by Bobby Akart
As Sarge spoke about the interrelationship between sovereign nations and the global institutions transcending their boundaries, Julia took turns admiring Sarge in his element and the casual interaction among the governors in the lobby. What would it take to reach this level of cordial cooperation across political boundaries?
The conversation turned to the subject of cyber warfare as Governor Christie brought up the issue from the previous night’s televised debate.
“The Chinese don’t take us seriously under this President,” Governor Christie said. “They have pushed us around economically, and now they perpetrate cyber attacks upon our government with impunity. If it were up to me, the next time they pull this crap, they’d see cyber warfare like they have never seen before.”
“What are you suggesting Chris?” asked Governor Baker.
“What I’m suggesting Charlie is sending them a clear message. Don’t fuck with us!”
“What do you do? Cyber attack them back?” asked Governor Pence.
“Maybe, or more,” said Governor Christie. “What do you think Sarge? What’s an appropriate response to the constant barrage of cyber intrusions into our government, military, and the private sector?”
A small crowd gathered at the bar around the group. Sarge had lectured on this subject before.
“For many years, Washington has dismissed the need for international negotiations and cooperation on the issue, but now there is a push to develop rules for the virtual world,” replied Sarge. “The trend appears to be headed toward the creation of a cyber policy based upon the realization that our domestic efforts to secure America’s borders from cyber attacks are inadequate.”
“If this administration is finally waking up to this reality, is it because of the impact on the economy, or the threat to our military secrets?” asked Governor Pence.
“Both Governor,” replied Sarge. “For example, the Chinese use cyber warfare to obtain military and technological secrets. This enables them to keep up with us militarily, and surpass our private sector economically.”
“What is the administration doing to combat this?” asked Governor Baker.
“The interests of China and the United States are often fundamentally opposed when it comes to issues of cyber activity and its governance. The U.S. plan calls for transparency and freedom of information while China relies upon state control over information in cyberspace. So far, China and the U.S. have restricted their cyber activities to military and economic espionage, rather than other forms of cyber attacks that might give rise to an act of war.”
“What about the Russians then?” asked Governor Christie. “They’re just as bad as the Chinese.”
“The Russians are notorious for using criminal groups and other hackers with no clear links to the Russian Government,” replied Sarge, taking in a deep breath. “Russia is well known for its military mentality. Remember the cold war? It has taken nearly a decade for nations to realize the true threat of cyber warfare. Today we’re dependent on computers. Russia opened the eyes of the world to the looming threat of cyber warfare after their attacks on Estonia in’07. Now, Russia’s state-sponsored cyber forces have opened up a new front in cyber warfare. Cyber attacks and cyber weapons are now recognized as strategic arms and useful offensive weapons.”
“Do you believe the Russians could use a cyber attack as a preemptive strike against us?” asked Governor Christie.
“It wouldn’t be the first time the Russians used cyber warfare as a precursor to war.”
PART ONE
Night of Terror
Chapter 1
Saturday, September 3, 2016
9:10 p.m.
73 Tremont
Boston, Massachusetts
“Malcolm, call it off! Call them now,” screamed John Morgan, showing sheer panic for the first time in his life. Morgan was a man who insisted upon perfection. His life was full of calculated decisions, comprehensive planning, and flawless implementation. How could I miss this? How could I overlook the safety of my precious daughter, my only family, my legacy?
Malcolm Lowe, Morgan’s longtime assistant, fumbled through his pockets, clearly overcome with nervousness. Morgan yanked the receiver off his desk phone and hit speed dial in an attempt to call Abigail.
It repeatedly rang—no answer. “Where is she, Malcolm?”
“She’s giving a speech in downtown Tallahassee somewhere.”
Morgan reset the phone and hit the speed-dial button of Abigail’s chief of staff, Rhona Jacobs. After several rings, Morgan heard the sound of applause and the faint voice of Jacobs answering hello.
And then the line was dead. The lights went out. Darkness descended over the city of Boston and much of America. It was 9:11, by design.
Chapter 2
September 3, 2016
9:10 p.m.
Tucker Civic Center
Downtown Tallahassee, Florida
Freshman Senator Abigail Morgan from Massachusetts was fulfilling her role as vice presidential nominee on the Hillary Clinton for President ticket admirably. The choice of a running mate was a shady, backroom process that rarely saw the light of day. Abbie’s fate was sealed during just such a meeting between her father and former President of the United States Bill Clinton. The agreement between the men was the result of blackmail as much as political expediency.
As Abbie began to perform on the campaign trail, the Democratic presidential nominee was given full credit for making the first great decision of her possible presidency. In short, Abbie was a tremendous benefit and provided a much-needed boost to a floundering campaign. Abbie’s libertarian-leaning politics coupled with her spotless report card following a rigorous vetting process allowed her to avoid the rancor and negativity that had surrounded American campaigns in the last several decades. The Clinton-Morgan combination became known as the best-rounded political ticket in several presidential campaign cycles and appealed to those four to six percent of the undecided electorate who determined close elections.
