TRIAL: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Thriller

by Murray Mcdonald

  “Who?”

  “We still have to confirm the validity,” came a voice from the sofa.

  The president’s head spun round to face the speaker. “Who?!”

  “Well it…” said the voice, faltering under the president’s intense gaze.

  “Who?!” he almost screamed.

  “You see—”

  “If the next words are not the name of the group, so help me!” threatened the president.

  “The New Black Panthers. Or a splinter cell of theirs calling itself the Black Action Group,” said Sarah, taking over from her somewhat star-struck team.

  “Bullshit!”

  “We believe so,” agreed Sarah. “However, a short video of the killing of the director has been uploaded onto the group’s website, a video shot by the killer, using either a head or body cam that recorded the event.”

  “Any images of the killer?”

  “Yes, a reflection in the window of the police cruiser next to where the director was killed shows the image of a black man wearing a mask.”

  “Wait, so you’re telling me the killer was a black man?”

  “We don’t know. The reflection is a fake. Our guys have analyzed the footage, and it’s definitely a fake, and a very good one. To the casual viewer, it looks completely real, however, analysis shows the pixels are wrong and the image is merely obscuring the real image of the killer.”

  “And the reason the group killed Director Schwartz?”

  “Retaliation for the murder of innocent black citizens at the hands of law enforcement officers, according to the note posted on the website.”

  “Dear God!” said the president, taking the vacant armchair next to Sarah.

  “We’ve already seen a significant spike in chatter among the white supremacist groups. It’s going to get real nasty, real quick.”

  “Even though he was Jewish?”

  “He was killed because he was white. At any rate that’s what the supremacists are saying. His religion is irrelevant in this instance.”

  “So what are we doing about this Black Action Group?”

  “We have the leaders of the group in custody.”

  “Good work,” said the president, impressed.

  “They came to us and alerted us to the video on their site.”

  President Clay Caldwell looked around the room, heads nodded back at him, it was true.

  “They told you they posted the video, and then turned themselves in?”

  “They claim their website was hacked, their access denied, and the video was posted by someone else. They hoped we could take the website down before anyone could see it.”

  “And we obviously haven’t if the white supremacists have seen it.”

  “It’s down now, although unfortunately not before an email link was widely distributed.”

  Clay pressed the intercom button. “Ramona, could we get some refreshments in here, please?”

  “Mr. President, I should introduce you to the team,” Sarah said while they waited for Ramona to take their orders. She went along individually, introducing the agents in charge of a number of the domestic terrorism and intelligence sections within the FBI’s National Security Branch, which housed the counterterrorism and counterintelligence units of the FBI.

  A knock on the door preceded Ramona’s entry with a single cup of coffee. Her million dollar smile was nowhere to be seen as she delivered the steaming cup to the president and exited without a word.

  “I may owe her an apology,” Sarah said, reading between the lines. “We were keen to speak to you.”

  Clay took a sip of his coffee. “Hmmm,” was all he could offer as the door burst open.

  “Oh my God!” exclaimed the First Lady, Val Caldwell, rushing across the room and hitting the power button to switch on the TV, oblivious to the faces following her.

  A breaking news banner filled the bottom of the screen. The top of the screen showed an image more reminiscent of those from the darkest days of the 60’s. The back of two figures in white cloaks and hoods filled the majority of picture, and between their pointed hoods was a pixilated section. However, it could not hide the horror of what the pixelated area depicted. A man was hanging by the neck from a tree. The banner filled in the detail: “Lynch mob hang Mayor of Atlanta, Georgia…”

  “Have you seen it?” asked Bill Miller, the president’s Homeland Security Advisor, rushing into the room.

  “Convene an emergency Homeland Security Council meeting in the Situation Room!” Clay shouted to Ramona. “Sarah, keep me updated.”

  “Of course, Mr. President,” she said, as she and her team exited.

  When the Oval Office was emptied of everyone except for Clay, his wife, and his HSA, he asked, “Do you know about the Black Action Group’s video?”

  Bill nodded. “Sarah called me earlier. I had just landed at Andrews and told her to get here and bring you up to speed asap.”

  “You know Director Schwartz was from Atlanta, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “A black hate group killed a prominent white Atlanta man, so the white hate group reciprocates against the most prominent black man in Atlanta.”

  “Ramona!” shouted the president. “I need—”

  “The Atlanta Chief of Police is holding on line one and the Governor is on line two.”

  “Thanks,” said Clay picking up the handset. As much as she could be a pain in the ass, Ramona was outstanding at her job and read situations as well as any member of his cabinet.

  He hit both lines, creating a conference call. “Is it real?” he asked.

  “Mr. President, we’re trying to verify it now,” replied the Atlanta police chief. “The photo was sent to the TV station before we knew anything about it. We can confirm that the mayor is missing and would seem to have been taken by force. The back door of his house has been broken open and from the look of his office, he put up a mighty struggle.”

  “Wait a minute, when was he taken?”

  “We think it was this morning. He sent a text to his assistant to say he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in, that was at 8.57 a.m. Thing is, he never sends texts.”

  Clay took the handset away from his face. “Bill, when was the video put up on the website?”

  “About two to three hours ago. We’ll know an exact time once we crack the code.”

  “The timings don’t gibe. The mayor was likely kidnapped this morning, three hours before the video surfaced and before we had even broken the story about Director Schwartz’s death.”

  Clay returned to the call. “Governor, whatever you need, anything, you call me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. We’ve recalled all officers and will maintain high levels of visibility over the next few days. We’ll keep it under control.”

  “I hope you do, although this has got set-up written all over it. Anything you need, you’ve got it,” he emphasized, ending the call.

  “Bill, could you give us a minute?” asked Clay. “I’ll meet you down in the Situation Room.”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  Clay’s wife was his rock. She had been by his side for over twenty years, through good and bad times, and had borne him two wonderful children. He loved her as much as the first day he had fallen for her. She was as smart, if not smarter, than him. She was his sounding board, his most trusted advisor, and yet there he was, in a position he promised he would never again be in, lying to the most precious person in the world to him. He couldn’t tell her about his first child, that time had been and gone. No matter how he tried to tell her, it would be nothing more than a betrayal for all the years he hadn’t. The messages he kept receiving, the threats to his family, the murders of his close confidants, his knowledge that this was nothing more than a sham—only he could know. He hugged her as the door closed behind Bill. He desperately wanted to talk to her, to tell her everything. However, he couldn’t and wouldn’t place her in danger.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve met th
e mayor a few times.”

  “I can’t believe there are people in this day and age...” She buried her head in his shoulder, lost for words.

  He held her tightly. Whatever happened over the coming days, weeks, and months, he would keep her and his family safe. He promised that, above all else. As for his secret daughter, her safety was beyond his control and in the hands of one man. A drunk called Joe.

  He hugged his wife tighter, his eye catching sight of his cellphone on his desk, a new message from an unknown number. His heart started to race, it was a new message from them.

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