by Jon Land
“My God,” muttered Blaine. “The whole country will be—”
“Paralyzed, Mr. McCracken? You were fond of using that word before. You believed that Sahhan couldn’t accomplish the paralysis on his own. Probably not. But along with Omega, paralysis will be the inevitable result.”
“So the power gets knocked out—”
“Not the power,” Terrell corrected him. “Telecommunications and data transmissions in general. And those transmissions, records such as bank accounts, won’t be erased, they’ll just be frozen, rendered inaccessible.”
“Then what?” Blaine asked anxiously.
“Your timing is a bit off. As I understand it, the Omega phase of the operation is not scheduled to go into effect until several hours after Sahhan’s troops begin their simultaneous assault on urban centers at nine P.M. eastern standard time”—Terrell watched the sun rising beyond the windows— “this evening. Christmas Eve. The communications channels will be cut off just as the true panic begins, say, by midnight, after the shooting is well under way and the country has had an opportunity to be informed of it. Even a simple call to a police department or check of the television news will be impossible. The panic will escalate, feed off itself. All systems of control will break down.”
“And then Krayman’s mercenaries ride in like the cavalry to the rescue … unless the army beats them to it, of course. They’re set up for the kind of emergency you’re describing—civil defense in the event of nuclear war and all that. They’ve got backup communication facilities. No way to stop them from talking to one another.”
“Yes, there is,” Terrell said simply. “Communication backup facilities are useless if no one plans to issue any orders over them. Omega goes much deeper than machines. There are men who’ve been involved in it from the start who believe the time has come for a more central and enduring leadership for the country.”
“Peacher,” Blaine muttered. “Christ, it all fits. …”
“The military’s been infested at the highest levels,” Terrell continued, “levels that can effectively shut down the whole apparatus. The same holds true for your own intelligence community. It was Dolorman who isolated you and ordered your elimination. Only a few Krayman people have reached directory positions, but they are high enough to assume control while the chaos is proceeding and the various branches of the government are cut off from one another. Don’t you see? Through it all, Krayman people will be the only ones who will know precisely what’s going on. Everyone else will fall prey to whatever illusion is forced upon them.”
Something clicked in Blaine’s mind. “The mercenaries … The people will think they’re part of the real army, which has been paralyzed.”
Terrell nodded. “Exactly. And the mercenaries won’t just obliterate Sahhan’s troops, they’ll also complete their work by eliminating those who stand in Dolorman’s way, clearing a path for Krayman Industry plants to assume control. They’ll appear to be the good guys, which will make their job all the easier. Assassination, execution—in all the confusion who’s to know or judge? Without the media to turn to, the people will see only what’s directly before them: the army riding in to save the day against a vast insurrection and proclaiming martial law.”
“While the real insurrection is actually taking place,” Blaine concluded. Then he shook his head. “But I still don’t buy the army sitting on the sidelines while all this is going on. Your point about communications breakdown is well taken, but there’s still the chain of command to consider. They’re poised to function in an emergency, and Krayman Industries can’t possibly control all the levels.”
Terrell shrugged. “I’ve thought of that too. Obviously there’s something we’re not aware of. Dolorman’s got another way to neutralize the army for as long as he needs to and we’ve just got to accept that no help will be coming from that quarter.”
“You’re allowed to miss one thing,” Blaine told him. “Dolorman’s plan is brilliant. He hasn’t given you much.”
“That’s the second thing I may be missing,” Terrell said. “I’ve spent five years of my life organizing and controlling every move we’ve made. I’ve studied Dolorman. He’s a tremendous businessman, ruthless and cunning, but not very creative. I can’t believe this whole plan is really his.”
“So you think he’s fronting for someone?”
“But if not Krayman, then who?”
It was Sandy who broke the ensuing silence, changing the subject. “Why did you send Kelno to me, Simon?”
“Because our first hope was to use you to expose Omega after we learned you were planning a story on Krayman. But after Kelno was killed, you became only a distraction to draw Dolorman’s attention away from us. We continued to watch you and provide help when it was needed on the chance that you might still be of use to us eventually.”
“Did you know that Stephen Shay was one of them?”
“All the networks are infested with Krayman people who are poised to take control during the course of Omega. When the telecommunications system is switched back on, new men will be at the controls. In fact, that’s the essence of Omega. Control telecommunications and you control the nation. People will be allowed to see only what Dolorman wants them to see. He’ll be able to paint any picture he desires, stalling the ultimate return of all communications apparatus until the first line of his private sector and government forces are firmly in place.”
“You can’t tell me people aren’t going to question,” Blaine argued.
“Some will, but to what end? There’ll be no way to spread their views or link up with others who feel as they do, at least not soon enough.”
“And where does the destruction of the space shuttle come in?” Sandy asked.
“For its signal to be effective in reaching the billions of infected microchips,” Terrell replied, “COM-U-TECH’s satellite has to broadcast from approximately one hundred eighty miles above the earth’s surface. Although the satellite is invisible to ground station radar thanks to a sophisticated jamming apparatus, Adventurer’s orbit would have brought it into visual contact. Dolorman couldn’t have that. Originally, his satellite was armed to protect it from asteroids and space debris. But when Adventurer’s orbital flight plan showed a direct approach line, the satellite was programmed to attack. The damn thing’s invulnerable.”
