“This is where Mike is headquartered,” Eva said, leading the way. “They’re using it for command and control.”
They rushed inside, but the liaison officer immediately intercepted them, saying Agent Cannatella was way too busy to speak to the press.
“But he knows we’re coming,” Allie insisted. “He spoke to my producer here just a few minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. We’ve got a major situation blowing up and everyone’s on the job, sorry.”
“Where exactly are the protests happening?” Eva said.
“They started on the soccer and baseball fields. But now they’re spilling over into Balboa. That’s why it’s a red alert.”
Allie immediately grasped the gravity of the matter. At this very moment, inside the Mingei International Museum in Balboa Park, less than a mile north, the luncheon reception marking the official start of the G-20 Summit was under way. The police dared not allow the protesters to get any closer.
“Let’s go!” Eva said.
Just as they turned to leave, a loud voice echoed from deep within the gymnasium. “Hold up!”
A moment later Mike emerged from the horde and strode toward them, looking grave.
The liaison, abruptly straightening, said, “I told them you were too busy, sir.”
“Not for these guys, I’m not,” Mike said, brushing past the man and shaking Allie’s hand.
“Thanks, Mike, but if you’re—”
“Look, I don’t have lots of time but here’s the scoop.” He smiled at her. “And you can quote me: it’s for the record.”
She felt a rush of warmth for this man. In many ways they were members of opposing camps; but at heart they were undeniably birds of a feather.
She whipped out her narrow, dog-eared reporter’s notebook. “Shoot.”
“We’re having to call in the National Guard and military reservists from the Army and Navy. We estimate the crowd of protesters at a hundred and twenty thousand—at least. And it’s growing by the minute.”
“A hundred and twenty thousand?!” Allie scribbled the figure into her notebook and underlined it.
“Exactly our reaction.”
“So this is what the masked man was up to—just like you said.”
“Well, we’re not sure. It’s also the solar thing. Your report this morning and all the reports afterward have really put a nickel into these people—the environmentalists especially. They’re blaming the corona-mass-whatever on human carelessness, on what we’ve done to the earth.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Allie exclaimed. “We don’t control the sun. It’s ninety-three million miles away, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yeah, well, tell it to the protestors. And most of them are college kids. Makes you wonder what they’re teaching them nowadays, doesn’t it?”
She flashed to her days at Harvard, caught a glimpse of how far she’d come from its ivy-covered walls. “Yeah, well, they’re not learning basic astronomy, that’s for sure.”
“What about the Anonymous guy?” Eva said. “You haven’t caught him yet, I take it.”
“No,” he said curtly.
“You think he’s here today?”
“Most probably. But we have no idea what he looks like.”
“And the antiviral thing,” Allie said. “Any more on that? What does it mean?”
“The lab guys are still playing with it. We have no idea.” Mike looked at his watch. “Look, I have to go back in there before they start yelling for me. I’ll have one of my men escort you out to the protests. They’re not letting the press get too close but I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat.”
“Thanks, Mike, but we’re all set. The president assigned me a Secret Service agent.” She gestured to Agent Aragon who was standing a short distance away.
Mike nodded to him, then looked to her. “Great, so you’re in good hands.”
Responding to an impulse, she stepped forward and gave him a warm hug. “Be careful, Mike, okay?” She quickly disengaged and stepped back.
“You, too.” He wheeled to head back into the crowd and then stopped. Turning, he said, “Hey! Let’s have lunch when this is all over, all right? Trade war stories.”
“Absolutely!” Then she added. “But it’s gotta be my treat.”
He laughed. “Whatever you say. Anyway, you make a whole lot more moolah than me.” And with that he disappeared into the gymnasium’s chaos.
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (2:03 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 61 HOURS 11 MINUTES
In the soundless, starlit darkness of space, 22,233 miles above Earth’s surface, above the Sturm und Drang of human existence, the solar X-ray imager of the GOES-15 satellite caught sight of something noteworthy in the atmosphere of the sun. Exactly as it was programmed to do, the orbiting sentry immediately sent the digitized color image to the U.S. Space Weather Prediction Center.
