Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  The CIA director didn’t look up from the folder that Cooper had provided, scanning the contents. When he finally cast his gaze upon her, she felt the coldness of his eyes. “So you’re the one who tried to convince everyone that Perry was dirty but didn’t have the proof.” The CIA director spoke with a chip on his shoulder. With Homeland’s intelligence prowess growing over the past few years, his agency had to fight for funding. But with Perry being such a high-level leak, the CIA had been called in to take over operations while Homeland performed an “internal audit.” “Looks like you have everything you need now.”

  “Except for Perry’s location,” Cooper replied. “What have we found out about the device that was stolen?”

  The CIA director gave Moringer a frown. “She knows about the Taipan?”

  “Agent Cooper has the same level of clearance I do,” Moringer answered.

  The CIA director snapped the folder shut and leaned forward on the table, clasping his hands together. “We’ve spoken to the Secretary of the Navy and the Air Force, along with some of the top generals who were aware of the project. While the device is operational, the team that worked on it installed a series of firewalls and encrypted code to ensure that even if someone did obtain it, it would be extremely difficult to activate.”

  “What about the nuclear missile silos? Any activity there?” Cooper asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Moringer answered. “But it is possible, however highly improbable, that Perry already has the device activated, and is choosing not to use it to take control of the silos.”

  “You think he has another plan?” Cooper asked.

  “We don’t know what he has. That’s why we asked you to come here, Agent Cooper.” The CIA director stood up and paced around the small conference room, and for the first time since she had walked in the door, he looked uncomfortable. “You’re aware of the investigative committee that’s being put together for Homeland’s internal review?”

  “I’ve heard they’re reevaluating themselves, yes.”

  “There’s another investigation happening,” Moringer said, cutting into the conversation. “The internal audit is just for show. The current administration is concerned about how far Perry’s reach might have gone, and in order to learn that, they want a review of everything that he did. His employment with Homeland, schooling, family, childhood. And the President would like to keep all of this out of the news until we find Perry. After everything that’s happened the last thing we need is the public catching wind of the possibility of a nuclear strike happening on American soil.”

  The CIA director pressed his knuckles onto the table and leaned over, looking Cooper directly in the eye. “Perry fooled every intelligence director and official we have, and now every agency has to take a hard look at who we can trust.”

  Cooper understood the feeling. Her own partner had been working for Perry. She’d worked with Diaz for more than four years, and he had never shown any signs of being a mole. The fact that Perry had influence over people wasn’t half as intimidating as the type of people he managed to have influenced. And the longer Moringer and the other directors stared at her, the more she realized who that investigator would be. She shut her eyes and let out a breath. “Digging into the lives of intelligence employees won’t exactly win me a lot of popularity.”

  “From what I hear, you were never popular in the first place,” the CIA director said. “So why should that stop you now?”

  Cooper cracked a smile. “When do you want this started?”

  “Yesterday.” The CIA director extended a folder at least six inches thick. “That’s everything Homeland had on Perry. Now, how much of it is true is yet to be seen. There’s a motive hidden somewhere for why Perry is doing this. We find the why—”

  “And we find out what might be able to stop him.” Cooper tucked the file under her arm, and when she made it to the door, she turned around. “What’s happening with Dylan Turk? Has the attorney general finalized his plea bargain?”

  “They’re meeting later today,” Moringer answered.

  “You think they should go easy on him?” the CIA director asked.

  “I think the man’s been through enough hell. How much hell the attorney general thinks Dylan deserves is up to him. It was like you said, Perry had all of us working for him at some point, so, yeah, I think they should take it easy on him.”

  ***

  Sean and Mary had been quiet during the entire service, and Mark wasn’t sure whether that was normal or not. In the end, he determined that nothing either of those kids had gone through over the past two weeks was normal, especially for Sean.

