The Doomsday Series Box Set | Books 1-5

by Akart, Bobby

  Cort was now hearing what he always assumed, that someone rich and powerful was behind the New Year’s Eve attacks, not a foreign nation’s operatives or terrorists. “I’m not here to judge or criticize methods. Truthfully, at least based on what I know, I think I can understand the logic behind your methods. The question I have is whether this is over, or do I need to worry about the safety of my family and our friends at the Haven?”

  Trowbridge grimaced as he tried to raise himself higher in the bed. Harris rushed to his side and reminded him that the doctor forbade unnecessary stress or activity. Trowbridge brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

  “Jonathan Schwartz may have taken his shot and missed, but he won’t stop there. He’ll simply try a different tack.”

  “Does Schwartz know about the Minutemen or have access to your contact list?”

  Harris took that question. “No, not to my knowledge. The entire list is only available to Mr. Trowbridge, Hanson Briscoe, and myself.”

  The name struck a nerve with Cort. “Briscoe? The name is familiar. Bonesman, correct? But he rarely participated in the gatherings.”

  “That’s right, son,” said Trowbridge, who suddenly referred to Cort affectionately. “Did Briscoe reach out to you?”

  “No, not me, but another person within the compound besides Tom Shelton. Well, two others. One is legal counsel to the president, Hayden Blount, who received a cryptic message early on. A warning of sorts.”

  “Most likely that was from Samuel,” said Harris, who was referencing Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito, Hayden’s mentor and a fellow Bonesman. “He thinks very highly of her and has strongly urged us to advance her opportunities. For now, she does valuable work for the president.”

  “Who is the other?” said Trowbridge, who was growing short of breath.

  Cort moved closer to Trowbridge and replied, “A computer hacker named O’Reilly. He goes by the nickname X-Ray. He claimed to have been told by his handler, someone within the Minutemen hierarchy, to inform them if I had been seen. It had to be somebody who knew that X-Ray would be going to the Haven.”

  “Not necessarily,” countered Harris. “This directive was put out well before our arrival there. It was, um, sorry, sir, um, Mr. Trowbridge’s way of keeping up with your whereabouts.”

  Cort looked to his father-in-law, whose face was ridden with guilt. He closed his eyes and nodded, affirming Harris’s statement.

  Cort sighed. “Meredith must never know this. Any of it, agreed?”

  “Yes,” said Harris, who expressed Trowbridge’s sentiments as well.

  “Now,” continued Cort. “X-Ray exchanged a series of text messages with his handler, one of the Minutemen. It indicated an attack upon the compound was imminent. Who would that be?”

  “Briscoe,” whispered Trowbridge. “He’s aware of my deteriorating health, and that someday I’d yield what I’ve built to someone else. He’s power hungry.”

  “Weren’t you two close?” asked Cort.

  “Yes, of course. Son, he was not family.”

  Cort stepped back. Meredith was his only family, at least by blood relation. Then it dawned on him. Trowbridge was establishing a connection between Briscoe and the attack upon the Haven, and it stemmed around the heir apparent to the Trowbridge power base.

  “Are you talking about me? You want me to take over? I’m not sure this—”

  Trowbridge spoke up. “Son, it is your destiny.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  George Trowbridge’s Residence

  Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut

  “George, I have no problem with the way you’ve done business in Washington. Influence peddling is as old as the day the concept of government was first introduced five thousand years ago. Further, I can’t argue that this nation needed some form of shock treatment. Something drastic had to be done or the great American experiment would’ve collapsed and later been replaced with something far different. I don’t think I’m prepared to take over in the midst of an undeclared second civil war.”

  “You are, son, without a doubt in my mind. Briscoe saw the handwriting on the wall, and he sought to eliminate you as collateral damage.”

  “Wait, are you saying he knew I was on Delta 322?”

  “I am, yes,” replied Trowbridge. “Furthermore, it’s likely he used my love and concern for my family by putting out an all-points bulletin to keep up with your whereabouts. Instead of providing you a ring of protection, it appears he shared the information with Schwartz.”

  “Sir, how would he do that? Briscoe should be hiding deep in the woods after—” Harris caught himself and attempted to deflect by offering Trowbridge more ice chips.

  “After what, Harris?” Cort insisted upon a response. “If I’m to be involved, I need the total picture.”

  “I suspected his betrayal and ordered him killed,” replied Trowbridge.

  Cort rolled his head back and forth on his shoulders. He needed to release the tension that was building up inside him. The tension turned to anger. “I take it you missed.”

  “Yes, and he’s gone missing,” replied Harris.

  “With all of your resources, you haven’t been able to find him?” Cort was incredulous.

  “Well, there were trust issues during this transition period and considering Mr. Trowbridge’s health. We only have a limited number of people that we’d like to get involved at this point.”

  Cort wandered away from the bed and studied his surroundings. His father-in-law had become a prisoner in his bedroom, and now he was consumed in his final days by a vendetta against two men who were fighting back—using his family as pawns in the battle. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

  Trowbridge tried to explain. “Son, the cancer within my ranks had to be eliminated. It was the right call.”