A short while later its robot eye spotted another noteworthy disruption in the sun’s atmosphere.
And another.
And another.
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (3:03 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME)
SPACE WEATHER PREDICTION CENTER; BOULDER, COLORADO
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 61 HOURS 11 MINUTES
Dallan was at his desk when the computer began to chime. At that same instant, his assistant rushed in to explain the GOES-15 satellite had just detected the eruption of a Class X solar flare.
“Damn!” This had been his worst fear since announcing the CME. “Just what we don’t need!”
A few minutes later the computer chimed again.
“No, NO!” He pounded the desk and then, leaning forward, peered at his computer monitor through narrowed, intensely focused eyes. He wanted to make certain he wasn’t just seeing things.
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (2:13 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
SAN DIEGO CITY COLLEGE; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 61 HOURS 1 MINUTE
When they reached the scene of the protests, Allie and the crew hurried out of the van.
“Ay, caramba!” she said. “This is crazy!”
She’d covered protests before, including some on the Washington DC Mall that were enormous. But the one before her was denser and noisier than anything she’d ever seen. In a single, unified chorus they were shouting:
“OMG! CME! OMG! CME!”
“Pollution no! Justice yes!”
“Technology no! Justice yes!”
“Fat cats no! Justice yes!”
Adding to the racket were police choppers circling overhead. News copters too—including, she noticed, one from her own network.
Flanking the melee on the right and left, trying to keep the protesters in check, were rows of law enforcement officers wearing black riot gear and carrying large Plexiglas shields. She could see they were vastly outnumbered and sooner or later would be forced to retreat to accommodate the mushrooming crowd.
While Eva helped get the KU truck ready for the live shot, Allie remained standing on the sidelines, taking in the bedlam, hoping to spot someone who could be Anonymous. But it was no use. There were too many protesters wearing masked costumes, most of them homemade and garish. A giant papier-mâché bird covered in fake blood. A large-headed, sinister-looking businessman chomping on an outsized cigar. A walking globe of the Earth with a surface that looked scorched. And to make matters worse—sprinkled throughout were hundreds of protesters wearing Guy Fawkes masks.
Eva rushed up and gave her a wireless, handheld microphone flagged with the Fast News logo. “Here you go, girlfriend. The bird’ll be up in less than a minute. Stu says be careful.”
Minutes later, with the protesters framed behind her, she went on the air. “I’m here at the San Diego City College soccer field, where record crowds are gathering to protest everything from big business to green energy. Official estimates place their number at more than one hundred and twenty thousand and growing fast. You can’
t see it from here, but we’re told the crowd is spilling over into the adjacent baseball field and is attempting to advance to the southern border of Balboa Park. That’s less than a mile from where the G-20 reception is being held. According to the FBI, the city is calling in the National Guard and reservists from the Army and Navy. Already on the scene are hundreds of police, some from as far away as—”
Loud, piercing, chirping sounds rent the bright, clear air. Instantly, the protesters stopped marching and chanting, dropped their placards, and covered their ears.
She quickly covered her left ear with her free hand and buried the mic in her bosom. She knew what this was: an LRAD, or long range acoustic device. Its high-pitched squeals were capable of inflicting a bad headache or worse—permanent hearing loss.
As she recalled, riot police first used LRADs against protesters at the 2009 G-20 Summit in Pittsburgh. Based on how that confrontation played out, she knew the police would follow up, if necessary, with tear gas and rubber bullets.
Accompanying the LRAD’s deafening squeal, a painfully amplified, stern voice filled the air. “BY ORDER OF THE CITY OF SAN DIEGO CHIEF OF POLICE I HEREBY DECLARE THIS TO BE AN UNLAWFUL ASSEMBLY. YOU ARE ORDERED IMMEDIATELY TO DISPERSE. IF YOU DO NOT, YOU MAY BE ARRESTED AND/OR SUBJECT TO OTHER POLICE ACTION.”
