“Yes, sir.”
“And one last thing. I want a blanket ban on the media, especially that woman Janine what’s-her-name. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Denny threw the phone down and spooned his heavyset body into Jess’s, wanting to savour one last feel of her warm body. She stirred but remained silent.
He climbed out of bed, quickly donned his uniform, adjusting his cap until it was perfectly straight and then kissed her on the cheek.
“Got to run.”
“Another domestic crisis?” Her voice was muffled by the pillow.
“No, this is something pretty serious. This could be big, real big. This could be the biggest darn thing ever, that’s of course if that idiot Kennedy has his facts straight.”
This got Jess’s attention, and she flipped over to stare at him. “Well?”
“Sorry, no time to explain. I’ll call you later.”
* * * *
While being driven to the airport by the automatic chauffeur, he poured himself a whiskey, stretched out across the back seat, and reflected on his past. His life hadn’t been an easy one.
Growing up in Isle of Palms, South Carolina, had been no simple undertaking. Adulthood was forced on him at the age of twelve, when both his parents left him in the care of Claudette, his paternal grandmother, while they vacationed in Bermuda. They never returned home. The four-seater twin-prop they’d boarded to island hop the short distance between Paradise Island and Freeport hit a massive thunderstorm just before landing. Two days later, bits of wreckage, along with three mangled bodies, were recovered just shy of Freeport. The body of Denny’s father was never found.
A short stay with Claudette evolved into five years of relentless torture. She was a controlling, wicked woman who had lost her husband and soulmate at the age of twenty-five to meningitis, hardening and embittering her. Denny became an unwelcome intruder to her otherwise miserable existence, and she had made that fact quite clear to him from the moment his measly possessions had arrived on her dilapidated, gloomy cottage patio. Her displeasure and bitterness managed to seep into all aspects of his life, cloaking his teenage years in darkness from which escape seemed impossible.
The hag spent her days sitting on the porch with a pair of binoculars in hand, spying on anyone and anything that came within thirty feet of her house. For some strange reason the woman detested Betsy Glover, a delightful, friendly old soul who happened to have a charmingly irritating parrot called Bob. Claudette took delight in yelling at him to shut the fuck up, which of course led to cursing matches over the fence with Betsy. One day Betsy arrived at the door, absolutely distraught. She had left Bob in his cage on the porch, and gone inside for a moment to make a cup of tea. On her return, the cage was open and Bob had disappeared. The woman loved that bird like her own child, and Denny knew from the faintest of smiles, that Claudette was responsible, even though she never, ever admitted to it.
Denny spent those formative years constructing a protective cocoon around himself, allowing no one inside, except for Alfie, his faithful Labrador and best friend, who his parents had given him for his birthday the year before they were killed. The dog of course was never allowed inside the house, lest it infest the place with fleas, ticks and every other illness that Claudette could think up. The diseases changed almost weekly, depending on her mood and the weather. It was a lonely place for a teenage boy, with hormones raging, no friends or girlfriends. Nevertheless, he passed those hot summer days locked in his bedroom, reading any book about any war that he could get his hands on. History offered him an escape from the monotony of everyday life, and wars fascinated him. No two wars were ever the same, yet all had similarities that he couldn’t discount; all often were won or lost by a pivotal battle. He sometimes wondered what the world might be like if the southerners had won, or Hitler hadn’t decided to invade Russia, but rather fortified the Western front. Would slavery still be legal? Would the Brits be speaking German?
After graduating high school, the next step was simple. A marine recruitment officer who had visited his school on career day, had no problem signing up the six-foot-five teenager to West Point on a full scholarship. The boy was made for the military, right down to his crewcut, and Denny said a final goodbye to the dilapidated cottage the day following graduation. Claudette told him he wasn’t man enough to be a marine, and that he’d return in a week crying like a baby, begging for his old room back. But he just played along, nodding and counting down the minutes until he’d finally be free of the old cow. Needless to say he not only proved her wrong but within two years was already on his second tour of Iraq, and well on his way to becoming one of the most decorated war heroes since Eisenhower.
Five years later, through a fellow marine, he met his wife, Kate, married and had three children, Ben, Dave and Ashley.
By 2031 at age forty-eight, Denny had climbed the ranks to major, and after a string of new terrorism attacks on infrastructure around the planet, including the Golden Gate Bridge, “The Phantoms” were created. This clandestine unit was so secretive that strictly speaking it never officially existed. Denny was asked to head it up. He spent weeks cherry-picking the most elite men and women from the far corners of the Western world. The Phantoms’ goal was to secretly punch through the terrorism crisis that had taken grip and shaken humanity to its core.
The best computer minds and strategists were assembled together and within eighteen months, most of the al-Qaeda cells had been located and destroyed, and ISIS was close to collapse, the leader, Ibrahim el-Hadad surrounded by the Allies in the town of Ramadi. A tactical assault team, with Denny at the helm, surprised a pajama-clad Hadad at 3.40 am. The plan succeeded, Hadad was fatally wounded in the crossfire, and shortly after that, terrorism was kept in check, at least until the newly elected United States government administration lost its nerve and its balls. Like a freshly cleared garden bed, it didn’t take long for new weeds to shoot up and yet again radicalism was given the opportunity to flourish. It was during this period of unprecedented liberalism and political correctness gone mad, that the general visited hell.
