by Shawn Davis
“Okay, Henry, no politics,” Peter agreed, smiling.
“For a while I thought you and Billy were going to gang up on me and kick my ass,” Henry said, laughing.
Peter and Billy joined in.
“You gotta love walking to work! We have so much time to talk, we’re at each other’s throats half the time!” Henry said.
“You got that right, Henry,” Billy agreed.
Henry began talking about his experiences at the Nexis Entertainment Club the previous night and Peter got involved in the discussion. Pretty soon, he had forgotten they had argued at all.
Chapter 5
The Protesters
Campion leaned back in her office chair and placed her feet on her desk.
I should have gone on that mission, she decided, taking a cigarette out and lighting up.
Campion recognized the inherent contradiction of lifting weights and running consistently, and yet still having the occasional cigarette. She enjoyed the contradiction.
If I had gone on that mission, I wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about it. I’d be in the middle of it and I wouldn’t have time to worry. I know my advisers are just looking out for the good of the organization, but sometimes they act like a bunch of worried old ladies. Especially, that political philosopher, Michael Rosen. He’s a brilliant man, but he doesn’t know anything about tactical missions. He’s the type of guy who will be a great help if the rebels win and we need to set up a new government. But what good is a political philosopher now when the only jobs to be done are violent ones? Anyway, it’s beneficial to have as many good people on our side as possible. I just hope the mission goes as planned.
Jane realized her cigarette was smoldering in her hand as she leaned back in her chair. She took a deep drag and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling, watching it dissipate into swirling gray mist.
Maybe the old guy is right. If I did go on the mission and got myself killed, how would that help? I want to be there during the finale. Whether I ultimately survive or not is irrelevant, but I want to be there when we take them down. I want to be there when we’re storming into New Washington with guns blazing.
Campion smiled at the thought of a fleet of attack choppers soaring into the capitol city and firing missiles and machine guns.
But for now it is just a fantasy.
The city had defenses that were, for the moment, impenetrable. Somehow, they had to be taken out. But how? The entire capitol city was surrounded by a two-hundred-foot high steel wall. The latest high-tech surface-to-air missile launchers were stationed at the top of the walls. The rumor was the missiles could be programmed to pick up body heat and zero in on a human target.
The missiles only had one weakness. They were all computer-controlled. Jane’s spies recently discovered an elaborate underground bunker beneath the city with a massive computer center. The missile defenses were controlled from down there. If they could get someone into the bunker and shut down the computers operating the missile launchers, then they could bring down the city’s most dangerous defenses. But how? It was hard enough just getting into the city. Who knew what kind of security the bunker had? Even if they could get past the security, they didn’t know how to get down into the bunker.
Another rather important question is who to send on the mission? The person would have to be an expert with computers to shut down the whole system. They would need to know how to hack into difficult systems with multiple defenses and plant a destructive virus that would bring the whole system crashing down. Sure, the organization has guys like that. But they’re useless as operatives. They don’t know the first thing about covert operations. They would be killed before they got to the computers. Which brings me back to our current mission. Can our team pull it off? New Washington is known as being the most secure city in the world. You can’t just stroll into New Washington. The city was built so no unauthorized person could even get near it.
Campion leaned forward in her chair and rested her elbows on the desk. She took another drag from her cigarette and blew out another smoke ring. The history of the city of New Washington had always been extremely fascinating to Campion.
It all started thirty years ago in the old capitol city, Washington DC. During the year 2028, gangs and crime became so rampant in Washington that defenses had to be put into place. A perimeter wall manned at the top by soldiers with machine guns was installed around the White House. By the year 2036, with the advent of lightweight body armor, car armor, and explosive bullets, the gangs in the city became bold enough to do drive-by shootings at the men guarding the White House walls. Apparently, these attacks were the gangs’ way of saying, “fuck you” to the government. Rather than install cannons and missile launchers at the top of the walls to guard against gang attacks and thereby turn the capitol into a war-zone, the President decided to move the capitol to a more secure location.
The White House was moved piece-by-piece to an island off the coast of New York State. A two-hundred-foot high wall made of concrete and steel was built around the perimeter of the eastern side of the island. They constructed the new capitol city within it. High-tech computer-controlled machine-guns and missile launchers were installed at the top of the walls around the city. A fleet of police speed-boats were stationed off the coast of the island to monitor all ships coming in to the only entrance accessible by water. All boats, planes, airships, and air-cars that wanted to land on the island had to receive clearance with fingerprint and code identification via computer linkup before they were allowed to land. If they did not have the proper codes, they were blasted out of the sky or water.
Campion wondered how her team was doing as they approached the city. She figured the Senator’s captured yacht was now cruising toward the nation’s capitol city at an average speed, so it would not draw attention to itself.
Soon, it will arrive at the island’s southeast entrance and make it through security. That’s when we’ll find out if all our stolen security codes really work.
Aboard the captured yacht, events were unfolding much as Campion imagined them. It was sailing smoothly past the outer battleship defenses without a problem. The organization’s spies had obtained all the proper clearance codes many months ago.
