An Armageddon Duology (33 page)

T
he white vapor
had nearly dissipated. The faint aroma of gunpowder and ash mixed with a sickly sweetness still lingering in the air. Hulking shapes breathed resonantly from within gas masks on the platform.

The FBI team was concentrated at one end of the structure, all of them handcuffed, soldiers in masks pointing guns in their direction. The captives were still coughing badly, tears and mucus running from their eyes and noses. Their weapons were in a pile at the feet of their captors.

The mask spoke. “So easy. Don’t you guys ever play chess?”

Poison stood beside Fawkes, a gas mask around her head. She looked down at the FBI team. “What are you going to do with them?”

Fawkes cocked the smirking visage to one side. “Kill them, of course.”

“Please, don’t,” said Poison, eyes large.

“Be grateful you aren’t there with them. I should kill you as well for betraying me. But I don’t have the emotional fortitude. You get to live because of my weakness. But not them. Not after what they’ve done.”

“I told you!” she cried. “It was all fake! They didn’t torture me!”

“Perhaps,” said Fawkes, “or perhaps this is some demented state of Stockholm Syndrome. Did they promise you amnesty? Immunity? Do you think any of that matters now?” The mask studied her coldly.

“No!”

He turned to the FBI team. “Even if it was all a ruse, it was a very painful ruse for me. Until I figured it out, before I realized that it was all
too
easy, perfectly engineered to elicit an emotional response, get me to put myself in terrible danger—before all that came into focus I really went through the agony of watching her suffer.” He extended his hand and received a gun from one of the soldiers. “And that will not be forgiven.”

“Stop, Fawkes!” cried Poison, moving toward him. A towering soldier grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground as she flailed.

Fawkes motioned to the warehouse floor. “Get her out of here. She doesn’t need to see this.”

Screaming, Poison was taken by two guards awkwardly down the ladder. Fawkes and the remaining guard stepped in front of the FBI team. The mask turned to Savas.

“It has been an interesting game, one still with several pieces in play. But here I have the King, and, I suppose, his Queen, even if by abilities I think the real Queen is lying in a pool of blood in a basement in New York City.”

“Just a video game to you, Fawkes?” spat Savas. “Our lives. The nation. The world. Millions, billions of people who will wake up tomorrow back in the Dark Ages. Most of them to die.”

There was a flash of lightning and a loud explosion. A deep rumble followed, shaking their bones.

“Fittingly dramatic. A sign from God do you think?” The masked man laughed. “
Live free or die
. I think New Hampshire’s motto? One of those tiny states. But a slogan that is central to the value of our short existence.”

He turned the weapon in his hands, removing the magazine, checking the chamber, and reinserting the box.

“Imagine a prison so intricately constructed that the inmates believe themselves free. The slaves cannot see their chains. When you’re one of the few to see through the deceptions to the heart of this darkness, most of the time you go mad, or cynical, or do something stupid and get the forces in control to erase you. That was nearly my fate.”

Cohen leaned against Savas and rested her head on his shoulder. Miller squirmed vainly in his restraints.

“But knowing what I know, it’s clear that the infection
must
be sterilized. Like cancer, the treatment will be horrific. It may kill the patient. Indeed, humanity may never rise again. And that might just be for the better, you know? Anyway, it won’t be for any of us to see, but for those a thousand years down the road. If any civilization rises from these ashes.” Fawkes motioned to the guard beside him, who stepped forward and raised his weapon. “Sorry for the pain, but it will all be over quickly.”

He raised his weapon and aimed at Savas. “Goodbye.”

There was another bright flash and deafening sound. But this wasn’t the storm.

The platform swayed from the force of a blast, the entire warehouse shuddering violently. Unlike thunder the rumbling was short lived, and debris rained across the interior, pieces of wood and metal thrown as far as the platform surface. The front of the warehouse had been torn apart, crates and other discarded elements shattered and burning. Black smoke filled the room, its turbulent structure illuminated by the raging flames.

Fawkes and the soldier were hurled to the floor of the platform. The soldier’s weapon discharged wildly as he fell, but his impact momentarily stunned him and he lost his grip. The gun skipped toward Miller and the back edge of the platform, plunging into darkness below.

