End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  “All right, look,” Craig began, turning to face them. “First off, I’m going to need a power cord for a MacBook. Second, I need a computer analyst to hack into the system. We’re most likely dealing with encrypted files here.”

  All eyes went to the FBI director, McMillian. He stood up, shifted his glasses and then pointed across the room, shouting. “Benson and Lutz. Can you come over here, please?”

  Two men hurried over to the table. Benson was tall and wore glasses, and had a slight paunch and a shaggy mullet. He then loudly proclaimed that it was no surprise that the job fell on his shoulders. The mustached Lutz was shorter and stockier and more quiet and reserved.

  “These are the two best computer analysts we have,” said McMillian. “I’m sure they’ll be able to lend a hand.”

  Benson brazenly stepped in between Craig and the table and began examining the laptop. “Ugh,” he scoffed. “This has to be a 2013 model. They don’t make ’em like this anymore, that’s for sure.”

  “Excuse me,” Craig said, gently pushing him to the side. “Why don’t you first grab me a power cord?”

  Benson flashed him a surprised glare, seeming as if he had never been talked to in such a way before.

  “Just do what he asks,” McMillian said, like a tired father breaking up an argument between boys.

  Benson turned and shouted, “Lutz, go get a power cord! Quick.”

  Lutz hurried away, looking irritated, and came back with the cord. He plugged it into the side and then ran it to a nearby wall outlet. Craig flipped open the laptop and turned it on as the onlookers attempted to crowd in to get a glimpse.

  Annoyed by the crush of people, Benson said, “Step back now or leave. If you’re interested in seeing what’s on this thing, someone get me an AV cable so you can watch on the big screen instead.”

  He turned, looking around. “Lutz, grab an AV cable!” but Lutz was already on the job, searching for one.

  Craig waited for the laptop to start. Once the log-in screen appeared, he stepped aside and held his hand out like an usher to Benson. “It’s all yours.”

  Benson approached the laptop confidently and took a seat. The welcome screen was written in Arabic and the log-in profile image displayed the black flag of ISIS.

  “Cute,” he said.

  He typed wildly across the keyboard as Craig looked over his shoulder. A small black screen with white text popped up on the corner of the screen. His fingers glided over the keys, pushing the cursor along, and then he clicked open other windows, one after the other. Lutz came back with an AV cord in hand.

  “We’re going to have to bring it closer to one of the screens.”

  Benson turned his head to address the group huddled behind him. “This might take a while. Why don’t you guys give us some space so we can get into this system?” He picked up the laptop and moved it nearer to the flat-screen televisions on the wall. Someone gave up his seat to Benson, who was typing again, hardly missing a beat.

  They plugged the AV cord into the TV and projected the log-in screen from the middle television. Kessler shuffled around in his pocket, pulled out a smartphone, and looked at it.

  “Shit, I don’t have any bars in here.” He looked around the room. “Anyone getting any service in here?”

  The FBI director cut in. “No service underground. But then again, I would have thought you’d have known that, Mr. Secretary.”

  “Let’s have some quiet!” said a brave voice from the crowd.

  Kessler looked frustrated and distracted. Benson continued working on the laptop, bypassing myriad security barriers while Lutz stood near. Craig kept a close eye on both of them.

  “I’m in!” Benson announced.

  The officials in the room cheered in celebration.

  Kessler took one look at the cluttered desktop screen displayed on the television and scoffed. “How the hell are we going to find anything in that mess? We could be here all day.”

  “Not necessarily,” Benson said with his eyes down and glasses resting on the top of his nose. “I can run a search of key words. But first I need to change the language setting on the computer.” He hit several keys and the Arabic text changed to English.

  Craig stood back, impressed. Perhaps the boisterous Benson was worthy of his reputation after all. Just as Craig felt they were getting there, Benson dropped his head and sighed.

  “What?” Kessler asked. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Just annoyed, that’s all. The files are encrypted to high heaven. It’s going to take longer than usual, that’s all.”

  Benson moved the cursor wildly and opened several different folders. “When I do a search for the words, ‘plan,’ ‘targets,’ ‘strikes,’ ‘ISIS,’ and ‘America,’ I get literally hundreds of results. So we’re dealing with a lot of information here.”

  “That’s good, right?” Calderon asked.

  “Yes and no,” Benson answered.

  McMillian cut in. “What he’s saying is that we’re going to have to separate what’s valuable from what’s worthless.”

  Benson nodded agreement. His eyes locked on the screen.

  Kessler sighed again. “We don’t have time for that. This country is on the march to war, trust me. The president wants answers.”

  Craig stepped forward to address Benson. “We’re looking for information about two particular attacks. Ma’mun’s men spoke of two additional phases. There’s got to be some kind of code word they have the files under.”

  Benson shook his head, seeming overwhelmed. “Look, breaking encryption code isn’t my strongest suit. Lutz is much better at it than I.” He stood up, took a step back from the table and looked around. “Lutz!” he shouted. “Come here and do your magic.” Lutz had been standing next to him the entire time. He tapped Benson on the shoulder. “There you are,” Benson said, surprised.

