Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two

by Joe Nobody

  “I thought so,” Mitch replied, eyeing the tank with a hint of disgust in his eye.

  “I’ll have to take this back to the lab and have a full analysis performed, but my little mobile chemistry set indicates the presence of cyanide and at least two other banned substances.”

  Randy secured his equipment and then proceeded to scan the area for the nearest cop. He finally spied the man he was looking for and nodded to Mitch. “I’ve got to go tell the authorities to rope this area off. We’ve got to get all these guys out of here before they start getting sick, or we have an accidental spill. There’s probably enough poison in that tank to sterilize the entire Rio Grande River from here to Brownsville.”

  Mitch glanced at the tank again, this time with a hint of fear in his eyes.

  Randy removed a cell phone from his jacket, sighing deeply as he speed dialed. “I’m declaring this location as a level two contamination site,” he declared. “I want a full hazmat investigation team down here pronto. We need soil and water samples at a three, five and ten mile radius.”

  After listening to the response, Randy replied, “I don’t care how pissed they are going to be – I’ve got several thousand gallons of deadly shit right next to me. We’re damn lucky this tank didn’t get punctured during all the gunplay.”

  Hanging up the call, Randy glanced up and prompted, “Come on – let’s go tell the cops they have to leave. This is going to be the highlight of my day.”

  And Beyond

  The newshounds were having a field day. America had been invaded – or had it? Mexico had declared war – or had it? It was terrorists. It wasn’t. The bedlam and confusion made for good ratings, salivation glands working overtime in every major media outlet around the world.

  Rumors, exaggeration, innuendo, and partial facts provided a nearly endless stream of fodder for reporters everywhere. Not since 9-11 had there been anything like the events in south Texas.

  The authorities tried desperately to keep the media away. Using every excuse in their well-practiced book, they cited an active crime scene, ongoing military operations, live ammunition, and unexploded ordnance as reasons why the reporters should keep their distance.

  It didn’t work.

  The savvy editors knew that speculation and deductive reasoning would only hold their viewing audiences for so long. They needed facts, hard evidence, and on-site documentation. Immense pressure was repeatedly heaped upon the men and women trying to cover the story and explain to the American people what had happened.

  The politicians weren’t about to let such a watershed event pass by without their participation. Every pet project, political angle, and fringe value was pushed to the forefront in order to take advantage of the publicity frenzy.

  Oddly enough, the truth of the story mattered little as the few facts that were known were rather deftly twisted in such a way to support either side of any issue this event brought to light.

  Congressmen who wanted immigration reform attempted to leverage the events in south Texas as a harbinger of the future and justification for why their position should be supported.

  Hawkish legislators decried the need for more military spending and extreme border enforcement. Dovish Senators blamed the violence in Texas on a lack of U.S. foreign aid and underfunded social programs at home.

  Labor unions weren’t to be denied their moment in the sun. They and their supportive Washington legions emerged with messages relating the job-killing NAFTA treaty to the disaster du jour.

  On and on went the parade of spin, propaganda, and positioning.

  By late in the day, a new trend began to emerge in public opinion. One by one, the theories used to explain the events in Laredo began to fall victim to the truth. Little tidbits of genuine information eventually eked out of the region, often to the chagrin of those in charge. An interview with an FBI agent off the record, an unauthorized report from a military unit, and an eyewitness account by a citizen of Laredo… all seemed to contradict what the authorities were reporting.

  Video images taken by cell phones began to appear on the internet, social media postings flying in the face of the “truth” being spouted by some member of Congress just a few minutes before.

  Members of the Tri-Materials Board of Directors demanded to know what had happened to their facility, miles away from where the battle supposedly took place. Two networks managed interviews with surviving employees, both of whom described a major battle taking place in front of their plant.

  For a few hours, it looked as if the poor, distraught, victimized corporation would contribute to the growing public outrage. Jobs had been lost. Workers would go without paychecks.

  That sub-plot of the tragedy quickly reversed course when Tri-Materials was presented with a slate of subpoenas from the EPA. Salt was thrown into an already festering wound of the region when it became known that the now-destroyed manufacturer had been poisoning everyone’s air. One radio commentator observed that at least one thread of silver lining had been identified in the dark cloud shrouding the happenings in southern Texas – the exposure of a corporate bully.

  Americans began to sense a cover-up, the movement initiated by the conspiracy theory buffs and their multitude of forums and bloggers. Fringe websites began seeing more visits and readers than the mainstream media outlets. This forced the big boys of the news world to seek deeper truths in order to maintain their share of advertising revenue.

  It was through this fog that a reporter happened to bumble into one Mrs. Penny Boyce. Shy at first, uncomfortable with speaking to anyone about the events of the last few days, her story eventually began to unfold.

  The reporter was talented, projected an air of trustworthiness, and was skilled at her craft. Her report back to New York rocked the newsroom like an earthquake.

