by J D Lasica
MAXIM VOLKOV EXPOSED
Killed parents before becoming Chairman Incognito
That startled him. Were Kaden Baker and her people behind this? The Guardians needed to finish the job!
But first things first. He gave the voice command to summon his virtual assistant. “Liv, get me the network chiefs.”
“Chairman.” Liv’s voice seemed rattled. “The networks just passed along word about the video. They’ve been hacked. They can’t take it down.”
He hung up and watched the rest of the video. The ramblings of the drunken, spiteful, stupid boy he’d once been. He had little in common with this Maxim Volkov. It was true—a stroke of good luck had made him the sole heir of the Volkov fortune. But he had leveraged those hundreds of millions into billions with the help of key advisors.
He stood and tried to calm himself. His identity had been compromised. The mythic persona of intrigue, fear, and respect he’d spent nearly two decades cultivating—destroyed. He would need to start over with a new identity. Someone will pay with their life!
His eyes found the bottom of the TV screen. A new message appeared beneath a closeup of his face:
WAR CRIMINAL — REWARD OFFERED
10 million points for Incognito’s arrest or execution
No, no, no! He returned to his desk and summoned Lucid. “Lucid, are you seeing this?”
“Yes, Chairman. It’s on nearly every screen.”
“Prepare my jet. I’ll be leaving tonight.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask where—”
He hung up. He needed to think. He needed to keep things in perspective. Big picture. He could fly to Belarus. Or he could stay with a member of the Compact. He needed to buy a few days. The Fantasy Strain was about to change the course of history. The moment the strain hits a major drinking water supply, it would all be over. The contagion would spread exponentially and there would be no way to stop it.
The Transition is nearly here. Then the Reset and the Seven Spheres. The Fantasy Strain will set the wheels into motion.
The Fantasy Strain! He’d almost forgotten about the Seaduction’s sailaway at six p.m. He’d instructed members of the crew to don their smartglasses for a special parting visual. He turned off the network channels and switched to the live feeds of the Seaduction’s departure taken from the seaward-facing cameras at the Plant next to the Lab at the southeast corner of the island.
He switched to the video feed and saw—smoke.
Impossible! The Seaduction is on fire!
After taking out the Seaduction, Viper steered his Boston Whaler farther west along the island’s south bank and found a suitable hiding spot in a thicket of brambles along a craggy stretch of shoreline. He tied the boat securely then went below to retrieve the boxes of C4 for his final mission here.
He carefully carried the bricks to shore two at a time and laid them above the waterline. He’d use eight in all—eight heavy bricks of C4 plastic bonded explosives in two-kilogram butter boxes. That and his HK416 should do the trick.
From the inside intelligence Annika was feeding him, there were two remaining targets on this side of the island. The Plant, or factory. And the Lab. Four bricks of C4 per building should do the trick. He was still waiting to hear when to move into position to try to free Kaden, Nico, and the others. But he had to move fast.
He placed the detonator and wiring in the outside pocket of his military satchel and stacked the butter boxes containing the C4 atop one another, then zipped it closed. He heaved it over his shoulder and set off.
He’d begin by destroying the Plant.
Bailey woke up after a short nap on the polished bamboo floor of the Dance Studio, where she was the lone captive. But something seemed off. The pacing she’d heard from the guardsmen creaking along the boarded walkway out front was replaced by an eerie quiet. She peeked out the front window and saw the guards were gone.
This is my chance.
She checked the front door. Locked. The back entrance was sealed off, the side windows locked and bolted. The front window seemed her best bet, though it was locked, too. She looked around. Tried to pick up the pommel horse but got it only a couple of inches off the floor. There! She went to the corner and dragged over a short mauve stretch ladder the dancers used for flexibility. She could lift it okay, so she got a running start and used it like a battering ram, smashing the window to pieces and sending glass flying over the walkway. She brought a chair over and stepped through the window, careful to avoid shards.
