The Trigger Mechanism

by Scott McEwen

  It’s pure karmic justice, she wrote to him one night. We will do this. Whatever the cost.

  Let’s do it together, Grieving_Dad12 said. If you support me through this, I can execute. We can gain access to the school by posing as parents … the girl plays cello, the son plays percussion. I can get my hands on the band camp schedule.

  A sudden thought occurred to Leigh Ann, gripping her with fear. But you can’t die, she typed furiously. You have other children. You need to be with them. I’m going alone.

  @4Ava I can’t let you go alone.

  It has to be this way, she typed back. With you helping me, Ava’s life will finally have meant something. Mine would have meaning. Our pain will be felt by those who caused it. This is my destiny. Let me fulfill it.

  If this is what you want, I’ll support you. You are an angel.

  Leigh Ann powered off her computer and climbed into her unmade bed for the first time in days. She fell sound asleep.

  * * *

  After studying the calendar, a date was chosen. That day, there would only be twelve campers in total, so collateral damage would be minimized. Security would be at its lightest, and chances of success highest.

  Leigh Ann had received the guns in a series of packages and instructions for how to assemble them. She’d gone to the thrift store and purchased an old wheelchair, which would serve as a central part of her cover, hopefully aiding her entrance into a school run by friendly Southern folk. And though he didn’t say it, she knew the wheelchair was also a tribute to Grieving_Dad12’s daughter, the one with the muscular disease who was slain on that somber Florida day.

  Leading up to the date, she took the gun to the range in the early mornings and practiced shooting until after lunch. She was not necessarily athletic, but since she knew she might have to run, kneel, and fire, she began a modest workout routine—running laps around her suburban neighborhood outside D.C. and doing a few push-ups and crunches beside her bed while she watched the nightly news. She almost felt happy—she was going to change the world.

  It was 10 p.m. one night and Leigh Ann paced from living room to kitchen, disassembling and reassembling the M4. CNN was playing in her dingy kitchen, as it did all day and night, the sound of human voices commenting on current events, the only thing to keep the house from utter loneliness.

  Leigh Ann looked out the kitchen window. The wind blew through the green trees. A hint of summer storm in the air. She thought about opening it to freshen the kitchen, but she suddenly felt sluggish. Maybe she was hungry. She set down the M4, grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the fridge, and put it in the toaster oven on broil.

  They had been hyping the evening’s interview all day. The host, Indra McCall, was discussing Encyte and the upsurge in attacks across the United States with a special guest, Secretary of Defense Elaine Becker.

  Leigh Ann almost shut the TV off. She was so sick of hearing about Encyte, but she was curious to hear what the secretary of defense would say.

  “He’s making a point…” the SecDef said. “He picks big issues and uses them as mirrors to hold in the face of society—violent gaming, technology, drug addiction—then he takes it a step further. He builds a trap that we walk into. We spring the trap, inciting a chain of events that results in the horrific act. He makes us the change agent of his will. Or that’s his intent. He’s trying to make us feel like we’re the change agent. The truth is, he’s manipulating everything. We’re just pushing a button, pulling the trigger of his gun.”

  Leigh Ann listened, leaning in closer to the small TV set.

  “You mention change and change agent,” the host said. “Is that his goal? To change the world?”

  “I believe he thinks so. Of course, all terrorists have an ideology.”

  “How do you know that’s his intent?” Indra asked.

  “He tells us so. His messages tell us his thinking, about gaming, for example—the reality that exists within the virtual world. Or his reference to dominion in the Book of Genesis. It’s very pedagogical.”

  “Pedagogical, interesting,” Indra said. “Can you define that … umm … for the audience?”

  “It means teaching, you dummy,” Leigh Ann said to the TV.

  “Intending to teach,” the SecDef said, “his notes feel scholastic in nature. Like a teacher, he wants us to consider the lesson and find the answer. Also like a teacher, he wants us to do the act—to pull the trigger. He sits back and observes us acting. Like a test, a game. But in the end, like all terrorists, he thinks he has a point and will create change.”

