Emily shifted on her feet contemplating a response. In the end she decided not to reply. Gregg watched as his wife dejectedly placed the gun on the table. She then poured the water and assisted a bound and nude Suhrab to take a drink. When her back was turned, Josh slowly reached out and retrieved his handgun.
“All right,” she began as she put the empty cup down. “Let’s start at the beginning. Hold on a sec,” she said and went to the corner, picked up a bloody rag Gregg had discarded on a car battery, and placed it over the man’s exposed groin.
“There, that’s better,” she started. “Now, I’d like some answers,” she continued as she shimmied backwards up onto the table. “I know you have them. Everyone else around here seems to think I’m too ‘emotionally comprised’ to hear the whole truth, and you seem willing to talk, so let’s have it.”
“Thank you,” he said in a stronger voice.
“For what?”
“The drink and the modesty.”
“Oh,” she answered and glanced at the empty cup and thought to pour another. “You’re welcome,” she continued when she noticed the gun missing. “You better put my gun back, right now!”
“Ah, first off, it’s my weapon,” Josh interjected. “You took it without permission. Secondly, when you have some training and understand how to respect a firearm, and stop referring to its internal parts as a ‘thingy’, I’ll give one to you. Not a second sooner than that.”
“Fine!” she stated emphatically. “Gregg, tomorrow morning I want to be trained. That evening, I expect you to present me with my own gun.”
The two started chuckling until they realized she wasn’t joking and stopped.
“There, now that that’s settled, Suhrab, why did you shoot down my husband’s plane?”
“We were test firing the portable EMP weapon to see if the technology worked,” he responded with a grin in Gregg’s direction. “I’m happy to report, it did.”
“When did you start having people follow me? How did you know I was pregnant? When did you bug my house and hospital room?”
“There are sympathizers everywhere. We put out a request through the mosques as soon as we knew Gregg’s identity and skillset.”
“Were there any other survivors on the plane?”
“Seven.”
“And where are they?”
The prisoner looked up as if he were searching for the answer. “You must understand, we didn’t have the best medical –,”
“Suhrab, where are they?” she asked, cutting him off.
“He pitched them over the cliff. I saw the bodies when he was showing me that there was no possible means of escape,” her husband offered as he stared at the floor.
“Three died on the operating table, two didn’t survive interrogation, and one got blood poisoning. That leaves only your Mr. Chastain. Survival of the fittest, no?”
Gregg started toward him with his fists clenched and forearms bulging. This guy is in dire need of another beating, he thought.
“As you were, honey,” she ordered and then turned to Josh. “I think I said it right. It is ‘as you were’, correct?”
Her husband stopped his progression and Josh nodded.
“I’m gettin’ good at this military stuff,” she said with pride to the room.
“Their names were –,” Suhrab began when Emily raised a hand.
“I don’t want those. You can give them to Gregg after I’ve left,” she interrupted. “Where’s your brother? I mean, that’s what sent my husband on a wild goose chase across the country instead of coming home to me as soon as he landed back in the States.”
“No idea.”
Emily was taken aback. “I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s what he and I have been discussing, dear. So far he’s been less than forthcoming.”
“Hmm, all right. Change of subject, what did you mean when you said you saved my life?”
“It’s simple, really,” Suhrab replied thoroughly enjoying the exchange. “If I hadn’t shot your husband’s plane down, the good Chaplain wouldn’t have come to your house. You wouldn’t have fainted and lost your child, thus requiring a hospital stay. Without that, they wouldn’t have found the cancer. Maybe you carry the baby to term maybe you don’t. If you had, though, you most likely would have been dead shortly thereafter.”
Emily looked back at Josh. “May I hold that for a sec?” she asked and gestured toward the Beretta tucked into the front of his jeans. Before he could answer, she added, “Oh, you can take the clippy thing out.”
He glanced over at Gregg who shrugged. Hesitantly, he removed the weapon, dropped the fully loaded magazine into his other hand, and slid the pistol across the table toward her.
