Chapter 7

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Hidden within a sprawling office complex in Virginia, Nathanial Woollcott ran a small, but powerful office. He was the Compliance Officer for the little known Strategic Materials field activity of the Defense Logistics Agency. A major in the Army reserves, he was a joyless man to work for.

Strategic materials were defined as those critical to the national defense. These materials had been stockpiled and controlled by one entity or another for decades. Recent events had forced an overhaul of the outdated system. One particular change was driven by a fact that caused ulcers for those in positions of power throughout the nation's capital and in think tanks from coast to coast. Rare earth elements were a commodity that the United States had little to no control over. China, a valued trading partner, but growing strategic rival, accounted for over ninety-five percent of global rare earth production. The concerns were well founded. Rare earths were crucial to the high tech revolution driving the world economy. More critically, from a national security standpoint, they were absolutely essential to the aerospace and defense industries.

The country had its own rare earth deposits, but it wasn't as easy as that. While named 'rare' the elements were actually quite common, but what made them so unique was the staggering cost and difficulty of obtaining them in sufficiently useful quantities. It made little economic sense to mine the materials domestically, but the strategic need was absolute. A handful of quasi-government and private concerns had been created to fill the gap.

One of Woollcott's deputies relayed an inquiry from the largest of those concerns. MetMilCorp had purchased a rare earth sample through a third party and wanted details about the original source. Rare earth sales were private, as opposed to commodity sales, but that was no barrier to the agency. They did things that would give a civil libertarian nightmares, and with no real oversight.

Woollcott picked up the phone and told the deputy not to bother him until the company's inquiry had been answered.

Later that afternoon, the deputy had the answer and passed the information to MetMilCorp. A previously unknown entity named Wayout Ventures had emerged as a small producer in the gold market. The rare earth sample was the first time they'd moved anything on the Strategic Materials Watch List.

Woollcott's response had been blunt, 'find out more.'

Texas

Waylon needed a break from driving the loader declared that he was taking a vacation day. He went for a hike around the property. It was an early March day and spring weather was trying to gain a foothold in North Texas. The days were warm, but the nights were still chilly.

He found a location where he might want to build a house. The idea had been working its way into his head as he cleared more and more land each day. He wanted a home of his own. Waylon was using his tablet to examine a couple of routes for a private road. He'd need to put one in between the county road and the potential house location. The satellite picture on the tablet was several years old. Someday, the picture would be updated and show nothing but grass and open country where a junkyard had once been.

AI Norm estimated another two months before the last car would be recycled at their current rate of progress. The Construction AI had been in a chatty mood and expressed its opinion when Waylon remarked that he'd probably have to hire an architect and a builder for the house project.

Waylon's stomach grumbled and he decided it was time to walk back to the trailer and fix some lunch.

"We have a small problem," Barry suddenly announced.

"How small?"

"Small, but growing," the AI replied.

"You've got my attention."

"The convenience store video was released to the internet late last night. It is in the process of going 'viral' and we cannot stop it."

Waylon walked a few more steps in silence. "How viral?"

"It is being hosted on at least three major streaming platforms. The hits keep climbing and the video is being discussed on various gun blogs and gaming forums. Three minor news outlets have embedded the video on their sites. It will not take much effort to uncover the back story and your name."

Waylon's hunger had turned to an ache deep within his gut that had nothing to do with food. He continued to walk until the metal building was in sight.

He took out his phone and found the number for one of the Seymour detectives.

"I know why you're calling. You'll have to get in line to chew my ass. The chief has been all over me this morning."

"What can you tell me?"

"The good news for the department is that it didn't come from us—"

"Where then?" Waylon interrupted.

"—well, Mrs. Lam called. One of her boys shared it with a group of his friends, bragging I guess."

Waylon grunted.

"Yeah, there's nothing that can be done I'm afraid. The media's stirred up. The Lams are getting calls. Our switchboard is fielding inquires. The department is putting together a statement; the matter was fully investigated, the DA and Grand Jury agreed, no charges, etc."

"This is all I need."

"If it's any consolation, they're not questioning the outcome, just digging for background. From what I can tell, they're fascinated by the ... proficiency ... shown in the video. We all were, so it's no surprise."

"Any advice?"

"Do what you did after the shooting, keep your head down."

"Thanks. Hey, what's the word on Mr. Lam?"

"Good news, actually. He's had a remarkable turnaround and might even return to work soon. The family received some generous donations which have kept them afloat. I think they're going to be okay."

"That is great news. Think he could stand a turn as a media star?"

The detective was laughing as Waylon hung up.