  Mrs. Boyce’s facts were undeniable. Her tale of a fugitive, the already well-known Durham Weathers, and the events of the past few days all made sense. The explosion on the Lexington, the obvious firefight at Tri-Materials and most important of all, an explanation for why a small army of armed men would invade America from the Mexican border.

  The deception-onion served by the government spin doctors began to lose layers, peeled away by the sheer number of people involved in the incidents.

  Even when the truth was told, it often served to degrade the public’s perception of the authorities. The Air Force stated unequivocally that no bombs had been dropped, yet several eyewitnesses described an explosion at the bridge. Where had the bridge gone? If no bombs had been utilized, what the hell happened to the Tri-Materials plant? The government was lying!

  By dinnertime of the second day, even average Americans were getting a sense that their elected officials weren’t being forthright. The center-mass of public opinion shifted, accelerating in velocity toward a cover-up.

  Mrs. Boyce’s explanation opened doors, explained oddities, and allowed bright people to connect the dots. One network managed to get overhead views of the Tri-Materials facility. Within fifteen minutes, retired military men were on the air, all projecting credibility with years of experience performing bomb damage assessment. Unanimous in their claim that no known weapon could have caused the visible damage to the factory, one man even went so far as to compare the odd patterns of destruction at the plant with the damage at the Houston Medical Center. Those dots were being connected all over the region.

  Penny’s tale served a secondary purpose. The story of corrupt local officials, at best looking the other way while Tri-Materials filled their campaign coffers, shed an equalizing light on Dusty’s activities. While no one was calling him Robin Hood just yet, the “bad” of his actions was somewhat offset by the “good” that had resulted from the violence.

  While they didn’t receive page one space, more than a few media outlets covered the promised investigations into what many claimed was a plague of graft along the border. A few more minds were swayed to Dusty’s side of the ledger.

  The more the authorities
tried to squelch the girth of the story, the more fuel they threw on the fire.

  Then the political in-fighting began to dominate the airwaves. The inaccuracies put forth by a Republican earlier in the day were used by a Democrat that afternoon. “Proof,” claimed the liberal, “that the gentleman from the other side of the aisle was purposely deceiving the American people.”

  It seemed that anything stated by the government was either a deliberate lie or proof of ignorance. Neither helped the authorities or their images. Back and forth the rhetoric flew, both sides of the political spectrum trying to jockey for an advantage. The average Joe Nobody citizen quickly tired of the whole thing.

  Within hours of the Boyce interview, the populace began to get a more complete picture of Durham Weathers. Fort Davis again experienced an invasion of strangers, reporters arriving in droves to investigate the mysterious figure’s background.

  Old stories were dug up, one of the main contributors being the Houston Post’s article titled, “God’s Gun.” That article, once shunned nationally as speculation and hearsay, was reanalyzed in a new light.

  Every time a government official or law enforcement officer would characterize Dusty as a black hearted criminal, a segment of the population would immediately consider that he might instead be a hero. After all, statement after statement concerning Mr. Weathers had been false – why should anyone believe what was being said about the man?

  Accelerated by social media, round the clock news coverage, and an unprecedented amount of internet traffic, Durham Weathers began to develop the genre of a folk hero. A news station in Wyoming carried an interview with a local militiaman who said his organization would welcome the fugitive with open arms. The well-armed fellow went on to claim that Weathers was a patriot and should be protected against the overreaching government cronies.

  Other elements of the nation arrived at a completely different perspective, one fringe group demanding nothing short of Dusty being shot on sight.

  As the days passed, and more and more information became known, a growing segment of the population began to wonder about the real story concerning the man from West Texas.

  There was a hunger across the land… a strong desire for someone to explain all of the holes, meaningless doubletalk and misstated particulars surrounding the gunsmith, Durham Weathers. It didn’t help that no one knew the whereabouts of the fugitive, that fact leading to an even deeper current of mistrust and speculation.

  Some people subscribed to the theory that the government had indeed captured their man. Others claimed that Dusty had been assassinated by teams of black ops shooters. Law enforcement was inundated with reports of sightings, people claiming they had spotted the Texan everywhere from New York City to Singapore.

  The governor of Texas was quoted as saying, “I don’t know if Mr. Weathers is a bad man or a good guy; I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. If he’s still among the living, I pray he’s left our state. We can’t handle any more of his tourism.”

  Plans for a rail gun were published on Amazon, the author claiming he had helped Dusty design the all-powerful weapon years before. The device did function - firing a steel projectile with the equivalent kinetic energy of a BB gun.

  Defense lawyers from all over the nation made public appearances on whatever media would carry their words. They pleaded for Durham Weathers to come forward so they could represent him.

  Hank and Eva Barns appeared on several news specials, recalling the story of how the federal government arrested Mr. Barns and held him without due process or trial. It only added to the growing shadow of conspiracy surrounding the entire affair.

  Before long, the name Dusty Weathers was being used alongside other men of lore. John Dillinger, Butch Cassidy, and even Robin Hood were common comparisons.

  By the end of the first week, America had pushed aside the fear of a war with Mexico, cartels or another barrage of terrorist attacks. Once the security of the nation was no longer in question, public opinion began to gather in camps.

