Those who did go beyond the group's borders felt relief when they returned. Operating among the humans drained them, as the mental connection to the group only survived distances of a few hundred yards. Human emotion was so raw and unregulated. The shared emotion of their own society provided a kind of security difficult to describe to an outsider.
Ronin Gonzales stood up in front of the assembled thousands and conversation ceased. He didn't need to raise his voice, the acoustics of the room providing the necessary amplification.
“Friends, I think we all agree that this action cannot go unchallenged. The Guatemalan engaged in a direct attack on us in Montana. The question we have asked is how could he have discovered our base? We think we have the answer.
“We never take flights directly to Montana, and no one could follow in a car across those open spaces in America without being spotted. However, phone calls, while they can't be understood due to encryption, can be tracked from point A to point B.
“And that means Yum Cimil has access to a U.S. Intelligence source. Not a particular surprise, but a mistake on our part not to consider that he might. As a result, a hundred of our fellows are dead.”
He fell silent and allowed the Intuitive Silence to envelop them. Then he nodded to Yurix. She stood up.
“I want to say two things. First, there is another possibility that could explain how Cimil discovered Montana. Our man in Washington could have told him.”
Heads nodded and Gonzales looked at her. “A disturbing possibility. To be safe, we will recall him immediately. If he is responsible, he will not be able to conceal it once he is among us. And what is your second point?”
“Just this. As difficult as the loss of our Montana family is, practically speaking it just means one less base. And our revenge—if we need it—is already underway. The primary infections have already happened, including in Guatemala. The wave of deaths is picking up speed, and we estimate no more than a day before most of the larger countries recognize that they have a crisis. But doctors don't have any way to cure it. This will provide a distraction at exactly the right time.”
She sat, and Gonzales took up the dialogue. “You are of course correct. The remaining topic is the recent breach. With the advances in technology, we knew we'd be discovered eventually. That is why we have set upon this course. The bomb seemed a perfect diversion from the spread of the virus. But it took out much of our U.S. surveillance capacity. Something else to thank Cimil for. Right now, we don't know what the anthropologist, Hitchcock, is planning. I can't blame our two guys for abandoning their stakeout and going out to see what happened to their families in Montana.
“Last we heard, Hitchcock was planning the trip to the Amazon. Perhaps a concern, but two weeks from now, the world will have other things to worry about. If a handful of private citizens stumble on us in the meantime, it shouldn't matter.”
He smiled. “And in two weeks, our homeland will finally be restored. We don't need to worry about anything except the virus. And here's one other piece of intelligence from our team in Boston. Before the blast, they relayed it to Montana, who passed it on to us. Apparently, Hitchcock came up with a name for us. He calls us the ‘Proto-Humans.’”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
December 13th, 2012: A secure location somewhere in Virginia
Acting President Oscar Lowell Davidson was not prepared for the job. To his credit, he knew it. When Susan Richards had ascended to the highest office in the land, she'd sought someone who would both stay out of her way and not hurt her when re-election time rolled around. In newly elected Governor Davidson of Iowa, she had found him.
He'd agreed because … well, because you didn't turn down this kind of job. He'd ridden a wave of populism from small farmer to the top position in Iowa. His roots were in nearby Missouri. Richards figured he would stay out of her way and then deliver swing states Iowa and Missouri in the election. She was right about Iowa, but Missouri and the election had gone to the Republican, Trent Reynolds, making President Susan Richards a lame duck.
The President-elect wasn't a bad guy. An hour after what they now called The Billings Incident, he had called Davidson to offer his support, as well as a promise not to say anything to the press other than words of support for the acting President. Davidson wished he could feel relief at this, but he had plenty of other things to deal with. He now sat with Nelson Blanfield, the Intelligence Czar. Not to mention a whole lot of Secret Service agents. Joining them on the video screen were Linda Yarrow, Jan Powell (National Security), Admiral Greg Cummings (Chairman of the Joint Chiefs), and FBI Director Chuck Jenkins.
Unprepared or not, Davidson wouldn't back down from his responsibility. Two decades earlier, he'd reached a truce with the disease that had taken the lives of his father and grandfather—alcoholism. Nothing else he'd done had approached the difficulty of that fight. This wouldn't either.
Although he'd spoken with each of the meeting's attendees individually in the past eleven hours, now they would have to work together to come up with a course of action. Braxton remained absent, supposedly tracking down a lead which demanded his personal attention.
“OK, people, what do we know?”
Cummings cleared his throat. “The kidnapper is an arms dealer from Guatemala. The nuke is from Russia, and those are not impossible to obtain if you have enough money. All signs point to Central America.”
Blanfield frowned. “Admiral, that's true as far as it goes. But the NSA has been monitoring Mr. Cimil for a number of months, and it appears that he has some help. Why don't I let Ms. Powell tell you more?”
“Right Nelson, the NSA knows about Cimil's attempts to obtain WMD's. He got them through the government of Georgia, specifically a General Surgulvilli.”
Cummings frowned. “Surgulvilli? He's a slug, but he's out of favor with the government. If you've known for months, why is this the first I'm hearing about it?”
