An Armageddon Duology (41 page)

“
Y
ou’ve made contact
?” asked Savas.

They stood in the operations center beneath Manhattan, the labyrinth of tunnels snaking away from them in multiple directions. Military personnel and civilian staff continued to work close by, frantically orchestrating the coming journey westward. Savas could hear them debating the logistics, tactics, and threats. He tried to tune out the coming storm and focus on their communication effort.

“We think so,” said York. She deferred to a boyish soldier in front of a terminal. “Specialist Turner?”

“Yes, ma’am! It’s a Tor-scrambled secure chat—as secure as we can make it. Your friends, if these are your friends, have an extra serving of paranoid and all the software to work this with me.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’ these are our friends?” asked Savas.

“That’s just it, sir, how do we verify? We put out the codes and information you mentioned. They must have been monitoring a lot of information, and they took the bait. They reached out to us. But could be NSA or someone else.”

York interrupted. “Hastings has control of the NSA servers. They have tremendous computational firepower and are spying on every internet and cellular network. Landlines too, of course.”

Turner continued. “We need something specific, something that could distinguish friendlies from hostiles. Once that’s done, we can risk more channels open.”

Savas shook his head. “NSA a hostile. Half the US military a hostile. What the hell has happened?”

“Let me try,” said Cohen.

The soldier nodded and stood up from the chair. “It’s chat. Just type. They’ll respond.”

She sat down and typed.

“Gabriel’s brother?”

Text appeared after a short pause.

“Archangel Michael.”

“Who killed the wraith?”

“Gabriel.”

“Cabin. What grows on the doors?”

“Rose creepers.”

Cohen leaned back and sighed. “It’s them.”

Savas agreed. “Definitely.”

Turner’s eyebrows arched, and looked at York. She nodded and he resumed his position in the chair. “Okay, then let’s initiate video.”

A window opened on the screen. Pixelated blurs moved as if in a strobe light. The video improved, the resolution increased and movement smoothed. A bald woman with piercings across her face stared back intensely at them. Cohen leaned down to the screen.

“Angel! Are you okay? Where are Gabriel and Mary?”

Behind Lightfoote, two faces appeared.

“Right here, Rebecca,” came Houston’s voice. “We’re fine.”

“Where the hell are you?” asked Savas

She shook her head. “Can’t tell you. Can’t be sure who’s listening or if you’re okay. Not compromised. They’re after us.”

“We know,” he said. “We were taken. Interrogated. They were very interested in finding you. You saved our asses, tracking us. We escaped and are in hiding with the President.” He inhaled deeply.
Just say it, John.
“There’s bad news. Frank’s dead.”

Lightfoote balled her hands into fists. “How?” She glared at Savas.

Cohen spoke. “We’re not sure. They—” She couldn’t finish.

“They tortured him to death,” finished Lightfoote. “I get it. And from the look of his face, it looks like John was next. JP? He was dying when we left him.”

“I don’t know, Angel,” said Savas. “My guess is they would see to him, give him medical attention.”

“So they could torture him later,” said Lightfoote. The silence answered her question. Her green eyes flared. “Who’s doing all this?”

“Bilderberg,” said York, pushing her way into the line of the camera.

“Then it’s real?” came the deep voice of Lopez. “What is it?”

“Something impossible to believe. I’ve arranged to have some files sent to you. Look them over when you get a chance. But the bottom line: Bilderberg is a set of powerful puppet masters pulling strings across governments the world over. Anonymous nearly brought their system crashing down. I’m running for my life because I’m fighting it. There’s been a military coup run by a high ranking soldier—Gerald Hastings. But he’s only a front. The Bilderberg Group is behind everything.”

“Who’s in this group? Where are they?” asked Lightfoote.

“We don’t know,” said York. “We don’t know one name or where they’re located. For all we know they’re distributed, all over the world. But their goal is to return the nation and the world to a pre-Anonymous status quo. In that world, they shape and guide the nations to their own ends.”

Lopez spoke. “We’re getting the files now. This is a little hard to believe. Tin-foil hat stuff.”

“I know,” said the President, “but I think the materials in those files and recent events will help things fall into place. If it helps any, I’ve
spoken
to them. After my election. They secretly contacted me, impressed upon me in ways I could not dismiss who was really in control of our world. For years I went along with it. Like other presidents. Like leaders across the world. I’m not proud of it, but there’s no time to explain everything, what they threatened if I didn’t. The consequences to me and others. But now—well, maybe we can stop them.”

“Because of Fawkes,” said Lightfoote. “And he’s not done. He left us the file.”

“Yes, John and Rebecca mentioned it.”

