Table of Contents
Authors’ Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Tidbit # 1: The Odessa Massacre
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Tidbit # 2: Black Magic, Pills, & Babies
Chapter 12
Tidbit # 3: Victory Day in Mariupol
Chapter 13
Tidbit # 4: The Siege of Slavyansk
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Miscellaneous Tidbits
Table of Contents
Mind Power:
America Awakens
By Diane Matousek Schnabel
Copyright 2018
Diane Matousek Schnabel
Kindle Edition
Authors’ Note
If you have not read the first three books in the series, the background information below may be helpful. If you have read them prior to 8/23/2018, please note that book three is no longer a decision book. The only characters who died are Izzy and Gwen; and Bradley has been captured by Vladislav Volkov.
We have respectfully elected to capitalize the words Soldier, Marine, Seaman, Airman, Sniper, Pilot, and Veteran when referring to United States military personnel.
Thank you and we hope you enjoy the novel.
Book one: An electromagnetic pulse, in conjunction with a series of terrorist attacks, brings the United States to the brink. While citizens grapple with the lack of food, water, communications, and rule of law, terrorist cells sweep through neighborhoods, conducting door-to-door executions. Sixteen-year-old Abby Murphy, a rifle competition shooter with aspirations of becoming a Sniper, falls in love with Bradley Webber, a Marine home on leave who has just completed the Scout Sniper Course. Kyle Murphy—the overprotective daddy—evolves from a gun-leery basket case to a heroic leader and adopts two orphans, Nikki and Billy. Ryan Andrews, an Army Ranger, loses his teammates to a series of blue-on-blue attacks perpetrated by traitors within the ranks and is ultimately rescued by Kyle and Bradley.
Book two: Under the guise of humanitarian aid, United World peacekeepers invade the country, bringing with them a global electronic currency, oppressive regulations, and vaccines. The red serum is prescribed for Veterans, law enforcement, and registered gun owners; in reality, it infects patients with Alameda fever, a lethal, manmade pathogen. The blue serum “chips” the population and plants a time bomb that holds the nation hostage: smallpox capsules that can be ruptured via radio frequency waves. Kyle becomes governor of District Six. He fights for the Constitution and against the peacekeepers. Ryan is now the Captain of TEradS West, a new branch of the military known as the Terrorist Eradication Squad. Abby has graduated from the Scout Sniper Course, and she and Bradley have joined the TEradS. When Abby’s team is ambushed, the peacekeepers make it appear as if she’d been stoned to death by terrorists. While Bradley is mourning, he is seduced by Mia Candelori. Under presidential orders, Ryan, Abby, and Bradley conduct a pair of black operations to “render harmless” four traitors: the CIA director, the Homeland Security secretary, the FBI director, and the Vice President. In the process, Bradley severs a man’s hand, dispatches four Russians—including the only son of General Vladislav Volkov—and recovers a hard drive. A pair of weaponized meteors pulverize Shanghai and Beijing. Ryan falls in love with Franny Marion, and they adopt two orphans, Sybil and Izzy.
Book three: An enemy sniper opens fire on Ryan and Franny’s wedding day, missing his target and killing ten-year-old Izzy. Vladislav Volkov, in retaliation for the death of his son and theft of the hard drive, slaughters TEradS members and frames survivors for the murder of POWs and civilians. The international media twist the truth and demands war crimes tribunals. As governor of District Six, Kyle survives several assassination attempts and struggles against foreign agents who are promoting unrest and division. The United States and China endure a long string of natural disasters, blaming each other, until Ryan discovers—from the hard drive—that Russia is using weather warfare (ARkStorms, dust storms, savage hail, freak lightning, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions) to weaken both countries. Blackbird drones are spying on Americans and emitting electromagnetic frequencies capable of altering moods, projecting voices, and driving Soldiers to suicide. Insect drones are infecting people, ravaging crops, and killing off cattle. Several attempts are made on Abby’s life. While she hunts down the would-be assassin, Bradley uses secret technology to sneak into the lair of Vladislav Volkov where he is captured.
Prologue
Inspired by 17
DAY 471
Tuesday, May 31st
i
Langden Air Force Base, Texas
MAJOR RYAN ANDREWS’ bloodshot eyes jockeyed between incoming video feeds on the ops center monitors. A drone strike had set the industrial complex in District Five ablaze; and twenty-four hours later, dense, ghostly smoke continued to billow upward, an indication that fires were still smoldering below.
Teams had been standing by all night, unable to implement search and rescue procedures due to intense heat. Would they recover the body of the infamous Vladislav Volkov? Would they find Bradley?
Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back a glut of emotion.
Guilt and grief.
Anger and anguish.
I won’t give up on Bradley, he thought. He’s not dead until we find his body.
Logic whispered gentle objections.
No one could’ve survived the ferocity of that fire.
You won’t find his body because it was cremated.
Bradley could’ve escaped prior to the missile strike.
“Major Andrews ...”
It was his clerk, peeking in the ops center doorway.
“... Governor Murphy is here to see you, sir.”
Kyle ...? What’s he doing here?
Ryan plodded toward the door and cast a fleeting glance at the monitors.
