The Helium-3 Conspiracy

by Colin Setterfield

  The President responded testily, "We need to remind those monkeys that the USA was the first country to land a man on the Moon and we have our national flag there to prove it!"

  The Chief of Staff smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  "I doubt if this will be an issue. The other participating countries are as fed up with the Russians as we are."

  The President stood up and walked around the desk to where the Chief of Staff was sitting. "I understand Cassie, but I'm getting tired of their bullshit. As of today, we have mined enough Helium-3 to run the world for at least a year!"

  Williamson nodded. "And all the other participating countries appear to be progressing well with building their fusion reactors."

  The President turned toward the window, and with his hands on hips, stared out at the beautifully kept White House lawns.

  "Keep me informed. I need to get ready for that meeting with Senator Jackson."

  Cassie stood and grabbed his briefcase, "Yes...concerning our infamous Senator—I can share that the things we last spoke of are in full swing. Everything is in place and those involved are confident that we will eventually get to the bottom of things."

  The President responded with a concerned frown, "It's a risky business, Cassie. Keep me informed."

  The Chief of Staff headed for the door, "Yes Sir, Mr. President! We can continue this conversation later. Good luck with Jackson."

  The President nodded and continued to gaze out the window for a moment longer, then with a shrug of his shoulders sat down at the desk and continued reading the presidential mail.

  Ten minutes after the departure of the Chief of Staff, Senator Arthur Jackson was ushered into the Oval Office. The President greeted him and they cordially shook hands, exchanging the usual pleasantries. Senator Jackson was a tall, slender man who enjoyed social gatherings and sporting activities. He had been a star quarterback during his younger years, played a good game of tennis and, over the years, had greatly improved his golf game.

  At 6' 4" Jackson made quite an imposing figure, commanding the space around him like a general. Handsome features pegged the Senator as a bit of a lady's man, much to his wife Camilla's chagrin. Camilla, a former Maryland beauty queen, was rumored to be nothing more than a trophy wife, a topic that made popular guest conversation at every function the couple attended.

  Of the two Senators from Maryland, Jackson was the more charismatic; not only was he charming but he was extremely resourceful and street smart. The Senator had narrowly escaped disaster some four years earlier when he was accused of using his position to further his own personal interests. The Press had vigorously pursued the matter, but inconclusive evidence caused the story to crash and burn, taking a well-known journalist with it.

  The President, desiring the meeting to be as short as possible, cut to the chase. "So, Arthur, what's this business about discontentment among some of my most loyal supporters?"

  Jackson lifted his chin and pulled back his shoulders. He responded, "Mr. President, let me begin by saying that everyone understands how necessary it is to eventually move to a cleaner, more efficient energy source such as Helium-3—however, many have grave concerns."

  By 2020 the impact of fossil fuels on the World's environment had become a festering sore on every landscape. Ecosystem collapse, habitat destruction, rising sea levels, polluted water and air, added to the everyday concern of the world's governments. Scientists blamed the world oil extraction process and the use of fossil fuel to be one of the major causes of rising world temperatures and sea levels, leading to the most severe weather conditions on record.

  Senator Jackson continued, "The transition from the old fuel to Helium-3 will start next year. This gives reason for grave concern among some of our top financial gurus who are strong supporters of your presidency!"

  The President nodded. "I understand their fears, but dammit, Arthur, we have gone through this a thousand times! We are running out of time. We cannot extend the transition beyond ten years."

  Senator Jackson straightened up in his seat, jutting out his chin.

  "There are going to be some bad financial crashes and many lives are going to be ruined. There will be a chain effect, sending the global economy into a downward spiral from which we may never recover!"

  The President countered, "We are putting contingencies in place to help those who lose their livelihood. There is just no other way out, Arthur."

  At that moment a tray of refreshments was brought into the office and placed on the coffee table between the two men.

  Ignoring the refreshments the President, softened his voice slightly and concluded, "Oil-based business families are extremely resourceful people. Helium-3 will bring many new opportunities."

  The Senator responded with a hint of sarcasm, "I beg to differ, Mr. President! I think the biggest economic crash of our history is now inevitable."

  Jackson fixed an icy stare on the President and continued, "But of course, your present term should be over by that time so the problems will land directly in the lap of the President-elect. Your administration doesn't stand a chance at a second term, and I just hope an incoming president will have the balls to deal with the consequences."

  The President rose from his seat indicating that the meeting was over. He stuck out his hand and smiled, not taking the bait.

  "It was good to see you again, Senator. We should arrange a game of golf sometime and discuss the matter further. Unfortunately I have another commitment now. Give my best to Camilla.

  ∞∞

  Chapter Three

  Jake Dobrowski

  Tuesday, June 30, 2026

  8:30 a.m.

  Arriving late for work was not unusual for Jake Dobrowski. This time, the cause was malfunctioning traffic lights. The result was slower downtown Baltimore traffic flow, leaving morning commuters annoyed, frustrated and late for work.

