Liberation Day

by Dustin Stevens

  Turner walked up behind one of the unconscious men and smacked the back of his head. “This one here just kept running his mouth, telling them to be quiet, and that some guy named Ling would kill them if he knew they were talking.”

  “So you knocked him cold to shut him up?” Thorn asked.

  “No,” Cardoza said, shaking his head. “He’s dead.”

  Turner moved on down the row and tapped another guy on the shoulder. “This one claims to know nothing for certain, but that he heard the teams weren’t just going to pick up a delivery. Seems they had some dispatching to do as well.”

  Thorn nodded his understanding, motioning towards the man on the end, his chin resting against his chest. “And the last guy?”

  A thin smile crossed Turner’s face as he swatted the crown of the final man’s head. “This guy just cried like a bitch, so we knocked him out to shut him up.”

  Cardoza and the large man both chuckled. Thorn couldn’t help but crack a smile as well. “Thank you for the information. I appreciate it.”

  “You brought us in on what was happening, we felt the need to return the favor,” Turner said.

  “Which is why I should tell you, from what I just learned, your docks are going to be a part of this thing,” Thorn said.

  Turner nodded. “I figured as much.”

  “And since the teams have already been dispatched, I have to believe it’s happening soon. I’m thinking tomorrow.”

  “Why tomorrow?” Cardoza asked.

  “They sent the teams out yesterday, anticipating going live tonight. Our invasion last night took out their control center, set them back a day.”

  “What do you need from us?” Turner asked.

  “I need to figure out how the weaponized plants are being shipped. If we can determine how they enter the Boston docks, we can alert other cities ahead of time.”

  “Meet me at the docks in the morning, I’ll show you everything I’ve got,” Turner said.

  The last thing Thorn heard as he headed back towards the Explorer was the sound of a blowtorch kicking back to life.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  It was the second last-minute flight Thorn had been on in less than twelve hours. It too was a small private job, arranged from an airfield outside of Boston near his condo. Ingram was waiting for him on the opposite end as he climbed off the plane and jogged straight to the car.

  No briefcase. No luggage.

  He wasn’t staying long.

  Thorn hoisted himself into Ingram’s SUV and they made their way to company headquarters. They’d spent the afternoon scouring through options and despite their best efforts, came up with nothing short of going to the board and asking for help. The situation before them was just too sprawling, their own resources simply too meager.

  “How receptive were they to the meeting?” Thorn asked as they pulled up in front of the building. It was the first time Thorn had ever seen the place, or even given much thought to the look of his employer, though it fit with what we would have surmised. Multi-storied and done in entirely in black marble with tinted windows, the place held an imposing vibe that was unmistakable. Despite it being after eight o’clock in the evening, most of the lot was still filled with cars, many lights on in windows.

  “Mixed reactions,” Ingram said. “Nobody’s ever happy about being told they’re not going to make it home for dinner.”

  “Was Birkwood an ass?” Thorn asked.

  “Birkwood’s always an ass,” Ingram said as they climbed out and walked inside.

  A receptionist in a crisp business suit greeted them both by name at the door and showed them to the conference room. There was no other business on the docket, the gathering an emergency meeting Ingram had arranged hours before. All small talk died away upon their arrival, every gaze fixed on them as they moved into position.

  Much like the previous time Ingram had appeared before them, the board was seated at a long table perpendicular to the main entrance. In front of them was a much smaller table with two chairs, a clear power dynamic at play.

  “Gentlemen, please be seated,” Bryce Stepoli opened, extending a hand.

  Both did as they were asked.

  “You two requested this meeting, so I shall let you have the floor. Mr. Ingram, if you’d please.”

  Ingram leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I haven’t been here long enough to know proper protocol on this sort of thing, so I apologize in advance if we’ve stepped out of line or breached etiquette in coming here tonight. Given what we were facing, Mr. Byrd and I didn’t see any other option.”

  “And what is it you’re facing?” John Lewis asked.

  It was clear from the looks of them and the direct questions they were posing that they weren’t quite overtly hostile at the meeting, but were conducting things in a straightforward manner. There was no pretense of the gathering being for frivolous matters, not even a hint that there was a social component to the evening.

  Ingram exhaled and glanced to Thorn. “It turns out the assignment we were given is much, much larger than some trouble at the Boston docks.”

  As expected, the remark brought a reaction from Birkwood. He leaned back in his seat, his customary smirk in place, and said, “A week into his first assignment and already he’s here begging for help?”

  The familiar pangs of animosity Thorn already felt for the man rose inside, though he remained silent.

  For his part, Ingram ignored the comment. “The man who’s been tormenting the Boston docks has been doing so in an effort to gain control of them. He hopes to use that control as a launching point for an all-out assault on the United States.”

  “Many of the projects we take on here have national security implications,” Birkwood said. “What’s the matter? Kid’s not good enough to take care of this one?”

