Internal Threat

by Sussman, Ben

  Peak’s Jeep slammed to a halt at the edge of the tarmac, the Commander hopping out with Greco close on his heels. They ran towards the plane while the soldiers re-formed their circle, safeties clicking off their rifles as they took aim. At the rear of the plane, a door slowly swung open, metal stairs descending with it. The cabin disgorged its passengers as Peak watched.

  The first to emerge was a gray-haired man in the familiar fatigues and shoulder stars of an Army General. Right behind him was a young Asian woman in a set of loose-fitting pants and shirt. One of the woman’s arms was covered in a bandage. Their eyes scanned the forces facing them impassively.

  “Who’s in charge here?” the man in the General’s uniform called out.

  Peak stepped forward, taking the precaution of pulling out his sidearm. “Me. Commander James Peak.”

  The General strode forward, ignoring the alarming number of gun barrels sighted on his skull. “I’m General Griggs from the National Intelligence Agency.”

  “Well, now I know who you are,” Peak replied, holding his ground. “So maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on here tonight.”

  At that, the Asian woman who had followed Griggs out of the plane pushed herself in front of Peak.

  “You need to get me to your main secure computer,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” Peak demanded.

  “Now!” the woman insisted.

  Peak was about to respond when there was a high-pitched whine that caused everyone’s heads to whip around searching for the source. Before they could find it, the runway lights snapped to black and every light in the vicinity went dead.

  Fifty-Four

  Matt swam the last strokes towards the rocky beach. An approaching wave snatched his body and propelled it the last few feet until he was touching sand. The lights that had been dimly illuminating the beach had suddenly switched off but Matt could still see John’s shadowy form standing several feet away, focusing on something in his hands. Matt was thankful for the distraction since he reasoned that his only slim advantage was that of surprise.

  Rising himself up to all fours, he silently crept his way towards John. He could now clearly see the small metal device in John’s hands but did not recognize it. At the moment, he did not care. John had still not looked in his direction. Matt coiled himself to spring towards his quarry. He pushed the balls of his feet into the sand and leapt. A few pebbles shifted beneath him and caused just enough sound to attract John’s attention.

  John whirled, eyes going wide in surprise. With no time to react, Matt ploughed into his chest at full force, knocking him down to the ground and sending the hand-held device banging out of reach. John tried to move but Matt had him in his grip. He raised his fist and smashed it down into the killer’s nose. Blood spurted as he heard cartilage crunch beneath his knuckles. Matt had never heard a more satisfying sound. He brought his fist back and rammed it into John’s face again.

  John feebly tried to resist but Matt’s other hand snapped up to clamp his throat. He tightened his grip, watching John struggle beneath him as his windpipe closed. Matt was acting on instinct now. The rage and disgust he felt for this man was boiling at a fever pitch inside his brain. This monster had visited evil upon many people over the last twenty-four hours, including his son; the one person that Matt had promised Katie he would protect at all costs. John had to die.

  As John’s face turned to a sickly shade of purple, he stopped struggling. His hands fell limply to his sides. Matt slightly decreased the pressure on John’s throat and paused in his assault.

  In a flash, John’s right hand shot forward. It caught Matt on the side of the head in a blinding punch that knocked him off of John’s chest. John grabbed Matt’s shirt as he tipped over, sending them both into the sand in a snarling, punching whirl. John unleashed a flurry of hits on Matt’s midsection, each one more painful than the last. Matt was operating from a point of weakness and John knew it. He managed to scramble away from John and attempted to rise to his feet. John’s boot caught him in the ribs and sent him crashing back down.

  Matt looked up to see John looming over him. Drops of blood dripped off the killer’s chin on to Matt’s face.

  “You really thought you could stop this, Weatherly?” John taunted. He punctuated his question with another swift kick into Matt’s stomach. The pain nearly made him vomit.

  “Had to…try,” Matt grunted, rolling over on to his front. He could feel a snapped rib bone pushing up against his skin.

  “You are too late,” John continued. “Look around. This island was the last line of defense. I just rendered the entire defense system of the west coast utterly inoperable. With your help, of course.” John pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched a text message before flipping it closed. “There. I figure I have just enough time left before launch to take care of you.”

  Matt began crawling back towards the water, each movement bringing a lightning bolt of white pain racing along his nerve-endings.

  “Where are you going?” John asked. “This is your time to die.” He stepped forward and grabbed Matt’s right leg. Holding it in place, he brought his forearm down on it in one swift motion. Matt howled in agony. “That was your fibula I just broke,” John said in his dead calm voice. “Painful, correct?” Matt squirmed in John’s iron grip but only managed to get a few inches closer to the water’s edge. His fingers stretched towards it.

  John brought his forearm down again, higher up the leg this time. Matt cried out.

  “That was your femur. More difficult to break but obviously it can be done. I must admit I have had a lot of practice at doing this. I once kept a man alive for three days and broke every one of his bones from the neck down. Time is not on my side tonight, though.” He knelt down until his mouth was close to Matt’s ear. “You are going to die now. And I want you to know before you go, that if by some chance your precious Luke survives the attack tonight, I will find him myself and kill him.” He stood back up and raised his arm over Matt’s neck, preparing to deliver the final blow. His left foot was now right next to Matt’s arm.

