Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two

by Joe Nobody

  Again, he almost dismissed the remaining contents as simply a cover for Dusty’s message. Unable to settle down, he decided to double-check and make sure he hadn’t missed anything; Mitch reread the letter hoping to find some encrypted meaning.

  “My new ranch hand has informed me that you might be able to help us determine what is killing our birds,” the letter said. “He assures me that you have access to the latest labs and equipment that may unravel this mystery.”

  Mitch’s first thought was that the bird’s corpse might have some embedded object or note, but quickly dismissed the notion. His brother had to know the FBI would be checking every package and letter.

  He then reconsidered. Did Dusty really need his help? Did his sibling really want an analysis of the dead bird?

  He wanted to see his brother. There was a strong need to look his sibling in the eye and make sure he was holding up. There were a thousand things that needed to be said and talked over. “The one way I can do that is to visit that chicken farm,” he whispered. “Maybe that’s what Dusty is trying to help me accomplish without the FBI becoming suspicious.”

  Mitch made up his mind. Reaching for the dial pad, he buzzed his assistant, “Get me Professor Middleton over at Agriculture, please. Tell him, ‘It’s urgent.’”

  Mr. Vega looked away from the laptop, rubbing eyes that were burning with screen-fatigue. He stood and made for the apartment’s kitchen. His action was more from a need to look at something, anything other than the computer’s backlit display, than any need for nourishment.

  Tio’s slightest whim was law. Any member of the organization, regardless of his role, treated the man’s requests as though they were biblical in nature and like the Ten Commandments themselves, carved in stone.

  When the order had been issued to find one Mr. Durham Weathers, Mr. Vega had hesitated for only a moment. Tio wanted to know where the man was, and anyone who didn’t take that command seriously was a fool. Soon to be a dead fool.

  While Vega wasn’t associated with the illegal enterprises of smuggling, narcotics manufacturing or human trafficking, that didn’t mean he was without resources. The network of businesses under his control was significant and far-reaching. The problem was where to begin.

  The first thing he did was order a file be created that contained all known images and information about the wanted man. The volume of data gathered in the effort had surprised Vega.

  The car title loan businesses within his sphere possessed legitimate access to several state databases, including tax and banking information. In addition, the two law firms under his retainer added all of the recent activity available via the justice system search engines.

  All of these sources were further supplemented by collecting what was publicly available on the internet. The Houston Post article, national news agency reports, and of course the numerous blogs and non-mainstream publications all contributed to a significant file.

  Vega had been studying what was available, looking for any angle, unique circumstance or other key detail. Already, the man’s image was being emailed to every regional member of the cartel’s significant hierarchy. He just didn’t believe that would be enough.

  Searching the refrigerator for a snack, he pulled out a plate of freshly cleaned baby carrots and a tub of dip. Hesitating at the additional calories imbedded in the French onion creaminess, he shrugged and whispered, “What the hell. I’ve earned it.”

  Chewing on the fresh orange veggies, he realized his men needed another identifying parameter to narrow the search. It would probably be something small, unnoticed, or unimportant to law enforcement. If any major, glaring clue existed, the FBI would have already apprehended their suspect. No, this would be something appearing to be inconsequential.

  Finding someone on the run wasn’t exactly a new task for the cartel. In reality, the organization had pretty advanced capabilities, honed over the years to track down fugitives who absconded with money, turned informer, or were labeled traitor by joining a competing entity.

  Hundreds of such cases had been pursued with a high rate of success. When huge sums of money were being passed around, criminals would act like… well… criminals. There was no honor amongst drug dealers.

  Men carrying suitcases containing millions of dollars were susceptible to temptations. “I could disappear with this much money. I could live well in a foreign land, and no one would ever find me,” wasn’t an uncommon thought.

  It was the assumption, “No one would ever find me,” that the organization worked so hard to disprove. When the thieves were discovered, their demise was brutal, grotesque and very, very public. It sent a message. It established rules. It enforced loyalty.

