“Operator, this is Doctor David Holmes, ID 591-92-2847, patch me into someone at Mission Control.”
“Voice print and ID confirmed, patching you in to Mission Specialist Karen Weisskopf.”
Almost immediately, a woman’s voice broadcast through the connection. “Mission Specialist Weisskopf. How can I help you, Doctor Holmes?”
“I’m about to bring the Ecuador substation back online, but I need you to read back to me the current energy flow going through the warp ring.”
“Understood, the current flow into the ring is at 39.3 percent of the required rate you’d specified.”
Dave pressed mute on the phone and knelt next to Frank’s engine. He extracted a small Allen wrench from his belt and began checking the settings on the control panel.
Kneeling next to him, Bella asked, “I thought we set the control panel’s rheostat sensitivity to as high as it will go already?”
He leaned over and gave Bella’s cheek a kiss. “We did, but I don’t want to take any chances that its settings had somehow changed during the engine’s transport.”
He applied a small amount of counter-clockwise torque on the wrench, verifying that the engine remained on its highest sensitivity setting. Dave took the phone off mute and said, “Weisskopf, I’m about to activate the Ecuador substation. Let me know what happens on your end.”
“Roger that. I’ll let you know as soon as I see any changes.”
Dave’s heart thudded heavily in his chest and he wiped sweat off his palms. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed that a half-dozen soldiers had gathered to watch him as he double and triple checked the connection and the rheostat sensitivity setting.
In his mind, he feared that the charred sphere was simply sitting inside Frank’s engine, inert. And when he turned on Frank’s engine, it would drain whatever energy was holding the magnetic seal shut and the engine would pop open and this would all be for nothing.
Dave shook his head as he realized the irony of the situation. It would be no worse if the whole engine exploded when he turned it on. Everything hinged on this working perfectly.
Bella rested her hand on his shoulder and whispered, “You’re fine. Let’s see what happens.”
Taking a deep breath, Dave put his fingers on the engine’s power control knob and ever-so-slightly twisted it off the “0” position.
He immediately sensed a tickle in the air. Whether it was his imagination or something else, he couldn’t be sure, but his skin began to crawl with a prickly sensation just as the voice on the phone called out an alert. “Ecuador substation, I just received a large spike of energy from your location. The power reading is increasing across the ring ... we are now at 63.5 percent of operating requirements.”
An overwhelming sense of amazement mixed with relief flooded through Dave as Bella squeezed his shoulder and whispered, “Wow.”
With a deep, shuddering breath, Dave clicked the power setting up one notch and stared expectantly at the phone.
“Ecuador substation, we have received another spike from your location. The power has increased to 87.7 percent of operating requirements.”
Dave brought the phone closer to his face. “Weisskopf, what’s the overall status across the DefenseNet grid?”
“Doctor Holmes, the signal is clean. All systems are operating within normal parameters. I hope I’m not out of bounds by saying this, but thank you.”
Dave noticed a couple of the soldiers giving each other fist bumps, and smiled. The weight on his shoulders seemed just a bit less than it had been. “Mission Specialist Weisskopf, there’s no need to thank me, but nonetheless, you’re welcome.” Dave waved toward the soldier who’d previously approached him. “I’m now handing comms over to a Sergeant Vasquez, but I think that’ll be all for now.” He handed his satellite phone to the sergeant and smiled. “The site is all yours. Don’t let anything happen to it.”
###
Stryker had just rotated out of the Indian Point facility and landed at McGuire Air Force Base only twenty minutes ago. A few hundred other MPs from several branches of the military had also just arrived from other parts of the northeast.
A chilly evening breeze blew across the tarmac while Stryker stood at ease, listening to General Harold McCallister’s briefing.
The general’s voice boomed loudly through an array of speakers, but as the older man droned on, Stryker’s mind wandered to his family, especially his kids. He felt sick to his stomach at not having been able to talk to them in nearly two months. His last contact with them was as they boarded the bus at the Port Authority. Glancing at the men and women around him, he knew he wasn’t the only one longing for their family.
“As you already know, the evacuations are complete. Taking advantage of the warm summer and mild fall weather, the evacuation sites have largely been tent cities. All the while, the Army Corps of Engineers, along with FEMA, have been busy creating sturdier and more weather-appropriate shelters, which are now ready.
“Before we transfer the evacuees, we need people at the new locations to help coordinate and deal with security issues as they come along.
“You’ll all be deployed to one of a few dozen different evacuation sites. The duration of your assignments will likely be in excess of six months.”
Stryker’s stomach dropped as he imagined himself being away from his kids for a year or more.
He swallowed hard as the general continued.
“I realize how trying this time is for all of you. For those of you with families affected by the evacuation, I’ve arranged as best as I can to have you stationed near or at the site where your loved ones are located.”
A spark of hope bloomed in his chest as the general’s words registered.
Several soldiers had been walking amongst the gathered MPs throughout the general’s talk. One of them approached Stryker, glanced at his uniform, handed him an envelope, and moved on to the next MP in line.