Free again, though maybe not for long. Her fingers went reflexively to the dog collar around her neck. She held the tip of it and was shocked to see it no longer glowed red. It didn’t glow any color at all.
She looked up and down this isolated stretch of Immersion Bay and didn’t see anyone. But another thing surprised her. One of the guards’ smart rifles was leaning against the facade of the studio. She had seen this movie before.
For months, the guards at Immersion Bay had played mind games with their captives, taunting them by leaving their assault rifles right out in the open, propped up against the outside of the barracks and Dining Hall. Go ahead. Why don’t you try to escape? they’d jeer. Once, one of the girls did just that, turning the rifle on two guards, only to discover it wouldn’t fire. They roughed her up and sent her off to Camp Defiance.
Bailey grabbed it with a show of what-have-I-got-to-lose defiance. She carried it back to the Commons, where dozens of girls had gathered. She moved through the groups of girls to see what the buzz was all about and realized their dog collars had stopped working. She reached up to the back of her neck and tore it off with a vicious yank.
To celebrate, she pointed the smart rifle at the leaderboard above the main stage and scared herself half to death when it went off. She let off an automatic burst, riddling the electronic board with a volley that sent smoke spiraling up to the dome.
When she realized she’d created a small panic among the girls in the Commons, she set the rifle down and called out, “Sorry, everyone, my bad.”
The girls emerged from their hiding spots and came over to witness what seemed to be another part of the change in power dynamics on the island.
Ling, her estranged best friend, came up to her. “How’d you do that?” She bent down, picked up the rifle, tried to fire it at the smoldering leaderboard. Nothing happened.
The rest of the girls gathered around. Katarina, twenty or thirty others, even Piper was here.
“You know what this means?” Piper said to the group. “It’s like that legend of King Arthur and the Sword in the Stone. Only one person could unlock the weapon’s power—Bailey Finnerty.”
“I’m no legend,” Bailey said.
“I don’t mean you have special magic.” Piper picked up the weapon and tried to fire it. “I mean you can kick some serious ass with this thing!”
A black SUV rumbled into the courtyard and stopped. The side opened and an odd-looking man stepped out. Was it Lucid? She’d heard rumors about Incognito’s right-hand man.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the man raised his voice. “You know the rule against large gatherings. Now disperse or I’ll send you all to Camp Defiance! Where are the guards?” He looked around but spotted none.
Bailey picked up the rifle and walked deliberately toward Lucid. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. She stopped three feet away and lowered her weapon to his chest. “Lucid, I presume. Get back into the SUV. We’re going to Samana Village to find my dad.” Rachel had let it slip that Bo and Kaden were being held in a secure location there.
Lucid smiled smugly. “I’lll do no such thing.”
Bailey pointed the assault rifle straight up and fired three shots. “I won’t ask again. Piper, Katarina—and Ling, you can come, too.”
Bailey had heard about Samana Village, a resort town visited daily by thousands of American tourists, but she had never come close to visiting. Except for the shuttle buses to the Fantasy Theater, the western half of the island
had always been off-limits to the girls—until now.
Lucid and Bailey entered the SUV. Piper, Katarina, and Ling piled in after them.
Sayeed turned to Annika. “I just realized Samana Cay’s AI records every conversation that takes place in their facilities. Fantasy Theater. The Bliss Lounge. The Lab. There’s a record of everything.”
Annika stepped over. “Really? Let me look at that.” She studied the interface on his screen for a minute. “So, it looks like not only are the conversations recorded, they’re transcribed.”
Sayeed squinted at the text files at the bottom of each “session” the AI records. “Wait. Isn’t that a universal search option?”
“You’re right!” Annika’s voice got excited. She raced back to her desk and scribbled down terms she’d come across in some of her findings. Immersion Bay. Camp Defiance. Project Ezekiel.
She dashed back to Sayeed’s station. “Try this one. Exact matches for ‘Fantasy Strain.’”
Sayeed entered the term. Three results popped up on screen. They began scanning through each video to get to the exact spot where it was mentioned.
