by Jim Wurst
There was an uncomfortable silence. “Team Cranston” was out gunning “Team McDowell” while virtually ignoring the fact that McDowell was sitting in front of them. Everyone also notices that Lilly wasn’t defending herself.
More out of boredom with a too-easy fight than pity for the victim, Maggie changed the subject.
“Let’s try a few debate questions: ‘Dr. McDowell. There is a school of thought the world is approaching a second tipping point. Do you agree and if so, can we counter it?’”
“There is ample evidence that a large section of the Smith Glacier in Antarctica is in danger of sliding off the shelf as did the Greenland ice sheet. The deniers were wrong then, and they are wrong now. We failed to prepare for the first one, and we are just now recovering from that mistake. The human race cannot afford another such mistake, and we cannot rely on the incumbent party to address it properly.”
“Good, sharp and to the point. And reminds everyone the Doctrinists screwed it up royally the first time. ‘Incumbent party’ has tested well reminds people that Hayden is a continuation of Ailes.” And then without missing a beat, “Dr. McDowell. What about the Iranian troop movements are they simple self-defense or a provocation?”
This startled the logical professor. “I thought we were talking about climate issues.”
There are groans around the room, Cranston didn’t care that everyone knew that his groan was the loudest.
Maggie dropped her words like a bullet. “You must think on your feet. These are not polite people. They will not play by anything you think of as rules.”
“Never mind this now,” Cranston interrupted, desperately searching for a topic on which Lilly could focus, “We need to talk about the Chinese Device. You had your briefing? So what do you think?”
“There’s really not enough data here. They couched the briefing in equivocations and admittedly unsubstantiated theories…”
“What do you think politically? If word gets out during the campaign and it will if it suits Ailes’ purposes how will that affect people’s views of us? Hayden will play it against us. Do we have a chance of swatting it back?”
“Again, it depends on what it is.”
“We may never know what it is. What’s important is what people think it is.”
“Then they will think it’s a weapon. It doesn’t matter what it is or what Hayden and Ailes say it is, the public will always react in fear first. They will see a weapon and it will hurt us.”
At least she understands that much, Cranston struggled not to say out loud. Before anyone could say anything else, a three-note chime sounded. Everyone looked around to see where it was coming from.
“That’s me,” Sean said, “Those hackers are becoming more aggressive. I wanted some kind of early warning system. I noticed that before a hack, a distinct pulse precedes it. The chime sounds when it detects a pulse.” He picked up the console and with a few strokes the image of Lilly disappeared from the screen and replaced by an ordinary transmission like a soap opera.
Mei shrugged. “So, what’s the big deal?”
For once, Sean didn’t have a suitable answer. “Nothing. It’s what’s supposed to be on. Makes little sense, the pulse was there.” The show ran as he checked his data. Someone’s missing brother was actually the son of the father of someone and then: “Sid.”
In a voice not belonging to the actor and completely out of context, the word “Sid” popped out of his mouth. A moment later, it happened again with a different actor. Suddenly the room was interested in the soap opera.
“Did he just say ‘Sid’?” George Sr. asked.
His son answered. “That’s what it sounded like to me. Try a different station.”
Sean complied and pulled up O’Brien’s show.
“Must you,” Maggie muttered.
“It was easy.” Sean tried to make it sound like an apology, but his twitchy anticipation gave the game away.
This was the self-proclaimed “America’s Network” and was too easy to find. It was unofficially the default setting for all channels. The government didn’t mandate that, of course, that would violate the First Amendment. It was just decided by the market that the default channel should have the most traffic. And coincidentally...
O’Brien was the star: five minutes at the top of the hour through most of the afternoon and a full hour every evening. He was, of course, the voice of the average American. “General Hayden’s bravery under fire is so self-evident that even the most – SID – hater should get down on his knees and thank the Doctrinists for – SID – protecting the homeland…”
“This is live, isn’t it?” Cranston asked.
“Yes, he’s the only one allowed to broadcast live,” Maggie answered.
“They haven’t noticed?”
“Maybe no one in the studio is listening. After all these years, O’Brien must be background noise to them.”
“Cranston and his foreign partner – SID – will not defend us – SID –.” O’Brien became visibly distracted. “Apparently, we’re having some audio issues. We’re going to run a recording of General Hayden’s speech yesterday – SID – to the Christian Council of Washington.” His nostrils flared. “Now.”
The picture was now of Hayden giving a speech, but with no audio. Every few seconds, the same voice said “SID” as the letters “S-I-D” flashed over Hayden’s face.
“I’d be enjoying this if it wasn’t so scary,” Mei said.
Sean was enjoying this. “This is the longest transmission yet. Unless they’ve developed extraordinary cloaking, then tracking them should be possible.” But just then the screen went black. Everyone looked at Sean.
“It wasn’t me. I wanted it to continue. The studio pulled its own plug.”
