5 Years After (Book 2.5): Smoke & Mirrors

by Correll, Richard

  “Are we going to have to set down?” Molly asked, trying not to sound nervous.

  “That is not an option, little lady.” Hatch commented out of the side of his mouth.

  “Ma’am, hostiles would be all over us in a second.” The co-pilot was clicking through screen after screen. “We need a friendly place to set down.”

  “Then Fort Knox it is.” Molly spoke to no one in particular.

  “When did you start giving orders?” Hatch’s voice was angry. He raised himself up as high as he could in cramped quarters.

  “She is right,” The co-pilot kept his eyes on the computer screen to avoid the angry look from Hatch. “We just have enough fuel to make it.”

  “If that’s where they’re going.” Hatch wasn’t about to give up yet.

  “It has to be where they’re going.” Molly stared straight ahead into the darkness while the co-pilot nodded his head.

  ....and why is that?” Hatch again. He was starting to get on Molly’s nerves.

  “There is nothing else out here that might interest them.” She turned to face him. His mouth was an uneven, challenging line.

  “Why the hell would they want Fort Knox?” Hatch leaned back and let a sense of superiority settle in with his monetary knowledge. “It’s just gold. They can’t steal it. They don’t have the vehicles.”

  “Ever see that sixties spy movie?” The co-pilot offered.

  “Which one,” Hatch turned abruptly to the co-pilot. “The one with Pussy Galore?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” The co-pilot held back a lecherous grin out of respect for Molly. “What were they doing at Fort Knox?”

  “They were planting a nuclear bomb.” Molly’s voice was like a knife through the bullshit.

  “Yeah,” the co-pilot’s humor was gone now. “I think that was it.”

  “Yeah,” Hatch nodded absently. “Why the hell would they do that?”

  “It would make all the gold at Fort Knox radioactive so it would be worthless and destroy the American dollar.” Molly felt herself slowly recalling a conversation:

  “Does he have nuclear weapons?” Molly remembered asking the question at the Pentagon.

  “We don’t know.” Mac had replied.

  “Break radio silence.” Hatch issued the first order Molly had heard him give. It was unusually quiet. As if he did not care for the authority.

  “Yes sir,” The co-pilot’s affable tone had vanished. It was business now. “Zero Cool to The Gibson.”

  “This is The Gibson,” A voice was suddenly there. Clear as a bell on the speakers. Schools were always falling apart from lack of funding but the latest chess piece in the military game had one hell of a sound system.

  We have a pretty good idea of their intentions.” Hatch reported and nodded to the co-pilot.

  “Sending link now,” The co-pilot reported.

  “Zero cool,” the voice was back after a pause. “Do we have an idea what they’re up to?”

  “That is still up in the air, sir.” He chanced a look in Molly’s direction. She feigned indifference, sometimes it was best to just blend in to the background. “It’s pretty clear it has something to do with the gold.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “What possible damage could they do to us with the gold,” Hatch mused out loud and then added; “If you mind me asking, sir.”

  “Not at all, Zero Cool.”

  “Our reporter supplied us with their armament.” Hatch nodded to Molly. “We are dealing with about 12 to 15 Strykers, armed with 30 mm machine guns and 75 mm cannon.”

  “No heavy vehicles?”

  “No sir,” Hatch paused and wondered aloud. “It looks like they have no plans to steal it.”

  “Evidently not, Zero Cool.” The voice was almost machine-like. But Molly could feel whirling calculations behind the words. These were shadow people. The ones you never saw or heard about. They were the invisible end of foreign policy, Black ops.

  “They may be out to destabilize the American dollar.” Molly finally spoke out of turn. Hatch tried to silence her with a hardened look. She gave him a calm demeanor in reply.

  “Ma’am, we are not on the gold standard. Nixon took us off of that in the 70’s.” The Gibson voice replied with a hint of superiority.

  “We went back on it four years ago after the currency crisis.” Molly answered the voice box. Hatch could only stand in shock as she delivered.

  “You are speaking out of turn, little lady.” He warned.

  “I’m not army, Lieutenant Hatch. I’m an American.” Molly leaned forward in her seat, responding to his challenge. “Last time I checked, we are still a democracy. I’ll speak when I damn well want to.”

  “Zero Cool, are you there?” The machine voice inquired.

  “Yes sir,” Hatch replied with his eyes still on Molly.

  “Can you ask your guest to explain the comment?” The Gibson was clearly searching for the information.

  “I remember the report. The dollar was falling like a stone. Every currency was when all this started.” Molly felt strange talking to a speaker, but there it was. “Then we got a report over the news wire, confirmed by La Monde.”

  “Yes?” The Gibson was asking for more.

  “42 countries including us had the meeting at the Bilderberg hotel in the Netherlands and had secured it.” Molly was speaking from memory. “We were stabilizing our currencies by going back on the gold standard.”

  There was silence in the cabin as the blades thrummed away, providing a background rhythm to the proceedings. It gave Molly a moment to remember the first few heady days at CBS. She began insisting to reporters that addresses of evacuation sights do not go on air until we had confirmed they were still operational. USA today had called her a life saver in a fluid situation. The sheer adrenalin of finding facts and checking information while live hour after hour. It was news that mattered. A strange environment developed in the Washington studios. The quaffed and mannequin talking heads began to give way to faces not quite as well known but more information adapted. The heads and mannequins interviewed experts and droned on desperately in these new waters of information and the end of innuendo.