  But they had never pursued a man possessing a doomsday weapon. And what a weapon.

  Dipping another carrot, Vega admitted he could understand Tio’s unrelenting desire to control the device. It was obvious that the Americans understood its power and desperately wanted it for themselves… or at least to keep it out of anyone else’s hands.

  He chuckled at the thought of his boss possessing such power. All of the military and economic might of the United States would evaporate in a heartbeat. Their daunting Air Force, unbeatable land armies, and massive carrier battle groups would all become obsolete overnight.

  Any city could be held hostage. Vega smiled, an image of Tio aiming the weapon at the New York Stock Exchange and demanding tribute. A similar mental image of Hoover Dam almost caused him to choke on his mouthful of food.

  After a few sobering coughs, Vega again found himself hesitating to return to his search. Tio was already difficult to work with, the man’s megalomania legendary. What would the world be like if he held ultimate power? Unchecked, unbridled and merciless? The horrific visions of a single, universal monarch, a tyrannical despot whose oppressive rule would immediately change the global political landscape. God help us all, Vega mused, wondering what end-of-the-world drama he had set in motion.

  “It would be like… like… like the four horsemen had been loosed upon the earth,” he whispered.

  Then another image from his Catholic upbringing suddenly shot to the forefront of his consciousness.

  “The Antichrist,” he mumbled, now truly horrified and for once wishing he had paid more attention in Sister Mary Catherine’s class on the New Testament rather than flirting with Angela Borino. Could the nun have been right? Is this how it happens? Is this the manifestation of John’s Revelation that many Christians believe foretells the end of mankind? Will something like this rail gun provide the catalyst that allows Satan to rule the world?”

  Vega’s mind rebelled at playing any role that resulted in the unleashing of such apocalyptic forces upon the earth. He pushed away the carrots and dip, the nerves in his stomach no longer cooperating. Suddenly, the entire weight of the cartel seemed to find his shoulders. He couldn’t let this happen.

  Then a thought entered his mind. Tio was an animal, unsophisticated in his wielding of blunt force and managing by fear. What the world needed was a more refined hand to guide it. Someone who understood people, relationships, and commerce.

  Vega suddenly felt better. He had an out. A plan. He would continue along, outwardly pretending to be the loyal employee, fulfilling his master’s needs to the best of his ability. But if he did find out where this Durham Weathers was hiding, he’d step in at the last minute and secure the rail gun as his own. He could manage the world’s affairs much better than Tio.

  Walking back to continue his work on the laptop, he suddenly had an interesting thought. He would publically execute Tio, just to prove his own worthiness to rule.

  “So you didn’t think it was necessary to notify the authorities that the most wanted man in the world was alive, well and in your company?”

  Grace looked at the lawyer from the Department of Justice and smirked. “I’m going to tell you again, he’s my client. Even the most wanted man on earth has a right to representation. I have protection under the United
States Constitution to meet and consult with my client. But even above and beyond that, I have a moral foundation – he’s innocent.”

  The statement caused a genuine guffaw to roll out of the DOJ man’s throat. “Sure he is, counselor. He’s destroyed half of our nation’s fourth largest city and killed dozens of law enforcement officers. He’s as pure as the driven snow,” he sarcastically taunted.

  “Either arrest me or let me return home and stop this harassment. I’m not going to violate my client’s rights or the privilege associated with them,” she said calmly.

  He ignored her statement, fiddling with his pen for a moment before looking up with a pained expression on his face. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed his identification, flopping the credentials onto the table between them. “This interrogation is temporarily suspended. We are now off the record, just two human beings having a chat. Why are you protecting him? I’m not speaking about legal bullshit or anything of the sort. Just as one citizen to another, I want to know why you are harboring such a dangerous person. He represents one of the most chilling threats to our nation… to our species… that may have ever existed. Why?”

