The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  Margaret snatched the photo and returned to her spot in line. Walking past the Hippie Kitchen, Dax and I grabbed bottled water and bagels.

  Miracles only happen in the movies.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  PIKES PEAK BUNKER

  President Bouchard sat behind a perfect replica of the Resolute desk, staged on an Oval Office set in an adjoining room to the bunker’s command center. There were no other walls except for curtains behind Bouchard — pulled far enough apart to give viewers the illusion of trees outside the window.

  While Simon Adams checked the clock and directed cameramen, audio, and lighting personnel, Bouchard scanned a notecard with his main points. Seconds before a national address, the butterflies fluttered. As he looked at his notes, beads of sweat seeped down the back of his neck. Adjusting his tie, he removed his glasses, breathed in deeply, and waited for the red light to blink on.

  Three…two…one…

  “My fellow Americans, I speak to you today from the Oval Office — not a nuclear bunker as some have claimed over the last twenty-four hours. As a President who campaigned and has governed on transparency, I felt it necessary to separate fact from fiction in light of the events that have occurred in Los Angeles.”

  Bouchard glanced at his notes. Sweat soaked through the back of his shirt.

  “Yesterday at 6:19 AM, Los Angeles experienced a significant spike to its power grid which resulted in a major power outage in the downtown area. While the cause of the outage is under investigation, there is no evidence this is an act of terrorism as some in the media have reported.”

  He skipped one of the points — the supposed cyber attack by the Russians — then fought the urge to grab a towel and dry off.

  “This is an unprecedented outage that has affected all power within a six-mile radius of downtown. The federal government is working with local agencies to resolve this matter as quickly as possible. I am urging those of you in the Los Angeles area to remain calm and adhere to the direction of local law enforcement. Due to the nature and scope of the outage, the National Guard was called in to establish barricades around a six-mile radius from downtown to protect property, as well as to implement a midnight curfew.”

  Bouchard paused for a moment. His mind flashed to the footage he’d seen moments earlier of tear gas being launched against the citizens of LA. The best spin doctor in Washington couldn’t turn that one around.

  “As reports have surfaced, I can confirm there was an incident where law enforcement needed to respond as a precaution due to looting and vandalism that has already occurred in the affected areas. I assure you, the matter will be reviewed to ensure that the response was appropriate and not overreaching.”

  Bouchard paused for a moment, knowing he made the wrong call with Chase Hardeman. The boy was expendable — a scapegoat — a loser like his father. Bouchard’s hair stood up on the back of his neck, not from sweating, but from blatantly lying to the American people. He wasn’t the first President in history to weave a convincing tale.

  “Millions have also seen on the internet another situation that is unfolding in Los Angeles — an unidentified individual who is holding hostages. Unfortunately, there has already been one fatality. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victim’s family. I have spoken with Mayor Osoria and he has assured me that law enforcement is working to bring this situation to a peaceful resolution. I have offered the federal government’s full resources and have urged the Mayor to work with us.”

  Every great president needed more than one scapegoat. His charismatic, sympathetic, and decisive persona was on full display — like a peacock boasting of its feathers. He dug his elbows into the desk, ready to end with a bang.

  “We live in a world where heinous acts are broadcast around the globe by individuals who claim to have power over us — to inflict fear into our societies. As Americans, we are forged from a belief that freedom is not merely inherited from the faith of our ancestors, but a liberty worth fighting to protect. We are one people under God, who is our Protector. We are not a nation under duress — or imminent danger — we are the defenders of the free world.”

  As he raised his voice, the cadence of each word grew more emphatic.

  “No enemy will invade our lands. No enemy will bring harm to our people. No weapons formed against us shall prosper. This invasion of our freedom will never happen. It will never take place. So, I ask that today you pray for our fellow citizens in Los Angeles. Pray for those who have been impacted. Pray for the safety of those being held against their will. That is what we do as Americans. May God continue to protect our great nation.”

  The red light blinked off, and the room exhaled.

  Bouchard pushed the chair back from the desk and wiped the back of his neck. For a few seconds, he relished the speech, believing it was one of his best.

  “Well done, Mr. President.” Adams approached with a sly grin. More loyal than a dog rescued from the pound. “The Joint Chiefs are waiting to brief you, sir.”

  Bouchard loosened his tie and removed his coat. His shirt was totally soaked. “I need to change clothes.”

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  We checked dozens of vehicles before turning down a back alley. Blindly searching for the electro-disruptor was pointless. I tried powering on my cell, but it was dead. I hoped Tama and Kasim were inside the black site, but they could be anywhere within six miles of us. Why lock yourself in an underground fortress if you couldn’t escape? That question lingered.

  Using the butt of my Sig Sauer, I broke a back window of a two-story building, climbed inside, then unlocked a door for Dax to enter. Together, we cleared the bottom floor of a machine shop. Then we took the stairs to the second floor and cleared an office and storage room. Through the filthy windows, we had a perfect vantage point for surveillance on the black site across the street.

  Dax handed me a bottled water and bagel. “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Remember when we were in Diwaniya?” I drank from the bottle.

