I'll get the god-damn grain today. And I'll send troops in with martial law. Screw this. Hagin can coordinate a full p.r. campaign to tell the city the food is on the way and to have patience. I'll rob somebody's budget for the cash and there'd be screaming there. Screw 'em all. We'll paint the Canadians as the bad guys but what am I worried about that for, my PAC will do this automatically he thought.
He shook his head, looked at the stack of papers on the right side of his desk and the empty out-box on the left. He pulled out the chair, sat and picked up the top file. "Gladys, please call Mr. Hagin and ask him to come back. And hold all appointments until we've finished talking."
Two minutes later Hagin walked into the room, and sat down after a quick wave to the chair as Barrett raised his head from his paperwork.
"I'm declaring martial law in New York City, and I want the Tenth Mountain Division out of Fort Drum in upstate New York brought down to enforce the law. I'm taking the money from defense and yes, I've let Secretary Wells know and he's livid. I've placed a call to the Canadian Prime Minister for an emergency shipment of wheat. I understand he'll be available in 10 minutes to discuss the details. Set up a news briefing for one hour from now, and we'll announce the food and the martial law at the same time," said Barrett.
"Sir, may I make a few suggestions?" asked Hagin opening a folder on his lap. He continued after a simple nod. "Let's not use the Tenth Mountain Division Sir, but rather the Second Marines out of Lejeune. For the last year, the Joint Chiefs have been isolating the Tenth by transferring all the Sworn Defenders into that Division and we don't want that powder keg to hit the City and explode in our faces. Our assumption was the Tenth would be our shock wave division to send overseas so they wouldn't be used within the US other than as relief troops for emergencies."
Barrett stared at his Chief of Staff. He didn't say anything but his mind roiled. Why did I ever believe Alice and let her convince me to get out of the army and into politics in the first place? A small, almost imperceptible shake of his head followed that thought. He stood up. Straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath trying to calm himself. He failed, and his face turned a flushed, deep pink.
"So you're saying we've identified all the right-wing bangers who have sworn to uphold their interpretation of the Constitution at all costs and disobey any lawful order they don't agree with. And we put them all into one division? Who thought of this little bit of lunacy? Seriously. What idiot concentrated all the crazies in one spot so they could talk to each other, cheer each other on and help each other arm the next god-damned revolution?" Barrett's voice was louder and face flushed a deep, purple-red as he finished.
"The Joint Chiefs and the Security Committee. We consider it more as isolating an infection rather than making more problems. If we let the troops stay widespread then this group would gain more recruits. If we put them all in one place, they only have each other to talk to," said Hagin leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles.
Barrett's voice dripped with sarcasm as he enunciated every word."Ever hear of the Nets, Jack? It's a little thing going around, makes it easy to talk to each other, makes it easy to read words. I'm told you can even use your watch to read messages from your friends. Some even have it chipped into their eyes now. I understand it's like magic. Ever hear of it?" He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head and waited for Hagin's answer. He took a small breath and the voice in the back of his head told him to dial it down with Hagin. He was one of the good guys.
Hagin never changed his expression. "Yes Sir. The problem is we couldn't dismiss every trooper who has signed a pledge, Sir or there'd be no army. We either let them all talk about it together or we try to isolate the most enthusiastic of them. Either way, we have the Tenth as an unreliable force for domestic purposes and Sir, our advantage is we know they are." He continued, "Sir, the Second Marines are close. They're as clean as any unit, and, they are after all, marines. Nobody will mess with an armed marine unless he's crazy. The odds on ordering them to fire on civilians is very low. And given your choices, and timeline, it's the marines of the Tenth." He closed the folder on his lap.
Barrett sat silently waiting to see if Hagin would add anything. He didn't. After three seconds of silence that seemed like thirty, Barrett stood and began pacing around the outside of the office. He turned just as he was about to lose eye contact with Hagin and stalked the other way to repeat the maneuver at the other side of the room. His thoughts strung together rapidly. The crap appears to be moving toward the fabled fan. And true to form, I start the day angry and this job finds ways to make me even angrier and more frustrated. He stopped behind his desk, leaned back against the glass window, and glared.
A voice command, "Gladys" and a responding, "Sir" told him she'd opened her circuit. "Get me General Stillwater. We're calling out the marines. And set up a press conference for three - that will get the news out in time for the daily-vids."
Barrett looked across the desk and summed up his day. "You know Jack, no matter what I do, somebody will decide I've gone over the edge. Then, either the crazies who wanted to assassinate me or the rich crazies who'd pay to have somebody else do it will start loading weapons. There's simply no winning in this job is there?"
Hagin snorted.
"Jack, got any more surprises for me today?" asked Barrett.
"No, Mr. President. I don't believe we do." He stood to leave but stopped mid-way up as Barrett asked again.
"Are you sure Jack, are you really fucking sure?" Barrett examined his advisor's face carefully and saw his own tired eyes mirrored and the now-permanent worry lines radiating from the eyes. He saw him stand, the tiny shrug and head shake and knew this was the most truthful moment of his entire day.
"Thanks Jack." He knew they both relished the rare candor.
