Pure Conspiracy (The After Eden Series): The Genesis of World War III

by Austin Dragon

  The president walks to the comm-room followed by an entourage of staffers, aides, and military leaders.

  Murabba Presidential Palace, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  9:55 a.m., 23 October 2096

  The Emperor Al-Siddiq rules the Supreme Islamic Caliphate and during his reign expanded their Islamic territorial conquests with the Fall of Jewish Israel and into Africa—though the African Collective stopped their expansion in the Islamic-Christian War. He also issued the order for the total destruction of Palestine Israel—the main Muslim antagonists within the Islamic empire. His late father led the Fall of Western Europe—twenty countries seized by the new Caliphate decades ago with millions of people fleeing, those fortunate enough to escape.

  The Emperor walks to his Supreme offices, followed by an entourage of sheiks.

  Oval Office, The White House

  10:00 a.m., 23 October 2096

  President T. Wilson greets each of his fellow heads of state, two vid-screens attached to the Oval Office walls with faces staring back at him—Ri-Wen on the left and the Emperor on the other screen.

  "Thank you, gentlemen, for attending. I must confess that I got the idea for our own little summit from the late President Krutikov. Where he failed, I want us to continue forward for our mutual benefit. No one, even in my own administration, knows of my plan, and you, gentlemen, will be the first to hear the name of the program. I wish for this to be a joint global initiative—the Sphere Program. It will allow us to solve multiple problems that each of our empires face. Catapult our nations and our people into the future. This goes far beyond the urban retrofitting of our tek-cities. Consider this: macro-adaptable, generational architecture. The smart-cities we build today, we build for the next fifty years and the next five hundred years. America is also not the only nation with an Anarchist and Separatist problem. The ability to protect our people from terrorism in any form, natural disasters—earthquakes, flood, hurricanes, natural pandemics, global atmospheric change, and global continental shift. The ability to manage our people in our cities—population control and growing energy needs. The ability to deal with those populations outside our tek-cities—all of them.

  "And then there is the insatiable energy needs of our populations. My people are telling me the same thing yours are—at some point the demands of infrastructure will so far outstrip our ability to meet that even with our energy resources that we risk an energy crash and our Grids shut down. Cities cannot be run by people anymore. But Sphere can. If we can work out the details, specific to our own regions, then we can roll Sphere out globally as a unified coalition."

  "Would America take credit for this initiative?" President Wen asks.

  "The world's three superpowers would," Wilson answers.

  "Why would you do this?" the Emperor asks.

  "You know why. We all know the answer. We all face the same problems. One of our regions destabilizes, it will destabilize the other two. We all know what I mean. In fact, the three of us are probably the only three people on the planet who do."

  "I'm intrigued by the notion that you have added population management to the initiative," Wen says.

  "America has a half-trillion people," Wilson says. "That's not counting the people outside the tek-cities. Population management must be part of it."

  The Emperor says, "My people do not have the trust in machines that you do, but I am also intrigued. Why do you feel this has to be a joint effort among us?"

  "We're already working together jointly on the Earth Asteroid Defense programs. We were looking at expanding that cooperation at Krutikov's Summit. We even secretly worked together on our combined problem with the Internationalists. The Sphere Program makes sense, but it can only work if we all do it jointly. Doing so separately would be too threatening to the other two."

  3:45 p.m.

  President T. Wilson sits with his back to the bay window at his Executive desk, satisfied with the day. Five aides, male and female, sit on the adjacent chairs to form an upside-down "U" formation.

  "What are sources saying?" Wilson asks one of his aides.

  "The Sphere Program is well-received, though they're trying to figure out if you have some private agenda to make them look foolish or if you're trying to take something from them."

  Wilson smiles a bit. "That's expected. I want both teams on the first flight to Beijing and Riyadh tomorrow. Work with their people on all the details."

  "Is there a time deadline, sir?"

  "Say next spring or summer of next year, but tell them that I would like to inform my media sometime during my first one hundred days of my fifth term."

  "You did it, sir." The aide grins. "Two weeks away and you'll officially surpass FDR as the longest-serving president. Well-deserved, sir."

  "Thank you, but first, let the people get their chance to vote next month."

  "Of course, sir."

  "Get the teams moving."

  "Yes, sir."

  The aide stands and exits the office. Wilson turns to senior advisors seated.

  "Thoughts?" Wilson asks.

  "Do we really want to get in bed with these two, sir? They're going to try to steal all our tek. Especially the CHINs."

  Wilson smiles. "We're only using the tek they've already stolen."

  "You asked me for an updated report on the Trog-land territories, and you're right, of course. Our intel is positive more attacks are planned."

  "More attacks are always planned and always coming."

  "I miss the days of the Jew-Christians, sir."

  "This is the Jew-Christians. I'm positive this is all being orchestrated by them."

  "We have no proof of that, sir."

  "I don't need proof to know what I know. Remember, I wrote the original threat memo on the subject before I was even Director of Homeland. What we have is a whole soup of sedition outside our tek-cities, religious and atheistic both. I never said our only threat was the Jew-Christians and Muslims. I was playing long-tail chess. Destroy the threat in the far future, then move to the near future and then end with the current. My strategy worked. The Jew-Christians are gone from the cities, the Muslims are gone—except for Michigan, the Anarchists are gone, all outside our cities. Purity.

