The Savants

by Patrick Kendrick

Finney grabbed the phone from James. “Dr. Edwards, this is Homeland Security Director Finney. You have my authorization to do whatever it is you have to do. This is absolute priority. There are no alternative strategies at this point. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Finney handed the phone back to James. “Do what you can, son. I’m going to go tell the President. God help us all.”

  A crackle came across Finney’s radio earpiece, followed by an excited voice. It was one of the Secret Service agents standing guard outside. “Sir, we are being flanked by a group of hostile militia.”

  Finney ran to the window. Within a rising cloud of dust, he could make out tanks and personnel carriers surrounding the compound. “What the…?” he muttered, imagining the approaching army as what the Battle of ‘73 Easting must’ve looked like in the first Gulf War. He pushed the transmit button on his radio. “Agent, the President is still inside this building. Rally your men, and tell them I want the residence surrounded and protected at all costs. That means getting the big guns out of the trucks. And call in reinforcements. This is not a drill. I’m calling the Chairman of the JCS and have him order in air support. You got that?”

  Finney ran out of the workshop, leaving the savants behind, and headed toward the house where the President conferred with Professor Pevnick. As director of the nation’s security, and having envisioned every possible disaster that might fall upon the country, he had never in his wildest dreams thought of this one. He glanced at the advancing militia as he ran, still in disbelief that someone would launch a coup while the country was on the verge of disaster. But, even as the thought occurred to him, he started to think it was not a coincidence.

  Off the eastern coast, a few hundred miles south of the research facility and another hundred miles out to sea, an enormous swell began to emerge on the surface of the ocean. It was almost seven hundred miles long and picking up pace as it grew.

  Finney barged into the house and found his way to Douglas Pevnick’s room. Upon entering, he discovered President Cooper and Dr. Pevnick kneeling by Douglas’s bed.

  “Uh, I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. President,” Finney said, his face flushed and sweaty, “but this is very important.”

  “What is it, Alan?” asked Cooper. “Dr. Pevnick’s son is, well, he’s not doing well…”

  “Sir, the compound is surrounded by unauthorized militia, armed with tanks and heavy artillery. To make things worse, sir, the laser beam wasn’t strong enough to thaw more than a small section of the methane field. The fault line breached, and a tidal wave was produced. James is working with the Starfire team, but it doesn’t look good. They think the wave will hit the coast in about an hour.”

  The look on Cooper’s face was initially one of shock, then his jaws clenched. “I…let the people down. We…should have evacuated earlier. Go ahead and alert all Emergency Operations centers and have them do an immediate evacuation. I’ll look like an idiot, but if it saves a few lives, we have to issue that order.”

  “Agreed, sir,” responded Finney, “but we’ll have to do it on the run. Maybe James and his brainy pals can do something, but I’ve got to get you out of here, keep you safe.”

  Cooper shook his head. “You want to keep me safe, Alan? Then give me a damn gun. Let’s see what this militia is made of.”

  “Sir, I can’t do that. My job is—”

  “My job is to keep America safe,” the President interrupted, “and your job is to help me do my job. Granted, I might not have done it very well, recently, but… Look, it’s possible none of us will be here tomorrow. If I’m going to go, I’m taking out some of the people who created this problem. Understood?”

  Finney nodded. He really liked this president. “Yes, sir!”

  James was still on the phone with Edwards when he first heard the approaching militia. He looked out the window of the workshop and saw the approaching tanks. Not now! He thought. Then, an idea came to him. “Dr. Edwards?”

  “Yes, James?”

  “Have you taken control of the Vela satellites, yet?”

  “We think so. We’re trying to manipulate the bhangmeter panels now, but the technology is old; it’s required several different configurations from our computers.”

  “Just get them close, Dr. Edwards,” James said calmly. “This isn’t brain surgery. Let’s just try not to incinerate Charleston, okay?”

  Edwards shook his head at James’s nonchalance, but said, “Okay, if you just want close…”

  Harvey was standing by, but did not share the same calm demeanor as James. “Fu…fu…cuss, cuss, cuss! Fire those damn things!”

