“Where are we going?” Chuck said from in front of me. “How did you get here?”
The senator stalked past him and Damon in a stiff run, one hand up in the air. “Mr. Jakob, I have some questions.”
“Can it wait?” Tyrell replied.
“What happened in Mississippi?”
“Same thing as just happened here. Those little machines appeared and killed everyone at my SatCom headquarters.”
“Not everyone,” Chuck gasped as he ran. “You’re here.”
“That is true.”
“So just everyone else.”
“You escaped?” the senator said. “How? How did every single other person die and yet here you are?”
“You’re going to find out in a minute. There are advantages to being a billionaire.”
“Now is not the time for being evasive.”
“Ask me anything.”
“When was the attack on your HQ? What day? What time?”
“September 7th, mid-morning. I had everyone on deck, and I mean everybody. Every friend that I personally hired, everybody died...” Tyrell’s voice caught.
“Why was everyone there?”
“Because I asked them. We’d been hacked.”
“You never alerted the government.”
Tyrell didn’t reply.
“Fill in the timeline, Mr. Jakob,” the senator said. “Late evening on September 4th, India launched their first anti-satellite attack from Satish Dhawan Space Centre on Sriharikota Island near Chennai.”
“If you say so.”
September 4th was exactly two weeks ago, when all this had started. It seemed like a parallel universe, when the world had been normal and we had been on that fishing trip in New Orleans with Chuck and Damon. When the first anti-satellite launch was announced on the news.
The senator said, “GenCorp reported that day that you lost contact with some of your SatCom birds.”
“It wasn’t unusual that we had signal drop,” Tyrell replied. “We are—we were—building out a constellation of tens of thousands of satellites, adding a hundred a day sometimes, and they communicated and coordinated with each other directly without needing to relay through base stations.”
Listening to him, his satellites sounded a lot like those things that just attacked us.
“Our reports say you lost contact with eighteen?”
“At first, yeah. By September 5th it was ten times that.”
“That was never reported.”
“We didn’t have time. Pakistan launched another anti-satellite weapon, and then another. We thought we were suffering from debris fallout, like everyone else. Our birds had automated collision avoidance. They might have been getting out of the way. We built them to be self-reliant, put a lot of AI into them.”
“But you realized you had been hacked? When? The servers at your HQ were wiped clean.”
“By September 6th, it became clear it wasn’t just our AI going haywire. We figured someone had gotten into our servers. But remember, it was chaos. The Air Force lost a dozen GPS birds that day, and cascading debris fields hit fifty other satellites.”
“That was the day the International Space Station was destroyed,” I said.
“That’s right,” Tyrell replied. “Our phones were ringing off the hook, email servers jammed with requests. Every agency with a bird up there, every nation on the planet, was calling and trying to figure out where everyone else’s equipment was.”
“Even so, that is gross negligence, Mr. Jakob, even criminal that you did not alert—”
“I didn’t know terrorists had hijacked my birds to use them as bombs to kill everything else up there. We just knew we had a hack. It happens sometimes. Hell, half the time it’s you guys. At that point, I thought I’d been infiltrated by you.”
“Us?”
“The American government. The NSA. You know how often I’ve found nuggets left behind by your government hackers in our systems. Little back doors? And if not you, then the 3PLA, IRGC...”
“3PLA?” I asked. I knew the IRGC was the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.
“The Third Department of the People’s Liberation Army. The Chinese NSA. You’re all like rats in the walls, everything I do—”
“I warn you, Mr. Jakob,” the senator said, “we need answers.”
We broke through into a clearing.
It was past 6 p.m., and the sun was setting somewhere behind the thick clouds overhead and the mountains to the west. Dismal light under the dense tree canopy. The air had that earthy, fresh scent after a rain. Drops filtered from the sky. The reek of burning plastic wafted past, reminding me that the house was still on fire somewhere behind us and to the right.
I looked up. Low clouds. Searched for red dots. Lumbered to a stop and held Luke and Lauren back behind me. I wasn’t going into any open areas, and neither was my family.
To one side of the clearing was a crumbling chimney stack of old, mortared-together round stones. The ground was jumbled with rocks, which I realized formed a foundation. An old house. A wide double-tracked path led off the other side. Must have been the driveway.
“Why are we stopping?” I gasped it out, doubled over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. For the millionth time, I promised myself I would hit the gym.
Tyrell said, “Before we get in my vehicle, I want to understand where we’re going. Because I’m not going into DC. I have a house down the coast, not registered in my name, on a barrier island in South Ca—”
“I am not sure how you thought this was a negotiation, Tyrell.” Archer materialized from the shadows to my right. He had his weapon up and trained on the billionaire’s head.
“We’re going to my cabin.” Chuck had run ahead and now circled the stone chimney. “Why have we stopped here? This is old man Burling’s place. I thought you had a vehicle? A Humvee?”
“Not a Humvee, but it’s big enough for all of us,” Tyrell replied.
“Where is it?”
“It’s here.”
“Where?”
The clearing was empty, save for the stone chimney.
Chuck said, “Is this some kind of game?”