  It was the opportunity Matt had been waiting for.

  In a lightning-quick flash, Matt’s hand snapped out and clamped around John’s leg. He yanked downwards as his other hand came up filled with sea water and sand. He hurled them into John’s face, aiming for his broken nose and eyes. John hissed in pain as the salt sunk into his open wounds before losing his balance and tumbling backwards into the shallow water.

  Matt surged forward, tackling John’s body and holding it down. Waves crashed over both of them as John thrashed back and forth, trying to raise himself up. Matt pressed down with his full weight, reaching up to push John’s face into the water. He could not tell how long he held John down but he was sure not to make the same mistake again. As John’s movements slowed and then ceased altogether, Matt kept him down. It was only when he reached around to feel for the pulse in John’s neck and found none that he rolled off to the side.

  Matt splashed back into the water, pain wracking his body. He came face to face with John’s vacant eyes for a moment before the water began to claim the corpse. As the current pulled it out to sea, Matt suddenly realized that he had to move before it took him, too. With his mangled leg, he would quickly drown. He willed himself to flip over and pulled himself back towards the sand.

  In a minute, he had managed to return to dry shoreline. His breath came in choking wheezes, his face upturned towards the sky. There was a crack and a muffled boom somewhere far away that Matt thought he must have imagined.

  He realized it was real when a missile streaked through the sky above his head.

  Fifty-Five

  Focus, Emma told herself. The monitor in front of her had just popped to life with streams of code swiftly flowing by.

  It had taken less than two minutes for Commander Peak’s Jeep to transport her and Griggs to the Operations Room. Emma raced towards a small computer terminal in the back that
was usually unoccupied. Every other station in the room was dark and silent, technicians frantically trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Why do you think that one will work?” Peak asked as Emma sat herself down.

  “When I designed FALCON, I made sure there was one backup computer that was connected directly to its own generator. This is that computer.” She looked to Griggs. “I never told Mike about this.” He nodded his understanding.

  “You designed FALCON?” Greco wondered aloud.

  Emma ignored him, reaching down to find the power button at the rear of the hard drive. Locating it, she pressed it in and waited a breathless beat to hear the whir of the fan which would indicate start up.

  Nothing happened.

  Heart sinking, panic set in. Had Mike known about this, too? Had he been one step ahead of her the entire time? He must have been. It was over. There was no chance to—

  The hard drive began whirling as the fan hummed into power.

  Emma wasted no time, placing her fingers on the keyboard before the monitor even came on. When it did, she began punching the keys.

  “What are you doing?” Peak asked.

  “Be quiet,” she ordered.

  Peak opened his mouth to retort but Griggs placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Emma’s hands continued their frantic pace.

  “I can’t reboot the entire system. Too late for that,” she explained. “But I can reboot pieces of it. I’m going to start with the radar since we’ll need it to detect any incoming missiles.” She stabbed a button. Across the room, one of the technicians shouted.

  “I’ve got something!” he said with excitement. Peak and Greco raced to where the soldier was standing. A monitor embedded into the console was flickering back to life. The dull green sweep of a radar beam began rotating on the screen. At its edges, a small dot appeared. “Incoming!” Greco shouted back to Emma. “Heading for Los Angeles.”

  Emma shouted back, “I’m going as fast as I can.” Her eyes squinted as she clicked open folders and sub-folders to find the directory she was searching for. Spotting it, she opened it and a new window appeared on the screen.

  “You’ve got about one minute before that missile detonates,” Peak yelled.

  Emma ignored him. She punched several keys in a flurry and spun in her chair. “I’ve got one of the anti-missile defense systems reactivated!”

  Across the room, Andrew Greco flipped up the plastic cover on a small red button and depressed it. “Missile away!” he said.

  Everyone crowded around the radar screen. As the first dot indicating the enemy missile crossed over on to the land mass of California’s coast line, another dot popped into view. Moving quickly across the screen, it headed on a collision course with the first missile. Suddenly, it was on top of it and there was a blur of pixels as they both evaporated from the screen.

  The room erupted in jubilation. Commander Peak whooped and grabbed the hand of Griggs in a hearty handshake. “General, I don’t know how to thank you.” He turned to Emma. “And you. I-”

  “Sir!” the technician behind him shouted out above the whoops and hollers of the other men. “Commander Peak, sir!” he said again with more urgency.

  Peak turned to him. “What is it?”

  The man pointed back at the radar screen where three new dots had just entered into view.

  “My God,” Peak said as realization dawned. “There’s more than one submarine out there.” He whirled to Emma who was already heading back to her computer station. “We need the rest of the systems reactivated,” he called out.

  “I’m trying,” Emma said. Her fingers were shaky now. She had already stretched herself beyond her abilities. If she failed this time, the consequence was too horrible to think about. Her solace came in the rhythm of her fingers and the impassive numbers on the screen in front of her. “Okay, I think I’ve got them.”