Miller used the chaos and struck outward with a blinding kick, catching the man’s face full on. There was a cracking sound and the man screamed, rolling to his side as blood streamed into his hands.

Fawkes had stumbled forward and smashed into the railing beside Cohen, his mask shattered, jagged white pieces hanging loosely from the gas mask. Cohen smashed her shoulder into his gun hand, the impact dislodging the weapon and sending it plummeting out of sight.

Fawkes leapt backward, dodging wild kicks from Savas, stumbling into the railing on the other side of the platform. The soldier beside him pulled out a handgun and wiped blood from his broken nose.

“Kill them!” Fawkes cried.

But the soldier didn’t even raise his weapon. Two shots exploded from behind them, and the man’s head erupted in a soup of blood and flesh. His limp body dropped like a stone, shaking the platform.

A woman’s voice called from below. “Don’t twitch, masked-boy, or we’ll liquefy your big brain, too!”

“Houston!” Cohen cried.

Savas closed his eyes in relief.

There was a clattering from the ladder. A soot-covered woman sprang upward, a pistol in one hand trained on Fawkes’ slumped form.

“Got you covered from two angles, asshole, so think before you act.” Her eyes darted from the shattered mask in front of her. “You three okay?”

“Yes!” Savas said angrily. “What about the other guards?”

“Killed in the explosion.”

The jigsaw face spun toward her. “And Poison?”

“She’s gone,” said Houston.

Fawkes screamed and lunged at her wildly, his hands a pair of claws aiming for her face. With a pivot, she sidestepped his motion and used her gun arm to bring the butt of the weapon viciously down on the back of his head. He collapsed and didn’t move.

Heavy steps sounded as Lopez awkwardly climbed the ladder with his one good arm. He landed roughly and glanced down at the two bodies. He exhaled slowly and smiled at the FBI team. “Better late than never, right?”

A
rmed men ushered
President York down a dimly lit flight of stairs. On each side, soldiers took positions with weapons aimed upward, speaking quietly into headsets. Beside her was a lanky, gray-haired man, his face flushed, a sling around his arm. The group reached the bottom, the claustrophobic stairwell opening on a dank tunnel receding into darkness. Its opening was broad, wide enough for a vehicle to pass through. Water leaked out from it to pool at their feet.

“Madam President,” said one of the soldiers, “this shaft will take you to the helicopter. Sergeants Holmes and Nesic will accompany you.” Two uniformed men stepped beside the president. “We’re going to stay here and blow the tunnel if we have to.”

“And then what?” asked York.

“We’ll hide out. No one knows these emergency tunnels like we do. Everyone made fun of the upkeep. Well, who’s laughing now?”

“Be safe, Captain. And thank you. It’s good to know I have supporters even in the military.”

She grabbed her companion by his good arm and turned to the tunnel. The two other soldiers flanked the civilians and they moved forward, the neon green of glow sticks lighting their way.

“Elaine, how far do you think this is going to go?” asked Tooze.

“The coup?” she asked, pulling out a small handgun. “General Hastings isn’t a halfway kinda guy, George. Unless someone puts a stop to him—and I’m not going to dress up what that means—unless someone either arrests or kills the man, we’re heading for a full-blown military takeover.”

“What will that mean?”

“God only knows,” said York, shaking her head. “Kind of in unknown territory there. A centralized command for sure. Suspension of the Constitution and a streamlined civilian authority headed by military personnel. Either they’ll get the governors on board or they’ll install puppets to run the states—state militias and law enforcement. Once they have the guns under control everything else will fall into place. They’re going to marshal the entire national machinery to their power structure beyond the military—NSA, FBI, banks.”

“It’s really headed toward a dictatorship?”

“It’s a rare military coup that ends with a vote.”

They continued walking, their shoes muddied and soaked from the brown sludge coating the bottom of the tunnel. “Until this all gets cleared up—and who knows how long that will take—they’ll want an iron fist to hold the nation together. I see their point. I really do. I just don’t think all of them see how things can go very wrong, very quickly. You walk down some paths and you can’t go back.”