“What about Pegasus?” Sandy reminded him. “You said it was armed, too, and it’s scheduled to go up—”
“The day after Christmas with a dry run on Christmas Day,” Terrell said. “It’s all very hush-hush and it doesn’t matter, because Pegasus will never get off the ground. Cape Canaveral and NASA are infested with Krayman Chips. Omega will make the launch impossible.”
“Which reminds me,” Blaine began, “while the whole country lies in the communication dark, what stops the Russians from blasting the hell out of us?”
“Very simply, the fact that missile defenses have received a different kind of Krayman Chip,” Terrell explained somberly. “Love for America was where this plot started and that same love prevented carrying out anything that would place the United States in a vulnerable position. NORAD, SAC, and all missile silos will continue to function, obviously under statuses of increased alert.”
“Dolorman seems to have thought of everything,” Sandy said softly.
“Maybe not,” Terrell said, and turned all his attention to McCracken. “We learned of your involvement through a source in Krayman security when your death was originally ordered. He was one of the men on the team that captured you in Newport.”
“The one who saved my life in Atlanta … and at the fronton.”
“We would have preferred to have picked you up there, but circumstances, of course, made that impossible. You see, Mr. McCracken, by then we had come to the conclusion that we needed you.”
“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to like this. …”
“I know your file, Blaine,” Terrell said, a bit uncomfortable using his first name. “I know about your somewhat
checkered past. I know about McCrackenballs and all that goes with it. But I also know that you’re an expert in infiltration. It was your specialty in Vietnam, as I recall.”
“And after.”
“Good, because it’s needed now. COM-U-TECH’s killer satellite can be disabled only one way: by destroying the computer that controls it. This computer happens to be located on an island off the coast of Maine, also owned by Krayman, and protected by a formidable series of natural defenses.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Blaine stroked his chin dramatically. “You want me to get onto this island and pull the plug.”
Terrell nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so. The entire base of operations for Omega is centered there. But knock out the computer, and the satellite never turns the machines off, so the paralysis we’ve spoken of won’t have a chance to take hold.”
Blaine settled back. “Sounds simple enough. We get ourselves a plane, a few bombs, and knock the hell out of the island.”
“It’s not that simple,” Terrell interrupted. “It’s not enough to just take the island out. Believe me, we’ve considered that plenty of times ourselves. We wouldn’t need you for that. The problem is there’s still Sahhan’s troops to consider. The satellite’s destruction will not stop them from claiming thousands of lives, many of the designated victims being crucial to governing the country. Sahhan’s people are just as fanatical as he is. They’ve probably whipped themselves into a frenzy by now. There’s no telling what they might do, how many people they might kill for no reason. Tonight.”
Blaine thought quickly. “Then there must be some sort of abort signal for the troops in the event a change in plans.”
Terrell’s face showed frustration for the first time. “Of course. But there’s a complication.”
“Connected with the island in Maine no doubt,” Blaine said knowingly.
“Indeed. The abort signal is also programmed into the computer controlling the killer satellite. So destroying the island will also destroy our only chance of recalling Sahhan’s troops.”
“Is there any way we can duplicate the signal?”
Terrell shook his head. “Impossible. The abort signal will be a temporary activation of Omega’s effect on telecommunications between seven and eight P.M. tonight eastern standard time. If the radios or televisions Sahhan’s men are tuned to go dead for a five-second period during that time, they will know their Christmas Eve revolution is temporarily off.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Blaine, putting things together for himself as he spoke. “I have to get into this island headquarters, make sure the computer broadcasts the abort signal, and then destroy it. No problem. Piece of cake.”
“There’s more,” Terrell added tentatively. “We’ll need a printout of all Krayman Industries’ agents in place so we can give them to the proper authorities once Omega is exposed.”
“Just put it on my bill. …”
“You’ll have help, Blaine—every man here today, including myself.”
“You’re not a soldier, Terrell, and it’s gonna take some awfully good ones to pull this thing off.”
“Some of the others are soldiers. And damn good ones too.”
Blaine nodded. “Tell me about this island.”
“It’s called Horse Neck because of its irregular shape. The coastline is jagged, a natural defense that makes night approach virtually suicidal.”
“And we’ll be going in at night, right?”
“There’s no other way, believe me.” Terrell began probing through his pockets. “Let me show you a map. …”
Something caught Blaine’s ear, a familiar sound that set his heart beating faster. Overhead a mechanical whine grew gradually into a roar.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Sandy asked.
McCracken swung toward Terrell. “We’ve got to get out of here! Come on, hurry!”
Terrell rose but didn’t move. “What are—”
“Planes, Terrell, coming in fast and probably ready to blow us to fuckin’ hell. They’re—”
The rest of Blaine’s words were drowned out. Fucking jet fighters!