As a result, Abbie became the campaign workhorse. Her carefully choreographed schedule typically involved a breakfast meet-and-greet, followed by a day of campaign activities that traversed several cities or states. This evening was an exception to the rule. Abbie had been scheduled to take the campaign plane back to Boston earlier that afternoon, but a late invitation from musician Jimmy Buffett to say a few words at his sold-out concert in the Tucker Civic Center was an extraordinary opportunity to reach out to a cross-section of Florida voters.
Buffett, an avowed liberal who embraced many environmental issues, was a vocal supporter of Mrs. Clinton’s campaign. He offered Abbie the opportunity to share the stage in front of over twelve thousand fans. Following her attendance at a fund-raising dinner hosted by retiring Senator Bill Nelson, Abbie was taken to the Tucker Center by her security detail led by the ever-present Drew Jackson.
Drew, a former Navy SEAL and a member of Steven Sargent’s Aegis Team, had become more than a valuable member of Abbie’s security team. The two had grown fond of each other, and there was clearly an attraction between them. In public, Abbie and Drew were able to maintain proper boundaries and an appearance of professionalism. In private moments, which were rare, their conversations always turned to more opportunities to steal away and avoid the madness of the campaign trail.
Drew stood toward the back of the stage just to the side of the massive speakers that accompanied the Buffett concert road show. A wall of over one hundred flat-screens provided a larger-than-life image of Abbie as she addressed the concert fans.
“Thank you for that warm welcome, parrot heads!” said Abbie into the microphone, her voice booming through the concert hall. The margarita and marijuana-infused fans responded raucously to the parrot head reference—the nickname of Jimmy Buffett fans since his rise to popularity in the seventies. Drew doubted any of these potential voters would remember Abbie’s speech tonight, but he was sure the positive media associated with sharing the stage with th
e barefoot troubadour who hailed from Key West would be a political coup.
Drew’s mind wandered somewhat as Abbie continued her stump speech designed to attract Florida voters.
“As an independent, I opposed the recent legislation proposed by Republicans attempting to prohibit online gambling. I believe this would pave the way for more government control over the Internet,” said Abbie. “Moreover, such a bill is an inappropriate and unnecessary use of federal powers that infringes upon the rights of individuals and the states. This ban, if approved by Congress, will push gambling back into the black market, where crime can flourish with no protection for our citizens from predatory behavior.”
Drew moved swiftly to knock away a beach ball swatted toward the stage. His actions received cheers and jeers from some of the parrot heads. One young woman toward the side of the stage where Drew was posted flashed her breasts at him. Drew instantly looked away. They’re out of control.
“I believe states have the right to govern their citizenry. We wholeheartedly support the right of Floridians to legalize and regulate online gambling as well as gaming casinos within their state.”
Toward the front of the stage, some pushing and shoving occurred as one concertgoer spilled a drink on another one. The civic center was full of marijuana smoke, and Drew wondered if anyone attending was unimpaired.
Throughout the campaign, Drew overheard conversations between Abbie and her campaign team. As the de facto head of her U.S. Secret Service team, he was privy to confidential conversations about their strategy. Following the policies of the dedicated members of the USSS, Drew never spoke a word of these details. He did know Florida Democrats were very pleased with their success in getting two liberal-friendly initiatives on the November ballot—legalized gambling and marijuana. It would boost their voter turnout.
Abbie continued. “Major newspapers in Florida have issued editorials recently calling for an end to marijuana prohibition. As a libertarian, I have held that position for decades!”
The crowd roared its approval. Drew thought the roof was going to blow off the building. Buffett, clearly enjoying the moment, approached the front of the stage and whipped the parrot head faithful into a feeding frenzy. Holding his right hand to his head emulating a shark fin, Buffett swayed back and forth as Abbie spoke. His fans responded and pressed closer to the stage, tipping over the metal barriers that were designed to create a protective buffer.
Instinctively, Drew stepped towards Abbie. He was never comfortable with this evening’s campaign appearance. The secret service team had no time to evaluate the venue and prepare appropriate contingency plans. Abbie was not a rock star. She was going to be the next vice president of the United States and had no business sharing a stage with this circus act.
Abbie paused, waiting for the noise inside the arena to subside. The roar of the adoring crowd was so overwhelming that no one heard the sound of the transformer exploding outside the front entrance at the Donald L. Tucker Civic Center, which was simultaneously thrust into darkness.
Chapter 3
September 3, 2016
9:12 p.m.
73 Tremont
Boston, Massachusetts
“Sir, I was not able—” started Lowe before Morgan shouted him down.
“Obviously, Malcolm! Get the pilot ready. We’re going to Florida.”
“Sir, I believe the planes will be grounded under the circumstances.”
Morgan was fuming. He was angry that his carefully orchestrated plans were out of control—placing Abigail in grave danger. He was also annoyed with Lowe because he stated the obvious when the situation called for inventive solutions. Morgan threw the phone at the fireplace.
“Dammit, Malcolm, I know that! Get the Sikorsky ready. Call the pilot now!”
