by Akart, Bobby
For the remainder of the school year, the challenge of making up schoolwork coupled with the emotional attacks took their toll. By the next summer, Skylar had become withdrawn and Ethan started to act out. He began hanging out with high-school-age kids and frequently came home after school smelling of alcohol.
Meanwhile, Will had moved to Atlanta to draw the media attention away from the family at a time when the kids really needed a father figure in their lives. Karen, to her credit, didn’t rush into marriage with his ex-partner, but she certainly didn’t hesitate to flaunt their relationship, including at home. Frequent sleepovers confirmed to the kids that their father was out of their lives and that any hope of reconciliation with their mother was out of the question.
Will tried to convince Karen to let the kids live with him in Atlanta. He knew he never had a chance in front of a judge. He hoped to play on her newfound freedom and offered to relieve her of the burden of raising kids. For Skylar and Ethan, a change of scenery and a new school, far away from the media-driven drama, was Will’s best solution to save them from the emotional agony.
It didn’t work, and instead, Karen doubled down on her pressure to make Will pay higher child support and on time. The postdivorce battles continued between them, as they often do, to the detriment of their children. A once loving family was now torn apart as the parents were at war with one another. Will hoped to reverse the trend this weekend by showing an extraordinary amount of love and attention to his daughter to reinforce their bond, and to indicate to Ethan that he respected him as a young man.
They pulled into the top level of the employee parking lot at the stadium and found one of the last available spots. Will had notified the head of stadium security that he’d be arriving late with his kids. Because he wasn’t originally on the schedule for that evening, they allowed it. In addition, Will received tickets and all-access passes for Ethan and Skylar, giving them premium seats and the ability to enjoy all of the interactive features of the stadium.
For his part, Will was hired for his expertise attained during training and working for Philly SWAT. Anytime there was a large gathering at the stadium, coupled with alcohol being served, it was a recipe for trouble. The security team was able to set aside his past and hire Will for his ability to help them keep their facility safe for visitors during the myriad of events held at the stadium.
To assist them further, he’d undergone additional training in counterterrorism activities. He was to keep a watchful eye out for anything out of the ordinary and be prepared to work with Atlanta SWAT personnel to diffuse any potential mass-casualty event. With over seventy thousand New Year’s revelers descending upon the stadium for a high-energy concert, Will expected to have his hands full.
After they entered through the employee entrance, Will pulled Ethan and Skylar aside and gave them instructions. He placed lanyards over their heads that contained laminated tickets and displayed their all-access pass to any ushers or security personnel.
“I’ve got you guys club-level seats at the top of section C111. This gives you easy access to the restrooms and food services. With this pass, you can visit some of the specialty areas where you can watch different camera angles of the concert, but I’d prefer you stay in your seats where I can find you.”
“Okay, Daddy,” said Skylar. “Where will you be?”
Will bent over slightly and patted his daughter on the head. “Baby girl, I’ll be all over this place, making sure people behave. But I have my cell phone, of course, and if you need something, send me a text. Don’t try to call because, as you can hear, this place gets really loud when the performers are onstage.” The opening act for Beyoncé and Jay-Z was onstage, and the music reverberated throughout the stadium.
“Um, Dad, can we have some money?” asked Ethan.
Will smiled and reached into his pocket to retrieve all of his cash, a little over eighty dollars. “This should get you both something to eat and a souvenir tee shirt or something.”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Ethan, a young man of few words unless something was on his mind.
Will turned to his son and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Son, I’m counting on you to take care of your sister. There’s a lot of people here and it’s New Year’s Eve. You know what that means. It’s the one night of the year when people get stupid drunk and do stupid things. I don’t want you guys to get caught up in the madness, okay?”
“Sure, Dad.”
Will smiled and nodded. “Now, I want you two to stick together, stay in your seats for the concert, and text me if you need anything. When the concert is over, I’ll make my way to your seats and find you.”
“Okay, Dad, we’ve got it,” said Ethan.
Ethan wrapped his hand under Skylar’s arm and began to lead her away when Will shouted after them, “No matter what, stay off the concert floor!”
Neither child acknowledged his admonition.
Chapter Eighteen
Hyatt Centric Times Square
Bar 54
New York City
New York City was known as a culinary adventure with cuisines from around the world to tempt a visitor’s palette. On the top floor of the Hyatt Centric at Times Square was one of the trendiest restaurants on Broadway—Bar 54. Known for its handcrafted cocktails, gourmet appetizer-style meals, and breathtaking river-to-river views stretching from the Chrysler Building to lower Manhattan, the tallest rooftop bar in Times Square was an especially difficult reservation to obtain on New Year’s Eve, but the Sheltons had theirs.
Tom and Donna enjoyed a glass of champagne with their dinner of Chateaubriand-for-two. The king of steaks was wonderfully complimented with smoked mushrooms, fingerling potatoes, and a sauce made with smoked peppercorns, something Tom was sure would aggravate his hiatal hernia at some point.