  James looked at Harvey, and curiously raised his eyebrow.

  Harvey shrugged and grinned. “At least I didn’t use profanity.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the Starfire Project control room, last second adjustments were made. This was unprecedented territory, and everyone was nervous. The smallest mistake could make things even worse than they already were.

  “Let’s try this again,” said Edwards, under his breath.

  A camera from another satellite allowed the Edward’s project team to watch on a large Hi-Def screen as the Starfire Laser moved and aligned with the numerous satellites that made up the antiquated Vela Project nuclear detection system. The Starfire began to glow, again, and the heavens lit up like a nova for an instant. The beam shot out and struck the Vela satellites, then splintered into dozens of beams that arced toward Earth and stabbed into the ocean like meteorites.

  The newly super-powered beams punched into the ocean, piercing its depth like a warm knife through soft butter. They found their targets on the bottom and, even from the incredible depth, the red, volcano-like glow was detectable from the satellite video feed. The seafloor began to vibrate, then crack. Methane bubbles emerged through every new fissure. The bubbles began to clump together as they rose to the surface, quickly forming into one massive bubble, dozens of miles wide. As it increased in size and velocity, the tidal wave rolled toward it.

  The two forces of nature collided in a thunderous impact. Water sprayed hundreds of feet into the air, creating an enormous vortex, a man-made tornado that whirled for a moment, then splashed back into the sea, creating smaller, harmless waves that within moments subsided as the sea regained its calm.

  The ocean bottom shifted under the enormous weight and movement, as if it were being pressed by a giant iron that smoothed out its wrinkles and returned it to a peaceful mesa. The fault line realigned and settled into itself, just a harmless, though uneven, crack in the ocean floor.

  Instruments tracking the now-vanished tidal wave showed nothing but calm as the ever-present currents of the sea momentarily stopped, as if not knowing which way to go.

  In New Mexico, the Starfire Project team jumped up and down like kids getting ice cream as reports from oceanographers and meteorologists began pouring in. Then came the barrage of media reports—from every civilized and scientific nation—all sharing the same message with only slight variations: the tidal wave had subsided and the sea had regained its relative calm.

  A message from the SS Virginia came over the speakers in the Starfire room, as well as James’s cell phone outside the lab: “SS Virginia to Landside Operations,” the captain’s voice began, “I’m not sure what you guys did, but that was some of the best fireworks we’ve ever seen. We were rocking and rolling for a while, but we’re all good now. Sonar shows everything is normal. Incredible job, men!”

  The savants heard the message and everyone turned to smile at Etta, acknowledging the captain’s oversight. But their happiness was short-lived as they heard the tanks roll in. A loud explosion rocked the workshop as a shell hit the bank of solar panels, destroying more than half of them. The beam from the Starfire Laser faltered, then blinked out.

  The voice of Dr. Edwards erupted from the speakerphone, “James, what happened? We just got a power surge and you went offline. We were going to shut down the beam, but
it seems to have shut itself down.”

  “Uh,” James stalled, searching for the right reply, “we’re being attacked by a renegade militia. They fired a missile into our power source.”

  “What?”

  The advancing army was almost on top of them as Finney and Cooper, along with a phalanx of Secret Service agents, stormed toward the workshop, guns drawn.

  “Everyone inside and stay away from the windows,” Finney commanded. “We’ll make a stand from here.”

  “Where is Professor Pevnick?” asked Etta, her face a mask of concern.

  Cooper addressed her question with as much compassion as he could, “He’s inside with his son. Douglas is not doing well, and he wanted to stay with him.”

  The Secret Service agents took their places alongside the window, and began prepping their weapons. Some errant shots rang out from the field and found their way to the workshop, punching holes in its old wooden sides.

  “Mr. President,” said Finney. “I’ve called in the airstrike, but it may take a few minutes for them to get scrambled. We still have time to get you out of here.”