06/02/2047 09:14
There were only a few people who had Gwinnett's direct comm channel and Frank Cummings, the VP-Technology was one. Gwinnett accepted the call with a touch to the arm of his glasses.
"Frank?"
"Got the hacker. He's one of ours. A support staffer working on maintenance. His application doesn't mention any computer skills but he clearly has some," said Cummings.
"How did you identify him?" asked Gwinnett . "Not that I'm likely to understand what the hell you really did."
"The simple version is we put a ton of heavily corrupted files on the drive that looked like they were encrypted, added a well-buried sub-routine that would turn on any wifi system it could find," said Cummings. "We waited for him to open and try to decrypt the files. As soon as the software recognized that was what he was doing, it set off the hidden file. That turned on the wifi router and started broadcasting. Our drone scanners - we'd put one over Savannah 24-7 for the last few days - picked up the location. Walk in the park. What do you want us to do with him?"
"You haven't contacted him at all? He still thinks he's free and clear? Right?" asked Gwinnett .
"Yeah, he thinks he's still in charge," said Cummings.
"I want you to have a talk with him. Tell him we know about what he's done and his choice is to switch to your staff or find another job," said Gwinnett . "Let me know what he decides. But if he decides to come with us, we need a way to ensure he stays with us and doesn't screw around. He goes on minor duty with a very tight leash."
"OK, got it. I'll handle it. Anything else you can think of?" said Cummings.
"Not off the top of my head, nope," finished Gwinnett disconnecting.
Gwinnett stood and walked downstairs and straight out to the big porch that surrounded the house. He sat in the corner overlooking the marshes and enjoyed the pleasant breezes of mid-morning for a few minutes until Sarah interrupted him by plunking herself down in the chair next to him.
Gwinnett nodded to her, smiled and pointed out towards the brown reeds. "All those will green up soon. I've always preferred the greens of active growth rather than the browns of the more traditional marsh look. The pictures never seem to c
apture how alive this place is, or was, at any rate."
Sarah looked over the marshes and then back to her father. "You're very philosophical this morning. What's going on?"
"A few things. The one I'd like you to handle is the tech mole that Cummings just got in his trap," said George. "The hacker was good but not careful enough and we managed to put a bug in his computer." He looked at his daughter, and then deciding said, "I want you to co-ordinate with Cummings tonight and after the hacker is offered a job, I want it made very clear to him that we can track him and reach him anywhere he can go. Get out one of your favorite drones and scare the bejeezus out of him on his way home tonight. Let him see the drone and get the crap scared out of him. He'll be ours after that."
"Really? You think he'll be scared enough to work for us and we'll be able to trust him?" asked Sarah. She continued, "I wouldn't trust him with taking care of kindergarten, never mind critical hardware."
"You don't think people can change?" asked George.
"Not Anonymous. Not unless you offer them something really sweet."
"OK, make him an offer he can't refuse," said George. Damn, did I just say that, he thought. I have to stop watching old movies.
"One unrefusable offer coming up," said Sarah.
06/02/2047 19.25
The Anonymous member known as Jok3r drove down Hwy. 17 just over the speed limit. The long stretches of highway were perfect for speed runs but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. It would be just her luck to have a highway drone tagging speeders tonight. She neither wanted nor needed the extra attention that might bring.
Plus, she was plotting out her tactics step by step about the next phase in breaking the encrypted contents of the QuellCorp files. She knew she'd be able to do it sooner or later and tonight just might be the night. She'd received some new code-breaking software from a friend on the darknet that afternoon and while she hadn't downloaded it at QuellCorp - that would be committing suicide she knew - she recognized the attachment's name in one of her personal inboxes.
Her mind was focused on solving the problem while the machine handled driving and communicating with the various satellites she used as her mobile platform. Her work was done on a variety of pirated services she piggybacked on from some federal government accounts. Her favorite was the Department of Interior's flood control channel. Nobody else ever used it as the feds had given up on flood control a few years ago. They hadn't turned off or redirected those sectors of the satellite so she happily hijacked it anonymously for her own.
"Disengaging autopilot," said the car. "Please assume manual control."
Annoyed, this happened more and more frequently as the comm systems from the Feds disintegrated during rainy periods. Probably a bit too much humidity in the system she thought as he turned her seat forward, and said, "I have control."
The car responded, "You have control." It went to sleep and shut down all automatic functions including all comm systems. The car turned on the headlights so she could see in the fading light.
Jok3r allowed the car to go faster, pushing beyond the speed limit almost to the upper limit of the machine. If I have to drive, I want to drive fast she thought. A chuckle threatened to break her concentration as the machine sped up.
The car reached 100 mph and was cruising comfortably on the straight highway. She relaxed as the trip unwound. One hand on the manual steering column and the other across the back of the other front seat, she piloted easily and hummed the latest popular song.
Until a single light in her rear-view mirror grew larger and larger as something gained on her quickly. She was fascinated with this and kept glancing in the mirror to watch the unknown machine gain. Whatever it is, it's deadly fast she thought.
The light flickered out.
She looked from side to side, checked her video feeds and tapped the dashboard proximity alarm to see if it had stopped working. Nothing. The light had simply disappeared. Strange, very strange, she thought.