Dinner was enjoyable and lasted well into the nine o’clock hour when the party guests began to arrive. After their table was cleared, Tom paid the bill, and the couple was about to leave when their server encouraged them to take a look at Times Square from Bar 54’s observation deck.
The server warned them it would be cold, especially with the increased wind on the fifty-fourth floor, but he assured them they’d never forget it. To top off their fantastic meal, he also brought each of them a glass of Cristal champagne. Tom and Donna thanked him and braved the elements as they moseyed into the outdoor lounge.
A cold breeze immediately blew across the platform, causing some of the partiers to shriek and then giggle. Donna took Tom by the hand and led him past the early arrivals to the gala affair and scooted behind the outdoor seating so they could look over the railing. Just a few blocks away, the famous ball sat atop One Times Square, glistening with its combination of lights and crystals, awaiting its sixty-second moment of being the center of attention.
“Tom, this is incredible!” Donna had to raise her voice slightly to overcome the wind and the noisy group of four women who were standing nearby. They were clearly drunk, and she doubted they’d make it to midnight in their condition. She leaned in to Tom’s ear and whispered, “That bunch is four fingers into a jug of wine.”
Tom chuckled and smiled. “This is the one day of the year everybody seems to let their hair down, right?”
“I guess so,” she replied sarcastically. Donna glanced back at them and frowned. They were her daughters’ age but were completely different people. Her girls proudly wore the uniforms of the United States military. These partygoers wore fancy dresses beneath equally fancy coats, living in the moment.
The women were waiting to be seated inside one of the two giant bubbles, as they were called by Bar 54. Created especially for cold-weather dining, the bubble-like igloos were inflatable plastic domes, which provided seating for eight. From inside, a guest’s view was somewhat distorted, but it was a way to withstand the elements on a night that was becoming increasingly colder.
Donna turned her attention back to the scene below. Live music was playing on the stages, which d
otted the streets around Times Square. Nivea had provided large hats and foam wands in their signature color to most of the revelers, who repeatedly waved them, to the delight of some Madison Avenue advertising firm and their clients.
She took photos and videos, which she’d promised to send to the girls. She also asked one of the nearby servers to take a picture of the two of them with the ball in the background. The loving couple hugged and kissed as they took in the moment. Then Donna took one more look at the New Year’s Eve party that was unfolding in Times Square.
“Tom, you’ve done so much to make this trip happen. You know, it’s fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams.”
“I know, dear, and it’s long overdue. These types of things are not my usual thing, but I’m glad we came.”
Donna leaned in to Tom and hugged him. Then she stood on her toes and whispered in his ear, “Would you consider indulging your wife with one more favor?”
Tom began to laugh. “Donna, I may be too old for that.”
She swatted him. “I know for a fact that you’re not too old for that, Tom Shelton, but that’s not what I’m referring to.”
“Okay, what can I do for you, Mrs. Shelton? I am at your service.”
Donna hesitated; then she popped the question. “Take me down there. You know, into the crowd. I want to feel the energy and excitement of experiencing the ball drop.”
Tom thought for a moment and scowled. He’d do anything to make his wife happy. “Honey, I don’t know. I mean, there are so many—”
Donna pouted and looked into her husband’s eyes. “Come on, Tom, please. I know it will be a hassle until we get used to it. But, listen, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain, right?”
Tom looked skyward, and a big, fat flake landed on the bridge of his nose. The Sheltons burst out into laughter, drawing looks from the rooftop crowd at Bar 54. How could he say no?
Chapter Nineteen
Union Oil Company of California
Offshore Oil Platform, Lease Block 916
The Gulf of Mexico
“Deliver this gentleman to the destination. Once the mission is complete, leave no trace behind and head to the extraction point. Understand?”
“Yeah, but what’s the target?” asked his partner.
“Need to know, gentlemen. Get strapped in. We’ve got a fifty-minute flight, and then you’re on your own. Prepare your weapons, inspect the contents of your dossiers, and do your jobs.”
For the next forty-five minutes, the operatives studied the maps provided and the location where the operation was to take place. Neither of them had been on an oil rig before, so they took time to study the images and discuss potential hazards. Even though the limited intelligence they’d been provided indicated the offshore platform was unmanned, their instructions were clear. Eliminate any threats, or witnesses, as the situation required.
“Five minutes out. Prepare for deployment.”
He and his partner were ready. They’d checked their weapons and adjusted the chest rigs they were supplied. Attempts to engage the third man on the team proved to be fruitless. He was intense and rarely made eye contact. Efforts to inquire about the nature of the target or the type of weapon to be used were rebuffed with silence.
The Lakota helicopter hovered over the water and the copilot turned to the operatives. He gave them the signal to release the Zodiac, and with the quick flip of a latch, the straps loosened. The helicopter gained a few feet in altitude as it was freed of the additional weight. The Zodiac spun slightly as it floated to the turbulent waters below.
