A New World: Conspiracy

by John O'Brien

  However, she does have command of a battalion, complete with armored vehicles, and they aren’t limited to the diesel fuel sources, having been converted to bio-fuels. The vehicles may not have the power they once did, but they’ll function for as long as they have replacement parts and can manufacture the bio-fuel. There is no one who can challenge them, but this camp, C-US-4, has her worried. They have a range and ability she can’t match with regards to aircraft. And, they are at Cannon AFB which houses the fearsome AC-130 aircraft. If they can fly a C-130, they can fly those.

  Bird’s Eye View

  In the privacy of her own suite, Gav reviews the captured video of the C-130 group in the Southwest. Watching the enhanced surveillance video, she observes the dusk flight and subsequent HALO jump. Viewing the footage, she makes up her mind. She has been thinking about it for a day but, after looking at the replay, she is spurred into action. She calls the command center on her private line.

  “Yes, Nahmer. How can I help you?” the supervisor asks, picking up on the second ring.

  “I want camp C-US-4 upgraded to a ‘B’ category designation,” Gav states.

  “Very well. I’ll make the change immediately. It will be renamed B-US-1,” the supervisor replies.

  “You know what that entails?”

  “I do, Nahmer. I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Very well. Update me if anything substantial occurs,” Gav says, hanging up before eliciting a response.

  The more she has observed the actions of this new group, the more worried she has become. While she has a secure facility, it’s the other group’s abilities that have her concerned. Neither side has the ability to take the other out, but she isn’t comfortable having a group out there that can rival her own. She has the secure location, the troops, and equipment, in addition to their ability to implement satellite control – information is everything, but they apparently have an aerial gunship that they can utilize. As yet, the observations indicate they haven’t picked one up, but she knows deep down that they will leave Cannon AFB with one. That aerial platform more than counteracts the troops and equipment she has at her disposal.

  While upgrading the camp category level may not seem like much, it does mean additional surveillance and an operation to identify key leaders within the group. The command control supervisors will call additional operators into action and dedicate teams solely to the camp. One of the latest Keyhole satellites will be parked in a synchronous orbit for the time being. The high-definition images will be analyzed and the group’s structure examined. Over the next few days, she will have a clearer picture of their organization, and, more importantly, who is leading the group.

  Information on the camp pours in. Gav pays attention to the C-130 group and, as she guessed, they pick up an AC-130. From the photographs, she observes that they have the Spooky II variant. She also notes they have picked up the other “D” category group located at Albuquerque.

  Sitting in the control center, the room now more crowded than before with additional console operators, Gav pours through the file and information gathered on Camp B-US-1. The C-130 and accompanying gunship having already made it back to the Northwest and parked on the ramp at McChord AFB. High-definition photographs of all kinds fill the file she is leafing through. The ones she is currently interested in are the close up pictures of individuals.

  After hours of watching video on the camp’s actions, she and the team dedicated to observing the camp have compiled an accurate assessment of the leadership. Seeing the satellite image she was looking for, she pulls it from the stack. It’s a picture of an armed man in black fatigues standing in the parking lot outside of the sporting goods warehouse, staring up at the early morning sky. He appears to be an older man, Gav guesses somewhere in his forties, and is the one that the overall consensus identifies as the leader.

  Looking at the lower corner of the picture for the file designation, she pulls it up on the console she is working at. Opening the face recognition software used by the FBI and NSA, she crops the picture and feeds it into the software. Images whir on her screen as the software takes the image and begins its attempt to match it with the databases they downloaded from both institutions. She then rises and leaves in search of something to eat, allowing the software to do its thing.

  Taking an extended break, she returns to her workstation, puts in her password, and finds a file waiting on her screen – Walker, Jack, Captain, United States Air Force.

  That would explain the C-130, Gav thinks, beginning to dive into the file.

  Scrolling through the various records, she sees his transition into special operations. Some of the records have been partially redacted, but most of the early ones are fairly clear. His discharge papers come up. Her eyes narrows as the discharge date doesn’t exactly match his records. Some of the later reports, these heavily redacted, have recording dates after his release date. She tries pulling up some of the later files but is unsuccessful. She has the highest clearance on this system and should be able to read any military file.

  She attempts several times and through different avenues but is still denied access. This intrigues her as she knows her own file is very similar to this one, although her official one lists her as deceased. The only information she can glean on this Captain Walker is from the file dates. They extend years after his “official” discharge and then abruptly stop. Yes, this one is very close to her own. She knows an intelligence profile when she sees one. Her eyes narrow further and thoughts race through her mind.

  Yeah, this one is going to bear watching closer…an intelligence operator in charge of a post-apocalyptic group. That sounds familiar, and she’s not happy about it. She almost promotes the camp category to an “A” status but holds back. She knows his type, and there may be very little chance of them joining forces with her supervisor’s attitude toward maintaining power, especially after observing the other group’s activities and dedication to finding survivors to bring into their fold. If she and her group are going to have a chance in the long run, this one may have to go. She becomes excited with the challenge presented.

