by Ralph Kern
“You said we had a couple of days?” Bradley was standing up as she was being measured by an impeccably dressed and softly spoken man who didn’t seem in the least bit put out he was in a room full of scantily clad women.
“The schedule changed,” Milo responded tersely.
What’s changed? Whatever it was had these guys seriously rattled. Who was she kidding? It was something those two cowboys had done.
“I have nothing at all,” one of the girls said testily. “Nothing! I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t care how much money I’ll lose out on.”
“Things are a bit beyond that now.” The man gave a slight wave to the goons who had entered behind him. They marched into the room and began grabbing the girls by the upper arms. The man gritted his teeth and said in a low voice, “For god’s sake, don’t bruise them. Mr. Wakefield will have our asses if we damage the goods.”
“She has a bloody good point.” Bradley shrugged away from an approaching man who grasped for her. “We have nothing.”
“Don’t you worry about that, darling. We’ve decided to bring it all.” He clapped his hands. “Come on, vamoose, schnell. Pick it up. Let’s go.”
Bradley squeezed her legs into a pair of tight jeans and threw a tank top on as the others grabbed whatever was closest. After a few moments of grumbling and protests, Milo pinched the bridge of his nose in impatient frustration. “Ladies. Let me make this abundantly clear, if you don’t move your pretty asses now, we’ll carry you. You’re out of time.” On cue, several more men piled in after him and began roughly pulling the ten girls in the room out the door.
***
Grayson hit the brakes, causing the car to screech to a halt in a cloud of dust. Along with Dillon, he jumped out and jogged to the embassy security booth.
“Open up.” Grayson flashed his CAC at the security officer, fortunately he was the same one as from their visit the previous day.
The guard frowned through the window, seeing the two dirt-stained men. “I don’t think—”
“Fine.” Grayson reached into his pocket and pulled out another card, this time his CIA badge. “Now open up or trust me, I’ll get your ass posted to the worst shithole I can think of. And I have a good imagination.”
The guard looked hard at the card stuck against the glass of his booth. Grayson gritted his teeth as he pulled out a laminated sheet of paper from a drawer with example IDs on it. He looked between it and Grayson’s badge, obviously trying to satisfy himself it was genuine. At any other time, Grayson would have been impressed with this guy’s ability not to be bullied. Right now, though, he just wanted him to clear them through. “Okay. You can come in.”
“Thank you,” Grayson said through gritted teeth.
Grayson dared not look at Dillon’s expression as the parking lot gate rumbled open. They hopped back in the car and drove it inside.
Running into the embassy, they flashed their ID again at the security guard covering the reception desk. “We need to see Ambassador Monroe. Now!”
“She’s asleep.” The receptionist looked over his glasses at them.
“Now,” Grayson repeated while looking at the man’s nametag. “Lomax. Wake her up now. This is a national security issue.”
Lomax swallowed and reached for the phone and began murmuring into it as Grayson drummed his fingertips on the wooden counter.
“She’s on her way.” Lomax put the phone down.
Grayson gave a curt nod. A few moments later, Monroe descended the stairs, wearing a threadbare dressing gown and, of all things, a pair of fluffy pink slippers.
“Jesus,” Dillon muttered, shaking his head in dismay at the sight.
“Ma’am.” Grayson paced forward. “We need back onto the hardline urgently. We have reason believe that an attack on mainland America may be imminent.”
“I think you need to slow down and start at the beginning, young man.” The ambassador’s eyes were bleary.
“No, ma’am. I need to get access to the hardline now. Full explanations can wait.”
“Well I—”
“Ma’am, I ain’t shitting you. We need on that hardline yesterday,” Grayson cut her off. “This is as serious as it gets.”
Whether it was something in Grayson’s eyes, or simply she remembered that part of her duty was to render assistance to itinerant CIA spooks who wandered in off the streets making demands at all hours, she ceded with a nod. “Follow me.”
