by Akart, Bobby
Initially, the Smarts used the space to meet with prospective contractors and their subs. Now it had a variety of uses, from storage to a meeting place. This was Alpha’s domain, as Blair and Ryan spent a considerable amount of time at the main house or on the property overseeing renovations.
The morning started at HB-1 with a meeting of security personnel in the conference room. Throughout the day, Alpha and members of his team would gather for meals together, plan their activities, or retrieve equipment based upon the project they were working on.
One of those projects was an addition to their security program that Alpha had concocted many months ago. It employed the use of mini-drone quadcopters to act as eye-in-the-sky surveillance of the Haven’s perimeter. Although Ryan had told him that money was no object, Alpha was cost-conscious in choosing the right machine to do the job.
The Haven was parceled together with hundreds of acres of land that was bordered by a county road for a long stretch, as well as the Henry River for the entirety of its southern perimeter. The entire boundary totaled several miles.
He chose a midrange quadcopter to perform the surveillance task—a DJI Spark Ultimate model. At five hundred dollars, it was definitely on the high side of mini-drone options, but its video capabilities suited their needs perfectly.
The alpine-white quadcopter was equipped with a dual-axis gimbal camera capable of taking both twelve-megapixel still photos as well as 1080p video technology. The features Alpha liked the most were its GPS and night-vision capabilities, its thirty-one mile per hour speed, and a range in excess of a mile. By deploying three of the quadcopters—one at the center of the Haven and one at each end of the oblong-shaped tract—he could cover the entire property from the sky.
The quadcopter, like all devices of its kind, had a negative. The operator could only use it for fifteen minutes at a time before it needed to be recharged. In a time of crisis, this would limit their capabilities. So, at Alpha’s request, Ryan doubled the fleet to six. Besides, as Ryan accurately pointed out, if one broke down, they’d have backups.
“Three is two, two is one, one is none,” Ryan had reminded Alpha at the time. Alpha was not a prepper. He was more of a survivalist, as many ex-military veterans were. But he saw the logic in many of the preparedness concepts Ryan had taught him, and embraced the lifestyle completely. After the events of New Year’s Eve, he was glad he did.
“Alpha? Are you around?”
Delta led his son into the barn, where Alpha waited by a long workbench. The quadcopters had their own storage shelf built. Each one was labeled from H-Quad-1 through H-Quad-6. Thus far, due to lack of operators, none of them had been deployed. Ethan would be the first operator to patrol the perimeter.
“Back here, Delta.” Alpha’s voice boomed through the empty barn. “I’ve got H-Quad-1 ready to deploy.”
“Sounds official, Dad,” whispered Ethan.
“It is, son. Listen, this is a very important job and I hope you don’t take it lightly. Security is the number one priority around here.”
“You must be Ethan,” greeted Alpha as he extended his right hand to shake with the teen. He held the quadcopter remote in his other hand.
“Um, yes.” Ethan appeared intimidated by Alpha, whose large stature and booming voice immediately commanded the respect of anyone he came in contact with.
“Glad to have you on the team, Ethan. You’ll be the first member of our drone air force. Take a look.”
Alpha fiddled with the remote controller, and suddenly a low hum could be heard from the back of the barn. Red and green lights could be seen rising into the tall rafters before coming slowly in their direction.
Alpha maneuvered the drone closer to the group. “Smile, gentlemen. You’re on camera.”
“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” said Ethan as he genuinely seemed to enjoy the moment. He managed a smile for the first time, causing Delta to smile as well.
“Watch this,” said Alpha as he made a couple of adjustments on the controller. The quadcopter’s rotors revved up and the drone raced through the barn doors at a high rate of speed until it was out of sight.
“Wow! Where did it go?” asked Ethan as he chased after the device and stood in the opening.
Off in the distance, the high-pitched whine of the rotors could be heard. Alpha walked next to Ethan and showed him the controller. “Check out the display.”
“Is that the main house?” asked Ethan.
“It is,” replied Alpha.
Delta joined their side and put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder so he could see as well. Ethan didn’t pull away this time, a good sign. Delta and Alpha exchanged imperceptible nods at one another. In full disclosure, Delta had told Ryan and Alpha about the difficulties he’d been having with Ethan. He also told them that Ethan needed something to be a part of, or he’d be a handful to control. Apparently, the Haven’s drone air force piqued the teen’s interest.
Ethan was impressed. “The camera is amazing.”
“Yeah, it is. The new model allows us to record directly into a computer at the main house. All the footage can be reviewed until it is erased, or in the event of an attack, it can be monitored from one central location so we can address our vulnerabilities.”
“Attacked?” asked Ethan.
“Son, we don’t know what to expect,” started Delta, who’d planned on downplaying Alpha’s choice of words. Then he thought better of it. Perhaps his son needed to know how dangerous this world could become. “There will come a point in time that outsiders will want what we have here at the Haven.”
“That’s right,” interjected Alpha. “By having eyes on the ground as well as in the air, we can react quicker to someone trying to infiltrate our perimeter.”
“You have a wall, right?” asked Ethan.