There’s no upside to disclosing Bradley’s MIA status. If we find him alive, the news will upset the family needlessly. And if he was killed, it’ll only elongate their mourning.
“Hey, Governor, what brings you to Langden?” he asked, extending his hand.
Kyle obliged the gesture, an eyebrow rising in confusion. “Uh, you e-mailed me yesterday, asking me to be here at eleven o’clock.”
“No I didn’t.” Between Grace Murray’s abduction, the East Coast evacuation, Sybil’s injury, and the Webbers’ clandestine operations, he’d been too busy to take a piss yesterday.
“I’ve got it right here,” Kyle said, extracting a cellphone from his pocket.
“You’re using a Chi-phone? Seriously?”
“The tech brain trust got together and created an app to disable the malware. Linkbook, Chatter, Instapix, ReedIt—they’re all back online. Gaggle search engine is back too. It’s amazing; Chi-phones deemed worthless a week ago have become the new status symbol.” Kyle paused while his thumb skimmed the glass screen.
He looks older, Ryan thought, noting the gray hair encroaching at his temples. Deep furrows fanned out from his green eyes, padding his forty-nine years of age, and his athletic build was fading into middle age.
“Here it is,” Kyle said.
Can you be at Langden tomorrow at 1100 hours? I need your help.
The e-mail had originated from Ryan’s TEradS account and even featured his digital signature.
Is this a setup? A prelude to assassination? Like the ploy we wiel
ded against Aldrich Ames?
“Kyle, I didn’t send that e-mail.”
An authoritative voice bellowed, “I did.”
Ryan’s eyes darted toward a stocky man striding into the reception area. Air Force fatigues identified him as Airman First Class Woods, a rank belied by his fiftyish appearance, and Ryan scanned his midsection for a suicide belt.
“I’ll explain inside your office. Governor Murphy, please leave your Chi-phone with the clerk.” Woods ambled toward the door, fiddled with the combination lock, and gained entry.
How the hell does this guy have my combination?
Memories of Rodriguez’s murder resurged. Just a few weeks earlier, a rogue CIA agent, posing as a Military Policeman, had shot Ryan’s predecessor inside this very office.
Oblivious of the danger, Kyle ditched his phone, followed Woods inside, and sank onto a chair. Ryan lingered beside the door, positioning himself for a quick exit.
“I’m Admiral Rone, director of the NSA. I apologize for the charade, but the secrecy of this meeting is vital to national security.”
Rone produced his photo ID. The former Navy SEAL was distinguished-looking in his dress uniform, silver-haired with dark eyebrows. He had a square jaw that was softening with age and brown eyes that burned with intelligence and purpose.
Ryan returned the documents and snapped to attention.
“As you were, Major.” Rone propped his backside against the desk, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his chest. “President Quenten has been battered in the press over a wide range of issues. The EMP, the Chinese invasion, the vaccines, the tidal wave scare—this laundry list of calamities has alienated the President’s supporters. Therefore, he will be withdrawing from this year’s election, leaving American voters with little choice. Vice President Carter Sidney and her uranium scandal? Or Senator Conn and his unseemly ties to The Consortium?”
Prior to the pulse, The Consortium was a global cabal of drug cartels, billionaire bankers, and organized crime syndicates—the most powerful and vicious mafia in U.S. history.
Ryan mumbled, “That’s like choosing between a .223 round to the eye and a .308 to the ear.”
“Exactly!” Rone’s hands swung upward with a ta-da fanfare. “That’s why we need Governor Murphy to run.”
Kyle’s green eyes widened, abject horror swept over his features, and his gaping mouth twitched as if trying to speak. “M-m-me?” he finally managed. “Run for President? That’s crazy!”
“As a former All-Star shortstop, you have national name recognition. And your reputation as governor of District Six has been trending since social media came back online. The entire country is hearing testimonies regarding your leadership: defied gun confiscation, ditched the United World electronic currency, fostered independent food production, and thwarted the Alameda fever vaccines. Do you realize that your district is the only one not infected with smallpox capsules?”
Enjoying Kyle’s dazed disbelief, Ryan said, “Oooh! I can upload a video about how you saved my life at Lake Halona. Wait until the country hears how you rescued an Army Ranger from the enemy!”
“I DON’T WANT to be President.”
Kyle glared at Ryan, issuing a nonverbal cease and desist, a warning he brazenly ignored. “George Washington didn’t want to be President either, and that’s exactly why I’ll be voting for you.”
“This is insane,” Kyle griped. “I have no military experience. No knowledge of foreign policy. I’m not qualified.”
“You have the most important qualifications,” Rone argued. “You’re a patriot who believes in the Constitution and you’re not corrupt. And you’ll have plenty of advisers to help with policy issues.”
“Admiral, I’m flattered, really,” Kyle said, the slight shake of his head foreshadowing the remainder of his sentence. “But I’m not up for this—”
“The hell you aren’t,” Ryan blurted. “Damn it, Murphy, your country needs you! Do it for Abby and Nikki and Billy! And every other child in America!”
