by Theo Cage
The front door of the farmhouse creaked open and Gideon turned to the sound. Tommy called out “Gideon? Are you home?”
Gideon put on his most serious face, fully expecting bad news. He sauntered into the front foyer forcing himself to appear calm. Tommy looked nervous, his eyes on the floor.
“Tommy, are you reporting back?”
“Gideon? There was as a problem. In Canada.”
Gideon looked him over. Tommy had changed and washed up, even shaved for the occasion. He was holding a bound document. He also had a fresh bandage wrapped across the top of his bald head.
“Any problems with customs on the flight back?”
Tommy had taken the corporate jet. Gideon wanted to make sure that his team wasn’t hassled at Norfolk International. If they were, his connections there would pay dearly for it. One thing at a time.
“No issues, Gideon. We retrieved the document you asked for.”
“What happened to your head?”
Tommy hesitated. “The American professor? O’Brien? He got lucky and then ran off into the woods. We lost him.”
Gideon glared, noting how Tommy had side-skirted the question. “Very unfortunate. So close to our appointed hour.” Gideon stepped forward and slapped the soldier hard across the mouth. Tommy’s lip was bleeding when he continued. “If this comes back to hurt us, any of us, it’s you that will pay. And your wife and family. Those are the rules.”
“I understand, Gideon.” Tommy’s Adams apple bounced up and down a few times. Gideon knew he was flashing back on whatever chores he had carried out there.
“I think the professor knew very little …” he started.
“Any other surprises?” asked Gideon.
“There was a bystander. I had to look after her as well.”
Gideon rubbed his shaved head. “Tommy – Tommy. How many commandments have you broken in the last twenty-four hours? But I doubt the authorities will have the time to put anything together, before it’s far too late. You’re just very lucky.”
Tommy nodded slowly. He looked like he had more to say. Gideon waited a few seconds in silence.
“We also brought back the professor’s wife,” said Tommy.
Gideon turned on him. “What?” he sputtered.
“Clayton didn’t kill her. He said he didn’t have orders.”
“Are you insane? I gave very precise instructions.”
“By the time I caught up to them, they were on the jet. I didn’t think that was an appropriate place. You know, to terminate her.”
Gideon grabbed the soldier roughly by the collar of his shirt. “You brought her here? She’s a Zionist witch. You have no idea what you’ve done. She will spoil our milk and turn our potatoes to smut.”
Tommy was shocked by Gideon’s outburst. “She’s with the women. In their residence. Annika is watching her.”
Gideon released the soldier. “This is very troubling.”
“And she’s sedated.”
“Better.” Gideon seemed to calm slightly. “Leave her there. She can sacrifice her life with the rest of the baby wranglers.”
“Here’s the book or whatever that crazy Indian professor wrote. It’s nothing.” He handed Gideon the sheaf of papers.
“I’m glad you think it’s nothing, Tommy. Without these document, we could never be sure though.” Gideon leaned into the soldier, his lips inches from the young man’s ears. McDane almost flinched. Gideon spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“She’s a Jew, you know. Russian Jew.” Tommy’s eyes grew wide. “ It’s valuable that you had a chance to meet the ugly face of ZOG.” Gideon winked at the boy. “You know, before they’re all gone.”
Tommy studied his leaders smile then let out a long breath of air. He relaxed his shoulders.
“That’s better. Besides. What do you have to worry about, young man?” Gideon turned and nodded towards the kitchen. “Join me for lunch. We can talk about our plans for tomorrow. About the new world we are going to make. And about final solutions.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sherriff McNulty was lean and bony and dark. There was nothing soft or relaxed about the man, no sign of middle-aged loss of tone. His uniform was crisp and freshly laundered; his regulation police-issued shoes polished to a high gloss. His desk was as bare and shiny as the top of his head. The only thing that betrayed his age was a touch of gray in his mustache.
“Looks like the Colonel didn’t take a shine to you, Detective.”
I was now in McNulty’s office, just off the bullpen. “He wants to keep the peace. I want to catch a killer. Different priorities.”
“You think this Gideon is up to no good?”
“I have four, maybe five deaths linked right to him and his soldiers. But I’m out of my jurisdiction. So he’s going to go free.”
McNulty walked around me and closed his door.
“I had a sister up there,” was all he said, pacing in front of the windows looking out into the office. “Or did. She disappeared after a few months, and when I went up there, I was told she run off. She’s been missing ever since.”
“Does Brice know that?”
“Didn’t see the point in sharing that with him. It’s personal.”
“How personal?” I asked.
McNulty turned to me. "You roll up to Parkhurst in a marked car, Detective," he smiled, "and there'll be nothing left but frame and burning tires, I guarantee it." He scratched the back of his head. "And a lot of black smoke."
"Those crackers don't frighten me," I said, rubbing what was probably a whiplashed neck.
"They should," he argued. "They are a wound up passel of sons-of-bitches. And getting more wound up by the day." He walked over to a rack of AM-15 rifles. "They have done nothing to warrant our taking action. But they are set for some show."