“True, but not along the river,” replied Alpha. “Boats, rafts, and swimmers could cross and make their way inside the Haven. One of your primary duties will be to patrol the shoreline until we get our own boats ready for deployment.”
“We’ve got a navy?” asked Delta, who was unaware of the boats.
“We have boats,” replied Delta. “We’d prefer not to use them to patrol because of the anticipated shortage of fuel, and the noise will attract curious neighbors. They’ll be deployed as a reactionary force. That’s why the drone patrols are so important. A quadcopter can buzz up and down the riverbanks and search for intruders much faster than a boat can.”
“I like it,” said Ethan. “You can count me in, sir.”
Delta couldn’t suppress the grin on his face.
Chapter Thirty
Schwartz Estate
Katonah, New York
“The sell-off started with a mysterious plunge that immediately caused the exchange to halt trading. Foreign exchange markets intervened with multiple ten-second pauses to prevent steeper declines in the U.S. dollar. Abroad, futures trading was halted within minutes thereafter.”
CNBC’s morning market-analysis program, Squawk Box, was playing on one of the television monitors in the Schwartz conference room. Jonathan Schwartz had rejoined his father to watch the aftermath of their currency manipulations. Joe Kernen, reporting from NBC’s London offices due to the evacuation of Midtown New York, appeared disheveled as he caught his breath and continued.
“Traders also speculated that the selling could be attributed to a large fund, or group of funds, liquidating its position in the dollar. The dollar index has fallen to a level well below its lows of 2008, and it appears that there is no end in sight. With Washington in disarray due to the terrorist attacks of New Year’s Eve and speculation running rampant that the president will be announcing the implementation of the U.S. continuity-of-government contingencies, there is little to soften the blow of this free fall as investors are more than jittery. They are downright terrorized at the prospects of a collapsing dollar.”
Schwartz chuckled as he lowered the volume on the set. “As well they should be. After the forex markets halte
d trading on the dollar around the world, they will test the waters by reopening the futures market. At first, there will be nervous investors looking to buy in at the bottom of the decline. Others will continue to dump the dollar before it crashes further.”
Jonathan pulled up a chair next to his father and sat down. “In the meantime, we’ll step back in. There will be a whipsaw effect in dollar futures that will cause a wild market swing upward. We will profit from that, and then in the morning, the Treasury Secretary will announce that all is right with the world as the mighty dollar regains strength and—”
His father finished the sentence. “We’ll crash it all over again. Son, markets like stability. There’s a reason we developed the concept of velocity logic. Our computer programs can instantaneously detect market movement over time in relation to all indices. As a result, we can overcome the built-in safeguards by Wall Street and London. Our trades happen much faster than their reactions.”
“It’s ingenious and nearly undetectable,” his son added.
“That’s why we use it sparingly. Some have weapons of mass destruction. We have weapons of financial devastation. We can destroy businesses, banks, and now, my son, empires, using the power our wealth affords us.”
The two men sipped their tea in silence as they monitored the frenzied trading activity shown on the various news programs. Live feeds from around the globe—including London, Chicago, Tokyo, and Hong Kong—revealed the same images.
Schwartz finished his tea before pushing his cup and saucer to the side. He leaned forward on the conference table and folded his hands in front of him. “Son, this president has always had tyrannical tendencies, in my opinion,” he began.
Jonathan nodded his agreement.
“Our actions will hasten his incentive to declare martial law. I believe despite his physical stature, he has a bit of a Napoleon complex. His overly aggressive, domineering behavior on social media and in his approach to the news media compensates for his inadequacies as a leader. I believe he relishes the opportunity to wield power through the military. He has probably dreamt of the opportunity to consolidate control over the government within the executive branch.”
“My sources tell me that will happen today,” interjected Jonathan.
Schwartz continued. “Yes. I bring this up for a reason. The president has longed for an attorney general within his control and loyal only to him. One that is not accountable to the Congress or the media. By declaring martial law, his Department of Justice will have unfettered powers to investigate, arrest, and stall prosecutions.”
“Undoubtedly, habeas corpus will be suspended.”
“Those placed under arrest can potentially be held indefinitely without any rights to protest their detention.”
“Dad, why are you bringing this up now?”
Schwartz took a deep breath and pushed his tired body out of his chair. He wandered around the conference room, pausing to look at each of the monitors. He stopped at the screen that displayed the CNBC reporting. He tapped on it with his knuckles before turning back to his son.
“They all know who’s responsible for this. Every one of these so-called experts are whispering around their respective water coolers. As I close my eyes, I can hear the Schwartz name being bantered about.”
Jonathan tried to reassure his father. “It’s a natural assumption, but it cannot be proven. Frankly, there are any number of world financiers who could’ve pulled this off.”
“Son, not true, and you know it. Plus, we’ve accomplished this before. To be sure, we’ve been caught, as in 2018 when the Hong Kong exchange fined one of our funds for compliance failures during the series of shorting trades on Great Wall Motors. The fine was miniscule compared to the profits gained, and in China’s autonomous region, there were no criminal charges to be filed. The U.S. is different.”
