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“There? That dusty old bookstore? That's where you think the Alexandria Project that's trying to take down western civilization as we know it is based?"
“Yes, 'that dusty old bookstore!'” Marla snapped. “My father’s certain that’s where the attacks are coming from. We’re in Alexandria, right? So it all ties together. And in case you’ve forgotten, the first gripe the Alexandria Project mentioned in the letter they sent George Marchand was about the Library of Congress pulping books,” so why not a bunch of book fanatics? Marla blew her nose, and Carl noticed for the first time that she had a bad cold.
“Okay, okay. It’s just not what I had expected, but don’t worry, we’ll take it from here.”
“’We’ll take it from here?’ What is that supposed to mean?” Marla was more than annoyed now.
Carl looked surprised. “You know, I’ll report in to headquarters, we’ll comb the store without the owners knowing anything, and if we can find the right evidence, we’ll arrest them.”
“Right.” Marla said. “Exactly right. That’s just what we’ll do. Didn’t anyone teach you how to use pronouns properly?”
Unless you’ve been taking a holiday from the news for the past month, you are already aware that Amazon is in the midst of a very nasty negotiation with Hatchette, one of the “Big Five” U.S. publishers. Together, as a result of a decades-long series of acquisitions, these five companies have consolidated virtually all of the most-revered, but now conglomerate-owned, publishing houses in the U.S. Given the degree of respect that books still command, the dispute has attracted far more public commentary than commercial disputes in such a narrow market usually attract.
New to The Alexandria Project? Find a plot synopsis and guide to the characters here, find the earlier chapters here, and follow the Further Adventures of Frank on Twitter
George Marchand was not at his desk at the Library of Congress. Instead, he was ordering a mixed selection of donuts at The Bakers Dozen, a coffee shop in a small town outside the Beltway. Paying for his purchase, he asked the teenager if they had a restroom. “In the back,” she said, counting out his change without looking up.
George strolled to the rear of the shop and opened the door in the rear wall of the seating area. He ignored the two restroom entrances on the other side, and instead unlocked the unmarked door to their right. Closing it behind him, he found a flight of stairs leading to another door, this time without either a keyhole or a doorknob.
When he arrived at the top, George slid his fingers along the door trim on the right until he found a recessed area. Pushing against it, he felt the trim unlatch, and he swung it open on its hidden hinges to expose a numerical keypad. After punching in a seven number sequence, the door swung open to reveal a modest sized room containing nothing but a conference room with chairs, and a series of doors set into its walls. Sitting around the table were three men about his own age.
“How come I always have to buy the donuts?” George asked as he walked in, pushing the door closed behind him.
New to The Alexandria Project? Find a plot synopsis and guide to the characters here, find the earlier chapters here, and follow the Further Adventures of Frank on Twitter
The President of the United States was treating himself to an early breakfast of bacon and eggs. Why not? If a Commander in Chief couldn’t ignore his doctor’s orders on his 70th birthday, why bother to have the job at all?
“Ready, Mr. President?”
“Go for it, Harry.”
Adlai Stevenson Harrison was the President’s Director of National Intelligence. He was also one of his oldest and best friends, and therefore one of the few advisors the President invited to join him in the family’s private quarters on the upper floor of the White House.
Harrison took the Daily Brief he had completed a half hour before from his briefcase and handed it across the breakfast table as the President put on his reading glasses.
“Hmm. I see you’ve moved Korea to the top position. What’s new since yesterday? Have they gone and sunk another South Korean boat?”
New to The Alexandria Project? Find a plot synopsis and guide to the characters here, find the earlier chapters here, and follow the Further Adventures of Frank on Twitter
iBall.com CEO Chad Derwent sat alone in his office in Silicon Valley. Outside his open door, rows of empty, silent cubicles stretched from one end of the office floor to the other.
For the last several minutes he had been staring down at the stack of papers on his desk, unable to deal with the reality of the title of the one on top: “Petition for Liquidation in Bankruptcy.” He couldn’t bear to look up at the picture on the wall where, he knew, Vinod and he were posed with their first half-dozen employees. Everyone was smiling, because iBall.com had just gone live on the Web. Back then, he’d never supposed it would end like this.
