by Dina Rae
Crowns and Cabals
An Apocalyptic Tale of New World Order
Dina Rae
Copyright March 27, 2019 Conspiracy Ltd.
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication: This novel is dedicated to Mike, my husband and best friend. It’s also dedicated to the conspiracy lovers around the world.
You were in Eden, the garden of God;
Every precious stone was your covering:
The sardius, topaz, and diamond,
Beryl, onyx, and jasper,
Sapphire, turquoise, and emerald with gold.
The workmanship of your timbrels and pipes
Was prepared for you on the day you were created.
Ezekiel 28:13
Chapter 1
Raphael King
January 2043
I went home after working thirteen hours, sometime around seven. My evening plans involved watching the news until I fell asleep. I took the last bottle of Johnny Walker Black from behind the bar and poured myself a four finger drink, neat. After kicking off my shoes with drink in hand, I plunked down on the soft leather sectional in our pricey Manhattan brownstone.
My wife Aysa was one of the network’s top foreign correspondents. She already had a dream job, but she wanted more, something along the lines of an ambassador post would do it for her. For now, her job kept her away from home for weeks at a time, all dependent on the news cycle.
I had gotten quite used to her unpredictable hours as she had gotten used to my insurmountable ones. Our time together was always short, but we made the best of it. Life with her was as exciting and romantic as I could ever ask for.
A few days ago, Aysa and her crew flew off to the outskirts of Tehran to cover the current outbreak of missiles raining down into the city. This time the aggressor was Israel. The two countries were fighting again, nothing new, or so I thought. Aysa had been there several times covering skirmishes and had always remained safe. This time was different. She was pregnant with our firstborn. We argued before she left. For the first time in our marriage, I wanted her to sit this one out. No more overseas assignments would be taken until after the child’s birth. She promised me this would be the last assignment.
When we met, both of us did not want children. But after my fortieth birthday, my paternal instincts kicked in. Maybe it was more of my ego. I wanted an heir to my achievements, a mini-me, and someone to proudly call my own. She was two years my junior. Our window of opportunity would soon shut down. We argued. Then I begged and begged and begged. Over a year passed, and I finally beat her down. Aysa worried too much. She was born with a cleft palate. Although she didn’t remember the surgeries, she didn’t want to pass on her bad genes.
I found the best geneticist in Manhattan. He assured Aysa that modern medicine found many ways to avoid abnormalities and disease. I assured her that she would not have to quit her job. We earned plenty of money. Friends within the industry were already recommending their previous au pairs. We would continue to soar up the ladder, raise our child, and live happily ever without sacrifice. Or so we thought. We were selfish and naïve. Both of us lived in our one percent bubble while the rest of the world was ripe for the taking.
I watched Aysa on the TV wearing a crisp white blouse, olive green trench coat, and khakis. Her glossy black hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail and her eye make-up was slightly smeared. The bags under her eyes alarmed me. Although I knew better, the incoming missiles looked to be only feet away. The scene grew more horrifying as a few missiles quickly changed to dozens of missiles within seconds. I watched the missiles’ trails linger within the midnight blue sky as they showered down on the plains of Tehran. Aysa worked several dangerous situations over the years. I never worried. Tonight something was off.
Ten minutes later, the inevitable happened. The inconceivable. The unimaginable. A brilliant, enormous rocket flashed from the ground and zoomed out of Tehran. It looked different, bigger, and deadlier than the ones sent by Israel. My heart fluttered. Aysa’s face lightened up to a shade of ghost white.
“Iran just fired back a missile. Waiting on confirmation…Wait, I’m getting something from the Associated Press. Standby,” Aysa said into the camera, cupping her earpiece as the coverage continued. The screen faded. Television color bars replaced the blank screen. A few minutes passed and I panicked.
Grabbing my cell, I called the station manager. “Gary, it’s me. What the hell happened…Yeah, I realize that. I am watching it right now. My wife…I understand. Just keep me in the immediate loop. She is four months pregnant! Get her out of there!”
Minutes turned to hours. No call back from Gary, no broadcast, and no more Scotch to calm my pulsating nerves. Color bars lit up every channel, except one of the premium movie channels. An old movie, The Last Jedi, was playing. I remembered watching the flick with my grandfather as a kid.
I stayed with the movie, frequently flipping through all of the major network channels. Still nothing. My cell phone rang and I shook as if someone had just zapped me with a live wire.
“Aysa? Are you okay?”
“It’s Gary, Raphael. Listen, I don’t want to worry you, but the truth is I haven’t heard from her or her crew. We sent out a rescue team, all former military, but they are at least an hour away. She’s not the only one we can’t get a hold of. Something is very wrong. There are whispers that Tehran just blew up Tel Aviv. You saw the damned missile. It was as big as a building. I don’t want to say it, but…”
“Then don’t say it!” I yelled. I couldn’t handle the word nuke right now.
“Okay, Raphael. Israel retaliated. This can escalate into a global war by morning. As you know, New York City is a primary target. I’m not saying that we are in danger, but if you know someone, have family, whatever, you might want to visit them as soon as you can. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“But what about work? The station?”
