by Morgan Bell
A man had turned his e-car sideways to traffic and was getting out of it. In his hand he was holding a panel.
“Fenwick, you drive. Baxter, you come with me,” Blaise said, getting out of the car.
Jamie was cursing and grunting as he got out the back seat on the passenger side, following Fenwick’s move to the driver’s seat.
“Put it down!” Blaise was yelling, his weapon drawn.
The man ignored him and ran across the street to a bus.
“What the hell is he doing?” Blaise asked, not able to get a clear shot, and running forward.
Blaise felt something hit his ribs hard and take him down to the pavement. Then there was the explosion.
“Fu…” Blaise groaned, holding his side. He looked over to see it had been Jamie who had blindsided him.
“What was that?”
“No time to tell you,” Jamie panted, hard. “I saw him go to the back of the transport with the phone. I guessed he was going to touch off the tank.”
“You just looked at it and you got all of that?” Blaise asked.
“Uh-huh,” Jamie nodded his head.
Blaise got up and looked at the intersection. The transport was in flames, several of the e-cars were over turned and ripped open. Traffic was snarled.
“No point in waiting around here,” Blaise said, helping Jamie up.
“I think that was meant to slow us down.”
“What?”
Jamie pointed at the street level monitors that were so prevalent in all cities most people didn’t think about them. “I think they saw us and picked that driver. Sent him the new virus to slow us down.”
“Don’t you mean take us out?”
Jamie shook his head. “There were two other mass transports they could have hit that would have killed us.”
Jamie pointed to the one just in front of the Mustang and another that was behind Angie Ganos’ armored limo.
“They want us to get there. Just on their schedule,” Jamie observed.
“Shit,” Blaise said, and motioned for Fenwick to move over for him to drive.
The snarl in traffic and the arrival of the emergency vehicles shut down the intersection. Blaise and his convoy were forced to back track and head two miles west to find a clear road north up to Bloomfield Hills. By the time they arrived, it had taken them an hour and half to cover what should have been twenty nine miles.
Bloomfield Hills had, despite military occupation and federal reorganization, maintained some of its prestige. The communities were largely still intact. Commercial buildings that had been confiscated by the third Canadian governor had returned to private use and were busy selling cheaply made products from central Indiana and New South Oregon. E-cars and transports were parked in lots and shoppers were moving to and from them with their purchases.
“Baxter, where is the federal forensic psychiatric facility?” Blaise asked, as they glided past another mall.
“According to what I have here, it is three miles ahead and on the right,” Jamie said, looking at a plastic map of the area.
“Ok. They know we are coming. They know where we are going and we have to assume they know what we are looking for. So our best bet is to switch up the program.”
Blaise took the first right and went out into a suburb development. “Where are we going?” Jamie asked.
“Fenwick, how close to a direct trunk do you need to be to work your magic?” Blaise asked.
“I could work it off a refrigerator access panel in a truck stop,” Fenwick said.
“So if I gave you an entire house?”
“I could control the world,” Fenwick smiled.
“Keep your eyes open for Federal Reserve foreclosure notices.”
The properties in the suburb wrapped around small ponds and two lakes. Homes that had once been privately owned prestigious residences of auto executives and mid-level managers were now run down federal rental properties that housed residents who worked for the branches of the Federal Climate Compassionate Transport Authority.
“How about that one?” Jamie asked, pointing at an unoccupied residence at the end of a cul-de-sac.
Blaise shook his head. “Monitor stations are still operational,” he said, indicating a series of cameras stationed on light poles.
As they progressed through the community there were less occupied homes and there were signs of vandalism. Spray painted messages, “Fed up Fed Out!” “Remember Ann Arbor!” “Spartans will rise!” were tagged on some of the buildings.
“This looks promising,” Blaise remarked.
Three homes bore the official Federal Reserve Foreclosure notices. Blaise pulled into one of the driveways and the presidential limos parked along the curb.
“What are we doing?” Lieutenant Marshall called out to Blaise.
Blaise gave the lieutenant a withering look and smirked, “visiting grandmother.”
Fenwick and Blaise drew their weapons and approached one of the foreclosed buildings. “Homeland Military Domestic Police!” Blaise yelled, and kicked in the door.
“What was that all about?” Lieutenant Marshall asked Jamie.
“That was for the neighbors,” Jamie said, and waited for Blaise to signal them what he wanted them to do.
Blaise stepped out of the home and signaled for them to follow him in. Jamie lead the rest of the team in. The home, a two story cape cod with dormers, was the smallest of the three foreclosed on homes. It was clear to Jamie when he entered it that this home was a foreclosure from the second international real estate debt crisis of the 21st century. He had read about it at university. It was when the greedy bankers had overleveraged homeowners and sold the debt to foreign markets and the federal reserve had to buy up all the debt and properties. That history had always bothered Jamie because the same history book told him that bankers had been outlawed prior to that crisis and all mortgages had come from the federal government. Regardless of the facts of history, the home was a single family dwelling and it had been left, with all of its former residents’ worldly belongings still in it.