Emily picked it up, immediately noticing the difference in balance and weight. Then, suddenly, she lunged forward at Suhrab.
“That wasn’t your choice to make!” she screamed at him as she grabbed him by the throat and cracked him in the side of the head. “That was my decision and you took that from me!” she wailed as she hit him again and again.
After a number of successive blows, the blood was flowing freely from Suhrab’s wounds. The two men quickly came around the table and forcibly pulled her off of the man before she pistol whipped him to death right in front of them. Josh rested the gun from her hand once her husband was able to immobilize her arm.
“I think you can take her back now,” Gregg said over his wife’s protestations.
The prisoner withstood another hellish week of sleep deprivation, impromptu waterboarding, and numerous other indignities. As the days dragged on, Suhrab would contradict himself, offer tiny fragments of truth, until eventually… he cracked. When he did, he was practically laughing for being allowed to stall for that long.
Emily’s husband couldn’t make it to a phone fast enough.
* * *
Col. James’ cell started chirping in his pocket. No one had come out of the house to tell them what had been found so he figured he’d take the call. He assumed the assault team was still investigating and clearing the structure. The Colonel opened the Humvee’s door and began exiting the vehicle to answer it when he glanced at the caller ID. It wasn’t a number he was familiar with, but he knew that Gregg had returned to Ohio to find his wife. The ‘740’ area code didn’t give him a confirmation either way. Aside from his staff back in Germany, nobody had the number.
He depressed that ‘Accept’ button and answered, “This is Col. James.”
“Colonel! Where are you?” came the frantic reply.
“Gregg? Is that you?”
“Yes! It’s me! Where are you?” he repeated. “Is Cecil with you?”
“Yeah. He’s with me. We finished up at Warren and now were outside Abbas’ house at Minot. Why? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“That little bastard Suhrab finally broke! Cecil’s a Taliban sympathizer! Abbas and his brother didn’t murder his bunkmate and abduct him at Bagram! He did it himself and walked off the base to find them!” Gregg practically screamed into the phone. “It was a setup! That’s what he meant when he said Cecil ‘had been placed’. He helped plan it! Kill him!”
Colonel James instinctively started to reach for his Beretta. Before he could draw it from its holster, he heard the distinctive sound of a hammer being cocked behind him. A second later he felt the building pressure from the muzzle of the General’s pearl laden 1911 being pressed against the back of his head.
Very calmly, Cecil started counting down, “Three, two, one.”
Without warning, the house that Abbas had shared with his roommates exploded into a mass of flying debris and carnage. Timber, glass, and body parts spewed from the erupting fireball like Vesuvius. The concussive blast from the detonation knocked the Colonel and his patient to the ground. In the chaos and confusion, Col. James had the wherewithal to pull his Beretta.
While the two men tumbled and wrestled in the dirt, the psychiatrist started squeezing the trigger every time th
e muzzle passed in front of Cecil’s frame. He managed to get six shots off before the seventh finally ended the man’s flailing. Once his grip was lessened, he extricated himself from the dying man’s deathly embrace and observed his shallow breathing.
Out of breath himself, the Colonel asked, “Why? Why would you aid these people?”
Through his labored pains, Cecil picked up his arm and began trying to point the General’s pistol at his head to commit suicide. When he pulled the trigger, it didn’t fire. He chuckled and then smiled. “Figures, friggin’ General’s. Damn thing’s not loaded.”
Before he could say any more, he rolled slightly and coughed out a mouthful of blood. As he spat the last of it out he answered the Colonel.
“Life is too short and precious to be spent on lies. I refused to spend any more time helping fools with ideas that were wrong. Islam is the light to which we all should aspire. I followed my conscience and it has led me to this glorious revolution.”
Col. James stood and stared at him. The man’s shirt slowly began changing colors due to the leaking fluid. Before all of the pools merged, the Colonel counted three entry wounds. He had no desire to provide medical assistance, but he did want to know what he could tell him.
