Matt heard the TV low in the background. The news was insane. Then he’d realized another bad, bad thing for himself. He had just killed all these peoples’ new Messiah. If word ever got out of what happened here, he’d become the next Salman Rushdie. Only instead of Islamic extremists, it would be nuts in sheep suits after him. Man, it never gets any better for me.
He thought back to that day he left his pastrami on the desk and chased after Vera. If only he’d been able to read the situation better. He’d never be able to go back and pick up that sandwich or his life again. His life was never going to be the same and worse, his family’s life wasn’t either.
And then the guilt washed over him. It felt like the time he got smashed by a big wave while body surfing on vacation in L.A. as a teenager. As the monstrous wave churned fiercely toward shore, it turned his body into a rag doll inside a washing machine; he really thought he was going to die. To say he was being shook apart would be an understatement, as he felt so helpless—rolling with the wash. Now he feared he dropped Jan and Jon into the torrent with him.
Then his mind changed channels. What did she call me on the Radio? Agent Hurst? Holy shit! Matt was blown away by that statement. Some nerd actually figured out everything he had done, the touch of intelligence spiced with intrigue was surely too much for one of their analysts to pass up. Thank God for books!
Matt recalled how he loved reading about Allan Dulles, who was thought of then and to this day, as a Nazi sympathizer, but Matt knew it was the old, “don’t judge a book by its cover.” The erudite know the information Dulles brought out helped the Allied bombs find the most productive targets—time and time again. Dulles bled his Nazi friends like a leech until there was blood no more. That’s exactly what I did here now, to Pablo and Vera’s delusions of grandeur.
Matt heard the low rumble of the approaching choppers and suddenly the fear of going back home hit him. He’d been in the dark, alone, for so many years now . . . not knowing anything about his parents, wife, or son, other than they were generally okay.
He looked at Vera and wondered what their child would have been like. He pulled out the picture of the sonogram. There was writing on the bottom left that the computer adds when the nurse types it in. It said Vera Hurst. That body shot was right on the liver and it nearly dropped him like a prizefighter in the late rounds. Then at the bottom right of the page were the words that tore up a part of him that would never heal, Girl, 18 weeks. His gut ripped open and more pain than he’d ever felt enveloped him.
He gazed at Vera once more—she’s still so beautiful. Maybe even more so now as there is finally a peace in her. Pablo might have been able to erase her past in the daylight, but it was Matt at night who held her whenever she relived the horrors of her past in night terrors. It wasn’t always, but often enough that she would awaken in the middle of the night with apocalyptic nightmares. It would take half an hour to get her back to sleep again. Usually afterward he would slide out of bed and go running, never being able to get back to sleep after the drama.
Sometimes Vera could not go back to sleep either, so they ran together in the mornings. He could never get Jan to run, as she liked Yoga, so she never felt the bond between two runners with nearly the same gait. How he and Vera trudged out the last mile together, pushing each other to the point of near exhaustion. Matt had to ask to no one in particular, “Did all this really happen?”
He knew it had, though, and it felt so liberating to have all of his personal subterfuge finally over. He had felt so guilty so often, but he had had to bury it, same with all his emotions. He had to be cold. Some people could just do it, just shut it all off and pull the trigger and never skip a beat. Apparently I’m one of them.
His mind rambled to the time the family dog had to be put down. Her name was Shiloh and she was a fawn Doberman. Matt had been bugging his dad for a dog when he was ten until he finally coerced Don and they went to the pound and found her. She was all terrified and shaking, alone in her kennel, truly pathetic.
The two of them just couldn’t walk away and leave her. For two years she was the most skittish thing one ever saw. If you picked up a broom she became terrified then bolted and hid for hours. She changed with time, and soon she was not only the beloved family pet, but she was also Don’s favorite dog ever. She had so many quirks that were absolutely endearing.
In no time she became sixty pounds of total protection as far as their house was concerned, not even mail was allowed to enter. She chewed the mail so badly that they had to have an outside mailbox put in. It would just barely make it through the slot and she would rip it out of the mailman’s hand and then shred it. Matt got endless entertainment out of that before the outside box was put in.
Then came the night she got out and ran the neighborhood. It happened more than once, but on this night a neighbor’s car hit her. That trip to the vet cost them seven hundred big ones and the dog had to have a plate in her repaired leg. The dog was fine for about seven years until the night she woke them up crying and wouldn’t stop, the arthritis too bad for her to endure anymore. No one had the temerity to take the dog in. Not “War Hero” Don, nor his hysteric wife. Not even his right wing Uncle Bob could do it the next morning. Matt was the only one who could be detached enough to take the dog in and have her put down.
He stroked Vera’s hair, tucking it behind her ear the way he used to. Matt remembered that heart-wrenching day at the Vet like it was yesterday. The Vet walked in with a huge syringe as he held Shiloh, crying while the Vet injected death into his best friend of more than ten years. And here he was again, only this time the act played out with peoples’ lives. He looked over at video screens full of dead Ants—lots of peoples’ lives.