“We’ve broken the encryption.”

York leaned forward. “What does it say?”

“It doesn’t say anything. It’s an image file. One that doesn’t tell us much right now. But it leads us in a clear direction.”

“You won’t say more?” asked Savas.

“Sorry, John. This is too important. Especially now after hearing the president.”

“Angel’s right,” said Houston. “It’s a long shot, but we need to follow up on it. We need to travel to unravel this. But we need to do it alone. We’re a small group. We can hide.”

“We can afford you the protection of a powerful contingent of the US military,” said York. “We’re going to NORAD. We’ll fight our way there if we have to. Loyalists to this nation are waiting for us there. Come with us! Seek safety at Cheyenne Mountain to understand this puzzle.”

Lightfoote shook her head. “Not putting the eggs in one basket. The file is leading us in another direction. We have someplace to go, and it’s not the Rockies.”

York frowned. “I can’t spare anyone to help you, I’m sorry. And without knowing more about what you’re doing, it doesn’t seem wise even if I could. You won’t reconsider? We can help you!”

Houston spoke firmly. “We think Fawkes gave us a key to Bilderberg, something we can use against them. But it’s buried in an enigma we have to solve. We can’t come with you. Not yet. Not until we know if it’s useful. We have to commit to it.”

Savas spoke to the screen. “Angel, you’re sure about this? You really think Fawkes was on to something?”

“Definitely,” she said. “Saying more might tip off our enemies. I’m sorry.”

“My gut says you should be here,” said York. “But there’s no denying what you’ve done. I just wish you hadn’t been so successful at stopping the worm. The one thing Bilderberg needs now is a return to normalcy. We have to prevent it at all costs.”

“So now what?” asked Cohen.

“We turn these three loose,” said the president. “And hope to hell they give us something to help fight this menace. Meanwhile, we muster out.” She turned back to the screen. “You three stay alive and contact us when you can. The offer still stands. If you need us, if you can make it to us, we’ll protect you.”

“As best
you
can,” said Lightfoote. “I assume Hastings isn’t going to let you stroll over to NORAD without incident.”

“No, he won’t,” said York. “But we’ll be ready for him.”

“Then maybe you’re ready to hit him for us, too,” said Lightfoote.

York arched an eyebrow. “Hastings?”

“His intel arm. The NSA. They’re like ticks all over the internet, sucking info and tracking us. We were almost killed in Harlem because they tracked us. We need them off our backs, and away from the hackers that are working with us.”

“You’re working with hackers?” asked York.

“Parallel processing. That’s how we cracked the encryption. We’re counting on them. Right now, they’re organizing. But it’s all going to get bloody if the NSA spies keeping crashing the party.”

“What do you want us to do?” asked York.

“Hit their data centers. Take them out. Fort Meade and Utah for sure.”

“Isn’t Utah on
our
side?” asked Savas.

York shook her head. “Not so clean cut, John. It’s in our supposed range of control, but nobody has troops there and no one can commit them now. It’s sided with Hastings. He’s got the full power of the agency. Lots of cyberwarfare going on between NORAD and the NSA right now.”

“Take them out,” said Lightfoote. “Give us a chance to breathe. You don’t even need to kill people. Those server farms live and die on cooling and electricity. Take out the water supply, local power stations.”

“We’ve got the cruise missiles, but we’re going to need them, too. I’ll put together a team to analyze the most efficient attack, see what we can spare.” York nodded, coming to a conclusion. “Actually, it will likely help our journey. Should of thought of this before. The NSA gets satellite information, monitors a lot of communications. Hastings can track us, get useful intel, just from whatever goes out from the areas our convoy passes. But not if their server farms are down. That’d jab a stick in his eye.” She smiled. “Yes, Angel. I’m starting to take a real liking to your idea.”

“
G
eneral Hastings
, your first priority is to neutralize York.”

The Director’s rough voice spoke toward an enormous flat screen monitor, the deep bags under his eyes melding with his lined face to create the appearance of a melted landscape. The face of a heavyset man in a decorated uniform stared back, eyes darting left and right.

The general licked his lips. “We’re looking at a full-fledged
war
if we continue. We risk fracturing the entire nation!”

“Let me explain the dynamics to you once again,” said the Director, his voice cold. “We are at crisis point. If York solidifies her power base, and if the fugitives with the terrorist’s documents survive, we risk the formation of a permanent front against our long-term interests. This would be unprecedented in recent history and could unravel decades-long efforts. We will not allow this. If you can’t put an end to this rebellion, we’ll find someone who can.”

The general spoke through clenched teeth.

“I understand. We won’t fail. But I warn you, there’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up.”