Interest in the story peaked three days later. Waylon's AI answering service kept to a simple line. While Mr. Eckermann appreciated their curiosity, he had no statement for the media. If they wanted a true human interest story then they should interview the Lam family.

Several major media outlets ran censored versions of the video and the Lams made an appearance on a couple of regional morning shows and one national. It was a good story. They were a hardworking immigrant family that thrived in rural Texas, and in difficult times, found themselves embraced by the local community.

It took longer than he figured, but eventually some enterprising reporter tied 'viral video' Waylon with 'expelled from NTSU' Waylon. That kicked the ant hill all over again and media interest reintensified. The only bright spot of the situation was getting to watch, and re-watch an NTSU press spokesperson getting grilled by the regional media. Apparently they weren't letting Ms. Trammel near any cameras.

A few reporters came to the front gate of the junkyard seeking an interview, but Waylon hunkered down on the property and lost himself in the recycling until it all blew over. He was making really good progress, with the AIs help.

Spring grasses were starting to fill the bare patches left by the junked car removal. The work Waylon had done with the loader's blade attachment was paying off. He'd removed a number of trash trees and bushes that had grown between the old rows of cars. The strange growth lines had looked pretty odd without any cars. He would have had piles of brush and trees to burn, but the AIs recycled it all one night. Waylon didn't complain since it saved him several days of standing fire watch. The stacked cars had also left deep depressions and he moved a lot of dirt around to correct the problem.

He was only a few weeks away from completely clearing the land. The AIs had been busy as well. In addition to their mysterious recycling project, they launched a massive effort to remove years worth of contamination from the ground soil.

Waylon admired the view from his truck as he drove onto the property and parked. He had just returned from a successful visit to his lawyer. Rusty had been full of good news. The university had finally signaled that they wanted to settle. NTSU had come in for a fair amount of negative press thanks to an Associated Press article on the viral video and the aftermath of the events it portrayed. The AP piece ran in newspapers all over the country and got picked up by talk radio and a number of military blogs. NTSU's favorable veterans' rating tumbled.

To his lawyer's dismay, Waylon had stuck to his guns about what he wanted from the university. He didn't care about a financial settlement. He'd waive any claim over the hidden camera matter as long as they agreed to his terms on the expulsion. What he wouldn't budge on was a public admission from the university that they had erred, a personal apology from Ms. Trammell, or her dismissal, and the remaining balance of his year living on campus waived. Waylon didn't want to punish NTSU because he still believed that it was a good school. He'd come to accept that graduation from the university might be an unrealistic goal, or at least a very uncomfortable one, given the publicity. With his university record expunged, he'd at least have options.

Waylon spent the rest of his day sorting paperwork and mail. He'd threatened to have the AIs start recycling the mail as soon as it hit the big mailbox out by the gate. They would have done it if he had been serious. He marveled at the crap that various vendors and businesses sent him. Between the catalogs and bulk mail, it was a wonder that there was a tree left in North America. He had a few legitimate pieces of mail and some important statements. Those he put into a manila envelope to drop off with the accountant the next time he went to town.

All in all, it was a very productive day.

It was a little past three in the morning when the Security AI rudely woke him from a sound sleep, "We have an intruder on the property."

Waylon finally processed the words and snapped awake.

The AI told him that an unidentified man was moving toward the back of the metal building.

Waylon struggled into his jeans and work boots, taking time to clip on his holster. He did a press check and confirmed that the weapon was ready. He knew the weapon was loaded, but it was a habit so deeply ingrained in him that it was barely a conscious decision. He started to leave the trailer, when he stopped to throw on a t-shirt and grab the shotgun. The shotgun had come with the property purchase. It was a good weapon, and perfect for dealing with unwanted visitors.

The trailer door opened noiselessly and Waylon slipped out into the cool night air.

Chief kept a running commentary on the man's movements. A surveillance probe had located a vehicle parked a half mile up the road. It had rental plates from Oklahoma.

The AIs tried a new trick. They projected an enhanced night view to his eyes which caused him to stumble. A whispered curse shut the projection down and Waylon took a moment to gather his bearings. The metal recycling building was lit softly with only a few scattered security lights.

Waylon stalked through the dark toward the back of the building, finally catching the movement of their intruder. The figure moved slowly around to the side of the building opposite from the trailer. The intruder reached the side door, and bent to examine the lock.

Waylon moved carefully just out of range of the building lights and took up a familiar firing stance.

"Freeze, mister!"

The man's head snapped up so quickly that the crown of his head bounced off the metal door.

"Hands up!"

The man started to turn.

"I said freeze!"

"Look ... ah ... I'm sorry, but I got lost and I'm looking for a phone," the man said, all the time trying to turn his head to see who he was talking too.