  Lutz pulled up a chair, dragged the laptop closer, and started moving boxes around on the desktop screen and typing a mile a minute. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try.”

  All eyes were on the television screen. The operations room staff comprised twenty-three men and women who had been working to piece together the terrorist conspiracy to take down America. Few of them had even had a moment to check in on their families. And there seemed to be no end in sight.

  “I’ve got something!” Lutz yelled. The room exploded in cheers. People stood up, clapping, unable to contain their excitement.

  “What is it?” Benson asked. He leaned in closer as several different images opened on the screen.

  “Three hundred forty files found.”

  “So what does that mean?” Kessler barked. “Are we getting closer?”

  Lutz continued on and ignored the question. “So if we try some other words, like ‘plan,’ and ‘attack,’ ‘targets,’ and ‘America,’ that can help us narrow it down.”

  After clicking through some results Lutz suddenly stopped. “Interesting…”

  Craig looked up at the television. There were a dozen JPEG images in a folder titled Power Plants. “Click on those,” he said, walking over to the laptop.

  Lutz opened the folder, which showed pictures of unidentified power plants taken from all angles. He clicked on several other images. Blue prints. Maps. Even congressional reports on the terrorist threat to power plants nationwide.

  The FBI director took a hard look at the files on the TV screen, stood, rapped on the table to get everyone’s attention, and addressed the group. “I think it’s pretty obvious what all that means. But how can we differentiate between ideas and the things they actually plan to do?”

  Craig spoke up. “We need to gather enough information to find out their main area of operations. It’s the only way.”

  Kessler interjected. “Look. Just find out where the next attack is going to take place, send a team out there and catch these bastards before they blow up a theme park or something.” He turned to his female aide. “Any word from the CIA?”

  “Not yet
, Mr. Secretary.”

  He looked at McMillian. “I want to see the detained terrorist. Maybe we can make a deal with him. Get him talking.”

  Calderon spoke up. “Most power plants are already at a high-alert status, so the sleeper cells are going to find them difficult to attack… if that’s what they plan on doing.”

  Craig moved closer to the laptop and saw a folder that caught his interest.

  “Let me have real quick look, here,” he said to Lutz.

  Lutz moved out of the way as Craig opened another folder on the desktop—even stranger than the last one. All eyes returned to the screen just as phones at the workstations began ringing off the hook, but went unanswered. Everyone was too transfixed by what they were seeing on the screen to be interrupted.

  The first image to grab Craig’s attention showed a map identifying FEMA sites for evacuated personnel. The information seemed sensitive in nature, making him wonder if it had been leaked or stolen. The next picture was a scan of a technically-worded formula, a mixing solution for twenty-ounce bottles, with H20 and liquid VX nerve agents as the ingredients.

  “What is that?” Calderon asked, leaning in closer. “Is that some kind of plan to poison the water supply?”

  “Water utilities have been put on high alert as well,” Walker said, as if the formula represented nothing more than a pipedream.

  Craig sifted through each document, trying to put together the pieces. “There’s something more to it than that, sir,” he said.

  There was a scanned copy of the deed to a plastics factory, with a Detroit address. Craig was certain it was the plant he had escaped from.

  “That’s the place!” he said. “This is where they had me.”

  He opened another file containing a series of contracts and legal paperwork for a place called, “Hudson Valley Natural Spring Water.”

  “Has anyone else heard of this company?” Craig asked. No one answered and he continued reading the document. Upon closer inspection he could see what looked like business proposals and contracting paperwork. The client listed on the top gave everyone in the rooms chills: Federal Emergency Management Agency.

  “What is this all about?” Kessler demanded. “Why is FEMA listed as a purchaser for this water company?”

  “It’s a government contract,” Craig answered. “This Hudson Valley company made a bid and it looks like they got the contract.” Craig read the financial statement: A thirty-million-dollar contract with Hudson Water for the next five years. Things got even more interesting from there. Craig opened pictures of the Michigan factory and of thousands of plastic bottles manufactured and packaged for delivery.

  Then came pictures of another factory: a bottled water plant three times the size of the plastics factory. Craig scrolled down and found the name of the owners: a Dubai company called “Emirates Integrated.” The pieces of the puzzle were startling, but he hadn’t pieced together the entire picture yet. The plant’s address indicated that it was located in Lincoln, Nebraska.

  Everyone studied the documents as the phones continued to ring incessantly.

  The FBI director looked away from the screen and turned to his team of analysts. “Would some of you answer those phones please? Not everyone needs to be here.”

  Ten or so people scrambled and moved back to their workstations, putting their headphones back on.

  Kessler seemed overwhelmed, studying the images on the screen. “So. Where… What does all of this mean?”

  Craig, confident that he had figured it out, stepped in to solve the puzzle before anyone else could respond. “The water plant. That’s where Omar Allawi is running his operations. They don’t plan on poisoning the water supply. Only this Hudson Valley Spring Water. They’re going to have the government distribute deadly water.”