  Cooper looked at him sternly. “Not a chance. I want to make a stand. This mess will obviously end up in court and spawn congressional hearings and investigative committees for years. But, today, I have the opportunity to put a bullet through the heads of those turncoats who started this war, and that’s a chance I’m not going to miss.” He looked at the savants, all of whom were standing wide-eyed, surprised at his comments. “Sorry, young people, but that’s the way I feel.”

  “Um, Mr. President,” James said awkwardly, “in case you didn’t hear, sir, our plan worked. The sea and the east coast are now safe.”

  Cooper looked around at their faces and smiled, though his eyes were wet. “Splendid, James, and all of you. You helped make our nation safe. I, we, won’t forget your help.”

  Suddenly, machine gunfire ripped through the walls of the workshop, sending splinters and dust through the air. There were loud thwumps as tanks fired their rounds, and the walls of the workshop began to fall. The ground shook, and more bullets zipped past the group as they scrambled, looking for a safe place to shield themselves.

  Finney took a hit in the shoulder that spun him around before dumping him on the ground. “Damn,” he cried, clutching his bleeding arm. “Everyone take cover!”

  The savants hit the ground as the Secret Service agents fired back at the attacking militia, then used themselves as shields for the President and the savants. The sounds of gunfire were so loud and steady one could barely think straight.

  James crawled over to Etta and tried to comfort her. Tears ran from her eyes, but she was quiet, twisting her hands together and trying not to lose control. He put his arm around her shoulders and reassured her.

  Harvey looked up from the workshop floor, sawdust stuck to his face, his hair a mess. “Is it okay if I cuss now?”

  James gave Etta a kiss on her forehead, then inched over to Jeremy. “Hey…Jeremy, I know you know exact world time and all, but would you, by any chance, also know coordinates? Like GPS coordinates?”

  Jeremy grinned widely. “Time and coordinates go to…together oui? Oui, coordinates. Why do you ask, mon ami?

  James peered above an overturned work table, and spied the approaching enemy through what used to be the side of the barn. Glancing back at Jeremy, he said, “Be thinking about some coordinates for those tanks out there. I counted six of them. If I can get the laser back online…”

  Jeremy smiled broadly and nodded. Then he, too, peeked over the edge of the table. His lips moved quietly as he made calculations in his head.

  Suddenly, James stood and walked calmly outside as bullets ripped around him. Approaching the laser, he assessed it for damage and found there was none, it had just lost power. He flipped some switches and turned several knobs, until the tip of the giant laser began to glow red again.

  Finney ran out to him and pushed him behind the machine. “Are you crazy, man? You’re going to get killed.”

  James shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been counting the bullets fired from various weapons and analyzing their trajectory. The odds were, statistically, in my favor.”

  Finney rolled his eyes in an “I give up” gesture, then rose on one knee and returned fire.

  James pulled out his cell phone and called Dr. Edwards. “Are you still in the project operations room, doctor?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. What’s happening there?”

  “Nothing good. Are you showing our laser back online, by any chance?”

  Edwards looked at his computer monitor. “Yes, I’m seeing the laser powered back up. It doesn’t show the same power levels, though.”

  “And the Starfire, is it still in its reversed position, pointing at Earth?”

  “Yes…why?”

  “Good. I have another target for you, but this one you’re going to have to focus a little tighter on or you’ll fry the President of the United States. Okay?”

  “Excuse me,” said Edwards. “I’m not sure I heard that right. It sounded like you said ‘fry the President…’”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” said James, “so make it really precise, Dr. Edwards.” Then, “Jeremy, how about those coordinates?”

  “Okay, try: 81.23 north, 45.66 west. Zee tanks are all nearly in a row, right now. If you fire every 2.5 degrees, moving east to west, you should get zem all.”

  “You hear that, Dr. Edwards?”

  “Yes, James. We’re moving Starfire into position. Gonna take a few minutes…”

  “We don’t have that much time, sir.”

  Dr. Edwards watched the viewing screen as the huge barrel of the Starfire laser turned, like a giant leviathan changing direction in the sea. It slowed as it came closer to the coordinates they had adjusted it to. “We’re almost there, James.”