He glanced at the envelope with “Lieutenant Jonathan Stryker” printed on its front.
“That’s pretty much the end of the briefing. You’ll all be gathering further details when you get to your locations. I’ve got people handing out your assignments now. We’ve arranged for transports on the far end of the tarmac. Go to the designated line for the location on your paperwork.
“I pray that we all see this through without further incident. Just remember, we’re all depending on each other to keep things together until this is over.
“Fall out!”
Stryker immediately ripped open the envelope, extracted the paper inside, and scanned his orders.
He barely suppressed a whoop of joy as he spied his assignment location.
Poconos Evacuation Center.
“What the hell,” someone yelled.
Stryker turned and the southern sky grew brighter as what had been a dim ribbon of light suddenly began to intensify.
The line arcing from horizon to horizon had suddenly become too bright to gaze at directly.
The general’s voice growled through the speakers once again. “I said, fall out! The transports are waiting on you.”
With a newfound surge of energy, Stryker raced toward the far end of the tarmac.
He had no clue why DefenseNet had suddenly gotten so bright, but it didn’t matter.
Stryker smiled as he imagined seeing his kids again.
For the moment, nothing else mattered.
###
“Form a perimeter. Get them away from the outer walls!”
Dave rocketed out of bed as heavily-armed soldiers swarmed into their secured barracks, just outside of the Mariscal Sucre International Airport. Bella screamed as soldiers lifted her from their bed, and they were both forcefully escorted away from the windows.
Ripping his arm out of the grip of one of the soldiers, Dave grabbed Bella’s hand and yelled, “What the hell is going on?” Soldiers flipped up their mattress and placed it against the
windows.
One soldier gripped Dave’s arm, leaned close to him, and explained, “Doctor Holmes, the Ecuador substation was just attacked. We’ve been ordered to initiate an emergency evac—”
Suddenly, the air whooshed out of Dave’s lungs as a shock wave blasted him from his feet.
The world seemed to move in slow motion as broken glass, concrete, and dust blasted through the room.
Dave found himself staring up at a hole in the ceiling and couldn’t move. His ears rang painfully as he lay stunned.
A soldier leaned over Dave, and a bloody gash across the soldier’s forehead dripped on him as the man yelled something he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.
The soldier squeezed his neck, his shoulders, and his arms, and it dawned on Dave that the soldier was checking him for injuries.
Suddenly, Dave felt a searing pain as his ears popped and his senses were flooded with the chaotic sounds of war. Men screamed for help from all directions, along with the crash of falling rocks and the chop-chop sounds of nearby helicopters.
With a sudden sense of panic, Dave lurched into a sitting position and frantically yelled, “Bella!”
He scanned the dust and rubble that was all around him, and when he spied the splash of bright-red hair, his blood turned into ice.
Ripping himself from the men who were trying to help him, he crawled to Bella and his throat tightened as he saw her bloody face. Her unblinking green eyes stared up at the ceiling, lifeless.
The lower half of her body has been crushed under the concrete slab from the collapse of the floor above.
Dave’s vision blurred as tears flowed and dripped onto her. He gently closed her eyes and wiped the blood from her face.
He leaned down, nestled his head in the crook of her neck, and released a primal yell of anguish. Dave shrugged his arm away from whoever was trying to grab him, and pulled in a deep, bitter breath. He leaned over Bella and gave her a kiss on the forehead, shuddering with grief as he thought of all the things he’d wanted to share with her. He had no words to say. Words were meaningless.
He sat back on his heels and wiped the blood off his hands.
A soldier knelt next to him, and before he could say anything, Dave turned to him and said, “I want her brought with us. She’s not going to be left behind in this shithole.”
The soldier hitched his thumb to a couple of nearby medics. “They’re here to help you, and they’ll bring her with us. We’re not leaving anyone behind. But sir, we have to leave. We can’t risk another mortar strike against this position.”
With the soldier’s help, Dave stood and stared at the broken body of the only person he’d ever loved. Even though she looked like she was asleep, some tangible thing had left her, and he felt its absence.
A burning ember inside Dave sparked into flame. His body tensed as rage replaced sorrow. A desire for revenge vaporized whatever grief he was experiencing.
Through gritted teeth, Dave swore, “Dead. I’m going to see whoever did this rooted out of whatever hole they’re hiding in, and they’ll pay.” Balling his hands into fists, Dave tasted blood in his mouth. “They’ll all die.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“There were nineteen long-range missiles sent against the Ecuador substation,” General Keane reported with a somber expression. “Our Patriot Laser installations repelled those attacks, however, there were twelve deaths and twenty-three injuries due to mortar attacks targeted against both the substation and the barracks adjacent to the airport in Quito. One of those deaths was confirmed to be Bella Holmes, Doctor Holmes’ wife. The substation was not touched, and no further incidents have occurred in the last eight hours; however, I’m sending in more troops and defense batteries.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped, and she sat back against her chair, momentarily stunned. She glanced up at the clock on her office wall and asked, “Where is Doctor Holmes now?”
