When Totems Fall

by Wayne C. Stewart

  Zeb had met the woman only recently. Already, he liked her. Aside from their first moments of introduction, with her pressing a knife against his throat, he was coming to believe she represented quite the advantage on this little mission.

  Dalton sat up straight, stretching. A few deep breaths and he took it all in. Remembering.

  "How long was I out for?"

  "Too long, LT. A bit toooo long, I say."

  Loch. Of course, it was Loch.

  "How soon to target?" Zeb asked, trying to reassert his position on the team.

  "Thirty minutes if it holds up like this," Sanchez shot back.

  "Okay," he said. "We agreed on the operational sequence?"

  "Check."

  This time the response came from Lochland, holding down the forward passenger seat. Sanchez, to his left and in front of Zeb, sat behind the wheel.

  Early morning. The sky was gray and, not unexpectedly, fostered a slight chill in the air. The defrost in the car left long, cleared ellipsoidal patches on the two side windowpanes. Other than that everything stayed pretty foggy. Neither of the backseat windows was clear. The windshield exhibited an interesting penumbra effect.

  Dalton leaned back, closing his eyes. It all lit up again—the giant, interactive display.

  Lines, curves, time stamps. Personnel and pathway data. Every detail interconnected in a vast array of possibilities. Not matter how obscure or abstract it was all there, all at the same time. Had anyone been able to peer into Zeb's head at this moment it would have come across as unmitigated chaos, an untamed mess of disparate items, pictures, numbers. To the retired soldier, though, it seemed one big, beautiful symphony; an ensemble to be called upon to gain insight into whatever scenarios they might encounter.

  The only thing missing from this kaleidoscopic playground of the mind? The powers to actually shape realities, not merely to foresee them for himself and his unlikely partners. This was something no amount of data, or even the infinite ability to re-arrange it, provided. Somewhat unfairly, his prodigious gifts did not produce the one thing he most desired. Control. This had always irked him about life. One would think a talent such as his would translate into an actual ordering of outcomes. Try as he might, Zeb learned early and often this was not the case.

  Seeing everything he needed to see for now, Zeb opened his eyes again, leaning forward between the two front seats.

  "Chevy?"

  "Yeah...Lumina," Sanchez replied. "Ain't she a beaut'? Drove something like this my senior year in high school, all piled up with rowdy teens on a Friday night. Had to stop every two hours to fill the radiator and add oil—which we need to keep any eye on with this one, too. But hey, what more do you need when you're on your way to save the world?"

  They had happened upon her on an abandoned logging road running parallel to the meanderings of the Snoqualmie River. The sedan sat there under a stand of hundred foot firs, at the edge of a dirt and gravel path—one that long ago had borne the constant press of commercial tree harvesting equipment. Now it lay quieted, solemn, yet straight and mostly cleared. A few minutes of removing branches, needles, and cones and they stared at the car, then back at one another with an air of disbelief.

  Rust patches marred the back driver's side wheel-wells. The hood didn't close completely, due to some serious warping of the metal at the edges. A busted passenger-side mirror. True, the decades-old car wasn't gorgeous. She also wouldn't stick out along rural roadways in economically depressed towns, the very places they would be passing through.

  Ten minutes more and Loch had her running, roared to life and exhibiting a rousing appreciation at being set back to work. About a half tank of gas languished in her belly. This would have to do; stopping at a filling station would be too risky. Too many people. Too great a chance a random patrol might roll up on them without notice.

  Sanchez slid into the driver's side and shifted the manual transmission into first gear. Just like that, they began the next leg of their journey, coasting down worn blacktop on their way to the eastern metropolitan edge of Seattle. Transportation needs now satisfied, their team development was coming along as well, even if slowly.