"Hands up, take three steps back toward the sound of my voice."

The man took two steps back and tensed.

Waylon didn't wait. He fired a round with the barrel pointed over the building's roof.

"Get down on your face, arms spread wide like you're flying. You know the drill."

The man got down, gingerly, protesting his innocence the entire way.

"You were so lost that you jumped a fence marked with no trespassing signs and snuck around to my back door? Mister, I don't think you understand Texas law very well; an intruder, at night, on private property? Hell, I don't need an excuse to shoot you. Fortunately for you, I promised my lawyer that I wouldn't try to kill anybody else this year."

Waylon used his cell phone to call 911 and report the incident.

The intruder didn't utter a word after the call.

It took twenty minutes for a couple of sheriff's deputies to arrive. Waylon didn't know what he would have done without having the AIs to open the gate remotely. The deputies searched the man after handcuffing him and announced that he had 'burglary tools' on his person.

Waylon walked with one of the deputies back to the patrol car while the other loaded their prisoner. He agreed to come to the station in the morning and sign a report.

"You find his vehicle?" Waylon asked.

The deputy admitted that they hadn't looked, "If he's got one close by, we'll find it."

Waylon watched them leave and returned to the trailer. He fixed a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal while watching the feed from the surveillance drone on the big wall monitor. The deputies found the intruder's vehicle and were shining their lights in it trying to see what it contained. He didn't bother going back to sleep. He doubted he would have been able to anyway. By the time the County Sheriff's Department opened for daily business, Waylon was sitting in the parking lot waiting to go in.

Waylon learned from the investigating officer that the man they'd arrested was some sort of private investigator from California, but unlicensed in the state of Texas.

"Did he say what the heck he was doing?"

"Wouldn't say. Client confidentiality, he claims. Still want to file charges? We've got him on trespass and attempted burglary, and possession of burglary tools."

"Hell, yes. He's lucky I didn't shoot the damned fool."

The officer smirked, "That's what we told him."

Waylon shrugged. It was true. He signed the statement.

The AIs didn't have much success learning about their intruder. He had a spotty record in California up until ten years earlier when he'd been employed by a shell company. Past that wall, the trail stopped cold. The intrusion may have been related to the gold business, or the recent media exposure. Regardless of the reason, Waylon had the AIs add more lighting around the property and AI Chief promised to increase his surveillance patrols.

Waylon took a call from Adam Zaitz at Whitestar. The buyer of the rare earth material wanted to buy as much as Wayout Ventures could provide. Waylon told Adam that he'd consider the offer and get back to him.

The AIs could provide more of the exotic material, but Waylon had been considering the need to lower his profile. He was lucky that nobody had made a connection between Wayout's gold business and the Waylon Eckermann of video and NTSU fame. The more he thought about it, the unhappier Waylon became. The people at Whitestar knew who he was. Hopefully, their confidentiality agreement was as solid as their business. Waylon sent a message back to Adam saying that he'd be unable to meet the buyer's needs.

Four days later, MetMilCorp sued Wayout Ventures for patent infringement.

Rusty's Lightner's small law office was outgunned, and he made that point clear by showing Waylon the blizzard of motions and papers the office had been inundated with. Rusty put Waylon in touch with a firm in Dallas that specialized in corporate and patent law.

It took a million dollar retainer to secure their services.

The main thrust of MetMilCorp's action was their claim that Waylon, through Wayout Ventures, had violated several of their patents. The proof, they alleged, was found in analysis of the rare earth ingot sold through Whitestar. Only MetMilCorp's exclusive and proprietary technology could have produced that precise blend, or so the law suit claimed.

Virginia

The special briefing in the Compliance Office, an anonymous office within the Defense Logistics Agency Strategic Materials complex was a closed door affair.

Nathanial Woollcott polled his deputies to get a sense of where the investigation stood. "What do we know?"

One of his deputies flipped through his notes, "Nothing stands out from his military assessments. Average intelligence. There's no education to speak to any specific geology or chemistry background. No family money, few connections, a bit of a loner. He's a known killer, although the local yokels let him off scot-free. Dangerous combination."

"So, who's he fronting for?"

"That's the question isn't it?" said another deputy. "We know all our domestic players. It's got to be a move by the Chinese."

"To what benefit?" asked Woollcott.

When nobody rushed to answer, Woollcott made a noise of exasperation.

"Well..." the deputy farthest from him started.

"Go on."

"The Chinese have made noises about cutting off the world's supply before. Maybe they want to get inside our supply chain. When they pull the global rug out, they'll take that too and we'll be left in an even worse position than we've planned for."