Blacksnow Zero

by Lee Gimenez

  She rolled down the window and said, “Keys?”

  Toluca stuck his hand in one of his bulging pockets, took out a bunch of keys, selected one and handed it to her. “Go ahead and start it. This baby runs like a dream.”

  She grabbed the key and fired up the engine. The car started immediately, and she gave it gas. The motor sounded strong.

  “Take it out for a spin, Erica. You’ll see.”

  She nodded, put the car in gear and rolled out of the lot. She came back ten minutes later and climbed out of the car.

  “Not bad, Tony. It runs well.”

  “I told you you’d love it.”

  She gave him a hard look. “I don’t love it, but it’ll do. Put on a new set of tires, and get rid of the cigarette smell inside, and I’ll take it.”

  His smiled another one of his wide, phony smiles. “Done.”

  “One other thing, Tony. It’s over-priced by four-hundred bucks. Cut the price and we’ve got a deal.”

  She saw his smile vanish and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Erica….”

  “I’ll pay cash.”

  The smile came back, but tentatively, as if he was worried she’d have more demands. “Okay,” he said, “you’ve got a deal.”

  ***

  Steve McCord had just returned to his apartment after a long day at Langley, when he heard a knock at his door.

  Approaching the door, he peered through the peephole. Two bulky men in dark suits and ties stood outside. They were holding up badges.

  “Mr. McCord,” he heard one of them say, “We’re Federal officers. We need to speak with you, please.”

  Steve opened the door. “What’s this about?”

  The taller of the two men held his badge so Steve could read it clearly. It looked authentic and it identified the man as an NSA agent.

  “What’s the National Security Agency want with me?”

  “I’m agent Logan and this agent Saunders,” the taller one said. “Can we come in?”

  Steve shrugged, stepped aside and the two men came in. He closed the door after them. “Okay, what’s this about? You know I’m with Central Intelligence.”

  “Yes, sir,” Logan said. “We know who you are.”

  “So?”

  “Mr. McCord,” the man said, “you’ve had several conversations with your superiors recently regarding the assassination of President Wilson.”

  “What business is that of yours? But, yes, I was discussing the findings of my visit to the crime-scene in LA.”

  “Sir, do you know that the CIA is prohibited from engaging in domestic matters?”

  Steve grimaced. “Of course. But my visit there was with the full knowledge and support by my supervisor. Our intent was to assist the FBI and Secret Service in their investigation, nothing more. And in fact, the information I found was shared with those agencies and they appeared to be grateful for the assist.”

  Logan shook his head. “The investigation into the president’s assassination has been escalated. It has now been assigned to the NSA.”

  Steve cocked his head. “Whatever. It’s hard to keep up with all the bullshit in Washington.”

  Logan pulled a folded sheet of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to Steve. “This is a FISA court warrant for your detention, sir. You’ll have to come with us.”

  Steve felt like punching the bastard, but instead took a deep breath. Grabbing the sheet, he read it carefully. He had never actually seen a Foreign Intelligence Surveillance warrant, but this appeared very real. The warrants were issued by a secret federal court, Steve knew. The court had been created when the Patriot Act was enacted in 2001 after the terrorist attacks on September 11th. The Act had been renamed the USA Freedom Act in 2015, but was called the Patriot Act by most people.

  Seething, he threw the warrant at Logan. “This is bullshit! I’m a CIA agent. There’s no way this’ll stand up. I’m calling my supervisor right now.”

  The document bounced off Logan’s chest and dropped to the floor. The man picked it up, folded it and stuck it in his pocket. “That won’t be possible, sir. He’s also being served with a similar warrant.”

  Steve stuck his hands on his hips. “You guys are unbelievable! There’s no way I’m coming with you.”

  “This is a legally binding warrant, Mr. McCord. After we’ve questioned you, you may elect to retain an attorney, if that’s your wish.”

  “Listen, I’m not going anywhere with you goons. I’ve been in Central Intelligence long enough to know that once I’m in one of your ‘rendition centers’, I’ll never get out. Now, get the hell out of my house!”

  Then everything happened in an instant.

  Logan pulled a gun from a shoulder holster, leveled it at Steve, and fired.

  Steve felt an immense pressure on his chest and a second later blacked out.

  ***

  Steve was startled awake by the splash of ice-cold water on his face.

  Glancing around, he knew instantly he was in big trouble. He was strapped to a metal chair, his hands and feet bound with plastic binds so tight they almost cut his skin. The room was small, dark and dank. A cellar of some type with concrete walls, no windows and a dim, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The place stank of bleach and rancid odors he couldn’t identify.

  Agent Logan stood in front of him, holding an empty bucket. The man had shed his suit and tie and had a smug look on his face. “Glad you’re awake, McCord,” he said, placing the bucket in a sink that was off to one side. Steve saw the other agent, Saunders, standing silently in a corner, his arms folded in front of him.

  “Where the hell am I?” Steve shouted.

  Logan laughed. “We ask the questions here, my friend.”

  Steve scanned the room again, looking for any way to escape. But found none.

