Storm Rising

by Ronie Kendig

“Then why mention the location?”

  “Good point.”

  Harden shrugged. “Let’s come back to that.” With a nod, Harden resumed translating.

  “‘Though those from below arose, they could not stand against the deluge of fury birthed. With those came the squall of desolation and ruin. Wrought not by the heavens nor by the hand of God, the great black clouds that covered the earth were wrought at the hands of men. Hands meant for evil. Hands meant for harm. Hands that could not control that which they created. And so the rains came upon the terraces of land that produced where none had produced before. Wealth and health had become theirs. But their success grew not only produce and profit—it bred jealousy, as their enemies of kings looked upon the lands and coveted it. So they plotted with the great council who would seize the horn of victory before Babylon the Great fell. And upon the innocent and profitable land they delivered rains and ruin. The terraces broke apart and slid into the sea and were no more, burying the people, cities, and the lands they had tended.’”

  Harden lowered the page and glanced around the room.

  “Storms,” Culver mumbled. “Been seeing a lot of those.”

  “And didn’t it say a scent of destruction?” Saito rubbed his knuckles as he worked through his thoughts. “Anyone besides me notice that strange smell before the storm hit the station?”

  “Coincidence,” Lawe suggested, but he didn’t sound convinced. “I mean, whoever wrote that didn’t mean it literally.” He skated Leif and Saito a look. “Right?”

  “That’s the question,” Harden said.

  “That’d be why I asked it.”

  “The book of Revelation has long been argued and debated,” Harden explained. “Some believe it’s literal. Some believe it to be allegorical. Then, if it’s not allegorical, there’s the whole argument of when the Rapture will happen.”

  Peyton lifted a hand. “Did anyone else cringe inwardly when the scroll mentioned the fall of Babylon?” She sat forward. “I remember being in church youth group as a kid and hearing about how Babylon would fall, the mark of the beast, and all that.”

  “You freakin’ kidding me? End times?” Lawe scoffed, but when nobody argued, his smile and demeanor fell. He cursed. Loudly.

  Iliescu spoke up. “We don’t know for sure about any of this. That’s just it—we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Seems like a repeating pattern,” Culver said. “Something I’d like to flip on its head.”

  Braun finally spoke, her words turning the conversation. “There’s an organization that we—the DIA, DoD, CIA, FBI, and every other intelligence branch you can imagine—have been monitoring for a number of years. I’d hoped the dots wouldn’t connect to them, but it seems inevitable.”

  Leif saw Iskra jolt, but she neither met his eyes nor changed her expression. Maybe he’d imagined it.

  “What group?” Peyton asked.

  “In the intelligence community they’re known as the Armaggedon Coalition. They’re not an officially recognized entity like ISIS or ISIL, but that is only because they operate so far below the radar that they’ve hidden their activities very well. The things we believe they’re responsible for aren’t far from the efforts of ISIS,” Braun continued without answering Peyton. “ArC is just as vicious, just as rigidly focused on advancing their caliphate—but they also want to advance Armageddon in the hopes of thwarting biblical prophecy and seizing control.”

  Iskra’s hand moved to her stomach. Had her face lost color, too? Probably because of that guy she’d mentioned—Veratti.

  “If they’re doing what ISIS is doing,” Lawe said, his voice notably more irritated now, “why a new name? They want new attention?”

  “Because,” Iliescu said, “their scope is broader. So is their reach. And they’re not—at least not all of them—tied to a religious ideal like ISIL. They just want to destroy the West and rule the world.”

  “Through storms.” Saito snickered. “I mean, that’s what he read”—he indicated Harden—“that storms are coming to some land with terraces.”

  “Terraced land,” Peyton corrected. “It’s a method of farming for areas with unstable soil. Usually hillsides or mountains where soil erosion is a problem and makes building impossible without reinforcing the land with walls. Think Machu Picchu.”

  Sitting and staring at the printed images of the scroll, Leif thought through the intel written in an ancient hand. Storms. Terraces. East of India. Burma. His gaze flicked to Mercy. “Burma—any strange storms happening in-country anywhere?”