“Tell me about your cabin, Mr. Mumford,” Tyrell said. “Why are we going there? Where is it? What’s there?”
Chuck yelled, “My goddamned children and wife!”
Tyrell shrank back. “I see.”
“You ain’t gonna see much in a second, after I blow a six-inch hole through your skull.” Archer advanced past me and Lauren and Damon to stop three feet from Mr. Jakob.
Nonplussed, Tyrell said to Chuck, “I assume this cabin is in the Shenandoah mountains?”
“Five seconds, dickhead, until you’re picking daisies in the Devil’s asshole.” Archer sighted down the barrel of his weapon. “If you have no plan, we’re outta here and leaving you behind to feed the trees. Tell me if I’m lying.”
“To be honest, I really came here only to get Mr. Indigo,” Tyrell said.
“Me?” Damon’s eyes went wide.
“Two seconds.” Archer put his finger next to the trigger.
Over the hushed rustle of leaves swaying in a breeze, a warbling sound. The buzz saw whine of mechanical insects cut between the trees. Not just one, but a whole chorus of them echoed.
Archer began to pull the trigger. “One.”
Tyrell still had hold of the gray metal box in one hand, but with the other he held up what looked like car keys.
“Time’s up, asshole,” Archer said.
Red dots flashed between the tree trunks.
Chapter 13
SUSIE STRAIGHT KICKED the exterior glass door back.
It swung out hard, slammed against the outside wall of the log cabin then bounced back right into the muzzle of her rifle. The glass cracked but didn’t break. She and Chuck had coated all the windows—the ones that weren’t already done in ballistic sheets—in heavy plastic film. Made them shatterproof. One in a long list of ways they had hardened this place.<
br />
She used her left leg to hold the door open and edged forward. The guy in the Black Crowes T-shirt was gone from the driveway.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.
Had he seen her getting a gun? Had he guessed what she’d been doing?
Maybe she was too hopped up on all the stress. Seeing bogies in the shadows. He looked like a nice kid, to be honest. And it didn’t take a genius to guess someone up here might be getting their gun out if you show up on their doorstep unannounced at nightfall. It made sense the guy had ducked for cover.
“Hello?” she called out. “I’m sorry if this looks crazy, but with all that’s going on—those terrorists in the news? I’m a bit jumpy.”
Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to say from a woman armed like she was stepping into the Second Battle of Fallujah. He probably didn’t want to hear that she was feeling twitchy.
Where the hell were those security guys?
Even if they were off with Ellarose, they must have heard something by now.
She stepped through the doorway and checked left and right. Swept her weapon along the edge lines of the two Escalades, then along the rooftop of the workshop and to the sides of the old outhouse.
“My husband and his buddy are inside,” she lied. “Got my kids in there, too. Like I said, we’re awfully remote up here. Come out but keep your hands up. I’m happy to help if you need it.”
She was starting to feel ridiculous. How long had it taken her to get suited up? It seemed like a split second, but it might have been a minute. Obviously too long. Maybe the kid had run, gone back the way he c—
A flash to her left. Her head snapped back. Hard.
A sharp crack followed by a pop an instant later. She staggered back as two more rounds punched her chest. Her feet were already moving, muscle memory more than brain instruction. A succession of loud claps and muzzle flashes. Impacts against the armor on her legs like hammer blows trying to knock her feet out from under her.
In four awkward, loping steps, she ran past the front of the house and launched herself to the grass by the side of the back deck like a runner heading home, her SIG Sauer rifle out ahead of her.
Susie skidded to a stop, almost on target to where she needed to be.
She quick-crawled on her stomach into cover of her hydrangea bushes and rock garden. Straight in front of her nose, a white plastic tag from the plant nursery explained these were the “tea of heaven” hydrangea, with pretty purple and white blooms.
She and Chuck had fought over picking these bushes. Stupid things people did sometimes. A sudden pang of regret. She shouldn’t fight with him like that over dumb things.
Her breaths came in quick gulps.
With the back of her left hand she adjusted her helmet, but it wasn’t the angle obscuring her view. The visor was fractured over her eye where that first round hit. It could have taken off the left side of her skull. And that was no .22 caliber. The sharp crack before the pop of the muzzle report had the distinctive supersonic shockwave of a high-velocity round, not the run-of-the-mill AR-15s she was used to. She’d never been downrange of a shot that close, but there was no mistaking it.
Powerful assault rifles.
And not just one.
She saw multiple muzzle flashes from the side of the old brick outhouse—now converted into an aviary—and the workshop farther back. If the two security guys had been off at the stream with Ellarose, no way they were now. Maybe she had help coming.
But she couldn’t count on it.
Whoever was attacking, they weren’t trying to injure her. They were aiming to kill. That was a head shot that had glanced off her visor, and at least two more straight in the chest, and a dozen or more shots that sprayed around her legs. She didn’t feel anything. She was numb.
What the hell was going on?
No time to ruminate.