  Jake was born in New York City to a Polish immigrant couple during the late summer of 1975, a welcome addition to the Dobrowski family. The two older girls, Marta and Ola, were overjoyed at Jake's arrival and doted on their younger brother, spoiling him at every opportunity. Jake's parents had immigrated to the United States just prior to their son's birth, hoping for a new start and a better life. Unfortunately, seven years later, Daniel Dobrowski was diagnosed with cancer and died, leaving his family in a poor financial position. Life was very difficult for his wife, Magda, who had to work at two jobs to support her children. Her long hours at work often left young Jakub and his sisters to their own devices, opening the door to some questionable escapades.

  When Jake was ten years old his mother married a news editor from a large news network in Baltimore. Baltimore became their new home, and in 2000 he completed his humanities degree at John Hopkins University. With no real career in mind Jake found a job doing recruitment for a construction company's HR department. The following year, the 9-11 attack on the World Trade Center provided the notion to many young Americans that they could better serve their country by joining the war effort. Jake signed on at the United States Military Academy and due to his university degree was granted the commissioned officer's rank of Lieutenant.

  In late 2001, The NATO-led International Security Force invaded Afghanistan and in early 2002, Lieutenant Dobrowski, having completed his basic training, was deployed to the area. He fought his way through six tours of duty. Unfortunately, egged on by some of his fellow soldiers and entering his sixth tour, Jake picked up the habit of snorting cocaine as a distraction from the stresses of War. By the end of that tour he was diagnosed as suffering from typical symptoms of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).

  The decision for Jake to leave the Armed Forces in 2006 was finally made as the only choice, offered by a senior military health advisor, leaving him no option other than an honorable discharge. Fortunately for Jake his step-father was able to offer him a job as a student intern journalist and a new era in his life began.

  A quick learner, Jake soon began t
o make headway in his new profession. When he was thirty, he married Colleen Davidson, an assistant news editor for a competing news provider—one could say a mutual clash of interests. At the age of forty-two, Jake in tandem with another Baltimore Times staff member, won a Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting, for outstanding coverage about how a large retail concern used bribery to dominate the market in Mexico. Their investigation caused significant changes in the practices of the retailer. Jake's reputation received a boost and his career soared to new heights, but four years later, it would all come tumbling down!

  Jake had been out late the night before, drinking with two of his old varsity pals. When he arrived back at the apartment he had not bothered to check his voicemail. If he had, he would have known that the security company had investigated the triggering of an alarm at precisely 11:02 p.m. Finding nothing amiss they had reset the alarm before relocking the door. This was standard procedure and the incident would have been recorded as nothing more than a false alarm.

  Jake unlocked the door. When he entered the small office he immediately noticed the box of envelopes, sitting on his desk. His investigative nature was immediately on alert and a sudden feeling of uneasiness brought a frown to his brow. After a quick glance around the small area nothing else appeared to be out of place or amiss. He quickly checked on the petty cash box in the right-hand drawer of his desk. It was still there, and so was the wristwatch that he never wore. After a moment's hesitation, Jake eased his six-foot frame around the desk and headed for the coffee maker next to the basin in the corner of the room.

  The morning sunlight streamed through the single window, bringing a glow of warmth to the office interior. The old mahogany desk and office chair, inherited from Colleen's grandfather, took up most of the center space, leaving little room for anything else, except a single chair for his clientele.

  Suffering mild sleep deprivation from his late night, Jake stared at the mirror on the wall-mounted medicine cabinet above the coffee maker. An unshaved, stubbly chin and bloodshot, green eyes greeted him. Long strands of untidy and slightly greying, dark-brown hair hung down the sides and back of his head like drapes, threatening the frayed collar of a slightly rumpled, but otherwise clean shirt. After brewing up a mug of steaming, hot coffee, Jake sat down at the desk and began to go through the mail, already feeling better about the day.

  The mail was brought into the office around 11:00 a.m. each morning, but there had been no time to look at the previous day's delivery. It was the usual boring junk mail and unwanted bills. Torn open envelopes, along with the junk mail, were discarded into an old cardboard box that served as a waste bin. The bills were stuffed into a plastic tray, perched on the edge of the desk. Bills generally did not solicit a glance until the last day of the month when, depending on money supply, they might be paid. A second tray contained letters from several creditors, warning of pending action on unpaid bills.

  Jake maintained a bit of a loose ship regarding his business and general living conditions. It would not be fair to say that he didn't care anymore, because he did care. He cared a lot. It was just that life kept on pitching curve balls and it seemed he could never connect on the things that mattered.

  There was Colleen. Their marriage had begun to unravel after the Jackson debacle, largely due to the loss of Jake's journalism career. Drinking had become an issue, plus the fact that he seldom slept in his bed. Colleen would wake up at two or three in the morning to find him absent. She would get up and go in search of him, calling his name, finally finding him sitting in a chair out on the deck, staring into the darkness, or sitting in his study, reading a book. Their love life had become almost non-existent.

  Two years after he had been dismissed by the Baltimore Times, and one year after his stepfather had retired as senior editor, Jake's marriage to Colleen hit its lowest level. They had separated and Jake had moved into an apartment. Their son Kenny, then eleven years old, chose to stay with his mother and Jake would visit every Friday evening. Divorce had not yet been brought to the table, but it was certainly on Colleen's mind as she contemplated her options. She truly loved Jake but unless he could shed the shackles of his past and get on with his life, there could be no reconciliation.

