because of impossible odds.
Dimitri picked up the next syringe and moved to Number Six, and the return to routine was welcome after the intense brainstorming session.
"Two to three days for my fangs to emerge?" Dimitri asked, his voice assuming its usual casual timbre.
"Yes. For the base growth," Number One answered in the same measured tone. "Don't worry about them elongating. That will take weeks, and until then, they will look like normal canines."
"That's good to know." Dimitri moved to Number Seven.