“Where’s Abbas? Which LF is he hiding in?” he pleaded.
“No idea,” the Airman replied as he winced in pain. “I only provided the information needed to gain access to the missiles. It’s your precious golden boy Gregg that told him how to circumvent the security protocols. If the Air Force and the government is anything, it’s predictable.” Cecil grimaced his way through a chuckle and added, “All of the LF’s were designed and configured the same. He could be in any of them.”
Chapter 2
“Josh!” Dallas yelled across the cabin. “It’s starting!”
His friend quickly exited the kitchen and ran to his office. “What have you got?”
“I just got off the horn with a buddy down in Beaufort. He said that he’d been in contact with his buddies up and down the east coast. Apparently, there are three flotillas with at least two-hundred ships each steaming towards Hampton Roads and the Chesapeake, as well as the Hudson River and the Port of Miami.”
“How far out are they? Are they separating into smaller packs of fifty or so? What about the Gulf or out west? Any news on those fronts?”
“Nah. Not so far. They’re inside the twelve nautical mile territorial water boundary and all hell is breaking loose. Missile batteries aren’t firing, the military is flailing. It’s a mess!”
“See if he –,” Josh started to say when Gregg burst into the room.
“You need to get that thing in the barn if you plan on using it again!” he said out of breath.
“What the –,” Dallas replied. “Did you run all the way here from Wrigley’s place?”
“Had to! None of you people ever answer the damn phone! Come on! Help me break this down!” Gregg answered frantically as he leaned in, started powering off the device, and disconnecting wires.
Josh and his old friend immediately began working with their new compatriot to get the transceiver disconnected. One grabbed the headset and the mic while the other hauled the radio.
As the three sprinted to the barn, Josh asked, “What the hell is going on?”
“Suhrab broke! Cecil, that lying little dirt bag! He walked off the base and went looking for those ass clowns! He played us! Colonel James just put him down with a couple rounds in the chest,” the former POW answered as he wrenched open the massive door to allow the others to enter unencumbered.
The group made their way past the machinery and Josh’s railroad truck to the back of the structure. Josh handed off the transceiver and dug in his pocket for the keys. He fumbled for a few seconds to find the right key.
“Come on, man! Hurry up!” Gregg said in a distressed tone. He hadn’t realized it, but he was dancing around like a toddler in need of the bathroom.
After several tense laden moments, Josh proclaimed, “Got it!”
With the lock removed, the broken seal on the door allowed a rush of air to enter the eight-foot square Faraday room. Chester and Reginald had constructed the contraption for him years ago. It was also through their tutelage that he was able to build the protective shrouds for the well pumps as well.
Dallas and Gregg quickly entered, stowed the mechanism and its assorted parts on an open shelf and dove back through the opening. Before they were barely out, Josh was closing the door behind them. He hurriedly bolted it shut, replaced the lock, and smoothed the seal. With the excitement waning, he put his back to the wall and slid down to a seated position.
“Now, would you please tell us what that was all about?” Josh asked calmly. “How much time have we got?”
“Couple hours at most. Cecil didn’t say which site Abbas was hiding in. All he does know is that the shifty bastard led them into a trap. A twelve-man assault team was eviscerated when the house blew. He damn near killed the Base Commander too.”
“So what are they doing now?” Dallas asked.
“They’re moving through the silo’s one at a time, it’ll be slow going. I don’t think they’ll find him in time. It seems that Abbas took out his roommates several days ago if the duty logs are any indication.”
“What do you mean?”
“None of them reported for duty in over four days. He’s got at least that much of a head start to watch and observe and get into position. If it were me, I’d have been scouting with every shift I was assigned. I would have staged pieces of equipment so I wouldn’t have to carry it all in at once.” As an afterthought, Gregg added, “Oh, and compounding this misery, he’s been on base for several months.”
“How long does it take? Start to finish, how much time does he need to bypass all of the security and launch?” Josh questioned.