  He had now returned to the bad habit of snorting cocaine, an occasional indulgence that seemed harmless at the time and served as a distraction from all his problems.

  Unable to bear the consequences of both his failing career and failing marriage, the drug became the crutch. When snorting the drug did little to induce the high he was looking for, Jake began to inject it. Soon he needed that fix every day. He tried to anesthetize his thoughts of guilt but his conscience struggled with the compromise. And so he lived each day, hating what his body demanded of him and doing what he needed to do to keep his brain in a state of chemical equilibrium. He oscillated between limbo and contrition. During his moments of limbo he dwelt heavily on the past, mourning the loss of his career, and during his moments of contrition he mourned the loss of his integrity due to drug abuse, and the separation from his family.

  Several months after he and Colleen had separated, Jake finally came to terms with the fact that he was a mess and started to control his use of cocaine, lowering the intake to the minimum that would sustain him for a day. He began making some headway in his private investigation business. His visits with Kenny also took a turn for the better—he was showing interest in his son's life again; however, with Colleen it was difficult and sometimes very awkward.

  Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a brown envelope, the last of the incoming mail on the desk. There was no stamp or official address—only his name, written in ballpoint ink. He tore off the top of the envelope and poured the contents onto the desk. It was a badge and a slip of paper containing a hastily scribbled note:

  Jake : There's no time to explain . On the run. You will remember the death of Tony Underwood, FBI agent during the trial of Senator Jackson. I believe the Senator has something to do with Underwood's death. Found Tony's badge in Jackson's drawer. Was caught in the act by Jackson but escaped. He has seen my face and I fear the worst! If something happens and I cannot continue please do your best to find out what happened to Tony. Jackson's up to something. An opportunity for you to get your life back if you can make sense of it. Trust no one in the CIA or FBI. Watch your back!! Jeremy Gibson

  Special Agent, FBI

  Jake stared at the scribbled message in disbelief. His mind raced to put a face to the name of the undersigned. Finally, he remembered the meeting between himself and a young man, set up by an acquaintance, four years ago, in a Starbucks coffee house. The mutual acquaintance had thought the young man could help in the investigation of Arthur Jackson, a Democratic Senator from Maryland. Jeremy Gibson was an intern with the FBI at that time. He had been paired with a special agent in an exercise that involved investigating a member of Congress for public corruption. That Congressman was Senator Jackson. Mysteriously, the special agent he was paired with had been found dead in his car and Jeremy had subsequently been moved to another job.

  Unfortunately Gibson was not able to answer any of Jake's questions at the time, either because the answers were classified or because Gibson had not gained any knowledge of Jackson's business. Jake had met with him on one later occasion but again, nothing had come of it. He remembered that Jeremy Gibson had been upset by the death of his mentor and was thinking of leaving the FBI.

  A surge of excitement coursed through his body as he read the note again. The comment about getting his life back intrigued him but what did Gibson mean?

  Jeremy would have followed the news of Jake's career demise and might have realized that something was not legit about Jackson's involvement in the issue the press was trying to expose at that time. Jake was also not sure what Gibson had meant by being "on the run"—was he being pursued by someone, or did he mean he was frantically busy? There was also an old, faded FBI badge with the number 998 on it which must have belonged to Underwood.r />
  At that moment a surge of fear seized Jake's mind. He thought of the power that Jackson wielded and the impact of following through on Gibson's suggestion. Suddenly he felt a little ambivalent about getting involved. Jackson had already defeated him once and all the emotion of that loss, the shame, the split in his family, came flooding back, causing him to bow his head. He sat still in the old leather chair, holding back the tears, not wanting to walk down that well-trodden path again.

  Suddenly startled by the ringing of the phone, Jake was jerked out of his moroseness. It was a client asking about information and progress on a pending divorce situation. For the time being, Jeremy's request would have to wait while Jake took care of business—there were bills to be paid but no money with which to pay them.

  ∞∞

  Chapter Four

  Compromised Security

  Wednesday, July 1, 2026

  8:30 a.m.

  All hell was breaking loose in the Combatant Commander's office at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs. Major General Keith Rodgers, Director of Aerospace Strategic Command, shouted at Captain Burt Langley, "What the hell do you mean, 'an error message'? Are you saying that there's a glitch preventing us from having control of the system?"

  Captain Langley regarded his boss with a nervous blinking of the eyes. "The error code coming up when we try to gain access to the system is that of an access card sign-in change, sir. It appears to mean that someone has gained access to the system using a legitimate sign-in thus cancelling the on-shift sign-in."

  Captain Langley was in charge of the department that monitored SWANC a sophisticated system of satellites set in orbit around the earth for surveillance purposes. SWANC was the acronym for Satellites with a Nuclear Capability. In other words, these satellites were not ordinary surveillance equipment. The system was comprised of three satellites, each possessing three 50-kiloton nukes, a warhead having nearly three times the equivalent yield of the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Japan, at the end of World War II. SWANC had become the nickname for the project known as "The Cerberus Guardian System," the original classified name before deployment in 2022.