Martial Law (11 page)

“There are some clothes for you on the kitchen island,” said Julia as she lit the last candle. “Was everything good downstairs?”

“No problem. I did hear some faint voices in the stairwell below, but that was it.” Sarge slipped out of his dress pants and polo shirt into khaki cargo pants and a black long-sleeve tee shirt Julia laid out for him. Forgetting the circumstances for a moment, he grabbed a bottled water out of the refrigerator. This simple act reminded him that decisions had to be made about the generator.

“Some of these fires appear to be out of control,” said Julia. “If there’s no electricity, the city’s fire departments won’t be able to keep up.” Sarge joined her at the window and hugged her around the waist. She took his water and finished it off.

“Did you pull out some of the communications gear?” he asked.

“Only your satellite phone. If this is EMP related, we should leave the other equipment in the Faraday cages for a while in the event there is another strike. But I’m beginning to doubt it was an electromagnetic pulse.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“After the hack on the Vegas power grid in February, I became very interested in what the potential threats are to the grid. As we discussed in the hotel that night, a solar flare provides us at least a modicum of warning. Usually, NOAA or NASA would detect an incoming coronal mass ejection a day in advance. No country has ever experienced a catastrophic nuclear-delivered EMP, so it’s hard to say what might happen. But the cell phones are operable, although the circuits are overloaded. Vehicles are operating. Our alarm and entry system is off the grid, but the small circuits that make up the systems might be fried by an EMP.”

“Are you thinking cyber attack?” asked Sarge.

“Yes. But to what extent—I don’t know.”

“Based on what we saw from the roof, Boston’s power grid has collapsed. Every substation and transformer for miles exploded or is on fire. What we don’t know is whether it’s localized or part of a larger attack. Either way, there’s work to be done.”

“Have you tried to connect to the Internet on the satphone?”

“Not yet. The standby battery life is one hundred hours. It’s down to an hour talk time now, so it needs to be charged. We have some calls to make first.” Julia walked into the kitchen to retrieve the Iridium handheld IsatPhone. It rang as she picked it up, startling her. “Damn!”

“Little jumpy, are ya?” asked Sarge in his best Mainah accent. He took the phone from her as it rang again. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “Grab the broadband satellite so we can figure this thing out.”

Julia gave him a thumbs-up as she headed for the next floor down and the Faraday cages.

“Yes,” Sarge said into the receiver.

“Of course, Mr. Morgan, I was expecting your call.” Sarge took instruction from his benefactor without interrupting. He fumbled through the kitchen drawer, looking for pen and paper. “May I put you on speaker while I write this down? Okay, sir. I’m ready.”

“Henry, they’re waiting for you to contact them,” said Morgan. “I do not believe the cellular service will be operating much longer, so you will have to communicate with them soon to make the arrangements. I don’t know whether my associates kept their batteries charged on the satellite phones Mr. Quinn provided. You will know soon enough.”

Great.
“Yes, sir,” said Sarge.

“These are my friends, Henry, and I trust you with their lives,” said Morgan as he provided the names of the Boston Brahmin executive council. “Cabot. Lowell. Lodge. Bradlee. Endicott. Winthrop. Peabody. Tudor.” Sarge scribbled the names on a lined notepad. He knew where some of them lived. Picking them up, and in what order, would require some thought.

“Okay, sir, I’ve got it. Do I keep them here?”

“Henry, this power outage is widespread and quite likely long-lasting. You will need to have them taken to Prescott Peninsula. A military escort will be available to you. Let me reiterate, I am entrusting you with the lives of my oldest and dearest friends. I know I can count on you.”

“Of course, sir. Travel safe and bring home your daughter, sir.”

“Thank you, Henry.” Morgan disconnected the call.