  “Two months in that hell hole searching for the missing Dead Sea Scrolls.” Dax leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. “That place was dark, bro. I’d never seen people give their children away.”

  “Dad sent us on a wild goose chase.” I bit into the bagel, knowing how insensitive I must’ve sounded. “We thought we were making a difference.”

  “Never found the scrolls either.”

  From underneath my Flak Vest and shirt, I grabbed the chain that was around my neck and held the key in my palm. “When I met with King Azim, he said a woman traded the location of the Rossino Otto for the Level 10 malware.”

  “Tama Fatima.” Dax drank from his bottle. “She really gave it up?”

  “Azim showed me that photo after he’d given her the malware.” Tucking the key underneath my shirt, I adjusted the Flak Vest. Keeping out of sight, I peered through the window at the empty parking lot. “She’s using the malware for something, and my gut tells me Uncle Randy knows what it is.”

  Dax exhaled deeply. “That’s why he kept Fatima alive in that prison?”

  “Fatima wore some kind of a device on his wrist.” My mind flashed back to being in the underground cell. “It was an IED, but it could’ve also been a tracker.”

  “You think he was being monitored?”

  “I think Fatima was more than a prisoner, and I think Uncle Randy was the one letting him loose.”

  Dax was already scrolling through the scenario. “McIntyre and Sarina confirm that US weapons were supplied to Fatima, then retrieved after the raid. Both confirmed the electro-disruptor was one of those weapons. Then there’s a mystery passenger on the second flight out.”

  “Dad’s plane crashed without any sign of distress — which was most likely caused by the electro-disruptor.” Watching the empty warehouse through the window, the edges of the puzzle fit into place. “Margaret sees Fatima that night leaving the garage, then I face off with him at Nicholson’s house.” />
  “He could’ve taken Wilkins out too,” Dax suggested. “If Tama or Kasim know that Fatima is really dead this time…”

  Finishing off the bagel, I grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and set it off to the side of the window. Dax was right. If they knew, it was a game changer. More would die. A lot more. Staring out the window at the warehouse across the street, it was if I fell into a trance — consumed with knowing whether they were still inside. Before long, Dax was snoring.

  For a while, I didn’t move from that spot, thinking through how we were going to breach the underground fortress. After an hour, I stood and stretched my legs. Dax was fast asleep, curled up on the floor with his backpack next to him. Knowing I’d need to head over to the garage to see if Margaret showed up with any news, I grabbed Dax’s backpack as well as my own and decided to calculate how much of an attack we could launch.

  From my backpack, I pulled out my other Sig Sauer and set it on the floor. Then I emptied Dax’s backpack — two Sig Sauers. Ammo. Wiring. Flash bangs. Two bricks of C4. He’d kept the good stuff for himself. I made sure the guns were loaded, then lined our arsenal up on the floor.

  Checking to make sure I’d pulled out everything, I noticed a zipper inside Dax’s backpack. Something else was inside the lining. As I unzipped the pocket, I thought it might be a love letter from one of his past admirers. That was wishful thinking. Instead, I pulled out a folded piece of paper, which when laid flat on the floor revealed a set of blueprints.

  “Damn…”

  I reached for my weapon and pointed it at Dax. “What the hell is this?”

  “Slow down, turbo. I can explain. They’re blueprints of the black site.”

  “Why do you have them?” My heart raced. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

  Dax held up his hand as he sat up. “Elena got them for me.”

  I lowered my weapon but kept it at the ready. “Explain.”

  “When I was at her apartment waiting for you to get back, I had the idea to find blueprints from the City of LA Building Department for the black site. I tried hacking into their systems, kept hitting firewalls, and once I was in, there was no record of it anywhere.” He leaned against the wall and relaxed a bit. “I told Elena what I needed, and she got them for me. Don’t know how she did it. That’s the truth.”

  “Why didn’t either of you tell me?” I argued.

  “Seems your dad left us the same message — to keep you alive.” Dax eyed the gun in my hand. “Chase, this is a fight you won’t win alone.”

  I’d seen the look in his eyes before — many times. He was protecting me, like he’d always done. On the playground as kids, on the basketball court as teenagers, basic training at Pendleton, in the deserts of the Middle East, that night at the garage, and even now. He’d never wavered — never. Dad knew the two people in my life who would do anything to protect me, especially when the odds were stacked this high. As I stared at Dax, I knew I’d have done the same.

  “If you’re going to shoot me,” he said, “aim for the other leg.”

  “Tempting.” I set the gun down. “Okay, tell me what you’ve found.”

  With a relieved smile, he crawled across the floor until we were both hovered over the blueprints. We were still in the trenches — together.

  “When the Feds built the facility, they used an underground tunnel for trucks to load in materials, equipment, and to haul out the debris.” Dax pointed at an entry point directly off the city’s drainage system. “The entrance was closed after the black site was built — and no one at the city knows it exists.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  Dax’s finger traced the route. “Goes deeper underground and narrows quite a bit.” He flipped the blueprint over and pointed at a section marked: LEVEL 4. “Blow a hole, and we’re in.”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  BLACK SITE — MOMENTS LATER

  Tama’s fingers flew across the keys shortly after President Bouchard’s speech ended. He lied to the world — and those lies enraged every keystroke. Monitoring the malware, she was growing more proficient at understanding the scope of its ability. FBI. CIA. Homeland. Pentagon. Infiltrating their internal systems was merely a taste of the cyber war she could launch with a click of the mouse.

  Wiping blood from his hands, Kasim approached. After killing Agent Vaughn, he covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t have to see the infidel’s face. But he had also taken his aggression out on several of the other hostages.

  Filling his nostrils with the stench of death, Kasim asked, “How much longer must we wait?”

  “All the files are downloaded,” Tama answered, closing a window on her computer and swiping across her tablet. “I have also created a mobile version of the malware.” Kasim stood with a blank stare. “It means we can use it anywhere in the world.” She held up a hard drive that contained the stolen intelligence. “And we will sell this to the highest bidder.”

  “We cannot stay here.” Kasim glanced at the hostages, some bloodied. He didn’t understand all she said, but his instincts knew it was time to retreat. “If they find a way inside, we will not be able to defend ourselves.”

  Tama grabbed his hand, knowing he needed reassurance. “We will leave within the hour for the exchange.”

  “If we do not trust the Prodigal, and we have the intelligence, why should we still meet him? Tama, we must disappear and fight from afar.”

  “First, we go to the Prodigal so I can put a bullet in his head.” She would not leave without settling the score. “Then our war will have a new beginning.”

  “Where will we meet him?”

  “He has provided coordinates, not far from here.” She glanced at the hostages who were lined up on the other side of the glass wall. “I will leave them to you.”

  No longer concerned with shutting down government agencies, she let go of Kasim’s hand and turned her attention toward inflicting fear into the heart of Americans. Picking up her tablet, there was more work to be done. A series of codes streamed across the screen at lightning speed. She noticed how easily the mobile version functioned. Taking it all in, she relished how powerful the malware was with her touch.

  Any system, government, company, or military could be ransomed. Another batch of codes gained her access to the mainframes monitoring the US Stock Exchange and the Commonwealth Health Initiative — the government’s largest healthcare provider. How does one inflict fear into Americans? Money and medicine.

  “Bouchard, they will burn you at the stake,” she seethed.

  Leaning back, she gazed upon her handiwork. Another target surfaced in her mind — darker than she’d ever wandered. Even with the malware, she doubted whether she could gain access. After all, its advanced firewalls protected the most secure computer system in the world — Pikes Peak.

  EIGHTY

  PIKES PEAK BUNKER

  Bouchard had changed into Dockers and a polo shirt, still reveling in a speech echoed around the world. He had drawn a line in the sand, put a stake in the ground, and cemented his legacy amongst the greats — Lincoln, Washington, Roosevelt, Eisenhower, and Kennedy. At least that’s what Simon Adams kept telling him before they entered the situation room.

  Seated around the table were members of his appointed Joint Chiefs of Staff — including General Abbott, who was a decorated military icon and the Secretary of Defense. A few hours earlier, their first encounter was contentious because Abbott was an outsider to Bouchard’s trusted advisors — and one of the few at the table with a backbone.

  “Mr. President, there’s been several developments.” Abbott sat on one side of the conference table, to the left of Bouchard who took his spot at the head. “We’ve been monitoring the barricade access points using UAS — Unmanned Aerial Systems — and received confirmation that Mayor Osoria has allowed the LAPD inside the containment area.”

  A ticker tape of curses scrolled across Bouchard’s mind. None of which were said aloud. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he glanced at the o
thers in the room — all of whom served at the pleasure of the President.

  “I personally advised him of the best course of action. However, if he has chosen to go against my recommendation then it’s out of our hands.” Bouchard always felt as if Osoria’s political ambitions were never aligned with his own. Perhaps he was better served as a sacrificial lamb than a scapegoat. “General Abbott, where are we with identifying a suspect and rescuing the hostages?”

  “There have been no more live broadcasts. No positive ID on the suspect, but we have narrowed down the names of the hostages. All are federal employees with the Bureau.” Abbott allowed his words to settle. “We believe they are still being held at the black site facility in the downtown area.” His bushy eyebrows shifted. “Mr. President, we are flying blind unless you know something we don’t, sir.”

  “All I know is what you’re telling me,” Bouchard shot back. “Frankly, I’m the one who’s standing before the American people with my pants down. Our black site has been compromised with hostages, and we’ve got one dead federal agent already. It’s unacceptable for us to allow another.”

  “Mr. President, SEAL Team Six is standing by.”

  “We’re not there yet, General. What else do you have?”

  General Abbott nodded to an assistant who was seated in a corner of the situation room. She brought photos and schematics for a military weapon on screen.

  “We believe we have found the cause of the power outage — an electro-disruptor.” Abbott nodded toward the screen. “It is a cross between a shoulder-fired rocket launcher and a portable intel satellite. Using advanced EMP technology, it is the only weapon with the ability to disrupt the use of electronics, hardware, software, or data without leaving a trace.”

  Bouchard leaned back and crossed his arms, attempting to show his surprise even though he sensed where this was headed. “So, you think this is what shut down LA?”