Finally, though, he could sense that the world was ready for him, ready for revolutionary change. History was about to be made, and he had a feeling he would play a crucial role in that. He had always believed that in some bizarre way, he was destined for greatness, and the events of his childhood had shaped him for such.
He smiled at the thought. Bring it on.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
September 13, 13:03 (roughly 24 hours post EMB launch)
Harvard School of Zoology, Boston, Massachusetts
Ken Wang sat at his desk feasting on his double cheese burger and French fries smothered in mayo. Despite an incredibly unhealthy diet, he happened to be one of those fortunate individuals who never managed to gain an ounce of weight. His desk was a disaster zone, littered with books about various species of birdlife and migration patterns.
Ken found Swainson’s hawk to be particularly interesting. The hawks inhabited North America mainly in the spring and summer and spent their winters in South America. They tended to breed in south-central Alberta, central Saskatchewan, and southern Minnesota. After breeding, when the summer started drawing to a close and the days began to shorten, they would commence their long journey south.
A month ago in mid-August, Ken made his way to Minnesota and the hawks’ breeding grounds. After locating them, and by using a complicated state-of-the-art tracking system, he managed to tag a dozen of the birds just prior to commencement of their long journey south. He had returned to his office in Boston and monitored the birds daily on his computer screen. Already in just over a month they had made it as far as California, and were now on the threshold of crossing the border into Mexico.
“Hey, I’m out to lunch,” he shouted over to his colleague Alfred, a nerdy-looking young Yale graduate. With a beak of a nose and small pigeon-like eyes, Ken had often wondered if Alfred really was human, or if he were
secretly a bird masquerading as one. Perhaps Alfred had been a bird in a past life.
“Alfred, can you keep an eye on my data for me please? I’m expecting the satellite feed to return any minute now.”
“Sure. My data’s been screwed up, too,” said Alfred. “Can’t believe they didn’t predict this increased solar activity. Very unusual, no warning from NASA this time. Usually they’re spot on.”
Ken looked at his watch. “Just shows they don’t know everything. Anyhow I’m going to go across the road to—” He stopped in mid-sentence, noticing the satellite feed starting to come through.
He banged the computer with his fist, and the image shook somewhat before slowly refocusing. “Fuck, this equipment we got from MIU is crap. Look at that,” he blurted out.
“What?”
“THAT!” He pointed to the screen. “The data’s coming through upside down, in reverse. I knew we should never have gone with MIU, I’m a Mac man through and through.”
Alfred checked his own screen. He was studying a threatened species of geese. He, too, shook his head. “No, that’s not possible, it’s the same on my screen. Must be the satellite at fault, something to do with the increased solar activity. What do you think?”
Ken scratched his cheek and pondered the possibilities. “Okay, well if that’s true, it’s got to be affecting everything. Alf, turn on the TV.”
Alfred flicked on the remote and scanned through the various cable channels that only a short time earlier were not working. “Cable’s back to normal.”
Ken checked his weather radar screen. It was working again. He shook his head and frowned. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, concerned that years of data collection might be impacted by this anomaly.
Alfred sat down. He seemed deep in thought. After scratching his beak, he turned around to face Ken. “I can only see one explanation for this—”
“I know, for some reason the birds …” Ken swallowed hard. He couldn’t say it. It went against all scientific reasoning.
Alfred finished for him. “They’ve reversed direction, they’re headed back north.”
Both scientists watched their screens as the tiny red dots superimposed on their North American maps began to bleep and slowly creep back up toward Canada.
Ken was about to ring his colleagues in Europe to confirm the anomaly, when he noticed a flurry of activity in the office. Every phone was ringing, every video link had been activated and almost every ornithologist from around the world was similarly trying to confirm the strange phenomenon. This was not an isolated or local event, it was global.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What the hell do you mean I can’t leave the facility? I have a three-year-old child who is probably beside herself now wanting to know where her mother is!” shouted Sheri, wiping the sweat from her brow. She felt a tightness in her chest.
“I told you, ma’am, that I have strict orders not to allow anyone to enter or leave this building. No exceptions!”
Sheri turned to Steve. “Can you believe this nonsense, Steve? First they spy on us under the guise of pretending to facilitate the project and help with our funding, and now they lock us inside as if we’re common criminals. What next, an execution by firing squad?”
Steve placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Calm down, you know it’s just the usual military red tape. I’m sure it’ll be sorted out soon.”
Sheri wasn’t calmed by Steve’s words. She grabbed the marine forcibly by the arm, trying to gain his attention. The surprised marine nevertheless remained calm, her light grip no threat to the muscular, broad-shouldered giant.
“If anything happens to my child, I will personally hold you fully responsible, Sergeant…” she searched for the marine’s nametag, “…Jakes.”