  Thorn leaned forward beside Ingram and said, “This one? Yes. Good enough to be in seven cities on three continents at the same time? I dare say not even someone with an ego the size of yours is that good.”

  The words were gone before Thorn even realized it, vocalizing his inner monologue. Beside him he could hear Ingram draw in a short breath, his body going stiff.

  The air sucked out of the room as a few of the board members glanced down towards Birkwood. His face grew red and he started to respond, but Stepoli cut him off.

  “Seven cities on three continents?”

  Ingram deferred to Thorn, who ticked off the cities for the board in succession. He then explained how each of them bore a prominent role in the Second World War and how Yuri Chekov had tied them all together for him. When he finished, many of the board members eyebrows were raised and they were exchanging glances with one another.

  Several moments of silence passed, many of the men fidgeting or scribbling notes. Sideways glances were cast, nobody sure of the next move.

  “I guess we did hand you a big one for your first time out, didn’t we?” Stepoli finally offered.

  Thorn raised one shoulder in a shrug, the rest of him remaining motionless. “No way of knowing. I just found out this morning.”

  “What are your plans for the docks?” Stepoli asked.

  “Have you ever heard of a substance called Brugmansia?” Thorn said, a bit of his earlier ire fading away, focusing in on Stepoli with his response.

  “Let’s pretend I haven’t.”

  “It’s a plant found in the South American mountains. If ingested, it can produce serious side effects. If breathed, it is fatal. Best we can tell, it has been weaponized and will soon be shipped to every major city in the country.”

  More notes were taken as Lewis looked up at him. “How reliable is your information on this?”

  “Last night we seized several men affiliated with the undertaking. None of them were aware of the entire scope of the project, but taken together it was enough for us to request this meeting.”

  There were large swaths of the story Thorn was leaving out, from the smoldering crater along t
he Massachusetts coast to the man with his blowtorch in a garage at Turner’s. On the plane ride down he had decided to strip away every detail that wasn’t absolutely necessary, stressing the importance that he was acting largely alone, that assistance was needed.

  “When is this attack expected to be launched?” Stepoli asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Thorn said. “Teams have already been spotted on site in each of the target cities.”

  For a few long moments, nobody in the room said anything. Thorn and Ingram both sat and stared at the board as they jotted final notes, casting looks from one to another.

  Once content they had everything documented, Stepoli leaned forward in his chair, the item squeaking a tiny bit beneath his weight.

  “Normally an undertaking like this would have to be fully vetted and voted upon, but given the circumstances I don’t think that is possible or even necessary.”

  He looked from one end of the table to the other, met by several nodding heads and the steadfast glare of Birkwood.

  “You’ll be taking Boston?” Stepoli asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Thorn said.

  “We’ll see to the rest.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Bern Gold sat at the very same table that just days before he had shared with the other members of Liberation Day.

  Today, he shared it only with Jasper and Ling.

  Overnight, a work station was assembled to match the one from his vacated home, the only difference being the enormous oak table that dominated the room instead of his battered old desk. Despite the lack of familiarity, he felt the symbolism of the table seemed fitting for the occasion.

  Gold waited in silence as one by one the various other members called in to the meeting, nodding their greetings as they waited. Once all were present, their faces filling the oversized screen on the wall, did things begin.

  “First, allow me to say congratulations,” Gold said, striking the perfect solemn pitch as he stared out from his wheelchair. “For years now, we have toiled away with the intention of one day striking back at those that persecuted us. At times things seem uncertain, might I even say doubtful, but through them you were all dependable and faithful.

  “For that I am thankful.”

  He paused for a moment as many of them smiled or nodded, their responses so predictable it was almost Pavlovian.

  “Gentlemen, as of right now there is no more waiting for a date somewhere in the future or staring at a calendar. Starting today we show the world that what was done to us was not okay, that turning their heads while it was done to us was not either!”

  A few of the men clapped while others shouted muffled calls of support.

  Gold waited for silence to fall again and said, “Mr. White, is Liverpool under your control and ready for delivery?”

  “Yes sir,” White said, beaming.

  Gold again flipped a red light to green as he had done in the prior meeting, the map on the opposite monitor switching on cue. “And Mr. Buford, is Marseilles ready for our arrival?”

  “Is it indeed, sir,” Buford responded.

  Another light went to green and Gold said, “And how are things in Genoa, Mr. Miller?”

  “They will be even better once your shipment arrives,” Miller said, smiling.

  “Excellent,” Gold replied, turning another port from red to green. “And in Russia, Mr. Watts?”

  “Vladivostok is anxiously awaiting our arrival as we speak,” Watts said.

  Without looking up Gold flipped another switch, reciting the next name in the order from memory. “And Nagasaki, Mr. Werner?”

  “Ready and waiting,” Werner’s voice called out.

  “And last, my dear old friend, Mr. Black. How is everything in the Fatherland?” Gold asked, looking up to see nearly the entire map lit in green, just a single red marker still present.