Susie needed a tactical plan. She should have told Bonham to hit the flares right away, but she hadn’t been sure at the time. As a backup to the backups, there were flare rounds secured to the chimney. They had a deal with Sheriff Gupta—if anyone saw the flares, they would send up help. She should have told her son to hit the alarm, but then, that might have forced some action by the attackers before Susie could find Ellarose.
She still had no idea who or what these people were.
Her little boy was safe for now, so what she needed to do was find her Ellarose. Should she go back inside the house and take the tunnel to the Baylors’ place? That was what they still called it, even though they owned it now.
But she didn’t know what or who might be on the other side.
She checked her breathing. Her hands barely shook. She had always wondered how she would react under fire. Six years ago, she hadn’t been ready, but now her mind was crystallized, clear, the colors on the leaves brighter somehow, her vision sharper.
A plan formed in her mind.
The mile-long driveway in from the main road led only here, but two hundred yards farther up it branched over to the Baylors’ property. Two years ago, Chuck had rented a backhoe and dug a trench across the drive and through the trees to connect the two places, poured cement walls, and then covered the whole thing. Hidden the entrances into the basements on both ends. Covered and surfaced so nobody would guess anything was there.
That was their escape route. Chuck had purposely made it as a way to get out of the house from the basement after they’d been trapped there six years before.
Susie needed to find Ellarose and get her back in the house. The trail down to the stream was at the edge of the parking area, about a hundred feet north of where Susie was now. The ground sloped down and provided natural cover, although whoever was shooting at her had the high ground. There was no way anyone could approach from the west, across the craggy rocks and steep slopes, or from the south, which was equally difficult terrain.
So her attackers were probably in front of her.
The tunnel wasn’t the only surprise she had for them.
Susie crawled on her stomach, keeping low behind her geraniums and rock garden, toward the control box she had plunged into cover to get to. She put her weapon down and flipped over the big flat rock at the end of the garden. Below it, a set of switches. She armed two of them. Chuck had wanted to install explosives, but Susie had reminded him the kids played back there. It would have to be good enough.
Susie flipped over one switch and then another, then pulled the rock back into place.
The wet of the cold ground seeped between the cracks in her armor.
She grabbed her weapon, adjusted the visor so the cracked left side didn’t obscure her sight, and lifted her head a few inches. A series of popping hisses echoed off the granite mountainside hidden by the dense trees. Clouds of tear gas wafted into the air behind the workshop and outhouse, the fog of a dozen canisters of it clouding the air. Gagging and coughing echoed next.
Didn’t think to wear masks, huh?
The smog of the tear gas thickened. A shadow emerged from the gloom, lurching at a half crouch across the grass behind the workshop toward the cover of firs. Susie took aim, held her breath, and felt the trigger pressure. Take your time, she said to herself. Focus.
One shot. Two. Both head shots.
The figure crumpled to the ground.
Susie swung her weapon back to the left. More hacking throat clearing and swearing, and not in English. What language was that? Chechen? Did they speak Russian?
She slipped a smoke bomb into the launching tube under her rifle’s muzzle and popped it off at the outhouse, then in quick succession fired two more into the driveway. She waited for the hissing smoke to begin rising before she took off at a run, bent over, toward the path leading down to the stream.
She wanted to scream her daughter’s name, but held her tongue.
That would tell her attackers that her little girl was somewhere outside, but then again, what would they guess Susie was out here for anyway? She had the element of
surprise, and that was buying her precious seconds she couldn’t waste. No way they expected this to be a siege, not like this, and not one where the prey burst forth and began attacking them.
They were regrouping, that much she was sure of, whoever they were.
And that gave her a slice of time.
A tiny advantage.
She had already dropped ten feet in height, giving her cover from the ridge. She followed the edge of the garden and bounded into the trees. The armor was awkward to run in. The trail down to the stream started from the driveway, but she could cut through the undergrowth and angle to it without going back up.
At a run, she dove straight into a blackberry bush.
Ellarose’s favorite.
Through the gaps in the armor, the thorns ripped at her leggings and skin. She toppled headfirst, gasping, into the net of tiny blades. Swearing, Susie struggled to get back to her feet. The barbs shredded the back of her neck, the exposed skin on her wrists.
The branches clung to her.
Ripping and pulling, she tugged through, and then stopped cold.
Between the trunks and branches of the oak and birch, many of the leaves already stripped away by fall, she glimpsed khaki steel and black rubber. A Humvee. Military. Two of them. She pushed away a clump of blackberries. And what was that? Farther up the driveway? It looked like a semitrailer and more vehicles. Men were unloading crates.
This wasn’t someone raiding her house for supplies.
A chill overcame the burning sizzle of the thorns in her neck and arms.
They wanted the house itself.
The house.
Bonham was alone inside.
After the tear gas and her brief counteroffensive, she was sure her attackers were taking stock and recalibrating their approach, but this wasn’t one or two or even three people up here on a revenge mission. That’s what she had figured. Maybe this was the Chechens returning to exact some payback for Mike and Chuck and Damon derailing their terror attack in space.
Mike had killed one of them.
More than one.
But this was a whole platoon. The attackers were surrounding the house.
CyberWar: World War C Trilogy Book 3 Page 9