by Bobby Akart
MICHAEL “CORT” CORTLAND, wife MEREDITH, and daughter, HANNAH
The Cortland family had to make a decision. Cort had recovered and was released to go home. After seeing the news reports and speaking with his boss, a powerful Washington Senator, Cort knew that he had to take his family to the Haven.
There was just one problem. They knew nothing about it. Following an emotional scene in which Cort revealed some, but not all, of what he knew about the state of affairs and his reason for becoming involved in the Haven to begin with, Meredith acquiesced to leaving Mobile.
Her bigger concern was now for her husband who wanted to fly. Gasoline shortages had struck the nation and societal unrest was rampant on the first day following the terrorist attacks. She as convinced that Cort was suffering from PTSD, but he insisted, and the family made the arrangements.
DR. ANGELA RANKIN, TYLER RANKIN, and their children, KAYCEE and J.C.
The Rankins were caught in the midst of a region decimated by an EMP attack. Electronics were destroyed, the rural parts of New Jersey where they were located had no power. But the Rankins were fortunate that Tyler had an old Ford Bronco that was not susceptible to the electromagnetic pulse.
This would become both a blessing and a curse for the family. Having the only operating vehicle for miles, they immediately became a target of their desperate fellow man. Their first challenge was to get away from the Six Flags parking lot that was packed with dazed and confused New Year’s revelers.
Then, they had to traverse the back roads through New Jersey toward their home in Richmond, Virginia. Except for a few skirmishes along the way, the family was almost safely in Virginia when they came upon the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. They entered the dark tunnel not realizing that trouble lay ahead.
Tyler gets ambushed by thugs who were robbing travelers in the darkness of the tunnel, but Angela came to the rescue. The family persevered and eventually made it home to Richmond where they came to the realization that they needed to wind up their affairs and head for the Haven.
THE HAVEN
We were introduced to Ryan and Blair Smart and got a sense for what brought them to North Carolina, and why. They applied their organizational skills, their preparedness mindset, and their newly found wealth to create a community that could not only protect themselves from the inevitable collapse of society, but others as well.
Their team consisted of like-minded thinkers with valuable skills the Haven needed. After the events of New Year’s Eve, they set their security plans into motion and waited for other residents to arrive. The first to arrive was WILL HIGHTOWER, a/k/a DELTA, and his kids, ETHAN and SKYLAR.
Delta blended in with the team and he tried to reassure his kids that they would be safe. Skylar took to the community immediately, but Ethan had his doubts. He was more focused on reaching out to his mother and possibly bringing her to the Haven than assimilating with the other residents.
Around the Haven, preparations were being made. Security was established, duties were assigned, and the Smarts tried to implement the detailed plans they’d created over the prior two years. They hoped for the best but prepared for the worst.
THE HEAVY HITTERS
It turns out, as the conspiracy surrounding George Trowbridge, his associates and the Schwartz family deepened. He assisted the Sheltons to travel quickly toward the Haven, providing Tom a letter to give to Meredith Trowbridge Cortland.
He had a pulse on a lot of things, although his own pulse was weakening due to a debilitating disease. Trowbridge began to have his doubts about what happened to Cort on the ill-fated Delta 322 flight. He suspected that his associates were going off the reservation, so to speak.
Meanwhile, György Schwartz and his son, Jonathan, plotted the further demise of the United States by inserting themselves into the chaos. Jonathan was the henchman of the family while his father played global financier.
One of the Schwartz family’s favorite tool to manipulate financial markets was to fabricate societal unrest. To further their goals of collapsing the U.S. dollar, and destabilize American society, Jonathan calls upon the anarchist group known as the Black Rose, or Rosa Negra.
Well-financed by the Schwartz family organizations, the grassroots movement around the country was known for wreaking havoc on cities during political events. Now, they’d be called upon to take the fight to Main Street USA, America’s heartland, where we all live in our neighborhoods, with two-car garages, and parks for our children to play in.
None of the following is supposed to happen around us. No sirree. Only in the big cities, or places like Portland, Seattle, Chicago, and DC, right?
Doomsday: Anarchy begins now…
January 2, The Dawn of a New Day
Chapter 1
American Airlines Flight 5463
Pensacola to Charlotte
Humans were not meant to be airborne. Michael Cortland repeated this to himself throughout the ninety-minute flight from Pensacola to Charlotte on that New Year’s night. It had only been fifteen hours since he’d been plucked out of the Gulf of Mexico following the ill-fated Delta flight on New Year’s Eve. Somewhere during the ordeal, he’d sworn off flying forever, he was sure of it.
Yet, there he was, buckled into a Canadair RJ-700, a sixty-eight-seat regional jet manufactured by Bombardier. Cort knew all of these details because during the preflight checks, he’d read the safety instructions backwards and forwards and insisted that Meredith and Hannah do the same.
His anxiety was so bad that he admonished a passenger seated in front of him to pay attention as the flight attendants went through their safety briefing. The two exchanged words before Meredith was able to calm Cort down. She’d pulled a bottle of water out of her carry-on and insisted he take two of her Zoloft tablets, a medication prescribed to her for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. PMDD was similar to PMS, except more serious.