  “I don’t disagree, but the job isn’t finished. That’s up to me now.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Harris.

  “I will not let this family’s legacy go down in history because of a traitor like Briscoe. I don’t know how he’s connected to Schwartz, but there is no other explanation as to how Chepe would know about the Haven.”

  “I agree,” said Trowbridge. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Schwartz needs to be killed. His death will be a message to his father, who will hopefully rot away in a federal prison, and it will gut the Schwartzes’ political power. Those two have micromanaged the far left’s anarchist ways for decades.”

  “Yes, go on,” said Trowbridge, who was suddenly more engaged.

  “Briscoe is a traitor to you, his fellow Bonesmen, and all who are trying to preserve our nation as envisioned by the Founding Fathers. He made this personal by trying to take advantage of your ill-health to shift power into his hands.”

  “They both need to go; we acknowledge that,” said Harris. “We can’t find them.”

  Cort was blunt. “It’s no longer your concern.” He faced his father-in-law. “You groomed me to take over, so let me prove that you’ve made the right decision.”

  “I have resources. Let me help.”

  “No, sir, but thank you. Your point regarding trust of others is well taken. At this time, you need plausible deniability, especially as it relates to our fellow Bonesmen and others within the Minutemen. They might not understand your attempt to assassinate Briscoe. In addition, it could taint my ability to lead them in the future.”

  “You don’t have the ability—” began Harris before Cort stopped him.

  “Harris, I admire you for your service to my father, and I look forward to working with you in the future. I will handle this.”

  Cort approached Trowbridge’s bed and took the man’s cold hand in his. The warmth emanating from Cort caused a smile to cross the old man’s face. The physical touch was symbolic of the mutual love and respect the two had for one another.

  Cort leaned down and whispered, “Trust me.”

  Chapter Thirty

  George Trowbridge’s
Residence

  Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut

  Cort didn’t want to waste any time searching for Briscoe and Schwartz. They might or might not be involved together, and if they were, they might be unaware that his family had fled for Connecticut. Not only did he owe it to the residents of the Haven, who’d risked their lives for his family, but he wanted to call on them to assist him in hunting down the men who were ultimately responsible. Plus, there was now more at stake than just revenge. America was on the brink.

  Cort’s conversation with Meredith, and then together with Hannah, was a difficult one. They both insisted upon returning with him to the Haven. They saw that as their home now, their family. Hannah loved her new friends, and Meredith had a sense of involvement that she’d never felt in Mobile.

  He promised her that remaining at her father’s home was necessary due to his health, and he reminded her of the continued threat to Hannah to help make his argument. He felt it was somewhat underhanded to play on Meredith’s emotions that way, but it ended the discussion. The Cortland women would stay within the safer confines of the Trowbridge estate, and Cort would take the helicopter back to the Haven.

  Cort chastised himself for continuing to lie to his wife and daughter. The conversation was partly truthful, but included was a whopper of a lie of omission that might haunt him for the rest of his life. He was hell-bent on revenge, and he needed his new friends to exact it with him. He trusted the Smarts, Alpha, and the others at the Haven. Besides, he was still skeptical of how he had been discovered there, and by whom.

  Harris, whom Cort wanted to consider beyond reproach, might have sought the same kind of power that Briscoe tried to take. Cort speculated in his mind that it was possible the two men were working in concert with one another. Briscoe’s escape from one of Trowbridge’s hit teams was more than fortuitous; it was as if the man’s life was blessed by the Lord Almighty himself.

  For that reason, Cort had to make his own arrangements. He had seasoned military people, an ex-LEO who knew how to think like a fugitive, an experienced hunter in Hayden, and X-Ray, who for all of his misdeeds, was a master at using computer technology to their advantage.

  With an air of confidence, Cort strode into his father-in-law’s suite before he left. Harris was taking notes, and the conversation between the two men abruptly stopped when Cort entered.

  “Cort, Mr. Trowbridge and I were discussing—” began Harris when Trowbridge raised his hand and stopped him.

  “Allow me. Cort, we have taken the time to make a list of trusted people to track down Schwartz and Briscoe. You do not have to put your new friends at risk.”

  “No,” said Cort brusquely. “I stand by my earlier decision. I trust my people, and they’re more than capable.”

  “Son, these are trained operatives. Highly trained by our CIA in covert tactics. One of them was on the SEAL team that attacked Bin Laden’s compound.”

  “I understand that, and I don’t want to argue with you. Please, you’ve got to trust my judgment or I’m the wrong man for the job. Not just the task of locating Briscoe and Schwartz, I mean the whole thing. All of it.”

  Trowbridge frowned, but nodded his acquiescence. “I will not interfere, but I will insist on something.”

  “Maybe,” said Cort defiantly.

  “Once you locate their whereabouts, I take it you will be pulling your best people out of the Haven. Correct?”

  Cort quickly replied, “Yes, that is a possibility.”

  “Then allow me to fill the Bell with personnel and weaponry. Also, tactical gear that is military issue, which will help protect the compound as they go after these men. My people will stay on the perimeter, protecting the families, while you do what you have to do.”

