An Armageddon Duology (9 page)

A
four-by
-five panel of giant flat-screen monitors covered a wall in a dark room. News stations spanning the content of the major networks to cable providers flashed a diversity of images. One by one, sound was associated with a given monitor and channel, large speakers on the sides of the array of screens projecting audio, the brightness on the other nineteen monitors dropping dramatically to emphasize the featured screen. Centered before the dizzying display was a lone chair containing a shadowed figure.

“This is Monica Grayford from CNN,” began the short-haired brunette standing before the Capitol building in Washington, DC. “Chaos has swept over the House of Representatives as a rebellion in the GOP threatens to bring the legislative branch to a standstill. Key members of House committees have suddenly switched their votes on multiple issues central to several pressing pieces of legislation. Among them are a host of financial reform bills including raising the marginal tax rate on the wealthiest Americans, legislation to remove corporate tax loopholes, and challenges to overturn the Supreme Court rulings on campaign finance reform and the personhood of corporations. In addition, numerous laws aiming to regulate the internet have found their support shifting dramatically, with numerous Democratic and Republican Congressman now supporting net neutrality and opposing governmental regulation and internet monitoring. For more on this developing story, we go to—”

The screen dimmed and the audio cutoff. A monitor on the upper right brightened, and a panel of men and women on Fox News were yelling at each other across a common table. A stout man in a suit centered in the middle screamed over the group.

“None of these theories makes sense! With elections nearly here, you aren’t going to see members of both parties suddenly reversing their long-held positions on important issues! I think that we need to step back and ask what is really going on here. What backroom deals are being made and has the White House been involved to try and throw the results in November into chaos? We all know the polls show that the midterms are not going to go their way, so they have to be involved!”

A woman near the end of the table on the left cut in. “Based on what? Why do you always have to turn everything into a conspiracy of foul play by this administration?”

A black man near the center raised his hands in the air. “This is all speculation at this point. We don’t know what is going on. Neither do the leaders of
either
party. Until we can get explanations from the members of Congress themselves, all this is just hot air.”

The viewpoint shifted, jumping to a monitor on the lower level in the middle of the array. A heavyset man in a suit with gray hair paced about a television stage, waving his arms and gesticulating. Behind him was an enormous chalkboard, names of important political figures and organizations written and boxed in various locations, numerous arrows studded with short phrases and comments connecting the various names. The commentator was shouting.

“A Democratic Super PAC with ties to a billionaire is suddenly bankrupt? Why? Where did all that money go? A week later, we find one member of Congress after another switching their votes, always in the direction of the liberal agenda. Always decreasing our ability to monitor communications for terrorist activity and attacking the earnings of the job-creating class. Am I the only one seeing this? I mean, could it be more obvious? My fellow Americans, we are poised on the edge of a terrible cliff, where the terrorist sympathizing, Marxist left-wing agenda has put our very freedoms in the crosshairs.” His voice caught, and he wiped his eyes. “There might not be much more time. I don’t know how many times I’ll be allowed to address you when the new world order is imposed. I’ve never said this before, but I’m scared. Scared for America. Scared for the world. Because, in the end, it is we Americans that stand between order and chaos on this planet.”

The image and sound jumped to the upper left of the screens, a dour, bald man centered in the camera before a microphone. A woman’s voice spoke over the images.

“The Russian president has just begun a press conference. This is Russia Today with an exclusive video feed of the event called in response to reported violations of international treaties this week by the US Congress.”

The sound switched to the figure behind the podium. An angry voice speaking in Russian, muffled beneath the words of a man translating the speech into English.

“...are extremely destabilizing and foolish. We urge party leaders in US House of Representatives to stop extremist wings and put stop to many bills now on floor. We call to United States President to veto laws passing. Russia will not tolerate more US imperialism over regions and resources international law has divided.”

The focus point shifted to a monitor in the middle of the array, a young woman of Middle Eastern appearance interviewing a cabbie on the streets of New York.

“Miss, what’s to say? It’s open season on the one percent. It’s bombs and guns in New York. All the VIPs are disappearing or going nuts in Congress. You know what I think? I think it’s the antichrist. I think it’s the goddamned end of the fucking world. First we’re gonna eat each other and everything’s gonna fall apart. Then all those angels with fire and lightning are gonna come down and fry us. You know what I’m gonna do tonight? I’m gonna go to church. I’m gonna light some goddamned candles and pray my ass off that God’s got a place for me in heaven.”

The man rolled up his window and the cab sped off. The reporter turned to the camera, her face troubled, her words stuttered.

“This is Maryam Tavazoie, Al Jazeera America, in New York.”

All the monitors went dark and the figure in the chair brooded in silence for several moments. From the faint afterglow of the screens, a weak line reflected off a hard surface.

A toothless smirk.

A
ngel Lightfoote poked
her head around the doorframe. “John, the kids—they’re not all right.”

Savas sat behind his desk and held up his index finger with one hand and cradled the landline receiver in the other. The digits of his free hand also tapped onto a cell phone as he texted.

“Right. Ronald, look, I have to go. Thanks for the report and I’ll share it with the group.” He hung up the phone.

“Forensics?”

Savas nodded. “Yes. Residues found at the car and boat bombings match. Synthetics. Nothing special that we can trace.”

She nodded, the fluorescent lighting reflecting brightly off her scalp. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

F
ive minutes
later they were exiting an elevator and stepping onto the basement floor. Savas smiled as he looked around the maze of monitors and racks of computers.

