Promethean Shadows

by Patrick Jean-Jacques

  Inside his plush Georgian mansion, Cameron Cox reclined unsteadily on his elegant leather sofa. The ice clinked, as he swirled his half-empty glass of an expensive brand of whiskey. He opened his mouth, and dramatically swallowed the entire contents of his fifth glass and then immediately refilled it, emptying the bottle.

  The memories of his past had been plaguing him for the past two hours. The cost of the Chapelsfield operation had hit home, more than he’d expected. Nathan Walker was his closest friend and ally. Nothing he did could ease the despair he felt at the loss. The collateral damage was more than Cameron Cox had expected and the price was higher than he’d wished.

  Normally, Cameron could easily detach himself from the consequences of his schemes with ease. However, for the first time in a long while, he was considering how he felt and that was difficult. All of his closest friends were gone and for the first time in his life, he felt isolated. Cameron succumbed to his deteriorating motor control and embraced his inebriated state.

  He opened a second expensive bottle and poured a generous amount into his glass. Cameron slumped back into his sofa and stared at the television blankly. He ignored the news and allowed his mind to drift further back to events in his past.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Testing, Testing

  Malvern Hills, eight months ago… The sound coming from the large TV filled the living room. On it, the six o’clock news was broadcasting about blackouts, which had affected Britain and Northern Ireland. Some of the cities identified, included Stranraer, Bangor, parts of Lancashire and the Isle of Man.

  Eyewitnesses had reported seeing strange electrical disturbances just before the blackouts, which happened all at the same time. Scotland Yard hadn’t made any formal comments beyond their plans to carry out a full investigation. The report concluded by stating that the National Grid was working quickly to resolve the problem.

  Cameron Cox was leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets. He watched the screen impassively, as Prime Minister Baldwin-Jones condemned the violent events at the rally by City Hall. Cameron smiled broadly when the PM attributed the outbreak of trouble to ‘the extremist group who called themselves The Prometheans’ and labelled them fanatics.

  A younger man was standing next to Cameron with his arms folded. He’d also been watching the news but with less interest. Although he acted in the service of the organisation, he didn’t accept their ideologies wholesale. He quickly learned many some of the Prometheans’ practices often contradicted their supposed belief systems.

  Standing an inch shy of six-feet, the young man wore a dark-brown leather, biker’s style jacket and plain white t-shirt that emphasised his toned physique. The man’s skin had a tanned, reddish brown complexion that owed to his ethnicity, if you were familiar with Native American physiology.

  Cameron had nurtured him paternally, supported him and even funded his education from college through to university. He’d spent six years at the California Institute of Technology, honing his expertise in engineering but above all-else, he believed he owed Cameron his loyalty.

  “I see that rally thing went ‘tits-up’ Cameron,” he smiled. “Isn’t that what the Brits say?”

  Cameron glared at the younger man, “Something like that,” he replied calmly.

  “So what was the purpose of all that?” the young man asked bluntly. “It makes the organisation look common thugs, like we’re weak.”

  “Well, one good thing to come of it,” said Cameron, cryptically referring to Will. He let the ambiguity hang in the air silently.

  “I’m guessing you’re not going to share?” asked the younger man.

  “No, Billy, I’m not!” replied Cameron. “I’d much prefer it if you regaled me with details about your trip. The device obviously tested successfully,” gloated Cameron, nodding at the television.

  “You know, in the States those idiots would’ve been lucky not to have got shot,” said the young man frankly, in reference to the violence at the rally.

  “Just tell me about Douglas,” demanded Cameron tersely.

  “You used to be a lot more fun, you know!” said Billy-Jo Johnson. He began to recount his journey to Cameron.

  ✽✽✽

  The flight across the Atlantic had been unremarkable for Billy Johnson. Although, he’d travelled under the façade of a private businessperson. Billy also enjoyed the luxurious trappings that flying first-class provided, which suggested it couldn’t have been all bad.

