Extinction (32 page)

Secretary of Defence John Jeffries couldn’t comprehend what was going on, he really couldn’t.

Spectrum Nine was ready, and Tomkin was on his way to take charge, and that was one thing to be grateful for, but the news coming in from around the country was simply horrific.

Who the hell are the Order of Planetary Renewal?
the President had asked just a short time ago. None of the people in the room had been able to answer him. Not the intelligence chiefs, not the Secretary of State, none of his key political or military aides. The closest anyone got was to recognize that the order’s ‘high priest’ had been on television some nights before.

As Jeffries had watched the footage, shown around the world already on social media sites but compiled into one long video by the President’s staff, he had almost been sick. There had been scenes in every major city in the country of white-robed priests and priestesses setting themselves on fire. It was a coordinated effort, the self-immolations occurring at exactly the same time everywhere. The groups of suicidal followers ranged from thirty in number all the way up to over one hundred, in more than two hundred cities. The number of victims was currently estimated at somewhere over twelve thousand.

The number made Jeffries go weak at the knees. And the mayhem that had resulted was almost beyond comprehension.

Amazed and emboldened by what they had seen, citizens all over the country were rising up in arms, ignoring curfews and breaking through security lines. The country was now in a state of dire emergency, if not quite civil war – and the President had been very clear about the distinction. But it seemed like a civil war to Jeffries; he had had to order the full might of the military to step in to deal with the citizens of his own country. It made him feel sick all over again.

When Tomkin had first approached him with his plan, Jeffries had never suspected it would result in the deaths of
any
of his fellow-countrymen. It was the enemy who were supposed to die, not his own neighbours. The situation was clearly completely out of hand now, beyond any form of control. It had taken on a life of its own, and there didn’t seem to be anything that could be done to stop it. What had this Order of Planetary Renewal been thinking? What kind of evil cult could convince twelve thousand people to kill themselves? And not just kill themselves, but kill themselves in one of the most agonizing ways possible?

Tomkin’s absence from the meeting today was noticed. Where was he? Engaged on a private matter, Jeffries had said, all too aware that, given the current situation, it just didn’t ring true.

Jeffries sagged into his leather armchair. He prayed that Spectrum Nine worked as promised. That was their only hope now.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Jack breathed. Alyssa came close, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

‘What have you found?’ Alyssa asked.

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘It’s all here. All of it. All the way from initial discussions, strategy, plans, schematics, results of research, names of all involved personnel, we’ve got
everything
.’

‘How high does it go?’ Alyssa asked anxiously. ‘Is the President involved?’

‘No,’ Jack said, ‘not the President. The Secretary of Defence is in this up to his neck, but I don’t think it goes any higher.’

‘Can we copy this information?’ Alyssa asked.

‘I’m already doing it,’ Jack pointed to a flash drive he’d put into the unit, having found some spares in Tomkin’s desk drawer. ‘But there’s something else too,’ he said.

‘What?’ Alyssa asked, sitting down next to him.

‘The list of targets. Casualty estimates.’

‘Show me,’ Alyssa said, and Jack brought up the information.

Alyssa’s eyes went wide as she read.

She had thought that Spectrum Nine would be a highly targeted weapon – at worst, a flood taking out a coastal naval base, or a small earthquake destroying armaments factories or missile silos. Not this. It was clear that Tomkin wanted to use Spectrum Nine to its fullest extent, and the targets were whole
countries
, including entire civilian populations. With horror, Alyssa read what amounted to a battle plan for total genocide. Volcano eruptions and earthquakes would be used to destroy most of northern and central Asia, taking out their own country’s main military and economic competitor in one fell swoop. Sandstorms, floods and earthquakes would be used to decimate much of the Middle East, purging it of its terrorist infrastructure once and for all. Meanwhile, other disasters would befall their neighbours south of the border, forever clearing up the problem with drug lords and leftist guerrillas.