“Do you think Hastings knows?”

Her eyes flashed intensely toward him. “My greatest fear is that he does, indeed.
Temporary
may be something only those around him believe. He always had a run of the crazy in him.”

The tunnel opened into another cramped chamber, a dull light above revealing a rusted spiral staircase. The walls and metal throbbed from a disturbance above.

“Bird’s here,” said one of the soldiers.

They scaled the steps, Tooze awkward and often requiring assistance as they climbed, his wounded arm useless. The light grew rapidly near the top.

They exited the emergency tunnels through a hole at the corner of a helipad. The blades of a powerful helicopter thundered overhead, kicking dust and forest foliage into their path. The green and beige camouflage of the machine rose like a wall before them.

“Damn, that’s a big one,” gasped Tooze.

A soldier smiled. “Sea Stallion, sir. Big mother. She’s loaded with an armored transport inside for when we drop you two off the mountain. Entrance in the rear.”

The president and the Homeland Security director followed the soldiers around the churning aircraft, heads bowed, hands over their faces to mask the debris. They rushed up a ramp lowered from the back. Several officers and two civilians greeted them inside.

“Ms. President,” said a boyish face in a mud-splattered suit. “Let’s get you strapped in and get the hell out of here.”

York quickly embraced him. “Daniel. So the Secretary of Defense is still with us. With Treasury I think we might just be able to field a government in exile.” She smiled toward a statuesque blond in a badly torn white dress

“Ms. President, please,” said the Treasury Secretary. “We’re sitting ducks.”

They made their way around an eight-wheeled armored vehicle with an enormous machine gun. Foldout seats were fixed to the sides of the aircraft. Civilians and soldiers took their places, buckling the belts. The rear door slammed shut.

The Defense Secretary spoke loudly over the growing din of the engines. “We were planning for an off-shore base, but they’ve seized control of the important carriers. They’ve got a version of events painting us in a bad light and we won’t get safe passage.”

“NORAD?” asked York.

“That’s the goal. The military and civilian leadership is resisting Hastings there. But it’s a ways and we’re going to have to regroup with some of the armed forces loyal to you.”

“Should I call them all Loyalists, now?”

The Defense Secretary didn’t smile. “It’s chaos out there, Elaine. The whole system is coming unglued. We’ve got anarchy in the streets and a governmental split. We need numbers and weapons to make it to Colorado.”

York felt the tug on her stomach as the giant bird went airborne. “No arguments from me, Daniel. This is going to be ugly and long.”

One of the soldiers gazed out of a window beside him and whistled. “Goddamn. The admin building’s blown! I can see fires across Mount Weather!”

The president released her belt and steadied herself beside the young man, staring grimly through the glass. “Fighting has started.”

Tooze shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s come to this! We’re turning on each other. First the riots in Washington. New York by now, I guess. And now this.”

York continued to look down at the retreat site, her words cold.

“Rome burns.”

H
ow they had made
it back to Intel 1 was as much by miracle as by the muscle they were forced to use. Between National Guard roadblocks and bands of rioters roaming the city streets, they’d had to rely on force on three occasions. In one engagement, they’d killing several armed gang members who’d tried to carjack them. It was a scene Savas had never imagined living through, firing weapons in the middle of the day on mobs swarming them in the heart of the city. The relative safety of the Javits building suddenly seemed like a haven in a growing storm.

The staff left at the FBI building were frazzled and leaderless. The brass had fled, either called to other duties or frightened for their own skins in the anarchy spreading across the island. Savas pulled the remaining personnel from normal functions and organized them into guards at all entrances to the building. The last thing he was going let happen was for some random group of thugs to undo all that they had accomplished.

They had Fawkes.
Alive
. And now they were going to make him stop this unfolding catastrophe, or show them how to.

“He looks like a damn kid,” said Miller, glaring at the man slumped handcuffed on the couch in Savas’ office.

The masks were gone. A dark-haired cipher rested calmly before them, his eyes closed behind cracked smart glasses, his voice strangely controlled given his situation.

