Masks of Ash

by Adrian J. Smith

  I hope this email reaches you and you are on your way home. Nimitz said you were. Long-range radio and cell phones are still out, but internet is back. Once you reach civilization, you should be able to contact me easier.

  A few things.

  Zanzi and the director are alive and well. I’ll let them explain what happened. We are in safehouse Weathertop.

  We think we have a way to stop OPIS, an idea at least, but we need a scientist currently with the Black Skulls. She wants to help.

  We have information to believe that Portland is to be bombed by OPIS. I’d hazard a guess at Seattle and Munroe being targets too. Anyone who is opposing Offenheim. We don’t know when exactly. Hurry home.

  Talk soon. AV.

  Ryan blinked and read the email a couple more times, fearful he’d missed something. He hugged Cal. All the fears and emotions he had bottled away while they focused on the mission to destroy the satellites, and then on getting back to the States, came flooding out. Tears welled in his eyes and he let them flow. He had been so afraid that Zanzi was gone too. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed as he wept.

  Cal cupped his head in her hands and kissed him. “She’s okay. She’s okay.”

  “She’s okay,” Ryan repeated. They held each other, scared that if they let go, the email would be an OPIS trick.

  As if she could read their minds, Sofia said, “It’s legit. Only Avondale and I use that server. We set it up to test our system and never used it again.”

  “Send him a reply. Tell him we’re on our way.”

  “Already done.”

  “What’s happening, Mom?” Keiko asked. Her eyes flicked between Ryan, Cal and Sofia.

  “Zanzi and Lisa are alive and safe.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.” Sofia smiled at her daughter.

  “When this is all over, we’re all going on holiday,” Ryan said.

  “How about Japan?” Booth said. “I hear it’s empty of tourists.”

  Keiko and Ebony sat on the opposite bench seat, smiles and laughter spreading at Booth’s quip. Sam ran around the cabin licking hands and feet at the excited noise. Ryan shut his eyes and appreciated the sound of joy. It had been so long since they’d had it, and he figured it would be a long time before they had it again.

  Booth and Allie held hands as they took turns sipping from a water bottle and shared a private conversation.

  Cal snuggled against Ryan. He rubbed his hand over her scar, the ridges bumpy under his fingertips. Whatever was to come, with all of them together and focused, perhaps they had a chance. A miniscule, slim one, but a chance.

  Fourteen

  Sierra Nevada Mountains, California

  Victor Offenheim beckoned the servant over and tapped his cup. She whispered an apology and refilled his tea. He sipped the hot, bitter liquid and stared at the satellite images in front of him. Offenheim had summoned Parker and Killian to the operations center. Long and narrow, the room was one floor below his penthouse, and large screens dominated the back wall. He pulled out his chair and sank into it. The boardroom table in front of him was cluttered with laptops and files.

  “Santander’s forces have retreated back to Russian waters, sir,” Parker said.

  “Your opinion on what her intentions were?”

  “Testing our defenses, I bet,” Killian said as he watched the footage of the USS Nimitz cutting through the Bering Sea.

  “It goes deeper than that,” Parker said.

  “Explain.” Offenheim shooed the servant out of the control room and waited until the door had closed.

  “I’m sure you all know about the Alaskan purchase – how Russia sold it to the US for seven million dollars in 1867? What no one knows is that the Santander family owned most of that land. They were in incredible debt to the Russian Empire because of the Crimean War, and so were forced to sell it. They always felt cheated, especially after gold was discovered, and later all the other natural resources – gas and minerals. I don’t know exact figures, but Darya’s family lost trillions.”

  “That was over a hundred years ago,” Killian said.

  “Santanders never forget.” Parker jabbed his finger at the footage to emphasize his statement.

  Offenheim smirked and finished his tea. “Keep moving the forces out of Anchorage and into the smaller towns. Santander will try again. In the meantime, I want subs within striking distance of their coastal cities.”

  “What of the Nimitz?” Parker said. “They assisted The Nameless.”

  “Leave it be. We need that ship to keep Santander away. But any further signs of insurrection, you have my permission to deal with them with impunity.”

  It was a dangerous game he was playing. Offenheim knew this. His plan was clear: make it difficult for The Nameless but let them come home. Give them false hope. If they thought everything was going their way, they would be more susceptible to mistakes. He wanted to watch their faces when he took them out, one by one, until it was only the Connors left. Father, mother and daughter. He wanted to see their faces as their loved ones turned to ash around them. Wave two would take place this time. He wanted to be with The Nameless when they saw the missiles slam into their home city. Offenheim wanted to watch as the fireball melted them from existence.

  “Progress on the reset of wave two?”

  Parker shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shuffled some of the papers in front of him. “Slowly,” he said, before coughing.

  “Give me details!” Offenheim spat, his anger threatening to boil over.

  “LK3 damaged our main satellites. One was destroyed completely and the other two sustained considerable tears from the debris,” Killian explained. He brought up an image on one of the large monitors. “We have plenty of other satellites, but it’s going to take time to position them, transfer the data, run diagnostics, test the system.”

  “How long?”

  “Fourteen days – if everything goes well.”

