He steepled his fingers together and stared at the men and women around the table. Six in total. Three of each. Balance, equality.
“I don’t have to explain to you that we have reached a critical juncture at our vision. Yes, mistakes have been made. So I’m going to give you the opportunity to ask me anything without fear, without prejudice.” Offenheim’s voice demanded attention.
The men and women remained silent for some time. Slowly a hand was raised.
“Is it true about the fire? Was Alba killed?”
“Yes. Killed by Zanzi Connors. She escaped. Currently we are trying to locate her.”
“Who assisted her?” the same person asked. Olivia. A woman with deep-red hair and high cheekbones.
“Why do you think she had assistance?” Offenheim was beginning to regret agreeing to this clear-the-air meeting. He didn’t want to share the information about Milo. He wanted Milo’s treachery to remain classified. At least until he had dealt with his protégé.
I rescued you from that East German prison and that’s how you repay—
“It’s logical. Someone had to help her,” Olivia said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Doctor Josie Lahm is believed to be responsible. Alba was performing an autopsy on her daughter Harriet after she suffered a cardiac arrest during a test.”
“Has she been neutralized?”
“Lahm will be dealt with after she finds an explanation for the mutation.” Offenheim swiveled his chair and locked eyes with his second in command, Killian. Tall, with broad shoulders, Killian never showed emotion. His features were robot-like. “Any updates on that?”
“It appears that the mutation is caused by a half-formed alpha. We’re still working out the exact reason. I ask for Doctor Lahm to be spared – at least until she completes her work. She’s our leading expert on how the nanites interact and attach to the brain. She is vital.”
“You must have a hypothesis yourself,” Offenheim said.
“For the cerebrospinal fluid thirst, yes.” Killian fumbled with a blue folder in front of him, his thumb picking at the corner. His face might not show emotion, but his fidgeting hands gave away his thoughts. He was anxious, nervous even.
Offenheim took note. Did the nanites have another flaw? “Well, spit it out. We have much to discuss this morning.”
“Throughout our years of testing, we discovered that the best way to store dormant nanites in our anatomy was in the spinal fluid. The lack of anything harmful was ideal. Plus, it gave us the perfect launching pad. When the signal is activated, the nanites cluster around the back of the brain to form the alpha nanite, which then instructs the other nanites to flood the entire body. This is achieved in less than a minute. Our programmers coded a dual signal. At the same time as the nanites form the alpha, the others travel throughout the body. This was so the effect seemed instantaneous.” Killian paused and glanced around the room, his thumb picking at the folder again.
“We knew the problems with those with poor circulation. Those with damaged tissue and disease. I’m sure you’ve seen the footage. Some expanded and swelled, exploding. Others shriveled like all the fluid was being sucked out. The mutants that seek spinal fluid are doing so to acquire pure, dormant nanites. They are found in the segment of the population that was deemed essential for the reset. Also, others that didn’t have enough nanites in their systems. If we’d had a further two years, these problems would’ve been addressed.”
Offenheim placed his elbows on the table and brought his palms together as if in prayer. “We all agreed to advancing the schedule. Yamada and others were about to expose us. We tried to silence them, but to no avail. That left no other course of action other than to bring it forward. I want to hear nothing more on the matter. Am I clear?”
He was met with nods and murmurs of affirmation.
“Good,” Offenheim said. “Olivia, give me an update on infrastructure.”
“Sir, the power grid is maintaining optimum efficiency. Water and sewage in designated cities only. I have begun to shut down sectors as citizens move. Internet and communications are online. Our people are in place to keep everything operational, as you ordered. The exceptions are Washington and Oregon states, which we evacuated.”
“Nuclear stations?”
“Safe and operational.”
“Double security around them. We don’t want a catastrophic meltdown.”
“Sir.” Olivia nodded as she typed on her tablet, issuing orders to her own staff.
Offenheim often imagined he was juggling a million balls, what with everything he had to bear in mind. His lieutenants were good at their jobs, but OPIS had reached a critical phase and he didn’t want any more mistakes. “Can we program the mutants’ alphas and kill them that way?” Offenheim said, glaring at Killian. His mind threatened to explode with anger over the mutation.
“It’s a possibility. But we believe their nanites may be so corrupted as to make it difficult. Maybe if we found Mr. Kummerow?” Killian said.
“Still missing, I’m afraid. I’ve sent men to look for him at his last known location.”
Daniel Kummerow was the leading coder for OPIS. On the eve of the combusting, he had fled The Eyrie. Offenheim hadn’t let on to the other elites, but this concerned him more than any other matter. Daniel out there, with his knowledge, could have serious implications if he chose to use what he knew.
Offenheim pushed back his chair and waved away the servant who offered him a fresh glass of water. He ignored his executive staff and busied himself making a cup of coffee.
He had been born into wealth. Not that self-made-billionaire kind, but real wealth. Old; ancient, even. Accrued over centuries. Never out in the open, always hidden. His family didn’t buy lavish yachts to sail around the Mediterranean and Caribbean. Nor did they have ridiculous gilded mansions in major cities. No. The Offenheim’s had quiet country estates tucked away; penthouses hidden at the tops of buildings. Not only were they wealthy in monetary terms, but also in power. Political. It was the same with the other families in OPIS. Quietly going about their business while the new money lapped up the limelight. OPIS shifted all the pieces into place.
