Crash Alive (The Haylie Black Series Book 1)

by Christopher Kerns

  “Forward?” Crowne entered the room as the door closed shut behind him, locking from the inside. He watched the room and paced slowly to the middle, stopping next to the Secretary. “Is this your doing, Greg? A secret meeting with everyone but me? Who is breaking the trust of the group, now?”

  Stein shook his head as he pointed his finger in the PM’s face. “The difference is this: I didn’t kill anyone today.”

  “No, no. But you will. Yes? In the next few days, in fact. Isn’t that what this is all about, really? The guilt of what we’re about to do? Second thoughts, perhaps? Cold feet?”

  “Why weren’t we told about the German Chancellor?” Stein demanded. “And what else don’t we know about?”

  “There’s no grand conspiracy here,” Crowne crossed his arms, surveying the room. “I had to act on the Chancellor within minutes. I didn’t have time to inform the group, and I wouldn’t change my decision. I know it feels strange. Things are going to be different when The Project begins, and we should all get used to it. It’s going to take a little faith, but faith grows over time. Please, sit. Everyone, sit. Let’s talk about the problems we face. If we’re not open with each other, we can’t be successful.”

  Stein’s face grew red. “We should have taken a vote.”

  “No more voting,” Crowne shot back. “Voting, debating, arguing, spinning in circles with no forward motion, that’s all just muscle memory. Running back to the old, forgetting to embrace the new path. The better path.”

  “We must delay. The organization is not ready,” said the Japanese liaison from the back of the room. “I have submitted three different technology leaders for your approval, none of which have made it past the first round.”

  “I’m working on getting a leader in place,” Crowne replied.

  “Technology is the cornerstone of the next few months,” Secretary Stein said, surveying the room for agreement. “If we don’t have–”

  “Understood,” Crowne cut him off. Pausing to think for a moment, he grimaced and looked back up to Stein. “I’ll bring in my top man, Martin Bell, to help get that process moving along. We have a candidate in the loop, but we’ve had some delays getting him on board. I’ll make sure that gets resolved. Anything else?”

  “You talk about our path and about trust,” said the South African minister. “How can we have faith in you when you’re sneaking behind our backs, assassinating members of our own group? That isn’t the type of decision you get to make alone.”

  Crowne removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up his forearms, slowly.

  “Let’s all calm down and remember why we’re here,” Crowne said. “In fact, let me remind you. Just recently I was building a proposal to rekindle our space research program here in Britain. We’d been working over the past few years on a new push to detect intelligent life in the Universe. Fascinating stuff, yes? The chance to change the course of humanity, for sure.”

  Crowne continued to pace the room as he spoke. “But of course, as soon as we began testing it through the normal channels, the plans just ended up being shredded, pushed aside. We received warnings from all sides: one claimed the budget could be better used for schools, the next will want to throw the whole lot out the window. You all know the drill. The proposal will never see the light of day, even if I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  He paused, staring off past the walls as his mind churned.

  “Even if I know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Heads around the room began to nod knowingly as a few members abandoned their forward stances. Others uncrossed their arms, resting back into their chairs.

  “You want to know something funny?” Crowne continued. “In one of the footnotes of the plan, there was a mention of something I’d never heard of before. Something called the Fermi Paradox. Has anyone heard of it?”

  The leaders each checked around the room. Baris Ansari, the Minister from Turkey raised his hand subtly from his seat. Crowne had always liked Baris—a man that came from science and wasn’t interested in the power and prestige of politics. A man that just wanted to help people. A rare man.

  “Fermi was an interesting man,” Ansari said. “He knew, with the vast size and age of the universe, that civilizations have absolutely existed elsewhere—species that are far more advanced than our own. But he wondered why none of these species have ever reached out to Earth to say ‘hello.’”

  Crowne walked towards the front of the chamber, pacing his steps to the cadence of Ansari’s words, stopping to face the painting at the head of the room. The scene depicted a fox hunting party, complete with horses, hounds, and servants carrying weapons and a collection of fresh kills. The deep greens of the foliage mixed with the blended dusk sky of dark blues and oranges, making it hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Half the hunting party was pointed in the direction of the dense forest, the other half turning back.

  “And what was Fermi’s conclusion as to why this has never happened … why other civilizations haven’t tried to contact us?” Crowne asked.

  Ansari cleared his throat and sat back. “Fermi believed that all intelligent civilizations self-destruct at some point. Whether through war, or pollution, or overpopulation—that intelligent life always has a blind spot. If his theory is correct, we can assume that other advanced species aren’t contacting Earth simply because they no longer exist.”

  Crowne examined the painting closer, squinting for a better view. The group on the left wasn’t turning back at all, they had rifles in their hands. The group moving forward was just there to drive the foxes from the brush. Well, look at that.

  “It’s a shame about Adele. We are all agreed on that point,” Crowne said. “But I think we all know that we aren’t here to destroy each other; so let’s not get dramatic. We’re here to save this place, this planet that we love. Our human race. We’re here to stop our civilization from destroying itself. I don’t believe it’s too late for our world, but we’re not going to change things by handing out flyers and having more debates. A democratic approach will bring us right back where we started. It’s too late for that.”