"Do you have evidence of some build-up?"
McNulty took down one of the semi-automatics from the rack.
“The NSA has them on 24-hour watch. Eye in the sky and whatever else they have. Cameras up their colons for all I know. They’re worried about them.”
“How do you know that?”
“My FBI BFF’s told me,” he said, chuckling. “But Gideon could be organizing a church picnic or an NRA membership drive for all I know. Maybe a cluckers coming-out party. I can’t arrest citizens, without records, for simple assembly.”
I felt like the seconds were ticking away in my head like the midnight clock. "There has to be a way in that won't start a war."
"What do you want in for? Doing a spread for Mother Jones magazine?"
"I don't have time to explain it all. They've got a computer program that goes off at noon. This thing will fry police nets, the FBI, CIA, government, business, private, everything. Tens of thousands of lives are at stake. Besides, then it will be too late."
"And you figure if you can get in, they'll let you just mosey on over, sit yourself down at one of their Dell’s, and stop something they've spent a decade putting together?"
"Why do you say decade?"
“Gideon Lear moved into Parkhurst in the mid nineties. The first thing they did was spend millions with local contractors and suppliers. They paid well. And on time. They partied with everyone. Parkhurst was like Disneyland north. And his church grew like a bad weed. Of course pitching salvation, no gun control, and free shares in the new order didn't hurt. There's only one industry in this country – it's Parkhurst. They built three hundred new homes on the property for his immigrants."
"Where did these immigrants come from?'
"Hungary. Poland. Russia. Mexico. A lot of them were techies. Computer scientists. Programmers. Computer-types. People to build a new world."
"How did you know that?"
"Locals built a lot of the houses. Met some of the new families. Most of them have past stories – about Parkhurst sponsoring them to America. But the real story came out."
"Do you know why would they need a hundred computer experts?"
"Software make
s the world go around, I guess. Maybe we were going to be Microsoft East. Hey! Nobody complained. We almost got to zero unemployment."
"What about the Church?"
"McNulty shrugged. "A tax loophole – I figure that's not my jurisdiction though. Ask the BATF. They've been around shopping for another Waco."
"That could be arranged,” I said.
McNulty hunched his shoulders. "Did I say I thought Waco was a good thing? If I did, I apologize cause that was the nuttiest fuck-up I've seen on TV since Tiny Tim's wedding."
"If we don’t get in, we haven't a chance of stopping them."
"What the hell do you know about what they are planning?"
"If getting into Parkhurst is your only hope, you might as well drive straight home son, and start burying food in the backyard."
"Look, Sheriff, what if you went in alone. Meaning just you and me?"
"What are we doin? Delivering fried chicken?"
"Tell them you've had a report of a missing tourist or whatever. Routine."
"If they smell a rat, that place will go off like a powder keg. Any chance they might launch this program early if alerted?"
I didn't know how to answer that. Why not, I thought. But there was something orderly and filled with precision about this plan that gave me a sense that Gideon would wait until zero hour.
"I'm guessing noon isn't some random time he picked. It's part of his churches writings, like a prediction or a revelation. I think he's got to wait."
“So we roll in. Have a chat. You got anything else?”
“We have some intel on this. Parkhurst is going to try to manage the public relations. They will have their own TV cameras and new feeds.”
“I know. They have a complete editing suite up there.”
“So we need to take down their power. That will slow them down.”
“Can’t be done. They have a big diesel power plant up there. As soon as we cut the power, their generator will cut in.”
“I know. That’s part of this intel I’m talking about. There’s a trick we can employ. You get the power company to switch off the power at noon. Then keep cycling it back on and off every thirty seconds. Those generators need about thirty to forty seconds to cycle up to power. Then when it gets going and sees the power is back on, it will shut off again. If we keep cycling like that, no one at Parkhurst will be able to do anything unless they can manually change the system over. That will take them at least ten minutes. By then, we will be done or dead and won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
McNulty looked at me like I had just sprouted wings, but he made the call to Virginia Power anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
McNulty walked me out to the parking lot and led me to his car. I whistled.
“Must be nice to have money to spend on equipment,” I said, looking at a brand new Ford Interceptor SUV. McNulty almost looked embarrassed, but he still smiled like a proud father.
“I drove a piece of crap for a decade. It got so bad I couldn’t catch a ten-year old on a BMX bike carrying a jumbo slushy.”
“Do you want me to wipe my shoes first before getting in?” I asked.
McNulty just ignored me and got behind the wheel. I dialed my phone.
Years before, I had worked on a case involving a computer virus strangely bound up with a number of homicides in the Washington intel community. A very clever programmer at the CIA was a witness, and I still had her number on my cell phone. Everyone called her Med.
“Med. It’s Hyde.”
“Greg? I never thought I’d hear from you again.” Hoped would be more accurate, I guessed.