“We’re approaching New Washington harbor,” the yacht pilot radioed to the others below deck.
The tremendous, gleaming black walls surrounding New Washington loomed on the horizon like a steel mountain as the yacht approached the island.
********
After walking two more miles, Peter and his friends reached the outskirts of the area where they lived. With each quarter-mile they walked, the area became less desirable as they neared the center of Inner City. Old, crumbling tenement buildings replaced the clean white facades of corporate apartments. Abandoned, dilapidated buildings replaced lucrative businesses.
As they walked, they also became more alert when they passed people on the sidewalk. They made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. They also made sure they didn’t rub shoulders or bump into anyone. These few simple rules of the neighborhood allowed them to avoid most potential confrontations.
Sometimes a confrontation was unavoidable. Then, Henry took over. Henry had one of the latest automatic pistols, which he obtained on the black market, hidden behind some loose bricks in one of the abandoned tenement buildings on the outskirts of Inner City. He even had it loaded with the latest armor-piercing ammunition. That way, they had some protection before entering the neighborhood. They also didn’t risk getting caught carrying a gun in Central City, which was already extremely paranoid from all the terrorist bombings. Getting caught carrying an illegal weapon in Central City would earn them the usual sentence; the death penalty.
Peter had an antique thirty-eight pistol hidden beside Henry’s state-of-the-art weapon. It wasn’t as intimidating as Henry’s high-tech, handheld machine gun, but it had helped him out in a few jams.
A cop could be found on almost every block in Central City. Cops were a relativ
ely rare commodity in Inner City. There were only occasional police patrols in Inner City. Heavily armored anti-grav police cruisers made routine patrols through the busiest streets of Inner City neighborhoods. However, the cops inside the cars were reluctant to leave the protection of their vehicles to investigate crime.
With the advent of explosive bullets on the black market, which could pierce officers’ body armor, the heavily-armored anti-grav police cruisers became their last refuge. Cops tried not to get out of their cars unless an innocent person was being attacked in front of them. The cops’ first move was to focus their cruisers’ remote-controlled, roof mounted M-60 machine guns on the criminal or criminals.
The main avenues were usually safe because of consistent police patrols, but people avoided the lonely back streets, alleyways, and abandoned buildings as if they were infected with a lethal plague. Cops were usually only seen on foot when making high-profile drug or weapons busts or investigating high-profile murders. There were so many killings in this area that most of them went uninvestigated unless they were particularly brutal, involved children, illegal explosive ammunition, or massacres.
Sometimes the killings involved a person of the middle class or higher who had wandered into Inner City to obtain drugs, sex, or weapons on the black market. These killings were usually investigated promptly unless the individual didn’t have any family to lobby the police.
Peter noticed pedestrian traffic becoming sparse as they traveled deeper into Inner City.
Most people don’t want to walk the streets and I don’t blame them, Peter thought.
In this area, people tried to stay behind locked doors as much as possible. Usually, the area residents only ventured outside to walk, or if they were lucky, drive their ground car to or from work. No one owned air-cars in this area. Shopping was often done in Central City during the journey home from work in order to cut down on the amount of time spent traveling the streets.
Peter remembered when there were stores in Inner City. There were no stores now. They ceased to be profitable as their security costs escalated year after year. Most Inner City shoppers sprung for an anti-grav cab, which would take them from the front door of a grocery store in Central City to the door of their apartment building in Inner City. People were often willing to pay fifty dollars for a cab ride to ensure they didn’t lose a hundred dollars worth of groceries.
“Hey, do you guys hear something?” Billy asked, as they walked through a quiet neighborhood where the only other pedestrians were small groups walking home from work.
“I hear people walking around and talking,” Peter replied, glancing around at the pedestrians walking a safe distance from each other as they headed home.
“No, not around here. In the distance. Listen,” Billy said, stopping in his tracks and cocking his ear like a hunting dog on the trail of a fox. “You hear it?”
“Actually, I do. It’s coming from the next neighborhood. It sounds like a mob moving down the street toward us,” Peter said, stopping beside Billy on the sidewalk.
“What would the gangs be doing on a main road like this?” Henry asked, standing beside them and moving his right hand closer to his shoulder-holster. “There’s always the risk of running into a police patrol.”
“Look up ahead,” Billy said, gesturing to a row of faint glowing orange lights hovering on the distant street horizon like a swarm of fireflies.
“I don’t like the look of this at all,” Henry said.
He checked to make sure his automatic pistol was tucked firmly into the shoulder-holster beneath his jacket. Peter clutched the handle of the old thirty-eight pistol hidden in his right pants pocket. The other people walking the street also stopped when they saw the flickering orange lights on the street horizon moving toward them. The murmuring of a distant crowd of voices could be heard growing steadily louder.
“Should we turn back?” Billy asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up.
“It’s definitely a mob of people. Carrying torches,” Henry observed. “You guys didn’t offend anyone in the neighborhood who would carry a grudge this far, did you? That’s a pretty big lynch mob.