  A small, but growing contingent believed Durham Weathers was just another example of government overreach and abuse of liberties. Others disagreed.

  Dusty was labeled with practically every term, both flattering and derogatory, in the English dictionary. A zealous minister determined that the Texan was the Antichrist, the seed of Satan come to destroy the earth. One member of Congress labeled him as “the prince of darkness.”

  The NY Times editorial board judged Weathers a radical, far-right lunatic. They justified their harsh verdict by the fact that the gunsmith didn’t trust the U.S. government and should have immediately surrendered his technology for the good of all.

  Dusty’s wishes for his invention became known as well. Offers surfaced, quite often associated with fantastic fanfare. One oil company ran a 30-second commercial during primetime television, the message detailing a plan to meet Dusty’s demands by building a super-secret facility where the rail gun technology could be matured and developed.

  Several foreign countries hopped on the bandwagon, with Dubai, France, Canada, and even North Korea offering Dusty political asylum. Cuba topped them all, buying a full-page ad in the Miami Herald. The three-color fold displaying a man in a cowboy hat, sitting on a pristine beach, holding a large cocktail and being adorned by two beautiful, bikini clad girls. The title read, “Come on down – we’ll treat you right.”

  A deluge of solutions began surfacing, university students offering up proposals to crowd source enough funds to purchase a private island where the rail gun’s secrets could be redirected into creating free, clean energy and to reverse global warming.

  Several large companies made it clear that they had the wherewithal to protect Dusty’s technology, some even posting 800 numbers where he could call and be escorted into their protective custody.

  Mainstream America listened to it all with an intelligent ear. The obvious untruths and deceptions surrounding the tale of the West Texas man were receiving more and more attention every day. The feds had been playing games with the facts, and that was troubling.

  People started asking questions, directly worded inquiries pinging all levels of government. What had Durham Weathers done that prompted such a heavy-handed response? Why wasn’t his powerful new discovery being explored, expanded, and utilized for the good of all? Why isn’t the man being treated with the respect due such an intellectual giant?

  From the White House press corps to town hall meetings with legislators, people began posing such questions to their representatives. Pressure was building, and it was clear that there were some in government who didn’t like it.

  Washington was a city that thrived on power, and it became obvious that Durham Weathers was siphoning some of that drug-like influence from those that ran the country. A series of counterattacks soon began, officials and experts from numerous government agencies warning that the rail gun might not be a safe form of energy while others expressed doubts that the technology could be commercially developed.

  Dusty’s mysterious whereabouts and silence allowed for the general public to hear only one side of the story. At 10 days after Laredo, the Texan’s popularity began to fade.

  Grace knew all of this, monitoring the news cycles with a keen eye while she tried to rally support for her cause.

  No one wanted to help her. She pleaded, begged, threatened, and flirted with the powerful people in her rolodex – all to no avail.

  Dusty was poison. An unknown. A hot potato that no one wanted to handle.

  Frustrated and feeling the momentum draining away, she decided to declare war in her own way. She didn’t have a rail gun to shoot, but she was armed with knowledge. “I’ll let Dusty handle that rail thingie. I’m going to pull out the big guns.”

  Grace smoothed the front of her skirt for the third time. Following a hastily established routine, she checked her makeup, hair and watch in quick succession. She had ten minutes before it was her segment.

  The “green room”
of the cable news network was well furnished. Along one wall was a large section where those waiting to appear on national television had signed their names. Henry Kissinger, two presidents, the king of Saudi Arabia and countless movie stars had left short messages or signed their names.

  A small tray of cheese, crackers, and dip sat on a nearby table, pitchers of iced tea, spring water, and some sort of fruit drink available as well.

  In addition to the flat screen monitor displaying live images of the network’s broadcast, a long table was equipped with a computer and a keyboard. The hostess had informed her it had unhindered access to the internet. Burning nervous energy, Grace decided to check her gardening forum one last time before making her debut on national television.

  It took a few moments for her to log in. She noticed on the initial screen that someone had posted a new message on her thread.

  Moving the mouse with anxious hands, she smiled when the screen refreshed. “I’m seeing similar colors blooming here in Kansas,” someone had posted. “I agree with the previous post about the Canadian cold fronts being the cause.”

  Dusty was alive! He was in Kansas.

  She read the message over and over, hoping there was some other small hint or piece of news hidden inside the simple text.

  “You’re on, Mrs. Kennedy,” a voice interrupted.

  Grace walked to a staging area just off camera, most of her nervousness overridden by Dusty’s message.

  She could hear the host’s voice. “In our next segment, we have an exclusive interview with Ms. Grace Kennedy, the attorney representing Durham Weathers, the most wanted man in the world. Can she give us some insight into the man behind this weapon of mass destruction? Please stay tuned – we’ll be right back after these messages.”

  Grace was shown to a seat, the famous commentator reaching across the small desk and shaking her hand. It seemed like only a few seconds passed before the red light on the television camera began to blink.