  “Lucky for you, McCord, the gun I used on you was a stunner. I could have shot you for real.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were resisting arrest. Isn’t that right, Saunders?”

  The other man nodded, said nothing.

  Logan smirked. “Saunders is the quiet type. But he has unique skills. Ones he may have to use on you, if you don’t tell us what we want to know.”

  Steve’s heart was thudding in his chest. Things looked grim. “I want a lawyer.”

  “We’ll see. But first things first. Now, who did you talk to about the assassination, besides your boss?”

  “Just him.”

  Logan grabbed a pair of black leather gloves that were lying on a nearby table, slowly slipped them on. Then he walked in front of Steve and backhanded him across the face. The sharp blow stung and his lip began to bleed.

  “Who else, McCord?”

  Steve took a deep breath. “Nobody.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because you’re an asshole?”

  “You’re going to make me mad,” the NSA agent said.

  Logan hit him with an uppercut, the punch sending Steve, still bound to the chair, toppling to the floor.

  Saunders came over, righted the chair and went back to his corner.

  Steve was dizzy and felt a tooth loose in his mouth. He spit it out, the bloody incisor landing on the floor. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

  Logan grunted. “Serves you right, McCord, for mouthing off.” He paused, took a step back. “Make it easy on yourself – tell us and you can go back to doing whatever you CIA types do. How’s that sound?”

  “Kiss my ass, Logan.”

  “You’re going to regret that.” He pulled off the blood-stained gloves and threw them in a trash container. “I’ll let Saunders take a crack at you.”

  “I’m not talking, no matter what you do.”

  A sinister grin spread on Logan’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

  Logan stepped aside and Saunders rolled a small table in front of Steve.

  Grabbing a metal briefcase from the floor, Saunders set it on the table. Without saying a word, the man open
ed the case and turned it so Steve could see the inside. Steve’s heart sank when he saw the contents.

  Neatly arranged in the case were rows of what appeared to be very sharp dental instruments. Among the dentist tools were chisels, picks, drills, surgical scissors and a heavy-duty forceps. The spotless, stainless-steel tools gleamed from the overhead light.

  “You’re such a tough guy,” Logan said, “that we’re going to skip the water boarding. We’re going right to the fun stuff.”

  Silently, Saunders picked up the forceps. A wicked smile crossed his face.

  11 Days to Zero Hour

  Aboard Air Force One

  Flying at 41,000 feet over central Kansas

  President Taylor leaned back in the leather seat and stared out the plane’s windows. The scene outside was turbulent – an angry gray sky was illuminated by flashes of lightning, with storm clouds swirling below.

  In the conference room with him were General Corvan and Treasury Secretary Mike Longstreet. Longstreet was going through a monotonous Power Point presentation regarding the country’s massive debt problem. Taylor was only half-listening. He had heard the grim predictions many times before and was frankly sick of them. Longstreet was not part of BlackSnow, another reason the president tended to brush him off.

  Taylor turned back to the secretary, held up a hand. “Okay, Mike. That’ll be enough for today.”

  “But, Mr. President,” Longstreet said, “we have a deadline coming up. If we don’t–”

  Taylor slapped a hand on the table. “I said enough. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” The secretary turned off the projector and shuffled his reports into a stack. Standing up, Longstreet nodded to both men and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Taylor leaned forward in his seat and said, “That man is exhausting. After the election, he’s gone.”

  Corvan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, General, bring me up to date on BlackSnow.”

  “Things are going exactly as planned, Mr. President. The Chinese consulate assignment went like clockwork.”

  “I agree. Better than planned, in my opinion. The Chinese guards shot innocent civilians. Americans are really fired up.”

  “Yes, sir. The demonstrations are spreading everywhere.”

  “Good. Now let’s go over the other preparations.”

  Corvan pulled a sheaf of paper from inside his uniform jacket and slid it across the table. “The Tridents are getting into position,” he said. “This shows you where they are right now.”

  The president scanned the sheet, noted the location of the submarine fleet. “Excellent. So everything is coming together.”

  Corvan rubbed his jaw. “Yes, sir. We do have a couple of other issues, but I’m dealing with them.”

  Taylor’s hands formed into fists. “Problems, General? I don’t want anything to interfere with this operation. We’re too close now for anything to go wrong. Tell me, God damn it.”

  “Cody Preston has been working on this, sir. I’d like for him to go through it.”

  “Okay, get him in here.”

  The general picked up the phone on the table and spoke for a moment.

  A minute later Cody Preston walked in the room, closed the door behind him and sat down. The NSA director was a tall, lean man with a large, hooked nose and sunken eyes. He had been director of the National Security Agency for three years.

  “We were just discussing the issues you’ve been working on,” Corvan said to Preston. “Why don’t you bring us up to date?”

  “Of course,” Preston said, placing his hands flat on the table. “Mr. President, we recently learned that a Central Intelligence agent by the name of McCord has been out in LA, sniffing around the assassination’s location.”

  Taylor’s face flushed red. “What? What the hell does the CIA have to do with this?”