“We lost our signal. So has the AP, all networks, and their affiliates. Satellites are jammed. Not sure why, but we’re blind right now. No work tomorrow and maybe none for the week. Have you tried to call Aysa?”
“Yes, of course, Gary. But no answer. Oh my God…She’s four months pregnant…” My voice drifted off and tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want to think the worst.
“Stop it, Raphael. She’s one of the smartest correspondents in the business. She’s got contacts all over the Middle East. She and the crew were miles away from the city. If anyone found a way out, it’s them. Communication is just compromised for the time being. We’re lucky that some of the phones are still working, but who knows how long this will last. The Internet is giving us all kinds of problems. Listen, I got my parents in Philly. After I get off the phone with you, that’s where I am heading. You are welcome to meet me there.”
“Thanks, Gary. But I got my wife’s sister. She’s outside of Boston. If I decide to leave, that’s where I’ll head off to.”
I drank a few bottles of water, ate a yogurt, and tried to sleep which didn’t happen. My buzz was finally gone. No word from anyone. Taking Gary’s advice, I packed my bag, withdrew as much cash as the ATM would allow, and got the hell out of the city. Traffic was mysteriously light, but then it was only three o’clock in the morning. I thought of London, where Aysa’s parents had moved back to years ago. As I drove, I dialed their number. No answer.
My car radio picked up the local news. Still no update about the rocket war between Israel and Iran. Most of the radio hosts speculat
ed that the Middle East no longer existed. The lack of information angered me. If the satellites didn’t work, then why not send some high-tech military drones over the area? We needed confirmation one way or another on what was happening.
I called Aysa again. Nothing. I called Jaxie Nottingham, Aysa’s sister. She picked up. Maybe she had an idea of what was happening. She worked as a director at Fogle International, the leading communications, social media, and search engine corporation of the world.
“Jaxie? Surprised that you…”
“Picked up? I know what you mean. Mom and Dad aren’t picking up right now. I’m beyond worried. But I know something that most of the world doesn’t know. Even you, with your big shot news job and all.” There was a despondency in her voice that almost stopped my heart. “The cities Tehran, Tel Aviv, Beirut, Damascus, Khafa, and Islamabad are decimated. Parts of Russia are gone. Nuked.”
Oh God. I didn’t want to hear that word. This can’t be happening. Maybe I heard her wrong. Maybe she had bad information.
“Are you and Aysa leaving town? New York isn’t the greatest place to be in the middle of World War Three. I hope you are heading my way.”
Jaxie’s voice sounded a million miles away. My head felt dizzy. I was barely out of the city and I pulled onto a side street and stopped. “Whoa, back up. Did you say Tehran? That’s got to be a mistake. They were getting hit with little rockets from Israel just a little bit ago... Jaxie, Aysa was…” I paused and she didn’t respond. Seconds dragged on like minutes.
Finally, Jaxie shouted into the phone, “Shut your mouth! Aysa is with you! She’s pregnant. Why would she be jetting off to some hell hole?” Her voice cracked. I heard a sob. “No! She, she, she…You son-of-a-bitch! You let her go to Iran? What kind of asshole are you?”
“Please, Jaxie, listen! Did you say Tehran is wiped off of the map? Be very clear.”
Her sobs grew into mass hysteria. I waited patiently for her to get it together and hoped she was wrong. Finally, she said, “Tehran nuked Tel Aviv first. It caused quite a reaction. They returned fire with an even bigger nuke.”
“Jaxie, my entire TV network is jammed. They don’t know shit about anything-no Internet, many phones are not working, and satellites are down. How do you know this?”
“Why do you think? We were told to jam them up. The great Maximillian Steele himself ordered us via encrypted email. He even followed up with a video. Supposedly, our president and several of our allies politely asked him to do it. Leaders are afraid of a mass panic. The jam up is meant for our safety.”
“Well, when will they be live again?” I caught my breath and wiped away my tears as I sat in the car.
“When the Middle East stops throwing bombs at each other. That’s when we will remove all of the barriers. I am not supposed to talk about this. I am only telling you because of Aysa. If someone was listening in, or if you plan on reporting this on your news station…”
“My news station is currently screwed. And if someone is listening in, then from me to you, buddy, go fuck yourself! She was four months pregnant!” My tears gushed out of my eyes like waterfalls. This was real. No nightmare. I had no wife, no son, nothing.
“Absolutely! You’re right. Fuck anyone who is listening in if anyone is listening in! Raphael, are you driving to my house?”
“I pulled over,” I said in between hyperventilating sobs.
“Normally, that would be a great idea. But you don’t have the time to crack up right now. You’re not safe. Neither am I, but Brookline isn’t exactly a primary target. I will keep on trying to call Mom and Dad, and you get back on the road now. My third floor was just revamped into a guest bedroom suite complete with kitchenette and living room area. It’s like a hotel. Stay as long as you need to. Need directions?”