***
“Operator.”
Please say Millard is pulling one of his all-nighters tonight. Grayson hoped against hope his pathologically workaholic boss hadn’t decided to have a night off. “Is SAD Actual available?”
That would just be typical.
“Yes, he’s in his office.”
“Good, then I need to speak to him, confidential.” Grayson asked more formally as he leaned over the desk, his hands planted firmly on its surface.
“Verify.”
“Dust,” Grayson gave the word of the day.
“Confirmed.”
Come on, hurry up. Grayson began pacing back and forth in the small room, feeling his fists clench and unclench.
“Karl, Max.” Millard lowered himself into the seat. His top button was undone and his tie loosened. Grayson resumed his leaning over the desk.
“Boss, we’ve reconned Wakefield’s ship, the Osiris.” Grayson cut to the chase. “He’s modified the shit out of it—”
“Karl, less rhetoric and more facts, please.”
Grayson nodded, remembering himself and the fact he was supposed to be a professional. “The Osiris has been outfitted with military-grade weapons, Tomahawks, Harpoons, surface-to-air missiles. Probably a hell of a lot more, too.”
“She must have near the capability of a warship, boss,” Dillon cut in.
“Any sign of those suspected WMDs Bradley mentioned?”
“Nothing on that front. But we didn’t have chance to assess her full capabilities,” Grayson replied. “But if they’ve tipped one of those Tomahawks with something nasty—nuclear, chemical, biological... hell even just a regular warhead... Bottom line, boss, we need to stop her.”
Millard looked down, seeming to gather himself. “I don’t think we can.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’ve got the Navy next door at Mayport—” Dillon growled from next to Grayson.
“Coms are compromised. We have no contact with the Fourth Fleet or the Pentagon.” Millard opened his hands, signaling his helplessness. “Hell, the USS Paul Ignatius is deployed within a stone’s throw of Nassau and we can’t even speak to her.”
Grayson felt himself recoiling. “Are you telling me we have a ship with weapons-grade technology within spitting distance of our coast and we can’t even tell the military about it? How the hell is that possible?”
“I don’t know, Karl!” Millard said in frustration. “They’re sending normal status notifications. They’re still there, and still on their assigned missions, but they’re not getting our messages. Something’s blocking it.”
“Jesus,” Dillon muttered.
Millard glanced at something off screen, then turned and looked at them and began speaking quickly. “I’m sending you through an executive order. This grants you the ability to request local resources with full executive-level authority signed by POTUS. I’ve spoken to his office and he’s getting as worried as we are that he’s lost control.”
The printer set next to the computer began whirring, a length of paper extruding from it.
“Stop the Osiris. Any means, carte blanche,” Millard said those two words while squeezing his eyes closed. “Something’s going on here. Something which is usurping the very command and control networks of our defenses. Karl, Max, you can’t trust the military. They’re being given duff information. The only thing we know is that whatever’s happening revolves around Reynolds, Wakefield, and the Osiris.”
From the computer’s speakers came the sound of someone hammering intentl
y on the door of the secure room. Millard looked at the door again and his voice became faster, as if he knew he was on a time limit which was running out. “I’m starting to suspect this is bigger than we ever thought. We’re not just looking at a rogue operator or two here, but something cutting through to the very heart of the military and intelligence community and they’re here, at Langley.”
The hammering grew more intense and was joined by the sound of muffled shouting.
“Any means, boys. You hear me? SAD Actual, Out.” The screen shut down just as the door behind Millard slammed open.
“Boss?” Grayson called, knowing it was in vain but needing to do it anyway. “Boss?”
He felt lightheaded. Whatever the hell was going on looked like it had caught up with his commanding officer. His mind whirled as he tried to understand what he’d just seen. It looked like someone had been trying very hard to get at Millard, and that meant one of two things. Millard had pissed off whoever was behind whatever was going on enough to take direct action...
Or he was behind it himself and had just been made.