“Nothing will happen to her, ma’am, I assure you,” he said calmly, as if he was simply relaying directions to her. “The general has given express orders to make sure she is well taken care of, even if that means being escorted to school.”
Steve took her hand. “It’ll be okay, hon.”
The door flung open, Denny Smith marched in, closely flanked by three senior marines, all fully kitted out in fatigues. The military personnel in the room immediately stood to attention and saluted.
“At ease,” grunted Denny.
He approached Steve and Sheri. “So you must be Johnson and Winslow.” He managed a thin smile. “Good morning. I believe you’ve found something that may threaten our national security.” He removed his cap and sat down at Sheri’s desk. “Show me what you’ve got,” he demanded.
“Excuse me?” said Sheri. “You expect me to drop everything and give you a scientific tutorial on the electromagnetic spectrum after you take me prisoner, usurp my desk and kidnap my three-year-old daughter, without so much as an apology? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Denny Smith’s face colored, the blood flooding his cheeks. He stood up, his solid build towering over Sheri’s petite frame. He looked her directly in the eye and spoke with an even, authoritative voice. “Look here, Miss Johnson, I don’t have time for this crap. As I said, this is a matter of national security. I cannot risk this leaking out, with the resulting chaos spilling across the nation. These contingency plans have been in place for such an eventuality ever since the Eisenhower administration. Now you either tell me what I need to know, or I’ll toss you in jail and find someone else who will. It’s your choice.”
Steve intervened. “Look, General, I’m sorry, it’s been a long night for all of us. We’re exhausted and Sheri has left her daughter in the care of a neighbor. She also has a psychopathic ex who would love nothing more than to use this as an opportunity to snatch Chloe away.” He raised his arm at the general. “And before you tell me she’s under guard, this ex is no ordinary ex. He’s already tried it on before. Show some compassion, General, and at least allow the child to be brought here. I’m sure she’s not a threat to our national security.”
Denny seemed to simmer down, the blood slowly draining away from his cheeks. He let out a deep breath. “Okay, I apologize. I wasn’t quite aware of the situation. If you show me what I need to know, I’ll make sure your daughter’s brought here within the hour. I’ll also arrange a boarding facility here for you and your daughter, where you can both get some well-deserved rest.”
Sheri eyed the general. She wasn’t sure whether to trust him. She’d been down this road before in her past with disastrous consequences. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
“I give you my word, take it or leave it.”
Sheri stared deeply into the man’s ice-blue eyes. One thing she had learned from Simon was the look of deception. There was something in the eyes, perhaps the tiniest wavering of the gaze that would give him away. Despite her reservations, the general’s gaze held firm. He seemed to be telling the truth, or else he was a damn good actor.
“Okay, General, we have a deal. Just give me five minutes to freshen up and get my presentation together.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What? Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes, my source is highly credible. Something happened between the hours of two and three am. The place is in lockdown. No one can get in or out.”
Janine Fuller smiled. Perhaps this was finally the story she had been hoping for. It had been a drought of three long years since Tel Aviv, and she was weary of waiting for another big story to unfold. She was also quite aware that in the world of international journalism, if she didn’t find something big and juicy fairly soon, others far hungrier than she would eagerly feast on her apathy. It was dog eat dog out there, and she knew it. Perhaps she had been too quick in dismissing the NASA story yesterday as one big bore. Patience, after all, was not and had never been a quality she knew much about. Kath continually reminded her of that. Something was changing, however. She could sense it, and instinct told her that there was a story, and she was going to be the one to crack it.
“That’s fine, Jim, t
hank you very much,” she replied in a deadpan voice.
“So what are you going to do? You know you can’t just go marching in there.”
“Don’t worry, Jim, I have a plan,” she said, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest.
She placed the phone down carefully on the bathroom vanity, pasted on some bright red lipstick and puckered her lips. She stared at her reflection in the mirror for about a minute, noticing for the first time a few faint lines on her forehead, and quickly adjusted her fringe to cover them. She decided to call Kath. It had been two days since she last spoke with her sister and now with this new development, she knew it could be some time before she might have the opportunity to speak to her again. After two rings, the familiar voice answered.
“Hey, sis, what’s happening?” greeted Janine.
“How’re you doin’, hon? Looking after yourself I hope?”
“You know me, Kath, I always look after myself.” Janine sat down on the toilet.
“Yeah by living on lettuce leaves and celery sticks. You really do need to take better care of yourself. You know I worry about you.” Kath paused, then continued in a more serious tone. “By the way, David says he has this wonderful guy to introduce you to. Doctor, house in Bel-Air, three dogs and a small yacht. Apparently he takes off every summer and sails down to Acapulco.”
There was an awkward moment of silence between the two.
“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry, it just slipped out,” said Kath.
“Don’t worry, sis, Adam’s history now,” Janine said, careful to keep her voice even as her eyes reddened, and a tight knot formed in her throat.
“Still, it was stupid and insensitive.”
“Hey, don’t fuss about it, I’m well over him,” she lied. “It’s been three years, and thanks to you I’m finally getting my life back on track, where it should’ve been before I met Adam.”
The Waterhole Page 4