by Vincent Heck
“Are you not up for that? I mean, I could be wrong, I’m not perfect.”
“I don’t know. This is all getting really tough.”
“Stand up for truth. That’s what you tell your followers, right? Don’t back down. You want to be a revolutionist? As we speak, the American defense system is probably building an entire watch center to contain you.”
“What about you?”
“Well, me too. But, last night when I scanned my chip, a thought crossed my mind that there’s a possibility I’m still on the inside with them.”
“What? How could that be?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just trust the feeling. I’m going to make it my aim to get back on the inside. It’ll just be you to direct the people we’ve accumulated on the outside for the next couple weeks. You’ve got to prepare the people for domestic war.”
“Will you be back?”
“Of course I will. I don’t know when, but I’m going to need your folks to help end this all. When it comes down to it, you’re my army.”
“Well, what’s next? F.A.I.T.H. just tells us what they’ve done to get us here. We don’t know what’s next.”
“I have an idea, but that’s what I’m going to go figure out.”
Jason handed Czyra an envelope. “Everything you need in there to get back to D.C. and do your part to is in there. We will be in touch. You have contacts in your eyes, keep them in. Those glasses are essential to our communication, too. Wear them at all times.”
Jason hiked up his backpack as Jason continued. “Inside that envelope is money, bus tickets and a Metrocard. I’ll talk to you soon, Czy. No fears. Revolution is happening and you’re right in the middle of it all. Go rally the troops; get them ready.”
Staring, dazed at the glowing blue conference room wall in the brand new DHS headquarters facility on St. Elizabeths Hospital’s old campus in Anacostia, Michael wondered how the people of America would receive Project S.A.F.E.’s proceeding.
“Sirus, what’s the president’s approval rating?” A woman’s computer voice echoed through the room, in response.
“Hello, Secretary, the president’s approval rating is currently at 55 percent.”
The new DHS HQ building was fully equipped with everything needed to get his job done. It was perfect. It was almost like he didn’t have to move a finger. Part of the department’s move was anchored around Jason’s departure. Most didn’t feel safe anymore losing a man of his stature. Moving gave them the upperhand.
Grambling’s voice echoed from behind Michael at the at the head of the conference table. “Where are the others?” he asked. His voice startled Michael.
“I didn’t see you come in – I don’t know where they are -- how should I know?”
“More awareness has to be employed. These are times we have to be crisp. We could possibly have one of the best agents the world’s ever seen and that snot-nosed little rascal and their group of wild patrons running around here striking us from all sides. We’ve got to be vigilant and precise.”
There was a silence as Grambling plopped his briefcase onto the oak table.
Michael’s phone rang. It was Sonya. “Sir, I see something interesting. Do you have a minute?”
“What is it?”
“It seems as if there’s another chipped, monitored and flagged person who has been tagging along with Czyra the last few days. The code is very high on this guy.”
“Send the info to my handheld. Thanks.”
As the rest of the defense department trickled into the room, Sonya’s information transferred onto Michael’s tablet. Because he had to decode the signal to see the info, he knew it was Jason’s information. Michael hadn’t synchronized Jason’s complete info into Sonya’s system. Something had moved him to take preemptive action, and tread lightly. “Thanks, Sonya. I’ll be in there before lunch.”
Jason was up to something.
Just as he was brainstorming, his cellphone vibrated in his lap.
::Call from Jason Upton – Accept?::
XXVIII
CURRENT HOMELAND SECURITY ADVISORY SYSTEM: RED —EXTREME TERRORIST RISK
New Jersey Transit, NJ
12:00p.m.
Jason watched out of his window as the train glided on tracks under him. The passing scenery of trees and neighborhoods hypnotized him into deep thoughts. He had so much to accomplish in such little time. The only way he’d be able to get back into the fold was through Michael.
Without thinking, he hit speed dial on his phone. The phone rang a flurry of times before the earpiece sent through muffled sounds of garble, and someone speaking off in the background. The background noise faded and a heavy door clunked closed before complete silence intersected Michael’s voice.
“Jason?”
“Mike.”
“What are you doing? You’re going to have to make this good because they’re tracking you, you know? I’m in a very crucial meeting right now, and I’m going to have to take this back to them.”
“I know. But, that’s perfect. I just wanted to let you know I’m coming back to D.C. now.”
“For what? We’re going to kill you.”
“No. I have some information to bring back to you folks on your main objectors of Operation F.A.I.T.H.”
“What do you mean?”
“Over the last 5 years, we’ve been opposed with propaganda from a huge online group of people -- protesters. They call themselves, ‘Unknown’. They’re hacktivists. Remember I was assigned to infiltrate and break down? Well, a lot of them double as other real life groups, as well. ‘True patriots’, ‘truthers’ and probably the most dangerous of the radicals: ‘The New Militia’ and a host of other things. They’ve long delayed and disrupted our biggest plans. It was going to happen again, Mike. The New Militia is actually planning a terror attack against the U.S. government any day now. So, against all of you, and against the odds, I had to make myself an outcast and a ‘whistleblower’ to get what I got from them.”
“What did you get?”