He had so much more in common with Vera than with Jan, yet he loved both equally. Unfairly he felt that his love for Vera might be stronger, but Jan had not even had a say in the matter. She had not had the ability to try to snap him out of his thoughts of this dead woman at side. Life is so unfair! He wept and wept, the tears not drying.
He had begun to cradle her now and felt he couldn’t set her down again, as setting her down meant letting her go. Suddenly the room was full of soldiers, and after they secured the room they were talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on what they were saying. He saw they were busy working on the satellite computer and someone was trying to get him to let his Vera go and evacuate, but he couldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her go!
He finally started talking, but only to make them understand that she’s coming back to the U.S. with him. She’s his woman and he’ll bury her at “his” home. Finally, a smartly dressed Caucasian woman with sandy blonde hair came over to him. Matt could hear in the background that they had the satellite on a re-entry orbit now. The threat to the world apparently over on that front, his ears were still ringing from the earlier gunshot and he had to strain to hear.
The woman knelt down, “Hi Matt, I’m Sarah Berkman. I’m your boss and whether you know it or not, your friend as well. Welcome back.”
5 – Precipice
U.S. Air Force Major Woody Park was wondering if he would ever get this bird out for a spin. His modified 747 was now called the YAL-1, or the ABL (Airborne Laser Anti-Ballistic Missile Weapons System). They’d had it in a hangar in Keflavik, Iceland, for some years now.
Every now and then the IT guys would show up and handle some Technology Insertion or conduct Advance Processor Builds to upgrade their systems, but they still never got to take it out of the hanger. He knew that they had the next generation of these planes, but even the next generation was soon to be mothballed around here. Soon they would have unmanned aircraft to do his job. What then?
These planes could easily start another Cold War if they proved to be too lethal against a sub’s ability to strike back in case of a sneak attack on its home country. With lots of time to muse and play cards, Woody and his co-pilot, Lt. Dave Dutton, talked about all these scenarios. One of the ones they talked about would be the day
they were called out of their hangar in the middle of the day and scrambled in an unbelievable five minutes! The brains in charge had figured out a fuel replacement system that enabled them to keep her fueled at all times. Since the base was decommissioned some time ago, being here was by a special deal between the two governments. So no test flights were allowed, not even at night, which made the quick scramble even more impressive.
All the testing was done in the U.S., but thirty minutes ago they became a secret no more. He was given a route to fly and his fuel capacity enabled him to loop it many times before refueling was needed.
It felt good to be out and about even though he knew the why. He’d been given the warning that there was to be an imminent missile launch and he was to wait for intercept orders. Apparently they were running the fail safe for the current mission. His plane carried a Mega-Watt Class Chemical Oxygen Iodine Laser (COIL) that could reach out and get a missile at over three hundred miles—theoretically. Although the farthest test he knew of was a hundred kilometers.
Just like that, the launch detector warning went off and radar picked it up at only fifty miles. He felt like a fisherman who walked up to a lake, threw in a line and landed a “trophy fish.” Only this trophy fish was of the nuclear variety. Both of them had goose bumps without even realizing it as the reality of watching a real launch was something that until this moment seemed like complete fiction.
Woody thought no one is ready for this reality, even if it’s his or her job to thwart it. He was confused by the launch, however, as the sub had to have seen them approaching, yet no anti-aircraft defenses were launched in their direction?
His targeting software picked up the Russian missile launch immediately, the plane’s laser acquiring the target as its computer was programmed to do. They had a fifteen second window to get the missile in the booster stage and then the opportunity was gone. Seven seconds into the launch they got the green light as Lt. Dave Dutton was on a live video feed with the National Military Command Center.
Once he got the go sign, Dave activated the computer program and the COIL went to work. When using a laser this powerful, one expected some special effects. You heard and felt missiles leave the rack, but unless you knew what “hum” to listen for, the operator would never know he or she was shooting a laser and destroying a rocket moving well past the speed of sound.
Before the Russian rocket could lose its booster, it was destroyed, simple as that, its payload falling back to earth undetonated. Woody looked at his copilot with an understanding that only really close family and friends can do, where a whole conversation could be conveyed in one look. Both knew that they just changed the game for real here as they banked their plane back to Keflavik and a new world that they just opened up.
* * *
The plane’s cockpit and flight data was live in the War Room. Even though the missile was not aimed at the U.S., the implications of allowing this was more than anyone wanted to deal with, as the Russians had set an altitude detonator on the rocket that ensured that no matter the disruption to their sensors, the bomb would go off once it left Earth's atmosphere. To say they were watching with bated breath would be a huge understatement. They were watching on pins and needles, every last one of them.
Kim was the only one who didn’t watch the screens but was picking up the information unconsciously. Rather, she was taking this opportunity to watch the people involved. She was always taking notes, looking for anything she could give her boss for use at a later date. That’s why Lawrence had her little observation room installed.
Once the missile was felled there was a huge wave of relief and clapping throughout the war room. Even though she wasn’t fixed on the screen, that didn’t mean she wasn’t fixed on the matter at hand with the missile. Kim’s ability to multitask effectively provided her some very beneficial insight during this crisis.
