Bob Thompson, who was talking into his Bluetooth, raised his hand. “Mr. President, I have Sarah Berkman on the line. We’re putting her through on the comm. Go ahead, Sarah.”
“I got them, Bob. They’re headed out toward the Mexican border in their prop plane, to a place called Bategues.”
Steve Hatten shot in sharply, “How do you know this? That pathway was heavily scrutinized.”
“We deciphered a cell phone transmission. Let me play it for you.”
The Generals and their Chief listened to the conversation between Matt and Felipe, but they were not completely swayed.
“That could have been anything,” said five-star Army General William “Duke” Early.
“Well,” said Sarah, “we matched the English voice to recordings we had of Hurst, and it’s a 100 percent match!”
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Rear Admiral Mark Anders, as he picked up his phone. He dialed a number and said, “Get me the Base Commander for El Centro on the line right away!”
* * *
Pablo had known that every army has generals, every powerful team has leaders, and everyone who has ever tried to take over the world has had devotees. True followers were hard to come by. People always had to have motives to drive them, or they become uncaring.
When he had originally found Vera, Pablo had had an inkling that her captors would be of more use to him alive than dead. Something had told him to follow his instincts on this.
He had seen something in the face of one of her tattooed handlers that had intrigued him. The man had been short, only 5'4" at the most. He had obviously been on a mission to make sure that every single inch of his body was covered in tattoos. He had been bald except for a ponytail that ran mid-back with periodic knots. He had worn a headscarf. His head had also been tattooed. He had worn no expression as he had sat and smoked his hand-held cigarette.
Pablo had been drawn to him, and then it had hit him why. This guy knew death. It was something Pablo was going to have to face very soon as well. He hadn’t known death, other than the tragedy that had befallen him. But he was going to have to kill some people himself soon. Even though these people didn’t deserve to live, he would still need the nerve to kill someone.
Sure, he had already bought a protection force that could do it for him; but just today, they made a mistake and lost him, at least for a while. He had purposely gotten into the wrong limo to test their ability to find him if things went wrong. He had vowed he would never be a victim again, so he sometimes tested his well-paid army. He had seen their vehicles setting up around him. It had looked like they were good for the task once again, albeit late.
Regardless, they’d lost him for two minutes, and a lot could happen in two minutes. He’d had different drills for them, and this was their kidnap drill. He’d had to call their performance a miserable failure at that point. Two minutes was an eternity.
He had already given his errant driver $100 to be quiet and sit still. His focus had gone back to the tattooed man.
He had reminded himself that his mission from God was to be done mostly on instinct. There had been information on what he was to become, but no specific path set in the fugue on how to get there. Some things had just felt wrong, and other things had just felt very right. That’s how he was going to play it.
Thinking many moves ahead, he had seen what he needed in this tattooed man. He had only come to Rio to set up yet another blind, yet another company that was part of a web of worldwide acquisitions that would serve his end purpose.
The limo driver’s mistaken interpretation of his directions ended up bringing him to Vera at the Favela da Grota. She had been lined up outside a bar talking to four other girls, and the moment he saw her, he had known that God was at work again. Yet she had been a captive, a slave to some obviously vicious people—people who lived for one reason only, to perpetrate hatred toward all of humanity; people who turned to deadly violence when even slightly provoked. How can I talk reason to a group that only understands violence?
It turned out that Felipe Benitez had been the leader of the Anthill Gang, and Pablo had had an idea. Rather than make a phone call to have Felipe killed and simply take her, he had decided to try another approach. He had needed zealots, not mercenaries. Mercenaries were only useful to a point, because they had no loyalty. What he had needed done would require more than what money could buy.
He had gotten out of the limo and approached the tattooed man, his team on high alert. After recovering from the initial shock of being approached by such a soft and out-of-place individual as Pablo, Felipe had given him five minutes.
In that three hundred second span, what Felipe had heard was so unheard of and so impossible, that he had just agreed in a state of shock. He had agreed that the man would return tomorrow and take their little gold mine away.
As Felipe had watched the man calmly walk out, his second-in-command had asked, “What just happened, Felipe?”
Felipe had replied, “That soft-looking man who just left said he will go and kill all of the Reds by morning, if I give Vera to him.”
“What, how?”
“He asked me about our worst enemy, people we wished were gone from the face of the earth. So I told him about those assholes. He says there will be plenty to replace her, because the new girls’ captors will be dead by morning.”
João had not replied. He had been a man of few words, and almost nothing in this world had been capable of shocking him. He and Felipe had been on the streets together almost their whole lives, killing, stealing, and taking.
“Why?” João had finally said.
Felipe had replied, “He said that after tonight, we work for him, and we will never be second again.”
“Why didn’t you kill that fucker right there, Felipe? Don’t you see he’s trying to take us over!”
“No, João, that’s where you’re wrong,” Felipe had answered. “He already took us over, we just don’t know it yet. Didn’t you see his eyes? They had no fear and he never raised his voice or his heart rate, he just spoke of what was to be. He said after the Reds are gone, we won’t have long before our ‘great mission’ starts. He said tell the girl nothing and enjoy the next few months, for no one will dare rival us for the Reds’ territory, not after tonight.”