  "I have no doubt the Jew-Christians have been stirring up the Anarchists against us. Though the Anarchists were the way they are long before the two came into contact with each other. But we still have informants embedded."

  "I do like the Sphere Program, sir. Leave them all out there, and as we continue with Sphere, keep monitoring, and watch their populations shrink. Cut off their access to the tek-cities."

  "Or they leave. The Star Trek religionists went to Canada, Jedis are confined to Northern California, Vampires migrated to Europa, and all the others went to India or somewhere else off the continent."

  "What about Michigan? The Caliphate spy-state in our own country."

  "We'll never have to worry. If there ever is a war, they would receive the first strike. That's sufficient incentive for them to behave themselves."

  "But we'll have to pull out all our infiltration teams."

  Wilson gives him a look. "Why?"

  "There would be no way to get the data back to us."

  There is a muffled knock at the door and the president's secretary appears. "Sir," he says.

  "Yes."

  "You have a phone call, sir. It's President Wen."

  Wilson says to the aide, "Leave them there. We'll figure out ways for them to get the intel to us." He rises from his seat, walks to his Executive desk, and pushes a button on a red dome device.

  "President Wen, long time, no talk. How may I be of assistance?"

  There is a long pause on the line. "Hello, Chess Master."

  Everyone notices the expression on the president's face change to hate. He signals to his staff to get the Secret Service. Everyone freezes as they listen to the unknown voice—unknown to all, except the president.

  "No words of welcome for your ol' friend? I
f I told them that Mr. Fournier Gangrene wishes to speak with the Chess Master, I don't think they would have accommodated us."

  Secret Service burst into the Oval Office. The lead agent shakes his head.

  They can hear a breath before the voice comes through the speaker phone.

  "We had this conversation before, didn't we? Back in May '76. Funny. That's twenty years ago. After the Event. I told you then to leave us alone. Now I find out that you are at it again. You found the Red Hat Man and killed him. We found the man who killed the Red Hat Man and killed him. You'll find him soon enough. So you wish to play with us again."

  The three Secret Service agents are standing next to the president.

  "The Finger of God always trumps the Hand of the Five Cities," the voice continues. "Do you know how we always find out? How we know what you're doing? You think it's because we have clever tek-lords or spies buried deep within your administration. No, Galerius. It's you. You're our spy. We have tek that's calibrated to your brain waves alone. That's what the Red Hat Man did. Once you step outside, we can download data, memories even, straight from your brain. You're looking for spies when all along we've been literally reading your mind. The historical Galerius died a horrific death and so will you. Because our machine can also reverse the waves to erase your entire mind and trigger necrosis in every cell in your body. Build your Sphere Program, Galerius. Build it as fast as you can."

  The line disconnects.

  Everyone stares at each other dumbfounded.

  "Sir, did that terrorist really call you before?" a Secret Service agent asks.

  "We couldn't trace the call, sir," another agent says.

  "Mr. President, I swear it was Beijing. All the codes were genuine." The presidential secretary's face is pale with worry.

  "It obviously wasn't Beijing, which means they have our comm codes," the lead agent says.

  "Who's Galerius, Mr. President?" another agent asks.

  "I am!" Wilson shouts. "Why can't we trace that call? This is the White House of the United States of America. Trace that call!"

  The Ant-Hill, Unknown Location, America

  3:50 p.m., 23 October 2096

  Moses' eyes open.

  M watches her husband as he unplugs from his VR pod and stands from the chair. They are the only two in the small, private comm room; the walls and ceilings are in constant holographic flux.

  "Why did you do that?" she asks. "The man will spend every waking moment trying to find our brain-reading machine in the District that doesn't exist."

  "He doesn't know that."

  "We all miss Elder Mother Esther. We'll continue missing your mother, every bit as much as your father, Atticus. But I have to ask, because you're not just my husband, you're a Founder, a leader in our Order. Both of us are. Are your decisions sound?"

  "If you're asking if they're free of emotion, the obvious answer is no. I get enraged at the murder of my parents as I do every October and May, as I will every year 'til I die. If you're asking if the decisions are sound, then the answer is yes. The safety of the Protestant Order and the entire Continuum is always foremost in my mind in everything I do. But I know my 'ol' friend' better than any profiler we have. He'll do a lot more than just rip the District apart to see if there was any truth to my lies. It is just the beginning until we get approval."

  "Then I have good news." She smiles at him. "Retaliation has been approved by the Continuum."

  Moses raises his arms up in the air. "And the angels looked up in jubilation and cried out in unison, Amen."

  Chapter Six: The Rise of Brazil Khan

  The Palácio do Planalto, Brasília, Brazil

  11:12 a.m., 24 October 2096

  A young female receptionist stands nervously in the waiting room, constantly glancing at the closed door. Sister Serena admires the artwork on the walls, taking them all in with her one good eye, the other behind her black eye patch. She is dressed casually—no habit or any other nun attire.

  The door opens and Mr. Khan enters with two guards. He gestures with his head at the receptionist, who walks past them out the door.