Before they left the house, Meredith had researched whether Zoloft would help Cort with the aftereffects of the plane crash and the post-traumatic stress he would most likely encounter. Her online research, and a quick conversation with Cort’s attending physician at the hospital, confirmed the medication would help.
The doctor made it abundantly clear that he did not approve of Cort’s flying so soon, especially the same evening following the crash. Meredith didn’t approve either, but Cort was very convincing. He was genuinely concerned for the safety of his family.
The Mobile airport was still closed due to the investigation, so they made the one-hour drive into Florida to catch a flight from Pensacola to Charlotte. They’d purchased their tickets online but still had to go through the check-in process because Cort was traveling with weapons and Handsome Dan.
Interestingly, his ability to bring guns on board the aircraft was easier than convincing the American Airlines personnel that their seventy-pound English bulldog was an emotional support animal under the FAA guidelines.
Cort was unaware of any limits placed on the number of weapons that could be checked aboard an aircraft, but he assumed the handgun and two rifles he brought would not be a problem. Still, procedures would need to be followed. Cort lived in a time in which pocket knives, snow globes, and gel inserts for your shoes couldn’t be brought through a TSA checkpoint.
His weapons were stored in sturdy, hard plastic cases that contained fitted foam made for each gun. His ammunition, because it was less than .75 caliber, could be stored in the same cases, and Cort ensured the magazines were empty.
The ticket agent studied Handsome Dan throughout the check-in process, even going so far as to call in two different supervisors to assess the situation. Meredith had obtained by fax an ESA letter from Cort’s attending physician, the second reason for her phone call.
In recent years, the major airlines had tightened the leash on comfort animals as passengers began to abuse the privilege. Everything from squirrels to miniature ponies had emerged as candidates to help fearful passengers get from one destination to another. Pas
sengers had become lax in their restraints of the animals as they were allowed to wander the cabin midflight, at times misbehaving, biting other passengers, or defecating at will.
It became incumbent upon the ticket agents to determine if the passenger had the proper paperwork, which included the ESA letter—a signed letter from a veterinarian stating the animal was trained to behave without a kennel—and a health vaccination record from the vet.
Meredith had the ESA letter and Handsome’s vaccination history, but not the training letter. After explaining to the American Airlines agent the circumstances behind Cort’s crash, the three personnel made a judgment call and allowed Handsome on board. To his credit, the stout pup sat quietly as he passed inspection, despite the fact that a yappy poodle disrupted the entire terminal.
The process helped distract Cort from the task at hand. It wasn’t until the family was buckled in and the pilot had pushed the aircraft away from the gate that reality set in for Cort. His palms became moist and then sweat began to pour down his forehead. After his stomach rolled over the first time, he looked around to see how many rows he’d have to race down to reach the lavatory. This thought process reminded him of swimming through the Delta aircraft in search of Congressman Johnson Pratt, a noble gesture that almost got him killed.
Cort had applied some logic when he booked the flight. He wanted to sit with Handsome next to him, but Hannah and Meredith nearby. He pulled up the seating chart and found an entire row open. He purchased all six seats. Meredith and Hannah sat across the aisle, and he strapped Handsome in the middle seat next to him. Cort felt most comfortable in the aisle and immediately pulled down the window shade after they boarded. He had no intention of looking outside.
Several times throughout the flight, he second-guessed his decision to leave so abruptly and, especially, the choice of transportation. The news reports coming in from around the country indicated gas shortages had swept the nation as panicked Americans topped off their tanks and fuel trucks stopped running altogether due to the attacks.
Then there was the matter of the electronic failure of the Delta flight. Cort wasn’t all that familiar with the operation of commercial jets, but he did understand the effect an electromagnetic pulse could have on one. He’d been part of many Pentagon briefings with his boss, Senator Hugh McNeil, in which the use of EMPs in warfare were discussed.
The development of directed-energy weapons capable of disabling electronics on a specific target was a high priority for the Department of Defense, as well as other military powerhouses around the world. The downing of Delta 322 had all the earmarks of a pulsed energy attack.
Now Cort needed to know why. Was it purely coincidental? Sure, Congressman Pratt, the man who would lead the impeachment charge against the president, might be a target of political opponents. But was murdering everyone on an airplane to get to one man necessary?
Or was there more than one target?
Cort’s mind raced to many different scenarios and plausible explanations. The Zoloft managed to keep him in his seat and not throwing up in the lavatory, but it did little to calm his anxiety.
He kept a constant watch on the Flight Tracker display on the small monitor embedded in the back of the seat in front of him. They were making their final approach into Charlotte, and a sense of relief began to wash over him. Then he recalled he had been less than a mile from home when Delta 322 hit the water, and a wave of anxiety hit him again.
To reassure himself, he elected to open the window shade. He stretched to reach over their passed-out, snoring bulldog. “Some comfort you are,” Cort whispered to his bestest pal with a grin. With a slight grunt to overcome the pain in his midsection, Cort reached the shade and forced it upward.