  “Apparently, sir, this agent was conducting an independent inquiry. He reported back to his boss at Langley that there was possible collusion between the Secret Service and the assassin.”

  “How in the hell did he come up with that? Our security on this has been air-tight.”

  “Don’t know, sir. I dug into his personal file – he’s a pretty smart guy. Maybe he just figured it out on his own.”

  Taylor bolted out of his seat and glared down at Preston. “So what the hell are you doing about it? If this shit gets out, it’ll jeopardize our whole operation!”

  The NSA director pushed his chair back a bit. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I have it under control.”

  “How?”

  “Two of my men picked him up yesterday and put him in custody. His boss has also been detained.”

  The president gave him a withering stare. “So they’re under wraps?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. They’re in a secure location. We’re questioning McCord now, using aggressive interrogation techniques –”

  Taylor held up a hand. “I don’t need to know the details.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re trying to ascertain if he told anyone else beside his boss.”

  “And?”

  “Too soon to tell. We’re still working on him.”

  “Get to the bottom of this, Preston. And whatever you do, don’t release those two.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “There’s one other issue,” Corvan interjected.

  Taylor slumped onto his seat, a grim expression on his face. “Well?”

  Preston folded his hands in a steeple. “A few days ago, we picked up a coded transmission from our State Department to Beijing, China. A secret call was made. The call was encrypted, but one of our NSA wiretaps picked it up and we were able to decipher parts of it.”

  “What the hell?” Taylor exclaimed. “Who was it at State?”

  “We don’t know, yet,” Preston replied. “We’re still working on that.”

  The president scowled at him. “Find out. Now! We can’t have that kind of shit going on. We’re too close now.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Taylor shook his head slowly. “Any more bad news?”

  Corvan leaned forward in his seat. “No, sir. That’s all of it.”

  “Okay, gentlemen, that’ll be all. We’ll review this again tomorrow, when we’re back in Washington.”

  ***

  U.S. Senate Chamber

  Washington, D.C.

  Senator Megan Lewis huddled with two other Republican senators, devising a strategy to block the upcoming bill. The Democrats were trying to ram through another massive stimulus package, regardless of the cost. She was determined to stop them.

  The three stood at one side of the Senate well, while other small groups of lawmakers talked in clusters around the room. The hum of their muffled but urgent conversations filled the chamber.

  Just then Megan’s aide Lisa came up to her and handed her a note. The senator read it, glanced at her watch. The vote was in two hours, time enough for her to take care of this.

  Excusing herself from the other two senators, she followed her aide out of the chamber. They took the private underground subway that connected the U.S. Capitol to the Hart Senate Office Building. A few minutes later they were in the senator’s office.

  Sitting behind her desk, Lewis glared up at the young assistant, who remained standing. Lisa was a thin, plain-looking young woman with a sallow complexion. She always wore her hair in a bun and favored all-black suits.

  “This better be good, Lisa. I’ve got an important vote coming up. Your note said something urgent came up?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lisa replied primly. “You wanted me to notify you if something broke on the Wilson matter.”

  Megan’s interest picked up immediately. “Yes. Tell me.”

  “One of our sources at the Justice Department just called,” Lisa said. Over the years, Megan had developed an extensive network of ‘friends’ at the various government agencies, and they gave her a heads-up on issues of interest to her. Megan re
ciprocated, making her a powerful force to deal with in Washington circles.

  The senator lowered her voice. “No need to mention who. The walls have ears. Just tell me what they said.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The young woman scanned her notes, then looked back at the senator.

  “Something strange is happening at Central Intelligence,” Lisa continued. “The National Security Agency has detained two agents from the CIA. They were served with FISA warrants.”

  Megan’s jaw dropped. “Those are used to fight terrorism. What the hell is going on?”

  Lisa shook her head. “Our source said the details are murky. He only found out because his girlfriend works at Langley. Anyway, it’s become a real turf war.”

  Megan nodded. “I can imagine.”

  “There’s more, Senator. It appears the whole thing started when a CIA operative investigated the president’s assassination.”

  “What’s the agent’s name?”

  “Steve McCord.”

  Megan bolted off her seat. “Damn. I know him. He’s the ex-husband of a friend of mine. Where are they holding him?”

  Lisa shook her head. “Unknown. He could be anywhere. There are NSA rendition centers all around the world.”

  The senator slumped back in her seat, her mind racing. “Maybe Erica’s right,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe there is a conspiracy.”

  Lisa stepped forward, as if straining to hear. “What was that, ma’am?”

  Meagan glanced up. “Nothing.”

  She noted the time on the wall clock. “I’ve got to go back to the chamber. But I want you to keep working on this. Call our source at the Pentagon. See if he’s heard anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The senator stood up and strode out of the office. As she walked down the corridor, she tried to focus on the upcoming vote. But her thoughts kept coming back to the NSA action. Something bad was happening, that was for sure. She just hoped she could use the situation, whatever it was, to her advantage. Maybe, just maybe, she could still further her presidential ambitions.

  ***