METEOR STORM

by David Capps

  “Okay, Carl, I need to get you out of here,” he said, “and into some place safe.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I replied. “I’m not the kind of person you think I am. I’m probably headed back to prison. You’re better off not being around me.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Carl, it’s going to be okay.” I pulled back from him and gave him a nasty look. “Sorry,” he said holding his hands up in the air. “It’ll never happen again.” He sat back and stared at me some more. After a long pause he said, “So tell me how you ended up in prison.”

  “It’s another long story,” I replied.

  He glanced at his watch and briefly looked around the bar.

  “I’ve got some time,” he said.

  I don’t know why, but it just felt good to get all of it out in the open… finally.

  After I finished, I told him, “So I’m not the kind of person you are looking for. We done?”

  “Actually, you’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for,” he said. “You can call me John,” as he held out his hand and smiled.

  I shook his hand thinking, Yeah, right! What kind of nut case thinks I’m a valuable person? “Look,” I said, “being close to me can be dangerous. There are some horrible people who are going to be looking for me. You’re better off not being around me.”

  He paused for a moment thinking about what I had said. “All things considered, I’ll take the risk,” he replied. John waved for the bartender and pulled a fifty out of his pocket. “This cover it?” The bartender grinned and nodded. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see him here.”

  John helped me up and we headed for the front door. As John opened the door, he stopped and backed into me, closing the door to a small crack.

  “What are you doin’?” I asked.

  John looked down at my travel bag. “You got anything in there you can’t live without?”

  “Change of clothes and shaving stuff, why?”

  “Take a look,” he said as he opened the door a little more.

  Men in dark suits were walking out of the hotel and looking around followed by several men in dark blue jackets with U.S. Marshal printed on the back and the sleeves.

  “Oh Christ!” I said. “I thought they would wait ‘til I got back to California.”

  “Your travel bag is a dead giveaway,” he said. “Leave it here.” He pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number and started giving directions. A dark limo pulled away from the front of the hotel, came down the street and wheeled around the corner just past the bar. “Let’s go,” he said. We walked out the door and casually moved away from the hotel and around the corner to the waiting limo. As we climbed in, John told the driver to go back to the airport. He speed dialed his cell phone and said, “We’re twenty minutes out. File flight plan echo and prep for takeoff.”

  My head was starting to spin. I didn’t know what John was doing, but I was just grateful I wasn’t in federal custody.

  * * *

  I woke up to the whine of two small jet engines ringing in my ears. John sat across from me in the passenger cabin of his Learjet 45.

  “Hell of a chance you took going on TV like that,” he said.

  “I was thinking once the information was out there, they wouldn’t come after me. You know, the protection of publicity?”

  John chuckled. “Yeah, more conventional wisdom that doesn’t work.”

  “So what’s your interest in all of this?” I asked.

  “I run a survivalist network of business owners concerned about the people we serve in our communities. The disaster agencies are ineffective and mired down in bureaucratic nonsense and regulations. At the upper levels, none of them actually care about the people they are supposed to serve. We do. The Survivalist Network is all privately run. We don’t get any financial support from the government or any of the large corporations. We are very much aware of the potential disasters that face humanity, and are prepared to do whatever it takes to make a difference.

  “The government’s primary concern is the continuity of government, not the people or their lives and families. Take a look at what they did following Katrina. Thousands of people showed up offering help, food, supplies and medical care, all for free. FEMA sent them all away while people suffered and died in their homes. When official help did arrive, it was too little, too late and people were required to leave their pets behind.

  “That kind of behavior is inexcusable and totally unacceptable. In a major disaster, like your meteor storm, no one from the government is actually going to help. It’s all going to be about the continuity of government, people’s lives and property be damned. You care. Otherwise, you would never have exposed yourself to that ridicule and humiliation on national television. Whether you know it or not, you’re one of us.”

  I thought about what he said. I’d had enough experience with the government to realize what he said made sense. “But doesn’t the government have a responsibility to at least warn the people of the coming disaster?”

  “That’s a good question,” John said. “Let me ask one in return. If our politicians are faced with a choice of spending all of the government’s resources in an attempt to protect over three hundred million people, or using its resources to protect the wealthy people who paid to get them elected, who do you think they are going to protect?”

  “But it wouldn’t cost that much just to warn people,” I replied.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” John said, “but what do you think people are going to demand from the government once they know something of this magnitude is going to happen? And what level of social unrest do you think will ensue?”

  I knew he was right. Hell, here I was already out there starting to stir things up myself. The whole thing would spiral out of control. I hadn’t really thought it through. Given human nature, everything would have come unglued.

  “The government has to deny that anything is going to happen at least long enough to get some kind of reasonable plan in place to keep the public calm,” John said. “And if they can keep the public from finding out altogether, so much the better for the politicians and their wealthy donors. Ordinary people are irrelevant; only power, wealth and influence are important to them. That’s what they will protect.”