“With the information I provided coupled with the number of weeks he’s had to prepare, he could spin one up in a couple hours and fire several on a timer all at once. He’s had more than enough of an opportunity to write a program to open the blast doors without it being detected in the LCC.”
“But what’s the target? A single missile is plenty to handle the bulk of the lower forty-eight,” Dallas wondered and stated aloud.
“I didn’t get the impression that Suhrab and his faction of lunatics are looking for surface detonations. Their little portable EMP’s tell me they are…” Gregg started to say before a thought occurred to him. “Son of a bitch! That’s what he meant!”
“What?” Josh asked.
“When I was being held, he said he wanted to ‘level the playing field’. I assumed that he was trying to physically flatten something. I think that cheeky little shit was referring to humanity, to our civilization. Put us all back at square one.”
* * *
“Hey, Chester... Scott,” Lily called into the basement. “Josh wants you guys to come up for a second.”
“Huh? Why? What for?” he replied without taking his eyes off of the task of breaking down the portable EMP device.
“I get the impression that he’d like to talk about that thing you’re working on, but on a grander scale,” she answered and walked away.
A few minutes later the pair exited the stairwell. When they reached the top of the stairs they saw that the dining room table had been placed perpendicular to its original position. In the corner, in front of the large wooden obstacle was an easel Josh had squirreled away from his project management days after the Corps. It had a few pieces of paper still attached and an assortment of colored markers in the tray.
Chester looked over the faces of the people assembled. Captain Rayna and Gregg looked bored. Basilia was nervously chewing on her fingernails and Emily was quietly feeding the baby a bottle. The rest looked on in eager anticipation. Then a thought struck him and he chuckled.
“Something funny? Josh asked.
“Nah,” the scientist replied casually. “It’s just you all kinda look like the last supper sitt
ing behind that table.”
His friend leaned forward and surveyed the assembled mass gathered around and smiled. “Well, it wasn’t by ‘design’,” he answered and flashed air quotes.
Heather groaned audibly and added, “Papaw, was he always this corny?”
Her grandfather held up is hands in surrender.
“Lemme guess,” Chester started. “I’m your dancin’ monkey for the next hour?” When no one responded, he shrugged and said, “Okay, what would you like me to teach?”
Josh leaned back and offered simply, “Most of us understand what a high altitude nuclear explosion is, but what some do not know are the effects. So, instead of everyone guessing or running for cover for fear of fallout,” he continued as he motioned toward Basilia. “I thought it would be good to have it explained in lay terms by an expert in the field.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he answered.
Chester turned to Scott and said, “Would you like to do the honors?”
The young man unlocked his longing stare at Katherine and glanced over at his new mentor. “Really? Sure!” he replied excitedly.
Scott proceeded to walk over to the easel and pick up a marker. He drew multiple columns and labeled each ‘E1’, ‘E2’, and ‘E3’ respectively. Chester nodded his agreement.
“Okay. Regardless of altitude at detonation or magnitude contained within the warhead, an EMP from an atmospheric blast is basically comprised of three components,” he began and pointed to the labels.
“The E1 phase is very fast and extremely intense. This is the part that causes electrical surges and begins to fry everything. The gamma radiation travels at almost 90% the speed of light and it does this by using something called the ‘Compton Effect’. That gets kind of technical so we’ll just write ‘surge’ for E1.
“E2 is like lightning,” he continued and paused to write the term under the ‘E2’ heading. “Most everything is shrouded against common weather related power surges and electrical storms through USB’s and surge protectors, but E2 adds insult to injury because it immediately follows E1. The E1 phase provides a gateway through the protection because, as I said, it fries everything. To be clear, by ‘fries everything’ I mean the amount of energy coursing through the lines amps up so quickly and intensely that the blast of electricity pushes the insulators and diodes beyond their maximum thresholds. Once the E1 component takes out the initial defense of the system, E2 comes along and hits everything as if it were never protected to begin with.
By the Dawn's Early Light Page 2