  Her eyebrows rose.

  Iliescu considered him. “What’re you thinking?”

  “It’s dry season there—so storms coming up would be notable. And if that’s where it’s happening, we head there.”

  “Hold up.” Saito waved a hand. “What am I missing? How can people create storms?”

  “Hristoff can.” The soft cadence of Iskra’s voice crackled, silencing the room. She bounced a nervous glance around. “I do not know how he does it.” Quick words. So maybe she hadn’t meant to say anything. “But it has happened. One of his men helped me in Israel. After the Greece facility, I . . . I knew he was there because of the storm that arose.”

  “She’s right.” Leif recalled it. “It came out of nowhere. Forced us to ground.”

  Cell snapped his fingers. “And there was that smell in the air.”

  “I smelled that at the facility,” Saito added.

  Iskra nodded.

  “Tell me about this.” Iliescu homed in on her. “About the storms. You said he can cause them?”

  “I do not know the science of it. Once I was in Italy for a celebration with friends. He was jealous that I did not come back immediately. Told me he could rain on my parade. Next thing I knew, there was a massive storm with hail and winds. The pilot could not take off for several hours afterward, which made Hristoff even more furious.” And yet, she was smiling. Nice. It seemed to fuel her motivation.

  “So you’re saying he can control the weather,” Iliescu commented.

  “Hey, Merc—he’s right up your alley, since he’s got superpowers,” Cell taunted, eliciting laughter from the team.

  “Hristoff’s superpower,” Iskra bit out, “is that he has a way of making people do his bidding.”

  “Iliescu has that ability, too,” Culver jibed.

  Shoving back her hair, Iskra grew irritated. Her face reddened. Lips thinned. “I came here because I thought, here is a chance to stop him. These people are determined and focused. With their help, I can stop him. Stop this madness.” She huffed, eyes glossing. “Clearly I was wrong.”

  “Wait.” Lawe frowned. “You didn’t come here. We brought you here.”

  Iskra blinked. Darted a look around. “Obviously.”

  “Nah,” Leif said, “this is where she admits she’s been playing us to get what she wants.”

  “Just as you have played me into your plans,” she said, her tone quivering.

  Cell lifted his eyebrows. “She has a point.”

  “Miss Todorova,” Iliescu said calmly, firmly, “you said you don’t know the science of how he’s controlling the storms. But what do you know?”

  After a few ragged breaths, she pulled herself together. Sat there for a moment, as if debating with herself about trusting the people in this room. And Leif didn’t offer any encouragement, because he was still stuck on her words.

  “I came here . . .”

  “I thought . . .”

  “With their help, I can . . .”

  He swiped the pad of his thumb over the corner of his mouth. She came here. That was an interesting thought. Did that—

  “I’m not sure what it is, but I’ve heard them mention a machine. They call it the Meteoroi.” Hesitation guarded her shaking head. “I don’t know much more than that. It thrills him, fills his ego with too much power, stirring up these storms.”

  “There was a storm at the facility,” Leif said.

  Iskra sagg
ed. Gave a faint nod.

  “So we disabled that tracker on you too late.” He filled in the blanks. “Peych sent that storm to kill us all for stealing you away.”

  “But how does he abracadabra the weather?” Cell asked, looking skeptical. “Nobody has that power.”

  “He does.” Leif rubbed his jaw. “How can he generate them without becoming a victim of them like the rest of us?”

  “Whatever Hristoff uses, I am not sure he owns it,” Iskra said. “He was very frustrated in a conversation I overheard. Someone has a part of this program or machine that they would not release. It seemed he has a piece but needs a mechanism? I do not know much, except that when this person would not obey him, he was very angry.”

  “Is he ever not?” Saito asked. “I mean, you’re a smart, classy chick. What’re you doing with this guy anyway?”

  Saito’s words bothered Leif. A lot. What did his friend think this was? A flirting session? He’d probably have punched him if he had said pretty. For now, he’d let it go.

