This book is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations and events are used entirely fictitiously. No resemblance is intended between its characters and events with any real persons, living or dead, or real events. Any coincidence of characters or their names with those of persons, living or dead, is purely accidental.
ISBN: 9781483511016
September 2013
THIS FIRST NOVEL OF THE GRID IS DEDICATED TO C
I AM DEEPLY GRATEFUL TO THOSE PERSONS – YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE – WHO HAVE TAKEN THEIR TIME TO READ THIS NOVEL, IN PART OR IN WHOLE, AND PROVIDE THEIR THOUGHTS.
ALL ERRORS ARE MINE ALONE.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Mexico City: Pax Romana
Chapter 1 – Lisbon: Jeronimos
Chapter 2 – The Douro
Chapter 3 – Al Hodeidah: Arrival
Chapter 4 – Reconnaissance
Chapter 5 – Tag
Chapter 6 – Uncertainty
Chapter 7 – The Fate of a Woman
Chapter 8 – Aftermath
Chapter 9 – Interlude
Chapter 10 – Ghal Tar: Pre-Emption
Chapter 11 – Veracruz: Surveillance
Chapter 12 – Mexico City: The Plan
Chapter 13 – The Patron
Chapter 14 – The Setup
Chapter 15 – Assault
Chapter 16 – The Sting
Chapter 17 – Ending
Chapter 18 – Sevilla: The Gardens of the Alcazar
Epilogue: Pakistan
Mexico City: Pax Romana
The projectile rounded the last structure, corrected its course, and continued toward its target, now less than five kilometers away. Its speed increased. I watched it from my vantage point 300 meters north-northwest of where the target and the projectile were intended to meet.
Rodrigo Gomez Alfonso Soares was the undisputed and irreplaceable leader of El Centro, one of the kingpins of the underworld drug trade in central Mexico. Soares and El Centro are, were and forever will be untouchable by Mexico’s police and security forces due to the mindless success of Soares’ bottomless pockets of money and the merciless tactics of his enforcers – so said the country’s leading newspapers and the heads of the more attentive secret intelligence services on the planet. Added to this, Soares had recently come to pose an imminent danger to the future of the Mexican state and necessarily to the southern frontier of the United States of America. Such a danger was recognized by some as having the capacity to shift the balance of forces in a manner negative to the long-term interests of the Western powers, thereby increasing global entropy. That recognition and Soares’ proclaimed untouchability were the reasons I was positioned 300 meters north-northwest of where the target would soon make his appearance.
My information told me that Soares would become visible to the projectile in 20 to 20.85 seconds. Refined by the microsecond, this information was being relayed directly to the projectile. I watched the data flow and allowed the protocol to continue. Based on this information, at 3.2 kilometers from the area of visibility, dorsal and belly flaps extended from the projectile, decreasing its speed. While this caused it to lose altitude, the projectile’s initial flight path was sufficiently high to accommodate this – per plan. There was now nothing between the projectile and the area of visibility that the target was expected to enter.
All successful direct actions are based on four factors: reliable information, detailed planning, competent execution, and luck. The reliable information available to me stated that Soares was – like most men – vain, but more, he was ego-drunk on power. More practically, it stated that, while he could move from place to place by air or ground vehicle from an enclosed departure area, his vanity and the resulting emotional blinders compelled him - drove him - always to depart his headquarters by ground vehicle from an area just in front of an armored enclosure that opened to give him immediate access to his up-armored limousine .5 meters distant. In this manner, Soares declared to the world that he was not afraid of the State and its tools of coercive control. It was his way of telling everyone where to go. Everyone has a chink in their armor. Soares’ attitude was his.
Soares would enter and depart that enclosure via armored and leaded doors. The enclosure itself was an area three meters forward, high and across, with armored walls and floor five meters thick and slanted, armored roofing. Between the roof of this exterior passageway, at its extremity, and the roof of the limousine was a space of not more than ten centimeters. When Soares moved from the armored enclosure to the limousine 5-5.3 seconds from now, he would pass through this area of visibility for 0.32 seconds. This is what my reliable information was telling me. While an exacting task, it was well within my capabilities to execute competently, given the resources available to me.
That left luck and detailed planning. The latter - done by some exceptionally brilliant minds, both human and nearly artificial – almost always ensured that my glass of luck was more than half full. But I am ever attentive to chance. Personally, based on much first-hand experience, I believe in the adage that chance is indeed opportunity for the prepared mind. Still, that same experience has taught me that sometimes unforeseen, negative events just happen. You can minimize their occurrence, but you can never eliminate them. Now, I wouldn’t want you to think me superstitious. I’m not. I am exceedingly practical. After all, despite all of its wealth, resources and brilliant minds, the Grid had gone down – admittedly only once - and that is enough to make you a believer in the unexpected.