  Initially a rugged, quiet period of testing and distrust had ensued. Chatter was minimal, body language watched and interpreted incessantly. Each movement might prove fatal. This being the case, eye movements, hands, shoulders, torso were all worthy of constant, cynical observation. Within the hour Sanchez and Loch, the more naturally combative of the trio, came to an uneasy truce. For now they would extend trust but only minimally so. It was a thin line, easily crossed, as they headed off the lower Cascade elevations, down through curved mountain highways and into the eastern suburbs of Seattle.

  They had lately merged onto State Route 520, the main east-west arterial in the urban core, transitioning from boondocks into some of the more affluent residential areas in the central Puget Sound region. It was an abrupt shift from woodsy, old car-laden acreage to multi-million dollar homes with manicured landscaping and lengthy driveways, all intended to keep the "riff-raff" at a distance.

  Dalton caught brief looks as they motored by. Chinese flags lay planted squarely in front or hanging off rooflines, in every single yard and home.

  So, you like the neighborhood, eh?

  The pricey accommodations seemed acceptable to the incoming Chinese leadership, be they Communist Party heads sent over to direct re-education efforts or PRC Army big shots whose job was to enforce the new regime's desires by intimidation and arms.

  Zeb sat back in place as the car slowed down from highway speed, pulling over to the right. Though probably the least efficient way to handle traffic, the PRC Army had established checkpoints at all major roadways. The lines were long yet reasonably quick. Given the Chinese held the ultimate pressure point on the populace in the threat of a nuclear strike, their on-the-ground systems appeared less heavy-handed than imagined. This deceptively lighter touch, combined with ongoing, over the top presentations of the glories of Beijing's "offer" of a better life, almost seemed reasonable. Almost that is, until you woke up as a conquered, second-class citizen of the PRC.

  All three straightened up a little. Coming to a full stop, Sanchez lowered the window.

  Zhengjian! was the simple command.

  He was only twenty, maybe twenty-one. His youthfulness flashed Sanchez back to her first few years in the military. Would her naivete at the time, fueled by an impassioned patriotism, allow her to take part in something so clearly a violation of human rights and dignity? Doubtful. The army was all she had ever known, and yeah, she loved her country. Still, such unprovoked aggression would have struck her deeper, at a primary level of basic justice—simple right and wrong. No, she reckoned, she would have shed her vows at that point, walking away, dignity intact.

  Sanchez produced her documents as ordered and then Loch and Zeb handed theirs forward, opened for review as well. Dalton sat back again. No need to arouse suspicions.

  Another soldier canvassed the vehicle front to back, making his way around the perimeter of the Lumina and pausing every few inches to consider what kind of threat, if any, this old rust bucket and its three odd passengers might present. Apparently none whatsoever.

  With documents returned and the window back up, the glass shielded them from a classically light Seattle mist. Sixty seconds more and they were on their way again.

  Sanchez' ID, compliments of her cop buddy from Tacoma, and the professional pieces Loch and Dalton held courtesy of the fine special ops teams back at Ft. Clark, had passed muster. So far, so good. Getting through the next phases of the op without trouble would be much, much trickier.

  They sped away from the checkpoint, rejoining the flow of heavy commuter traffic. Three more mile markers passed and bright green overhead signage told them they were heading the right way. It also illustrated the depth of changes taking place in the area as their destination was spelled out in both English and Mandarin.

  Microsoft Campus—Redmond, next f
ive exits.

  FORTY THREE

  Sanchez pulled off the highway and curved toward the grand entrance, only a few hundred feet ahead. Guard stations remained in the same places as pre-invasion. Only now, those posted at them bore military garb—Chinese uniforms—instead of the regular light blue, rent-a-badge nonsense.

  A quick visual confirmed the briefing intel from back at Clark; the best in camera, infrared, and drone surveillance was indeed in play here. Gates and Co. had done a fine job of securing and surveilling these expansive grounds and the PRC was certainly taking full advantage of their investment.