“Their plans. Their trust. Their following.”
“Where are you at right now?”
“Princeton Junction on Amtrak. I’ll be in D.C. in four hours.”
“OK. What do you want me to do?”
“Let the administration in on what I’ve just told you, and tell them I’m on my way now. I want to speak to them.”
12:15 p.m.
Michael returned into the meeting where Josh Grambling was speaking on the beginning of Operation S.A.F.E.
Grambling was discussing the importance of keeping the entire operation sterile; no forced variables introduced.
“Everything should go as planned. I’m gonna be at the White House for the remainder of this operation, so it’s imperative that you folks listen to Michael Young.” He said as Michael returned to his seat at the left side of the oval table.
“Is everything OK, Mr. Young?”
“Actually, what you’re saying may not be possible.”
“Oh?”
“That was Jason.” The entire team froze in their current motions and looked towards Michael.
“We have a few routes we can take: He said he’s coming to see us, so we can use this opportunity to once and for all get rid of him, we can detain him, or – bear with me, here, folks -- he said he’s got some info for us that will help with the operation.”
Grambling shook his head. “Now, how dumb do you think I look? I thought I told you that we’re not going to introduce any new variables.”
“He may not have ever been an old one. I mean, what has he done to us except run? He hasn’t killed any of us. He hasn’t spilled any info to jeopardize our plans. He’s stayed very silent this whole time. He’s known about F.A.I.T.H., and she set off the alarms three years ago cause it was necessary that us chasing him looked real to the folks he’d be gathering info from. There’s something more here, sir. I think we do best to look into it.”
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Grambling screwed his lips before responding. “OK. What can he do for us? Let’s see. We need proof.”
“I’ll get him on the phone now.”
Michael dialed Jason’s number. Restlessness unraveled in the boardroom through the silence of Michael’s phone ringing on speaker phone. “Hey, Jay. It’s Mike. Is this a secure line? The guys need to speak to you now. We’re running low on time and we need to know for sure you’ve got us.”
“Yes, all of my lines are secure.”
Michael sat the phone on the table. “OK. Fellas, how’s it going?” Jason greeted. “It has been a long time. I’m sorry to have put you all through this but it had to be done. This group ‘Unknown’ has grown to outnumber us, probably, double to triple-time. Who knows the exact number? Not even they do. But, it’s millions; millions of people from doctors, lawyers, hackers, IT technicians, foreign government officials, and even our own members in the U.S. government. They hail from 600 different countries around the world. They have no nation, they have no purpose, and they seek to rebel where ever they can. We’ve been sabotaged by them before, and we can’t afford to have it happen again. Not with this. They know all about this plan, and they’re prepared to destroy it, they’ve struck up a plan that you’ll never be able to stop without me. even if it costs everything. This could be our last war. But, we needed someone on the inside; I had to convince them – I had to be that guy. I’ve done it. I lead them. We’ve got them all in our palms now.”
“How do we know this?”
“Last week in Vancouver? That was me. I’ve got your documents here in my hand, unharmed and safe. They trust me, we’ve got their leader chipped, and we’ve got them right where we want them.”
“So that’s what your unnecessary running was about?”
“Yes. I’m at Princeton Junction. I’ll be there in about four hours. I’ll need to speak to you all ASAP and discuss our next moves.”
“Welcome back, Jason.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m not sure how I feel about you folks thinking I’d associate myself with terrorists.”
“Well, we—“ The phone went dead just as Michael attempted to respond. One of the officials in the meeting asked, “You’re going to let him back in just like that?”
“Not in a million years.” Grambling said without looking the official’s way. “He’s at Princeton Junction, folks. I think we need to catch up with him.”
“But, sir… he’s with us.” Michael interjected.
“Don’t ‘but sir’ me. I know he is. He’s done his part, however, and the next necessary step is to get rid of him. I’m sending an agent, right now.”
Washington D.C.
2:32p.m.
Czyra called an emergency meeting on his video channel. He sat behind a old wooden teacher’s desk in the backroom of the auditorium he held all of the group’s speeches at preparing to go live. Firing up his camera, it was finally time to call all of his followers up to arms. He watched on the wall behind him as the countdown to live broadcast dwindled from 3 to 1.
“Ladies and gentlemen, patriots, hacktivists and all Americans who are ready to take a stand against our corrupt, broken, system, we have finally got the chance to stand up against the oppressor.” He shouted. “We have members high up on the inside prepared to back our stance. Gather your arms, gather your masks, and everyone within the means fly out to Washington D.C. For we shall take our stance.”
Czyra felt goosebumps. This was the first time he was actually calling his followers to real action, with some sort of hope for change.
“If you hack we need you to pull out your best viruses. We’ll need to be prepared to shut the entire city down. Surely, there will be military police armed and ready to fight. We will need nerds and brutes to work in unison. For those of you who live close, meet me here at the auditorium. For it’s time to put a close to Operation F.A.I.T.H. It’s a document that is prepared to dull down the biggest other thing that compromises patriotism: Our personal beliefs – or in other words, in one word: religion. This is not freedom. This is more of the same – oppression. So, starting tonight, we prepare to confront the U.S. government, and their elite and demand they put this operation in the trash. If they don’t – we’ll be prepared for war.”