“No, look, they’re carrying something beside the torches. They look like signs or something,” Peter said, straining his eyes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. A demonstration? Here in the slums? What good is that going to do?” Henry asked when he realized they were a large crowd of demonstrators advancing toward them in the street carrying torches and placards.
“I haven’t seen anything like this in years,” Peter said. “What do they hope to accomplish?”
Some of the signs became visible in the distance. Bring Back the Constitution and Democracy, Not Plutocracy were inscribed on some of them. Peter saw a large sign, which read Impeach President Frump on it. The sign also contained a picture of the current U.S. president, Ronald E. Frump, with a red mark slashed across his face.
“I don’t believe it. It’s an actual protest demonstration. Here in Inner City,” Henry said with awe in his voice.
Peter glanced around and saw the other people on the sidewalks waiting for the crowd of marchers like rows of spectators waiting for a parade. A nearby group even broke the general rule of non-interaction and shouted over to him.
“Hey, do you know what’s going on?”
Peter shook his head while Henry answered, “I have no idea, pal. I just hope they’re peaceful.”
As the crowd of protesters continued to advance, more details became evident. Peter could now read the smaller signs the protesters were carrying as well as the large ones. Peter saw the phrase Families Need a Living Wage on one and All Children Need an Education on another.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people on the street at once,” Billy said, sucking nervously on a cigarette while gawking at the advancing mob. “At least not since the Riots of ’52 and I only saw those on TV.”
“I have to agree with you, Billy. It’s very unusual,” Henry said as the vanguard of the protesters approached their position.
The protesters walked side-by-side, taking up three-and-a-half lanes of the four-lane street. Peter could clearly hear their shouts above the murmuring of the spectators on the sidewalks.
“Join us! Help us to fight for freedom!” a voice shouted from the crowd.
“I’m surprised this ain’t on the news,” Billy commented as the protesters began walking past them in the street shouting slogans.
“Come with us, brothers! Unite for a common goal!” one of the demonstrators yelled as she walked by.
“These people are crazy,” Henry said, rolling his eyes.
“You got that right, Henry,” Billy agreed, shaking his head. “Why aren’t they all home watch’n TV like they’re supposed to be.”
“Hey, guys, look who’s leading the parade!” Henry shouted, pointing to a tall black man in his early thirties striding confidently at the center of the front line of protesters.
“No way!” Billy said, as he spotted the tall, well-dressed figure at the front of the group. “It’s that famous civil rights activist from TV! What’s his name again? Oh yeah, Martin Prince.”
“Martin Prince is leading the protesters!” Henry exclaimed. “Can you believe that, Peter? Someone famous is leading this motley group!”
“Yeah, it’s unbelievable,” Peter replied, distractedly.
He became silent as the demonstrators continued to march by. Peter had not seen anything like this since he was a teenager watching the History Channel on TV. He remembered watching similar protests where people marched against war and discrimination in the last century. He wasn’t sure, but he guessed it was some time during the 1950’s when the demonstrations occurred. Anyway, computers were his specialty, not history.
Peter was a highly paid computer programmer before the Depression of 2049 hit. Back then, he had a life. He had a top-of-the-line ground vehicle, a nice apartment in Central City, a beautiful fiancée. Now, they were all gone. T
he wages he earned as a forklift operator barely allowed him to pay the rent in a dilapidated tenement apartment in Inner City. During his first week in his new apartment, his car had been stolen. He tried to file a police report, but the cops said it wasn’t worth their time to investigate it. It didn’t take long for his fiancée to leave him after that.
During his first year as a forklift operator, his parents became sick. They were also laid off during the same Depression that claimed his job. They had no health insurance, so they couldn’t afford to go to a doctor or hospital. Peter lived on the streets for several weeks and gave most of his paycheck to his parents to pay for their myriad doctor’s visits and expensive medication. It still wasn’t enough to cover all their medical expenses. They couldn’t afford the best treatment, so they didn’t make it.
Peter had been devastated. He went into a deep depression and even thought about suicide. That’s when he met Henry and Billy at work. They were the ones who showed him that life was still worth living despite losing everything. If he had never met them, he didn’t know what would have happened to him.
Chapter 6
Suicide Strike
It was no problem getting through the capitol city’s outer defenses for a well-known Senator from New York. The guards simply recognized her at all the checkpoints and let her and her bodyguard through. When computer fingerprint analysis was also needed, the pseudo-Senator’s surgically altered prints did the job just as well as the real thing. After making it safely through a gauntlet of security checkpoints at the harbor docks, Cassandra Watson and her bodyguard passed through a tunnel under the massive steel wall surrounding the city. They exited the underground corridor to a parking lot where a black stretch limousine hovered by the street waiting for them.
It was almost 5 o’clock in the evening when the anti-grav limousine dropped off Watson and Fahey at one of the most expensive hotels on the island. The rebel operatives were not hungry because they had already eaten an exquisite meal aboard the captured yacht. However, to keep up appearances, they visited the hotel’s sumptuous five-star restaurant and ordered light meals. They picked at their food and pretended to enjoy it for about twenty minutes before deciding to abandon the façade.