The two operators didn’t bother speaking with the pilots before they descended toward the dark waters of the Gulf. Using battery-operated headlamps attached to their foreheads with straps, they swung toward the Zodiac and landed inside with a hard thud.
One of the operators immediately fired up the outboard engine to gain control of the boat, making it easier for the third member of their party to rappel on board. Once he was safely in place, they looked upward as the edge of the large hard plastic case emerged from the compartment.
“Give it room to drop,” the Frenchman ordered, prompting the operative to steer clear of the helicopter. The case came sailing down, nose first, until it struck the gulf waters and plunged under the surface. Seconds later, it emerged into view and bobbed in the choppy waters created by the helicopter’s rotors.
Using an aluminum boat hook found inside the Zodiac, the Frenchman retrieved his case, and the helicopter disappeared toward the twinkling lights of Florida’s Forgotten Coast.
With the outboard motor idling, the operators set their course using waterproof GPS devices strapped to their wrists next to their watches. The trio took seats and set out for one of thousands of offshore oil platforms that dotted the Gulf of Mexico along the coasts of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama.
Lease Block 916, as this particular rig was known, was owned and operated by Union Oil Company of California. Like other rigs of its kind, it had been built by connecting a series of modules together. In addition to the derrick, which pumped the oil from the mineral-rich floor of the Gulf, the facility consisted of a central well-bay structure, a power module, and administrative quarters used by the employees during the construction and drilling phases of the operation.
The operators were tasked with clearing the rig first, and then the third member of the team was to be left alone to perform his, still unknown, contribution to the mission.
After an hour ride, the three men found themselves at the base of the well-bay module, where they tied the Zodiac off and disembarked. First, the operators moved throughout the rig, checking every room and equipment space. As the intelligence had suggested, the rig was unmanned.
The Frenchman, who knew the layout of the offshore rig without referencing the materials provided to them, waited for them by the Zodiac. Once they regrouped, he led the way up a series of steel stairwells.
The operators easily carried the case as they made their way up the steel steps. Fifteen minutes later, slightly crisp air greeted them as they emerged on the top of the rig. The skies were clear, and the flickering lights of other wells in the vicinity could be seen in the distance.
Several miles away, the bright lights of a city were visible to their right, followed by a dark void in the middle, and then more lights to their left. The Frenchman caught his breath, looked at his watch, and turned to the operators.
“Thank you, gentlemen. You are no longer needed up here.”
“Wait, what do you mean? You’re not going to show us what’s inside the box?”
The Frenchman folded his arms and stood a little taller. “All will be revealed soon enough. Please, I have work to do, and time is of the essence. Please leave me alone. Thank you.”
The operators sheepishly retreated and bounded down the steel stairs to the bowels of the offshore rig. Satisfied they were gone, the Frenchman opened his case.
The molded foam inside the MANPADS case was specially designed for a mission like this one. A laptop computer and a small collapsible satellite receiver provided him internet access. He set up the computer and logged on to several websites to observe his target.
Then he removed the parts to his weapon and began the assembly process. Not quite as simple to assemble as the shoulder-fired rocket, the device was far more powerful in its use and capability.
Rockets with detonating warheads were the weapons of the past. Futuristic weapons were now being developed and tested by nations like China, Russia, and the United States. Included in this advanced weaponry were DEWs.
Directed-energy weapons were developed initially by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency within the Department of Defense. A DEW inflicted damage on a target by emitting highly focused energy, including microwaves, particle beams, and lasers, depending upon the intended result.
Despite a decade of research and development, the directed-energy weapons were still considered experimental by DARPA and c
onsidered unfit for deployment until several more years of testing. However, with the advent of cyber warfare, no technology was kept secret for long, and eventually the conceptual drawings were stolen by China and Russia.
All three nations ramped up their programs, hoping to be the first to claim directed-energy weapons as part of their arsenal. Only one, however, had perfected its use during experimental trials.
Tonight, a single French scientist, hired to be the first to deploy the weapon on the battlefield, made his preparations. He studied the laptop and reconfirmed his calculations. The clear sky assisted his visibility. He checked, and rechecked, his tracking devices. He adjusted the DEW’s internal hunting capabilities. There was little margin for error in order to achieve the desired result.
It was almost time.
Chapter Twenty
McPherson Building
Washington, DC
Hayden stood to stretch her legs and relax her tense body. She was confident in her brief, and it had already been reviewed by the senior partners working on the president’s defense with her. She picked up the remote of the television monitor nestled in a ceiling-to-floor bookcase on the wall to the right of her desk. She navigated to the DVR and sought a press gaggle that had occurred earlier in the day as the president was departing the White House en route to Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, for the New Year’s weekend.
The president approached Marine One with his wife and son in tow as the questions were fired at him.