  “Can you explain this trigger mechanism a little further for our guests?”

  “Sure. He’s trying to incite violence, but he makes us the trigger. A kid playing a video game unknowingly kills fifty-three people when he thinks they’re not real. Encyte did not run over those people, the player did. A number of people launch drones near airports. And those drones are steered into planes. Encyte didn’t launch a single drone. A drug-addicted son of a Big Pharma CEO lights a fire to get high, not knowing he’s lit the spark that will burn a huge portion of California. Again, Encyte did not light the match. And here’s another example: we strongly believe Encyte is behind the SoHo Sneaker Riot of last year.”

  “How did you make that connection?”

  “In the case of the SoHo Sneaker Riot, teens were led to an event where there was a shortage of shoes and a surplus of angry customers. But the basement was artificially suffused with hormones and pheromones that made the crowd more prone to violence and agitation. He didn’t leave a note, but the riot fits his MO.”

  The host nodded. “I know the Department of Defense and the FBI are trying to solve this. But what can we, as average citizens, do?”

  “We should all be vigilant. Be aware. Encyte often uses the web—the dark web—to engage his triggers, so we should be mindful of strangers online who want us to do something … out of the ordinary.”

  Leigh Ann stood frozen in her kitchen. Blinking at the TV. Could it be? Her mind was struggling to process when an alarm blared through the house. Smoke poured from the forgotten pizza in the toaster. She pulled out the pan, and forgetting a rag, threw it in the sink, running the hissing pizza—and her burning fingers—under the water.

  She opened a window. A cool, wet breeze fanned the smoke until the alarm stopped. She leaned out and drew in the fresh air. With every breath, her mind cleared a little bit. And then she glanced over at the kitchen counter where the M4 lay on its side, a magazine loaded into the breech, trigger gleaming.

  CHAPTER 47

  Three thousand miles away, the same CNN interview played in the small apartment in San Francisco.

  Jalen sat on the couch, ice packs draped across his legs and an aspirin bottle and a glass of water beside him. Wyatt watched from the small kitchen as he dumped two pounds of steaming spaghetti into a strainer. He divided it into salad bowls and dropped a half stick of butter into each, sliding one bowl in front of Jalen. “It’s not Mum’s cooking, but eat up. After your triathlon today, you need the calories.”

  Jalen normally might have wisecracked, but he stared at the TV, rapt as the interview wound down. “Pedagogical,” he repeated. “Meaning teaching. Hi Kyto’s not a teacher. She’s a student … it just doesn’t fit.”

  “Both of her parents are teachers.” Wyatt swirled his spaghetti and shoved a forkful in his mouth. “They’re professors. The gaming angle, the teaching angle, the tech angle. For me, it’s all adding up.”

  Jalen leaned forward to pick up the bowl but stopped. “They keep referring to Encyte as male. He does this, he does that. It’s like they know it’s a guy,” he said hopefully.

  “They don’t know. They just assume. And I’m damn sure the SecDef and ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of the population isn’t thinking there’s a fourteen-year-old girl behind this.”

  “She’s nearly fifteen. Her birthday’s coming up next week. She’s gonna have a boat party and I’m invited.”

  “Du
de, let’s hope you won’t be here in a week. You gotta keep your head, okay?”

  “You said get close. Darsie said get close. I’m doing my job!” Jalen threw his napkin on the counter. “You focus on yours.”

  “Yeah, I am,” Wyatt shot back. “It’s called babysitting you.”

  CHAPTER 48

  The summer sun had not yet risen over D.C. and Secretary of Defense Elaine Becker had just finished an early-morning interview with a European news outlet. She was wanting nothing more than a black coffee and a few moments with her heels off when her trusty assistant, Jennifer Sloan, came rushing up.

  “Madam Secretary,” Jennifer said timidly. “Sorry to bother.”