“And that was the hackers?” asked George Sr.
“Absolutely.”
George Sr., whose job it was to know the past, said, “Sid? Is that supposed to mean something?”
Maggie, whose job it was to anticipate the future, answered, “It does now.”
CHAPTER 16
It had been a week since Cranston’s first briefing about the mystery in China. Every day his security briefing had nothing new. When asked, the robotic reply was, “Nothing today, sir.” Finally, Rogers concluded his briefing, “Two officials will brief you this afternoon at 1300 to give you an update on the Chinese Device.”
“Chinese Device’? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“That’s what everyone is calling it.”
“Everyone?” He wanted Rogers to think he had let something slip. “Whose everyone?”
“My superiors,” he said, hoping he had caught himself.
“Oh, thanks. Looking forward to it.”
CHAPTER 17
The funeral for a general is always a solemn affair. Honor guard, a recorded 21-gun salute. But for anyone paying attention and few were, they would have noted an odd feature of this occasion. He was not being buried in Arlington as would be normal for a four-star Air Force general. Instead, his final resting place was the military section of a small cemetery within view of the Air Force Academy. Officially, it was his request. There was also no eulogy. Also, officially at his request. The final oddity was the small number of mourners, mostly elderly men. Veterans, but only one of them was in uniform: an Air Force general. There were also two younger men, both in their later 30s, also in uniform. Both were captains: Isaac “Ike” McClellan and Peter Reilly.
The funeral ended. Most of the mourners shook Ike’s hand, acknowledged Peter and moved on with barely a word. The captains were walking away when one of the last mourners caught up with them.
“Captain McClellan, my name is Martin Guerre, I was your father’s lawyer. Do you remember me?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Didn’t think you would, it’s been at least
ten years. I’m very sorry about your father, he was a fine man.”
“Thank you.”
“As you probably know, the reading of the will is on Thursday, but your father left me some very specific instructions.” With that, he reached into his pocket and took out a small, sealed plastic box. It was locked and sealed shut. “His instructions were that I personally hand this to you upon his death, regardless of his will or the circumstances of his death.”
“The circumstances of his death?”
“I didn’t fully understand that either, but those were his words. The most important thing for him was that you were to get this as soon as possible.”
Ike looked at the box warily, but then realized that an old man with something in his out-stretched hand was not normal. So he took. “Why didn’t he give it to be personally? I saw him less than one month ago.”
“I don’t know, and even if I did, I would not be at liberty to say. I represent his interests. Your father’s instructions were quite specific. Here’s the key.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See you on Thursday, then?”
“Umm, oh, yes, thank you.”
Guerre left with a nod to the two captains, even though he had barely acknowledged Peter standing next to Ike. Peter mirrored the attitude by not moving or speaking the entire time Guerre was in front of them.
“Well?” Ike asked his friend.
“Well, what? Are you going to open it?”
Ike studied the box and key, looked up and noticed the lone remaining mourner. The general was walking towards them. He pocketed his new possessions.
“I think opening it in private is a better idea.”
As the superior officer approached, the captains snapped to attention. The general returned their salutes rather casually and offered them his hand. The pair noticed that the general like themselves had gold Christian crosses on their lapels.
“Captains. At ease, please, not here, not today. I’m General Adams. I had the honor of serving with your father. Captain McClellan, I am very sorry about your father. He was a fine Christian patriot, and he deserved more respect from his country.” Looking back at the lonely graveside, he said, “Look at that, when was the last time a four-star general did not receive a live 21-gun salute at his funeral? Never mind the President, did the Secretary of Defense at least write you a condolence letter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A formality, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The president is a fine man, but even he has had to knuckle under to some of these people. He has to give them something. They revile your father, even in death.”
“Frankly, General, I don’t really care.”
The general smiled a tight, wintry smile. “Nor should you. You come from the finest stock this nation has ever produced. Humble yourself to no one but God.”
“I try, sir, that is what Father always said.”
“He was always right, always.” He couldn’t help but glance at the pocket containing the box. “This is a time of mourning and celebration. Your father is at this hour with the Lord. There will be a day soon, I am sure, when I will see you both of you again. God speed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Adams turned and left, not glancing back at the grave.
CHAPTER 18
Katsina endured. Once an important city of the Sahel, it was now trying to beat back the Sahara. Like slow motion lava, the sands of the great desert marched south, insatiable, growing stronger with every year of increased heat, stronger winds and less rain. Ripping out the forests to the south and the ravenous Sahara to the north, the fragile strip of green around Katsina finally disappeared.
But the city didn’t. It wasn’t the vibrant trade hub when Timbuktu was one of the great cities of Africa, but the people dug their roots deep down, past the sand, past the vanished water table, past whatever there was down there and grabbed on. There was nothing there except rock that they could cling to. It anchored them. That was all they asked for.