Admiral Rone pushed against the desk, returning himself to a standing position. “Kyle, please suspend judgment until you have all the facts. General Quenten will arrive at Langden this afternoon. We’re prepared to conduct a classified briefing regarding the state of our nation. Once you understand what’s really happening, neither you nor your running mate will be able to walk away and allow the country to burn.”
“Running mate,” Kyle repeated. “Who’s that?”
Rone’s head cocked to the side, and a mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll discuss that during the briefing.”
ii
District Five, Illinois
MASTER SERGEANT Bradley Webber pried open his heavy eyelids.
Gramps ...? Abby?
Slowly, he realized that this wasn’t Sugar Lake and that the reunion had merely been a dream.
Directly overhead, the grid of a suspended ceiling drooped. Its cross-T beams were jutting at odd angles; its acoustic tiles were gone; both displaced by the New Madrid earthquake.
Where am I?
Bradley was lying supine on a leather couch that reeked of mildew. His legs dangled over the armrest, and his feet felt tingly and numb. He rubbed at his face, hoping to clear away the drowsiness, only then noticing the curly plastic tube that dead-ended into his right forearm.
An IV?
A spurt of adrenaline coursed through him.
Splintered memories pricked at a haze of confusion.
Volkov ... White powder ... Then what?
Bradley bolted upright, swinging his feet toward the floor, and ripped the intravenous needle from his arm. A rush of light-headedness forced him to slump back against the couch, knocking an IV bag from its perch. The pouch bounded off his shoulder and landed atop his bleeding forearm.
As the dizziness receded, he focused on the printed label: sodium chloride injection USP.
Standard IV solution? Did his captor inject something into it? Alameda fever? Smallpox? A truth serum to prep him for interrogation?
Bradley flicked the pouch aside.
Shit!
He’d been stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers, which meant that Volkov had the invisibility cloak and the billion-dollar, electromagnetic-energy-deadening pajamas.
He could be in this room, right now, watching me.
Bradley searched for a weapon.
Desk. Chair. Moisture-swollen books. Broken ceiling tiles. A thousand piece puzzle, formerly a decorative mirror ...
Better than nothing.
Reaching for a jagged shard, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“Good-afternoon, Master Sergeant.”
Volkov strolled into the room, placed a metal suitcase on the desk, and eased his thick frame onto the chair. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, fit for his age, which Bradley placed around sixty. The general’s buzz-cut hair was virtually colorless, not blond, not white, not gray; and his penetrating pale-blue eyes underscored his ferocious reputation.
“You missed all the excitement. My base of operations was annihilated, mere minutes after our exodus. The rest of my team was not as fortunate.”
Volkov doesn’t have a squad backing him up? Bradley thought.
Just him versus me, one-on-one? Could I be that lucky?
Or is this disinformation?
“In that case, General, I’ll accept your surrender.”
Volkov uncorked a throaty laugh. “Such a sense of humor. I am truly looking forward to our collaboration.”
The word clawed at Bradley, scraping and inflaming nerve endings.
“I’d die before I betray my country!”
“Loyalty. Yet another essential trait for Dmitry’s successor.”
Dmitry? Bradley thought. Is this payback for shooting his son?
The latches on the suitcase thwonked, the hinges creaked, and Volkov retrieved a laptop. He roused it from sleep, and the monitor cast a bluish glow over his gaunt features, making him appear deathly pale;
then the crazy general lifted another item from the metal suitcase. At first, Bradley thought it was a feather-covered pillow. Then he deduced that it was an owl.
“Is that a drone? Like the blackbirds?”
Volkov smirked. His fingers danced over the laptop keyboard.
The bird of prey was a horned owl with mottled gray-brown feathers, earlike tufts, demonic orange eyes, and sharp talons.
The blackbirds were a better choice, Bradley decided. A bunch of owls roosting on electric wires would’ve been a giant red—
“The good Lord always provides.”
The raspy tone, the inflection, the cadence of the voice—they turned Bradley’s spinal fluid to ice.
Gramps?
The voice of his deceased grandfather gave way to whistling; Can’t Help Falling in Love, just like his dream. The old Elvis tune had been Gramps’ favorite taunt regarding his romance with Abby.
“How’re you doing that?” Bradley leapt to his feet, pivoting, searching for a hidden speaker, and his heart slammed to a stop.
Abby was standing in the doorway, flashing that adorable, pissed-off pout.
How did Volkov capture her?
“Abby, run!” Bradley lunged at his adversary, fists clenched, right arm cocked, eyes scanning for the .45 caliber Springfield.
The general jabbed his index finger into the keyboard.
Instantly, Bradley’s muscles locked up.
Arms.
Legs.
Fingers.
Nothing was responding. His body had become a fleshy statue.
The IV, Bradley thought. He must’ve drugged me with a paralysis-inducing depressant.
Anger and fear surged through his core. “I swear, Volkov, if you hurt Abby, I verl deel oaf urski li kapota toe ...”
Bradley halted, shocked by the nonsensical gibberish spilling from his mouth.
“Uvas onof vasitch—”
“Shut up!” Volkov depressed another key, and Bradley’s vocal cords ceased functioning.
Mind Power- America Awakens Page 1