  “What is it, Jen? I need a minute.”

  “Understood, but I think you should hear this,” Jennifer said. “There is a woman in custody right now. She wants to speak with you.”

  The SecDef sighed.

  “She showed up at the White House early this morning. She’s been vetted and is currently being detained,” Jennifer said. “She didn’t go to the FBI because she wanted to talk with you directly, but”—Jennifer lowered her voice—“it looks like she’s been corresponding with Encyte.”

  “Where is she?” the SecDef said, barreling toward the door. “And somebody get me some freaking coffee!”

  * * *

  Always a good judge of character, Elaine recognized immediately that the woman in front of her had a psychological issue. One could argue that the arm restraints were a dead giveaway, but even so, there was something about the woman’s eyes, the way they bounced like pinballs to different points on Elaine’s face.

  “What’s your name, miss?” Elaine asked in the kindest tone she could muster.

  “Leigh Ann,” the wild-eyed woman responded softly.

  The SecDef could smell her—body odor mingled with coffee and cigarettes. She clearly hadn’t showered in many days.

  Jennifer slid a couple of coffees on the table, and Elaine motioned for the guard standing behind Leigh Ann to remove the restraints. “I’m sorry for the precautions,” Elaine said.

  Leigh Ann’s hands shook as she accepted the steaming cup.

  “I’ve been debriefed on your communications,” the SecDef said. “But why don’t you tell me yourself why you are here.”

  “I saw you on CNN,” Leigh Ann began, “last night. You were talking about Encyte and the potential threat, and I knew you were the one I had to come to … my half sister is dead,” her voice quivered. “Killed in the California school shooting a year ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the SecDef’s voice softened a little. “Tell me more about what you have planned.”

  “I don’t know for sure if it’s him, but someone approached me on the Tor browser. His name is GrievingDad_12—” Leigh Ann stopped. “I know what I’m telling you is awful, but I didn’t do it.” She looked frantically around the interview room. “I’m not going to do it. That’s why I came here today. I’m not going to be arrested, am I?” She pushed back from the table.

  “Please.” Elaine’s mind raced. She shouldn’t have let them take off the restraints. This woman was a wanna-be serial killer for goodness’s sake. She thought about her own daughter and what she would tell her later.

  “Please sit,” the SecDef said as two guards came over. “Laura Ann…”

  “Leigh,” she said, slumping back in her seat, rubbing her wrists.

  “Leigh Ann,” Elaine corrected herself. “You came in here talking about a shooting. That’s something very serious.”

  “I know. And I need your help to stop it. He wanted me to shoot all the kids at a band camp … we were targeting children of the executive of the NFA, Frank Henryson. We’ve been planning this for weeks, very detailed. I have a wheelchair to help get me through school security, so the guns won’t be detected. I can show you screenshots of the messages we exchanged, if you’d like.”

  The SecDef sat in silence, thinking. “You said you planned to attack a band camp?”

  “Yes. There’s an end-of-the-summer performance at Fairfax Middle School. We planned to … attack them at the rehearsal. We wanted the shooting to be at a school.”

  The SecDef turned to her assistant. “I want you to set up a virtual meeting with Ken and the director of Camp Valor … now.”

  CHAPTER 49

  It was 7:30 a.m. on the East Coast. A war room had been set up in the DoD’s NOC—Network Operations Center—where a series of desks manned by network operators were lined up across from a large dynamic screen. The SecDef sat in the long center table beside Mr. Yellow. Glowing on a big screen across from them was Ken Carl, sitting in Valor’s NOC in the Caldera.

  “Madam Secretary,” Ken said. “You’re looking well.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Ken. Where are they?”

  “I’m in the director’s office. They should be—”

  The door behind Ken opened and Eldon filed in followed by Avi Amit, grumpy before his morning coffee.

  “Madam Secretary,” Eldon said into the camera as he took a seat.

  “Eldon…” Elaine smiled her widest smile. “Please. Call me Elaine.”