  “Top-up sir?” said the air steward warmly, as she held the bottle of champagne.

  “No thank you ma’am,” he replied his distinctly Oklahoman accent. Billy deliberately caught her eyes and gazed longer than necessary but it had the desired effect. The air steward’s cheeks glowed a rosy-red blush.

  “Rebecca,” she said.

  “Why thank-ya, Becky,” said Billy charmingly.

  After he finishing his drink, Billy crossed his highly polished, tan leather cowboy boots on the footrest, reclined and pulled his Stetson over his closed eyes. Hours later, the landing gear touched the ground aggressively and over eight-hundred thousand pounds of tin rolled along the runway.

  Billy’s overnight stay in Lisbon was supposed to be a low-key stopover. However, as he looked down at the streets from his room, the hubbub and furore of Portuguese nightlife proved tempting. He grabbed his jacket, sauntered down to the bar and ordered a drink.

  “Ei, amigo,” said Billy. “Where can I get me some action?”

  “Akshun, senhor?” asked the barman, quizzically.

  “Si, açao!” confirmed Billy.

  “You want drugs?” the barman asked surreptitiously.

  “I don’t do drugs buddy,” dismissed Billy.

  “You want girls?” asked the barman further.

  “Nope!” replied Billy immediately. “Not tonight!”

  “Boys?” smiled the barman fascinated.

  Billy rolled his eyes at the barman’s audacity “I’m not into that,” he replied. “I don’t think we’re quite on the same page amigo,” said Billy resignedly. “Dude, where can I blow some cash?”

  “Blow cash?” perplexed. “Senhor, you sure you don’t want drugs?”

  “Não!” replied Billy. “I want to spend some money, dinheiros, gambling… Do you compreendo?”

  “Ahh, gastar dinheiro,” said the barman eagerly. “Si, you want the Casino Estoril senhor. It’s the largest casino in Lisbon,” grinned the barman proudly.

  “Obrigado!” said Billy graciously and gave the barman twenty euros. “By the way, you know your English’s perfectly fine, right?”

  “My pleasure!” smiled the barman jovially.

  After a short walk, Billy found himself at the casino. He stopped and admired the huge sign, as it glowered with its yellow and red neon lights. Opposite the casino, there was a fountain in the middle of a beautifully cropped lawn, it was spurting an array of colourful jets of water into the night.

  “Now that’s more like it,” said Billy, as he rubbed his hands with delight. “It’s not Vegas but it’ll do.”

  Billy wasn’t excessive or reckless when it came to money but he wasn’t exactly frugal. He’d become accustomed to travelling alone and knew how to enjoy himself. He knew what he wanted, when he wanted it. Within a couple of hours, Billy was five hundreds euros up and decided to quit while he was ahead.

  The next morning, the sun was already blazing across the Iberian metropolis and rays of sunlight were beaming through the large windows of the hotel room.

  The combined sounds of highly efficient street cleaners and cars rumbling along the roads had filled the air noisily. Billy had already been awake for an hour. He was waiting in the lobby for a taxi to take him to the Humberto Delgado airport.

  ✽✽✽

  By midday, his plane touched down at the John Lennon Airport in Liverpool. As he stepped off the plane, he looked around in admiration at the glass-walled building of the airport. Billy had never been to England before but even
he had head of the Beatles. However, sightseeing wasn’t a priority for this visit and he had an important job to complete.

  At Billy’s request, the taxi driver took the scenic route via Riverside Drive, taking-in the Festival Gardens. Despite Britain having areas that bore similarities to Billy’s own country, he found the industrialised landscape of the Mersey quaint.

  Thirty minutes later, he was at the waterfront and waiting to board a ferry to the Isle of Man. As part of his cover, Billy chose to stay at a modest hotel along the Loch Promenade, which overlooked the bay.

  It was late evening, the docks of Douglas were quiet as the grave and there were very few people around. There was a couple having a romantic walk and two highly intoxicated youngsters who were staggering home in a jovial manner. Billy saw homeless people who were sheltered amongst some cardboard boxes and gave them some money.