He was trying to scream a warning when the first blast shook the building. Splinters of window glass exploded inward, becoming deadly projectiles. Instinctively, Blaine dove on top of Sandy, because she was closest to him and took her to the floor.
The glass sheared Terrell’s body like a hundred knives, mostly above the waist. His head was held in place only by a few sinews of stray skin. His body shook and writhed horribly.
More blasts came, every second it seemed, and the screams of dying men were all that could be heard through the blasts and the jets’ roar. More rubble showered down as Blaine left Sandy pinned to the floor and crawled over to Terrell’s corpse. He grasped a large piece of paper folded into quarters from the dead man’s pocket. The upper portion was bloodied, but the paper, Terrell’s map of Horse Neck Island, was still whole.
Away from him Sandy was starting to rise, gasping, fighting for a scream. Blaine lunged and tackled her. He brought her back down hard and covered her mouth with his hand to block out her sobs. More bits of the ceiling covered them, the entire structure collapsing a section at a time.
“Listen to me,” Blaine said into her ear. “Keep quiet and keep down. It’s our only chance to get out of this. Do you understand me?”
Sandy made no motion to indicate that she did. Instead, she kept squirming.
“Listen!” he commanded, and tightened his grip on her. “If they land at all, it won’t be for long. The won’t check all the buildings. They won’t be sure how many people were supposed to be here, so we’ve got a chance. If you want to live, don’t make a sound or a move. Keep struggling and I’ll kill you myself!”
Sandy stopped squirming. She looked into McCracken’s eyes and saw he was as scared as she was, while more of the ceiling crumbled above them.
En route to the airport the limousine made its last stop—Francis Dolorman’s home. It was seven A.M. sharp on Christmas Eve morning. The chauffeur gathered his bags and stowed them in the trunk while Dolorman climbed gingerly into the back. Verasco and Wells were already inside.
“Their base was located in central Arkansas,” Wells reported. “It’s been leveled.”
“Splendid,” Dolorman said, suppressing a grimace of pain. “And what of the man in Sahhan’s office who bore an uncanny resemblance to Blaine McCracken?”
Wells knew the remark was meant as an insult, but he shrugged it off. “We’ve got good reason to believe he was at the base in Arkansas.”
“So have we finally eliminated him this time?”
“With McCracken there are no guarantees. But even if he did manage to survive, there is nothing he can do that can possibly hurt us now. Without the rest of the rebels, he is alone.”
“He has been alone from the beginning, Wells.”
“Now, though, he is up against our island fortress, assuming he’s even aware of it. An army couldn’t penetrate its walls.”
Dolorman’s eyes dug into Wells’s single good one. “Your men checked this base in Arkansas thoroughly?”
“Enough to find no survivors.”
Dolorman turned to Verasco. “And everything is arranged at the airport?”
“I’ve bumped the schedule up a bit,” Verasco reported. “It seems Maine is going to be blessed with a white Christmas. There’s a blizzard in the forecast.”
The figure sat in the grove as the wind whipped snow from the sagging branches above him. He dropped a huge hand into a pouch worn on his belt and came out with a fistful of feed. He waited. Barely a minute later the first of the winter birds dropped down, followed swiftly by a pair of others. As always, they moved toward him tentatively, at last settling just close enough to peck the feed from his outstretched palm.
Birds had always been able to tell him much. On the day he had stepped into his greatest personal horror of the hell-f
ire, they had shown him the fruitless agony of death without reason, of women and children staggering with their insides sliding through hands cupped at their midsections and of men continuing to fire just for pleasure. He had not rested until those responsible were found. The birds would not have forgiven him otherwise, nor the souls of the tortured dead he had happened upon first. Discovering them made the souls his responsibility and the balance would be forever off if he failed them.
Today, though, the birds told him nothing. What was coming was beyond them, beyond all perhaps, its shape great enough to envelop everything at once so that even the birds wouldn’t feel the change. But nothing was ever shown to him without reason. He understood now that it would be left to another to lead him to the source of the shape. The past and present were swirling together, intermixing until the lines of distinction he had come here to forge became lost. He smiled, certain now who the other would be.
The birds emptied his hand without breaking flesh and the figure reached into his pouch for a fresh batch.
Part Five
Horse Neck Island
Christmas Eve and Christmas
Chapter 27
“YOU’RE FUCKIN’ NUTS, pal!” the pilot screamed again. “You know that?”
“I’ve been accused of it before,” McCracken told him. “I want one more look at that island, a closer one.”
“The winds over that water will rip us apart. No way. Not for all the money you can whip out of that pocket of yours.”
“Just make one more run up the shoreline. For an extra hundred.”
The pilot hesitated only briefly. “This is the last one.”
And the small plane banked again.
Blaine sat in the copilot’s seat. Sandy huddled in a third chair with her arms wrapped tightly over herself. The temperature was barely out of single digits and the storm had started to intensify savagely when they neared the coast. The snow was piling up in huge drifts. The water stood out dark against the whiteness.
“Satisfied?” the pilot asked.
Blaine looked away from Horse Neck Island and nodded. “There’s a small airfield about twenty-five miles north of here near a town called Stickney Corner. I want you to put down there.”