“How’s the battle out there, agents?”

Cohen stared through the large window in the office down to the streets of New York. She spoke sadly. “People are dying. Many suffering. Some accomplishments you’ve racked up.”

“Simon’s gone,” Savas said. “JP's critical. Good people you’re not worthy of, Fawkes.”

“I meant in the matrix. Where’s that Angel girl?”

Lightfoote sat clacking over a laptop. “Here, boy-genius. Look for yourself.”

She turned the screen around toward him furiously as he opened his eyes. With a groan he raised his head slightly, blood still coating the back of his neck from the blow Houston had landed.

“Nice shoulders,” he said. “Drop that bikini top and we’re in business.”

“The red lines are my immune worms. The blue yours. Fucking kicking your sorry ass.”

He lay back and smirked. “Going to go twelve rounds, I think. Fuck, that’s beautiful, you bitch. Never imagined anyone would be that crazy.”

Houston and Lopez entered the crowded office in a rush. “Okay, we’ve got people at the main entry points. But it’s a weak job. Some are just secretaries, for God’s sake! They’ll fold quickly under any real assault.”

Savas nodded. “Hopefully there won’t be one. In the meantime, Fawkes, or whoever the hell you really are, we need to make sure Angel’s code wins. We need you to shut your worms down or tell us how to do so.” He pulled a chair up and placed a foot on it, leaning toward the hacker. “No good cop, bad cop. It’s all bad, today. You don’t look like you’d last five minutes with Frank.”

“He wouldn’t make it through one,” growled Miller.

“So you’re going to talk to us.”

Fawkes laughed. “You think I built an off switch? You
fools
. This was
it
. This was meant to go the distance. You can kick me, drown me, get me to do whatever or say whatever. I’ll even pretend two plus two is five for you. I’ll get on a terminal and tell you I’m fixing everything. If you hurt me enough, I might even believe it myself. But it will be for nothing.
A lie
. Because I didn’t build that worm to come home. No one can call it back.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Miller.

Fawkes continued. “You should
thank
me. You all should thank me for finally driving a stake into the world’s vampires. You—”

“Shut up!” yelled Savas. “I’m not in the mood for more of your crazy.”

“But I didn’t even tell you the best part,” said Fawkes, grin wide. “Paranoid? The best part is that I can
show
you.”

“Show us what?” asked Savas.

“The truth. The truth I discovered hacking through the financial systems. The truth that they couldn’t conceal from me. I know
who
they are. I know where they’re working from!”

Savas narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Bilderberg.” Fawkes sighed.

Cohen spun around. “What did you say?”

“Bilderberg.”

Savas turned to Cohen. “What’s that?”

Cohen approached Fawkes, removing her glasses. “The Bilderberg Group. It’s a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. The biggest economic conference in the world. Center of Europe. Centuries old. Private. Secretive. No transcripts. No records. World leaders, industry magnates, academic powerhouses, media moguls. Bipartisan support in the nutcase-community that they are the real force running the world.”

“That’s the
nexus
,” said Fawkes, eyes alight. He pushed himself up and stood before them, postured stooped. “But it’s like an octopus. And it’s real. Let me show you! Take these cuffs off. The next part is what is really—”

There was a pop and tinkling of glass. Fawkes froze, the top half of his head blown apart, a crimson spray painting the wall behind him. His mouth hung ajar, his finger raised to make a point. Instead he dropped to the floor.

“Down! Everyone down!” yelled Savas.

Miller had moved alongside the wall, weapon held beside his head. He approached the window.

“Sniper round,” he said, examining the hole. “Long distance shot. A professional.” He lowered his gun. “He got his man.”

Houston came alongside him to get her own look, keeping her body away from the window. “Now I’m feeling a bit paranoid, myself.”

“He’s dead.” Cohen was bent down beside the body, sidestepping the blood seeping into the carpet. “You don’t think—?”

Lopez cut in. “That someone from a mysterious organization running the world killed him so he wouldn’t spill their secrets?”