Sarge placed the phone on the counter. He picked up the notepad and looked at the names—the Boston Brahmin executive council. Sarge walked into his study to retrieve his address book from the safe. He took a moment to examine the collection of Thomas Cole reproductions given to him as a gift by the Loyal Nine. The collection, entitled The
Course of Empire
, was a five-part series of paintings created in the 1830s. In the paintings, Cole depicted the rise and fall of empires—from its savage, uninhabited state to destruction and then desolation. These paintings represented Sarge’s core beliefs about the future of America. His lectures reflected this central theme:

All Empires Collapse Eventually

Morgan’s words weighed heavily on his mind—
widespread, long-lasting
. Sarge believed he was groomed for this moment. After the death of his parents, John Morgan, as his godfather, became a big part of his life. His interest in the raising of Sarge and his brother, Steven, went beyond his role as their godfather. He had a plan for their lives. For the past seven years, somehow Sarge knew this moment would come.
So did John Morgan
.

Julia interrupted his thoughts. “I assume that was the boss?”

“Yes, indeed. We have our marching orders. But we need to sit down for a moment.”

Julia set the Hughes broadband antenna and the MacBook on the island. “That sounds ominous.”

“Yes. As usual, he was aloof and brief. In the face of collapse, he will always remain stoic.”

“Collapse?” asked Julia.

“Honey, the words he used were
widespread
and
long-lasting
.”

“How does he know?” she asked.

“He’s John Morgan.”

Chapter 22

September 3, 2016

9:47 p.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

Julia set up the broadband satellite connection. When she and Donald Quinn researched the options available from Inmarsat, she looked for a system that made sense in an urban environment. Donald chose a system ideal for remote operations, like Prescott Peninsula. She chose the BGAN system that was designed for a temporary office environment. Plus, it met military and government requirements for encryption.
You never knew who would be listening
.

“Julia, I can’t find the Endicotts’ address. Did I send them a Christmas card last year?”

“I think so, but I don’t have that address book with me. Let me see what I can find.” Most Americans were frantic, seeking information about the power outage. Julia knew the nation was screwed. It was time to get used to this new way of living after
the end of the world as we know it
.

She found the address and scribbled on Sarge’s notepad. He had been studying a map and was formulating a plan to retrieve the Boston Brahmin. As the satellite Internet system booted, she turned her attention to Sarge.

“We have eight families to pick up,” said Julia. “We can’t get them all at once.” She sat down next to Sarge on the couch. Ordinarily, the six flat-screens would be distributing the news from all points of view. Tonight, they hung on the wall dormant.

“I’m going to start making calls, but I have a general plan. I want to start with your aunt and uncle, followed by the Winthrops—here.” Sarge pointed to the home of Dr. and Mrs. Arthur Peabody in Brookline. Estelle Peabody was Julia’s father’s sister. Dr. Peabody was a plastic surgeon in private practice. He was the youngest of the Boston Brahmin at age fifty-five. Sarge then circled an area to the southwest called Ledgebrook, in Newton. Ledgebrook was an upscale condominium complex where the best friends of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Paul Winthrop, resided. Now in their late seventies, they were longtime friends of the Sargent family and Sarge’s namesake.

“How many do you think we can pick up tomorrow?” she asked.

“We need to discuss logistics. I don’t like leaving 100 Beacon unattended. I think this first trip should be made as early as possible in the morning before the entire city realizes we’re screwed. After that, you need to stay here.”

“You shouldn’t go out alone, right?”

“I agree. I think Art might be up for it. He’s in great physical shape, and I’ve seen him at the range. He can handle a weapon. What do you think?”

“I think Aunt Stella is going to say hell no, that’s what I think.” Julia threw her pen on the map. She didn’t want her uncle in harm’s way either. It wasn’t fair to him or her aunt.

“Julia, I understand where you’re coming from. But I have to be brutally honest. I don’t know what it will be like on the streets. Tomorrow morning may be okay, but what about the afternoon when word starts to spread? Or Monday morning when the entire city could be bat-shit crazy?” Sarge looked her in the eye and held both of her hands. “We can’t both be out there if something goes south.” There. Sarge said it out loud.
The reality
. Picking up the Boston Brahmin was not just a matter of a Sunday drive down to Brookline to pick up the old folks for brunch. Their part of the world had become very dangerous—
rapidly
.