  Eldon cleared his throat. “Elaine.” He nodded at the camera.

  “Listen, gentlemen, I’ll get down to the point. Something critical has been brought to my attention, and we don’t have much time … I need a favor.”

  “From us”—Eldon’s brow furrowed—“or from Valor?”

  “Both, actually. There’s someone here who I think you’ll be interested to meet.” The SecDef stepped to the side, revealing the stringy-haired woman. She still looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, but her eyes were clearly more alert.

  “It’s all right, Leigh Ann,” Elaine said. “They are friends. Now please, tell them everything.”

  * * *

  Unbeknownst to Leigh Ann, within an hour of her confession, a bomb squad had slipped into her row house, and meticulously waded through the laundry and piles of papers and all manner of trash, searching for ordinance and weaponry. They took their time: lifting prints and looking for booby traps. Since they couldn’t rule out explosives on the property, they went ahead and brought the dogs, one of which was howling at her freezer.

  “Easy, Yeller,” the technician said. The dog’s nose seemingly pointed at the water dispenser.

  The technician got on the radio, summoning his partner with a quick click.

  “What’s up, Kev?” his partner responded from outside.

  “Yeller’s going crazy about this refrigerator. Practically biting the door handle.”

  “What are you thinking? Booby trap?” his partner asked.

  “That or a serious diet plan.” Kev laughed. “Keep you out of the ice cream. But for real, doesn’t make sense. You’d booby-trap the front door, not the freezer. Gotta be something in there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ordinance. I’m trying to remember what compounds would be favorable to cold.”

  “Lots of ’em, if I had to guess.”

  “We don’t have time to debate this. What do you wanna do?”

  Kevin reached out, put his hand on the freezer handle, and the dog leapt forward, jumping up toward the ice maker, practically biting in the air.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” Kevin stuck his head in the freezer and studied above the ice bin. “What’s this?”

  * * *

  An aide strode into the DoD’s NOC in the middle of the video conference and handed the SecDef a note. The SecDef read it and looked up. “We’ve searched her apartment.”

  “And?” Avi said.

  “And it looks like someone has tampered with her water filter,” Elaine said. “Boosting it with testosterone and norepinephrine.”

  “Where is she now?” Avi asked.

  “Under surveillance.” Elaine turned to a tech in the room. “Can we show Leigh Ann?”

  A window appeared on the big screen, and there was Leigh Ann, sitting in a chair. “She’s guz
zling coffee and looking like a confused puppy. Mr. Yellow, I’m right to assume this matches Encyte’s MO?”

  “It is his MO.” Mr. Yellow, still slumped in the corner, straightened up in his seat. “He’s used the same neurotransmitter cocktail in previous attacks.”

  “So why are you talking to us?” Eldon said. “What can Valor do here?”

  “I have been thinking of a way to entrap Encyte.” The SecDef looked dead into the camera. “We need to let Leigh Ann and Grieving_Dad12 proceed with the attack.”

  “I’m sorry?” Ken coughed. “Have the crazy woman shoot twelve band campers?”

  “Obviously, no one will get shot. We’ll make sure Leigh Ann uses blanks and insert child operators from Valor to stage the shooting. We’ll get the real band campers out, and the Valor campers in.” The SecDef walked over to a display, a replica of Fairfax Middle School. “In every attack, there’s been a commonality. Encyte has used video and digital interfaces to document the crime and the perpetrator so he can show the world what he has done. In the case of the school, there is a security camera system, with cameras in all hallways, classrooms, and in the auditorium where the rehearsal will take place.” The SecDef pointed to a room in the administrative wing of the school. “The school recently upgraded its security system to use IP-based cameras. They are monitored on site and remotely. We believe Encyte intends to hack into the camera network to observe and record the shooting. We must let him do this. He must think the attack is occurring, so we can trace him online.”

  “So what does that mean?” Ken Carl sat like a parrot, perched on Avi’s shoulder.