  Crowne turned back around to face the group and traced his path around the head table.

  “If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself,” he said slowly. Leaning in towards the group, balanced on his fists, the veins in his forearms popped past his crisp, rolled sleeves. “But I’d rather do it with you, my friends.”

  The room stirred. The assembled leaders shifted in their seats. A few whispered, and others looked to the floor with questions still lingering in their eyes.

  “Genocide, famine, global warming, rising tensions from old battles already fought,” Crowne continued. “What will it take? The problem is with democracy. Discussion doesn’t change people’s minds, and I don’t know that it ever did. We are lifeguards, not leaders. None of us can say that elected officials have given us a better government, or a better way of life. Don’t you all realize we are those leaders? That we are the ones who have been sent to solve this problem? We know that democracy is a failure. We know that a small, smart group of people can fix this. And as of next week, this group will no longer spend its energy in wasted, circular motion. From this point on, we finally lead.”

  Suddenly, the room erupted in applause. Only one member, King Raul of Saudi Arabia, held his hands at his sides.

  “But can’t we do this another way, my friends?” the King interjected, as the applause died out. “Can we course correct without killing millions of people and having their blood on our hands? Adele didn’t have to die, and neither does anyone else.”

  Crowne smiled, approaching the King and sliding his hand on his shoulder.

  “We’re not going to kill anyone, Raul. We’re just going to turn everything off.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Capital of Texas Airpark - Austin, TX

  March 7th, 3:12PM

  A giant, glowing rectangle of white light framed the silhouette o
f the jet as the pilot ascended up the stairs, his freshly-shined black shoes thudding up each step, one by one. A flight attendant followed closely behind, checking final details on an iPad as she glided onto the plane.

  Haylie glanced down, tracing the path of her worn, chocolate-brown leather boots as they shuffled across the concrete floor. Looking over to Walter, who was just finishing up a phone call, Haylie pulled her hair behind her head, letting it fall right back down on her shoulders.

  This is all happening too fast. I barely even know these clowns and I’m about to jump on a jet with them?

  The approaching sound of footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts. Her eyes rose to see Walter in front of her. She faked a weak smile.

  “We’re about to get going, Benjamin’s already on board,” Walter said, pointing over to the stairs. “Let’s get your stuff ready and head out.”

  She watched him make his way towards the plane as Haylie turned back to face the open hangar door, the wind blowing across her face. Her mind raced, her legs stood still, frozen.

  “Hey,” Walter said from mid-way up the stairs, “don’t worry. This will be a piece of cake. And besides, we’ve got your back. It’s going to be fun—just think of it as an adventure.”

  Haylie nodded.

  “Let me ask you something,” Walter said. “That stuff you’ve done in the past: breaking into networks, sneaking past security. Can you still do that?”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I mean, I can find my way in when I need to.”

  “Good,” he said with a relieved smile. “I have a feeling we’re going to need some of that.”

  Haylie exhaled loudly and picked up her bags.

  Ok, Crash. Time to get to work.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Somewhere Over Nevada

  March 7th, 5:57PM

  As Haylie stared out the jet’s window, she drifted off into her mind. She remembered circling her feet in unison, toes extended as they rested on the cushy ottoman, rotating around and around at the ankle. She found herself back in her living room, years ago, staring at the television set….

  She was trying to enjoy her favorite show, but this episode was taking awhile to get to the good stuff. As she cranked up the volume, the thump thump thump of a helicopter filled the speakers, and Desmond began explaining something called a ‘temporal paradox.’

  Ugh. ‘Lost’ was so much better before they let people off the island.

  Caesar walked into the living room, looking quickly over to the kitchen to make sure they were alone. “Hey, pause that for a second, would you?”

  “Umm, no. I think something’s actually about to happen here,” Haylie said. Summer vacations were all about compromise, and he’d had his chance to watch ‘Dr. Who’ earlier. This was her slot.

  Caesar snatched the remote from the ottoman and clicked the pause button, resulting in two smeared, frozen snapshots of the otherwise-handsome Desmond and Faraday.

  “Hey, gimme that back,” Haylie said, reaching for the remote.

  “This will just take a second.”

  Pushing back into the couch, arms folded, Haylie pouted back at him.

  Caesar sat down close to Haylie. “Listen. I’ve been hearing some rumors and I wanted to give you a heads up. A guy I talk to a lot—a guy that knows his stuff—he warned me that there has been some weird activity around the Sceptre message boards.”

  The Sceptre site was a rare place of refuge for Haylie in her young years. Not only did the forum host message boards with every sort of technical discussion you could think of, but also a few super-geeky text-based adventure games where she could blindly navigate through mazes and towns, bumping into other users along the way. It was addictive.

  “What kind of stuff?” she asked.

  “Bad stuff,” he said. “A bunch of kids posting credit card numbers. Trading them, using them. You know anything about that?”

  Her eyes focused on Caesar, and without blinking, replied “Nope.”

  Caesar shook his head. “Ok, idiot. I’m here to help you, not get you busted.”

  Haylie stood firm.