She exhaled. “If you put it like that—”

Lightfoote stared at her laptop screen, speaking slowly. “No, you’d need enormous resources. You’d really have to be an octopus in every major corner of the civilized world. Perhaps eavesdropping on our conversations to know how close we had come. In the middle of all this chaos.”

Savas turned to his cybercrimes head. “Angel?”

“But maybe if you were a truly paranoid anarchist, you might do something strange. You might know this phantom group was after you. You might build in a contingency in case they got to you. Some kind of Armageddon fail-safe.”

“What are you talking about, Angel?” asked Cohen.

Lightfoote looked up from her computer. “Got an email as few seconds after the shot,” she said, glancing down at the body of Fawkes. “From him.”

Savas shook his head. “How could Fawkes send you an email? He’s dead.”

“Read it. You’ll see.”

Savas took the laptop and held it up to his face. He read out loud.

“
H
i Angel baby
, if you got this, well, I’m toast. Linked to my heart rate, so I must be dead. I hate it when that happens! Sorry for trying to kill you, but don’t take it personally: just the business of rebooting the world, you know? You’re one annoying bitch. That’s why this is for you. Things are much worse than you think. Only a few of us know the truth, and if you’re reading this, we’re all likely dead by now. Attached is an encrypted file: you might be able to crack it. If so, you’ve earned a shot at glory. Good luck. You’ll need it.
”

S
avas looked at Lightfoote
. “Where’s the file?”

“Scroll down to the end of the email.”

Savas swiped his fingers on the trackpad.

“The Nash Criterion. What the hell does that mean?”

The office phone rang.

“I thought phones were down,” said Lopez, removing his gun.

“This is an internal line. From the front desk. I’ll put it on speaker.”

A loud rasping sounded from the phone. Someone on the other end wheezed and spoke with a death’s rattle: “They’re coming. The stairways. Get out. They’ve shot everyone.”

Explosions sounded and the line went dead.

“Let’s move!” cried Lopez. He and Houston sprang through the doorway.

They left the body of Fawkes behind, Lightfoote pulling a USB stick out of the computer but leaving the laptop on the desk. She pocketed the stick and drew a gun.

The six moved down the hallway, passing empty offices and abandoned desks, Cohen lumbering on her crutches. They reached the center of the floor just as the elevator doors opened. A group of men in combat gear stepped out.

“Behind the cubicles!” hissed Savas.

They crouched low, Miller and Savas pointing weapons forward, Cohen looking behind them with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Where—” she began but was cut off by the blaring of a bullhorn.

“FBI Intel 1 division! We are United States forces here to apprehend you and the fugitives! Come out with your hands raised or we will be forced to engage!”

A deep stillness settled over the room. Miller touched Savas on the shoulder. “We’re not going to overpower these guys, John,” he whispered, his expression grave. “Whoever they really are, we’re outgunned and outnumbered.”

Thoughts racing, Savas considered his options. He was given little time.

“Last warning, Agent Savas. We know you have the terrorist. Hand him over, come out with your hands over your head and you might live!”

“He’s dead!” cried Savas. “The hacker is dead in my office. We’re coming out.” He placed his hands on the weapons of Cohen and Miller beside him. “Put the weapons down. We’ll figure a way out of this later.”

Lopez and Houston!
He had to keep them calm, stop them from doing anything stupid. He spun around, but they were gone.

His eyes met Cohen’s. “Where?”

“Angel, too,” she whispered. “I don’t know where.”

“Agent Savas, come forward with your hands in the air!”

Savas placed his weapon on the ground and stood up facing a group of ten men. Miller and Cohen followed suit. The soldiers aimed weapons in their direction. One called out loudly as several approached them from the sides.

“Under the authority of Directive 51 and the Military Commissions Act, you are under arrest as unlawful combatants, subject to indefinite detention and a hearing before a tribunal. You are hereby stripped of your Constitutional rights and all rank and privilege. Follow all instructions precisely and rapidly or risk the use of force.”

They were cuffed and led into the elevators. Frantically, Savas scanned the room a last time, desperately trying to locate Lightfoote and the others. But it was empty. He saw no sign of them.

The doors closed.