  The boy hadn’t even had a real opportunity to speak with his father. The only times Dylan had been able to see his kids were during the hospital stay and then today at the funeral. Neither occasion had offered any real time to process what happened, and both were traumatic enough by themselves.

  Mark followed Peter’s car all the way to his home on the outskirts of Boston. The attorneys had allowed Mark to visit the kids during the day, and he wanted to make sure he had an eye on them as often as he could. He didn’t know what Peter would try in court, but any inside information he could pass along to Dylan’s attorneys would hopefully help.

  Most of the neighborhood was still abandoned, although a few of the residents had come back, forced to by circumstances, curiosity, or sheer stubbornness against being driven out of their own homes in the first place. Mark parked his truck on the side of the road in front of the house as Peter was helping Mary out of the back seat.

  “I see you’re taking advantage of visiting hours,” Peter said.

  Sean made a beeline for Mark and hugged his thin arms around Mark’s waist. Mark gently patted the back of the boy’s head. “I just want to make sure these guys are all right.” God knows what he’s seen will live with him forever. The rough calluses on Mark’s palm caught Sean’s dirty-blond hair. “How you holding up, kid?”

  “I’m okay.” Sean’s voice was a whisper, and his tone didn’t match the words meant for reassurance.

  Mark lifted the boy’s chin and looked him in the eye. “You’re stronger than any sailor I’ve ever worked with.” Sean offered a slight smile and then walked back over to the house, taking his sister’s hand along the way. Mark took a step forward, but Peter blocked his path.

  “I know why you’re here. Just because some judge granted your approval for visitation does not make you family. And whatever information you think you can pass along to hurt me in the case to keep those kids won’t do you a damn good thing.”

  “And why’s that?” Mark took a step forward, his chest puffed and his back rigid, fighting the pain in his abdomen from the stance.

  “Because all those kids have known is violence. And the common cause of all of it was Dylan. I’ll be damned if I let that man ruin their lives any more than he already has.”

  “He’s their father.”

  “He’s a cancer!” Peter’s face reddened. “If he loves his kids, he needs to let them go so they can heal. That’s what I can give them: something normal, something good. I can give them resources to help them in life that Dylan could never do. They will want for nothing.”

  “Except their father.”

  “I’m their father!” Peter stamped his foot on the pavement. “I’ve been in Mary’s life more than Dylan has, and as for Sean, that boy needs someone strong to look up to, someone who didn’t waste years drowning in a bottle.”

  “You have no idea what that man has been through, so don’t sit there on your pedestal and judge him on something you know nothing about. He’s wrestled with his demons, and he’s put them to rest.”

  “Has he? Because my dead wife says he hasn’t.” Peter marched off, storming into the house.

  Any way Mark looked at it, the situation was bad, and the kids were caught in the middle of it. He knew about Dylan’s past; he knew about everything that had happened. He had gone to every AA meeting with Dylan when he starte
d his rehab and had been there every time he relapsed.

  But over time, Dylan’s wounds had healed, at least enough to stop drinking. Mark knew those scars wouldn’t leave him, and as much as he hated to admit it, the kids being with Peter wasn’t as bad as he pretended it was. The man was rich, well connected, and did care about them. As much as Dylan begrudged having to deal with Peter, he’d never said the man wasn’t caring or a provider. Still, Dylan had given him a job when nobody else would. When all the other captains said he was well past his prime, Dylan had let the old sea dog rust out on the deck a little bit longer.

  When Mark stepped into the house, Peter was busy doing dishes and Mary was lying on the carpet, drawing. Sean wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so Mark joined Mary in the living room. Her head and arms covered the picture she was working on, and she didn’t look up when Mark entered.

  “Hey, girly, what are you working on?” Mark asked, leaning forward on the couch, trying to get a better look at the drawing.

  “A picture.” Mary switched out one of her crayons and continued her doodling.

  “Can I take a look at it?” Mark stretched out his arm, and Mary looked at him questioningly. “Please?” The courtesies seemed to help, as Mary pushed herself up with a bunch of crayons fisted in one hand and the other holding the drawing.

