Dark Grid (Book 3): Dark Coup

by David C. Waldron

  “The people you had handling your contingency plan,” Sanford said, “weren’t the ones who knew how to do the work. There was no question that the handlers were your people from the very beginning. It turns out that the technicians, though, took you for all you were worth. In only one instance was there a super-strain of Ebola, and that was only in Atlanta, and it’s been destroyed. The rest of the promised killer viruses were never engineered, or were destroyed as soon as the tests were run to show they had been completed and a placebo put in their place.”

  “But I mentioned that no one over eighteen would be allowed to leave,” Sanford said. “It’s interesting that you didn’t ask about that. Doesn’t that interest you in the slightest?”

  “Yes,” the voice said, “it does. I have two grandchildren, and I would like to know what your intentions are.”

  “That’s interesting,” Sanford said. “I was under the impression that you didn’t have any children, which would be a prerequisite for grandchildren. Since I don’t really care though, I won’t ask.”

  Sanford went on, “We cannot, in good conscience, condemn children for the mistakes, for the sins, of their parents. But we also won’t require that you give up your children, or that any minors that don’t want to leave be forced to go. This is, however, a one-time offer, so to speak. Once the…barricades go up, nobody goes in or out and no communication. No exceptions, period. The world outside of your prison is not going to be the world you wanted so you will not be welcome in it. Make the most of what you’ve got squirrelled away in there; it’s all you will ever have. I’ll leave the connection open…”

  Sanford heard gunfire outside the tent he was using for the radio and swore under his breath.

  They had established the initial perimeter at five miles, just like he’d told the voice on the other end. What he hadn’t told him was that they’d also established lookouts and snipers at one-mile increments from the fence surrounding the Airport proper. Someone hadn’t believed him that anyone caught above ground over the age of eighteen would be considered an enemy combatant. From the sounds of it, they had been armed, too. He didn’t feel bad about the result at all.

  “Talk to me,” he said into the squad radio he’d brought with him to Colorado. They were coordinating with three local paramilitary groups and two guard units, along with a platoon from Fort Carson.

  “A small group,” one of the patrols reported in, “four men armed with automatic weapons, I repeat fully automatic weapons, not single fire semi-automatic, emerged from the ground at about the four-and-a-half mile mark. This underground base is huge.”

  “Casualties,” Sanford asked.

  “It looks like three of the tangos are down,” the patrol leader replied. “One of them is still alive and waving something that I think we’re supposed to take as a white flag.”

  “Ours,” Sanford prompted.

  “One pair of soiled shorts,” was the reply.

  “Deal with it and don’t lose anybody,” Sanford said.

  “Dumb,” Sanford said into the radio connecting him into the compound. “Then again, you now have four less mouths to feed, so maybe not so dumb. As I was saying, though, I will leave the connection open while you let everyone know that children are allowed to leave. Anyone who doesn’t look under eighteen will need proof of their age. You may speak now.”

  “You have destroyed the world,” the voice said. “You may believe that what you are doing is right and just and good, but you are dooming the world as surely as it was doomed before.”

  “I’m doing it by choice,” Sanford said, “because that’s what really matters. It’s not up to you to decide what’s best for the rest of the human race.”

  “And yet there you sit, proposing to do the same thing,” the voice asked, a bit of the self-assurance and haughtiness Sanford was used to hearing from the recordings creeping back into it.

  “No,” Sanford said, “not at all. You would take virtually every choice away from everyone. On the other hand, by keeping you where you are, everyone else has the ultimate freedom, to decide for themselves. I’m not deciding anything for anyone…but you.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “But you know that don’t you,” Sanford asked. “Because it isn’t about freedom or personal expression or any of the other platitudes that you and your ilk spout; it isn’t even about money or wealth. It’s about power and control, and everything else is just a means to that end. Without that, your life is meaningless.”

  “Go talk to your people and tell them about the children,” Sanford said. “It’s 11:30. Make the decision by 8:00 tomorrow morning. After that it’s over and the gates close.”

  …

  “How many,” Sanford asked.

  “I would like to propose…” the voice began.

  “You really are a pompous windbag,” Sanford interrupted. “You are going to tell me how many children under the age of 18 are going to come out or we’re done, end of story.”

  “There is someone…” the voice started again.

  “Smarter than you who I can talk to,” Sanford asked. “Preferably someone to whom I won’t have to repeat myself three or four times to make my point. For the last time…”

  “The President,” the voice said.

  Silence from both sides.

  “I thought that would get your attention,” the voice said.

  “Not for the reasons you think,” Sanford said. “Put him on, I’ll give him thirty seconds.”

  “Seriously,” the voice asked.

  “Keep screwing around and you’re going to cut into his time,” Sanford said.

  “Major Sanford,” a new voice came on the line, one that Sanford recognized immediately.

  “Speaking,” Sanford said. He could almost hear the eyebrows rise on the other end.

  “A little respect, Son,” the President said. “I’m your Commander-In-Chief.”