The population had dropped by half over three decades, so housing was the only thing Katsina had in abundance. Like most cities in similar situations, they abandoned the neighborhoods first, while the population continually contracted until they were in a tight core that was safer and offered a better chance at reaching what services remained.
Nearly all efforts had gone into preservation, not trying to build anything new unless they were more energy efficient housing to keep people from baking to death. The most obvious exception was a distinctly un-African building. Built at the northern edge of the city as if it was daring the Sahara to come and get it.
UN Biogeological Station A4. It was an inter-locking series of buildings: greenhouses, low towers with solar panels, and geodesic domes housing plants for extracting water and sheltering humans. Most sections covered with the best “smart” glass available, solar panels, condensation catchments, and plain old windows. They automatically adjusted during the waxing and waning of the sun so that by high noon, they were nearly opaque. They were strong enough to withstand the sandblasting of the most murderous Sahara storms.
In one greenhouse, Dr. Theo van Bissem was examining small plants just barely taller than shoots. They were in trays at waist levels, but Theo was so tall that he still had to stoop and swat to get a decent look at the little green things. Thin and in his 30s, he was clean shaved with a short haircut. Like most people in this line of work, short hair was less about style and more about reducing the parts of the body that could trap sand. He alternated his attention between the plants themselves and images on his hand-held computer. He wasn’t smiling, but then again, he never did. He barely looked up when Robert Nyong entered the chambers. Theo heard the click of the hydraulic door he knew whom he had called so he didn’t bother looking up.
“Weather?”
“Not today, not the next three days, maybe next week. The station isn’t optimistic,” Robert said, checking his computer.
“Can they hold out that long?”
“Some will but the majority are already weak. Theo, I don’t think the station will survive.” The studious Nigerian, although ten years younger than the boss, used Theo’s first name freely. Formality was a waste of time. So long as everyone did their jobs, the boss would have answered to “hey, you.”
“Perhaps. I suspect we can probably figure out what killed them. Did they bury the dead?”
“No, burnt, the high-density incinerator, Raj didn’t want contagions to escape if that is really what caused the die out.” Theo flashed a sideways eye that meant Robert better follow with the right next sentence. “Samples for the roots, stem and leaves of each preserved and quarantined.” Theo looked back down, that was the right sentence. “Of course, the burning is another reason to get out there as soon as possible. The burning chewed through too much power. They’re not regenerating fast enough.”
Holding up one of the tentative plants, Theo said, “These are the best we’ve got. I would have preferred them to be older, but they’re exhibiting several positive resistance strains. I’m going to go out with the replacement crew. I want to see for myself.”
“Right. But isn’t that EuroNet crew coming next week?”
“Ten days. I’ll be back by then,” he said as he gently replaced the plant and ever so gently touched the tiny field of rich soil. “Unless I stay there.”
CHAPTER 19
The scene could not have been more formal than if it were an 18th century oil painting. Senator Cranston was sitting at his desk with Sean standing behind him to the boss’ right. Standing in front of the desk were three very proper gentlemen one in an army uniform and the other two in perfect suits with Nancy standing back as an assistant should. Army General Claussen and Secret Service Deputy Director Steinberg and Rogers. With all that firepower, Rogers was clearly unnecessary. I
wonder if they think I don’t know he’s here to read my body language, Cranston thought. At the moment, there was no body language to read. They all stood frozen. The general hated it, but he was in the office of a US senator, so he had no choice but to wait.
“Gentlemen, please sit,” Cranston said after a too-deliberate pause. “Thank you, Nancy.” She left silently. Steinberg looked back slightly to be sure that was what she was doing. The three sat down as formally as possible, stiff, erect, with their feet planted firmly on the floor as if they were ready to bolt at any moment, something they dearly wished they could do.
Finally, Claussen was as comfortable as he was going to be. “Senator are you ready for the briefing?” said the general.
“Yes, General.”
“All transmission devices off? Have you scanned the office?”
“Yes, sir. I checked everything ten minutes ago,” Sean answered.
“No offense, sir, but this is protocol. Rogers.” The agent responded by taking out a scanner and turning it on. A red light went on. “There’s a transmitter in here.” If the men could have been more uncomfortable, then this did it. “Oh,” Rogers added, “It’s my phone.” He reached into his pocket and the scanner’s light switched from red to green. Sean noted he never actually saw a phone.
The general took a thin flat screen monitor out of his metal attaché case, turned it on, and handed it over to Cranston. Doing so required the general to rise slightly from his chair. Cranston had to get up from his chair and reach over the desk to receive it. Neither Rogers on one side nor Sean on the other made any attempt to help, to touch the computer. Cranston examined the image for a few moments, his first look at the Chinese Device. He placed it on his desk and took out a pair of reading glasses. After a few more moments he said, “So this is the Chinese Device? Obviously, I’m not an expert on any of this, so why don’t you tell me what I’m looking at.” He picked up the monitor and showed it to Sean, who looked at it without touching it.