João had looked at him very confused. “What great mission?”
The phone rang, pulling Pablo out of his daydream and back into the present. “Felipe, speak to me.”
“We don’t know what happened. She didn’t call at the appointed time, so we called the numbers. Phone Three answered, it was a gringo, ‘no habla español’”
“No one was there with you who spoke English?”
“No, Enrique is at Site One.”
“So did you get anything?”
“Oh yes, Boss. Sorry, we did, he said ‘Bategues.’”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a small farm town near pick up two, right near me.”
“Jesus, something has happened to her, but why is the gringo is still carrying it out?”
“I don’t know, Boss. I thought you would have that information.”
“No, I don’t Felipe, but what you got was valuable. We can start now, make sure you’re set up in case I’m late!”
They hung up as the helicopter landed and Pablo made his way off of the landing pad. He instructed João to have his canvas-covered contraption stored in Felipe’s office, and he made his way to the “Penthouse” as he affectionately called it. It was really a war room like nothing else in the world, and it sat on top of his mountain. The whole place was dug out and reinforced as sturdily as the strongest bunker.
The only way up was an elevator that only three people had access to. The only other way out was an emergency exit that literally took one out on top of the mountain. Its only Achilles’ heel was the bulletproof 20' x 20' glass wall that let Pablo see out. Eventually, he would stand there and look down on mankind.
He sat at the middl
e chair of the three that were positioned before the screens. The screens stretched out a full 15 feet in a semi-circle. He focused on the main screen, and entered the code to take over the drones at his disposal. The screen he was looking at was showing his video display that read “El Centro.” He also had the ability to listen on their frequency, and he was getting the control tower at present. He called the number on the second cell phone.
Matt’s hunch paid off as the phone he turned on was ringing. “Yes,” he answered.
“Is she alive?” the voice asked in English.
“Yes, but hurt,” Matt replied.
“Can I talk to her?”
“No, she’s in shock.”
“Do you know where you’re at?”
“No, but the pilot might; here he is.”
Doug said, “Hello.” Then he got stoic and listened. He answered that he could see the lights of what must be Holtville or El Centro up to his left. He listened more intently and said “yes” about six more times and hung up.
Then he addressed Matt. “He said to destroy the phone.”
Matt did as instructed. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
“Well you were close in your estimation, we’re just altering it a little. Plus, he told me something I’d forgotten about.”
“What’s that, Doug?”
“There’s a naval air facility really close to here, and we’re in a lot of trouble. He said if I listen, we might live.”
Doug angled the plane downward, heading toward the city lights at a very low altitude.
* * *
“Tango Foxtrot, this is Gold Base, come in Tango.”
“Ah, this is Tango Foxtrot, go Base.”
“Tango, we have a possible locale for the Bogie. Its known heading is southbound at low altitude. Last known heading was northeast of El Centro.”
“Roger, Leader. Foxtrot Tango and Alfa are coming back.”
That eased Commander Spence Prior’s nerves. He was scrambling his birds as fast as he could, following orders to get them all in the air looking for these two. That was what Rear Admiral Anders had ordered him to do, and the tone was urgent. He was up in the tower when the first F18-Hornet was ready for takeoff.
“Foxtrot Oscar, you are cleared for takeoff.”
“Roger, Tower.”
Spence watched the bird lift off, and he wondered just what it was that those two had stolen to be so hotly pursued.
The Hornet just cleared the airfield when suddenly a streak of electricity that looked like an elongated ball flashed, followed by an explosion. Something happened to the plane. Spence saw the ejector seat launch the pilot into the air, and the jet crashed with a huge boom. The surrounding population was sparse, so there were no ground deaths.
“What the hell was that?” Spence boomed. “Did you see that? Was that a Bogie?! Seriously, people, what was that?”
“There was nothing on radar, Commander. It might have been an electrical malfunction. Should we still continue scrambling?”
Spence Prior had been a pilot for thirty years and had never seen anything like that before. “No. Get me Tango and Alfa now.”
Look Down/Shoot Down Radar is the most imperfect kind of radar, and Lt. Russ Halprin knew this, but was thankful every day for the guys that gave them this advantage. The fact those pukes had made it this far was a miracle, but the miracle ends now. He hit the comm to talk to his pilot.
“They’re well inside range, Skip, not optimal, but close enough, and we’re closing in with every second.” Russ knew the radar could filter out ground clutter and focus on only moving targets—the closer the better—which was fine.
Jeff Simpson had his target. “Foxtrot Tango to Base, target acquired at 20 miles out from our location. Target is three clicks northeast of El Centro, heading south at 700 feet, I estimate they will intersect with Mexican Airspace in approximately five minutes.”
“Tango, this is Base. Engage the target. We’ve been grounded temporarily, so use afterburners to go after them with cannons if the missile fails.”
“Roger that, Base.”