Blanfield never sounded more comfortable than when condescending. He struck an almost apologetic tone. “A lot of times the intelligence is unclear, and we don't want to jeopardize sources until we have actionable data. I believe Director Braxton was leading the investigation on this one.”
Davidson smiled at Cummings, whose faced had reddened. “If it makes you feel any better, Admiral, I didn't know either until last night.”
The Admiral grunted. “So we're both mushrooms, buried under bullshit. Look, the guy's from Guatemala and he kidnapped Richards and set off the bomb. The plane disappeared from radar near Jamaica, a perfect place to turn west for home. Guatemala's where we gotta go.”
Powell's shrill voice guaranteed she'd never lack for attention. It reminded Davidson of a door with a hinge in need of lubrication. “That plane could have headed for anywhere in the islands, or even South America. If they refueled, they could be in Africa or Europe by now. The Georgians are pulling the strings and hoping we're too dumb to see it.”
Cummings' face took on even more of the red hue. Davidson could see beads of sweat on his neck, and he detected a faint trace of body odor that probably originated with the Admiral. Cummings liked his vodka, and in times of stress, its byproducts exuded from pores. “Show me the hard intelligence, Jan, and I'll get behind that a hundred percent. Otherwise, we know about the Guatemala connection for sure.”
No one spoke for a few seconds. Davidson had hoped for an easy consensus, but now resigned himself to the decision-making. “Admiral, I think I know what I want our response to be, but first I think you should hear from Linda Yarrow. She's got something close to the hard intelligence you asked for.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vice-President. My involvement started with an unrelated investigation about a threat to the President. What Mr. Blanfield referred to was an intercept translated by the CIA about the deal for weapons. Yesterday, another source came to him with more information, including predicting the kidnapping and the Billings Incident. Unfortunately, the information did not arrive in time or with enough specifics to
stop it. To make a long story short, we know for a fact that the Georgians provided the weapons to Cimil, and that he concealed their existence from the Guatemalan government. We do not know whether it was the Georgian government directly, and we do not know where Cimil and Richards are now.”
Davidson made sure she had finished, then looked at the FBI Director. “Greg, anything to add?”
“Not really. For a while, we've had our eye on a group near Billings. Seemed like an America First militia kind of thing, but they're not white, which sets them way apart. The thing is, we're pretty sure they all got taken out along with the agents we had in the area. It's no secret our borders aren't secure, so getting the bomb to Montana would be child's play. I know nothing about the whole Guatemala and Georgia thing.”
Davidson rubbed his hands together. They felt disconnected, like he was rubbing two stones instead of his own flesh. Inside, he harbored doubts, but he knew he had to sound confident.
“OK, I'm going to fall back on the lessons of 9/11. Even though the terrorists were Saudis, we didn't go after Saudi Arabia. We sent in more intelligence agents and even forced them to accept a Marine Special Ops unit roaming the country. We also went after the terrorist bases in Afghanistan. All the evidence suggests that the Guatemalan government had no idea what Cimil was up to.
“The Georgian government, on the other hand, must have had an inkling about Surgulvilli selling a nuke. He's only been out of their Cabinet since April. I'm not ready to order a direct attack, but I think we need to tell Turkey that we may be staging from there soon. I'll let the Georgian President know we need an immediate dialogue.
“As for Guatemala, we need to inform them that we'd like to send in a Special Ops unit, just like we did in Saudi. Under the circumstances, they'll probably thank us for it. We'll get 'em ready, but we need to have a specific mission for them before I want them in the country. So what do we have 'em do?”
Silence again. Everyone present knew they didn't have the answers, and no one wanted to take responsibility. It figured. Leave it to the farmer to make the tough decisions. Then Yarrow surprised him. “Mr. President, I can't answer that now, but I might be able to in an hour. I'm already at Langley, and in a few minutes I'm meeting with Braxton and his sources.”
“Do I need to be there?”
“Sir, that is of course your call. I have no idea what will come of it. Possibly contacting the Guatemalans and the Georgians is a higher priority.”
He nodded, and made a mental note to seek her counsel more as the crisis progressed. He couldn't manage this crisis if the best minds remained unwilling to take the risk of commitment. So he'd pay attention to anyone willing to give him a direct answer. As the screens went dark, he played the options over in his mind. He didn't know what to do. He'd approach it like any other problem, gathering information and asking opinions. Then he'd take a stand and hope for the best.
“I'm here, Dennis. I shouldn't be. I should be out finding President Richards. Five in the goddamn morning is the only time I could swing it, and I'm sure none of us had time to sleep last night. Tell me what you know.”
Simon watched Dennis Braxton adjust his tie and shift in his chair. Braxton tended towards over-reaction, but the man seemed uncomfortable, subdued. Could it be … Simon considered the body language. He'd mentioned knowing Linda Yarrow, but his actions now suggested that perhaps they knew each other quite well. What else could explain acting like a shy schoolboy with a woman who occupied a position far less powerful than his own?
“Linda, believe me, I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't important. Simon Gray you met briefly when we returned from Guatemala. Let me introduce you to Andrea Schmidt.”
Andrea offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Director.”
“I'm not sure I can say the same. You were responsible for the deaths of a lot of my people.”