  No one paid any attention to Billy, which suited him. He was wearing light jeans and his favourite leather jacket. Heading out of the hotel under the pretext of ‘going for an evening stroll’, he nonchalantly made his way to the farther side of the old docks.

  Every so often, Billy would discreetly check his surroundings. He’d taken steps to ensure he was inconspicuous and at least two or three people had seen him. In case he needed an alibi, he visited a couple of local bars and made small talk with some people who’d found his ‘accent’ and heritage interesting.

  As he walked over the rusty iron bridge that connected the north and south quay roads, Billy noticed how quiet it was. It made him think of the creek in Tahlequah. He absorbed the tranquil sounds of the sea.

  The waves crashed vigorously against the beach and slapped the rotting wood on the side of the old docks. Slimy green mould clung stubbornly to posts and the stench of decayed seaweed and mildew reeked in the salty night air.

  Billy reached his destination, a disused building at the southernmost peninsula of South Quay. Wearing a pair of black leather gloves, he carefully removed a small glass phial from his pocket and poured its corrosive contents into the keyhole of the padlock.

  As expected, smoke dramatically wafted up in the air until the locking mechanism before it fell off. Billy crushed the tiny glass ampoule underneath his boot, and worked it into the earth. He then threw the remainder of the lock into the salty water, where nobody would find it.

  Inside the empty building was a large wooden crate and inside the crate was an elaborate looking EMP device with distinct copper wiring wrapped around it. Billy checked it thoroughly before he attached a small digital timer to it. After he programmed the EMP, he used an old pulley system to hoist it up to the roof. Carefully, he shuffled the crate next to an air conditioning unit, where it looked innocuous.

  Once he’d finished, he waited for a few minutes and composed himself. A cool night breeze blew over his sweaty face, as Billy scanned around before he casually walking back towards his hotel. When Billy emerged from the blanket of darkness, a pair of brilliant white headlights stopped him in his tracks. Instinctively, he reacted by putting both of his hands up as though he was guilty of something.

  “What are you doing around the docks this time of the night, sir?” asked the police officer.

  The bright blue lights swirled around intimidatingly as two police officers emerged from their vehicle. The younger officer was new to his role and eager to please his senior partner. He looked immaculate in his pristine uniform and fresh-faced but was very serious about his job.

  The older police officer was a seasoned veteran with over thirty years of experience. He was a streetwise and savvy, having previously worked in some rough patches across Liverpool, Manchester and London.

  “I’m sorry officer,” said Billy apologetically. “I was taking a late walk and enjoying the fine British evening. I kinda got lost!” he added innocently.

  “I’m a Sergeant not an officer,” said the older officer matter-of-factly. “You can lower your hands down. Clearly, you’re not from around here?” asked the Sergeant.

  “Uh, no Sir, that’s correct,” said Billy happily. “Oklahoma!”

  “Well, you’re trespassing and you shouldn’t be around here,” said the older officer, as he pointed to the ‘Do Not Enter’ sign.

  “I apologise Offi… uh, Sir,” said Billy timidly. “It won’t happen again.”

  The younger officer looked Billy up and down, “Where were you going?” he asked.

  “Back to my hotel,” replied Billy simply.

  “And where are you staying?” asked the younger officer.

  “The Admiral!” said Billy. “On the Loch Promenade,” he added.

  “Well get in,” said the senior officer, smiling courteously. “We’ll ensure you don’t get lost.”

  “Thank you Sarge,” replied Billy, relieved. “You guys are much more polite than the cops back home.” smiled Billy. “Right now, I’d have my face on a bonnet wearing hand bracelets.”

  The next day, it was late afternoon the next day and the sun hadn’t been particularly forthcoming. Despite this, the cloud-filled skies the humidity levels had kept the temperatures up, higher than expected.