  When Mark got a good look at the piece of paper, he saw a dirt mound with a crudely drawn tombstone on it with “Mommy” written over it.

  Mary climbed up on the couch next to Mark and pointed her little finger at the images. “That’s me and Sean, and this is Peter.” The three of them were standing next to each other by the grave, all holding hands. Her finger moved to another figure, away from the gravesite, and she tapped the paper. “And that’s Daddy.” Mary had drawn silver rings around his feet and hands.

  “Why is your dad by himself?” Mark asked. “Why isn’t he with you and your brother?”

  “Because my daddy did something bad. That’s why they took him away.” Mary kept her head down and played with the edge of the paper.

  Mark set the picture down and shifted in his seat to face Mary. “Hey, kiddo, look at me.” She lifted her head, and a pair of big blue eyes stared back at him. Mark had never figured out where she got the eyes; neither of her parents had blue eyes. “Your dad didn’t do anything bad, okay? The only thing he’s ever done is keep both you and your brother safe.”

  “That’s not what Peter says.” Mary cast her eyes down and fiddled with the picture again.

  “Well, Peter’s wrong. Your father loves you, and he would do anything to protect you and your brother. Whatever anyone else says is a lie. You got that, young lady?”

  Mary nodded her head and then jumped into Mark’s lap. He winced a little even from the pressure of her small body pressed against the wound on his stomach.

  All the words against Dylan would only grow louder once the trial started, especially when the news outlets finally got wind of exactly what Dylan’s involvement had been with all of the attacks. If Mary was already having doubts, then it was only going to get worse. And Mark wasn’t sure if he would be able to block out all that noise by himself.

  Chapter 3

  Perry was watching the scientists in their lab coats on the monitors in his office when someone knocked on his door and he received word of the units of Egyptians he’d left behind that had been dismantled by the agencies. Perry crumpled the paper in his fist. The messenger said nothing, waiting for Perry to either give him instructions or tell him to leave.

  The dead body was still in the room with the others, rotting on the floor while the living worked tirelessly to ensure they didn’t share the same fate. Perry imagined the smell was getting to them now, and even on the video screens, he could see the flies buzzing around the corpse. “How many were captured?” A dead man couldn’t talk, but a living one could share secrets.

  “Hard to say, but those that have survived the raids were taken into custody by the CIA.”

  Not Homeland. Perry assumed his old agency would be on the ropes after his departure. Having a top-level security leak didn’t help your organization amid such a tremulous national crisis. “I want a status on our remaining contacts in the field, and go and check on our brains down in the lab. I don’t need any of them losing their lunch on our equipment.”

  The messenger gave a slight bow and left Perry alone to dwell on the images on the screen. The engineers had been working for almost thirty-six hours straight, and while the dead body was no doubt gruesome to leave behind, he’d managed to get his desired result. More than half of the firewalls on the device had been disabled. It wouldn’t be long before he would have control over every land-based nuclear missile in the country.

  Perry set the crumpled paper his messenger had given him on the desk then slowly peeled it back open, smoothing it out on the desk’s surface. He looked over the paper more carefully, searching for the agent in charge, then smiled. He reached for his phone and dialed. A few rings later, the confused voice of Agent Cooper answered.

  “It’s good to see you’re moving up in the world.” Perry leaned back in his chair, the crumpled paper outlining the details of the raid she’d just been involved in. “Your method of going against the grain finally paid off.”

  “Who gave you this number, Perry?”

  “Worried I’ve still got people close to you under my thumb? Well, I’ll let you squirm with that for a little while longer.”

  “Having some trouble with the Taipan? Our analysts say you haven’t cracked it yet.”