  “No,” Sanford said, “you were my Commander-In-Chief until you abdicated that responsibility by being bought and paid for by men like the man I was just talking to, and then running and hiding while they put the wheels in motion to destroy this country.”

  “Son,” the President began, “you don’t understand…”

  “I’m done,” Sanford said. “Put your handler back on. You have nothing useful to say and I’ve said everything I wanted to say to you. Good bye, Mr. Clement.”

  “Now wait a mi…” the President began but Sanford pulled the headphones away from his ears and set them on the microphone, which created a horrible feedback loop.

  “I said put your handler back on,” Sanford said after he put the headphones back on.

  “I am already here,” the voice said. “What did you say? He couldn’t get the headphones off fast enough.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sanford said. “How…many…children.”

  “Ninety-six,” the voice said. “There are some who do not want to leave and some that the parents will not let go.”

  “Understood,” Sanford said. “Bring them to the same exit that the squad of four used when they tried to ambush us. We’ll be ready to receive them in two hours.”

  “Very well,” the voice said.

  …

  Tensions were high around the opened exit door in the ground. Once the men had known where to look, it hadn’t been that hard to find, but without a more detailed idea of where to focus their search, it would have been a needle in a seventy-five square mile haystack.

  Everyone assumed that there would be other escape attempts at the same time as the children were being released– if the children were even let go at this point. Sanford was being hard, but he didn’t want any of his men getting hurt or killed for no reason.

  Overnight, they’d been reinforced by an additional three platoons from Fort Carson, and they had almost a dozen helicopters in the air in case someone tried to make a break for it by air or in some kind of vehicle. Sanford was serious about the five-mile limit though, and anyone abov
e ground over the age of eighteen. It would give him nightmares, but he would “okay” pulling the trigger.

  At a few minutes after 10:00 they heard a noise in the tunnel. A minute later they saw the first face, and it wasn’t that of a child. A well-coiffed woman in her mid-thirties, who had obviously been trying to maintain the standard of living and lifestyle she’d enjoyed above ground, stood at the bottom of the ladder, looking up.

  The effect of the makeup, clothes, and hair that had obviously recently been styled was only slightly spoiled by the fact that she hadn’t seen the sun or the inside of a gym in over a year. Under the makeup she was startlingly pale, and while not overweight by any means, all sense of muscle-tone was long gone.

  “Ma’am,” the Sergeant responsible for taking charge of the children once they came up said, “step back and stay away from the ladder. The orders were clear. Only children, and only under the age of eighteen.”

  “But he’s my baby,” the woman wailed.

  “Then keep him with you,” the Sergeant said, “but only one of you is coming out and it’s not you. Now stand back, now!”

  The woman slowly moved back, but she took her son, who looked to be about nine, with her. It wasn’t clear if he wanted to go with her or not.

  After that, there were some heartbreaking goodbyes in the tunnel and some children came up the ladder. In a couple of instances, older children were carrying infants in slings in order to get them up. Some of the children were sullen or shivering from shock once they reached the top, others hugged the first person they encountered like they had just been rescued, which might be how they viewed what was happening.

  About two thirds of the way through the group, a tall, heavily-built ‘young man’ started up the ladder.

  “Stop!” The Sergeant said.

  “What,” the boy asked.

  “How old are you,” the Sergeant asked.

  “I’ll be eighteen in two weeks,” he said.

  “I’m going to need some proof of age,” the Sergeant said. “That was the requirement.”

  “Can I give you my driver’s license from before the power went out when I get to the top,” the boy asked.

  The Sergeant paused for a second, since he was over halfway up the ladder. “Ok,” he said, and then yelled down to the tunnel, “but nobody else starts up until he’s taken care of.”

  It turned out he was, in fact, still seventeen–barely–he was just big.

  About ten kids later, the same thing happened, and the Sergeant let him get to the top to produce his pre-power-outage license when he asked the same question.

  The boy got to the top and reached behind him to get his license. It never occurred to anyone to wonder why these boys might still be carrying their licenses in the first place, much less in their back pockets, or how much their looks might have changed in the last year.

  The boy, who had said he was within a month of his eighteenth birthday, missed his back pocket, drew a 9mm from an in-waistband holster, and aimed it at the Sergeant’s head. At the same time, the first boy did the same thing as he reached out and picked up one of the younger kids, who looked to be a six or seven-year-old girl, and held the gun to her head.

  “Now,” the one with the gun to the Sergeant’s head said. “This is what’s going to happen. A couple dozen of our guards are going to come up in a minute and take control of this exit and then we’re all going to go away. As long as you don’t get in the way, you won’t grow a third eye.”

  …

  “Problem,” Sergeant Simmons said to his sniper. He was acting as spotter and watching the location where the children were coming out.

  Sergeant Allen turned just in time to see the second boy pick up the girl he would use as a hostage. “Which one first,” Allen said to himself.

  “Take the one with the hostage,” Simmons said, reading Allen’s mind. “The other one will flinch when his buddy’s head explodes and that’ll be before the sound even gets there. Top’ll understand.”