  Grace didn’t answer immediately, her unblinking eyes staring hard. “He’s not the dangerous actor in this play. You and your kind are. I know him. I know his values, morals, and heart. Our government… men like you… brought that violence on themselves. Shooting at Durham with jet fighters? Ambushing him with snipers? Attack helicopters and missiles? Really? If any person is going to hold the rail gun in his hands, I for one am glad it’s a man of integrity like Dusty Weathers. God only knows what men of such high moral character, the men who run our country, would do with such power.”

  The DOJ attorney stiffened in his seat, “Our government has the right to protect itself. Yes, we have the occasional bad apple - any organization does. But we are the people too. Your neighbors, the person sitting next to you in church and the one cheering with you at the school basketball game; we’re the government. There’s no separate class or ruling caste. We are all the same.”

  Grace shook her head, “Oh really? So the IRS being used as a political tool – that’s my neighbors? The NSA spying – those are folks that come and play bridge on Wednesday? How about police using Stingrays… those fake cell phone towers and never getting a proper warrant? That’s the guy in the checkout line at the grocery store? You’re full of shit, sir. Brimming with a fecal-thick belief that having authority makes you beyond reproach. Dusty didn’t turn over the rail gun immediately because he doesn’t trust our government with such power. I don’t blame him. Your track record sucks.”

  His palm slammed the table, clearly indicating frustration and anger and… fear. Grace detected fear. His voice sounded with fright as well. “That’s not fair! Your examples are tainted by your own bias and malignant with ignorance. We are fighting extremely capable and clever opposition. Do you think terrorist organizations don’t utilize technology? Do you think organized crime hasn’t heard of the internet? What about the enemies of the state? China, North Korea, Iran, Russia, and another half-dozen lesser players are all well-funded, technically savvy, and sworn to do us harm. We need every tool we can get to defend ourselves. I sleep better at night knowing my government is on guard, protecting our freedom.”

  Grace remained calm, her mind partially distracted, wondering why the all-mighty, all-powerful DOJ was so frightened. Finally deciding she wasn’t going to solve that mystery, she responded. “I saw how your department cooked up a case against Hank Barns. I was arrested as well. I witnessed firsthand how you took innocent, unrelated events and stitched together a tale of fantasy against my client and me. So these tools you’re so proud of… these supposed assets in the defense of democracy and freedom… they’re being abused already. The more power our government possesses, the more totalitarian it becomes. You’re not protecting anyone’s freedom; you’re restricting it.”

  Sighing, Grace’s voice then became sad. “In law school, I was taught that there are so many laws and regulations, every American is unknowingly violating at least one of them every day. Any citizen can be ensnared in the complex web of federal, state, and local law. We are all criminals who only walk free because of the decisions of men like you. I now live in a country where freedom is granted at the benevolence of a select few who enforce those laws. No one elected you. Not one single person cast a ballot with your name on it. Well, no offense, sir – but that’s not freedom. That’s not liberty. That’s not what America is all about. The chances of having my life ruined by men like you are greater than any terrorist threat. We’ve replaced one danger with something much, much worse.”

  The veins on her opponent’s forehead emerged, his hands shaking with rage. Somehow, he managed to control his voice, keeping it low and threatening. “Durham Weathers is a terrorist. He is a murderer. He has destroyed millions and millions of dollars of property. He has affected tens of thousands of lives in a negative way. I can and will use any tool I have at my disposal to apprehend the man and see him executed for his crimes. If the stroke of my hammer misses the head of the nail on occasion, so be it. I will drive that nail home.”

  “Well, good,” Grace smirked, somehow taking pleasure in the man’s distress. “Now you understand my motivation in representing Durham Weathers. I’m just the tool to protect his freedom.”

  Agent Shultz glanced at the TV remote, eyeing the deli sandwich sitting beside it on the table with mouth-watering anticipation. Returning to the hotel suite, his temporary home, for the first time in days, he had been looking forward to a shower, shave, quick meal, and about 12 hours of sleep.