  Offenheim clenched his fist under the table. “Have you found Daniel Kummerow yet?”

  Parker and Killian stared blankly at him.

  “Why am I surrounded by idiots?” Offenheim yelled. He glared at Killian. “Why can’t you find this one measly man?”

  Killian kept his voice low. “He’s resourceful, knows how we operate, and Idaho – where he was last seen – has a lot of wilderness.”

  “His family?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Who do we have leading the search?”

  “Our best men. The trail’s gone cold,” Killian said.

  “They can’t be that good if they can’t locate one man.”

  “I apologize, sir. We’ll double our efforts.”

  “Forget it. I’ll take care of it myself. Leave me.”

  Offenheim spun his chair around, waiting for the sound of the door closing. He already had Milo looking for Kummerow, having suspected Parker would struggle. He needed to keep his former protege busy while allowing him to expose more faction members. Milo’s Stasi training had been useful over the years, and Offenheim had confidence he would eventually find the scientist.

  He opened a drawer and took out his personal tablet to check his notes. They were detailed, and he didn’t want to miss anything. He had altered his plans to allow for the rebels, to lull them into complacency. OPIS had thought America would be one of the easier countries to control. They tended to be patriotic and follow the president and his instructions. Especially those running the armed forces. Offenheim gripped the arm of his chair. But men like Munroe and Richmond, who should have followed orders, had instead chosen to aid The Nameless, believing them rather than their commander-in-chief.

  He flicked through the apps and activated his favorite one: a tracking program Kummerow had written in secret after mentioning it was possible to track any individual he wanted using the alpha nanite’s unique code. As Offenheim’s paranoia grew, so did his fear of the other families finding out this little secret. He tapped the screen and smirke
d. The signal was weak, but he could see their position clearly. Thanks to knowing Cal’s code, he knew where The Nameless were. En route, just a few hours from Portland. He scrolled down and sought the others – Zanzi and Tilly. He had thought they would figure out they were being tracked, so had planted fake chips. They were still in Portland.

  Offenheim swiveled his chair again and gazed out the window. The sun had left the mountains, casting deep shadows on the rocky cliffs and deep valleys. After pouring himself a large whiskey, Offenheim pulled out his phone.

  “Yes?” answered Milo.

  “Have you found him?”

  “No. He’s proving elusive.”

  “Never mind. Head back to Portland, to the location I’m sending you.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Observe only. Do not engage.”

  Offenheim hung up. The buzzer on the intercom alerted him to the phone call he had been waiting for.

  “President Ward. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Our meeting ran over. I do have a crisis to manage,” Ward said, hissing through his teeth. “You did promise me total control. Instead, I must put out fires caused by your Black Skulls. I should nuke your little mountain escape and be done with OPIS.”

  Offenheim chuckled, his stomach jiggling. “Do you think we would trust you with those codes? Any of you politicians? Go ahead and try.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “If you are quite finished with your little tantrum, President Ward, do you have the report I asked for?”

  Muttering and cursing rumbled down the phone line. “Yes. But I want to know why the plans have changed again.”

  “No plan survives first contact. You know that. We’re adapting as needed.”

  “The Pacific coast was to be spared any bombing. Now you want me to flatten four major cities?”

  “It is necessary. General Munroe and others have decided to ignore orders and are actively opposing us. Killing our soldiers. Destroying satellite dishes, radio masts, cell phone towers. I will speak nothing more of it. Be ready to strike in three weeks. That should give you enough time to get any of your people clear.”

  “There are American citizens, innocent citizens, in those cities.”

  “You knew the risks. The consequences.”

  “I will not allow OPIS to kill any more Americans.”

  Offenheim cursed inwardly. He activated the video button so that he could see into the president’s command center. Standing slightly behind Ward was one of his aides, an OPIS agent. “Gregory. Do you have your device?”

  Gregory stepped forward and pulled a black box, the size of a cigarette packet, from his pocket.

  “Good. I think a demonstration is in order. I think the new secretary of state.”

  Gregory nodded and waved the device over the back of the secretary’s neck. She wore a bright blue suit with a pink blouse. As Gregory scanned, she swatted him away.

  “What’s going on? What is this, Offenheim?” Ward protested.

  Gregory clicked the red button on the box. Immediately, the secretary of state screamed and clutched her head. Her eyes bulged and her tongue shot out of her mouth like a snake’s. Next, her arms bent, hands locked into claws. Desperate, she clutched at the desk and toppled off her chair.

  The generals and advisors in the command center flinched and stood, watching in morbid curiosity.

  “You’ve made your point, Offenheim. Enough,” Ward said.

  “I give the orders. Not you.”

  The secretary screamed, loud and long. Offenheim had heard plenty of those screams, the anguish, the terror, but it still sent shivers up his spine. She howled once more, then fell silent as her tissue degraded and turned to ash.

  Several of the Secret Service agents looked between themselves, drew their weapons, and aimed them at Gregory. Ward waved at them to stand down.

  “Are we clear now, President Ward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other. Move your forces as instructed, President Ward, and our agreement will stand. Everything east of the Mississippi will be yours.”