Kaden, Bo, and Nico charged the six guards, who still seemed flummoxed that their smart rifles wouldn’t fire. Kaden was the first to reach two of the guards who’d been on one knee.
The first one had four inches and sixty pounds on her, plus two tattoos of naked girls on his neck. Tat Man. The second one had a face like an anaconda—flat nose, powerful jawline, not much happening behind the beady eyes. Snake Man.
Tat Man swung his rifle butt up and aimed at her right temple. She blocked it away with her right arm before grabbing it on the carry-through and bringing it down hard enough to knock his beret off. Snake Man had a similar idea, holding his SCAR assault rifle by the barrel and bringing it down like a hammer. A swift side step averted disaster.
She glanced to her left and saw Bo and Nico mixing it up with the four other guards. Bo had a more traditional boxer’s stance, punching and jabbing, while Nico resorted to moves they’d worked on in the ring. Both stood dangerously close to the edge of the hundred-foot precipice.
Tat Man flung his SCAR to the ground, perhaps figuring the rifle was busted. He unclipped the nylon sheath on his belt and flashed what looked like a Snake Eye tactical combat knife with a gold steel blade—she’d almost bought one of these babies for a past op. Used properly, it could slice straight through to deep muscle tissue, or the serrated top could tear open an opponent’s neck with a sudden upward motion. But Tat Man was wielding it completely wrong, tucking his thumb beneath his index finger like he was about to play a damn game of Mumblety-peg.
She gave Snake Man a hard side kick to the right kidney so she could focus on this other fool. Tat Man could get lucky with a wild jab of his knife. She figured she had two seconds tops, so she surprised him with a lightning-fast first strike: a close-range push kick to the chest, true as a straight punch, that caught him off guard and knocked the wind out of him. She followed that a second later with a roundhouse kick to his upper left torso with her right shin, well away from the knife, powering the blow with her pent-up rage. The first blow staggered him backward and the second strike knocked him off balance.
Yes, girls can kick.
He was as big and stubborn as a mule and he came charging at her. She had no choice but to dive for the SCAR and hope the keypad would validate her fingerprint in less than a second. It did. She lay on her back and got off three quick rounds to Tat Man’s chest as he fell, knife in hand, on top of her with a final expression of shock and astonishment.
It was her third kill today. Maybe not her last.
Her eyes moved from the dead body to the crowd just beyond. A sea of bystanders stood there with their smartphones recording the real-life action sequence.
“Get the hell out of here!” Kaden fired her weapon into the air. The bystanders screamed and began to scatter. Including moms with traumatized two-year-olds.
Don’t want these civilians in the line of fire.
Snake Man had been about to charge her, but the SCAR changed his mind. He beat a quick retreat toward the SWAT-like black police van that was now pulling up twenty yards away. Five, six men poured from the back. From both sides of the vehicle, they fired their old-fashioned handguns. Glocks, probably. She heard the thwack of impacting bullets and realized it was the sound of rounds hitting the now-abandoned television cameras.
Kaden was hoping she wouldn’t have to do this, but these guys couldn’t take a hint. She moved into a firing position and strafed the police van. She zeroed the SCAR in an unsupported position and marveled at how insanely accurate it was.
A moment later, a guard emerged from the van’s rear, preparing to toss an M84 flashbang at her. But she saw he was making a major miscalculation. A flashbang is different from an ordinary fragmentation grenade. He tried to be cute and cook off one second, two seconds, but by then it exploded in his hand. He’ll lose two or three fingers minimum.
She scrambled to her feet, keeping low. She saw Nico had knocked the first guard unconscious. Nico lunged and grabbed the spare SCAR on the ground. The second guard pulled out his spare firearm but Nico was faster and wasted him with a good, long burst. Then he turned to the police van and sprayed it with half his magazine.
She turned back and saw Bo was holding his own right there at the edge of the cliff. She ran toward him, ready to toss him a SCAR when she spotted it. A red laser beam zeroing on Bo’s chest. The next seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.