  Later that evening, sitting around a large, redwood conference table, with her face reflected in its mirror polish, she looks at the other five around the table with her. The opulence of the room, from the heavy cherry wood book shelves lining the walls, to the thick, rich cream-colored carpet, define the men who are sitting with her. They are the ones who had controlled the world from the background and wished to control it from the forefront…the ones who formulated the plan and initiated its action. They had converted all of their vast fortunes into precious metals and other resources prior to initiating Phase One. The preparations for this undertaking had taken many, many years to bring to fruition…gathering the needed people, upgrading sites, bringing in equipment – military and electronic – gaining access to files on the upper echelons. They co-opted people in all of the top levels of government, and they did this all under the radar.

  The elder men sit around the table and listen as Gav informs them about the monitoring activities as a whole. She gives them training updates, briefs them on their supply situation, which should last them for another year, and a myriad of other details which entail the functioning of the facility.

  “Gavriella, tell us more about this camp you upgraded to category B,” one of the men states.

  They are the only ones who call her by her name, and frankly, the only ones who have in a long, long time. She hates the name as she associates it with the girl who lost her parents. Every time she hears it, she feels a small part of her cry out for her loss. During many of her downtimes, when she was alone, she would pull out the only picture she has of her parents…the one she pulled from the wreckage of her house. Her cold heart would melt and hot tears would flow in streams down her cheeks. She feels a momentary pang of grief every time she hears her full name uttered.

  Gav updates them on the camp’s activities to include, according to her findings and a
ssessments, that they are being led by a former intelligence asset.

  “So what do you propose to do about it?” another of the men asks.

  “Monitor it for now. There’s not too much more we can do at the moment. We can’t attack them and, even if they were to find out about our existence, they can’t attack us, so it’s mostly a standoff. I think it’s in our best interest to leave them for the moment. However, I will reiterate this once again, and I know you may be tired of hearing it, but we need to start integrating some of the other camps we identify for possible inclusion if we are going to, as you quote, rise from the ashes,” Gav answers.

  “You know the answer to this, Gavriella. Any integration will spoil the purity of our group and mission. We can’t have that. If we integrate other camps, we will then be required to share in the resources,” the first man states.

  “You brought me on to be honest with you, and that’s what I’m going to do now,” Gav starts, feeling frustrated at their “purity of mission” and overly cautious nature. No, it isn’t being overly cautious, it’s called greed. “This rising from the ashes, as you think of it, and controlling resources is gone. It was a great idea, but that plan went by the wayside the moment the other sites failed to come online. We have had zero response from them, and the teams we sent to some of the sites show that they were never occupied. We can only assume that is the same for every other location. The personnel never arrived.

  “Hear me when I say this. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, except what we have here. This facility was only meant to be a command and control center. We don’t have the resources to rise from anything. We don’t have the expertise or manpower. Satellite readings confirm that the Eastern United States, most of Europe, and Asia are wastelands, due to radioactive contamination. The small groups we have identified there are growing smaller by the day as the radiation levels kill them. The only places that appear to have escaped so far are Africa, although the states around the Mediterranean are risky, part of South America, Australia, the western United States, and Canada. There are a couple of minor South Pacific islands that appear habitable as well. However, you will note that we have only identified “D” category camps in those places, and very few of them at that. The infected created by the vaccine have taken their toll. Of those, there are plenty,” Gav asserts.

  “Regarding that, have you had any success with satellite communications?”

  “Not at this time. We are working on that night and day but it appears that any transmissions we send are not being received. We are still receiving telemetry data, but we have lost all ability to communicate with the satellite itself,” Gav answers, hating to utter those words as it feels like her failure, even though she knows it isn’t.

  “How long until it begins orbital decay?”

  “Our best guess is that we have approximately six months. I’d have something more definitive, but we also aren’t receiving any data on those systems. Fuel burns to remain on its current orbital pattern could be higher or lower than our guesses,” she responds.

  “Do you foresee any threats to us from the radiation?”

  “No, but that is hard to determine. The leading elements of the radiation cloud are sweeping over Asia and out into the Pacific. It will swing north toward Alaska and come down the Western Seaboard of Canada and the United States. We predict it will reach those shores in negligible amounts. I’ll say this again. It would be nice to have the other sites available, but we don’t. We need to figure an action plan about what we are going to do. We need to develop a plan that takes into account the limited resources we have. If we fail to do that, events will pass us by….and our opportunity with it,’ Gav affirms, closing her folder to emphasize her point.

  “We will discuss it and get back to you,” the first man says, dismissing her.