  I knew he was right, judging by how they treated me in the past. “Okay, now what?” I asked.

  “We have resources you need and you have knowledge we need. Together we can make a difference. You interested?” John asked.

  Here I was again, back to fighting the system, a place I swore I’d never be again. But, with the FBI and the U.S. Marshals Service looking for me, there weren’t really any other attractive offers on the table.

  “So what got you into the survivalist thing?” I asked.

  “Fair question,” John replied. “I grew up in Sylmar in the San Fernando Valley not far from Los Angeles. My mom was a nurse working the night shift at the Veterans Hospital. A 6.6 magnitude earthquake hit at six in the morning on February 9th, 1971. My mom was one of forty nine people who died in the Veterans Hospital that morning.

  “The Lower Van Norman Dam was damaged along with many of the freeway interchanges. Evacuation orders were issued, withdrawn and issued again. There was no real coordinated program to help people in the area. Confusion reigned and several more people died in the panic that ensued. Major aftershocks came shortly after the earthquake adding to the damage and overall chaos.

  “My dad owned the local hardware store. We managed to get to the store, only to find that there was no power and no telephones. People were arriving looking for help and supplies. My dad loaned out almost everything in the store to help people survive, not asking for anything in return. Everything we had was invested in that store, but my dad felt that people were more important than money.

  “Insurance money eventually came but it was too little, too late. What saved us was the people dad helped during the earthquake. He helped them repair their homes with fr
ee help and supplies that he loaned to them. The people came back and helped my dad rebuild his business. I was only ten at the time, but that experience changed the course of my life. I went to college and got an MBA, determined to create a business that would help people in a disaster. One thing led to another, and I now have eight businesses spread out over the globe. During that time I also found a number of business owners who also had a deep desire to be of service to other people, and we formed the Survivalist Network.

  “Does this sound like something you would like to join?” John asked.

  I thought about the people who were hunting me and the fate that waited for me at the end of that terrifying and horribly painful journey. I also thought about the people on the planet and the trial-by-fire that they faced. Finally, here was John, not only offering me a way out, but a way to help save perhaps millions of people. How could I say no? “Yes, it does,” I replied. “I’m in.”

  “So where’s the robot’s head?” John asked.

  I looked around the inside of John’s Lear jet, realizing how unprepared I had been. I looked down at the floor, ashamed at how guilty I now felt. “It’s still in the Clark Street Storage Facility along with my computer.”

  “We’ll need to get it,” he said. “Tonight.”

  “My ID card’s not going to work. They will have changed that already, and they’re likely to be watching my apartment.”

  John nodded in recognition of the situation. “What security does the building have?”

  “The place has only three doors, one ID card swipe entry. The other two are rolled bay doors that can be opened only from the inside. There’s a night guard on duty.”

  “Armed?”

  “Yeah, but I know him. It’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll have two covert operatives go along with you, just in case.”

  John picked up the phone in the cabin. “Change destination to Pasadena.” The Learjet 45 banked to the left. I felt dizzy and closed my eyes.

  * * *

  We arrived near the Clark Street Storage Facility just after ten that night. The covert operatives were dressed in dark clothes and looked to be ex-military. They didn’t appear to be carrying any weapons, but they didn’t look like they needed any, either.

  “We’ll locate and neutralize the guard,” one of them said, “then we’ll enter and secure the package. In and out in under five minutes.”

  I checked my watch, pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Ordering a Pizza.”

  We intercepted the pizza delivery guy on the driveway to the Clark Street Storage Facility.

  “Remember me?” I asked as he peered out the window of his car.

  “Yeah, how come you’re outside instead of inside the building?”

  “I need a favor,” I said. “Fifty bucks to borrow your hat and jacket for ten minutes.”

  “I don’t know man. I gotta pay for the pizza outa that.”

  “Hundred bucks, cash up front.”

  He looked at the two covert operatives. “I can’t be doin’ nothin’ illegal, man. I need this job.”

  “Totally legit, ten minutes, a hundred bucks.”

  “Plus the cost of the pizza?”

  “Yeah, plus the cost of the pizza.”

  “And the tip?”

  I stood there and stared at him.

  “Come on man! The pizza’s $11.78. You always give me a twenty and tell me to keep the change.”

  “One twenty total,” I said.

  “Awesome.”

  * * *

  I walked up to the lobby door wearing the hat and jacket carrying the pizza and pounded on the door. Leroy slowly walked through the door into the lobby, hand on his revolver.

  “Carl?” he said. “What the hell you doin’, man?”

  “Can you let me in?” I asked.

  He swiped his card and opened the door.

  “I brought pizza,” I said as I entered.

  “Yeah, I see that. What are you doin’?”