  “We have no such knowledge of that story, Ma’am.” The Gibson replied dryly.

  “Excuse me?” Molly stole an incredulous look between the speaker and Hatch. She remembered being in the wire room and holding the printout paper in her hands.

  “No Ma’am, We have no knowledge of such an event.”

  Molly stared for a moment in the space between Hatch and the speaker. In my hands, she remembered the words on the paper. They were right in my hands. She passed the story on and expected it to be good enough for the six o’clock.

  What happened then? The thread of memory grew stronger. Molly knew she never forgot a story. Editors at first were intrigued but later dismissive of the report. It faded to black fast. It hardly seemed surprising with New York, Denver and Boston evacuating the next day. Everyday there just wasn’t enough room to tell the story. But now......

  Was that it? She tried to gauge the atmosphere that was changing in the helicopter. Hatch had a suspicious look in his eyes. Molly returned it out of habit. The pilot and co-pilot tried to busy themselves in the forward cabin while listening in. The Gibson was silent but in between quiet she could feel the voices on the other end passing signals and messages with their usual stealth.

  She knows..............

  So, is he going to throw me out of the helicopter now? An hour ago the thought would have been humorous. Now, it didn’t seem so funny. Hatch avoided eye contact and concluded his conversation with the Gibson. There was still an hour before it became light. She let her eyes rest as the whirling blades rocked her to sleep with their rhythm.

  Dawn always appeared slowly. First there was a lighter shade of darkness to the east. A few more minutes revealed the first speckles of sunshine turning large clouds a light shade of pink and purple. Time ticked on and the first few rays stabb
ed into darkness adjusted eyes and made them blink. Beneath the helicopter shadows began to grow and take form in the beginning of a new day. There were fewer vehicles here. The burned out and rusted husks had been towed away for spare parts and recycling. Steel, aluminum, computer chips and whatever else was in a car were all precious now. Production lines were overworked, mining was at a minimum.

  “Can I offer you some breakfast, Miss Hunter?” It was the co-pilot. He glanced back at her and offered two fruit bars and a black cup of coffee. “Sorry, this all we got.”

  “Coffee, that is perfect,” Molly reached out her hands and accepted the kindness. “Thank you, mister....?”

  “Abrams, Miss Hunter.” He looked back toward her. His dark visor hid his eyes as the sunlight filled the cabin. “Charlie Abrams, everyone just calls me Chucky.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chucky,” Molly smiled and kept Hatch in the corner of her eyes. He appeared to be napping, which probably meant he was not. She couldn’t help but add: “Are we there yet?”

  “As a matter of fact yes,” Chucky turned and nodded toward the plexi-glass front of the helicopter. Molly slipped the fruit bars into her Lululemon hoodie and sipped her coffee with her right hand. She steadied herself with her left and moved closer to the cockpit to check out their destination.

  The surroundings were a series of squares within squares. A large security fence that Molly imagined was perfect down to the inch was the first square. A single road at a perfect straight angle was the only break in the chain link. A second fence was the absolute mathematical double of the first barrier but smaller formed the second square.

  Inside the second chain link fence were roads of straight lines and ninety degree turns, meandering roads were not an option to the military mind.

  Finally, inside all of this was a squat square building of white concrete and thin, hooded windows that seemed more at home in the days of siege craft. Another square rose up out of the center of the building, an observation post perhaps? Molly had seen this design before in ancient buildings in Europe. This was the castle keep of fortress America.

  “Have they tried to contact us?” Hatch was right at her elbow. How the hell he snuck up on her and could be this awake without a coffee made her wonder if he was human. The stubble on his chin seemed to be a chink in his armor. A slight imperfection or wrinkle in his ways.

  “No contact at all.” Abrams picked up the vibe. That was unusual. They were getting close. “Maybe they are having trouble finding our frequency.”

  “That’s odd.” Molly tilted her head slightly as they passed over the first security fence.

  “What’s that?” Abrams asked the question for everyone present.

  “The grass,” Molly pointed with her free hand. “It hasn’t been cut in a while.”

  “And?” Hatch gave her a sideways look that had a depth of sarcasm to it.

  “This is an important military installation, Lieutenant Hatch.” Molly observed. “If you were in command here would you let things look like that?”

  The sideways glance became a nod. The cruel lines on his face twisted into understanding. Hatch turned away and followed the approach of their helicopter into the base. As the whirling blades came closer to earth Hatch saw how long the grass was as it swayed in the man-made wind like un-harvested wheat. He finally spoke: “Where the fuck is everybody?”

  A door opened and a figure appeared. He paused in the dawn shadows of the doorframe before carefully making his way to the landing helicopter. Even from this distance Hatch could tell the man wore no uniform. Just a patch on his shoulder, he was militia. The wheels touched down lightly on one of Fort Knox’s mathematical road ways. Hatch was out the door way in an instant.

