by Akart, Bobby
“We have a well,” said Blair disapprovingly. “Several of them, as a matter of fact. Come sit down, but don’t you dare flap those wings or I’ll make you sleep outside with the other daddy hounds.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Ryan as he slipped his L.L.Bean boots off and made his way to a chair at the dining table. “What’s new in the news?”
“The good news is that there is literally no news,” said Blair, who was always careful to use the word literally in its proper context rather than as a filler to a sentence, a practice adopted by vocabulary-starved millennials. “The cyber attacks were directed at all forms of media, print, television, and many websites. Somebody wanted to take away our ability to know what’s going on.”
Ryan chuckled. “It’s a shame they didn’t do that years ago. The country would’ve been better off.”
“That’s the truth,” said Blair as she brought them both a bowl of potato cheese soup made with potatoes from the Haven’s gardens and powdered cheddar cheese they stored in the Haven’s prepper pantry.
“We have a possible situation headed our way, but Alpha’s on top of it.”
Blair crumbled some club crackers into her soup and took a bite. Her face contorted somewhat because it was too hot to eat. “So what’s the sitch?”
“North of us, along the interstate, traffic is picking up with refugees streaming out of Charlotte, but for the most part, they pass our exit as they head toward the mountains. The problem is from the south.”
“There’s no population down there,” interjected Blair. “How many people are we talking about?”
“About three dozen, and I think they’re probably from the retreat.”
“Valley Haven,” muttered Blair as she tried another spoonful of soup. “They’re harmless.”
“I hope so, but you can never be too sure. Alpha has closed the bridge to any kind of traffic, and we intend to put the roadblock in place at the northern end of our perimeter wall soon.”
“The sheriff will be pissed,” said Blair.
“Yeah, but I think he has his hands full with all of the interstate traffic, some of which is on foot, I’m told.”
Blair sat back in her chair and thought for a moment. “If you turn them away at the bridge, how are they gonna cross the river?”
“Old Shelby Road. It’s only a mile or so downriver from here.”
Blair didn’t want to argue, but she was always good at playing devil’s advocate. “As the crow flies, but they’ll have to backtrack several miles to get to the bridge by road. Couldn’t Alpha and some of the security guys escort them up Henry River Road until they move on?”
Ryan hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose, but how many guys do we assign to the group to make sure they don’t turn on us? A dozen? That pulls away from our other defenses just so these people aren’t inconvenienced.”
Blair wanted to add another thought when the ringing of Ryan’s phone interrupted them.
“Hello?” he answered with a mouthful of soup.
Ryan listened for a moment and then interrupted the caller. “X-Ray, hold on. I’m gonna put you on speaker so Blair can hear this too.”
Ryan changed the settings on his phone and set it on the table between them. “Okay, X-Ray, go ahead.”
“Hi, Blair.”
“Hey, X-Ray. What’s new?” Blair exchanged a look with Ryan. She’d made it known that she didn’t trust their newcomer and frequently asked whether it was worth keeping him around.
“Well, two things, actually. First, I’ve been monitoring some of the websites that are frequently used by white hat hackers. Supposedly, they’re the good guys, but you can’t always tell. Anyway, there’s this Zero Day bunch, former Harvard students and their professor, who are frequently on the message boards of this one site. They claim to know about the virus that hit the LA Times first and then spread to Tribune Publishing.”
“Okay, we’re listening,” said Blair, who shrugged and continued to eat. She usually liked people to get to the point and dispense with the preliminaries.
“Um, sure. Anyway, the virus was inserted through the LA Times’ printing process and quickly found its way into their main servers. Once there, it became disseminated throughout the Associated Press network of media outlets. All of these media companies, whether print like the Times or the Chicago Tribune, or television, share information through the same networks. The virus attached itself to articles shared by the LA Times and then it spread like wildfire. It’s traveling the globe now, and media companies worldwide are being shut down.”
“Good, no more fake news,” said Ryan as he finished off his soup. He let out a slight belch, drawing a disapproving look from his wife.
“Well, yeah, but it also impacts our ability to know what’s going on,” cautioned X-Ray. “I’m focusing on alt-web outlets, but they’re not always reliable. I’ve stepped up my monitoring of local law enforcement and the frequencies used by known patriot groups operating in the area, like Camp Constitution, the Three Percenters, and of course, the Oath Keepers.”
Ryan shrugged and smiled at Blair. She mouthed the word whatever, drawing a chuckle from Ryan. X-Ray was on top of the outage and keeping them informed at the same time. Blair had a hard time giving the young man accolades because of her wary feelings about him.
“Um, are you guys still there?” asked X-Ray after a long moment of silence.
Ryan replied, “Yes, of course. Anything else?”
“About Charlotte, something is going on there today,” he replied. “There are reports of people being attacked and killed throughout the city. Now, I don’t know Charlotte that well, but I jotted down the names of the neighborhoods as I heard them. These are the rich parts of town.”
“Whadya make of that?” asked Ryan.
“Well, logic tells me that the poor are taking from the rich, by force, it appears.”