He closed his eyes and shook his head before opening them again to confirm they hadn’t betrayed him. Fires roared out of control throughout the Charlotte cityscape.
Chapter 2
Schwartz Estate
Katonah, New York
György Schwartz knew that it didn’t matter whether he was right or wrong. What mattered was how much money he’d made when he was right, and how much he lost when he was wrong. He was a rich man financially because he survived by recognizing his mistakes and admitting when he was wrong. He was rich spiritually because he’d had a profound impact on the geopolitical affairs of the world for decades.
When pressed on the issue of his political influence during an interview with the BBC, he dryly quipped, I cannot and do not look at the social consequences of what I do. Nobody believed that statement, least of all Schwartz, yet it was delivered with conviction and sincerity.
In the United States during this time, almost everyone had an agenda. News networks were identified by whether they leaned left or right on the political spectrum. Television networks were known to cater to certain demographic groups. Print media attracted journalists who were like-minded thinkers.
Even authors of fiction, those who conjure up characters and scenarios to provide entertainment for their readers, couldn’t help but allow their personal beliefs to slip through in their writing. We’re all humans, after all.
Schwartz was different. He had wealth, and with his vast riches, he was able to exert a tremendous amount of influence over political candidates at all levels of governments, in any country. Money runs campaigns, and Schwartz was generous with his contributions, provided the candidates fulfilled a commitment to advance his agenda.
There was, however, one matter that he had not yet addressed. Something that would either bankrupt him or make him the richest man on the planet. Today, he would complete his quest to collapse the U.S. economy and cause the collapse of the dollar.
“Good morning, Jonathan,” he said in a cheerful voice as his son arrived in the estate’s magnificently appointed conference room. Television monitors were installed and framed as if they were works of art. To break up the walls, exquisite paintings adorned the walls, and sconce lighting allowed an eerie glow to cast shadows on the ceiling.
“Did you sleep well?” his son responded, imperceptibly nodding to the butler, who poured his morning tea. Father and son were accustomed to making small talk while the staff served their breakfast. Most mornings, the two men met in the dining room, but today, one that would not be forgotten by financiers around the world, required them to have access to all the electronic tools necessary to effectuate their plan and monitor the results.
“Tre bone, konsiderante,” Schwartz replied, relaying the fact he slept well under the circumstances. Schwartz chose to speak in Esperanto, an unusual, secretive language he’d learned from his father, a speaker and writer who’d traveled Europe following his release from a Siberian prison camp after World War One. Esperanto was designed to be an international language, loosely based upon Latin. “Grava tago atendas.”
An important day awaits. The words came out of his mouth with the singsong rhythm of an Italian cardinal speaking to one of his aides, or of Michael Corleone in The Godfather III.
“Shall I make the calls?” asked Jonathan, curtly dismissing the staff and directing them to close the doors as they departed. He’d been up for hours as the European markets opened. Before he went to bed, he’d alerted the family’s business associates in Asia to be prepared for a busy day.
Schwartz wandered around the conference room, pausing to survey the inhospitable winter landscape outside. The snow had fallen throughout the night, obliterating the line between the lawn and a small lake located behind the stately home. Schwartz chuckled to himself. Nature’s stormy wrath had a similar effect on the world as his life’s work—blurred lines and eliminated boundaries.
To a stranger, Schwartz might have appeared disinterested in making conversation with his son. As he focused on the white splendor that engulfed his home, one might mistake his faraway thoughts as unfocused, perhaps hearkening back to his native Hungary. But his mind was singularly focused on the task at hand.
When he began to speak, his son took meticulous notes
. The Schwartz financial empire was comprised of many multinational corporations and organizations, utilizing a complex network of brokerage accounts enabling him to effectuate secretive transactions.
Schwartz continued to give his son direction, using his brilliant mind to announce his plan. A financial attack he’d plotted and dreamt about for many years.
“Dominica, St. Kitts, Providenciales, Cook Islands, Nevis, Panama.” His voice was grave as he listed the most used tax havens in the world, where offshore accounts and shell companies were the norm.
The intricacy of the trades was remarkable. The sums of money, billions, were astounding. Jonathan typed furiously on his iPad, his longish fingernails tapping the glass screen as he recorded his father’s directives.
“Father, this will take days,” Jonathan lamented when Schwartz stopped to gather his thoughts.
“No, it will not!” he shot back, taking his son’s demeanor as insolence. “We must complete these transactions before the opening of the Asian markets.”
“That’s in five hours.” Jonathan was wounded by his father’s rebuke. He shook it off, taking into account the magnitude of the moment. He added, “The Australian markets open an hour sooner.”
“Understood, son. Currency trades of this magnitude will have repercussions throughout the global financial system. They will draw attention, and rightfully so. That’s by design. I want them to notice. I want them to know their currency is under attack. Frightened animals act irrationally. We’ll be prepared for the next step when they do.”
Jonathan nodded and sipped his tea. He relaxed as his father’s tone changed. “These will be scrutinized by the CFTC. Taking a one-point-three billion short position in the euro, coupled with a corresponding long position in the dollar, will not go unnoticed.”