  Emma had never prayed before in her life. But one word came easily as she pushed the button. “Please.”

  Fifty-Six

  Matt’s ears were ringing. He was unsure if it was from the flash of explosion he had seen a moment ago or from the pain that was wracking his entire body. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The ringing stopped and Matt heard another sound.

  Someone was groaning.

  His eyes scanned the beach, searching for the source. Several yards away, he spotted a black mass that the waves had just vomited up on to shore. The groan came again.

  Matt tried standing but his shattered leg could not take the weight and he crashed back down to the ground. He crawled, dragging his injured leg behind him. As he approached, the mass took shape and Matt realized that it was a person.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said as he finally reached it.

  Beneath the charred tatters of clothes was Detective Larsen. The skin of his face was blistered and red. His hair was singed and one eyebrow had been blown cleanly off its usual home. Matt leaned his head down to the detective’s chest. It faintly rose up and down in time with a slow heartbeat.

  “Larsen,” Matt said. “Can you hear me?” No response. “Larsen,” Matt repeated, louder this time.

  The detective’s eyes fluttered and then rose slightly. “Am I dead?” he asked, voice strained and hoarse.

  “Not yet.”

  “I feel like hell.”

  “Welcome to the club,” retorted Matt.

  Larsen tried to smile, grimaced from the pain of it. “John?”

  “Dead,” Matt told him.

  “Thank God.”

  A thought popped into Matt’s head upon hearing John’s name. Nearby, the small metallic box that John had been holding lay half-buried in the sand. Matt crawled over to it and picked it up. In his hands, it vibrated and hummed. Two simple switches were on its surface, both of them toggled in an up position. Matt had no idea what this box was but he knew that if John had wanted it to stay on, then the opposite would be what Matt wanted. He pushed both switches down. Instantly, the box was rendered silent and still.

  There was a loud ker-clunk as a crackle of energy surged back into the lights surrounding the beach. They popped on in quick succession.

  Suddenly, there was a whoosh as three missiles shot forth from the other side of the island. Matt watched as they flew over the ocean. For a second, he wondered if it had all been for nothing; if John had really succeeded after all.

  The horizon exploded into three bursts of fire. Gray smoke pockmarked the sky. Then, it was silent once more.

  “What was that?” Larsen asked, raising himself up on to one elbow.

  “Not sure,” Matt said, letting the box tumble from his hands. “But I think it means we’re safe.”

  Larsen nodded. “I’ve got a kid of my own, you know,” he said.

  “I didn’t know that,” replied Matt.

  “I think it’s time I paid a visit,” Larsen said, bringing himself to a half-standing position. “You believe in second chances, Weatherly?”

  “I do now,” Matt said, a small grin breaking across his face.

  “Hands above your head now!” a voice boomed out behind Matt. He turned to see a half dozen soldiers with rifles aimed directly at him and Larsen.

  Matt did as ordered, thrusting his hands into the air. As he did, an officer with a nametag that read ‘Greco’ stepped through the soldiers and approached with a handgun leveled at Matt’s chest.

  “Who the hell are you?” Greco demanded.

  “My name is Matt Weatherly,” came the answer. “And I can explain everything.”

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  Fifty-Seven

  Alabama was even hotter than Emma had assumed it would be. The air was a thick, wet mass that clung to her exposed skin. Being dressed in all black was not helping matters.

  She approached the building with tentative steps, ignoring the stares she was receiving from the people that passed her. A shadow fell over her, providing no relief other than reducing the glare in her eyes. Above was the steeple
of the church, painted in bright white like the rest of the building.

  The doors were propped open, allowing Emma to enter and look for a space among the pews. At the top of the aisle, a middle-aged woman detached herself from a conversation with the priest and headed in her direction.

  “Are you Emma?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, taking the lady’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m Jason’s mother, Rachel Worth,” she said. “Thank you for coming. Jason spoke very highly of you.”

  Emma tried to hide her surprise, finding it hard to believe that Jason would mention her to his family. She took the compliment as graciously as possible, adding, “I thought very highly of him, too.”

  Rachel nodded, a tear gathering at the edge of her eye. She quickly wiped it away.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean to-”

  Rachel waved her off. “No need to apologize. We’re here to remember my boy and I just can’t do that yet without crying.” She spotted someone entering behind Emma and offered a small smile before excusing herself. “Took a while to get everyone here. I’d like to try to welcome them all.”

  Emma took a seat in one of the rear pews. It was far enough away from everyone else to give her privacy but also provided a perfect view of the front of the room where a bronze urn rested atop a marble pillar. Emma had never been to a memorial service before and had only been to one military funeral. She knew that it must have been Jason’s request to be cremated and, knowing his feelings about the army he had fought for, did not want the hollow condolences of an unknown chaplain.

  It was hard enough for Emma in social situations but she had no idea what the protocol was here. It seemed odd that there was not even a body to commune with, just the ashes. The polite and dutiful young man that she had known was gone, reduced to a small piece of filled ceramic that would collect dust on a shelf. Suddenly, life seemed fleeting, sad and incredibly unfair.