Natural Born : Book Three: Annihilation Series: A Political Technothriller Series

by John Hindmarsh

  There was a whispered conference between the SecDef and the man he didn’t know, with side input from the FBI.

  Admiral Denbigh said, “The attorney general will chair the meeting. Harry, the floor is yours.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. Note that we’re recording this meeting. Importantly, everyone should be aware that I’m instructing the FBI to take control of the investigation after this meeting is concluded. All answers and statements given will be verified by FBI agents, and penalties are severe for false or misleading responses. I’ll ask the Secretary of the Air Force to begin. Madam Secretary, we’d like to hear your preliminary reports.”

  Ah, thought Coleman, he’s Harry Spears. This is more high-powered than I expected.

  “Yes, Harry. I reluctantly admit that I’m in an embarrassing situation where, after only three months in office, I am faced with this major disaster. In simple terms, two of my pilots, totally unauthorized, flew their fighter jets from their base in Nevada, with each aircraft armed with a live Sunburst missile. They had the intention to attack a privately owned property. They fired their missiles. We’ve obtained videos from Colonel Coleman and from aircraft cameras. The weapons exploded prematurely without damaging the property. At the same time, the two jets suffered damage and the pilots bailed out. The jets crashed and are a total loss. The owners of the property provided assistance and survival supplies to the pilots and aided in the subsequent SAR. One man broke his arm. The other did not incur any injury. Both men suffered mild hypothermia from exposure to a light fall of snow. The pilots and their on-base accomplices have been arrested, with charges ranging from terrorism to theft. We were fortunate there was neither damage to property or persons other than to our own. The property owners did incur expenses in defending their property and in aiding with the SAR.”

  Most of the expressions around the table were of either horror or outright shock.

  The NSA asked, “Madam Secretary, who is the owner of the property that was attacked. Who were these—terrorists—trying to kill?”

  “Sir, the owner of the property is the Euler Organization. Their target, I believe, was Toby McIntosh and possibly Darwin, the Euler SI.”

  The NSA did not appear surprised. He continued, “I suppose the two Air Force pilots are senior and experienced?”

  SECAF nodded her head.

  He continued, “Senior and experienced pilots.” He nodded his head as though a point had been made and continued, “Presumably they were suborned by someone—at least I assume it wasn’t a random act invented by these two officers—to steal two fighter jets, load each one with a missile, and conduct a deadly attack against Americans on American soil?”

  “Sir, I believe you’ve succinctly summed up the situation.” The speaker was the attorney general.

  “That doesn’t bloody help much,” responded the NSA. “Our Air Force tried to assassinate one of the wealthiest men in the country. Our military. Who was the instigator of this catastrophic criminal venture?”

  The director of the FBI raised her head from the thinkpad she was using to keep notes. She said, “We have a suspect. He’s the leader of—”

  “Madam Director, I don’t think we’re ready to release those details,” the attorney general said.

  The director continued as though she had not heard her boss, “—the brownshirts, George Flocke. We have evidence that he’s been responsible for a number of crimes against Euler and McIntosh.” She totally ignored the visual death ray from the attorney general. “We’re in the process of applying for warrants to arrest Mr. Flocke.”

  “Elizabeth—I told you—”

  “Sir, either let me run my agency or accept my resignation now. I know he’s a friend of yours and of the president’s. That doesn’t alter the evidence.”

  Coleman wanted to hide under the table. There was a major conflict building right in front of him, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near when it exploded into flames.

  The NSA said, “The president has informed me that he has every confidence in the director of the FBI and I don’t expect that to change.”

  Gasoline, Coleman thought, in large buckets.

  Admiral Denbigh said, “I can confirm that statement. So, we have a devastating act of terrorism—yes, it is terrorism; if it was carried out by foreign nationals you would all agree; the fact that US citizens are responsible does not change the nature of the act. There is new legislation to cover this, I believe?” The admiral looked at the attorney general who nodded his head. “Yes, I thought so. Before we dig deeper holes, I’d like to hear from Colonel Coleman, who has been an eyewitness to these events. If no one objects—Colonel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In your own words, tell us what happened. Firstly, how did you discover this attack?”

  Damn, there’s my cover blown. “Yes, sir. I have a detailed written report.” He handed the folder to the admiral. “I’m in charge of a small military operation tasked with monitoring the Euler Organization. Euler has provided me with prototype military bots over the last three to four years and the effectiveness of these units has been incredibly positive. As a result, the military has acquired hundreds of thousands of front line bots, and possibly millions of other bots. I’ve been responsible for evaluating the prototypes, making recommendations, and for remote monitoring.”

  “What do you mean by remote monitoring?” the NSA asked.

  “Ah—it’s a polite phrase for spying. We have a small unit that maintains satellite watches, for example, of Pepper Mountain, we check their satellite launches, and try to eavesdrop on their corporate communications—the latter with very little success, I’ll admit.”