Across appliances, sinks, and what was presumably the door to a bathroom, were official Federal Reserve security tape informing them that the home had been foreclosed upon and that Federal Reserve appointed contractors had secured the building against weather until the property could be transferred into the Federal Reserve residential property pool.
“You in yet?” Blaise called down to Fenwick.
“I’m just bypassing the power regulator,” Fenwick called up from the basement.
There was a popping sound and the home began to light up. Appliances began to hum, central air began to blow streams of dust, and the home data panel light up.
“Everything is on,” Blaise called down. “Kill the central air though.”
Fenwick ran up the stairs. “I’ll do that from the data panel,” he said and sat down in front of the panel.
The air conditioner stopped blowing dust, the appliances went offline, but the lights remained on. Fenwick moved through a series of icons and was soon in a data stream. “I’m in. I’ve got access to ground level municipal, private channels and federal networks. What do you want me to do, captain?”
“Go back to the intersection north of 8 mile and look at the ground level monitors. See if you can find anything.”
Fenwick moved through another series of icons, entered a series of his own icons and the panel showed six different monitor cameras at the intersection. “Take it back to our approach to the intersection.”
The panel spun back and there was an odd movement of the cameras.
Five had been focused on their normal vantage of the intersection. The sixth showed the approach of the red mustang. A moment later the other five pivoted toward the Mustang. Blaise saw one of the cameras scan the front row of e-cars. He saw it stop. He saw the e-car turn and then the man got out of the car holding his cell phone. Blaise saw the other cameras following his and Jamie’s progress up to the intersecti
on on foot. He saw Jamie tackling him and then he saw the explosion.
“What is the code showing you? Can you see the hack?” Blaise asked.
Fenwick was running his finger along a thousand lines of icons. “The code is standard municipal. The hack must have been back at the station level or a trap door in the code,” Fenwick said.
“Ok, here is what I want you to do. Can you hack the municipal code?”
“Sure thing, you want me to do it at the intersection?”
“No, go up to Pontiac and south to Troy. I want you to blow out a two mile wide corridor. Take out all street level monitors,” Blaise commanded.
“Give me just a second. How long do you need them down for?”
“How long can you give me?” Blaise asked.
“If I do it all at once, about an hour. If I do a series of shut downs and a massive crash, four hours before municipal can even get started on getting it back on line,” Fenwick said.
“Give me the four hour option,” Blaise replied.
No one spoke while Fenwick set up the systems crashes that would remove street level surveillance Pontiac to Troy Michigan. “Done.”
“Now, I need you to give us an outage immediately in downtown Detroit.”
“It could start a riot if people notice the surveillance is off in Detroit,” Fenwick said.
“I’m willing to risk it.”
“Yes, captain,” Fenwick responded, and proceeded to shut down street level surveillance in downtown Detroit.
“Ok, now here is the big one. Blow the power grid for Bloomfield Hills.”
“What?” Lieutenant Marshall asked.
“Just do it,” Blaise told him.
“It will take me a few minutes.”
“You can’t do that!” Lieutenant Marshall protested.
“We have a kill switch option hanging over us here. We can do whatever it takes,” Blaise insisted.
“It is going down in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”
The lights in the house went out.
“Good job,” Blaise said.
Then there was a flicker and the power was back up. “What the-” Fenwick began.
“What happened? Municipal recovery?” Blaise asked.
“No, I wrote around that. There is…someone brought it back up.” Fenwick said.
“Perfect. Try and get a trace on them.”
“They are at the forensic psychiatric hospital,” Fenwick announced.
“Good,” Blaise said. “Here is what we have. Whoever is running the KVBs is in that hospital right now. They are setting us up for an ambush. We are going to blow out street level monitors between here and there. Fenwick is going to stay here and give us tech cover. Marshall, you are staying here to provide support. That means you keep Fenwick alive and on the network.”
“But -” Lieutenant Marshall started.
“Agent Ganos, Agent Drake, Sergeant Rosen and Baxter,” Blaise continued, “we are going to visit that hospital. We are expected. We will be taking the Mustang and the Sunshine Special. Fenwick will provide some blind spots for us, but whatever happens we are no tech and we are going into a multi-story facility. So we will sweep floors, regroup and work our way through the building. Be wary of all automations. Stairwells, not elevators. Disable locks and tech as you go.”
“Fenwick, what have you got for us?”
“Nothing good, captain. The hospital is six stories, built on the healthcare campus designs. Unobstructed views of all ground approach. Secured by federal debt resolution ceiling orders. No ‘oth’ staff on site. Surveillance is municipal on the approach. I can blow that out long enough for you to get into place. I can scramble the entrance operation systems, but with them onsite they will know the moment that I do that.”
“That will be long enough. Just remember, Fenwick, be creative. Use any and all tech, especially old tech, against them,” Blaise said.
“Then what?” Lieutenant Marshall asked.
“If we survive, we will all be taking a drive from Pontiac to Troy.”
Agent Ganos threw Lieutenant Marshall the keys to the Kennedy limos.
CHAPTER 13
FEDERAL FORENSIC PSYCHIATIC FACILITY
The red ’65 Mustang pulled up to the intersection where the forensic psychiatric hospital stood.
“Everyone ready?” Blaise asked Agent Ganos and Dr. Jamie Baxter.
“Ready,” Agent Ganos said.
Jamie was silent.
“You alright there, Dr. Baxter?”
“No, not really,” Jamie said, looking at the building that looked identical to the hospital he’d been working at before the outbreak.
“What’s the problem?” Blaise asked as he approached the building.
“Not a problem, captain. I’m ready to do what I need to do. I just don’t have experience with this. Clearing KVs, I can do all day long. But this…this is different.”
“What do you normally think about when you clear KVs?” Blaise asked.
“My ex-wife or my sister.”
“Saving them?”
“No, them sending me hate messages,” Jamie explained, getting out his gun.
“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. None of us have done this before. So just go with what’s worked for you in the past, adapt it, and don’t get killed,” Blaise replied.
“Yes, captain.”
The car came to a stop and they got out. Blaise signaled for Rosen and Drake to park at the other end of the lot. He made another hand gesture and the two teams began their approach.
∞
“They are onsite.” Fenwick announced.
“Great,” Lieutenant Marshall said.
“What?” Fenwick saw a torrent of data surge across his panel.
“What’s happening?” Lieutenant Marshall asked.
“There’s a data surge. The whole place is lighting up.”
“Well, do something!” Lieutenant Marshall shouted.
“I am! Just give me a second!”
“They don’t have a second!”
Fenwick sent a series of commands through the municipal systems and shut down grid supply to the surrounding area, then moved into a federal data stream and sent a message down the line to shut off the power at the hospital. There was a flickering and a code came back confirming the order. The power went out and then the power was up again. “The facility has a backup generator system on a secured circuit,” Fenwick complained.
“What can you do?” Lieutenant Marshall asked.
“I’m going to try and do a workaround.”
∞
Jamie, Agent Ganos and Captain Jericho Blaise were just inside the reception lobby when the facility powered up. The notification systems began to play their visitor notices. “You have entered a federal psychiatric facility. For your safety, security personal will escort you to our residence visitor center. Please provide our reception staff with your visitation notice.”
The message repeated as they walked across the lobby to the secured entrance at the far end. A panel illuminated with a list of items that could not be brought into the facility and an announcement repeated the list.
“This is a federal psychiatric facility. No fire arms, explosives, bladed devices, nail clippers, tooth brushes, hairbrushes, containers of liquids, food items, printed materials, medications, personal communication devices, commerce credits, digital media, religious publications, or unapproved communication data can be brought into a federal psychiatric facility. By entering this facility you are authorizing security personnel to perform body scans, cavity searches and seizures of any contraband items. Violations of these guidelines or refusal to submit to security personnel inspection is a federal offense punishable by not less than five years of incarceration in a federal facility.”
The message repeated in Spanish.
“God, this is so like going to work,” Jamie said.
“Well, let’s hope Fenwick can get the systems down so we can get in,” Blaise said.
The l
ights flickered, the systems went down. Blaise heard the sound of a lock system disengage.
“Go through, NOW!” he barked.
The three of them rushed through the door and when they got to the other side, the facility powered up again. “Back-up generators,” Jamie said.
An alarm sounded. “Security Alert! Security Alert!”
“Our guns,” Blaise said.
“Shit!” Agent Ganos exclaimed.
“But there is no security team here,” Jamie observed, walking forward.
There was a cracking sound and Jamie was thrown backwards.
“Federal facilities have the dischargers,” Blaise explained to the now supine doctor.
“Ouf,” Jamie managed, thankful that the shock hadn’t stopped his heart.
“Is there a tank room where they store the gases?” Agent Ganos asked, crouching behind a support column.
Jamie shook his head. “They did away with the tank systems when the med techs union demanded hazard pay for transferring them between floors. The gases are piped up through to operating rooms.”
“We could try blowing the fire suppression system,” Agent Ganos suggested.
“Not a good idea,” Blaise said, crouching behind another column, the alarm still sounding. “It isn’t water, but it is still conductive.”
“What then?” Agent Ganos asked.
“Low tech,” Blaise said, and removed something from his pack.
“What is that?” Agent Ganos asked.
“Something that has been around so long it won’t be on the system,” Blaise replied, setting down his gun.
He walked forward raised his arm up, sighted, pulled back and released. There was a shattering sound as the ceramic casing of the discharge unit cracked. Jericho Blaise sighted on the now flashing and sparking electrical head that was exposed and drew back, released again. There was a shower of sparks and now the electrical head was a series of broken connections.
“What was that?”
“An old fashioned wrist rocket and a couple of pebbles,” Blaise smiled.
“Wrist rocket?” Jamie asked, getting up.
“Sling shot,” Agent Ganos explained.
“That is low tech,” Jamie said, retrieving his gun.