But it had, and there was nothing to be done about it. Nothing to be done but pick up his pen and begin to sign the papers in the stack, one by one.
The phone rang. Chad looked at it in surprise. Ever since it became clear that iBall.com could not survive, the stench of failure had descended upon him, and even his email had dwindled to a trickle. Was it his mother?
New to The Alexandria Project? Find a plot synopsis and guide to the characters here, find the earlier chapters here, and follow the Further Adventures of Frank on Twitter
Library of Congress CIO George Marchand sat uneasily in the witness chair of the hearing room. On a raised platform in front of him stretched a semicircular table, dotted with microphones. Behind those microphones sat all but one of the members of the Inquisition also known as the Congressional Subcommittee on Cybersecurity.
Crouching like a pack of hyenas on the floor between the subcommittee and witness tables were dozens of photographers, polishing their lenses in anticipation of the kill. To George’s right, bored looking C-SPAN video engineers peered at him from beside their cameras, like vultures waiting for a dying wildebeest to get on with it, already.
George glanced at his watch with a sigh. It was almost 10:00, and therefore time for today’s orgy of Congressional ego gratification and wrathful citizenry appeasement to begin. George hoped his introductory role in the hearing would be brief.
New to The Alexandria Project? Find a plot synopsis and guide to the characters here, find the earlier chapters here, and follow the Further Adventures of Frank on Twitter
Just as Bart Thatcher promised, Frank saw nothing but forever when he looked to the west – simply wave after wave of mountains and valleys extending effortlessly into the haze of the horizon. From high above, where the branches of ponderosa pines laced together, the squawks of scrub jays filtered down, along with the dappling light of the afternoon sun. And next to him rested a laptop connected to the outside world via the formidable telecommunications resources of Frank’s improbable, but undeniably useful, Solar Avenger.
Frank was already oblivious to the stunning view ahead of him, now that he was focusing non-stop on cracking the secrets of the Alexandria Project. His goals in that pursuit were clear: figure out how those behind the Project penetrated their targets; devise technical defenses capable of stopping them; and figure out who they were and where they were striking from. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going well.
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Frank stepped out of the dark, moonless night of the Nevada desert and into the bright light of the bar, restaurant and motel that was the Little A’Le’Inn. Along one wall ran a counter with stools and the backsides of a couple of locals. Behind the counter he saw a waitress, cash register, and a modest assembly of liquor bottles that apparently constituted the bar. That took care of the predictable part of the room. And then there was the rest.
Despite the odd spelling, there couldn’t be much doubt over the meaning of the café’s name. Hung on pegboards, sitting on shelves, and hanging from the ceiling was an impressively random collection of just about anything you might (or might not) imagine could be presented with an extraterrestrial theme.
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Brian Williams stood center stage in the NBC Nightly News studio, as always impeccably dressed and at ease in a conservative business suit. He shared a last quiet joke with the intern straightening his tie, and then on cue turned to the camera. As always, he read the day’s headlines from the teleprompter with a serious expression. Then, with a warm and slightly wry smile, he alluded to the “Making a Difference” segment that would close the broadcast. As always, he concluded with the signature phrase, “Nightly News begins now.”
His brief pre-recording chore accomplished, Williams strolled to the expansive news desk from which he would orchestrate the rest of the evening’s show. He settled in as the big digital clock on the wall counted down to the 00:00 display that meant Air Time had arrived.
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Two and a half days after dropping off the map in Washington, D.C., Frank staggered off a Greyhound bus in Las Vegas, Nevada. Though tired and dirty, he felt more energized over the task at hand than over anything else he could recall in years. Now it was time to get down to work! But first, he had to find his ride.
With his knapsack slung over one shoulder, Frank scanned the bus terminal for anyone that might be Earl Jenkins. He had assembled a mental picture of the kind of man that would post an ad in Millennial Survivalist and Assault Rifle Monthly, and had assumed it would be easy to pick him out of a crowd. Problem was, it now appeared that just about anyone that arrived in Las Vegas by bus might have the same reading habits. Now what?