  “Lock and load, doc.”

  Dr. Edwards licked his lips nervously. It was one thing firing this high-powered laser into the sea to save the nation, but to aim it at people was a tougher decision for him. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Finney grabbed James’s phone and yelled into it. “This is Homeland Security Director Finney, Dr. Edwards. The President is under attack. Go ahead and fire that damn thing! Now!”

  “Yes, sir!” said Edwards, and pushed the button.

  Tentacles of red lasers pierced the clouds overhead and found their targets. The tanks glowed red for a moment; the top hatches popped open as men scrambled to escape the heat. Some barely made it as the tanks turned from red to white, glowing with energized heat, then exploded, leaving piles of smoldering metal. Those who were on foot stopped and watched the tanks turn to molten puddles. As a unit, the makeshift soldiers halted their advance and looked around, as if trying to find an explanation for the sudden, unexpected retaliatory attack. Their rank formation began to loosen, then fell apart, as many turned and ran back into the cover of the surrounding forest.

  A few of the makeshift militia fired random shots from behind trees, but without a strong leader to guide them, their efforts were half-hearted at best. When a half dozen F-15 fighter jets flew overhead, strafing the ground as they made a pass, the last few holdouts dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.

  Finney looked over to James, sweat pouring from his face, panting. “Hey kid, why haven’t we been using that laser thing before now?”

  James shrugged. “We were, just not for war.”

  Finney turned to Cooper who emerged from what was left of the workshop. “Mr. President, are you okay?”

  “I’m good, Alan. How are you holding up?”

  Finney looked at his bloodied shoulder. “Never better, sir. But, I might ask for the weekend off.”

  Cooper chuckled, then turned and looked around at what was left of the workshop. He did a quick head count of his Secret Service agents, all of whom were still standing. “Thank you, men, for keeping us safe. You did an exemplary job.”

  He
looked sullen for a moment as he stared into the field where the attackers had fled. “I’d still like to have a shot at one of those traitors,” he said. Then, he had another thought. “Maybe we still can. Director Finney, would you have the FBI get over to the Portland Trauma Center in Maine? There is a mercenary seaman there who might want to share a story with them. Then have them arrest Vice President Proger for high treason.” He ambled over to Finney and put his hand on his shoulder. He pulled back the director’s jacket, and sized-up the wound. “You can delegate that order if you’d like. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” said Finney. “I’ll get the shoulder looked at, but I want to be the one who calls in the arrest for that no good son of a…”

  “Eh, no cussing, Mr. Finney,” said Harvey. “We’re trying to clean up our act around here.”

  At that, everyone had a much needed laugh.

  Cooper approached James and offered his hand. James took it, and shook vigorously. “How am I ever going to express my gratitude—the nation’s gratitude—to you and your friends?”

  James turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged. “It’s been fun, sir. Really.”

  “Well,” said Harvey. “You could buy me a Dr. Pepper. I’m quite thirsty.”

  They all had another laugh, though it looked painful for Finney to do so.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Within a half hour after the last bullet was fired, the Beehive compound was swarming with camera crews, again, along with dozens of police cars, fire engines, and rescue trucks. Finney got into one of them, and was transported to the nearby hospital. He remained on the phone with his key advisors and quickly learned the militia had primarily gathered in the Pennsylvania woods encampment, and their official-unofficial headquarters was the old, closed Brunswick Naval Air Station in southern Maine. He talked to the Defense Director, and had a group of Special Ops soldiers, led by Navy Seal teams, invade and capture those still gathered in those locations.

  Finney was also delighted to learn that one of the seamen shot in the assassination attempt in the bar in Maine a few days earlier was in the same hospital as Finney. He paid him a personal visit, and persuaded him to share details about the mission wherein they had found the lost nuclear bomb and moved it to the fault line off Cape Hatteras. He would be the key witness against General Haufman and Vice President Proger when they were tried for treason a few months later.