The light reappeared directly in front of her, aiming straight at her. It doubled, tripled in intensity and her eyes started to tear up. She tried to avoid focusing on the light. She stomped on the manual brakes. The machine's voice responded, "There is no manual braking system engaged." She looked down to the dashboard to find the manual braking control and the light in the car increased.
When she looked up, she was about to hit the lights, crashing into whatever occupied the center of the highway a mere 75 feet ahead of her. It appeared to be floating and maybe, rising. With only a few feet left before crashing into the light, Jok3r panicked and pulled the steering column to the right, Her car rocketed off the highway, bounced on a small rocky section and then plunged through a swampy bush lot until it stopped, cold, crushed by the skeleton of a massive live oak.
07/02/2047 08:15
Aleysha slowly walked by one of the few remaining food stores in her section of town. The armed guards at the entrance gave her a thorough looking-over and nodded at her. The older one said, "Listen to the radio young lady, there's something you want to hear. And the boys own the backdoor."
Aleysha nodded. At least they were kind and didn't curse me for slowing down and looking inside she thought. Plus, now she knew the gangs owned the back alley and were being paid off in food. Nobody else would get food or even dumpster-dive if they were there. Not that any food lasted long enough to go into a dumpster any more, she thought.
The store had set up a radio beside the entrance and a small crowd stood listening to the President's voice. "I have declared martial law in New York City. The marine corps is providing security to the city. Residents are requested to obey all orders from the marines. Those refusing an order will be arrested on the spot. Armed violence will be met with the full force of our military. But the good news is that food is on the way and will be in the city within 24 hours. Bread will be available in 2 days, and the marines have established distribution points in every neighborhood. Stay calm folks and let everybody do their jobs. We'll get this sorted out as soon as possible."
The message began again, and Aleysha moved away as others pushed in to hear.
As she walked along the garbage-filled, stinking street towards her momma's apartment, she decided what the President said would happen, might not be what really happened when the food arrived. A wry smile appeared with the thought she and her momma could stand to lose more weight. The smile disappeared when she remembered her momma's apartment was one street over from the boundary between the East and West Side gangs. Her girls would have to stay away from the windows to avoid any sniper mistakes.
But two days, she thought. We only have to make two days and we'll have bread. And I'm going to talk to Ro. He's gotta help me; he owes me for Jerold.
Climbing the four floors to her momma's apartment she smiled as she heard her girls giggling and playing with their gramma. They weren't hiding their pleasure at the visit, that's for sure she thought. When she walked into the small flat, she saw her momma hugging and tickling the girls on the old worn couch and she stopped and smiled.
"Ticklefest," said Georgina, her eldest. "Gramma is ticklefesting us." The laughing voice was bright and cheerful and so free of worry that Aleysha eye's teared up.
Her momma looked at her, smiled tentatively, and raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Food is coming day after next. Bread coming from Canada. We might not have food till then but we don't want to run out of water. Momma, why don't you fill every pot, every cup, fill the bathtub with cold water right up to the top. Yeah, plug the drain hole. I'm running over to the park. Yeah, I'll stay on the edge by the road and won't go far in, see if I can find a few dandelion leaves. I hear they make good tea to settle your stomach. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, and no, girls you can't come with me. You stay indoors, away from the windows and you mind your Gramma."
Aleysha's mood turned sour as she left for the park.
07/02/2047 10:15
"This is Ed Gordon for ZeeVid bringing you
an update about the massacre in Savannah last week. Sources at City Hall indicate it was QuellCorp's elite counter-terrorism squad that took down the gangs. Approximately 100 mercenaries were involved and they used some of the most modern weapons available outside of the military. I note this has not been proven in a court yet and when asked, Police Chief Johnson said his men were still following leads but had nothing concrete that would lead to charges. He said none of those leads pointed to QuellCorp at this time. When I told him what City Hall staff said, he replied, "Guess I'll have to go there and find out what they know that I don't."
In related news, I have also obtained confidential data that our techs are decrypting now and will have major revelations soon. I'm Ed Gordon for ZeeVid news in Savannah."
Gordon's camera drones flew to his shoulders when they heard his signature signoff. He didn't even notice them landing because he was busy watching a new message from his producer download in his inbox.
"Shit. Useless garbage?"
What the hell happened he wondered.
He stood for a few moments watching the Savannah River being pushed back upriver by the incoming tide. The whitecaps going the wrong way always amused him for some unknown reason. A thought at the back of his mind grew larger and finally caught his attention. He smiled and opened the comm channel to his producer.
"Can you ask research to check out an accident last night on Hwy 17? I want to know the name and a full background check on the victim. Specifically, I need to know his computer skills and at what level he operated. It's likely going to be informal eduction but I don't know. See what the Nets say about him."
The producer interrupted him and he listened for fifteen seconds.
"Nope, nothing definite but let's call this a good hunch. A file goes from great to garbage and somebody dies at the same time under mysterious circumstances. Think about it for a moment. If the file was originally good, who had the ability to change it? Who could force you off the road or hack your computer to do it and not leave a trace?" said Gordon.
2047: Hell In A Handbasket Page 5