  Cort couldn’t argue with Trowbridge’s offer. It would also help him sell the entire operation to Blair and Ryan, who would certainly balk at gutting the Haven’s security team. Besides, all of the residents could use some peace of mind after what they’d been through.

  “Okay. I agree. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, son. I want to help you, but I recognize that you need to find your own way.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll need a few minutes to notify the men. They’re prepared to travel on a moment’s notice. Also, I’ll fill the chopper with gear.”

  “Thank you,” said Trowbridge before adding, “And, Harris, satellite telephones also. I want Cort and his people to be able to reach out to us if necessary.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harris scurried into the hallway and down the stairs, leaving Trowbridge and Cort alone.

  After Harris left, Cort closed the door and turned to speak. Trowbridge was reflective and motioned him closer. He reached under his covers, and when he pulled his arm out, he was holding a cell phone.

  “This is yours now. It is encrypted with the highest available security. Only three people have one like it. One is Briscoe and the other is Harris.”

  Cort took the phone, which was the most recent iPhone device. It didn’t look any different from the one he used to carry every day.

  “Other than its enhanced security, is there anything else special about it?” asked Cort.

  Trowbridge motioned for him to return it to him. Even in his diminished capacity, he was able to navigate the settings app on the phone. He found security and pressed several keys on the pop-up keyboard display. Without warning, he lifted the phone toward Cort’s face and pressed a button.

  “This can only be unlocked by you now,” he said as he handed the phone back. “The contacts list is written in code. You’ll find the key to the symbols and numbers in the notes, which are locked and require a passcode.”

  “What is it?”

  “Eighteen thirty-two, Taft, three-two-two,” he replied before explaining, “Eighteen thirty-two was the year of our founding. Alphonso Taft was one of the original founders of the Skull and Bones. Three-two-two represents the room number at the lodge, the holy place that you will soon enter when the time comes.”

  “This is how I contact the Minutemen?” asked Cort.

  “All of them, son. The Minutemen, military personnel, foreign diplomats. If need be, the President of the United States.”

  “He knows about all of this?” asked Cort, waving the phone around as he spoke.

  Trowbridge chuckled. “No, of course not. Plausible deniability.”

  “Those are my words,” said Cort with a smile.

  “Yes, but you’re not the first to use them. Cort, there is much to be learned, and circumstances have cut your education short. I want you to know that Harris can be trusted. I suspect part of your reasoning in acting outside the confines of my network is his possible involvement.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Son, if his goal was to assassinate you, then the chopper carrying my family would’ve never landed on the back lawn. You will lean heavily upon him at first. At some point, you will choose your own consigliere, your counselor. One who will continue what I began many years ago.”

  Trowbridge began to cough, and he frantically rubbed his throat as if he was choking. He motioned toward the stainless-steel medical table by his bed.

  Cort hustled to the table and offered both water and ice chips. Trowbridge gulped water and then began to cough as if he was drowning. He winced in pain as the fit subsided.

  “Are you okay? Do I need to get the nurse?”

  Trowbridge slowly waved his hand in front of his chest and shook his head. “This happens more frequently. Son, I’m dying. I will hold on as long as I can. For the benefit of Meredith and my granddaughter, but also for you. You are my son. I’ve known it since my daughter proudly introduced you to this family. I have planned my life, and my death, around you.”

  “George, that’s very nice of you—” started Cort before Trowbridge continued.

  “You are more than the protector of my family. I’m looking to you to safeguard my legacy, which is to preserve this nation. I’ve started us down an uncertain pa
th, but I wholly believe it is the only course of action to protect the nation. I can only be judged by God, and I suspect my day to account for my deeds will be coming soon.”

  Cort took Trowbridge’s hands again. “You have the best care available and two strong women by your side now. I’ll be back when the job is done, and now you can rest assured I will handle matters the best way I can.”

  Trowbridge squeezed Cort’s hands and smiled. “I love you, son.” Then his eyes closed, and his feeble hands let go.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Haven

  The final leg of the ride from Connecticut to the Haven aboard the Bell helicopter was blessed with clear skies and a lack of turbulence. Cort attributed the smooth ride, which lacked the sudden sideways movements and occasional abrupt changes in altitude typical of flying in a helicopter, to the size of the Relentless 525 model. He’d flown in shuttle flights aboard choppers many times between DC and surrounding cities to follow Senator McNeill to meetings or speaking engagements. The senator seemed to enjoy the swooping motions common to helicopter flight; Cort did not. After his fateful ride on Delta 322, he liked flying even less.

  He was grateful that he was scheduled to arrive back at the Haven before dark. Once, during a nighttime landing, he had trouble with his vision. His eyes had difficulty focusing on a point on the ground, and the spatial disorientation caused him to be consumed by motion sickness. Today, with so much at stake, he didn’t need the added stress.

  The normally deafening thumping sounds of the rotors weren’t heard in the Bell. The noise-reduction measures built into the Bell’s cabin, coupled with redesigned engines, served to reduce any intrusion into his thoughts.

  He’d be asking a lot of the Smarts and the people he’d call upon to hunt down Schwartz and Briscoe. He had to convince them that the dangerous undertaking was about more than revenge.