  …

  Half the kids were crying, but none as loudly as the one with the gun to her head, and nothing would shut her up. Threatening her hadn’t worked, and even if he’d wanted to hit her she was over with that other guy who, somehow, he still didn’t know after a year.

  Then, all of the sudden, everybody was quiet. “What the,” the boy, who was actually one of the security guards for the complex, thought as he glanced over to where the boy holding the girl hostage was standing…should have been standing. He was toppling backwards, and he was missing the majority of his head.

  That split second of inattention was all the First Sergeant needed to take his gun away and pistol whip him with it. Eventually, he would wake up in the infirmary, back in the complex, after receiving the worst beating of his life.

  …

  “Tango down,” Simmons said as Allen brought the rifle back under control from the recoil, in case another shot was necessary.

  “Nice shot,” he said, “and Top is pissed. That guy’s gonna need a nose job.”

  …

  The guards from the underground complex arrived less than a minute later to find the top of the tunnel opening ringed with the muzzles of U.S. Army issue M-16s and two outstretched hands, each holding a hand grenade.

  “New plan,” the First Sergeant yelled from behind the rifle barrels, “all ID comes up before the person on the ladder, and if I feel the need, I’m dropping the maximum age to sixteen. Any more shenanigans like we just had and I seal this entrance; I don’t care how many people are still down there. Oh, and I thought it went without saying, but no weapons. Clear?”

  “Roger,” one of the guards in the tunnel yelled, and there was a mad dash away from the opening. A grenade or two in the tunnel would have been a bloodbath.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Returning to Fort Rucker without the Colonel, and after locking down the airport in Denver, had been an… interesting experience. One of the biggest concerns that Sanford had going into this was how his and others’ bases would react to the Colonel being stripped of authority.

  The first, and potentially largest, problem was going to be West. Lieutenant Colonel West, technically Sanford’s new commanding officer, was more than a little curious about where Sanford and the Colonel had gone and why the Colonel hadn’t come back.

  “Sir,” Sanford said, “if you’ll give me an hour or so to put a few things together, I’ll explain everything.”

  “One hour,” West said, “no more. And if it doesn’t make sense then, you get to keep explaining until it does.”

  “Understood,” Sanford replied. “I don’t think any additional explanation will be necessary.”

  “Now if Tuttle can just finish getting everything set up in time,” Sanford thought, “I may just be able to sleep with both eyes closed tonight.”

  Hodges and Tuttle had been editing together the more important parts of the recorded conversations between Olsen and his handlers while Sanford was gone. He’d been adamant that they only be edited for length and not meaning, however. He refused to start down the road the Colonel had been on by creating fake conversations to further his agenda.

  The most important conversation, though, would be the one he’d had just a few days ago in which the Colonel explained everything–or at least as much as he could–to Sanford, in his own words. That had been pretty damning, and he hoped it would be enough.

  His radio squawked. “Sanford,” he said.

  “Ready when you are,” Hodges said.

  Sanford looked around and decided to head to one of the briefing rooms so he could lock the door.

  “How will I know it’s live,” Sanford asked.

  “You’ll hear a little bit of white noise, or static, from the base P.A. system,” Hodges said.

  “Let’s do it then,” Sanford said. “Showtime.”

  Once he heard the P.A. system turn on, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. It didn’t work. “Now or never,” he thought, and
pressed the send key on his handheld. The sound coming from the P.A. system changed, and he knew he was broadcasting live.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Sanford began. “This is Major Sanford speaking. I need your undivided attention for the next few minutes.”

  “What you are about to hear is a collection of recorded conversations,” Sanford began. “These conversations took place between this base and individuals at a location that was, until very recently, hidden and unknown to us. They were intercepted, decrypted, and an investigation was initiated based on their contents. I will leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions as to whether or not appropriate actions have been taken.”

  Tuttle began playing back the set of recorded conversations between Olsen and his handlers, which would take about fifteen minutes. Hodges and Tuttle had whittled things down from when he had played them for Major Jensen at Promised Land as well, adding a few of the newer transmissions.

  Sanford set his radio on the table and leaned back in one of the briefing room chairs. “Please let this go well,” he muttered to himself.

  A couple of minutes into the playback someone tried the door knob and then began hammering on the locked door.

  “Well,” Sanford said as he got up, “that took less time than I’d hoped.”

  Sanford took out his sidearm, and ejected the magazine and the round he had been leaving in the chamber for the last several months. With all three sitting on the table and pointed in a safe direction, he unlocked the door, opened it, and took a couple of steps back. West was at the door with a half-a-dozen MPs.

  “Wow,” he thought, “six guards for little old me?”

  “What in the HELL,” West started, but was interrupted when the playback changed to a different conversation.

  “I thought you could rely on your people’s sense of duty and honor. I thought you said that they would obey and get the mission done.”

  “There’s obedience,” Olsen said, “and there’s blind obedience. We cultivate at least some sense of critical thinking in our men. They aren’t going to jump off a cliff just because I say so.”

  West stopped and his eyebrows knitted together. He remembered making the same argument to the Colonel not that long ago.