  “You!” Hatch screamed above the rotors as he got closer. The man had stubble around his face and was 6 inches shorter than him, “Where the hell is your CO, soldier!”

  “I am the CO,” The man’s eyes were cold and sharp. “And who the hell are you, buddy?”

  “I am Lieutenant Hatch,”

  “Well good for you.” The militia man feigned nonchalance to show his disrespect. “I’m Kentucky militia. The last time I checked we don’t take orders from your kind.”

  A second man had joined them. He was larger around the middle with a very unmilitary beard that extended down to his chest. The blades of the helicopter were slowing now. Molly eased herself out of the helicopter and let her feet get used to Terra Ferma.

  “Nice chopper.” The second man commented.

  “Is there something we can help you with, flyboy?” The militia commander arched his chin and let his mouth give a half smile.

  “Hi,” Molly smiled at the two militia men. She had felt the vibe while walking over and came in with a totally different tack.

  “Good morning.” The large man smiled.

  “If you mind me saying, miss.” The militia commander shaded his eyes from the dawn light while his curiosity got the better of him. “You seem very familiar.”

  “I’m Molly Hunter from Sixty Minutes.” Her smile became slightly bashful. It was a perfect win if you were ever recognized.

  “Welcome to Fort Knox, Miss Hunter.” The militia commander puffed himself up with pride. “Please excuse us, we weren’t expecting visitors.”

  “Obviously,” Hatch muttered.

  “It appears you might have more company very soon.” Molly tried to ignore Hatch and the hard feelings he was stirring up. “We’re here to warn you.”

  “What kind of visitors?” The militia commander suddenly had a hard look in his eye. Alright, he has a formidable side.

  “Anywhere from 6 to 10 Stryker armored vehicles, possibly 40 or 50 troops inside.” Hatch gave the news while his eyes felt the sting of the sunshine. “How many men have you got?”

  “Another four maybe,” The reply came from the big man standing behind his commander.

  “That’s it?” Hatch s’ look was incredulous.

  “Yeah, that’s it.” The militia commander clearly was getting to the end of his rope with Hatch. “We take care of the fort and protect it from hostiles. That’s our job out here.”

  “We need to protect this fort.” Hatch stabbed a finger in mid-air between them.

  “You’ve got a chopper.” The big man spoke up.

  “It’s unarmed.” Hatch informed them.

  “You knew these people were coming here and you bring an unarmed helicopter?” The militia commander was just waiting to make a dig. “Are ya stupid or somthin’?”

  “What kind of weapons do you have?” Hatch ignored the man. They were running out of time.

  “We’ve got some automatic weapons and handguns.” The militia man shrugged. “Did you think of letting the Kentucky National Guard know about this?”

  Hatch paused. That wasn’t the plan. They were expecting one hell of a lot more. There used to be an armed forces base around here. His eyes wandered around at the desolation of the place. It appeared like an outpost on the edge of forever. Molly had been right, Hatch had to admit. The grass should have been a giveaway.

  “I have orders to defend this position.” Hatch felt his jaw line harden.

  “...With what?” Molly had to jump in.

  “Anything I can get my hands on.” Hatch replied, he hated how melodramatic it sounded but he was drawing at straws here.

  “....and that would be.......what, Mr. Hatch?” Molly sipped her coffee and looked around before returning her gaze to the Black Ops Lieutenant. “Unless these guys have a tank lying around, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  Hatch was about to give a snide reply when an explosion made them all jump and turn toward a single spot. The blast had sounded almost metallic. Of course it did, the metal fence crashed to earth, bouncing once off the pavement.

  “Somebody just rang the doorbell.” Molly spoke in a low, husky tone.

  *

  The commander blinked at the ear splitting detonation and watched part of the gate rise into the b
lue sky. It seemed to be turning end over end as it plummeted slowly back to earth, it rattled off the road before coming to rest in the tall grass. His radio came to life.

  Sorry sir,“ the voice apologized. “I think I used a little too much.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Hojo.” The commander replied calmly. “It’s better to use too much than too little.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Send the first platoon in.” The commander started issuing orders quickly. “Let’s make it quick, we don’t have a lot of time.” He was already looking over his shoulder. They’ll be coming soon, we’ve made noise. They always come to check out noise.

  “Birk.” The commander spoke into his microphone again.

  “Here, sir.” Birk’s barked out his words.

  “You’ll be bringing up the rear, have an eye behind us, okay?” The commander was already wondering how to break through the second gate without damaging it. The last thing they needed was hostiles wandering around the interior.

  “Yes sir, There are some about a thousand yards away.” Birk was quick to reply. “I think they could take about five minutes before they get here.”

  “Alright, let’s move.” The commander banged on the side of his hatch twice for the signal to get going. The vehicle lurched into gear and then began the slow, predator like crawl forward. The machine guns on his vehicle had been repaired by nothing more than duct tape, but he was still suspicious of their reliability. “I need a sparrow in front of us.”

  “Sparrow launched, sir.” One of his men reported, “Uploading video link to your vehicle.”

  It was such a small target as it began to rise into the air, almost silent in the sky. The cameras came on line and began streaming pictures within a few seconds.