  “Hamburg is just desperate for our arrival,” Black said. “And let me just say while I have the floor, it has been a pleasure working with all of you and my life’s honor to have been a part of this, Mr. Gold.”

  A series of nods and murmurs went up across the board as Gold said, “The pleasure has been all mine. I could not have done it without you.”

  Silence fell for several moments as the men shared a moment to reflect on what they had accomplished.

  Counting the seconds in his head, Gold waited long enough to convey the proper amount of respect before reaching beneath the table before him and extracting a small stainless steel box with a large red button on it. Cut from the same material as the Vaporizers themselves, he tugged a silver antenna several feet out from one end and held it tenderly in his hands. “Do you gentlemen know what this is?”

  There was a palpable anticipation from the group as they each appeared to edge forward towards the screen, nobody saying a word.

  “This is an international detonator,” Gold said. “This is what we’ve been waiting to use all these long years.”

  He turned the detonator towards the camera and wagged it at them, as if a child displaying a new toy for the camera. “Tomorrow at midnight, I shall activate exactly 10% of all Vaporizers. Once those have cleared out the port cities, teams of my men will enter the docks and transport the remaining Vaporizers to another city.

  “The following night at midnight, I shall press the button and detonate another 10% of the Vaporizers. This will continue each night until every major city in seven countries has felt our wrath.”

  Gold could feel the corners of his mouth rising upward as he spoke, the cruel simplicity of his plan too much to hold back. “Just as we were forced to spend days and months in terror of what the morrow might bring, these countries shall too. By the time we are done, they will have paid for what they did to us.”

  A round of applause broke out over the call. Gold started to halt it, but opted to let it go for several long moments instead.

  “This will be the last time we speak until the project is completed,” he announced, raising his voice to be heard over the rising cheers on the line. He considered offering another perfunctory thank you for years of dedicated service, considered reminding the men of their necessary precautions they must take to ensure their own safety, but decided against it, content to wrap things up with one simple declaration.

  “Gentlemen, Liberation Day is here!”

  The level of applause ratcheted upward, several of the men standing, only their midsections visible onscreen. Lowering the light around him, Gold watched for several moments with an amused expression on his face before disconnecting himself from the call.

  The room fell quiet in the wake of the cheering, Gold turning and tossing the detonator to Ling. “Go ahead and throw this away.”

  A faint smile grew on Ling’s face. “I thought this was an international detonator?”

  Gold glared at Ling’s sarcasm. “You know I would never be that cavalier with my plans. I could have shown those men a candy bar and they would have believed it, that’s how excitable they are right now.”

  Ling nodded, unable to disagree with the assessment. “Does that mean these men have outlived their usefulness?”

  Gold paused for a moment, considering the prospect. “I believe it does. I was going to allow them to enjoy the first night’s success, but I don’t think I will. It is my night to enjoy.

  “Mine and mine alone.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  “How the hell do you find anything in this place?” Thorn asked, ripping open a file cabinet as a wave of dust flew up in his face.

  “Pretty damn easy if you know what it is you’re looking for,” Kenny Schiff said.

  Thorn looked at the older man with white hair and couldn’t help but smile at the pure and simple logic he proffered. For hours on end he, Nio, and Schiff had been in the room digging through every invoice from the last six months.

  For most operations this would have been an easy task, nothing more than a few keystrokes and a simple computer search. Here, the computer-based system had been
tossed aside five years before when some bored college students hacked in and sent ships bouncing all over the globe for fun.

  Once it was discovered what had happened, Billy Turner arranged for two things. First, he got rid of the computers and demanded that all transactions be printed and filed. Second, Turner had sent parts of the hackers bouncing all over the globe.

  For fun.

  The new system was slow and painful, a point Schiff had made a dozen times over, but it always ensured prying eyes were kept far away. The tedium of the process had been on full display throughout the day, the process starting with a half dozen men combing through the files. As the hours passed the number had dwindled to just three, the combination of frustration and narrow working space becoming unbearable for all.

  To remedy the situation, a scheme was devised where anything that looked even remotely promising, whether it was a shipping origin or an unusual name, was piled up on a table by the door. Shortly after noon the other men in the room were sent out to begin peeking in containers, following up on the leads.

  From that moment on Thorn was certain to always have a few new ones in place, no matter how mundane they might have appeared.

  Hour after hour passed in the cramped confines of the file room, Nio growing increasingly vocal about getting home to Iggy. Coming along had not been his idea or Thorn’s, instead a not-so-subtle prod from Dr. Whittle.

  Ignoring the incessant comments, Thorn kept his attention aimed downward, rifling through untold stacks of invoices. Unlike most common tasks he was unable to detach his active mind, forcing himself to stay focused and alert long past the burning in his eyes and nose from assorted invoice dust.

  Outside the sun began to dip low in the western sky and the lights of Boston began to dance off the water as they continued to pound ahead. Fifteen thousand documents were already accounted for, many more lying in wait as they worked, tension growing with each passing moment.