“No, I remember. Okay, I’m back on the road. Be there soon.” I hung up and headed towards Brookline, a Boston suburb and the eastern United States headquarters of Fogle. It was a good three, if not four hour drive. The time allowed me to process.
Until there was proof, I refused to accept the worst. Aysa and her crew reported on the outskirts of Tehran, and depending on what side of the city the bomb hit, she might still be alive. Gary was right. She had contacts all over the world. She even spoke Farsi. The secrecy of this outbreak alarmed me the most.
By daybreak, I rolled into Brookline and parked on the street in front of Jaxie’s upscale townhome. Before knocking, she opened the door. She wore sweats and an Irish wool sweater. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The bags and puffy lines underneath her brown eyes made her look much older than her thirty-four years.
We hugged a hug each other in grief. She poured me a coffee and insisted that I force down some toast. Once I unpacked, she entered the guest suite with an armload of fresh towels and toiletries. Her disheveled appearance changed into a professional one.
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked.
“I have to go in to work. The house is yours. There still is no TV or Internet. I have a feeling it will be like that for a long time.”
“You are going to work? Aren’t you finished with jamming up more satellites and networks? What about the local radio?” My voice was bitter.
“We aren’t bothering with radio waves, and they are at a dead end right now anyway. Their main sources are jammed. Listen, I don’t like doing this…”
“I know. I’m sorry. At least you get some information out of it.”
“Well, Raph, there’s more. Add seven more cities to that list I told you about. Again, I’m just an engineer.”
“You’re a director of the biggest tech company in the world, maybe the only tech company left. Now’s not the time to play humble.”
“Well, imagine what Steele knows. Religion caused the Middle East conflict. At least that’s what we were told. They are calling it World War III. Southern Turkey just got hit.”
We looked nervously at each other. “That’s part of NATO,” I said. “So Europe will be next? What then? The United States? Are we going to destroy ourselves? This is insane. You got to call this in to the local…”
“Shut up! Don’t you think I haven’t been tempted? One of my engineers made a call to a Boston radio station.”
“And? Did he announce the Middle East is now gone?”
“No, Raphael, he didn’t. Someone shot him in his home before he got through to the show. This isn’t some news story! I’m terrified. The time will come to act, but it isn’t now. Keep your mouth shut or we’re all dead.”
Chapter Two
Raphael
The next few weeks at Jaxie’s home all but destroyed me. She rushed to work every day, sometimes working eighteen hours straight, while I sat alone in fear, wondering if and when I too would cease to exist. My television network was disabled. Many crew members besides Aysa were missing. I was finished fooling myself. Soon she and everyone else would be presumed dead.
The local radio stations were our only life line to the outside world. They spoon fed us bits and pieces of tragedies around the globe, but always after Jaxie told me. Fogle International continued to be the first to know what the hell was going on. This little tidbit only added to my suspicions.
Like we all feared, American cities were pulverized as were European, South American, African, Chinese, Indian, Canadian, and Australian cities. I wondered what country avoided the devastation. Every day I studied the sky, waiting to be burned to ashes.
By week three of nuclear tennis, Russia tossed a warhead smack dab in the center of Manhattan. Poof. My career which was once so important to me was gone. Depression took my mind into oblivion. Madness set in. The only way I knew how to cope was alcohol. If I knew where to buy drugs, I probably would have overdosed.
It was Jaxie who saved me. She came home after a very long day of doing dirty work for Fogle and found me comatosed in her living room. I appeared to be dead, laying in a sea of vomit. I was always a drinker, but my drinking habits escalated to full-blo
wn alcoholism. She somehow revived me. Why? I don’t know, but I secretly resented her.
By the second month of nuclear decimation, one of the major networks magically aired on television and the Internet. Although I had stopped watching television, the local radio channel that I grew dependent on hyped the event throughout the day.
The war was far from over. Throughout the night and early morning, London, Los Angeles, Rio de Janeiro, and Johannesburg were added to the list of cities that were no longer cities. I thought of Aysa’s and Jaxie’s parents. Jaxie and I never did get a hold of them. Did they make it out?
Washington D.C. was next. America lost her capitol. No one knew if she lost her president as well. Tonight the vice president would speak on my once competing network, WBNX, at seven o’clock eastern time. Eastern Time. What a joke. There were only a few cities left that even used that time zone.
Jaxie got home earlier than usual, six o’clock. We had plenty of time before the highly publicized broadcast. I was half in the bag, determined to get all of the way in the bag. She made us each an omelet and took my bottle of brandy that I had stolen earlier from the grocery store and poured it down the drain.
Chapter Three
Jaxie
I rushed home from work which had become more of a jail cell. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. At least that is what Maximillian Steele and his board of directors liked to tell us directors and managers as we did their bidding by jamming satellites, shutting down broadcasts, censoring radio shows, and interfering with all Internet communication.
One of my colleagues, Brian Cross, was shot in the head at the beginning of a secret meeting with a local reporter. The vice president of the Eastern Division was missing. No one knew why, but we all had an idea. She publically questioned Max and the board about pulling the plug on all communications around the world.