The scale of the destruction Tomkin had planned was beyond comprehension. ‘Casualty estimate . . .
One point two billion men, women and children
,’ Alyssa said, collapsing back in her chair.

Jack shook his head. ‘Those aren’t casualty estimates, Alyssa,’ he told her. ‘They’re fatalities.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Those people are all going to die.’

T
HE MEN AND
women checked and rechecked their equipment as they waited for the helicopters to land. The order had been given, and the attack was about to commence.

Oswald Umbebe also checked his equipment as he waited. People were surprised, given his condition, that he was going to accompany them on the assault, but he wouldn’t miss it for the world. If he was killed, what difference would it make anyway? But he had to be there. Besides, he had been a child soldier once upon a time, back in the seething jungles of his youth, and such work was something he would never forget. It was in his very blood.

He still didn’t have the codes but he had a couple of options open to him on that score. The important thing at the moment was to take advantage of the current chaos and rioting, and attack while the facility was vulnerable. His faithful followers had performed their recent test superbly, sacrificing themselves for the greater good. He knew the effect the simultaneous bodily sacrifice of twelve thousand people would have; it wasn’t just emergency services that would be stretched, but the entire machinery of government as well, including the military. The troops guarding the target up in the snow-covered mountains would have been reduced to a minimum.

Umbebe had wept as he had watched the footage of their brave act, tormented that he had asked them to do such a thing. But he knew, ultimately, that it was worthwhile. If everyone was going to die in a short while anyway, then surely they had only missed out on their last few hours. And their sacrifice would not be in vain.

Evan Ward awoke slowly, his faculties returning to him one small step at a time.

He had seen the two figures leave his office several minutes before but had not registered any more than that. Who they were, he had no idea. In his dazed state, he had only vaguely recognized that they were people.

But as his conscious mind started to reassert itself, recent events came flooding back to him. His eyes popped fully open, and he surged upwards from his chair, but found that he was tied securely. He tried to scream out, to call for help, to raise the alarm, but those damn fake technicians – terrorists? he asked himself in horror – had gagged him, and all that came out was a muffled rumble.

Damn them! What were they up to? It was clear they had wanted access to the computer systems. But why?

Suddenly, it occurred to Ward that they might even have been the ones who planted the virus in the first place. How could he have been so stupid? But he had checked their details on the Beltway database. Maybe they planted the details in the Beltway system – unless Beltway itself was some sort of terrorist/criminal/enemy government front?

He wasn’t going to get any answers while he was strapped to this chair, that was for sure. He looked towards the door, estimated the distance. About six feet; not too far.

The chair wasn’t fixed, and luckily the two intruders hadn’t known enough about securing a captive to tie his legs and feet properly – the soles of both his feet were in contact with the ground. Ward himself would have strapped a prisoner’s lower legs tight to the chair legs so that no more than the tips of the toes were in contact with the floor, making manoeuvring much more difficult.

Ignoring the pain that wracked his head and upper body – he knew he was concussed, and feared he may even have damaged some vertebrae – he started to shuffle his body, using the traction of his feet and a powerful twisting of his shoulders.

Slowly but surely, he worked his way to the door, its window covered by the blind. He tried to use his head to push down the metal handle but couldn’t get the angle right. He shuffled on the chair some more but still couldn’t do it.

He repositioned himself one more time, steeled his nerve, and smashed his head straight through the door’s window into the main CWD control room.

‘Somebody get over here and help me!’ he shouted. ‘Now!’ Shards of glass stuck out of his head, blood flowing freely.

People raced over to him and carefully levered his head out of the shattered window. Even before he was fully untied from the chair, Ward was shouting orders. ‘Alert security! Immediately! Those two Beltway technicians were imposters, we need to find them!’

Ward was standing now, shaking glass from his uniform and wiping blood from his face. ‘Did anyone see them after they left here?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, sir,’ a staff sergeant said sheepishly. ‘I escorted them to General Tomkin’s office.’