He snapped too. Grayson tore the page off the printer and looked at it. Sure enough, it was an executive order, a legally binding document directing federal agencies. And the direction was, he saw as his eyes scanned down the page, to apprehend those responsible for undermining the national interests of the USA. And down at the bottom was a signature. A signature from his commander-in-chief, the President of the United States.
If even the president thinks he’s lost control... A hollow feeling expanded in Grayson’s stomach.
This was getting too big, too complicated, and too fast moving.
We can bow out, let this roll, and see what things look like when the dust settles. That would be the simplest thing.
But inaction was a decision too, one which could cost lives. And Grayson wasn’t programmed that way. He had to do something.
Okay, what about that ship? It was armed to the teeth. And more worryingly, there was the rumored WMDs which they hadn’t even got a sniff of yet.
No, if they let it roll, things could spiral out of control. The best course of action was to get everyone in custody and figure out this whole mess from there when the players were off the board.
Grayson crashed out the room. Monroe stood, looking out the window. “You, we need to put together an intervention team. We need to impound a ship, a big one with a heavily armed complement.”
“Would that be the one leaving now?” Monroe pointed through the window overlooking the port. Grayson’s eyes were momentarily distracted by a huge cruise ship in the harbor. It was the most advanced one he’d ever seen. But he didn’t have time to sightsee, he followed Monroe’s pointed finger. Crossing before the ship, Osiris threaded her way through the congested waters, heading for open waters. The yacht disappeared from view as she passed behind the Arawak Cay cargo terminus.
“Shit!” Grayson barked. He turned to Monroe. “We need options. And fast. I have an executive order. I don’t care who you have to wake up. We need to go after that ship.”
He thrust the document into the ambassador’s hands. Her eyes tracked over it, widening slightly as she read.
After a moment she nodded, kicked off her slippers, and began jogging back to her office, looking over her shoulder as she went. “I have someone I can call. Come on, what are you waiting for?”
Grayson exchanged a brief look with Dillon before racing after her.
Chapter Twenty-Two – The Present
The ground dropped away under them as Mack pulled up gently on the collective, lifting the aircraft before yawing back around toward the looming mountain.
She felt somber as the grounded aircraft rolled by beneath them, lonely in its isolation. How many other people had found themselves lost in this new world? Unable to find home. No idea of what had happened to them? If the airplane contained four hundred people, then that was nearly as many as had been on Nest Island before Atlantica had found them. Before everything had changed and they’d discovered just where, no just when they were. There could still be thousands more people scattered around, desperate to know just what the hell was going on.
Mack shook her head, dispelling those maudlin thoughts. The fact was the passengers of the airplane weren’t here anymore. Maybe they had managed to find shelter and food somewhere. But, either way, she wasn’t going to solve the mystery right here or now. They had their own enigma to try and unravel.
She looked over at Donovan, his lips silently moving. He caught her watching. “Just saying a prayer for them.”
Mack smiled and nodded. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
Yeah, she gave him shit, a hell a lot of the crew did, but he was a good man at heart and smart. Like Mensa smart. He finished saying what he was saying.
“Mind if I take the controls for a bit?” Donovan asked. “For practice?”
“Absolutely, sir. You have control.”
“I have control,” Donovan confirmed.
Mack concisely filled in the Ignatius on what they had seen, then leaned back in her seat, keeping one eye on the instruments. A hand rested on her lap, ready to take back the controls if Donovan started to struggle but, mostly, she watched the world go by.
The gentle undulations of the land seemed a stark contrast to the mountain protruding out of it. Far in the distance beyond, she could see several other peaks, similarly alone rising over the horizon. She couldn’t recall seeing quite this kind of geography before.
“Hey, Tsang?” Mack called back into the cabin.
“Yes?” his voice crackled back over the intercom.
“Got some more mountains ahead. Does that do anything for your theories?”