She felt his presence next to her. She’d allowed one exception to her “no one comes here” rule. One thing about Ray Callahan, other than his sexy brain, was that he always smelled nice. He knew the exact amount of cologne to wear, just enough to intrigue, but not enough to make you gag. And he picked a wonderful scent too, not something obtrusive.
He spoke to her calmly, knowing she was aware of him, “Our Boy is coming home.”
“I heard.”
“You haven’t heard it all.”
“What haven’t I heard, Ray?”
“The satellite was not the attack. They’re bringing in Bob Thompson.”
That surprised Kim for sure, “Why?”
Ray revealed, “Matt stopped a cyber-attack that would have crippled the World.”
“Crippled the World? How?”
“By erasing all of its money. Apparently, James had back doors to everything. Matt obtained information from our bad guys that Bob helped this happen—inadvertently. There’s so much more. Sarah was able to record a rambling yet coherent synopsis of the whole situation from Hurst before they had to sedate him.”
Ray actually welled up and looked like he was going to crack a little. “Kim, Hurst had to kill the woman we know as Nancy Chavez. It also appears that she was pregnant with his child.” He got up to leave. “I sent you Sarah’s report.”
Ray let Kim know, “Hurst had one last thing to say before we put him out. Actually it was an idea and by the looks of things, one we better start on right now. I’ll wait for your green-light call.” He turned and was gone. Kim looked out into the elated faces across the board out there. They did a good job, but as always, it will be people like me picking up the pieces of this for years to come.
She saw Lawrence reach for the Hotline for what was surely a record of some kind. After the call and her immediate work here was done, she couldn’t wait to get back and read what Ray left her.
The phone was picked up after the second ring, and President Caulfield spoke first, although he made the call, “Mr. President.”
“I thought we were going with first names, Lawrence? My actual friends call me ‘Miro.’”
“Okay, Miro, my actual friends call me, ‘Sir.’” In what turned out to be a number of firsts, including the leadership joke (no friends at the top), the tone had really changed. It could be that his Southern drawl tickled them as he rolled it out or that it was just a funny remark. Regardless, it brought out the first true laugh that ever happened on this phone, and the corresponding genuine smile and chuckle from President Caulfield, also a first as he’d just realized how odd his drawl must sound to them.
His Russian counterpart spoke, “The laser was effective.”
That brought the room back to sober, “Yes, Miro, it was.”
“You realize, Lawrence, that we detected the plane and knew of its relevance.”
“We figured you did, we used no jamming gear.”
“We appreciated the gesture, but what happens when that is no longer the case? When we won’t be able to see each other’s planes, manned or unmanned?”
“How about we start to worry about how to keep our new friendship alive, Miro, instead of worrying about new ways to destroy it.” Again with the heavy drawl, but this time no laughs.
“It’s true my new American friend. We’re living in a new world, one where someone with enough money can put this together and really make an impact.”
Lawrence grandstanded for emphasis, “Yes, Miro, a world where we may need each other.”
“That, Sir, is the biggest truth that has ever been told on this phone.”
Lawrence ended the call with promises to make strides toward real change. Hopefully Miro would win his next election. Lawrence was just about to take a mental breather when his phone rang. It was Kim calling to alert him of the next crisis, one that couldn’t even wait for him to finish his breath before it started.
He felt like a marathon runner who ran across the finish, only to hear another starter gun. “Boss, half a million people are in Central Park and it’s spreading throughout the U.S. fast. They’re chanting for the Sheep.
We’ve already identified known antagonists in the crowd, but this is getting bigger than even them in a hurry.”
Eric was also on the phone, only on a different call. After two minutes he demanded attention from the room. “Brief Intel break people, Hurst is on his way in, sedated. The tale is unbelievable and I hope you’re all sitting down for this. The satellite was not the main attack. Our boy Hurst stopped a cyber-attack on the World that would have ended everything we know!”
That sobered the room even more as the President reminded everyone, including himself, “Incredible for a guy who was never trained or assigned to this mission. Matt Hurst, gentlemen, has turned into a true National Hero.”
Eric concluded, “We’re also bringing back the girl and Pablo Manuel. Hurst wants to bury her here.”
President Caulfield broke in, “Isn’t that a little crazy, Eric?”
“She was also pregnant, Chief.”
“Jesus Christ!” The President exclaimed.
Eric continued, “Well, Hurst is not through saving us yet it appears. Before Sarah sedated him, he came up with an idea to get us out of this ‘Sheep’ mess.”
The President of the United States of America was done being flabbergasted. Someone could bring in a talking pig at this point and he would roll with it as unflappable as could be. “Really, Eric, and what might that idea be?”
* * *
This was too much! It really is going just like James and Pablo portrayed. James had advised him, “Don’t be too near any major populace.” Those words hung in Sandy’s mind as he watched the Sheep followers’ numbers grow and grow on the television news broadcast. The movement started in Berkeley, and as the people in the San Francisco Bay Area loved to do, they got a protest going. Not to be outdone by New York, the march was from the University of California at Berkeley to Golden Gate Park
And the Meek Shall Inherit (Harbinger of Change Book 2) Page 18