  The smile Perry sported slowly faded from his face, and while he maintained a chipper tone, his mouth curved in frustration. “Upgraded your clearance, have they? Well, I’m sure you’ll do a better job than your partner. Did you end up going to Agent Diaz’s funeral?” The remark struck a chord, as Cooper remained silent, and Perry’s frown returned to the lighthearted smile he had previously worn. “My sources tell me you emptied your clip into his chest. More deadly than those blanks you’re used to on your old undercover operations.”

  “I’m going to find you, Perry. When I do, you better hope that it’s only bullets I use to kill you.”

  “If that ever happens, no one will be more surprised than I. But before your GPS tracker locates my position, I need you to deliver a message for me.”

  “For whom?”

  “Why, the one person who brought us together. Our dear captain.”

  ***

  Dylan rubbed his eyes as best he could with the steel manacles binding his wrists. His lawyer had repeatedly asked for them to be taken off, but the prosecution felt it necessary to show strong power over the suspect. For Dylan, the restraints weren’t so much the problem as the fine print on the agreement. “I don’t see anything in here about Mark’s visitation rights.” Dylan set the document down and leaned back, looking to his counsel, who had their heads down, then to the attorney general.

  “Peter Harth has filed an injunction to keep Mr. Hurley out of the children’s lives, and the judge is giving it some thought,” the attorney general answered.

  “Some thought?” Dylan raised his left eyebrow, the presence of the restraints now getting in his way. “Peter doesn’t have any right to do that. Mark is—”

  “Not related to your children in any way, shape, or form,” the attorney general answered. “When Peter and your late ex-wife Evelyn were married, she gave him full power of attorney in the event of her death, as well as all her custody rights, which allow him the veto of anyone he doesn’t want around his children.”

  Dylan gritted his teeth. “They’re not his children. They’re mine, and if I can’t be with them, then I want them with someone I can trust. They need someone that’s familiar.” Dylan turned to his counsel, still with their heads down, seemingly trying to stay out of it. “There has to be something you can do. He was named their godfather, for Christ’s sake!”

  One of Dylan’s attorneys, a beady-eyed, pencil-necked man in his thirties with the rece
ding hairline of a man in his fifties, finally spoke up. “Mr. Turk, Mr. Hurley doesn’t have any authority with that unless both parents have passed, and Mr. Harth’s custody rights supersede any of yours. It’s well within his rights to do what he thinks his best for the children.”

  “His rights?” Dylan slammed his fists onto the table, the metal cuffs clanging and adding to the thunder that was Dylan’s outburst. “If we are going to speak about rights, then why don’t we talk about mine and how they were taken from me the moment a member of the United States government’s biggest intelligence agency decided to mark me and my family for his own personal gain. An individual who snuck by every other official and corrupted the people around him. I will not have any of you lecture me on what is right. None of you can even comprehend that word.” Dylan felt the steam rising off his body.

  The attorney general was the only one who kept eye contact with Dylan, and from that, he knew the man understood. He walked over and sat on the edge of the table on Dylan’s end. “Mr. Turk, what you’ve gone through is something that no parent, any citizen of the United States for that matter, should ever go through. But you did. It was your boat the terrorists boarded. It was your son they took. And it was you who chose to not tell the authorities about Perry.”

  “He was going to kill my son!” Dylan flashed his teeth and felt the curl of his upper lip. If he could have gotten up from the chair at that moment, he would have wrapped his hands around the lawyer’s neck and squeezed the life out of him.

  “Well, you have what you wanted. Your son is safe, along with your daughter. Your ex-wife seemed to understand the need of sacrifice to protect her children.” The attorney general pulled a pen from the inside of his jacket and set it on top of the agreement. “Do you?”

  Dylan was speechless. The moment this had all started, Dylan had told himself all he cared about was making sure his boy was safe, that Sean got out alive. He had accomplished that, and now it was time for him to pay the price. And the cost was his life in prison without the chance to ever see his children again. Dylan picked up the pen without another word and flipped through the legal document until he made it to the last page, where it required his signature. He scribbled his name then dated it and shoved the paper and pen away.