"Love what you're doing with the place, Angel. Looks more and more like the Bat Cave."

Lightfoote gestured toward several rows of servers. "That's the Hernandez pile, all Manuel's machines that can still keep up. Most of the connections to law enforcement and other agencies—not to mention the satellite uplinks—are now ported to the Great Wall." Her hand swept toward a much large bank of computers racked in metallic girders, floor to ceiling.

"Glad to see the money's well spent."

Lightfoote shook her head. "Everything's been augmented, enhanced. More aggressive than the old crises center.
Militarized
. It’s cyberwarfare out there now." Lightfoote sat at a long table with several monitors. “We’ve been stalking both of Senator Moss’ girls. One is at UCSF, the other Georgetown.”

He sat down next to her, watching windows displaying two young women’s faces. Video footage streamed and maps and other surveillance software recorded locations and other information. “So there’s a problem, or I wouldn’t be down here. Disappearance?”

“No, it’s a lot more subtle. The women are fine. So far. No sign of anything on their social media, personal emails, or phone conversations. We correlated their routines to video surveillance footage over the last few months. Nothing to indicate that they are functioning under duress.” She turned toward Savas and winked, the piercings running across her face inches from him. “But we’re playing with some inside information.”

She cleared the active windows and opened several CCTV montages displaying footage from numerous cameras. There seemed little relationship between the locations, angles, or time the video was captured. Lightfoote stared at one intensely and then hit a key, freezing the playback.

“There. See, that’s Anna Moss, right there, backpack, ponytail. She usually takes this route on Wednesdays. This is footage from two weeks ago. Look there,” she indicated on the screen.

Savas squinted. A dark blur was above and behind the student, but he could not make out what it was. “What is it?”

She stared at him with her eyes angled upward, nearly rolling them. “Watch.” Frame by frame, she advanced the footage. The Moss daughter moved jerkily as if caught by a strobe light, pedestrians and cars around her as well.

And so did the blur.
Savas felt his pulse quicken. “It’s tracking her,” he whispered. “It’s a drone.”

Lightfoote smiled. “He can be taught! Watch closely. It shadows her up the street and then,
there
, lifts off into the air and is gone. We’ve got hundreds of hours of footage of the sisters. That let us catch the drones in ten or fifteen events. No doubts, John. We’ve tried to use image enhancement but didn’t get much. We’re also taking known drone models and creating cross-sections at different angles and using image recognition software to score similarity. But whatever the models, these women are being stalked. By drones.”

“That’s it, then,” he said. “Imagine the kinds of photos you could get with these things. The kind of photos that when sent to a parent with the right note attached would petrify them.”

Lightfoote nodded. “And you don’t even have to put organic assets in play or touch the ground around the targets.”

“Wouldn’t someone notice these things?”

“Probably, but what would they think? There are kids’ toys as big as some of these, and in several states law enforcement groups are beginning to use drones. And whoever is behind this isn’t stupid. They don’t hang around long. So, somebody sees one? Then what? Before they can do much it’s gone. Not much to report without sounding like a UFO nut.”

“No wonder she jumped when I asked about drones. She’s a smart woman. She would have connected the bombing and these drones shadowing her daughters. And it’s almost a certainty that Craig from Goldman was calling her about her vote flip-flops. If it hadn’t been for the other CEO murders and kidnappings, I might have thought he was killed for that.”

He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. “That’s great work, Angel. You’ve linked the killing to the threats on Congress. With the meltdown there yesterday, it looks like she was the canary in the coal mine. We can use this to pressure the rest, make them open up about the blackmail.”

“You’d think that the victims would have noticed their peers’ behavior. Teamed up. Gotten some crowd bravery and brought the blackmail to the attention of someone by now.”

Savas nodded. “Maybe. But it just happened. They probably thought they were the only ones, working in a panic, tunnel visioned and focused on whatever personal nightmare was threatening to consume their life.”

Lightfoote stood up as well, continuing to stare at the blurry drone images on her monitors. “Drones of all sizes exist. Some able to handle large payloads. Some able to be mounted with weapons. And they’re invisible to radar. They could fly right up to the president with a bar of Semtex strapped to them. Or pop over to the Indian Point nuclear plant. They can go anywhere, John. They can photograph people’s bedroom windows, follow their kids, spy on the routes of world leaders. I’d be worried if I were you.”

A chill ran through him. “I am, Angel. I think we need to find out who is making drones in this country, what they’re making, and who the hell they are selling them to. Look for patterns in purchase and shipment.
Anything
.”

“Already beginning that search. What I’m worried about is that our drone-master is too smart for that. He wouldn’t have left such an easy trail, but would likely buy them in small amounts and change shipping locations, payment methods. Or under the table purchases from dealers who aren’t listed in the Better Business Bureau. That’s what I would do.”

“You know what Angel,” said Savas, eyeing her suspiciously. “You are frighteningly good at thinking like a psychopath.”

Her face darkened in a manner that unsettled Savas. She spoke hoarsely. “Thanks, John. It’s good to be noticed.”

“Well, I want you to keep doing that. In fact, you have my explicit permission to go full madwoman down here and follow any idea you think might be interesting. Don’t tell me when you fail. Don’t tell me missteps. Just do it. Find out what in the name of all that’s holy is happening.”