  Offenheim shut off the computer and left the control room. He ignored the staff in the outer offices and signaled for his guards to follow him. He didn’t need to explain. They were the best; obedient and loyal. They knew at what distance to follow. Offenheim wanted to clear his head. Over time, he had learned that walking through the mountain complex was second only to meditation. He wended his way up the floors, past the luxury apartments with their marbled floors and technology. He didn’t care for all the opulence. He was quite happy with basic lodgings – a mountain hut, or even a simple house on a beach. But OPIS and their followers expected a certain standard of living.

  As he walked past the heated swimming pools and sports gym, he recalled his university days. Days spent discussing politics and philosophy. Many students had been attracted to Communism in those days, either because they thought it was cool or to rebel. Some aspects of Marxism had merit, such as everyone being on an equal footing. But all those Communist countries had been sold a lie. If one really thought about it, nature didn’t work like that. Instead, balance was needed. Before humanity came along, nature worked well, balancing itself out. Some creatures ate other creatures, so the prey animals bred in their thousands to compensate. It all worked out in the end. Then humans came along, with their arrogance and their greed.

  OPIS had been founded on the desire to bring back balance. The faction was wrong about him. He didn’t want to build a utopia where the uber-rich lived in ivory towers. Offenheim only wanted a peaceful, balanced world. Rich, poor, intelligent, dumb, black, white, and everything in between, just as nature intended.

  Offenheim took an elevator down to the bottom floor, to the workshops and laboratories carved deep inside the mountain. Killian looked up as he entered the main nanite workshop. It looked like a computer lab in a school or university, but a large square desk sat in the middle of the room. Spread out on it were hundreds of engineering drawings.

  “Sir,” Killian said. As well as being his second in command, Killian was an adept programmer and biologist. It had been Killian and Lahm’s team that had solved many of the nanite problems.

  “I’ve come to see the progress on our project.”

  “Certainly. As you know, the alpha attaches itself to the brain of the individual and lives there in harmony. The brain and the tissue think it’s part of the body. We can now secrete the chemicals dopamine, serotonin, glutamate and norepinephrine, controlling mood and appetite. The person’s pleasure and reward functions. Cognition, learning and memory. And this is where it gets interesting. Even their flight or fight responses and blood pressure.”

  “We tried that in the early stages. All those experiments on the children.”

  “Yes, with limited success. We found it difficult because the brains were still in development. We either got too much or not enough. Only one subject showed promise…” Killian searched his notes. “A Matilda Henry. Our neuroscientist said it was because of her unique brain synapses. She was the only one. We abandoned the project once we had sufficient data.”

  Offenheim nodded. “Can you validate these findings?”

  “We can do better. I can show you. If you’d follow me please, sir.”

  Killian led him through three other workshops into the clean room, through vacuum-sealed doors and into a climate-controlled viewing station. Offenheim raised his eyebrows. What had been one large room behind the thick glass had been split into three narrow ones, separated by sheets of metal. At one end of each of these rooms was a box made from Perspex, and inside each box was one of the spine-sucking humans. At the opposite end of each room was a subject. Two men and one woman dressed in white coveralls. They stood calmly despite the Rabids smashing against the walls of their boxes, desperate to get to their meal.

  Killian took a large tablet from an assistant. “At the moment we’re controlling the subjects with an in
hibitory neurotransmitter called gamma aminobutyric acid. If you watch subject A, I’ll make him fight the Rabid.”

  Killian released the Rabid in the center room. It sprinted toward the male subject. The male dropped into a martial arts stance and, using a judo move, flipped the Rabid over his body and slammed it against the metal wall. The Rabid scrambled upright and shrieked. This didn’t deter the male subject. He attacked the Rabid, kicking, punching, his fists slamming into the Rabid’s torso. He managed to push the Rabid into a corner and reach the knife that had been placed nearby. With three quick blows, the Rabid toppled over, blood gushing from head and neck wounds.

  Killian entered new commands and the male subject dropped the knife and stood calmly, staring at those watching but not registering their presence in any way.

  “Excellent,” Offenheim said.

  As the demonstration continued, Killian used different combinations on each of the subjects, showing how he had total control over them through their alpha nanites.

  “How soon will you be able to send commands remotely?”

  “Hard to say. Days, weeks. Maybe months. These subjects have next gen nanites.”

  “Keep on it. I want it ready for Hong Kong.”

  “That’s five weeks.”

  “Then you’d better hurry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Offenheim left the clean room and the workshops using the same elevator. He couldn’t help the grin from spreading. He knew the other founding families had their plots. They thought they worked in the shadows, in secret, moving pieces to take over. But he knew.

  They thought they were playing him, but with this new weapon, he would win the game.

  Fifteen

  Seattle, Washington

  The thick, forested hills of Puget Sound drifted underneath the water bomber as it flew toward Seattle. Allie had kept the plane low, cruising at an average of two thousand feet for fear of OPIS reprisals. With the hundreds of islands and inlets below them, The Nameless figured they might be able to hide if the need arose. Since leaving Prince Rupert in northern Canada, things had been quiet. Everyone had taken advantage of the peace and got some shut-eye.