Eva yelled at Allie through the IFB, “Keep talking! Keep talk—no, wait! The network’s breaking away. Toss to the space center.”
The space center??
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (3:28 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME)
SPACE WEATHER PREDICTION CENTER; BOULDER, COLORADO
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 60 HOURS 21 MINUTES
Dallan, facing the TV camera in the SWPC’s main room, waited nervously for his cue.
“Go!” said his assistant, standing just off-camera.
“Good afternoon. Five minutes ago, at 3:23 p.m. Mountain Daylight Time, one of our satellites detected a series of eruptions in the atmosphere of the sun. We’ve identified them as x-ray storms. Because they travel at the speed of light, they will begin slamming into our atmosphere in fewer than three minutes. The strength of the impacts is hard to predict because each flare is different, but the eruptions did saturate—overwhelm—our detector.
“The main effects will be felt on the dayside of the planet, the side facing the sun. This includes disruptions to radio communications, cell phones, and the GPS satellite system. If you live there, we also recommend you stay indoors as much as possible and not travel by air—as precautions against any x-rays that might make it through the atmosphere.
“You might be wondering if this has anything to do with the CME heading our way. The simple answer is, yes. These x-ray storms are like the flashes of lightning that sometimes precede a major thunderstorm. The brunt of the storm, the giant swarm of radioactive particles that makes up the CME proper, is currently seventy-eight million miles away and still traveling at more than a million miles an hour. According to our best forecasting models, it’s on track to hit us in less than sixty-one hours.
“If anything changes we’ll immediately send out an alert. In the meantime we urge you to stay tuned to your local news media for instructions affecting your city or town. For the latest satellite information and images, please go to our website.”
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (2:33 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
SAN DIEGO CITY COLLEGE; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 60 HOURS 17 MINUTES
Allie wasn’t able to catch what Dallan was saying because of the LRADs’ relentless, ear-shattering chirps and broadcasts. The armored vehicles were now slowly rolling through the vast crowd, scattering screaming protesters in all directions.
“ . . .OTHER POLICE ACTION MAY INCLUDE ACTUAL PHYSICAL REMOVAL AND/OR THE USE OF NONLETHAL MUNITIONS, WHICH COULD CAUSE INJURY TO THOSE WHO DISOBEY . . .”
She gaped at the madness while awaiting her cue to resume reporting.
This is what the Apocalypse will be like.
Please, Jesus . . .
Eva screamed into her ear: “Allie! We gotta—”
“Ms. Armendariz!” Agent Aragon was at her side, looking anxious. “I need to get you out of here right away—orders.”
She wasn’t used to being bossed around by anyone—other than Eva. “What are you talking about? I’m about to go back on the air.”
“Please, ma’am, I’ll explain later.”
“Sorry, no!”
Freedom of the press, baby!
At that moment there was a palpable change in the crowd’s behavior. Many of the police began banging their riot sticks against their shields. Then she saw a sudden break in their ranks, both on the right and the left. Quick as a flash, scores of them began laying siege on the protesters. There was gunfire. Then, unbelievably, officers began battling among themselves!
She couldn’t make any sense of it.
She heard Aragon apologizing and felt herself being physically hoisted off her feet.
“Wait!” she cried.
“You’ll thank me later,” he said, whisking her away from the explosive scene.
SATURDAY, APRIL 29 (8:36 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
NAVAL BASE POINT LOMA; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 54 HOURS 14 MINUTES
Under a star-studded night sky, Jared stepped merrily and stealthily back to the storage shed. He’d had a chill day with Haley, the girl at the Woof Walk, and even managed to stuff his empty belly with food. The two agreed to meet after church tomorrow, at which time he planned to further a scheme he’d hatched last evening.