Czyra clicked off the recording feed and sat back in his seat. He was wondering how intense the confrontation was going to get. There was no way of telling.
Off in the distance behind him, just outside of the door, he heard footsteps sprinting on the floor towards his room.
He clutched his gun.
A member of The New Militia bursted into the door, “Czyra! Turn on the news!”
Czyra quickly dropped his gun on the desk and turned on his TV. A few more officials for Czyra’s militia rushed into the room.
The news was live on scene of a train accident. A train from NYC to D.C. had hopped off track, just beyond Trenton, leaving very few survivors.
The reporter continued, “The most prominent death, was identified as former DHS Deputy Secretary, Jason Upton. He was survived by his wife, Christine Upton…”
Rage was all Czyra could feel. Without thought, anger surged through his arms banging his fist into the his file cabinets. The sting from the tin files went, immediately, numb. All of his emotion from his stomach through his chest out in one loud holler. “I hate them!” He screamed. “Let’s go kill them all. You ready? No peaceful demonstration about it. Get the grenades, get the weapons. Someone send a messenger to the Baltimore Aquarium. Jason left military grade weapons there for us. If this goes down, I’m making sure they’re going to have to kill a lot more American civilians to get what they want. And they’re going to have to do it out in the open – on the streets.”
“Czyra, to be honest, though, we don’t even know that he’s really gone.”
“We’ve got a task at hand, either way. The show must go on. I should have known this wasn’t going to happen the way we thought. There’s no way they were going to let him just come back when he had wreaked as much havoc as he had.”
“Look, Czy, let’s worry about that later. We’ve got people outside who need instruction.”
“You’re right. Let’s get to it.”
Czyra collected himself and made his way out to the auditorium stage. The entire auditorium was much more full than it typically would be. Somehow, with all the trouble Czyra had gotten himself into the past few weeks, people suddenly began to take him more seriously. He scanned his wrist with the memory card.
“It’s a full house, folks, and I’m glad to see that.” He said standing in front of possibly over 2000. “The last few weeks have been interesting, but I can’t tell you completely why. I’ve been chipped, caught inside a Brendenhall meeting and brainwashed, to a certain extent. I’ve been through a lot. But, I’ve come away with this.”
Czyra held up the package. “It’s Operation F.A.I.T.H. And what OpF.A.I.T.H. is, officially, is part two of an overall false flag operation. How many parts are there? I don’t know. I know there’s a third. I was hoping to get all of that figured out soon. That’s still pending. These series of operations, however, are designed to manipulate us so that we’ll buy into whatever changes the U.S. government are bound to make. But, all of us here, we’re not going to let that happen, are we? We have too much info. We will battle back.” Czyra took a minute to reflect on what was best to say. Show confidence? Or admit a bit of a set back? “Best part? We’ve got a guy on the inside ‘helping’ to work on the plan. They think he’s heading their operation, when really, he’s with us. Also, we’ve got the millions of hacktivists on our team, too. We are an army, ya hear? And this is war. They will not change our lives unless they go through us.”
The men cheered loudly thrusting their guns towards the ceiling.
“Let’s go take our last action.”
4439 Chase Ct. Annandale, Virginia, Fairfax County 2:15p.m.
Clareese rang the doorbe
ll with Christine by her side. “Don’t you worry, Chrissy, we’re going to get to the bottom of this sooner or later.”
The old lady opened the door. “Christine?”
“That’s her.” Clareese said. “I’m her friend, Clareese.”
“I’m Betsy, Tameka’s mom. Come on in.”
The living room was set up with teacups on the table and place mats. The smell of dinner permeated the house.
“I’ve been expecting you, and I made dinner. Is that OK?”
“Sure. Thank you, it smells delicious.”
“I made Salmon. It was Tameka’s favorite.” Betsy said while walking to her tucked away kitchen. “So, I understand I received a visit from your husband a few years back?”
“Yeah. According to Tameka’s cousin.”
“Ah. Cinda. What else did Tameka’s cousin say?”
“She said that they were working on a bunch of projects privately. Something that has to do with some big government covert operation.”
“She was always so secretive. Only time she ever really started chirping about stuff was right before she died; some stuff about those two men following her. She seemed very afraid for her life.” Betsy shook her head. “I wish there were something I could do.”
“Did she ever mention anything about my husband?” Christine asked.
“I mean, very vaguely. When he was here I got the impression that he didn’t even know she existed.
Betsy came out of the kitchen with two plates. She sat them in front of Clareese and Christine.
“Wow. This looks great. What did you do with this?” Clareese asked.
“I seasoned the salmon with black pepper, paprika, celery salt, basil, and ginger. No oils, and no butter. I grilled it.”
“It’s great.”
“Tameka always had a taste for the healthy. Never unhealthy. She wanted white rice, and only steamed veggies. Hence the meal.”
“It’s interesting that he acted like he never knew her if they partnered on some covert operation.” Christine said before shoving her mouth with her first bit of salmon.