“Yeah, that’s logical, but not surprising,” said Blair, who appeared unimpressed at X-Ray’s conclusion.
“It’s more than that, though,” he continued. “This is kind of like the fires that were reported in those first few days after New Year’s Eve. From what I’ve heard, the attacks were launched simultaneously at different wealthy neighborhoods around town. It’s as if the unrest was orchestrated by someone who was attempting to take advantage of law enforcement being spread too thin.”
“Okay,” said Ryan. “You’ll keep us posted, right?”
“Of course, but also be aware that the city is emptying out. I picked up on the scanner that road rage is happening all over the place as residents fight to get away from the carnage. Mostly they’re headed south on 95 and northwest towards us.”
A slight tap at the door caught Ryan and Blair’s attention, as well as the sensitive ears of the bulldog brigade, who came racing from the back of the house toward the front entrance.
“Okay, X-Ray, thanks.” Ryan signed off before disconnecting the call.
“Are you expecting anyone?” asked Blair.
“Nope, but it’s starting to feel like Grand Central Station.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Haven House
The Haven
Blair opened the front door while Ryan took their dishes and glasses to the kitchen. Tom and Cort nervously milled around on the porch with grim looks on their faces. Blair’s first thought was, Now what?
“Hey, guys. Is everything all right?” she asked as she held the door open and waved them inside. Neither responded immediately, waiting until Blair shut the door behind them.
Ryan emerged from the kitchen. “Were we scheduled for something? Is there an issue at the front gate?”
Tom removed his jacket and hung it on a hook next to the Smarts’.
Cort was wearing his Yale sweatshirt with the Y logo on the front. He replied to their questions. “No, we, um, actually, this is about me. I think I need to tell you something, but I felt like I needed to run it by Tom first since he’s more familiar with the situation.”
> Blair, who was standing behind the men, rolled her head on her shoulders and gave Ryan a look. She hated surprises. She and Ryan had planned the Haven down to every minute detail and went to great lengths to learn as much about their residents as possible before a collapse event brought them all together. However, as was always the case, the human dynamic could throw any organized universe into chaos.
“Grab a chair,” said Ryan as he took a seat at the head of the table. Blair offered everyone something to drink, but they declined.
“Let me get right to the point,” said Cort. “Earlier, I finished a long conversation with Meredith about this. Sometimes, a husband feels a need to withhold information from his wife in order to protect her. Or at least in his mind, he’s protecting her.” Cort paused, so Ryan tried to ease the tension.
“It’s a fruitless exercise, my friend. Women have this uncanny BS meter that can see right into your head. You can’t hide anything from them, trust me.”
Blair added, “Yeah, Cort. Trust him. Ryan is a terrible liar, whether bold face or by omission. With him, what you see is what you get.”
Cort managed a grin. “After talking with Meredith, she told me to come see you guys. Here’s the thing. She and her father have been estranged for the last five or six years. Dear old dad, George Trowbridge, is probably one of the most influential people in Washington. His wealth and political power are rivaled by only a handful of Washington insiders.”
“Did he ever hold office?” asked Ryan.
Tom laughed. “He didn’t have to. He owned them already. Half of Congress and most presidents have been beholden to Cort’s father-in-law.”
“He’s a kingmaker, as they say in political circles,” added Cort. “In any event, when my wife and George had a falling-out, they both became stubborn and went a long time without speaking with one another.”
“What happened?” asked Blair.
“Well, let’s just say that George had a daddy-knows-best approach toward his relationship with her,” Cort replied.
“Did he not approve of you as her husband or something?” asked Blair.
Cort chuckled. “Nah, just the opposite. After Meredith took me to her home for the first time, George practically recruited me to marry her. We had certain common interests at Yale.”
“Like what?” asked Ryan.
Cort glanced at Tom for support. With an imperceptible nod that Blair picked up on, Tom gave Cort the green light to continue.
“I played basketball at Yale, but I was also determined to be a lawyer. During my junior year, I was tapped to join a group of students who’d carried on a tradition that dated back for centuries.”
Ryan perked up. “Are you a Bonesman?”
Cort smiled. “So you’re familiar with the Skull and Bones Society?”
“Sort of. I remember it was a big deal when George H. W. Bush ran for president. Then it came out that W. had been a part of it as well.”
“Well, I’m a member, as is Meredith’s father. During my time at Yale, a lot of alumni came to our gatherings, usually at a place called Deer Island. George wasn’t one of them, although he was one of the more famous Bonesmen who’d never held political office.”
“Why didn’t he go?” asked Blair.
“When George was at Yale, there apparently was a falling-out among the Bonesmen at the time based on political differences. George, and many who were politically inclined toward the right, pulled away from the others. Since I’ve arrived here, I’ve had more free time to reflect on what I recall from the stories told by my fellow Bonesmen, and what George has relayed to me over the years. I think the rift was greater than any of them let on.”
Blair was trying to make sense of all of this. “Okay, Meredith and her dad didn’t speak for a while. I take it you stayed in contact with him?”