Without hesitation, the AIM-7 Sparrow left the rack with angry intent. With a kill rate over 90 percent, the bogie was sure to perish. Following the missile, they punched it into afterburner. This was going to come to a head quickly. The missile would find its mark in less than half a minute. If it failed, that bogie would find his six-barrel, 20-mm cannon less forgiving.
Simpson watched the missile’s trail, and wondered why Base had said “if” his missile failed, as if they expected it? He also wondered, what the hell could have grounded them in the first place?
* * *
Matt saw a massive explosion up ahead, way over to their right, “Did you see that? What was that?!” he exclaimed. “That can’t be a good sign,” he added.
“It surely can’t be,” Doug replied.
Within two minutes, they had pulled straight across from the explosion, with El Centro coming up on the left. Doug observed, “I’m sure that’s going to wake some people up.”
The sky was just cracking a hint of daylight, and they could see civilization signs up ahead, when something suddenly buzzed by them, missing their plane by mere feet. They never even got a glimpse of what it was, or how big, only that it was very fast and very quiet. Matt thought it was grayish in color.
Five seconds later, the sky lit up like a giant flashbulb. Three seconds after that, there was a large explosion on the ground, parallel to them.
Doug said ominously, “Looks like they know we’re here, Matt, I’m parking this fucker on the nearest street down there. We’re done flying.”
“You might want to hold off on that Doug,” Matt replied. “It looks like we have some help.”
No sooner did those words leave his mouth than two more objects zipped by them in the same exact same way. As they anxiously awaited the report the two projectiles were sure to carry, they made their way over El Centro.
* * *
“Tango Foxtrot to Base. The Sparrow failed, repeat, the Sparrow failed. Have targets in range, but it’s too late to engage in U.S. airspace.”
“Base to Tango Foxtrot. Engage and destroy bogie. Disregard airspace violation. Great, now I’m declaring war on Mexico, Spence thought. This shit just got out of hand quickly. He was unable to take his eyes off the radar screen.
“Roger, Base. Will engage in . . .”
* * *
Pablo remembered how the month with James had been spent playing chess and talking about life, love, and how things were going to be for people like the Heldergartens after the hammer came down. They had decided they would bend the rules, warn Sandy and James’s parents, and make sure the Heldergartens were taken care of. They had taken long walks and gazed at the intersecting waterways, theorizing that those waterways were much like society. Pretty soon, all the waterways would be a single river. Pablo still had trouble believing that this great man, with this great mind, was really on board to go through with this.
Although Jeremy had imparted philosophy as expertly as he could, he had known that unless a teacher was on the same level or above his student, then it wouldn’t quite translate. With James and Pablo, it had clicked. Life had been good for a moment. But then James’s pain had started, mild at first, then becoming unbearable. The doctor in Zurich had given him an ambulatory pain management infusion pump, and he had started on morphine.
That’s when the secret lessons had begun, the ones that James had saved for his last days. Pablo had sensed the urgency in his friend when the lessons had gotten tough, and they had covered things at their highest levels. These were the lessons he had needed to become the Harbinger, the ones that would lead him into what he was destined to become.
For weeks they had gone at it, with James reaching deep within himself to try to extract all his files and download them to Pablo. During this process, James had finally realized that Pablo’s retention really was near 100 percent; that he was actually downloading himself into Pabl
o like an event people 50 years from now would know as “singularity.”
Basically, singularity was the act of downloading your brain into a computer. James had taught him the theory and had predicted that one day people would be able to download their brains into a specially made computer. Pablo had remembered James saying, “But we will only be teaching the computer to do what you are doing now, son.”
Pablo had known this was exactly what James needed. James had needed to feel that he’d left something behind. He had often said what an amazing opportunity the cosmos had given him by delivering Pablo. With Pablo’s retention, James had realized that he was ensuring his mind would live on for as long as Pablo’s did.
Pablo remembered James’s notice of how his enthusiasm had spiked when they’d covered the subject of cybernetics. James had given him extra time on that topic. Pablo inwardly smiled as he reflected on how James never would have guessed how far he had come, especially how fast he’d made it to grasping the singularity concept.
As Pablo looked back, singularity had been mainly a lab concept then. It had been he and James theorizing. It had been amazing what two years had done for him with the right funds and resources.
It had been a hot day, and after theorizing, they had played a game of chess to stalemate. Shortly thereafter, it had started to cloud up. Pablo had opened the window so they could smell the ozone, knowing that James loved the smell of it prior to the rain. The clouds had burst, and then he had heard the sound of his friend activating the pain-management button on the pump. It had beeped and given an accelerated motor action.
The button had been for when the pain became intolerable. After the dose, James had lain back and listened to the rain, smiling from the relief the morphine had allowed. He had just lain there enjoying the sounds and smell of a summer rain. He had been content that the download was complete and that his protégé would ensure that his influence on the world would continue.
Pablo had sat and watched him, like he had done every night, except this night his breathing had been more labored than ever. James had seemed to be gulping for air at some points. Pablo’s concern had been so tense that every muscle in his body was taut. He had sat in the loveseat in a trance and watched James breathe.
The Harbinger of Change Page 22