  He whispered, continuing. “Here’s the deal. This guy told me that there’s a crackdown coming. Sounds like one of these cards belonged to a Senator, charged some embarrassing stuff to his account. Now he’s pissed. He’s ordering a task force—we’re talking Federal-level stuff. Handcuffs and prison time, things you don’t want any part of.”

  Her folded arms fell as she tried, without success, to hide her face growing flush.

  “You’re a minor, but they’ll still bust you. You could get years of probation, fines, and they’ll take everything electronic away. You won’t even be able to use this DVR to watch this dumb show. You need to stop, now.”

  Haylie quickly grabbed around Caesar for the remote control, but he blocked her way with a right chop, like a hockey goalie making a quick save.

  “I said I haven’t done anything like that. I’m not stupid,” she said.

  “I know you’re not stupid, and that’s why it would suck for you to get caught doing something stupid. Sometimes we get ourselves into things without seeing the big picture.” Caesar tossed Haylie the remote. “And you don’t need anything, anyway. If you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly hurting for money around here.”

  Silence filled the living room as Haylie’s heart pounded. She laid the remote down on the cushion, tears welling up in her eyes. “I figured the credit cards were bogus. I couldn’t believe it when they actually worked. I just bought a couple of computer magazines, nothing big.”

  Caesar stood and moved a few steps away, his head hung low. Seeing him disappointed stopped her in her tracks.

  “You’re good at this stuff, Haylie. I know you’re good. You’re better than other people. It’s a gift. But the bad news is: you don’t get to do whatever you want with it. Don’t waste it on a few stolen magazines. If you want to be special, do it the right way. Be better than other people.”

  The frozen faces from the television stared Haylie down as she sat up, nodding.

  Caesar walked to the door and turned back to face Haylie. “Just remember, this isn’t always going to be black and white, it’s mostly shades of gray. Remember that.”

  “What do you mean,” Haylie asked. “Shades of gray?”

  “Sometimes you’ll find yourself doing bad stuff for good reasons. But you always need that good reason. It’s confusing, but you’ll know it when you see it.”

  Haylie watched as Caesar left the room, her eyes floating back to the TV. She tossed the remote aside and stared down at the floor. Flushed with frustration, heart beating fast. She inhaled a deep, long breath.

  Shades of gray.

  > > > > >

  Benjamin snapped his fingers twice in the air. “Haylie. You still with us?”

  Wedged in the corner of her huge leather chair, Haylie watched the scenes outside the plane’s window, getting lost in the orange of the building sunset. The patchwork clouds flowed below, like river water at the crest of oncoming rapids. The setting sun shot a line of orange across the horizon, reflecting off the window pane, spitting flecks of fire.

  “Sure, I’m here,” she said.

  When Haylie had boarded the jet an hour earlier, she felt like she was entering a whole new world. She had slowly made her way up the stairs—ten perfectly balanced steps with delicate lights illuminating every other platform—and could smell the mixed bouquet of leather and fresh flowers before she even walked on board. Inside, she found a cabin appointed with dark wood, light leather chairs and spacious couches. Most of the chairs sat facing each other, while a few bench seats ran along the opposite side of the cabin. This was not the way she, or most people in the world, normally travelled.

  It had been the quickest takeoff Haylie had ever experienced; no safety overview or long taxi down three different runways. They just closed the door and went. As the plane rose to cruising altitude, Haylie drifted back and forth between daydrea
ms and a quick nap as the brothers caught up on email, industry news, and missed phone calls.

  Benjamin sat across from her, clicking his phone down on the rich, polished wood table. “The pilot tells me we should be there in about three hours. What’s the game plan?”

  Haylie stretched her arms above her head and reached back down, deep into her backpack’s main pocket. She retrieved her laptop and cracked the shell, quickly typing in her password.

  “I did some research while the crew was prepping the plane,” she said. “This is about to get a little weird.”

  “Weirder than rabbit pictures and Rhodesia?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yeah, weirder,” Haylie said. “This isn’t just code breaking anymore. I’ll show you—I’m assuming with the amount of money you guys spent on this plane, it has Wi-Fi? I hope?”

  Walter smiled. “Sure. The password is ‘indigo,’ but with a ‘1’ for each ‘i.’”

  “That’s a terrible password.” Haylie joined the network and opened the document that held her research. “You’re not going to believe some of this stuff.”

  Benjamin, half-paying attention, as he read his email, chuckled. “Try us,” he said.

  “Let’s look at a few different pieces of the clue,” Haylie said. “First, the coordinates. They identify a camp outside of Santa Rosa, about seventy-five miles north of San Francisco. It’s right by the Russian River, surrounded by a few hundred acres of woods. The Google Maps view shows a few clearings, a couple of buildings here and there, and one road that dead ends in the middle. But that’s it. Anything else hiding in there is covered by forest.”

  “So, what’s the big deal? It’s just some random camp?” Walter asked, sitting down next to Haylie to get a better view of the map.

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” she said. “When you search the geolocation of the camp with another part of the clue, the phrase ‘Weaving Spiders Come Not Here,’ some crazy results come up,” Haylie rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she flipped over to the search results. “It makes me think this could be tricky.”