“That’s correct, but it was more than a casual phone chat. He and I worked closely together on legislative matters. You know, exchanging information, discussing strategies. Things like that.”
“That’s it?” asked Blair. “I mean, that doesn’t sound like some big national security secret. I guess I might’ve been pissed if Ryan had a secretive relationship with my dad and didn’t back me up if there was some kind of disagreement. Is there more to this?”
“I think so,” replied Cort. “He was grooming me, Blair. He never expressly admitted it, but I believe George was steering me from position to position in order to eventually take the reins of his empire. You see, Meredith is his only child, and she has no interest whatsoever in what he does. I check off all the boxes—family, politically astute, and most importantly, I’m a Bonesman.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I don’t know, Cort. There could be worse things to become entangled with. From what you’ve described, your father-in-law is a wealthy, powerful, and respected man. He’s kind of a middle ground to the Koch brothers on the right and the Schwartz family on the left.”
“Yes, in the past he has played both sides of the aisle, oftentimes pitting one side against the other to get what he wants,” said Cort, and then his voice lowered. “Until now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Blair.
Cort took a deep breath and explained. He began to nervously rub his hands together and then wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “I saw him on New Year’s Eve before I flew home to Mobile. My visit was the reason I missed my earlier flight, and it was that hastily called meeting that placed me on Delta 322 from Atlanta to Mobile.”
“What was the conversation about?” asked Ryan.
“It was almost, well, philosophical. George is in poor health. Meredith didn’t know the extent of it until I filled her in this morning. Anyway, I believe he was preparing me for his death.”
Blair could see that Cort was troubled and she leaned over to touch his arm. “Hey, the holidays do that to people, especially when they’re old and alone. I wouldn’t worry—”
Cort smiled, but he interrupted her. “We’ve never had a conversation like that before. Plus, it was what he said at the end that stuck in my head. His eyes looked into mine, like they were probing my soul. It was the eeriest feeling I’d ever experienced, other than almost dying in that airplane.”
“What did he say?” asked Ryan.
“His last words to me were either you control destiny, or destiny controls you,” replied Cort.
Cort’s words hung in the air as Ryan and Blair considered their meaning. Finally, Blair asked Cort what they meant to him. His response shocked her.
“He knew.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Haven House
The Haven
Ryan was beginning to get the picture. The group that lit the fuse on New Year’s Eve had intended to inflict damage on certain groups for the purpose of fanning the flames of discontent. He wanted to probe Cort further so he could fill in the blanks of his own theories of what had happened.
“About what? The New Year’s Eve attacks?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Cort. “I’m not totally sure as to why he would be involved in something like that, although I could speculate. Moreover, because of his poor health, I don’t know how he’d have the ability to pull off coordinated terrorist attacks considering his circumstances.”
“Yet his words were profound, and they did imply he knew what was about to happen,” added Blair.
Cort hung his head and exhaled. “Yes.”
Ryan looked at Tom. “You’ve been awfully quiet through all of this. What say you?”
“This was Cort’s story to tell,” replied Tom. “That said, take it from someone who’s worked for George Trowbridge and his associates in the past, he, or one of his associates, was certainly capable of pulling off the type of coordination required to accomplish the attacks.”
Blair stood up and wandered around the room. She rubbed her temples and then paused. “Why didn’t he clue you in? Hell, why didn’t he warn you? For Pete’s sake, you were on an airplane that was s
hot down, possibly using some of his resources.”
“Honey, sit down,” said Ryan, who could tell his wife was getting agitated. “That was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“If that’s the case, it was pretty sloppy, in my opinion,” said Blair, who continued to wander the floor. “If Cort is the heir apparent to some political machine or empire, you’d think the kingmaker, as you called him, would protect the prince a little better from being accidentally killed.”
Tom spoke up. “We think Cort might have been the target, or at least by a stroke of luck, happened to be on the same plane as Congressman Pratt.”
Now Blair was really confused. “His father-in-law tried to have him killed? That doesn’t make—”
Cort stopped her. “No. No. He had no idea, I’m sure. It was probably somebody else.”
“Someone went rogue, off the reservation, as they say,” interjected Tom. “Cort and I believe that while Pratt was the initial and, I might add, obvious target, Cort’s appearance on the flight’s manifest as the last standby passenger to be boarded was either overlooked or considered to be a fortuitous turn of events for whoever spearheaded this operation.”
The room fell silent as they contemplated Tom’s words. Blair finally took a seat, but her body language spoke volumes. All of a sudden, this new wrinkle might put them all in danger. She was genuinely concerned.
Cort sensed the tension, so he addressed the elephant in the room. “I’m thinking what all of you are thinking. I may have been the target of the downing of Delta 322, and it’s quite possible that the person or persons that orchestrated the attack may still be after me.”
“I don’t know, maybe,” said Ryan. “How would they know that you were here?”
“Well, I knew it and apparently so did your daddy-in-law,” replied Blair. “He gave the letter to Tom knowing that his path would cross with Meredith’s. If we knew it, then these people who work for Trowbridge might know it, too.”