  “These activities were authorized by—” The question was from the Director of the FBI.

  “Madam Director, I don’t know if I’m allowed to answer that question.”

  Admiral Denbigh said, “Madam Director, I’ll provide those details once we finish with the colonel.”

  “Thank you.”

  Coleman did not like the thought of being finished with. The SecDef nodded at him to continue.

  “Two days ago, at approximately eight hundred hours Pacific Time, we observed two fighter jets from N33, a weapons testing base in Nevada, heading in the direction of Pepper Mountain. This was unusual. My team focused satellite cameras on the aircraft and noted they were loaded each with a Sunburst missile. We have image records of these details. My people backtracked and could find neither a flight plan nor authority for issuing live missiles. We monitored the fighters as they flew directly towards the Euler property. I made the decision to alert Euler that they might be under attack. They mounted some primitive defenses. As a result, the missiles were detonated before they could reach their target. The aircraft suffered damage and the pilots ejected. Euler identified where the pilots landed and provided them with supplies and supported the SAR choppers.”

  “While I’m unwilling to use the term succinct again, it probably applies. There are gaps, though,” said the NSA. “As a result, I have some questions. You are free to refer to a more senior level of authority if you’re unwilling or unable to respond.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Why did Euler so readily believe your warning? If I was located somewhere in the middle of a remote mountain range and someone contacted me and said—the US Air Force is about to blow you up with their missiles—I’d be somewhat doubtful of the veracity of the statement.”

  “Sir, I’m known to the Euler people—I’ve been testing their prototypes for over three years. Their designers work closely with me to achieve military standards. Also, unbeknownst to me, they had managed to link into our satellite imagery and were monitoring the same aircraft. I understand they also were listening—as the aircraft closed in—to the pilots’ radio communications.”

  Even Admiral Denbigh looked shocked. “They’re that good?”

  “Better. Based on the pilots’ radio comms, I believe they disabled the aircraft radars just before the mis
siles were fired. Both pilots said they were on visual.”

  The NSA said, “You’re telling me that this civilian organization not only can tap into our satellite imagery, intercept radio communications between our pilots, and somehow, they also blocked a missile attack and destroyed two of our new fighter jets?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Phenomenal. Do you have any idea how they did all this?”

  “Their technology is advanced, sir.”

  The NSA laughed. “I think that’s what I would call an understatement. Admiral, do you have any thoughts on this aspect?”

  “Firstly, I’m pleased they did defeat this attack. Imagine—” He shuddered. “The headlines this morning would have destroyed all our careers. We are aware of the advanced level of technology used by Euler. We monitor them. We evaluate their military bots. We are one of their major clients, I believe. We do not have access to their technology.”

  The Director of the FBI asked, “Does anyone know why the media hasn’t got hold of this? I’ve heard reports of two crashed fighters and the rescue of the pilots. Nothing else.”

  SECAF replied, “McIntosh—the Euler Organization—said they would hold back releasing their videos of the series of events as long as they were confident we were taking steps to apprehend the people behind the attack.”

  Coleman wanted to hide. Toby and Darwin had been adamant that if Flocke wasn’t arrested and charged with terrorism, their videos would be released worldwide.

  “How did they communicate that? Was it a threat?” the attorney general asked.

  SECAF said, “Colonel?”

  “They contacted me and described the material they have. They said their television station was anxious to run it. The point about Flocke was not a threat, rather a statement. Apparently, they have other evidence about Flocke’s activities that they’re prepared to broadcast and release to the media generally. I don’t know what that is. I have a recording of the conversation.”

  The attorney general said, “We are in very deep water. Flocke is a friend of the president. A very good friend. I’ve—I’ve known him for years.” He shook his head.

  Admiral Denbigh said, “I don’t care who he’s friends with. If he arranged and directed a terrorist act in this country, against fellow Americans, I have only one question: when are you going to arrest him?”

  “We’ll have a warrant by midday. We’re currently watching him in case he tries to flee,” the Director of the FBI said.

  “It’s inevitable,” the attorney general reluctantly confirmed.

  Admiral Denbigh said, “I have some material to discuss. We can excuse Colonel Coleman unless there’s any more questions for him? No? Colonel, thank you for your report. You can leave us. We may need to recall you, so don’t go far away for the remainder of the day. Remember, everything said in this meeting is classified as top secret.”

  “Thank you, sir. Yes, I understand.”

  The colonel could feel the perspiration running down the middle of his back. There would be interesting shock waves from the meeting. He hoped he was well sheltered when they hit.

  George Flocke listened to the caller’s brief sentence. He didn’t comment. He switched off his cell phone—it was a burner and he wouldn’t use it again—and removed the battery. He slipped the unpowered device into his jacket pocket and reminded himself to drop it in a refuse bin when he reached the street.