  “I need your help. I need the robot’s head and the stuff in the box – now!”

  “Jesus, Carl! What’s goin’ on?”

  “All hell’s about to break loose. The meteor storm we talked about is real and I need the robot’s head and the information it contains to help warn people what’s coming. I also need to get you and your family to a safe place before it all hits. I have people who can help.”

  Leroy looked out the glass next to the door at the two guys waiting outside.

  “This for real, man?” Leroy looked terrified. His hand started to shake and his lip quivered.

  “It’s for real,” I replied. “We can protect you and your family. You’ll be safe with us. You can come with us now or whenever you’re ready. Your choice. Just let me know and I’m here for you.”

  “Jesus Christ, man! Moniesha’s gonna kill me. She don’t like no surprises, and this one’s a whopper.” He looked me in the eye, the expression on his face pleading for what I told him not to be true.

  “I know, Leroy, but I got your back. It’s going to be all right. You just gotta trust me.”

  Leroy looked around nervously, considering what he had just heard. “All right,” he replied. “Let’s go get the box.”

  * * *

  It was a two and a half hour drive from Denver up into the mountains. I’d never been in the Rocky Mountains before. They were beautiful and majestic with all the rocks, pine trees and small streams cascading down next to the highway. We arrived at what John called his cabin: a two story log home with a thirty foot high set of glass windows rising to a peak in the front, surrounded by a wide railed porch. We climbed the six steps to the porch and John opened one of the double doors leading into the great room. The sunlight shining in through the glass front highlighted the natural wood interior. A half log wood stairway led up the left wall to the second floor where a railed walkway extended around the great room, leading to what I assumed were bedrooms on both sides. The kitchen was under the stairs to the back and there was a massive stone fireplace in the center of the great room extending up through the ceiling. On the right side of the great room were several offices, filled with computer equipment and other office machines.

  “Do you like bright sunlight in the morning, or darkness?” he asked.

  “I’m usually up early,” I replied, “I like the sun. California thing.”

  “Then the room at the front right is yours,” he said pointing to the second floor at the far end from the stairs.

  I carried the seven bags of clothes from the exclusive store John had stopped at after we left the airport. He had told them I was a private client, at which point the store had been quietly cleared and only one salesman had remained with us. I had felt strange, almost like secret royalty.

  My room was similar to the house; natural wood decor and large. Double glass doors opened onto a balcony that faced the morning sun. I walked out onto the balcony and took a deep breath of the cool, oxygen rich mountain air, filled with the gentle scent of pine. The whole place was quiet and peaceful. I could get used to this, I thought. I unpacked the bags and put everything away in the dresser and the closet in the room, and headed back down stairs.

  John was in the kitchen making a pitcher of iced tea. I could also smell a pot of coffee brewing.

  “We’ve got bagels, pastries and other odds and ends that should get you through until lunch. Anything in particular you like?”

  “This is good,” I replied. “What exactly is it you want me to be doing here?”

  John smiled. He seemed to like getting right down to business.

  “We need to know more of what’s in the robot’s head. The timing of the meteor storm is critical. That’s your top priority.”

  “Is it still in the trunk of the car?”

  “I put it in the communications room – seemed kind of appropriate to me.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, just don’t connect it to anything yo
u don’t want it to know about. It’s got a mind of its own and it learns fast.”

  “Technology can be our friend or our enemy.” John said. “It all comes down to our attitude toward it and other people. Bureaucrats and the military see technology as a device to gain power and control over other people. I see it as a tool to help people become better at being of service to others.”

  “Interesting perspective,” I said.

  “It’s more than a perspective,” John replied. “It’s a philosophy of life. It’s a force versus power kind of thing.”

  “How so?”

  “George Washington said government isn’t reason, it isn’t eloquence; it is force. I have come to understand that true power resides in reason, in eloquence, in compassion and in honest service to others. Power unites people in a common goal, a common cause, and unified action, empowering everyone in the process. Force divides people and seeks to conquer others, empowering one at the expense of another. In life, we must recognize the difference between power and force and decide which one we will follow.”

  In my younger years, as I railed against the system, striking at the targets I perceived as oppressive and wrong, it never occurred to me that older, more mature people, might be fighting the same war, just in different ways. Maybe John was right. Maybe I am one of his people. Maybe I’m in the right place, after all.

  “Come on; let me show you the communications room.”

  He led me down the stairs off the kitchen and into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, John pushed the door open. I could see the door was padded with sound deadening material on the basement side. The room was as large as the ground floor of the house and lined with screens and displays. A man sat at one of several desks central to the room, and turned toward us as we entered.

  “Carl, this is Alex. He’s our Communications Officer.”

  We shook hands.

  “We have a satellite dish complex just to the other side of the trees off your room,” John said. “All controlled from the central console here. We can track different communications satellites and receive signals from anywhere in the world.”