The Grid was up. I again checked input from all sensors at my disposal. They detected no presence, movement or communication outside the norm for a radius of ten kilometers from my position in all directions. The projectile closed to within 500 meters of the area of visibility. The target approached the outer armored door that was being held open by one of his ten bodyguards. The projectile asked for commitment. I queried the Grid for any last-second abort signal. There was none. I committed the protocol and observed.
The projectile was receiving real-time information on the location of the target. It adjusted its angle of attack and added thrust, both actions increasing its speed, enabling it to be one-half meter above the 10-centimeter opening between the roof of the limousine and the slanting roof of the armored enclosure just as the target began to pass one meter below it for 0.32 seconds. At that same instant, the projectile unleashed a directed electrical charge into the target’s brain and self-destructed, its alloy skin and innards vaporizing into a million un-seeable, un-feelable, un-findable parts.
Rodrigo Gomez Alfonso Soares collapsed at the opening to the back seat of his limousine. I watched him fall.
Following the turmoil and uncertainty caused by recent events, his remaining lieutenants made a tremendous commotion to determine how their leader had died. A carefully overseen autopsy ruled that he had suffered from a brain aneurysm. His death had been of natural causes. Certainly, he had been under great emotional strain for many years and, especially, most recently. There was no evidence to suggest anything else had occurred.
I had been gratified to learn this. It had been our intention that Soares’ passing be seen as natural. A believed assassination would only cause a closing of ranks, a hardening of resolve, a stronger El Centro, particularly now. A natural death would lead to internal rivalries and bickering over who would succeed the great man, especially with his chief lieutenant also gone. This would lead to weakening in the ranks, divided and diminished resolve, a much weaker El Centro, one that could be far more easily turned against itself, divided and dismantled. Soares had indeed been irreplaceable – the reinforced concrete that had held El Centro together for twelve years. This had been the Grid’s key data point.
With the most recent – and most dan
gerous - radical international terrorist group to emerge out of the East decimated, Soares now gone and El Centro grossly diminished, the imminent threat to the Mexican State and, by extension, to the security of the southern border of the United States of America posed by their recent gross misadventure had been averted. Global entropy would decrease, strategic peace and order would be maintained – for the time being. A sort of Pax Romana – if you will. This was why the Grid existed. This is why – in part – I work for it.
CHAPTER 1 – Lisbon: Jeronimos
Coolness from the outside heat and deep shadow. I was in a magnificent structure, the origins of which reached back to a chapel constructed in the 15th century by Prince Henrique the Navigator, Duke of Viseu. In the 16th century, King Manuel had built upon the site to create what was to become one of the preeminent examples of Manueline architecture. Portugal and its Descobrimentos - the Discoveries, including Magellan’s sea voyage to first circumnavigate the planet - were, in my mind, one of the singular achievements of human curiosity and daring. This structure - the Monastery of Jeronimos - was a monumental and meaningful shrine to those attitudes. I thought it was a fitting location for the meeting in which I was about to participate.
The simple fact that the Grid wanted me to meet face-to-face with one of them – someone like her - was potentially ominous. Face-to-face meetings between Controllers and Operators of the Grid happen only infrequently for two reasons. First, given the Grid’s technical capacities and capabilities, it is almost never needed to ensure effective, secure communications. Second, and more importantly, such meetings – unlike our means of technical communication – are never absolutely secure. The secrecy of the identities of all members of the Grid and, by extension, the existence of the Grid itself, is of paramount importance to it – the holy grail, if you will. Without this secrecy, the Grid would become a far duller instrument. Surprise and daring always have been central principles of conflict. The Grid understands this fully and employs these principles to considerable effect because no one outside the Grid – as far as it knows – is aware of its existence.
In my experience, there are only three reasons that an Operator is directed to meet with a Controller. The first is to check personally on the mental and physical health of the Operator. Given the demands of our work, periodic personal interaction between a Controller and an Operator is necessary to monitor the wellbeing of the Grid’s foot soldiers. The second reason is to terminate an Operator. This can be done with or without prejudice. As I was considering these two options, she walked into the dimly lit chamber on the south side of the structure’s upper level that had been designated for our meeting.
She approached me. I noted the sunglasses and hat, as ever. I paid attention. She represented Grid Actual. As she walked toward me, she removed her sunglasses. When she neared me, she reached out her hands and I took them in mine. We kissed briefly. You might have believed us to be lovers or former lovers. She looked into my eyes, tilted her head slightly to the left and smiled. She was exceptionally beautiful.
I noticed a fly alight and settle on the wall a meter or so above the entranceway to the chamber. You find them everywhere.
She leaned closer, her perfume distracting me, and whispered next to my ear, “How very good to see you, my dear friend. Thank you for coming to meet with me. You’re looking fit and well.”
They are always this polite, warm and welcoming – the Controllers – like family. You have to watch and listen to them very carefully. They can get you killed.
“Are we safe?” she asked me.
I had been checking the environment – all of it, interacting with the Grid ever since I had arrived in Lisbon. I had noted her presence and followed it to this meeting place. All of the considerable resources available to me – visual, acoustic, nano and quantum – had revealed nothing of suspicion. I checked the entire environment once again before answering.