“He asked to have his wife buried at sea, so I authorized a stop, a deviation on his return route.” General Keane glanced at his watch. “They landed in MacDill Air Force Base about thirty minutes ago. It was the closest coastal installation that I could come up with that had the necessary security in place. I’ll be notified as soon as the burial is complete and they’re back in the air.”
Suddenly, the phone icon on her table blinked as an incoming call was routed to Margaret’s office. She tapped on the icon and said, “Yes?”
“Madam President, it’s Karen Fultondale. We’ve got a trace on our mole.”
Margaret’s back stiffened and she balled her hand into a fist. “Karen, please tell me that the FBI’s got an ID on that scumbag. I want to see them drawn and quartered.”
“We were able to confirm through video records the identity of our mole, and it turns out to be coming out of the CIA. Let me forward you the evidence of the first leak, including the IP address.”
Studying the text scrolling across the screen built into her desk, Margaret felt her lip curling into a snarl.
----------------------------------------------------------
Intercepted transmission dated: 13 JUL 2066
Timestamp: 13:51 GMT
“An unscheduled military flight has been booked with presidential authority to the Mariscal Sucre International Airport.
Doctor David Wendell Holmes is currently boarding with several other unidentified civilians. There’s a heavy security contingent accompanying them.”
----------------------------------------------------------
“That was the message we’d intercepted when Doctor Holmes first departed for the Ecuador substation. Below is what we intercepted yesterday.”
----------------------------------------------------------
Intercepted transmission dated: 20 DEC 2066
Timestamp: 07:26 GMT
“Under heavy security, Doctor David Wendell Holmes is en route to the Mariscal Sucre International Airport.
This may be our last chance to stop him. The time of our savior’s arrival is imminent. I pray Holmes can be stopped.”
----------------------------------------------------------
From the religious tone of the message, Margaret had no doubt this was the smoking gun for the recent attack. “Karen, you mentioned you have video evidence?”
“Yes, it was only after the second incident that we managed to ID the suspect. The terminals being used were in one of the CIA annexes, but the passwords were verified to have been stolen. I’m forwarding the video stream now.”
A 3D image suddenly popped up from Margaret’s desk and she watched as someone wearing a hoodie sat at a terminal and began typing. It took only a moment, but as soon as they finished, they wiped the keyboard with what looked like alcohol swabs and rose from the chair. It was only as the person walked out of the building that an external camera caught the image of the person’s face and Margaret yelled, “You son of a bitch!”
“Madam President, we have Greg Hildebrand in custody under suspicion of espionage, treason, and multiple breaches of national security.”
“How the hell did he still have access to government facilities? I thought we’d let him go after the assault he’d pulled on Doctor Holmes.”
“We’re still looking into it, President Hager. For some reason, his clearances hadn’t been pulled and he’d managed to get himself transferred into the CIA as an analyst.”
Margaret trembled with fury and General Keane, who’d been listening to the exchange, suggested, “We could place him in Leavenworth for safekeeping until things settle down.”
Blowing out a deep breath, Margaret tried to calm herself with only minimal success. “Karen, General Keane will arrange a transfer to the military’s custody. For now, let’s put Hildebrand away. I don’t want that cockroach ever being able to communicate with anyone again.”
“Understood, President Hager. Is there anything else you need from me?”
Margaret drummed
her fingers on the table and pursed her lips as she thought about what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. Suddenly, she froze as an idea bloomed into existence. “Karen, go work with whoever you need to and get me images of the destruction of the hotel. I hate to seem ghoulish, but if there are images of bodies, that would also be helpful. That’s all I have for now, but get me those images as soon as you can.”
“Understood.”
Margaret tapped on the phone icon, disconnecting the call.
General Keane tilted his head and stared at the president. “What in the world are you going to do with those pictures?”
With a cold, calculating stare, Margaret gazed off into space and said, “I’m going to go public with this. We’ve spent too much time trying to handle this quietly. It’s time to enlist the world’s help.”
###
Margaret watched the live video feed of the dimly-lit night sky above the Cheyenne Mountain Evacuation Complex. Even though the video camera didn’t have a view far enough south to see the source of the light, it was obvious that Dave Holmes had pulled off a miracle as the nighttime sky was brighter than it ever had been before.
She glanced at Walter. “Has Doctor Holmes arrived yet? I want to offer my condolences as well as thank him for what he’s done.”
The Secretary of Defense looked up at the clock on the wall and shook his head. “Not yet, he should be landing at the airstrip in fifteen minutes. Should arrive under heavy escort within the hour.”
Margaret glanced at the tabletop, which still had open the contingency escape pod plan, and shuddered. “I was minutes away from ordering Burt to initiate Noah’s Ark when I was alerted about Doctor Holmes’ success. I’ll admit this president gig isn’t what I ever thought it would be like. I’ve never been so sick to my stomach in my life.”
Never Again Page 34