  “So. It sounds like,” Mercy said, her words soft around her thinking, “this storm generator probably has a component that must be on the ground—that would be the cause of the odor, maybe? But if that’s true, then there has to be a central command or control elsewhere.”

  “Makes sense.” Culver sat forward, hands on the table. “I mean, whoever is controlling the storm wouldn’t want to be in it, because these are some pretty vicious storms.”

  “Right,” Leif agreed. “So two parts—something that acts as a homing beacon, and another to control it.”

  Iskra inclined her head.

  “So Hristoff must only have the origination device.”

  She smiled. “Yes, that would make him angry, because then he would have to get their help each time he wanted to use it.”

  Lawe cursed again. “That means we have two problems—this Peych guy with his piece and whoever actually has the technology.”

  “Hey,” Mercy said from the side, “Leif, you nailed that on the head.” She flashed one of her no-harm-flirting grins. “Showing that brain of yours again, friend.”

  Baddar’s ever-present smile vanished as he looked between them, but Leif was lost on what she meant, so he couldn’t defend himself.

  Mercy lifted her eyebrows, nodding to her laptop. “Burma?”

  Right. “Yeah?” A twinge of excitement hit—the call of duty. He was ready to act.

  “There’s been a series of unexpected storms in a northern province, a site that has been under heavy pressure by government officials to relocate. The government says they’re causing crime to rise and creating a loss of revenue due to their agricultural success.”

  “Okay . . .” Not enough to call it, but . . .

  “The land—they built terraces.”

  “So this order to vacate—let me guess,” Leif said with a smirk. “They refused.”

  “To put it mildly.”

  “Just like in the book,” Peyton murmured.

  “Give us a minute.” Iliescu stood, and with him went Harden, Braun, and Cell.

  “Arma-freakin’-geddon,” Cell muttered as he left the room.

  Lawe raised his arms over his head and stretched in his chair. “I thought all that stuff was in the Bible to scare people into being good Christians.”

  “Clearly it didn’t work on you,” Saito said.

  “Which is why,” Lawe said with a laugh, “I don’t believe in it. I stick to things I can see and verify.”

  “Like satellites in space,” Saito challenged.

  “Hey, they come down. They can be seen.”

  “Not when our lives depend on them. And then there’s oxgyen.”

  “That’s different.” Lawe slapped their combat medic’s arm. “And since when did you become a Bible-thumper?”

  “So, you’re Bulgarian?” Across the table, Culver had leaned closer to Iskra.

  The question snatched Leif’s attention. Why did Culver care?

  “Yes.” She smiled appreciatively, and a thermal blast hit Leif’s gut.

  “Culver,” he said.

  With a smirk, the redhead turned. “Yeah—” His gaze snapped to something behind Leif, and he straightened.

  “Okay.” Iliescu held the door as he returned with Braun and Harden. “I think the excerpt from the Book of the Wars is referencing this location Mercy identified. Northern Chin, a western state of Burma, has been struggling. Six villages have benefitted from a UN resolution to help terrace the land, which some say is sacred and holy ground. So even certain locals aren’t in favor of what’s happening. It’s a strange situation. Agriculture is a key resource in Burma, and with the help of a big charity, the area has flourished, ticking off government-backed producers. One side says they want the land because it’s sacred, but the locals aren’t budging. And the government wants the land because they say these Chin locals are stealing profit from them. Neither has convinced the locals to leave.” He huffed and tossed a page on the table. “Now these storms are putting the entire effort and region at risk. Why it hasn’t hit the wire is . . . interesting.”

  “Sounds like those Armageddon peeps interfering,” Lawe suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Iliescu said. “ArC is spreading its influence daily, despite our efforts to the contrary. We don’t need another group like ISIS to put people into a panic or, worse, feed the frenzy of opposition.”

  Braun indicated the team. “You’ll head in under the ruse of delivering supplies—the rains have flooded their fields, and they’re in need of food and potable water. Get in there and find out what’s going on. See if our theory is right, if some device is stirring up the storms.”

  “Any unfriendlies in the area?” Leif asked.

  “It’s an unstable location, period,” Braun said. “But if these storms are man-made, then it’s probable.”