She heard him grunting for a moment, before feeling his presence over her shoulder. “That looks strange, but it’s not unprecedented to get isolated peaks. It must be an interesting mechanism, geologically speaking, going on here.”
“Right.” The mountain grew as they closed. It formed a cone clad on all sides by the dense foliage. It stretched the best part of a mile into the air, a small mountain, Mack noted. Yet here protruding on its own, it seemed higher. “I can’t see any vents or sources of that smoke. Sir, I have control.”
Mack swung the helicopter in a wide circle around the peak, feeling the buffet of wind through the controls. “I can see nothing obvious at all. Tsang? Time to get busy, my man.”
“I’m... already looking.”
“I’m just your taxi ride here, doc,” Mack called over her shoulder. “You tell me where you want me and I’ll put you there.”
“A little closer in then please,” Tsang called.
Mack spiraled the Seahawk in closer to the steep gradient of the green-clad mountainside.
“I would have expected more discoloration or even some die-off of the plant life from the escaping gas,” the doctor mused.
“Is it just my imagination,” Laurie said. “Or is this peak almost uniform in structure?”
Now that Laurie mentioned it, Mack could see it. The mountain was a near-perfect cone, only the random growth of foliage marring the lines. As she looked at the green cladding of the peak, it seemed to ripple in a strange undulating way. “What the hell is that?”
“Can we take a closer look?” Tsang asked.
Mack squinted as she looked at the mountainside flowing by alongside. She wasn’t exactly keen to be so close to what could be an active volcano, but thus far they hadn’t seen any indication it was going to blow. “Okay, but I’m gonna pull us back the second I see something I don’t like.”
She ceased the spiraling, bringing them to a hover before tilting the nose forward gently, edging them toward the slope which was writhing with some kind of strange activity. “You seeing this? What’s happening there?”
“I can’t quite make it out.” Donovan nearly leaned over Mack to get a better view. “Can one of you have a look-see with the binoculars?”
Mack frowned as she looked at
the writhing swaying mess a hundred feet below. “Okay, we’re already getting to the point I ain’t liking this, folks. I’m gonna—”
“Get us out of here. Now!” Laurie shouted.
Mack didn’t hesitate. She pressed down on the pedal and started to swing the aircraft around as a dark cloud erupted from the forest and surged up toward them. Before they had yawed even halfway around, a nightmare flock of buzzing... things engulfed the helicopter.
The vehicle began to rock from impacts as black shapes pinged off the fuselage. The rotor went from a dull drone to an intermittent thudding noise and Mack felt a sickening lurch in her stomach as they began to drop. They were losing altitude. Fast.
She glanced at the instruments even as she felt the controls turn to mush. The engine indicators were showing a massive drop in oil pressure.
In a second, she knew it.
She wasn’t going to save the helicopter.
“Brace brace brace!” she shouted as her inner ear told her the helicopter was spinning around. They were surrounded by a dense cloud of flickering, flapping creatures. “Shit. I can’t see a fucking thing out there. Donovan?”
“I’ve got nothing!”
From the back, she heard the sound of the two passengers crying out as they were thrown about the cabin.
The helicopter lurched again and the engine made a horrific grinding noise. Donovan’s side window cracked and smashed. Mack caught a glimpse of a winged creature the size of a buzzard flapping briefly in the cockpit. The helicopter rolled onto its side and she felt herself suspended in her harness.
A moment later, a massive impact drove Mack forward in her seat. A tree branch lanced through the cockpit. Mack felt her face being splattered with liquid. Then another lurch, and another horrendous impact. Another branch speared through the cockpit. Then another—
And then the world went black.
***
“That’s a long way in the future, Lars,” Reynolds said. He was once again chairing the daily management meeting in Atlantica’s conference room. He’d already tried to reign the former captain in and outline that this scheduled gathering was about dealing with immediate issues, not strategic matters. Something Solberg had ignored and bullishly pressed on with his point.