Morgan stared out onto Boston Common. This complication was not what he envisioned. The darkness was expected, but the fact that Abigail was not within his protective grasp was unforeseen. This event—the reset—was carefully planned and would achieve the desired result. History will prove it was necessary.
I can fix this. There is nothing that time and money can’t solve.
“Sir,” interrupted Lowe, “the pilot has concerns.”
Uncharacteristically, Morgan exploded and cursed. “I don’t give a flying fuck about his concerns. Give me the damn phone!” Morgan walked to the window and pushed against the cold glass with his left hand. His palms were sweaty, and he was feeling some pressure in his chest. He calmed himself as he addressed the helicopter pilot.
“We are going to Florida now. What is the closest military installation to Tallahassee?” Morgan listened to his pilot. He shook his head. “The power is irrelevant—we’re going anyway! What are our options?” Morgan rubbed his face and began to flex his left arm that was stiffening slightly.
“Not Eglin—too much activity. Camp Blanding will be better. It’s smaller, less conspicuous. I’ll make the arrangements. We’re on our way to Norwood. Hurry!”
Morgan handed Lowe the cell phone. He closed his eyes and rubbed both temples. This isn’t happening. I don’t need this right now. Sirens from first-responder vehicles could be heard through the darkness. There isn’t much time.
“Malcolm, get Jacobs on the phone.” Lowe dialed and handed the phone to Morgan.
“Hello,” said Jacobs, who was on speaker. The roar of the voices was deafening.
“This is John Morgan. Listen to me very carefully.”
“Sir, the power just went out in the arena. May I call you back in a moment?”
“No, Jacobs! Listen to me. Tell Abigail to meet me at Camp Blanding in the morning. Do you understand me?”
“Sir, yes, of course. But we have the plane ready to return her to Boston. May I call you back?”
“Dammit, Jacobs! Pay attention! Tell Abigail to be at Camp Blanding tomorrow morning. I will pick her up. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. But why?”
“No questions, Jacobs! Tell her now!” Then the line went dead. He saw he still had a signal as he handed the phone to Lowe. The cell phones wouldn’t last much longer. The battery backups installed on most cell towers would only last a few hours under normal circumstances. Morgan suspected much of America would be lighting up the cell phone lines over the next several minutes. He knew the increased activity would drain the woefully fragile wireless communications network rapidly.
“I have the team ready to escort you to the heliport, sir,” said Lowe. “Am I going with you to Florida?” It was normally a thirty-minute drive to the Norwood Airport, where his Sikorsky S76 helicopter was kept. Tonight, the travel time could be complicated by circumstances. Morgan calmed down and regained his composure.
“I need you to ride with me to Norwood,” replied Morgan. “There are arrangements to be made. Get the satellite phone and the briefcase out of the safe. Let’s go!”
Chapter 4
September 3, 2016
9:12 p.m.
Tucker Civic Center
Downtown Tallahassee, Florida
For a brief moment, Abbie felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. The noise was deafening, with no single voice discernible in the arena. One moment the crowd was cheering—swaying back and forth with their favorite singer. The next moment, there was darkness, except for the faint glow of EXIT signs and emergency lighting inside the arena’s concourse. The lights brightened and darkened through the haze of smoke that filled the building.
Over a span of thirty seconds, the sights and sounds of cell phones coming to life calmed the throng. Text messages were received and sent. Cell phone calls were answered and placed. In this interconnected world, the twelve thousand plus flock of parrot heads quickly became a panicked mob.
“We’ve been attacked!”
“Terrorists!”
“The lights are out everywhere!”
“Get out, it must have been a bomb!”
The voices rang through Abbie’s head. The crowded arena, overfilled beyond
its capacity, became a Jiffy Pop popcorn popper on a hot stove. When it exploded, the mass of people crushed each other and their beloved leader of the parrot heads as they fought their way towards the exits. It was Drew’s firm grasp of her arm and authoritative voice that brought Abbie back to reality.
“Abbie, Abbie! We have to go now!” shouted Drew through the pandemonium. Into his communications microphone, he was shouting, “Extract! Extract!”
Snapping back to life, Abbie asked, “Drew, what’s happened?” She was now surrounded by two more members of her secret service team as several people climbed the stage towards her.
“Stop them!” shouted Drew, motioning to his associates to intervene. He wrapped his arm around Abbie and pulled her towards the hallway at the rear of the stage where her chief of staff was waiting.
“Abbie,” started Jacobs, “we’ve got to get you to the buses. Something major has happened.” Abbie, still disheveled, followed Jacobs through the makeshift hallway into the bowels of the Tucker Civic Center. As they entered the concourse, away from the throngs above, Abbie stopped abruptly.
“Rhona, tell me what’s going on!” Two more secret service personnel joined the group. Together with Drew, they formed a semicircle protecting the women.
“Information is spotty, Abbie, but it appears the country has been attacked in some way,” replied Jacobs. “The power is out across the nation.”
“What? The entire grid?”
“I don’t know for certain. My cell phone loses its signal and then it will reappear. When I dial out, I hear all circuits are busy. I’ve only been able to receive a couple of phone calls. Most of my information has come via text message.”