He smiled as he stirred in the heated milk. At a young age, he had realized the world’s obsession with celebrity. So the four founding families had bought up all the media outlets and encouraged the obsession. Fed it. Year after year. They’d produced reality TV shows about vapid, vain people. They’d pulled strings to have officials elected who, because of their narcissism, deflected attention away from what was really happening in the world around them. In time, the general population stopped caring. If they knew what the latest trend was, or what their favorite celebrity was up to, they were happy. It had been perfect. Almost.
Offenheim gripped his coffee cup, whitening his knuckles. The Nameless. He turned back to his staff. “Is everything else in order?”
“Yes sir,” Killian said. “President Ward has reported that all but a few military bases are operational and awaiting orders. Military posted overseas have returned. He has requested that we scale down our Black Skulls. The population is getting jittery.”
“Very well. Pull them back. Dress the least fanatical as National Guard and continue. We have fourteen days before we bring the population down to twenty percent. I want the president to mobilize his troops. Protect the borders, Denver, and here at The Eyrie. We cannot fail. We have worked too hard. And send a few battalions to the Pacific Northwest. Understood?”
“Yes sir!” five of the six answered.
The sixth had his hand raised. “Sir,” he said.
“What is it, Parker.”
Parker, his head of intelligence, was short, and still wore his wire-rimmed glasses despite them being unnecessary. He pushed his glasses onto his forehead.
“The trouble we had in Japan and in the Aleutian Islands with LK3. Has that been resolved?”
“You tell me. You’re head of intelligence.”
Parker grinned a
nd looked at the other staff members. Some had eyebrows raised. Others looked bored. He stared at Offenheim, a small smirk on his face. Offenheim distrusted the man, but he was brilliant at his job. If you needed information on someone, Parker and his team never failed. It was he who had waded through the mystery and discovered who The Nameless were, who they worked for and where their headquarters were.
Before Parker could answer, there was a short, sharp knock at the door. A Black Skull entered and nodded. “Apologies for disturbing you, sir. Russian ships have entered American waters and are attacking the USS Nimitz and its escort.”
Offenheim’s mind whirred. Russia. Santander’s sector. She had total autonomy over their military. There was no way she would allow such an act unless…unless she was making her move.
Offenheim banged his palm against the boardroom table. “Killian, Parker, stay here. Everyone else, carry on with your work.”
Five
Aleutian Islands, Alaska
As The Nameless were led deeper into the interior of the USS Nimitz, men and women hustled to their stations around them. Ryan and Booth had both served and understood exactly what was happening. Everyone had a specific task to do. A station to be at. The two MAs stopped at a gray metal door, shoved them inside and closed the door. So much for The Nameless not leaving their sight.
The wardroom had a low ceiling and rows of round tables with chairs, much like a restaurant. A galley was set off to one side, and a large flat screen TV was mounted on one bulkhead.
Booth smiled at the sight of an American football game playing on the screen, but his face soon fell. He groaned. “It’s a replay. I’ve seen this game.”
“Like the NFL will still be playing games,” Allie said, rolling her eyes.
“I meant that it would have been nice if a game I hadn’t seen was on.”
“Are you going to be one of those boyfriends? Ignoring me every time your team is playing?”
“We’re a couple?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Don’t worry, Allie. The Vikings are normally done by December,” Sofia said.
The Nameless made their way to a couple of leather couches by the TV and stretched out. Cal rested her head in Ryan’s lap and closed her eyes. Keiko curled up between Sofia and Ebony. Sam licked Keiko’s face after jumping up on her lap then fell asleep.
The ship shuddered and vibrated. The faint rumble of F/A-18 Hornets taking off could be heard. Captain Richmond was moving into position, taking the Nimitz out into deeper water and joining up with his destroyer and corvette. If Ryan was being honest with himself, he was a little anxious. But he had confidence in the warships. They trained for this. With air superiority, the battle shouldn’t last long.
“We must figure out a way to convince Captain Richmond that we’re the good guys,” Ryan said.
“Agreed, but how?” Booth said. “You heard what he said.”
“And when we get home?” Cal asked.
“We go after Offenheim and The Eyrie,” Ryan said. “Allie, you said you can fly anything. Can you fly us off this ship?”
“Never taken off from a flight deck before.”
“Richmond didn’t say he wouldn’t help us. Just that he wanted more proof.” Cal gestured at the closed wardroom door, in the direction of the bridge.
“You have proof?” Sofia asked.
“The battle.”
“What about it?” Ryan said.
Cal blew out a breath as if frustrated by a stupid question. “The battle is proof. Santander of OPIS oversees Russia. She’s making her move against Offenheim. She thinks he’s weak. Santander is testing the waters to see if Offenheim will kill us or deal with her. I’m putting my bets on the latter.”