“If Uncle Art is capable enough to ride with you on the pickups, then he should be able to handle things here while we’re gone,” protested Julia halfheartedly.

Sarge squeezed her hands a little tighter. “Honey, if something happens to me, they’ll need you here. You know everything that we’ve done, and how our planning has to be followed.”

Julia started to well up with tears. Her emotions had nothing to do with the collapse, but everything to do with the thought of losing Sarge. “I love you, Sarge.”

“I love you too. Listen. Nothing is going to happen to either one of us. We just have to be smart. Okay?”

She nodded as he wiped away the tears.

“Let me make the calls while you find out what has happened.” Sarge turned his attention back to his map and notes, and Julia returned to the kitchen island. The MacBook awaited her commands.

Accessing the Internet via satellite was not that different from using a modem at home. Julia retrieved a small rectangular antenna and attached it by cable to her MacBook. The satellite sent and received a signal from an orbiting geostationary satellite about twenty thousand miles above the equator. This satellite communicated with various network operations centers around the world. Julia laughed to herself. Contrary to the popular belief of egocentric Americans, the world did not stop just because your personal universe was awry.

Any obstacle, such as a mountain or a building, would interfere with a satellite signal. Before she received delivery of the unit and its backup, she utilized a Look Angle Calculator to determine if her plan was feasible. An online tool, the calculator allowed you to insert your address anywhere in the world and the closest longitudinal satellite to determine your line-of-sight. The southern line-of-sight from the top floor of 100 Beacon was not obstructed by the buildings across the street. If necessary, she could move to the rooftop, but so far, her connectivity was excellent.

Once received, Julia was amazed at the satellite system’s capability. This ability to connect to the Internet became the centerpiece of her Digital Carrier Pigeon communications system.

She found the Inmarsat home screen and got started. The power outage itself would affect individual websites and their servers. She might not be able to access BostonHerald.com, but a foreign news source like the BBC should be functioning. She started there. The home-page headline said it all:
Most of Continental U.S. in Dark.

The report was admittedly based upon sketchy details. Julia read the article:

Based upon sporadic cell phone communications, the BBC can report that the entire lower forty-eight states, except for Texas, are without power. At approximately 9:11 p.m. Eastern time, the United States experienced a massive cascading blackout of its western and eastern interconnected grid. Apparently, the Texas grid, which is separate from the rest of the country, is still fully operational. There was no immediate known cause, but speculation ranges from an electromagnetic pulse weapon to a massive cyber attack. No terrorist group has claimed responsibility. Reports and video are streaming into the BBC newsroom and are currently being analyzed for authenticity. At this point, no one at 10 Downing Street is prepared to comment.

Julia tried CNN International to no avail. The Reuters website contained a story similar to what was released on the BBC. The USA.gov and FEMA.gov websites were operating, but there were no announcements or warnings. It was simply too early to gain any credible information. The fact that the majority of the power grid was collapsed was all they needed to know at this point. If they waited on the government to give them advice, it would be too late.
We can always take the Boston Brahmin home if the power comes back.

“Okay, that was my last call. I couldn’t reach the Tudors or Endicotts. I’ll try again later or in the morning. Truthfully, they’re probably asleep already and don’t even know about it. What did you find out?” Sarge walked over to Julia and put his arm around her waist as he studied the laptop’s screen. “I see our government is still pushing Benefits, Grants, and Loans.”

Julia laughed. “Sorry, America, the government freebie spigot is closed indefinitely because the Treasury could no longer pay its bills.” She turned towards Sarge.

“The BBC is the only reporting I could find. According to their initial reports, only the utility grids of Texas, Hawaii, and Alaska are unaffected. There is no known cause, and no terrorist group has taken credit. We’re in the dark—pardon the pun.” She stood up and walked to the pantry, grabbing a box of Triscuits. She and Sarge both took a handful.

“So, former Professor Sargent, what’s the plan?” She munched on the crackers and smiled at him, tilting her head to one side playfully. He walked towards her and grabbed some more Triscuits.