She yelled, “Get down!” She dove to her right to knock Bo out of the line of fire. Saw the shooter take aim from the left corner of her eye. Stayed on her feet as Bo fell backward onto the big pile of rope that fed the rope line. Saw Bo’s opponent smile, grab her shoulders, and shove her backward.
She plunged over the cliffside.
59
Samana Cay
Annika and Sayeed could barely believe what they’d uncovered. They originally zeroed in on the trove of compromising material about the Chairman. His real name. His confession about killing his parents. His fantasy simulation with a young woman.
But they keep digging, based on that drone video and the Ezekiel file summary that Kaden had sent them earlier. And now they unearthed the truth about Project Ezekiel—its massive scope and ghastly objective.
Annika called Sayeed over to her station at B Collective. “I think it’s ready.”
Sayeed looked pale. “I’m still shaking.”
She nodded. “Before we send this video out to the world, we need to try to stop Volkov. Let’s start with Samana Cay’s TV stations. We exposed Volkov’s identity and the fact he killed his parents. Now everyone needs to hear the details of what they’re planning to do with the Fantasy Strain. ”
Annika took the new video footage, enhanced the audio, and added subtitles so there would be no mistaking what was being discussed. But she was proudest of her next hack.
She managed to sub out Volkov’s avatar during his video chat with Bashir about the Fantasy Strain. Instead, the split screen now showed footage of Volkov himself speaking while seated at his computer—a recording he didn’t know was taking place. His COO, Lucid, kept a private folder with recordings of everything the Chairman said and did in his executive suite. It wasn’t pretty, but it was Volkov in the flesh talking in his own voice.
The conversation took place nine days ago. Annika and Sayeed watched as the video went out over Samana Cay’s airwaves:
Incognito: “How soon will the Fantasy Strain be ready?”
Bashir: “We’ll have the results of the initial clinical trials in a few days. If all goes well, we’ll be ready to scale up production.”
Incognito: “Excellent news.”
Bashir: “I want there to be no mistake. This is germ warfare. A worldwide pandemic targeting a subset of one gender. This strain has the potential of killing every woman and girl in the United States, United Kingdom, and Western Europe. Once it’s unleashed, half a billio
n women and girls may die.”
Incognito: “An unfortunate but necessary sacrifice to bring the West to its knees. If you have any objections to Project Ezekiel, state them now.”
Bashir: “You know I am loyal to you, Chairman. I have no love of Western whores. I am ready to do what is necessary.”
Annika and Sayeed looked at each other, somber and angry. Sayeed lowered his head. “They’re barbarians.”
“They’re freaks,” Annika said. “Let’s get this footage to the NSA and CIA.”
Volkov howled and raged at the sinking of the Seaduction. And this latest video feed that revealed their plans—another setback! But it only made him more determined to charge ahead with Phase Two of Project Ezekiel.
He pressed the one button on his command console he’d never pressed before. It had taken him and his visual arts department months to program this. He grabbed the pair of smartglasses sitting on the corner of his desk and slipped them on. He peered out the window.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse dominated the Western sky. Four forbidding figures—Conquest, War, Famine, and Death—rode their enormous white, red, black, and pale horses, as if performing a dance of death for mankind.
Thousands of people would see it—anyone on the island or at sea with smartglasses. Would it stir awe and rapture? Panic and mayhem? It did not matter.
It marked the beginning of the Transition.
He moved closer to the window to admire the spectacle. The Four Horsemen—designed true to the last detail—come at last to deliver a fearsome justice, signaling that the End of Days was nigh. He’d memorized the passages from the Book of Revelation long ago:
Now I watched when the Lamb opened one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures say with a voice like thunder, “Come!” And I looked, and behold, a white horse! And its rider had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he came out conquering, and to conquer. When he opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!” And out came another horse, bright red. Its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that people should slay one another, and he was given a great sword. When he opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” And I looked, and behold, a black horse! And its rider had a pair of scales in his hand.