  She walks out of the plush conference room and into an elegant waiting room. This part of the facility is reserved for the five men she just left, with her having the only access. Leaving the wing and walking down a wide hall, her heels once again solidly clicking on the hard floor, their sound mimicking her frustration, Gav presses her lips together in exasperation. To her, the men sitting in the conference room behind her appear lost. They had the perfect plan, and, although they had been able to adapt to differing situations in the world before, it seems to her that they are holding too tightly to the wheels they set in motion. Of course, maybe they aren’t so used to adapting; they always controlled prior situations and never really had to adapt to anything. They are accustomed to being in power and perhaps feel helpless that they can’t control the current situation.

  For a brief moment, Gav wonders what the personnel would do if her orders were countermanded by any of the five men. Who would the personnel follow? She immediately dispels the thought. She has her mission and will accomplish it to the best of her ability.

  * * * * * *

  If Gav thought watching the group from camp B-US-1 HALO jump and flying an AC-130 gunship was a surprise, watching the LA class submarine surface and glide through the waters close to Puget Sound is a downright fright. The control center picked up periodic satellite transmissions and honed in on the source. The sleek, cigar-shaped vessel surfaced outside of the inlet to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and slid slowly beneath the waves a short time later.

  She had the control center watch the naval yards at Bangor. Sure enough, she observed the submarine surface, but the harder part to swallow was a contingency from the “B” camp meeting with it. If the two came together, the camp would far surpass her facility. Video of the sub making its way down the narrows of Puget Sound fills her monitor. Gav watches as it docks in Olympia and takes on supplies provided – apparently, from the camp. It then sails up the sound the next day, out across the straits, and vanishes under the waves of the Pacific.

  Witnessing this series of events and the apparent harmony of the camp with the sub strikes a very deep concern. For one of the first times in her life since losing her parents, Gav feels worried about an outcome. Although she has control over the satellite network, the only ground resources she has amount to a battalion of soldiers and several teams of special operators. This is nothing compared to the equipment that the camp currently possesses. Whereas the stalemate between the camps would eventually swing in her favor as aviation fuels fail, the nuclear propulsion capability of the sub far outweighs anything she can bring to the table. Gav doesn’t have the latest load out of the sub but knows they carry Tomahawk missiles and could be carrying bunker busters which have the capability of causing harm to her facility. She immediately has the camp upgraded to a category “A” status.

  Finding herself summoned and sitting in the same plush conference room with the same men, Gav updates them on the status of now, camp A-US-1. Her own facility is differently named to avoid confusion: A–CC-1. After her briefing, the men ask her to leave for a moment while they discuss the situation.

  Upon returning, one of them asks, “We can’t allow another group to exist that can compete with us, let alone outclass us. What do you intend to do about it?”

  Ready for their question and having already thought over the possibilities, Gav answers, “We have only one solution. We need to take out their leadership, specifically Jack Walker. It’s our only hope. That will set them back and allow us an opportunity to contact them while they are in a state of confusion and fear. I believe that if we contact them, without alluding to the fact that we were responsible, that they may be amenable to joining us. We approach them with a saving situation and fold them within our group. I know what you said about this, but it’s our only choice. We need them to join forces with us…assimilate them. And for that to happen, he needs to go.”

  The men sit in silence, contemplating. Three of them lean forward with their elbows resting on the polished surface, chins poised on interlaced fingers. The other two are reclining with their hands folded behind their heads. One man finally lifts his head from his hands.

  “S
ee to it,” he states.

  Fear and excitement envelop her. Finally, they are going to do something other than maintaining the status quo. She has never done well with that and always felt that if you weren’t moving forward, you were going backward. She meets with one of her special operations teams and gives them their mission. They leave to ready their gear and begin the drive to the Northwest to eliminate the leader of the specified camp. They will have satellite feeds and communication at their beck and call. They pour over maps to familiarize themselves with the area. They will observe video feeds sent by the control center to establish the movements of their target and orchestrate a plan upon their arrival.

  Gav feels a renewed energy as plans are set in motion…her plans. The game has started. Pieces on the board are moving, and this is where she thrives. There is the fear that things could go wrong, as they sometimes do, but that only adds to the challenge. She cannot underestimate this Captain Walker.

  Later, the control room notifies her that the camp and the LA class submarine, now identified as the Santa Fe, are using satellite communications to stay in contact. She looks at the supervisor briefing her, this time in the control room itself.

  “Shut it down,” she says.

  A Bird in the Hand

  I feel a pressure of air and hear an all too familiar ‘zip’ pass over my head. Warm liquid splashes on the back of my neck and in my hair. A sharp report follows.

  “Sniper!” I yell, instinct taking over.

  A moment of panic seizes me. A projectile traveling at high speed just passed over my head, close enough that I felt the air being displaced by its passage. I know what the sound and feel of warm liquid on my neck means. I also know that Robert, Bri, and Lynn were right behind or next to me, aside from the others.