by Jerry Ahern
“The Democratic Alliance started to fall apart after that election, coupled with the loss of the next mid-congressional elections, three years later the Alliance ceased to be a viable political entity—that was when the Progressives took limited power under the banner of ‘social change’ and ‘social justice.’ The country has suffered, even with what the Representative Party has been able to do to stem the tide.”
“So, if I’m following you,” Michael said slowly, “you’re saying stay in the race, but don’t campaign?”
“Yes, if you drop out now, you’ll be branded a quitter—a fighter can’t be seen as a quitter. You will have the support of the Representative Party and we wage a campaign of support for you behind the scenes. We can orchestrate town hall meetings, media coverage for the next two months, keeping Michael Rourke’s face in front of the people—all under the concept of ‘Michael Rourke strikes a blow for honest government’ with a shot of you knocking Greene on his butt.”
“Has anything like this ever even been tried?” Michael asked.
“Never,” the President smiled. “It is totally illogical, however, it is legal and I think we have the support behind the idea to make it work. You just need a plan; that reminds me of an old story about a man that did have a plan, a balding, white haired man from Sherman Oaks, California. He walked into a jewelry store in a local mall on a Friday evening with a beautiful much younger gal at his side. He told the jeweler he was looking for a special ring for his girlfriend. The jeweler looked through his stock and brought out a $5,000 ring. The man said, ‘No, I’d like to see something more special.’ At that statement, the jeweler went to his special stock and brought another ring over. ‘Here’s a stunning ring at only $40,000 the jeweler said.’”
“The lady’s eyes sparkled and her whole body trembled with excitement. The old man seeing this said, ‘We’ll take it.’ The jeweler asked how payment would be made and the man stated, ‘By check. I know you need to make sure my check is good, so I’ll write it now and you can call the bank Monday to verify the funds and I’ll pick up the ring Monday afternoon.’ On Monday morning, the jeweler angrily phoned the old man and said, ‘There was only $25 in your account.’”
“I know, said the old man, ‘but let me tell you about MY GREAT WEEKEND!’”
“So, I stay in the race but do nothing?”
“Not exactly, you have to nominate your Vice President. Then, the media is going to be all over you for comments; only say something like this, ‘I said everything the people of this country need to know about Michael Rourke that night. Do they want someone that will fight lies or a career politician? It is their choice and I’ve said all I’m going to say, now it is the time for legitimate action and honest government’; we’ll help you flesh it out. In the meantime, you stay active and continue your life as normal.”
“And you think this could work?”
“I do Michael and so do my advisors,” President Hooks said as he clenched his fist and held it in front of Michael’s face. “Are you ready to provide a fist full of government, a smaller government dedicated to ‘of the people, by the people and for the people’ and willing to fight for it? We think it would make a hell of a campaign slogan, what do you think?”
Michael smiled and said, “Sir, don’t you mean a non-campaign slogan?”
The President chuckled and stood up, “Yeah, Michael I guess I do. What do you say, are you ready to do nothing and see how this plays out? With your agreement I’ll make the phone call and the things we have set up will be put in play.”
“Mr. President,” Michael stood and offered a hand shake, “I don’t have much experience in doing nothing, but I’m a quick learner and I suspect I can do nothing better than the average man. Okay, last point I want my non-running running mate to be Jason Darkwater. I had spoken with Jason before the brouhaha. He’s willing and now that he has retired as a Naval Admiral, he is free to run. His record is impeccable and I trust him.”
Chapter Fifteen
The morning sun was struggling to break over the tops of the mountain but hadn’t yet. Paul Rubenstein watched the view in his bedroom window slowly crawl out of the darkness of night and through the crippled illumination of dawn. Now it held elements of both, he knew in a few moments the darkness would lose and the light would win.
For hours Paul laid awake in the bed not moving; just thinking. No, not thinking—remembering. Remembering the time before; when things were normal. He moved through his earliest memories, through relevant childhood experiences and into his adult life. He went through his careers, his training, his missions and past the point of the airplane crash that had been the start of the end of his peace, the start of his quest, the end of the world and the birth of this new world.
Tears often sprang from his eyes over the losses he had endured and now remembered and for all of the changes he hadn’t sought. Once or twice a smile crept to his lips with pleasant memories of friends only to slip away with the knowledge that al most everyone he called friends in that world were dead and dust and had been for years.
Only a few remained, none of them would have survived without John Thomas Rourke. He had saved them and helped carry them through the destruction into an existence none of them had ever dreamed of. The struggles, the deaths were over and a new world had been formed.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he walked to the bathroom. When he finished relieving his bladder he washed his hands and face and stared at his image in the mirror. Never particularly vane about his appearance it was the first time in a long time he had really examined his face.
His physical appearance was that of a man now in his late forties; although he considered himself in his mid-fifties his actual birthday was much further back than that. Now, he sported crow’s feet around his eyes, but they were deeper and more pronounced. The crease lines between his brows were now permanent. His hair was a little thinner but not much. Gray strands shot randomly through his hair and eyebrows.