“Med. I’ve got an emergency. And you’re the only person I could think of to help. Are you watching this Internet attack that’s supposed to happen today? J-Day?”
“We’ve taken some precautions but …”
“No but. I’ve been following this group, along with the FBI, which has been pouring millions into this sick project for years. They’re very powerful and very organized. I can’t believe I’m buying this – but they are going to go after everything in a couple of hours.”
“Everything?”
“Government. Financial exchanges including banks. Airlines. Power facilities. Even hospitals. You name it. The goal is to take America down first, then the rest of the Western world.”
“Wow. This doesn’t sound like you at all, Greg. Sounds like you’ve gone over to the dark side. Have you gone geek on us?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you out of the blue. Someone very close to me has this on solid evidence. So is there anything we can do?”
“Well, it’s too late to take security precautions now. I’d say close down the banks and exchanges before the attack. That would limit the damage. The attack comes via the Internet. No Internet access, no permanent damage. But if you shut down the exchanges for example, that’s just about as bad as attacking them. Same result. They’re down. That will cost someone a fortune.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Good question. Someone with a lot of clout needs to make some calls.”
“How much clout?” I asked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Hello?” asked a very familiar female voice.
Med couldn’t believe what she was doing. And she was surprised how quickly the woman picked up the call. She had answered her Blackberry instantly.
“Mrs. President?” asked Med, her heart pounding so loudly, she was sure they could hear it in the Oval office.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?” President Taylor did not sound happy. Med could hear others in the background wanting to know what was going on.
“My name is Duke. Mary Ellen Duke. I work at the CIA Counter Intel Group in Washington.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Ms. Duke. How the hell did you get this number?”
“Mrs. President. We have a national emergency, and we only have a few minutes.”
There was a brief pause. “Explain.”
“Tens of thousands of hackers from Russia, China, Iran, North Korea, etc. are about to attack the New York Stock Exchange and all the major American banks and trading houses. Within hours. They will steal valuable data that will probably cost the U.S. economy billions, if not trillions. And then they will shut everything down. Potentially for weeks.”
“What do you want from me?”
“We need to call the exchanges and the banks and have them close down their sites before Noon.”
“Then call them. You’re the CIA.”
“They won’t listen to me, Mrs. President. I just tried the Director of the NASDAQ, and he told me to, well, he told me to forget it. Not in those words. He probably thought I was pranking him. And he wouldn’t answer my second call. He didn’t even think to ask me how I got his private cell number, which kind of surprised me.”
“How did you get my private cell number?” Med could hear the concern in the President’s voice.
“I work for the CIA. I’m just a worker bee, but I know where the files are kept. You know those people who track all the cell phone conversations and email on the planet for your government? Well, we built that technology for them.”
“I see,” she answered. “Why wouldn’t your Director, Mike, call me. That would be protocol.”
“Yes, it would. I am probably going to be fired for this. But we have so little time. By the time I tracked him down and explained everything …”
“It’s quite an unbelievable story. Is this what they’re calling J-Day online?”
“Yes. Judgment Day for hackers.”
“Ms. Duke? I will need verification.”
“I can have the Director call you within five minutes. If I can say you personally asked him to call, I’m sure it will get his attention.”
“That will do. Make it fast.”
“Yes ma’am. But I need to know who will be making the calls. I can help with the explanations.”
“I’ll get my team on i
t as soon as I talk to Mike. But the Director of NASDAQ? That call I’d actually like to make myself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When McNulty’s shiny black Interceptor SUV pulled into the center of the main parking area in front of Parkhurst's largest single building, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A group of about a dozen women, dressed in long cotton dresses, were drinking lemonade at a number of picnic tables just to the south of the parking roundabout.
Four soldiers dressed in camouflage gear were standing under the extended portico that ran the length of the main command center, about two hundred yards to the north of us. I could see several residents out in a distant field, hunched over the ground digging up potatoes or some other root vegetable. There was a complete lack of tension or preparedness in the air. Yet it was only minutes to noon.
We got the same impression at the guarded gate. Four militia types, looking prepared, but cool. They called the main house and opened the steel gates within a minute or so of our arrival. It was like they were expecting us.
When McNulty parked the SUV, he looked over at me as if to say "I told you so." Then he tipped his hat forward and opened the door. I squinted out at the fresh cut grass and the perfectly trimmed hedge that surrounded the command center.
"Looks like friggin Disney World," I grunted to myself as I stepped out.
The soldiers on the porch were now at attention. Look ma, visitors.
One militiaman had his head tilted to the side, speaking into a radio unit clipped onto his shoulder. I could have sworn he had a smile on his face. Before we could make our way across the gravel lot to the sidewalk, a tall man with long pepper-colored hair to his shoulders, had exited the oak front door and was hurrying down the front steps to ground level. He had his hands in his pockets.
McNulty slowed his pace slightly, which allowed me to catch up.
"Hope I haven't caught you at a bad time, Gideon. Just some routine police business," said McNulty.