  "Is it Sister Serena or are you using your terrorist name, Sister Cyclops?" he asks.

  Serena doesn't turn around to acknowledge them, but keeps her gaze locked on one particular painting—a celebrating crowd at Brazil's giant Jesus statue monument (Christ the Redeemer) in Rio de Janeiro.

  "I'm surprised you haven't burned this one," she says to him. "But I'm sure you'll get around to it. In fact, I'm surprised your country hasn't blown the statue up like Muslims do, but I'm sure you'll get around to that too. To answer your question, do you believe in the enslavement of women and men for the use and pleasure of degenerates, Mr. Khan?"

  "That is an offensive thing to ask. I am staunchly anti-slavery. My own mother was an escaped slave—forced into prostitution—and my own biological father is an open question, as they say. But you know that already."

  Sister Serena turns to face him. "As you haven't forgotten your heritage, the answer to your own question is already answered."

  "I never did think I would see you again, Sister Serena. You are either bold, or foolish, to walk into the Presidential Palace alone. You church people are so clever with your plots. You've caused quite an embarrassment for our president. Fortunately for you he is not here, but that is why you're so being so bold. What do I owe this visit to? And is it too part of some larger church plot?"

  "You can send your bodyguards away. If I wanted to kill you, they sure as hell wouldn't be able to stop me."

  The security men are visibly angered by the insult, but Khan dismisses them. The two men walk out the door, glaring at her, closing it behind them. He turns and Sister Serena is already sitting in a corner chair.

  "Please sit, Mr. Khan."

  Khan approaches cautiously and sits in the adjacent chair, a small table between them. She places a small disk on the table. The device nullifies their conversation to anyone or anything outside its immediate range.

  "Privacy devices don't work here. Our listening devices are too good."

  "It's not a privacy device."

  Khan looks at the device again.

  "Do you know about the Sphere Program?"

  Khan leans back. "Is that why you're here? To try to stir some dissension between Brazil and the superpowers? It will not work. Brazil does not want to be a part of any coalition of Chinese, Muslim, and American dogs."

  "Do you know what Sphere really is?"

  "What is it you're trying to do? You're an anti-slaver terrorist. Why are you trying to be some kind of geo-political agent provocateur? You are much better at killing criminals and comforting prostitutes than trying to play high-stakes statecraft. You should stick to your strengths."

  "It's the first step."

  "I will not play your game."

  "Are you involved?"

  His eyes narrow. "Involved in what?"

  "With the impostor in your Presidential Palace."

  "I have no idea what you mean or what game you're playing."

  "That's what happened in Russia. They wanted to do it to Krutikov."

  "Do what?"

  She stands from her chair. "I'm here because you're the only one inside the government who is not part of the inner circle. Being born of a prostitute has limited your political potential."

  "I am immune to such insults."

  "Take your most loyal men to the Presidential Palace, bring a doctor, geneticist, and blood specialist with you, and arrest him. You will have to kill some of his guards, but that can't be helped. Do a full bio-scan and biopsy of the 'Turtle' and see for yourself. But be prepared for the shock. It's no longer science fiction."

  Khan laughs. "I don't believe anything you're saying. Why are you telling me this?"

  "You're my enemy. They're my enemy. I want to see my enemies kill each other. Both of you can't survive. Only one. Let's see if you're as good as you think you are. Let's see if you're ready to be a superpower too.
Or if you wish to remain a pathetic, anti-religious communications deputy to die in obscurity as other empires use your nation as the pawn in their own global game."

  "And what will you do while this all happens?"

  "Mr. Khan, we will not be watching the battle. We find you as uninteresting as a speck of dust floating through the air. You said so yourself—we're church people, so our interests are faith and family. You are neither. We tell you because the chaos will be a benefit to us and a cover to us as we rectify the same problem in Mexico. However, do stay away from us. Leave us alone and you will never see or hear from us again. The Slave Wars are over. Good luck, Mr. Khan. And don't pretend you and your people don't suspect it already or haven't suspected it for years. I've just given you the confirmation."

  Serena rises from the chair and walks to the Christ the Redeemer painting on the wall. "Can I have this picture? I know you're going to burn it or something. I know just the place in my church for it. I have quite a collection of paintings of religious monuments and churches from all over the Spanish Americas."

  "Take it."

  "Thank you, Mr. Khan."

  She removes the painting from the wall and starts towards the door. It opens and the two bodyguards re-enter the room and hold the door open.

  "Bye, Mr. Khan."

  She leaves with the big painting.

  Khan stands from his seat and looks at the disk she left on the table.

  "She left it behind," one of the guards says.

  "Pick it up," he directs.

  The guards look at one another and one slowly picks up the disk. He considers the weight in his hand, shakes it a bit, and then pulls it closer to his face.

  "How did she get this device inside the building?" Khan asks.

  "It's not made of anything dangerous," the guard answers and slides it open. Inside is a circular pouch with something written on it.

  "What does it say?"

  The guard looks up at him surprised.

  "'Original genetic material of Joaquim Jimenas.' That's the president. What does this mean, Mr. Khan? Original genetic material?"