The shoulders were still strong, the waist still slim and he still moved well. He knew he was a little slower but few others recognized it. He was aware his recovery time from injuries took a little longer but it had been years since he had suffered an injury. Since then his time had been spent peacefully and productively.
His days of combat, conflict and conflagration had ended thirteen years ago. Old habits die hard though; he still kept a pistol by the night stand and another next to his easy chair but no longer routinely carried them. His Buck Model 110 Folding Hunter lock-blade always rode in his hip pocket. He still routinely cleaned and maintained his weapons and once a month he continued to go through an active target firing regime. He grinned when he realized how long it had been since the last time he had fired a shot in anger.
Married to the woman of his dreams, now most of his time was divided between his writings, designing civil works programs, teaching and being a dad, “Yes Sir, Mr. Rubenstein,” he said aloud. “Your life has turned out pretty well.” He grinned, slapped his flat stomach and changed clothes and strode out to face a new day.
The phone rang in the kitchen; putting down his cup of coffee he answered it. “Mr. Rubenstein, how are you?” Randall Walls, Emergency Management Services Director asked.
“Fine how about you?”
Cutting to the chase, Walls said, “All good, no issues or problems. Everything is quiet but there are a couple of ...” Walls hesitated looking for the correct terms. “A couple of interesting things outside our area you might be interested in. Nothing confirmed, like I said everything seems quiet but if you have a few minutes I’d like to show you.”
“Give me about ten minutes and I’ll stop by,” Paul said and hung up. Slinging his jacket over one arm, he adjusted his glasses and put on a ball cap. “Annie, I’m headed over to EMS for a while.”
“When will you be back?” she asked without looking up from the computer screen where she was shopping for a new set of running shoes.
“O
h, forty-five minutes, maybe an hour,” he said over his shoulder and walked out.
The EMS was only two blocks away and the weather was nice so Paul walked. Randall Walls’ office was on the second floor and after passing through security Paul took the stairwell, two steps at a time. He walked past the Secretary, Betty Jones who said, “Morning Mr. Rubenstein.”
“Morning Betty, how’s Ellen doing?” Jones’ daughter Ellen was fourteen and had been injured last month in a traffic accident.
“Better each day Sir, they take the cast off next week and she starts rehab on her leg. Thanks for asking.”
Paul stopped with his hand on Walls’ office door handle. “Give her my best,” he said, rapped once on the door and marched in.
Walls stood and extended his hand and Rubenstein shook. “Come on around the desk, Sir,” Walls directed pulling over a roller chair, as he sat back down in front of the computer array.
Randall Walls was smaller and lighter framed than Paul but not by much. Paul always marveled at the way Walls was able to stay neatly coiffed. Not a hair on his head or his neatly trimmed beard was ever out of place. Paul’s own hair, on the other hand, seemed to be perpetually wind tossed.
“Here’s what I wanted to show you,” Walls said as his fingers flew across the keys. Bringing the program up, he directed Paul’s attention to the display screen. Leaning forward he studied the image. Finally he said, “Randy, I don’t see it. What am I looking for or what am I looking at?”
“These are satellite images for the last three days,” Walls explained. “They covered an area about twenty square miles, fourteen miles north east of town.”
“Over in the national forest?” Paul asked.
“Just about dead center of it.”
“Still don’t see anything, show me.”
“Look here, here and... over here,” Walls pointed.
Paul focused on the screen and slowly frowned. “Are you talking about these distortions?”
“That’s it, I can’t explain them,” Walls said and punching another series of keys brought up more images. “These cover that area from the day before yesterday, yesterday and hourly for the past 24 hours since I first noted the anomalies.”
Studying the screen, Paul noticed the anomalies traced vague al most invisible paths across the sky. “How did you even spot this?” he asked.
“Had it not occurred over the forest, I never would have,” Walls admitted. “And even then I almost missed it. See how the view of the forest seems to be blocked by something, but not completely?”
Nodding, Paul agreed, “It is almost as if a large puddle of water was moving over the forest. You can still see the trees below, but not as clearly as the trees not under the ‘puddle.’”
“Exactly,” agreed Walls with emphasis. “I have checked and rechecked my findings and I can’t explain this. Here, day one—several of these visual disturbances occurred, always moving in the same direction, from the same direction and ending right here. Day two—the same disturbances, but now from two directions all ending in the same place; day three—more disturbances, multiple directions all ending here,” he pointed toward the screen.
“Strange part is I’ve checked the satellite feeds and ran diagnostics, they’re okay,” Walls said. “I’ve checked wind patterns, thermal atmospheric shifts, weather patterns, bird migrations and a half dozen other things. I can’t explain it.”
Paul frowned, “Can you tell what height these things are above the ground?”
“Varying heights, some appear to be descending, some ascending. Either they appear in the satellite’s range at several thousand feet, gradually descend and vanish or they appear at tree level, climb and go out of the satellite’s view.”
“Any other areas reporting this? What about Space Command?”
Walls shook his head, “Nope, I checked but like I said, had it not been over the forest and if I hadn’t just lucked on to it, I would never have seen it or recognized it.”