  Throughout the day, ferries had been powering vociferously across the sea between mainland UK and its neighbouring islands with regularity. Immense diesel-powered propellers had churned the sea vigorously, leaving trails of frothy white seawater in its wake.

  The Isle of Man was a haven of activity with working professionals, students and tourists. Everybody was preoccupied with his or her own comings and goings. The parks and communal spaces were full of people engaged in dynamic conversations and having late lunches.

  Suddenly, strange streaks of blue electrical light flashed eerily across the skies. At the same time, everyone stopped and looked up. The phenomenon lasted for several minutes and there was a stunned silence. Once the electrical storm had ended, someone spoke. Seconds later, another person spoke, then another until numerous voices were overlapping each other.

  Some people were in hysterics, others were still looking up in fascination expecting another light show. Over the commotion, different people were offering their theories about what they thought happened. Several ideas from an unlikely government experiment to an alien attack had all discussed excitedly.

  Waves of electricity sizzled and crackled in all directions. Everyone had stopped talking and moving. Then sparks of neon blue electrical currents fizzled and flickered off telegraph lines and electrical pylons.

  People began to scamper frenziedly and ran away in all directions. Some hid behind trees, while others crouched next to buildings as the currents ran along overhead power lines and any metal joists that it could find.

  Around the whole island, sparks of electricity popped and snapped randomly from a host of buildings. Electrical feedback had caused minor fires in some areas, such as restaurants but it wasn’t critical. For the people on the Isle of Man, the whole event seemed to go on for ages but in reality, the whole event lasted between fifteen and twenty minutes.

  The effects of the bizarre electrical disturbance wasn’t realised for hours and the full impact wasn’t clear the evening, when darkness fell. People realised their mobile phones, watches and their electronic items had ceased working.

  Frustration gave way to panic when commuters in their cars reported all the electrics had stopped functioning. People in shops came out in a furore, conversing heatedly about fridge freezers, electronic tills and security cameras fizzling out.

  By late evening, the full extent of the crises was apparent when it emerged that there had been a complete power blackout. However, the islands’ administration had acted expediently and marshalled the emergency services. In hours, the Douglas County Council had called on the services of the military, who were able to set up communications to the mainland UK.

  ✽✽✽

  The television in Cameron’s living room was still playing in the background, as Billy’s finished his report.

  “So, phase one proved highly successfu
l!” said Cameron triumphantly, Billy nodded. “What was the impact radius of the pulse?” asked Cameron.

  “You saw it on the news,” replied Billy. “How far is that Blackpool place or Bang-or from the Isle?”

  Cameron fetched a road atlas from the bottom of his coffee table excitedly. As he flicked through the pages, Billy heard him mouthing various distances. In a short time, he’d located the Isle of Man and the nearby cities.

  “A hundred, hundred and ten miles, give or take,” confirmed Cameron. “That’s impressive, that’s really impressive,” he said with a malicious glint in his eye.

  “Yep!” acknowledged Billy. “Give me a microwave generator, a low-inductance capacitor and some circuitry, and I’ll give you an EMP.”

  “When will phase two be ready?” asked Cameron insistently.

  “Two to three months,” replied Billy. “We’re just waiting for some components and we’ll dry-run the plan before we’re ready to go.”

  “Good, Good!” said Cameron eagerly. “Well, get some sleep and we’ll discuss logistics and resources in the morning. You know where everything is?” Cameron watched Billy as he trudged slowly upstairs. He was anticipating the question, which he knew was coming his way.

  The shadow on the stairs had concealed most of Billy’s face, as he turned to Cameron, “When’ll I get to see him?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him since we were kids.”

  “Soon, very soon,” lied Cameron.

  “You promise, right?” asked Billy optimistically.

  “Cross my heart!” replied Cameron coolly.

  “Because you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Billy with an undercurrent of threat.

  Cameron looked at Billy Johnson thoughtfully, as he walked upstairs and disappeared around the corner. For his plan to succeed, it was crucial he kept Billy as far away from Will as possible, lest his plans unravel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY