The Romen Society

by Henry Hack

  As more and more people of their beliefs moved into Wyoming, those deemed undesirable moved out, most of them voluntarily. Those who chose to remain were subject to boycotts, harassment, threats, bodily harm and mysterious disappearances. The New Vikings were excellent at these tasks and were handsomely paid. Having re-located their headquarters from Montana to Wyoming, they attracted many more groups with similar beliefs. Their roaring motorcycles could be annoying and polluting, but they were tolerated because of the value of their enforcement abilities. And they would be the armed militia, the first line of defense should the federal government come a knocking at Reverend Phineas’ church door.

  At dinner that evening the Reverend Phineas, who had long ago asked Peter and Wilt to call him Alton, said, “You two look satisfied tonight.”

  “We are,” Peter said. “As you know, two weeks ago we let the top dogs in the law enforcement community know the Romens are still among them.”

  “And I bet they are still scurrying around wondering what we will do now,” Wilt said.

  “And what will you do?” Alton asked. “There’s still just the two of you, correct?”

  “Correct,” Peter said. “But the two of us, with our computer power, are more than enough to do what we want.”

  “To do exactly what?” Alton asked.

  “To complete the third campaign of the Romens – the campaign that was forced to be abandoned by the heathens in the New York Task Force. This time we will succeed in closing down the nuclear power industry, once and for all.”

  “But doesn’t nuclear power provide about twenty percent of the country’s electrical power? And isn’t it clean and environmentally friendly?”

  “Yes to your first question, Reverend,” Wilt said, “but a big no to your second. First, the 104 nuclear plants in the country are starting to get old and their infrastructures are decaying. About half of them are leaking tritium – radioactive water – into the ground. If it gets into our drinking supply it could be deadly.”

  “But far worse a threat then tritium,” Peter said, “is the problem with the nuclear waste from the plants – the highly radioactive spent fuel rods.”

  “What is the problem there?” Phineas asked.

  “The government stored them – allegedly safely – in a vast underground complex in the mountains of Nevada. There’s almost a hundred thousand tons of waste in there now, and they are beginning to get worried.”

  “Why?”

  “An earthquake – even a mild one – could break open the containers and throw the radioactive rods together. No one knows if there would be an explosion or a fire, either of which would pour radioactive gases over half the country.”

  “A typical nuclear plant produces about thirty tons of waste a year,” Wilt said. “They store the waste on-site for about five years, and then have to transport it to Nevada. But the Nevada site has recently stopped accepting the waste and there are no current plans to build another depository.”

  “The waste is accumulating at each nuclear plant beyond their capacity to safely store it,” Peter said.

  “Maybe that is a good thing,” Alton said. “It should force the plants to shut down.”

  “One would think so, but they aren’t going to do that. They are going to dispose of the spent rods in the ocean.”

  “How do you know that?” Alton asked. “I haven’t seen or heard that anywhere.”

  Peter chuckled and said, “I accessed their secret sites, that’s how.”

  “That’s a terrible idea – dumping that stuff in the sea!” Alton said. “Who knows what damage that could eventually cause?”

  “Exactly,” Wilt said. “Nobody knows, but these idiots will do it anyway unless they are stopped, and Peter and I plan to do just that.”

  “And when we do,” Peter said, “we will direct our message to the people of the United States to look no further than what the Reverend Alton Phineas and his true believers in Wyoming have accomplished over the past few years.”

  Reverend Phineas smiled and said, “It would be nice if our modest changes in energy production caused more people to follow our beliefs in other areas.”

  “I believe they will change,” Peter said. “And you’re being too modest about the changes. When we arrived here Wyoming depended on coal for ninety-five percent of its energy needs. Thank God there were no nuclear power stations. Now coal is down to fifty percent and going lower every day as more hydroelectric plants, solar farms and wind energy farms come on line.”

  “Wyoming and you, Alton, are the model for the future of our country,” Wilt said. “You should be proud.”

  “I am, and I owe it all to you two. Your vision prompted great change. But I am concerned for you. I’m concerned about the authorities coming after you – and me – when you begin your actions.”

  “Oh, they’ll come after us all right,” Wilt said, “but I don’t think they’ll ever find us.”

  “What Wilt means,” Peter said, “is we will isolate our computer attacks so they can never be traced back to us here in Cody.”

  “No one knows where we are,” Wilt said, “and if they are successful in tracing the signal that destroyed a nuclear plant it will lead them to our old cabin in Idaho.”

  “And in that cabin,” Peter said, “is an inexpensive slave computer that will burn itself up when someone enters the room.”

  A look of concern crossed the Reverend’s face. He said, “You’re going to destroy a nuclear plant?”

  “Yes,” Peter said, “the one the politicians foolishly re-opened on Long Island; the one where our Savior crucified the congressman on its front gate.”

  “We need to make one good, forceful statement of our ability to destroy any and all nuclear facilities in our country,” Wilt said.

  “If they believe we can do that,” Peter said, “they will have no choice but to shut them down and replace their energy output with clean energy. Our message will specify the loss of nuclear power must be made up by environmentally safe methods with only natural gas as an acceptable fossil fuel. This may be the kick-in-the-butt these idiots need to finally do something before they totally destroy Mother Earth.”

  “It may just work,” Alton said. “I wish you success. When do you plan to do it?”

  Peter raised his wine glass and drank the remaining inch left. He said, “Tonight, Alton.”

  “So soon?” Alton asked draining his wine glass.

  “We are ready to send our message,” Wilt said.

  “And exactly what will you do?”

  “Cause a meltdown of the plant, a release of highly radioactive liquids and gases and the biggest panic and traffic jam the world has ever witnessed,” Peter said.

  “My God!” Alton exclaimed. “It sounds like many people will die.”

  “Probably tens of thousands, maybe more,” Wilt said. “There are a million and a half people in Suffolk County, and the same in Nassau County, with essentially nowhere to go. The nearest bridge – the Throgs Neck – is in eastern Queens. There are a few ferries to Connecticut, but their capacity is limited. They can serve only a couple hundred people.”

  “And we specifically picked tonight,” Peter said, “because the wind pattern is changing. A low pressure system coming up the coast will switch the normal southwest winds to the east-northeast driving the poison gases into Queens and the rest of New York City.”

  “Maybe we can kill a million people if things work out according to plan,” Wilt said smiling and pumping his fist in the air.

  The Reverend Alton Phineas sat silent in shock and disbelief for a full minute. He quietly said, “Surely, you wouldn’t do such a horrible thing.”

  Peter smiled and said, “Of course not, Alton. We could, but we won’t. We want the people on our side after all.”

  “What we will do is render the plant unusable without loss of life,” Wilt said. “But we will follow with our message explaining what we could have done and threaten to do so in the future if compliance
to our demands is not forthcoming.”

  “You have my blessing,” the Reverend said adding a bit of wine to each of their glasses. “Let us drink to our success.”

  They touched glasses and drank and Peter and Wilt then left the Reverend to attend to their computers. Peter put the dials and switches into their correct positions. The machines purred and clicked and multi-colored LED’s flashed on and off. When all the lights stayed steady and only a low hum could be heard, Peter said, “Go ahead, my Disciple, push the green button. Push the button that will let the world know the Romens are back.”

  Wilt smiled and reached out his hand. His right index finger pressed down firmly on the green button. “How long before things start to cook?” he asked.

  “Not long,” Peter replied. “A few hours. Let’s get some sleep and get up around five a.m. CNN might have something on the air by then.”

  25

  The brutal murder of Congressman Glenn, grotesquely crucified on the front gate of the Shoreham nuclear power plant, had stirred the people of Long Island out of their normal political lethargy. A seventy-five percent turnout easily elected his replacement, Curtis Brown, who had jumped into the race promising to fulfill Glenn’s pledge to re-open the plant.

  Brown promised to reduce their electricity bills by a minimum of twenty percent. And, in this particular case, a politician's promise had actually come true. Two years later Brown was re-elected with seventy-three percent of the vote as his pleased constituents opened their electric bills to an average twenty-three percent drop.

  But in their euphoria everyone seemed to forget the main reason Shoreham was not permitted to go online in the first place – there was no foolproof evacuation plan for the millions of Long Islanders to safely and rapidly flee the deadly radiation should the unthinkable occur. So the plant went online with everyone indifferent to the dangers always present, always lurking in the background. Everything was still relatively new. The pipes had not yet corroded allowing deadly tritium to penetrate the deep water aquifers that provided Long Island’s drinking supply. On-site storage of spent nuclear fuel rods would be sufficient for six more years.

  Cheap electricity flowed to homes and businesses. Everything was percolating along flawlessly, that is until 1:32 one morning when the midnight operating engineer, Louis Chang, found his controls and backup controls no longer responded to his touch. But they were responding to someone’s touch, someone unseen, who had just ratcheted up the nuclear fission process into the red zone.

  By 2:02 a.m., when all emergency shut-down procedures had failed to stop the escalation, Chang hit the big red switch that caused the warning sirens to go off across Long Island while simultaneously notifying numerous public officials and emergency hazmat teams there was a major emergency at the plant.

  The Apostle's plan had worked to perfection. Because of the early morning hour, no panic or mass exodus occurred. There were no injuries or deaths and by the first light of dawn the main objective had been accomplished. The Shoreham nuclear power plant had melted down sufficiently to prevent its further operation for years, if ever.

  Peter and Wilt watched the first news flashes come across the TV at 5:37 a.m. “Should we call the Reverend?” Wilt asked.

  “No,” Peter said. “He’ll be up in an hour or so. We’ll tell him in person.”

  There were many people, however, who would not enjoy an extra hour or two of sleep as telephones began ringing at law enforcement offices across the nation. The first thing Harry Cassidy asked the aide who had woken him was, “Was it an accident, or did someone sabotage the plant?”

  “Not yet known, sir,” the aide said. “But there appears to be no loss of life.”

  “Thank God for that,” Harry said. “I’m getting up and heading into the office.”

  By eight o’clock a conference call was in progress between Harry, Randy Newton, Jim Driscoll, Walt Kobak, John McKee and Charlie Carson – all those affected by the computer message previously delivered by the Apostle Peter. Harry said, “Jim, have your computer guys figured out where that message came from two weeks ago?”

  “Not yet, and that has me concerned. The operating system at the Shoreham plant was obviously seized by an external computer. The operating engineer told my guys his computer controls were neutralized.”

  “How about a trace on that computer?” John McKee asked.

  “We can’t get anywhere near the plant. There’s a ten mile zone being evacuated now. Who knows when it will cool off enough for us to get in there?”

  “Then it’s fairly certain this was a deliberate attack,” Newton said. “And that’s how we should proceed.”

  “Other than alert all the nuclear plants in the country, what can we do?” Walt Kobak asked. “Beefing up physical security won’t help if the attack is coming via computer.”

  “True,” Harry said. “Let me suggest a more intensive effort to trace that first message. If we can locate its source it may be the same computer used to disable Shoreham.”

  “I hate to sound negative,” Jim Driscoll said, “but I think we’ll hear from the perpetrators well before we find their damn computer.”

  While the top law enforcement officials were wondering what they could do to stop future attacks, the perpetrators of the Shoreham meltdown, Peter and Wilt, were having a celebratory breakfast with the Reverend Alton Phineas. “Our message is almost ready to go,” Peter said, “but I want your input, Alton, before we send it out to the media.”

  The Reverend smiled and said, “I’d be happy to help, but from what you’ve already told me it sounds like you covered all the bases.”

  “That’s what I’m concerned about. Maybe Wilt and I covered them too well.”

  “How do you mean?” Alton asked.

  “We conclude the message with the advice for everyone to look to Wyoming and what that state has done over the past few years to change the environment for the better. I’m not sure I want to draw the authorities’ attention here, or to you, Reverend.”

  “What if you just say for them to look to other areas of the country where clean power is chasing out the other ways of generating energy?” Alton asked.

  “Same results,” Wilt said. “There are no other areas of the country doing what we did here.”

  “But you said the computer signal couldn’t be traced back to here, correct?”

  “Correct,” Peter said, “but Idaho is not far away. They may put two and two together and come after us here.”

  “Don’t forget we are protected by the first amendment to the constitution,” Alton said. “We are a bonafide established religion.”

  “That didn’t stop the Feds from destroying that bunch in Waco,” Wilt said.

  “I think those people were different from what we have structured here. I am not concerned. I think it is time to expand our message and philosophy to the rest of our great nation. It is time to stop the polluters and the anti-Christians now.”

  Peter reached over and grasped the Reverend’s hand in his own. “I was hoping you’d say that, Alton. You are right – the time is now.”

  Using the slave computer in the Idaho cabin, the Apostle’s message was delivered to all the major news channels, TV networks and newspapers at 11:30 a.m., in plenty of time to hit the noon-hour news broadcasts and the evening newspaper editions. Peter struck an optimistic tone and kept the threats to a minimum. He provided a timetable reasonable to achieve and allow the soon to be shuttered nuclear plants to be converted to natural gas until cleaner methods were developed. And he pointed out the great state of Wyoming for all to look to as the model of the future. Peter concluded with the following statement, I, the Apostle Peter, have dedicated myself and my disciples to the cause of the Romens, founded by our beloved Savior. We are back, stronger than before, and this time we will succeed in achieving our goals. And woe to those cold-blooded murderers in law enforcement who took the lives of my Savior and my fellow Apostles. I have not forgotten you. The Romens.”

>   A list followed of the 104 nuclear power plants throughout the country with a projected date for each plant to shut down. The implication, though not stated, was clear. Any plant failing to adhere to the timetable would be targeted for a catastrophic meltdown.

  “I’m surprised to see you home for dinner,” Susan said as she mixed cocktails.

  “We all talked until we were talked out,” Harry said.

  “All talk and no action?”

  “Yeah, basically we don’t know what the hell to do.”

  “No luck on tracing the source of the computer signal?”

  “Not yet, and that’s all we have going in trying to find Peter,” Harry said taking a large sip of his martini.

  “I hope you find the bastard before he finds you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Harry, he made a direct threat to those who killed the Savior. That’s you, remember?”

  “Let him try. I hope he tries. At least that’s one way to get him out in the open.”

  “Still the same old macho man, I see. It seems you are not concerned, or afraid of this madman. But I am. Harry, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to see you get shot again.”

  Harry smiled and put his arm around Susan drawing her close to him. “I love you,” he said. “I love you for loving me and worrying about me. But don’t worry too much. I’ll be careful, believe me. I remember Pop Hunter always saying he was too old for this shit. Now I believe I am, too.”

  Susan kissed Harry and relaxed, sipping her drink. Satisfied he had placated his wife, Harry thought, please come after me, Peter. I can’t wait to fill you full of lead just like we did to your fucking Savior.

  The politicians’ reactions to the Apostle’s meltdown of the Shoreham plant, and his implied threats to likewise meltdown all the rest of them in the country, provoked howls of protest, especially from those on Long Island whose constituents were now facing intermittent brownouts and future higher electric bills.