“Yes, I understand. Still, Father, there would have to be investigations, court hearings, SEC and Treasury hearings. The process is long and drawn out. The Hong Kong matter took nearly four years to come to a conclusion.”
Schwartz began to wander the room. He looked down at the elaborately designed Persian rug and raised his arm, finger waggling as he walked. “Ahh, but therein lies the rub, as Hamlet said. The declaration of martial law and the corresponding suspension of habeas corpus sets aside the normal rules. Americans love to lie to themselves with their often-used phrase innocent until proven guilty. That is an absolute farce. In this country, a seasoned federal prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich, as they say, and under martial law, said ham sandwich can be arrested and detained indefinitely.”
“In other words, trumped-up charges,” said Jonathan, grinning at his intentional play on words.
Schwartz smiled and shrugged. “Taŭga.” He used the Esperanto term for appropriate.
“What do you suggest?” his son asked.
“Perhaps it would be an appropriate time for a trip to our New Zealand home. The weather is much more favorable this time of year.”
“As is the jurisdiction,” added Jonathan as he rose from his chair to make the arrangements.
Chapter Thirty-One
VCU Medical Center
Critical Care Hospital
Richmond, Virginia
It had been a trying morning for Angela, beginning with her usual trek near the grounds of the Virginia State Capitol, which lay between their house on one end of Clay Street and the VCU Medical Center Critical Care Hospital on the other. As she made her way past the Richmond Coliseum, she began to notice a crowd of fifty or more people walking from the VCU campus toward the capitol building. They seemed to be on a mission, not interacting with onlookers, but clearly moving toward the antebellum building with a purpose.
Angela had experienced something similar just a couple of years prior. Hundreds of protestors had descended upon the state capitol building one day in November, carrying signs and chanting down with hate. The focus of their anger was the state attorney general’s opinion that Virginia’s colleges could not include sexual orientation as part of its discrimination policies.
The protest was intended to be peaceful. Nonetheless, a police escort, including horse-mounted officers, escorted the group to the capitol so they could yell at a building that was largely empty at the time.
However, that night, things began to turn ugly as the protestors, frustrated that they weren’t getting a response or any form of interaction with state officials, began to cause damage to storefronts and offices along East Broad Street. Reports indicated that the VCU students were joined by outsider groups who were largely responsible for the destruction and near-riot conditions. Angela recalled how they could hear the ruckus that evening from their home eight blocks away.
The scene this morning was reminiscent of that protest, only this time, there was no police escort, and instead of holding signs, the protestors were carrying clubs and rocks.
Angela paused and found a side street to further her progress to the Critical Care Hospital without running head-on into the mob. She was shaken at first, and then her resolve strengthened as she became more convinced that she and Tyler were making the smart move.
Cornering the administrator of the residency program was a more difficult task than avoiding the angry mob. The night before, while the Rankins were trying to survive the attack in the tunnel, parts of Richmond exploded into what the media was calling anarchy. Neighborhoods and businesses were under siege from hoodlums and vandals.
People were randomly attacked walking down sidewalks or were pulled from their cars while stopped at intersections. Flash mobs stormed convenience stores and small businesses, ransacking shelves and robbing employees. Fires were randomly set throughout the town, and not in the usual neighborhoods associated with social unrest. Rather, the affluent seemed to be the brunt of the attacks, with one neighborhood being evacuated as the SWAT team was called in to restore order.
Dr. Jennifer Mason, the administrator, spent her days managing the program and creating t
he daily schedules of those under her wing, but she was still a highly skilled doctor. Pinning her down that morning was near impossible, and Angela, despite the fact she was not supposed to be on the schedule for several more days, pitched in to help.
The Critical Care Hospital at VCU housed many intensive care units for patients who were critically injured or ill. Trauma patients ranging from gunshot victims to burn patients were constantly being treated at the hospital on East Clay Street. However, Angela had never experienced anything like the chaos in the emergency room this morning.
She’d been a fan of television shows like Grey’s Anatomy and ER when she was growing up, getting a thrill and an adrenaline rush when the emergency rooms portrayed on television dealt with a mass casualty event. Whether it be a plane crash or a building collapse, the television doctors and nurses sprang into action to save the day.
In reality, however, the mad rush and a chaotic ER rarely occurred. At least not in Angela’s experience, until today. This moment was what she dreamed of. The opportunity to bounce from gurney to gurney, assessing a patient’s condition and then diving in to save lives and limbs.
Angela had donned a set of scrubs from her locker and got to work. Patients had been arriving throughout the night from the relentless beatings being administered around the city. Burn victims had pushed the hospital to the brink, with some minor cases being sent to other hospitals in the area.
She’d just finished treating one of the burn victims when Dr. Mason grabbed her attention. “Rankin! Get over here!”
Angela joined her administrator’s side as the women stood out of the way to allow a gurney to be pushed into the room. Two uniformed officers of the Richmond Police Department accompanied the patient, who was handcuffed to the rails of the bed.
“What’ve we got?” asked Dr. Mason. An EMT from the ambulance service that accompanied the patient provided her the vitals.