“We will deal with it later. Find her, General. Kill her and her enablers.”

The old man closed the connection and the general’s face vanished. In its place, an array of faces appeared and tiled the screen. A woman with an Iranian accent spoke from the center of the screen.

“He is right. The simulations are in chaos. We are quickly oscillating outside our bands of prediction.”

“I know!” shouted the old man, slamming his fist onto the table in front of him. “The hacker has disrupted everything. Hopefully, we can put this fire out soon and push things back into line.”

“It may be difficult to do so within the models we have developed,” came the clipped Germanic accent of a silver-haired man on the lower left tile. “Those models are statistically based. They rely on the
average
properties of large numbers of individuals, or, at worst, a few very well defined pressure points. The hacker was a completely random and extreme element. A
black swan
. His efforts are like a volcano erupting, scrambling all the weather forecasting. We might be basically starting over.”

A man with Chinese features spoke from the wall of faces.

“We are at an inflection point. Those worst-case scenarios may not occur. Not if we end the social ripples of this
Anonymous
now. If we can bring the previous financial and political systems back online quickly, strongly suppress any deviations from it and any predictions of the past models, we may enter a quasi-stable tangent path. It will be different, but manageable. The simulations are still in flux. Nothing is fixed.”

“All the more reason we must act forcefully,” said the Director to the screens. “We must center our efforts on the anomaly in the United States. The other nations appear to be returning rapidly to previous trajectories in the forecasts. But not America. York is now in open rebellion against us. America is still the world’s most powerful nation. Should she prevail, one hundred years of effort will be burned to the ground. She could undermine everything.”

“If she prevails, we will also be hunted,” said the woman.

The Director raised his voice. “I’m not worried about that! Eventually we can take her down and those who support her. Quench any investigations or covert efforts. They have nothing on us. No solid information, only the crumbs we gave her and the myths of the lunatic fringe. They will get nowhere. It is the damage to the
system
we have so carefully developed that will be devastating.”

“Hastings may win,” said the German. “York is vulnerable now. Unless she can regroup with her supporters at NORAD. But there is a lot of land to cross in that nation.”

“We will not rely only on him. Our assassins will infiltrate the military and every local population center along her path. We are flying in teams from across the world. Some will also be diverted to hunting down the FBI specialist, Lightfoote, and the fugitives aiding her.”

“Still no progress with the file contents?” asked the woman.

“No. But there is little doubt as to its contents. The mention of Nash is clear.”

The woman sighed. “The social engineering. It will be spelled out.”

“Yes, and in the right hands, it will be understood for what it is. Our hidden plans laid bare. Countermeasures obvious. They will be able to undo nearly everything.”

The German spoke. “They are as big a threat as York.”

“Yes,” said the Director.

The woman leaned back in her chair, long black hair cascading behind her head. “And if York or these fugitives elude us? Or do so long enough that they begin to capitalize on their threat? What then?”

The Director sighed. “It’s one thing to be set back centuries. It is another to be made vulnerable to a death blow. If Hastings and our teams do not stop this soon, if the simulations show we are losing the ability to contain this catastrophe, then we will have only one choice left.”

Silence descended, broken by the Chinese man at the upper corner of the screen.

“We have rarely used a failsafe. I had hoped we were beyond such measures.”

The old man scowled. “Your weakness, Yigong, has always disturbed me.”

Yigong continued. “Tens of millions will die. It’s not 1945! With these kinds of numbers, the ends don’t justify the means. The
ends
change as well.”

“As a percentage of the human population, it is little different from the series of world wars we orchestrated in the 20th century.”

A man with a Spanish accent interrupted. “Percentages tell one thing to statisticians. But absolute numbers—these are human beings, Director.”

The Director held his hands up at his sides. “Are we forgetting our purpose, and what we have achieved? We’ve raised billions out of poverty, reduced death and suffering from infectious disease, raised the world lifespan to unprecedented levels. Only because of
our
guiding hand has human civilization not torn itself to pieces, blown itself up, undoing all the progress in science and government, crashing back to another dark age!” He sighed and wiped his brow, sweat glistening on his face. “Sometimes, to maintain this historical arc of progress, thousands, even millions had to die. Those deaths improved the lives of a thousand times as many!” He scanned the faces, his expression stern. “And now we have the science to do it with clarity, to know whether the lives lost will mean something down the road. Humanity
requires
guidance.
You know this!
But our ward requires harsh treatment when ill. And right now, the world is very ill.”

“And so, if the criterion is reached, amputation?” said the Spaniard.

The Director took a deep breath. “Let’s hope it does not come to that. But make no mistake, we will do what is required.”