‘General Tomkin?’ Ward asked incredulously. This idiot had
escorted
them to the office of the
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs
? ‘I’ll deal with you later, Sergeant,’ he said, pushing past him and reaching for his phone.

‘Call for you, sir,’ a female officer shouted to him from across the room. ‘Colonel Anderson. He says it’s urgent.’

It better be
, Ward growled silently as he strode across the control room.

‘Colonel Ward,’ Anderson said, airborne in the helicopter with his men now, en route to DoD headquarters, ‘we have a situation. I have reason to believe that a man and a woman posing as employees of Beltway Security Systems may have gained access to your offices under false pretences and—’

‘That’s right,’ Ward barked, cutting Anderson off. ‘One of them smashed my damn head open with a steel chair. Now you better tell me who the hell these people are.’

When Anderson had called Beltway and discoved they had a David Jenkins and Elaine McDowell on their books, who nobody seemed to know, he immediately called DoD headquarters to ask about unusual activity, and found that their computer systems were suffering from a virus. If it hadn’t been the DoD, the obvious target, Anderson would have made some more calls – there were plenty of other options in the capital – but his gut instinct had been proved right. And this call to the Cyber Warfare Division had just confirmed it. But what did they hope to achieve?

‘They’re terrorists,’ Anderson told Ward. ‘Highly dangerous. We don’t know what they’re planning but it is absolutely vital that they are captured immediately. We cannot afford to take any chances with these people. Do you have any idea where they are now?’

Anderson heard Ward clear his throat, and knew the news was not going to be good. ‘I’ve just received word that they have been escorted to the office of General Tomkin.’

Anderson was speechless.
No
. It couldn’t be. Tomkin’s computer held
everything
.

Umbebe could see the target with his own eyes now. Access was relatively easy; helicopters had inserted them just five miles out, and 4x4 vehicles had taken them the rest of the way through forested roads. External security hadn’t worried Umbebe in the slightest; it had all been taken care of.

The four frontline eight-man teams had encircled the target from its three approachable, guarded sides. A mile back from the complex’s rear, the land fell away in a jagged cliff, and Umbebe knew there was no point in wasting men and resources by approaching from that direction. It would be suicide, and while he had no problem with that if it served a higher purpose, there was something abjectly wrong with pointless self-sacrifice.

The four teams would attack first, followed by the secondary section if resistance proved firmer than expected. If not, the secondary team would remain outside the target area in order to repel counter-attacks – not that any was likely to come in time.

Umbebe checked his watch. It was time. He withdrew his radio and thumbed the transmit button. ‘Units Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta, you are to proceed on three . . . two . . . one . . . go!’

Umbebe watched through his night-vision binoculars as the sky lit up around him, the four initial assault elements erupting into action simultaneously.

Umbebe would enter the site once it was fully secure. He would transmit a final message to the world. And then all the prophecies of his order would come true at last.

W
HEN
W
ARD HAD
finished with Anderson, he’d called the security centre and been reassured to find that they had already activated emergency plans. The building was going into lockdown, external communications had been severed, and twenty armed military police officers were on their way to General Tomkin’s office.

Ward was now racing down the corridors towards the office himself. His phone rang and he answered it without slowing his pace. ‘Ward,’ he said.

‘Sir, this is security. We’ve reached the general’s office but the subjects have gone.’

‘Gone?’ Ward asked, slowing.

‘Yes, sir. The secretary saw them leave just a few minutes ago.’

‘Dammit!’ Ward swore, coming to a complete halt. ‘So where are they now?’

‘We don’t know, sir,’ came the reply. ‘But we’re in the process of locking down all exits. They won’t get away.’

Ward stood in the corridor, shaking his head. The security officer’s confidence was sadly misplaced, Ward knew. They were only in the process of locking down the exits? And the subjects had left the office several minutes ago?

He sighed. They could be anywhere by now.