Ryan met Booth and Sofia’s gazes and shrugged. Cal’s argument was sound. Ryan knew what to do, but the turmoil inside his head was back. Nagging at him. Snipping at the fabric of his mind. Doubts and questions.
What game was Offenheim playing with him?
Why?
How could he convince Richmond to go against his sworn oaths?
Over and over, he processed his thoughts. Tested each theory for its pros and cons. Each way he looked at it, he had to convince Richmond to let them off the ship.
“I’ll go talk to Richmond,” Ryan said.
“And say what?” Sofia asked.
“I’ll think of something.” Ryan banged on the wardroom door.
The door opened. “What is it?” one of the MAs asked.
“I need to see Captain Richmond.”
“We’re at battle stations. Impossible.”
“The information I have will finish the battle.”
The MA raised his eyebrows and looked at his companion. He stepped away, nudged his comms and spoke in a hushed, forceful tone. He was back a moment later.
“He’ll see you. Ruiz, stay here. Don’t open the door.” He looked at Ryan. “You, follow me.”
Ryan nodded and glanced down at the MA’s name. King. Ryan stayed silent, noting the route to the bridge. They went back up several ladders until they were in the island once more. The bridge was a hive of activity. Officers and cadets monitored computers and instruments, calling out positions and liaising with the air boss. Captain Richmond stood in front of a large window, looking out to sea through a large pair of binoculars.
“Captain,” Ryan said, saluting.
“What information do you have that’s so important? Can’t you see we’re a little busy here.”
“Those ships are Russian, are they not?”
“Yes.”
“We believe they’re acting under the orders of Darya Santander, who’s part of OPIS.”
Richmond handed the binos to the petty officer and gestured Ryan to one side, away from the other men. “Clarify.”
“Thanks to some intel we gathered, we know that OPIS is ruled by four families. Offenheim, Prendergast, Ibrox and Santander. They each have their own sector. Russia is ruled by Santander. I’m led to believe that there is a power struggle going on within OPIS – one that is beginning to be played out in front of our eyes. I suggest you get on the radio with their captain and inform him that you are under direct orders of the president and Offenheim to patrol this coastline. See what he says.”
Richmond nodded and signaled his OS. “Contact them and give me a couple of headsets.”
It didn’t take long for the operation specialist to make contact. He spoke in Russian for a few moments before signaling Richmond over.
“This is Captain Richmond of the USS Nimitz. Who am I speaking to?”
“You’re speaking with Captain Kuznetzov.” His English was heavily accented but decipherable.
“I strongly urge you to cease firing upon us and return to Russian waters. Failure to do so will indicate an action of war and we will unleash our full arsenal.”
“I can’t do that. Alaska will be ours again.”
“It is I, Captain Richmond, who will give you the chance to leave these waters. I’m a fair man. I will give you twenty-four hours.”
“Go back to your United States, Captain. Alaska is Russian again.”
“We are under strict orders to protect our country Kuznetzov. From President Ward.”
“Likewise. I have my own orders. Take back territory stolen from us.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I’ll give you five minutes to consult with your commander.” Kuznetzov signed off.
Richmond took off the headset and turned to look north-west where the three Russian ships lay. Ryan understood he was frustrated. Kuznetzov was committing suicide; not only himself, but the thousands of men and women under his command were being sentenced to death by his decision. They were no match for the power of the Nimitz.
“Sir,” a radar operator said, “I’m picking up new ships. Five…make that eight. Two hundred nautical miles out and closing fast.”
Richmond shook his head. “Where’s my carrier fleet?”
“One hundred
miles out, sir.”
“Stay on course.”
Richmond eyeballed Ryan. His expression said it all: you better be right.
The OS hailed Kuznetzov again. Richmond spoke. “Captain, Offenheim has ordered you to stand down and return to Russian waters.”
There was a long pause, so long Ryan thought Kuznetzov either hadn’t understood or was stunned at the development. When his voice came over the airwaves, it was with a snarl.
“You tell Offenheim that Darya Santander says he is too weak to lead the new world.”
The radio went dead.
Richmond pivoted and started barking orders. Air crew, dressed in brightly colored tops and helmets, scrambled. Fighter jets screamed as they took off. The dizzying scene played out like a highly choreographed ballet.
Ryan stood out of the way, impressed with the speed at which the aircraft carrier had gone into attack mode.
Richmond returned and shook his hand. “I’m probably going to regret this, Connors, and I wouldn’t have believed you if Kuznetzov hadn’t reacted the way he did. Go and get some shut-eye. I’ll schedule you to leave the ship at zero-five-hundred on one of our Greyhounds.” He turned away without saying another word.
The MA reappeared and escorted Ryan back down to the wardroom. When he walked in, Sofia lifted her eyes from her tablet.
“What’s happening?”
“We leave at zero-five-hundred. I managed to convince him that we had the United States’ and the world’s best interests in mind.”
Sofia wriggled her tablet. “I’ve been looking at that USB stick Yamada left you.”
Ryan brought his finger to his lips and pointed toward the dining area. Cal, Booth, Allie, Keiko and Sam the dog were sound asleep. Ebony strolled over from the kitchen and they moved to one of the round tables.
Masks of Ash Page 5