As he pranced along in the balmy darkness, constantly looking this way and that for any threats, he hooted to himself. People thought military bases were impenetrable.
Ha!
No place was impermeable.
He chortled at the recollection of the homeless woman who snuck onto MacDill Air Force Base in Florida on four separate occasions, each time living there for weeks before being discovered. It made the news some years back because MacDill—supposedly protected by huge security—was headquarters for Central Command, the place where the United States directed military ops all over the friggin world.
Once inside his hideaway, he booted up his smartphone and saw it immediately—the message from his G-20 confederate:
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
Turning off the phone, he curled up and snuggled into his bunched up jacket. A few minutes later he drifted into a sound sleep.
CHAPTER 32
CROSSROADS
SUNDAY, APRIL 30 (7:30 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)
NAVAL BASE POINT LOMA; SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
ESTIMATED TIME TO IMPACT: 43 HOURS 18 MINUTES
She pulled up to the security kiosk at Naval Base Point Loma. Her eyes burned and her body felt like lead; she’d been up all night.
The MP stepped out of the hut. “Yes, ma’am, good morning.”
“Morning. Allie Armendariz, Fast News—here to see Dr. Sinclair.” She handed him her press credential.
He took it and said, “Yes, Ms. Armendariz, I know who you are. Is he expecting you?”
“It’s complicated. We’re working together on an urgent matter for the President of the United States, but I haven’t been able to get through to him. So I think it’s probably best if you contact Alvaro Martinez, the chief press officer. He’ll vouch for me.”
“Yes, ma’am, give me a minute, please.” He retreated into the guard shack.
Yesterday, her afternoon and evening had been monopolized by reporting on the x-ray storms. So far, thankfully, they were not making it all the way down to the surface. The lower and middle layers of the ionosphere—the so-called D and E layers more than fifty miles up that normally filtered out solar x-rays—were doing their jobs well, absorbing most of the brutal onslaught. Nevertheless, the resulting disruption to the ionosphere, as well as some leaked x-rays at lower altitudes, were messing with electronic communications.
She’d also been kept bus
y by the horrifying turn of events at the G-20 protest rally. According to Mike, some of the out-of-town police officers imported by the Secret Service turned out to be imposters. Without provocation they opened fire on the protesters, killing fifteen and wounding dozens. That was when he ordered Aragon to remove her post-haste from the frontlines.
“But why?” she asked Mike. “Why would those fake policemen do that?”
“Good question. As best we can tell, to create anarchy. They knew with all the confusion it would be next to impossible for us to finger any one person for the crime. And they used unregistered guns. Absolutely no accountability.”
“But I mean, why would they want to create anarchy? Who’s behind it? Not the masked guy, right?—that wouldn’t make any sense.”
“No idea,” Mike said. “But we’re gonna find out, if it’s the last thing we do.”
The guard re-emerged from the hut. “Okay, Ms. Armendariz . . .” The wooden arm swung upward. “ . . . you’re cleared to go in. Do you need directions?”
She shook her head. “I know my way, thanks.”
Calder lived in Ballast Point Village, one of the nicer residences on the base, reserved for military families and defense contractors. Pulling up to his condo and seeing no driveway, she parked her vintage Jag on the street.
Her cell phone jangled. She glanced at the screen. Eva again.
“Bueno?”
“A—ie, it’s—e.”
Whether it was a consequence of the x-ray storms still hammering the upper atmosphere like Nazi buzz bombers or the worsening magnetic holes, she couldn’t be sure. But the fact was conversing by cell phone had become impractical.
It’s why she was showing up at Calder’s place unannounced. After brief phone conversations with him last night between news reports, she’d been unable to connect with him at all. Not by cell phone, not even on his house or lab phones—which was odd because most land lines were still operating fairly normally.
In fact, this morning she spoke with Carlos on a land line to make sure everyone was still okay. They were, but Lolo was still missing.
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