“Indirectly, yes. But you need to hear about the man behind it. Yum Cimil, the one on TV with Richards. And the bad part is that she's in on the kidnapping with him.”
“In it with Cimil? Ridiculous. Did you see him strike her in the face?”
“I did. A deception. Richards is a member of the Church of the Final Question. She and Cimil are convinced the end is near: Judgment Day. Or the Fifth World if you listen to Cimil. I assume you know about Reverend Goldsmith?”
Yarrow didn't answer for a moment. Then she sighed. “The Secret Service is invisible, but we're not deaf. Richards met with him several times and we did the normal background checks. He's got a spotless record, he just associates with some real nut-jobs. Not enough to say anything to Richards—I pick my battles with her. Anyway, from what you're sayin', she already knows. But what the hell are they trying to accomplish?”
Simon picked up the question. “Cimil expects the world as we know it to end, and he'll emerge as the new leader. Don't ask me what that means, it's what he believes. He thinks he's a descendant of the original Maya kings, but instead of ruling a city-state, he'll rule the world. We don't know why Richards is doing it. Sounds like she wants to cause disruption, maybe get more people to buy into the whole end-times deal. But even she doesn't know about the virus.”
“The virus?”
“Yeah, some super-virus with 99 percent fatality. We don't know where he got it, but supposedly he has the cure.”
“Jesus.”
“You said it.”
Andrea stood up and began taking slow paces around the room. Four pairs of eyes followed her movement. “I think better on my feet. I'm trying to figure out what we do next.”
Yarrow snorted. “We? You're not doing anything except answering for the deaths of my men. Plus, there's the little matter of the serial killings.”
Andrea's brow wrinkled. “Serial killings? Andrews here talked about that. I couldn't have anything to do with it, I haven't been in the U.S. in years.”
“So you say.”
Andrews put a hand on Yarrow's shoulder. She jerked her head to look at him, tension evident in the sinews of her neck. He yanked his hand away, but maintained a wry smile.
“Hey, take it easy, Linda, I'm on your side. You're talking about some dead Secret Service agents, right? Presumably in Guatemala since Andrea's been working for Cimil. I know I don't need to know any of this, but can you at least tell me when this happened?”
“I won't forget the date, that's for sure. August sixth.”
“Then she couldn't be the one. The Colorado murder happened on the night of August fifth. She woulda had to commit the murder and hop a plane to Guatemala, and I doubt there's any direct flights. Then set up for whatever it is she did to kill your agents. It just couldn't have happened. And that's not even including the issue of the DNA evidence being for a male.”
Yarrow looked at the faces and took a deep breath.
“Okay, you're right, at least about that. And, yeah, let's focus on what we do now. Ms. Schmidt, I do appreciate your help, but you and I aren't gonna be best buddies anytime soon.”
“Ms. Yarrow, I don't need or expect you to like me. How are we gonna stop Cimil?”
Simon provided one answer. “We go down to Guatemala and get the President.”
“What if she doesn't wanna come?” This from Braxton.
No one responded. Yarrow finally stood up and joined Andrea in pacing the room. Andrews cleared his throat. “Maybe we should ask the Attorney General.”
Yarrow looked at Braxton, who shrugged. She shook her head. “It's a good thought, but there's two problems. The biggest one is the Executive branch is running around crazy right now. They know about Cimil but they also figured out the nuke is from Georgia. They're talkin' about retaliation, even though everyone knows the Russians lost control of their arsenal two decades ago. A few morons are also talkin' about the date as a sign—you know, twelve, twelve, two-thousand-twelve. The most Davidson will consider is one Marine Special Ops Unit for Guatemala, and he wants a definite mission before he'll do that.”
“Maybe we can get
evidence.” Andrews always thought like an FBI investigator.
Simon frowned. “Maybe, but that could take days. Ms. Yarrow, what's the second problem with talking to the A.G.?”
“Easy. He wouldn't believe Richards is in on her own kidnapping. He hates her politics, but it's not personal. If I hadn't seen how she was after the trip to Cimil's, I wouldn't believe it, either.”
Braxton put his hands on the table. “Well, it sounds like we're agreed, we go try to get her back. The only thing I can't figure is how we do it. We had more than twenty people last time, and it was a slaughter.”
“I can help with that.” Her mind settled on a course of action, Andrea sat down.
“We'll have to go in on foot through the jungle. Sneak in one of two ways. Three or four trained people in good shape—” She looked at the CIA Director. “—should be able to do it.”
Braxton held up his hands. “Hey, believe me, I don't wanna do that again. I won't be leaving D.C. this time. Andrews, you can handle communications wherever we set up base down there and keep me in the loop.”
Andrews looked at Yarrow, who narrowed her eyes. “Don't worry, Jason, this is one time there won't be a problem with an FBI guy working with the Agency, not after Billings. But I can't keep this from Davidson. He may want that Marine Unit to go in with you.”
Andrea said, “Well, the jungle is dense, but Cimil has infrared cameras at several key locations. That's why I said three or four people. Me and Simon and one of those marines would probably be the ideal team.”
“How do we know he's at the compound?” This from Andrews.
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