“Yes, we are,” I replied. “We have the full attention of the Grid and we are - for our intents and purposes – alone.”
She let go of my right hand and began walking slowly about the chamber. I walked with her, hand-in-hand, maintaining our image to the casual passerby. You just never know. We can’t control everything. But, then, you know this.
She began with flattery. “We admired your work in New York. It achieved our objectives, precisely. As we meet, the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Department of Homeland Security have begun to dismantle the human trafficking network. The lives of many women have been rescued from servitude, debasement and oblivion. None of this could have been achieved without your usual competent action.”
“From our view, the Grid functioned well during the New York operation,” she continued. “Do you agree?”
This was standard after-action protocol. The view from the Grid provides Controllers with precise perspectives on how an action is progressing. But even this does not report the minute demands of the Operator. It never could. As the saying goes, you have to be there. Still, such debriefing questions are normally addressed via the Grid’s completely secure technical communications. Indeed, I had already provided my after-action report to the Grid in this way. Therefore, she was simply seeking to lull me to distraction – like her perfume. Even if I couldn’t see them, I began to sense eggshells underfoot.
“Yes, I would agree. Our intelligence was specific and correct. The dedicated satellite coverage was pervasive and continuous. The nano-tech is to be feared and getting better and better. Whatever they’re doing, tell them to keep at it. And the ability of the minds to capture it all and distill all that input into actionable information – updating it in real time – is an immeasurable achievement. The Grid worked like magic – something it very nearly is.”
She had been watching me closely, observing my intensity as I recalled the New York action – wielding the Grid’s magic there. She was measuring my addiction. That was my sense.
She continued her assault on my ego. “This is excellent to hear, especially coming from you. None of our capabilities would be worth very much without individuals with the experience, competence and daring to wield them. Much like the sharpened blade in the hands of a master swordsman. You are one of ours. We very much appreciate your commitment and service.”
Now, I was curious as to where she was taking this. She could sense this in me and I thought she appeared pleased. You do remember about curiosity and cats. I told you – you have to watch them very closely.
She built on her momentum and gave me another dose to feed my curiosity and my addiction. “You are aware,” she said, “of the new radical terrorist group in Pakistan; the one whose leader claims to be the head of the future struggle against the Western crusaders; the one that is becoming more and more virulent. You will recall that this is the group that not very long ago murdered a team of Western medical workers in the Free Tribal Area in western Pakistan.”
“Yes, I’ve seen our reports.”
“The Americans and the British – with some help from the Russians – have come to believe that this group is seeking to encroach more deeply and with increasing success into the Pakistani Inter-Services Intelligence agency. The British and Americans together recently approached the ISI with their forebodings, seeking to understand better the potential nature of this threat and offering assistance, should it be needed. The ISI told them that it knew of the group and was watching it as best it could; that the Americans and British need not bother themselves. When the British asked if the murder of the Western medical team was a demonstration of ISI watchfulness, the Pakistanis expressed embarrassment and, surprisingly, stated that they had reliable information on the location of the group’s leader, whose real name remains unknown, and who applies to himself the ancient title for ruler: Khan. The ISI suggested a joint raid. When the British and Americans expressed great surprise and skepticism at this largesse, they were told that the ISI in fact viewed the radical group as a developing cancer that needed to be
surgically removed. Three days later the Special Operations forces of the United States of America, Great Britain and Pakistan launched a joint assault on it. They failed. In fact, there was no engagement. Neither the leader, Khan, nor members of his group were found at the assault location. They had been warned to move – so believed the ISI, CIA, SIS and FSB. But by whom? The obvious suspect is someone in the ISI. However, following weeks of intensive effort, none of them have been able to make headway as to why and how this occurred.”
A group of people moved past the entranceway to the chamber we occupied. Two of the group left it and entered. Two Asian men.
The fly on the wall lifted itself away and flew in front of the two approaching men. One of them took a swipe at it. We all do that, don’t we? And like him, we usually miss.
As a matter of standard practice, I maneuvered her so that she faced away from the two approaching men and shielded her with my body. Controllers must never be recognized and always protected. I waited for the Grid to provide me with information on the identities of the two men. At the same time, I moved her closer to the chamber’s entranceway, through which she could flee while I dealt with our potential adversaries, should that be necessary. To my knowledge, only two Controllers are trained in close quarters combat. She is not one of them.
I heard the distinctive tone alerting me to an incoming Grid communication. I allowed it. The Grid informed me that it was 95% probable the two Asian men belonged to a Japanese tourist group that had been in Portugal for a week, long before the Grid made the decision to use this structure, let alone this country, for this meeting between us. She received this information as I did. She perceptibly relaxed, but not fully. After all, 95% is nearly certain – nearly.
I kept her near the entranceway, still turned away and shielded from our two visitors. The fly landed, but now on the ceiling of the chamber.
The Grid Page 1