  He almost decided against the television. Watching Hollywood’s version of law enforcement was comical at best, boring at minimum. The real world just didn’t work the way popular shows depicted and knowing the truth ruined any entertainment value.

  Since he’d been immersed so deeply in the Weathers’ case, he decided to watch some national news, maybe catch up on a few of his favorite teams. The shower and shave having been accomplished, it was now time to devour some food and then hit the hay. Despite almost 20 minutes under the hot water, he was still wound up pretty tight. He desperately needed to occupy his mind with anything but that damned rail gun.

  Unwrapping the foot-long turkey and cheese, Shultz flipped channels between bites, hoping to find something that would distract him from what had been the sole focus of his existence for several days.

  He skipped the celebrity dance show. The next image of a police car engaged in a high-speed chase was quickly bypassed as well. The foreign language soccer game held no interest.

  He paused to chew and swallow while viewing a national cable news station, hoping to see some scores or a sports segment. Instead, the director of the FBI appeared after the commercial, sitting across the desk from the host of a nightly news show.

  “Director, my sources are telling me that recent events in Houston are all related to an extremely powerful invention created by one man. A local paper in Houston even produced a story entitled, “God’s Gun.” In addition, I’m being told that this technology was offered to the United States government in exchange for some sort of guarantee that it wouldn’t be weaponized. Is there any truth to that information?”

  “I’m sorry, Bill, but I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” the boss replied, using law enforcement’s equivalent of, “None of your fucking business.”

  “But sir,” the commentator pressed, “the government’s policies regarding this matter have little to do with the ongoing investigation. I’m being told this technology represents a tremendous advancement in physics and has the potential to generate clean, renewable energy on a massive scale. Why would our elected officials try and suppress such a discovery?”

  “I can neither confirm, nor deny the existence of any such discovery, Bill. We are looking for a man suspected of terrorist activities… a man with known ties to foreign intelligence services. Anything beyond t
hat is mere speculation.”

  The reporter wasn’t going to let it go. “Something caused the massive destruction in Houston, Director. Law enforcement and your own bureau are being very tight lipped about the entire affair. My sources tell me that innocent citizens have been arrested and held in connection with the case. There are even rumors that Mr. Durham Weathers offered to surrender, well before the last two incidents that took so many lives.”

  The head of the FBI remained stoic, “Again, I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation. I’m not aware of the president offering any such pardon, nor would I make a recommendation for him to do so. We are dealing with a dangerous individual who may be supported by hostile foreign powers.”

  The host paused for a moment, the smirk on his face reminding Shultz of a predator who had just cornered his prey. It didn’t take long for the newsman to drop his bomb. Shuffling a stack of papers on his desk, he began reading. “So you’re saying that the Air Force Space Command’s detection of at least seven events, described to me as ‘miniature electromagnetic pulses,’ has nothing to do with this investigation?”

  “Where did he get that information?” Shultz said to the television. “How in the hell…”

  The agent’s boss, despite being ambushed on national television, didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t be qualified to comment either on the U.S. Air Force’s capabilities or on the subject of any such pulses.”

  “Aren’t EMP events linked to the detonation of nuclear weapons, Mr. Director?”

  “I believe so, sir, but I’m not a nuclear physicist.”

  The reporter continued, “I have the list of dates and times where these EMP events occurred, Director. It is interesting that they coincide exactly with some other spectacular news stories. For example, one such incident occurred at exactly the same moment as the high-tension power lines were downed in Houston a few weeks ago - an event authorities blamed on metal fatigue. Another pulse was recorded at the same moment that two Texas National Guard fighter jets went down. The NTSB reported the two planes had collided during maneuvers. A third EMP occurred at exactly the same moment that the police were attacked in downtown Houston – an explosion eventually blamed on a ruptured gas main. I could go on and on, sir. In every case, it appears as though our elected officials are covering something up.”