  As they turned onto One Microsoft Way the team was struck with the enormity of the place. Zeb had been here on occasion during grad school at the UW. He'd judged their work as okay. On the whole, a little dull for his tastes. As professionals, Loch and Sanchez kept their collective jaws from dropping in any overt manner. Still, on the inside they remained impressed. Fifty acres of lushly wooded landscaping. One hundred fifty buildings. Over 8 million square feet of office, food services, and research and development facilities. A small city in its own right with 40,000 employees on this campus alone, the company's physical presence in this upscale suburb matched its global profile in every way.

  Big. Really big.

  To the team's great relief their IDs issued them entrance again, no problems at all. The few odd looks they received were directed more toward the car than their documentation. They were in. Looking at each other with a "Well, that went better than expected," they proceeded to the next available stall in the sprawling lot. The green and blue parking sticker, forged back at Clark as well, would keep the car from being inspected further for a while—hopefully, quite a while.

  Thousands of employees exited lots and garages and the trio folded into the massing crowds, all heading toward a normal workday. At least the new normal, anyways. Two months ago they didn't have to proceed past PRC Army units with AK47s at the ready. Neither had they been subjected to immediate, unannounced search and seizure anywhere and anytime in the massive corporate complex. To Zeb and team they seemed fairly accepting of it all. Keeping their heads down. Trying to survive. Sad, but no one was about to blame them. Had they any idea what this trio was up to they might have cheered and joined them. Or they may have turned them in. Better for three to suffer than a few million perish?

  God help us all, the voice inside Sanchez' head whispered, as she observed the lemming-like procession.

  Yes, the conquered populace mindset had settled in, and significantly so.

  She and the others began to create distance between themselves, diverting attention from the fact they were together, a unit of sorts. The idea was to remain unnoticed for as long as possible. This proved relatively easy while everyone still moved like a giant herd. A few more moments though and their bearing would deviate, breaking from the crowd. At that point more vulnerable, their best fieldwork and a spot of luck would be needed to stay under the radar. Thirty more yards of well-maintained walkways at an unhurried pace and they arrived.

  Building 25.

  Such a bland name. While it drew no undue attention by its design and markings, it was the exact place Zeb required to break open the Chinese code.

  At 25 they went their separate ways. Zeb circled around back, fading into a dense row of azaleas. The pathway leading past the flowering bushes was quiet, empty. Squatting down, he waited there in silence. On the front side of the building, Sanchez and Loch proceeded through the metal detector and stepped inside. The good news? They were carrying no weapons, aside from the small patch of C4 sewn into their clothing. Nothing to alert the guards at the desk. The bad news? No weapons. This would be a brains and brawn op; largely gray matter, they all hoped. No worries, though. The two certainly knew how to handle themselves physically, if such actions were to be called for.

  The IDs worked again.

  Sanchez smiled out of the corner of her eye at the taller of the two Chinese men on duty as she sauntered by. The faint acknowledgment was intended to mark her prominently in his mental catalog of the morning's duties and therefore diminishing Loch's imprint to a greater degree.

  Attractive Latina catching his eye, holding it slightly.

  Ugly, short, stocky Scotsman.

  If the guard's memory sifted through these images at some point later, it would be no contest. The fake flirt was all part of their strategy. Upon all hell breaking loose in 25, Sanchez wanted Loch's image to be harder to track than hers.

  The man smiled back, holding her in his gaze a few more feet. As expected, Loch breezed by, hardly registering at all. It stood as sad commentary but it was effective.

  Sanchez broke left toward the elevators and Loch split opposite, around a blind corner and past the open-glassed office suites. A security door awaited him at the end of the corridor with a stairwell leading below ground. The magnetic strip on his "company" ID traveled across the sensor pad smoothly, rewarding him with a solid green light. Scanning behind him, Loch slipped through and made his way down, toward the subterranean floors. Thirty-five steps later Loch's first objective came into view.

  Empty. They'd thought it might be.