Paul did not recognize the phenomenon, but as he stared at the screens he began to frown. He didn’t recognize the phenomenon. He stood up and began pacing, dredging up old memories. He was shifting through his old life, his old skills. Then it hit him, screw the phenomenon he recognized the pattern.
“Crap, Randy,” Rubenstein said with a start. “That is an infiltration! Someone or something has or is establishing a base camp right on our front door step.”
“Are you sure?” Walls exclaimed.
“If you are sure that there is not some natural condition or phenomenon that will explain what you’re showing me,” Paul turned and his eyes bored into Walls,’ “I don’t have any other explanation, do you?”
Not waiting for a response, Paul stood up, grabbed Walls telephone and punched in a code. When the voice on the other end answered, Paul spoke quickly and with authority. “This is Paul Rubenstein. This is an action message. I want the Area Defense Force on immediate alert and ready for armed operations in ten minutes!”
Walls could hear the voice on the other end say, “Roger Sir, prepare to authenticate... Uniform, X-ray, Alpha, Alpha, Zulu, Niner, Six, One, Four.”
Paul copied the code down, pulled a card from his wallets and replied, “Authorization code Yankee, Yankee, Baker, Delta, Tango, Four, authenticate!”
The voice responded and in the background Paul could hear a claxon going off. “Roger that Sir, I have authentication and the alarm has sounded. Do you have any specific orders?”
Paul said, “I’ll be there in less than ten, have them ready to roll!” Before he received an answer he had hung up the phone and headed for the door. He turned, “Randy, good catch. I’m not sure what you’ve caught but good catch. Activate the emergency communication system and put EMS Plan X-ray Four into implementation.” He headed back to his house to grab his gear.
Nine minutes later, fully armed he arrived at the Defense Force Alert Area. Six minutes after that, he was in the second of six ADF Alert vehicles headed toward...; he didn’t have an idea of what they were headed for. In his mind one question kept popping up, “How do you plan ahead, when you don’t know what you’re going into?”
Shaking his head he threw the question out; he’d do what he always had done. Take advantage of what planning he had in place, adapt and overcome, still mobile and flexible. Outside his vehicle window the scene was actually beautiful and peaceful. He remembered another day, so long ago, that of another life, his life, when he was slammed into a maelstrom of events that shattered everything... a day just like this one.
The ADF Team Commander, Captain Derek Reynolds had the heads up display zeroed in on a twelve mile area. It showed the terrain, access roads and for ten minutes he had been issuing orders where his men were to establish their cordon positions. “I want to move the teams into a position close to the center area,” he had told his team leaders. “We don’t know if there is anything there, but if there is we may—and Gentlemen I say may, have to be able to bring the maximum fire power to bear. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. I want a soft probe; if we can gain intelligence without engagement that’s the plan.”
Reynolds, personally thought, “This is a crap mission. What the hell are we here for? We have no Intel, no mission parameters and, no confirmation there is anything at all here!” When he turned to face Paul however all he said was, “We’re on top of it Sir.”
Paul nodded but said nothing.
The troopers were outfitted in the newest standard issue Impulse Protection Systems, dark grey suits with Exo-skeleton appliances. Their helmets boasted heads-up displays that calculated distance to a target, wind and weather conditions, terrain, remaining ammo for their weapons and allowed for direct communication to all team members or selected ones.
Rubenstein wore his standard jeans, leather jacket and his weaponry consisted of his vintage German Schmeisser MP-409mm machine pistol with a 32 round magazine in the well. In his shoulder bag he had two 32 mags joined with a “jungle clip” and seve
n single mags in stitched compartments. He carried the old Browning Hi-power in a shoulder rig with two 13 round mags on the offside. In the small of his back, a Pachmayr gripped 4 inch Colt Lawman .357 magnum; both pistols wore a Metalife finish and were Mag-na-ported.
His Musset bag also held four Safariland speed loaders for the revolver and four extra mags for the Browning all with the “new” Federal hollow points. Instead of a helmet he had a head piece on that was his communication link to the teams and to Reynolds. The six five-man teams had disembarked their vehicles and began moving toward the target area. They moved in a semi-circle that was almost a half-mile wide. By the time they closed on their object they would have closed to a semi-circle of only 100 yards, with two teams set up in flanking positions on the sides.
It took almost two hours before they crossed into what everyone assumed was the contact area. The underbrush and ravines made going slow complicated by the need for silence; the men were focused and ready. Reynolds had deployed “Dragonfly” aerial drones to sweep ahead of the teams. Silent and no bigger than a dragon fly; these had audio-visual capabilities and could provide real time sound and sight to the men at a distance of 1/4 mile line of sight.
Neither they nor the men on the ground saw or heard anything out of the ordinary.
Ground Zero had been defined by the coordinates Randall Walls’ studies of the satellite images reasoned was the center of activity. It proved to be an area obstructed by the forest canopy but clear of the underbrush the ADF teams had encountered. The forest canopy restricted the growth of vegetation and had naturally formed a clearing approximately 75 feet by almost 100 feet.
The ADF teams watched and observed from about eighty yards away. Nothing! There was no movement, no tracks, no structures, no vehicles, no personnel they could see and they had a clear line of sight through the clearing to the other side of it.