Operation Chaos

by Watkins, Richter

  “Nor am I. The ones we might tangle with aren’t law. They are on the other side of the street.”

  He’d given her the potential to take over. He’d handed her a weapon. And he seemed utterly nonplused.

  Then he went a step further and took her smartphone, which he’d confiscated earlier, from his cargo pocket and gave it to her. “Best if you put it on dead. We’ve been tracking you with the help of your phone.”

  Rainee did as directed. The latest phones could be rendered dead and completely untrackable.

  “You don’t like Doctor Raab?” he asked.

  Another odd question, she thought. “Raab is a brilliant man,” Rainee said, “but he has a towering ego filled with great ambitions and furious hatreds. Rules don’t mean much when you are on a quest to change the world.”

  Johnny Cash said, “In times like this, you have to go outside the box, outside the mainstream, and that is what Doctor Raab understands. We’re at war not just around the world, but here in every city in America. If the right people don’t win, we’re finished.”

  Christ, she thought, he sounds like a recording of Raab.

  Is he programmed? No, it sounds too emotional, too real. He sounds far more like a true believer than a robot.

  Rainee had run into extreme thinking among the generals, admirals, and scientists who oversaw some of the DARPA programs. It frightened her at times that they were involved in creating the enhanced-metabolic warfighter program because she knew they wanted to take it way past boundaries.

  She’d helped stop that by testifying to shut down one of the most extreme. Now she was being told it wasn’t shut down. And the proof was sitting behind the wheel.

  “What name can I call you?” Rainee asked. “Or is Johnny Cash okay with you?”

  “Keegan, John Keegan.”

  She didn’t believe for a second that was his real name, but it was what he wanted.

  Rainee felt the weight of the weapon on her lap. She could shoot him. She could control the situation. And she would do neither.

  They had a car behind them that Keegan was watching in the mirrors. She looked in the side mirror. It was the black Charger about four cars back.

  “They the assets’ control?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Keegan said.

  The Charger remained back and they continued for another twenty minutes, until the traffic slowed to a crawl for a checkpoint up ahead.

  Because of all that had happened in the past year around the world and in the States, with the collapse of many of the “support” programs, and mall attacks adding to the riots, the checks were extensive, and many vehicles, campers, and vans had been pulled over in the search area.

  For a moment, she thought Keegan was going to do something crazy as he reached into the left side of his cargo pants.

  She expected a gun. But instead, to her relief, he pulled out a thin wallet and put it between his legs.

  When they reached the checkpoint, the young security officer manning it walked up to the window as Keegan lowered it and offered up a leather ID folder from the wallet.

  The checkpoint sentinel looked at it, at Keegan, then Rainee. He gave a positive nod.

  The checkpoint sentinel waved them on, but it looked like his hand was caught between a wave and a salute.

  Keegan put the ID folder back in the wallet and returned the wallet to his cargo pants.

  Rainee stared at the rearview mirror. The black Charger was five or six cars back. It had no more problem getting through the checkpoint than they did.

  Were they all part of the same organization?

  She glanced at Keegan, wanting to ask who the hell he was connected to—FBI, Homeland, CIA, military intel? But he had one of his devices out and was busy doing something.

  The idea that the Charger might try and stop them, triggering a major freeway gunfight, one in which she might be forced to participate in some fashion, scared the hell out of Rainee Hall. She prayed that didn’t happen.

  16

  The chopper, a highly modified HH-60 Pave Hawk with speeds of well over 200 miles an hour, dropped down out of the noon sun into the Baja Facility and settled on the back landing pad near another chopper.

  Cars were coming in through the front gate. This was a big day, and a big night was coming, with the man who would be the next president of Mexico having a dinner with the men who would reshape North America.

  Colonel David Tessler, code name Eagle, a nimble, retired, 62-year-old much-decorated Marine, jumped out of the chopper, ducked under the rotors, and quickstepped toward the main house’s back door.

  He returned the salute of two Mexican Special Forces soldiers.

  Coming from a secret base north of Mexico City, Tessler was making an unscheduled stop on his way to L.A. and the pickup.

  As he headed down the long hall toward the war room, staff was busy setting up the big dinner. A band from Tijuana was setting up out in the inner courtyard.

  Tessler stopped at the entrance to the conference room. Delivering any kind of bad news to Doctor Raab was never a pleasant job.

  Three years ago, General Snyder made Tessler Doctor Raab’s protector. Tessler created the security system that protected the compound and hired the security forces. General Snyder, forcibly retired, was a major player in the world of military research.

  “This is the most important scientist in the nation,” General Snyder had said. “You will have no more important role in your life and you will have all the assets at your disposal.”

  Inside the war room, a huge curved screen showed an operation Dr. Raab was explaining to his guest with a laser pointer, displaying parts of the brain that had been operated on.

  Tessler was glad he’d never gone through that. He admired the advancements and figured he might consider some for himself when he got a little older, but not yet. He’d seen too many mistakes.

  At the table were some of the most important men in the nation, in the world, in Colonel Tessler’s estimation. These were his heroes, the men he admired. They were going to transform America.