  Leif eyed the map on the wall. “Six villages. Where do we start?”

  “In the northwest near the Chin Hills,” Braun said. “Near Burma’s western border with the Indian state of Mizoram, there’s a town called Falam. Our loci of focus is between Falam and the Manipur River, maybe up to Lumbang. Seems most of the storm activity has been there. Mountainous.”

  “An asset will meet you on the ground and act as translator,” Iliescu said.

  “And our ROE?” Lawe asked.

  “You’re going in as a supply convoy. Keep things as neutral as possible unless you find definitive proof of”—he glanced at Iskra—“this Meteoroi thing.”

  “And if we do?” Leif asked.

  “Bring it back. At all costs. We need to know what they’re doing, how they’re using it, and if possible—their end game.”

  “So we’re cleared to engage hostiles.”

  “Only if forced to do so.” Hands on his belt, Iliescu lifted his shoulders and sighed. “If this is ArC as we suspect and they discover we’re on to them, it’s a game changer. Right now, they’re operating freely and without fear. If they figure out what we know, they won’t hesitate to kill you. Then they’ll up their game, and God only knows what we’ll face. Our advantage right now is their ignorance. If we can get in there and retrieve this device, then we might level the playing field. We might be able to stop this.”

  “That’s a lot of mights.” Leif’s gaze skidded to Iskra, who seemed pale.

  “It’s as good as it’s going to get,” Iliescu said with a definitive nod. “Now, gear up and head to the tarmac. Purcell is working with logistics on your tactical plan. You’ll have it en route. Good hunting and good luck.”

  Leif stood and started toward Iskra.

  “Metcalfe.” The director lifted his chin. “A word, please.”

  Meeting Iskra’s eyes, Leif tried to telegraph that he’d be right there. He wasn’t sure why she would need or want that assurance, but he gave it anyway. Then he aimed for the director and found him entering an office just outside the briefing hub.

  “Shut the door,” Iliescu said.

  Leif did so
and turned.

  “I’m sending her down with the team.”

  Leif stiffened. “So she can betray me again?”

  “She wouldn’t have come clean—”

  “Unless she was trying to earn brownie points.”

  “Exactly.”

  Leif started. “What?”

  Iliescu’s lips thinned. “I don’t want her out of our sight or control. She has picked you—whether for trust or target, we don’t know. Until we do, stick close and see if you can turn her.”

  “Turn her?”

  “She’s the favorite lover of Hristoff Peychinovich, someone we’ve been trying to bury for years, and she’s an operative we’ve wanted to turn for just as long.” The director shook his head. “We can’t afford to lose her, especially if he gets away with this.”

  “If he does, I’m thinking we won’t have to worry, because it’ll mean we’re dead.” Leif hated the frustration coiling through him. “You seriously think she’ll help you?”

  “No.” Iliescu tapped the table, his gaze never leaving Leif’s. “But she’ll help you.”

  Surprise pushed him back a step. “You want me to use her.” It was fair play, wasn’t it? So why did that thought tick him off?

  “I want you to do your job. She’s responding to that. She came to me because she said she couldn’t keep lying to you.”

  Leif drew up, surprised. “She said that?”

  “And you’re the one she gave the USB to. You’re the one she—”

  “Played.”

  “And the only way she could do that was because you two are the same breed of operator. She trusted what she knew of you. And I see the way she watches you, so use that. Get what we need, Leif. Every time a new intel piece got discussed, she looked to you. I see what’s happening, even if you don’t. Be careful. But use it and get everything out of her that you can. It’s a job. She’s a job.”

  The whole thing ticked him off. “And the second reason?”

  “Watch her. She’s moving too willingly.” Iliescu rubbed his jaw. “What’s she after? What’s she hiding? What’s convincing her to play nice with the enemy?”

  “My rugged good looks?”

  “She’s dangerous, and that’s not something I say about many people, because most can be bought or turned,” Iliescu said. “While I do think there’s something there to work with, this woman is lethal. If she suspects you’re reaching for her secret, she’ll chop off your hand.”