  His next step was to write a message for all state leaders of American Eagles. They would be operating independently until he was able to counter the lies that McIntosh and Euler were spreading. He sent the message. Three states—California, Florida and New York—were without leaders; he would do something about that while he was in transit. The funds he’d managed to gain from the states and their members had been transferred offshore and were hidden in accounts around the world, untraceable by American banking authorities.

  His charter jet was waiting. He had another task to do before he left. There was a web site, dark, where he could post a message. Mercenaries used it. Clients wanting the services of a mercenary used it. He drafted a message. He transferred bitcoins to a related escrow account. He posted the message. That, he thought, would take care of McIntosh. The amount would attract the best, the hungriest killers. This time it would work.

  He remembered to wipe his laptop. He opened the back and pulled out the hard drive and crushed it underfoot. He added the damaged drive to the cell phone in his pocket—he’d dump both once he was clear of his office.

  Fortunately, he was using one of his secret locations. No one knew he worked here, none of his good friends knew where he spent most of his days. He pulled the door closed and headed down the stairs to the street. He could grab a cab within minutes.

  This, he promised, was not a final exit.

  A small cleaner bot watched as the human dropped a handful of devices into a refuse bin. The bot sent a message to the new help desk. He was assured another bot would arrive in minutes. He decided to guard the bin in case someone tried to empty it. Another bot followed the human. It was also in contact with the new help desk.

  Flocke continued on his way, unaware of the interest of the bots.

  oOo

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  President Samuel Hughes paced across the floor in front of his desk. He was trying to control his anger behind which was a layer of consternation. His good friend and confidant, George Flocke, was missing. Oh, he knew George sometimes cut things a bit too close to the edge, but he knew his friend—he would never consider arranging an attack on a fellow American. And certainly not if it involved armed US Air Force fighter jets. No, something was so wrong about this.

  “Harry, tell me again, who told you George was involved?” he asked the attorney general who was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, sipping a scotch whisky. Why the man couldn’t drink real whiskey, he didn’t know. He frowned. That was un-American.

  “Samuel, we have a whole list of events with people identified, all incriminating. That’s why George has disappeared. He was one step ahead of an arrest warrant,” replied Harry Spears.

  “I don’t believe it. I know George. I trust him. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to get caught.”

  “That’s part of the problem—he didn’t get caught. By the time the FBI had warrants for his arrest, he’d fled the country. We tracked a charter flight that we believe he organized. He’s probably somewhere over the North Pole and heading to Europe by now.” He checked his watch. “Probably landed already.”

  The president stopped pacing and stared at the attorney general. “Harry, I find this hard to credit.”

  “He fled. He’s a fugitive. He’s accused of a number of very serious crimes.”

  “Well, what are these serious crimes? Who has the evidence? What’s the origin of these accusations?”

  “The main—um—injured party, as it were, is Toby McIntosh and the Euler Organization.”

  “Who? That upstart? Isn’t he responsible for his uncle—Nate Euler’s death?”

  “No. We’ve been all through that. McIntosh is clean. Yes, Nate Travers, his uncle, is missing. We have no evidence that he has been murdered and no evidence incriminating McIntosh.”

  “Rubbish. George told me—This McIntosh also stole thirty million dollars—or was it fifty million—from George, from his American Eagles Foundation. That’s hardly the action of an innocent man, don’t you agree?”

  “Again, no proof. Anyway, where did the brownshirts get that kind of money?”

  “George is a surprisingly good businessman. Why do you think this McIntosh is after George? With all these false accusations?”

  “I think it’s the other way around. The evidence shows George has mounted four or five attacks on McIntosh and on Nate Travers prior to his disappearance. Why, there was an assassination attempt when McIntosh was in DC to appear before that joint committee.”

  “No evidence on that, at all. No, Harry, I suspect Toby McIntosh is after George
for some reason. It’s probably him who is attempting to murder George.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Hold that thought.” The president turned his attention to the news channel; he was watching his favorite news source. “This is more about Euler Organization and that circus show they put on the other day. What a nonsense—superintelligences removing their heads.”

  The reporter said, “The Speaker of the House today affirmed that he was proposing to put forward a bill recommended by the Joint Committee on Autonomous Development. This bill—it’s called the Bots Are Persons Bill—will recognize certain bots and other artificial intelligences as beings, as persons, with unalienable rights as beings or persons. To clarify—these bots are beings and legislation will give them full legal rights as persons. It’s suspected that the Euler Organization is applying pressure on Congress by pointing out that over ninety percent of bot lease contracts have been breached by government departments. If Euler withdrew their bots because of these breaches, the country would grind to a stop. The Speaker denied—”

  The president turned the sound volume down. He said, “See. That’s Euler for you. They’re trying to wreck the country. He’s probably killed George to stop him defeating this campaign for bots being recognized as persons. What nonsense.”

  Harry looked at his shoes. One was slightly scuffed, and he would have to remember to polish it tonight. He rubbed it on the back of his trouser leg. He repressed his sigh.