  He watched them a moment as they were engrossed watching the big round screen showing Dr. Raab removing the patient’s skullcap.

  It was one of those “teaching moments” as Raab liked to characterize them. Tessler knew that men like him weren’t going to be much in the future. What science was creating made things like courage and tactical creativity irrelevant. But that was still a ways away. Especially given all the problems with the Z-chips.

  Tessler, using a channel no one else could hear but his boss, told Raab to leave the room and come speak to him immediately. Code Red One.

  The doctor nodded. He hated to be interrupted, but a Code Red was not to be ignored.

  Raab nodded, turned the pointer over to his assistant, apologized to his audience, and walked out of the room, following Tessler at a distance well out of earshot.

  “What the hell is going on?” Raab said. “Aren’t you supposed to be in L.A. retrieving the package?”

  Tessler said, “We have an evolving problem, sir. Something’s gone wrong with Seneca and the operation.”

  Raab frowned. “Goddamnit, I don’t need problems. What happened?”

  “This isn’t what you’re going to want to hear, but the assets were killed, Seneca is on the run, and apparently Doctor Hall is with him. They are heading toward L.A., but we can’t contact him. The asset control from San Diego that was supposed to make the delivery is right behind them. They lost two men and it could get ugly.”

  “They are not to make a move.”

  Tessler followed Raab into the control room down the hall.

  Raab said to his communication control chief as they entered, “Gaines, what the hell’s going on with Seneca?”

  “We don’t know yet, sir,” Gaines said. “We’re getting some information, but it’s very sketchy. He’s past the checkpoint and the asset control has been stopped. But they have another team. They aren’t communicating with us
either.”

  “Has the Blacksnake team in L.A. been alerted?” Tessler asked.

  “Yes, sir, they are aware of the situation.”

  Raab turned to Colonel Tessler. “We don’t need this. Intercept Seneca any way you can and find out what the hell is going on. And I want Doctor Hall protected at all costs. Make sure the Blacksnake teams all understand that. And get the asset teams to back the hell off and let us handle it.”

  “I don’t know if they’re willing to listen,” Gaines said. “They lost two men and aren’t happy.”

  “I don’t give a goddamn if they’re happy or not. Get them off of this,” Raab said. He turned to Tessler. “Get up there and deal with this. Doctor Hall can’t be harmed. Find out what the hell Seneca is dealing with. If necessary, call the whole operation with Metzler off. Get it cleaned up. Get Landra to move his Blacksnake team into position to go into central L.A. Get moving. And keep me informed.”

  Tessler nodded. “Maybe it’s just a problem Keegan had with the assets.”

  “Whatever it is, clean it up, and fast. I’ll get you wide clearance in L.A. airspace. We don’t need this.”

  Tessler left, not happy that his two best soldiers, Keegan and Metzler, were fast becoming his two biggest problems.

  He climbed back on-board his chopper and gave the order. His pilot would get him into L.A. airspace in less than an hour.

  L.A. was a mess with the flash mobs and Metzler’s homeless vet underground army. Keegan and Doctor Hall had been their one chance to get Metzler to stand down, stop the insanity, and come in and get help. Metzler had been one of Rainee Hall’s most successful patients and he idolized the woman.

  But first Tessler had to find a way to communicate with Seneca, find out what was happening, and find a way to deal with it.

  What he didn’t want was Landra, head of the sniper Blacksnake team, involved. He was a hothead and quick on the trigger. L.A. was already enough of a mess.

  If it went bad, the whole damn place could blow up into a war. Metzler controlled thousands of homeless underground vets up there. It could get real ugly real fast.

  Tessler hoped that wasn’t the case. They were his finest soldiers and like sons to him in many ways. But the mission couldn’t be compromised.

  Though Tessler was a devoted fan of the necessity of the metabolically enhanced warfighters, he knew the program had some major problems, and those problems could potentially be a nightmare, and one loomed ahead. He had to stop it one way or another before it exploded in their faces.

  PART TWO

  17

  Traffic slowed to a crawl when I-5 intersected with the 405. Then it became stop and go. Keegan was constantly glancing at one of his smart cards, touching his earpiece, looking in mirrors. The ultimate multitasker, Rainee thought.

  “They won’t try and stop us on the freeway, will they?”

  “Depends on their orders.”

  Keegan checked his smartcard. “The freeway is closed into downtown.”

  “How do we get there?”

  “Traffic is being forced east and west on the 605. We’ll take Firestone to Alameda. That gives us options.”

  “How bad are things in L.A.?”

  “Getting worse by the hour.”

  The sad part of that was L.A. was such a sketchy city a decade ago, full of empty buildings, dangerous streets, and not even considered important. Then it turned around and became something of a wealth magnet. Now what? They were going to burn it down?

  He made a quick move to get ahead of some slow traffic. The black Charger was now moving up and not more than three cars behind them.

  “The man you want me to talk into coming out of the dark—you have some reason why he would listen to me?”