  The room went quiet except for the people answering the phones as everyone was trying to figure out the answer to the secretary’s question.

  Seeming to fully grasp the situation, Calderon added, “This way, they have FEMA transporting the water for them all across the country. In effect, the government will be poisoning its own people.”

  Craig thought to himself: the port explosions, the radiation, the evacuations. Evacuees in FEMA camps. Military personnel and government officials, all drinking from the same bottled water.

  The FBI director spoke. “This is an easy one, ladies and gentlemen. We just need to stop shipment of this water dead in it tracks.”

  Craig turned to the director to make a direct plea. “Sir, I’d like to request a field team to investigate this factory.”

  “Screw that,” one burly and balding official shouted out. “Shut that plant down immediately!”

  Kessler again turned to his aide, frantic. “Get me the president on the line!” He then looked to the FBI director. “I want to speak to that captured terrorist immediately.”

  One of the analysts then ran from his work station to the group crowded around the table. “Mr. McMillian! Mr. McMillian, sir!”

  The FBI director looked at him, startled. “Yes, what is it?”

  Another analyst came running over with his wireless headset still affixed. “We’ve got a serious problem.”

  The atmosphere in the room quickly shifted. Something was up. More bad news.

  “Power plants and electrical grids have been reported compromised in at least ten different states,” the first analyst shouted. “No one knows how they did it, but word just came through that some heavily armed militants stormed the grounds of power plants around the country and shot down anything in their way.”

  Then attention switched to the television news. The live video flashing on the screen verified everything that the analyst was saying. A group of analysts ran over from their workstations in a panic to join the others. “More power plant explosions confirmed only three minutes ago!” one of them announced.

  Officials shouted out collectively in dismay. Their hands covered their faces, the sting of another attack too much to absorb. Aerial images of smoke and fire consumed the screen. The news cut to cities and towns without any power and frightened residents walking around their own neighborhoods looking stunned.

  “No…” Kessler said. “This cannot be happening.”

  Craig had the same sinking feeling in his gut that he was sure everyone else had. Their enemy’s unquenchable desire to inflict chaos and death seemed to have no end.

  Phase two, Craig thought. Son of bitch…

  Overwhelmed, Secretary Kessler turned and stormed out of the room with his entourage, who were taken off guard and attempting to catch up with him.

  Once Kessler left, McMillian spoke. “So now we see they had every intention of carrying out the attacks on our power infrastructure. We have to believe that the poisoned water distribution is a certainty.”

  Craig, like everyone else, was nearly too shocked to speak. He tried his best to look away from the breaking news updates on TV and think of a solution before the next attack.

  “I can stop them, sir,” he said with brazen confidence.

  McMillian stopped and looked at Craig doubtfully. “With all you’ve been through, Agent Davis, I don’t think it would be wise to send you into such a dangerously volatile environment. This has become a military operation.”

  “Just let me lead the team. I can do this. I have to do this.” Craig projected absolute conviction.

  McMillian looked down and then back to the TV news. The multiple shots of fire and smoke, taken from high overhead looked as if the world itself was on fire. After a slight pause, he looked at Craig and nodded. “Start pulling together a field team, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Enemy Mine

  Confirmed reports soon poured into the operations room as officials watched the barrage of news on the latest series of attacks. Five power plants had been bombed, their main generators cut out, leaving hundreds of thousands of residents without power.

  The areas affected included, strangely enough, not large cities, but thos
e where more rural populations lived. Some speculated that the plan was to strike the areas to which people from the big cities were fleeing. Moments after the power plant attacks were initiated, one thing was made clear: no one was safe, no matter where they resided.

  Jonesboro, Arkansas. Louisville, Tennessee. Birmingham, Alabama. Columbus, Georgia. Jackson, Mississippi. There was something strategic about the locations, but no official could pinpoint anything beyond the obvious fact that they were southern states in close proximity of one another.

  Hurricane Francis exacerbated the situation even more, as emergency responders and state and local officials scrambled to try to control outbreaks of looting and random lawlessness. ISIS had effectively brought much of the country to its tipping point.

  More and more, it seemed the government had little control of the situation. Vigilantism was on the rise. Churches did their best to take in the frightened, overwhelmed, and helpless. National Guard and Reserve soldiers were called up, leaving their families on their own for an undisclosed amount of time. In a matter of hours following the power plant attacks, it became more evident that all-out war was on the horizon.

  From their limited vantage point in the operations room, the FBI and State Department officials tried to comprehend how another attack of such magnitude could have happened, given the high-alert advisories all over the country.

  But it was as real as the charred bodies scattered along the ports only two days prior. Now they were facing a new onslaught from an enemy that still remained faceless and still hadn’t taken any credit. What would the next attack be? Where would it be? And could the government prevent it? Questions on everyone’s minds that had no real answers. The scope of the terrorists’ ambitions was unprecedented, and given that, hard decisions were going to have to be made.

  “We need to get the president on the line!” McMillian shouted as officials scrambled to maintain their focus and deal with the crisis at hand.