  Walking casually, his foot speed and pace was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Several locked doorways flanked him on both left and right, spaced every ten feet or so. There were no windows here, only light wooden frames and painted steel doors, each bearing a nine-key pad denying access to anyone without the code. Muted fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place the vibe of a hallucination or a bad dream staged in a mental institution. Passing ten iterations of this pattern, Loch stopped at the end of the hallway. As fingers and tools worked together expertly, he picked the traditionally mortised lock of the last door on the right.

  Three levels above, Sanchez rode the far left elevator and hit the button for L3, the last stop listed on the panel. She knew better than to believe it. Descending past L1 and L2, the few other employees along for the ride exited, off to workstations and offices.

  A subtle sigh of relief. One more variable to be rid of.

  Each floor down required higher clearances. This meant less people and therefore fewer questions to be asked about a new face among the regulars this fine spring morning. She didn't want to be forced into any dicey circumstances this soon.

  The button for L3 sat darkened on the touch-screen panel. A few more feet and it came to life, glowing and buzzing as the elevator's air shocks halted her descent, settling the car into place. The door opened and the smiling face of the young guard from the front door post leered back expectantly.

  __________________________________

  The room Loch had broken into was long and narrow with ten-foot high ceilings. Finding the light switch on the wall, he flipped it on. Though potentially bringing suspicion, it would also be more "normal" to anyone entering unannounced. Rows of metal storage shelves overflowed with formerly useful items. Bankers' boxes. More rugged, suitcase-type enclosures. Cables hanging over the edges of plastic bins. One big closet, just as assumed.

  He made his way alongside the concrete foundation to the spot furthest away from the door. Turning right, the stocky soldier walked forward through a thick layer of dust on the floor, navigating around things not rating shelf space. Five feet more and he stopped. Creating a platform out of three of the sturdier looking bins, he stepped up onto them. Moving a handle right to left, the long, narrow window atop the foundation blocks eased open. Only a small squeak.

  In hushed tones, he spoke through the opening.

  "Well, laddie. If you're taking a leak in the bushes, you must hurry it along. After all, we're on a schedule ya see."

  Zeb heard him. He just didn't want to encourage Loch any more than necessary.

  Waiting a moment more, listening again for any movement on the footpath nearby, Dalton fell to the ground, edging sideways through the small rectangular window and then reuniting with the sergeant at the bottom of the makeshift stairs.

  ________
__________________________

  The veteran sniper smiled back. The young Chinese man received the coy smirk from her dark, feminine face. Exactly what he had hoped for.

  With no hesitation whatsoever he entered the elevator, locked the door with his security key, and moved aggressively toward Sanchez. Cornered against the brass railing rimming the inside walls of the car, she let him get close.

  Closer still.

  Then, at the last second, Sanchez leaned right. Reaching up and behind the unsuspecting soldier, she grabbed the nap of his hairline and pulled down hard. His neck and spinal column compacted, sending a surprising shock down his back and to his lower extremities. The momentary neurological assault thrust his eyes up into his ocular cavity, his vision filling with rays of light. Disoriented, he fell back. Too late. The finishing blows came next—just as quick and twice as fierce. Sanchez connected her half-coiled fist to the soft spot underneath his chin and then slashed the hard bone of the thumb-side of her other hand across his windpipe. The man fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. Though not necessary, strictly speaking, she then brought her right elbow down on top of his head.

  The poor creature lay crumpled on blue, industrial-grade carpet at her feet.

  She checked his breathing.

  He would survive. He'd also wake up to one monster of a headache.

  Sanchez took no pride in killing unnecessarily. She needed him out of the picture for a while, long enough to get to the access point and do the work. This incident wasn't an unplanned-for contingency. Still, it was an additional burden she didn't need at the moment.

  Sanchez walked over to the keypad and turned the door lock to the right, opening the elevator door again to level L3.

  Her hands came up once more, ready and lethal.

  "Whoa there Laassy!"