  He glanced in the mirror and then made another lane change. He checked the weapon he had tucked in front now for easy reach. “You’re the only one he wants to talk to about his issues because you may well be the only one who understands them. You don’t talk him down, then they’ll send in a Blacksnake team, if they haven’t already. Either he’ll be terminated or, if he decides to go to war, those flash mobs and gangs running around will be child’s play when his underground vet army gets into it.”

  “What’s a Blacksnake team?”

  “They’re assassination specialists who get sent in to handle serious problems. He’s a serious problem.”

  “How big is this underground army of his?”

  “Four, five thousand. There are around ten thousand homeless vets in L.A., more than anywhere. And piece by piece, they’re being brought into the underground. They’re a mix of former contractors and vets from the wars.”

  “And he’s okay with you coming in, bringing me?”

  “Yes. We worked together for a couple years. We went through much of the same transition. I put him here in charge of the L.A. cell. Then something happened to him.”

  This little bit of information, added to whatever his ID was that had so impressed the checkpoint guard, changed everything. She wasn’t just riding with a soldier. She was riding with an operative on a much higher level.

  They were forced to pull over when highway patrol, bar lights flashing and sirens screaming, led four National Guard trucks up the freeway.

  “Not a good sign,” Keegan said.

  “Even if we get in,” she said, “how do we get back out if they close off the city?”

  “A chopper will pick us up. We’ll be going to the Facility in Baja. Raab has a full clinic there. No more questions. I have to concentrate. You’ll learn everything soon enough.”

  Lester Raab had a vacation home in Baja. That was probably where this Facility was.

  The idea that one of her former patients was running some kind of rogue underground vet army in L.A. wasn’t as shocking to her as it might be to those outside. What was really disturbing was the inescapable realization that this was connected to something she had helped create.

  Nobody liked to talk about the number of gangs that had formed in the military, or after that were involved in the major drug, gun, and turf wars. But this was way above those low-grade organizations.

  Keegan was again monitoring something and she could see his facial muscles tighten. He didn’t like whatever he was hearing. And now the traffic on the San Diego Freeway was more stop than go.

  She asked, after he made some speed moves, one up the side of the road to pass a camper, “What’s happening?”

  He said, “We have a difficult situation ahead. We need to get off the freeway soon. Whatever I ask you to do, do it fast. Don’t ask questions. Don’t think. Just do what I tell you when I tell you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with heavy sarcasm. He gave her a glance and said, “You outrank me in the regular military, but not here.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a more conciliatory tone.

  He did something then that she liked a lot. He smirked to himself, a little grin of acknowledgement of their relationship that gave him a “human” emotional nuance.

  Farther up the highway, without warning, he broke the silence, as if needing to talk about something that was bothering him. “You developed the Z-chip concept and then you backed away from what he said was your greatest idea. Then you testified against its development and helped bring down the program. Why? We’re in one of the most dangerous times in our history. We need every advance ahead of our enemies that we can get.”

  “I guess I didn’t see Raab and his band of merry men as the answer.”

  “Maybe that was a mistake.”

  “Maybe.”

  After a moment’s silence, he said, “Had you stayed with the development, maybe none of what’s happening would be happening.”

  “I don’t know what the problems are, but I knew that if pushed too fast, there would be problems. Apparently, I was right about that.”

  He glanced at her. “Well, right or wrong, that’s why you’re here. To deal with that problem.”

  All those arguments with Raa
b, the hearings. The generals determined to build the robo-soldiers entering drone-leveled battlefields led to this.

  Rainee said, “Look, the original purpose began as a way to stimulate and control neurogenesis, restoring functionality on a high level by downloading new nanotechnology software, not creating super warfighters. The program was hijacked by the obsession of certain military people who were pushing the enhanced-warfighter program beyond what we were ready for. My goal was primarily therapeutic.”

  He said, glancing at her, “Maybe they understood the need to outpace our enemies. Maybe, on a national therapeutic level, that’s the real issue.”

  “That’s clever,” she said, “but that’s all it is: clever. Look, I quit because they were going way out of bounds. They were obsessed with metabolic dominance. They were willing to use soldiers a guinea pigs. I wasn’t, for both moral and practical reasons.”

  Going up the freeway toward a city under siege with a guy who killed quickly and she was having an argument with him. It was crazy, yet it was politics, and it seemed everything in America had become politics.

  Keegan, obviously a true believer, said, “When survival is at stake, you do what you have to do. In this world, there’s no alternative. Risks, and extreme actions, are necessary.”

  She backed off, not wanting to get into a knockdown, drag-out battle with this guy. So she shifted gears. “Where did you get your work done? I know just about everyone who went into advance programs at Walter Reed or the San Diego Naval Hospital in Balboa Park.”

  “I came later,” he said as he moved aggressively through traffic, getting a few angry horns. “I was in the hospital in Virginia for a long time. But your program was where all of us were eventually going. My main work came at the Facility. I was a wreck. I came back at a higher functional level. It was your chip set that did that. But now, in the upgrades, something is happening. We need your help. All your former patients who are in the program need your help. And it’s at a really critical time.”

  “If I can help, I will,” she said, but with a lot of questions and concerns that she would deal with when the time came, when she understood what was really going on.