by James Hunt
“I wonder, Chancellor, if the programs developed by you and your allies were designed with this possibility in mind?” the Indian president asked. “Some may even go so far as to suggest this would put you in a strategically advantageous position.”
“Mr. President, I can assure you that none of this was premeditated in any way, shape, or form,” Andrea answered. “I would hope the fact that you’re here with us would be proof of that.”
“Of course, Chancellor. My apologies to both you and your colleagues,” the Indian president said.
Andrea gave a nod, which the president reciprocated, and the screens went blank. All except for the American president’s. With the glow from the other monitors now extinguished, the room felt darker. The light from the president’s monitor felt like a spotlight in an inquisition.
“All right, Andrea. What did you want to discuss with me?”
The very act of what she was about to propose was one that could severely hurt the relationship between the two nations, and with the atmosphere the way it was, she wasn’t sure it was the best course of action. But she had to know.
“Mr. President, during the incident at the summit last week, I was pinned down inside the building. My men were under heavy fire, but I was rescued by someone.”
“One of the security detail, no doubt,” the president answered.
Andrea nodded her head slowly. “Yes, that’s what I believed as well. However, a few days later, I was visited by a woman who snuck into my personal chambers, past all my security, and who had knowledge about Global Power.” She watched the president’s face very carefully. The slow morph of intrigue to indignation. Andrea was almost sorry she had brought it up in the first place. Almost.
“Andrea, I don’t like where this is heading.”
“I need to know if you’re operating on a larger scale than just your normal intelligence operations.” She did her best to relax her muscles, but the fact that these accusations could sever the relationship with one of her biggest allies betrayed her years of political training.
“Andrea, I can assure you that I do not have any agencies operating outside my authority,” the president said, “and I would never send one of my operatives into your private chambers. How could you even suggest something like that?”
The muscles along Andrea’s neck and back relaxed slightly after the president spoke. The lines on his face showed no indication that he was lying, and Andrea suddenly felt foolish for asking the question in the first place. “I apologize if I offended you, but it was something I had to ask you face to face.”
“I understand,” the president answered. “And I’ll be sure to follow up with my defense and security councils to ensure there haven’t been any unconstitutional endeavors.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” While Andrea had felt a slight weight lift itself from her shoulders, she couldn’t help but feel a heavier one burden her as the president looked down. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something she was afraid to ask. “Frank,” she said. “What is it?”
It could have been the break in her formality or the stress of the past week or the fact that she had accused him of betraying the trust that was in such rare currency these days—arguably the most valuable resource they had left—but she watched the American president, the most powerful man in the world, widen his eyes in the anticipation of fear. But the fear of what, she had no idea. “Frank?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, and with it the brief lapse in emotion left. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”
“It’s not going to slow down anytime soon,” Andrea replied. “Get some rest.”
“You too.”
The president disappeared, leaving Andrea alone. The only light left was the faint glow of the monitors, which cast the room in a dark glaze. She sat there in silence, knowing the moment she walked back out those conference room doors, she would be thrust back into the world and running the country that was falling apart from the inside out.
Despite the uphill battle she faced, she felt a sudden, invigorating pulse rush through her. The sense and mystery of the unknown had gripped her, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time—since her first days in politics over thirty years ago. She’d felt this way before, almost a week ago, during the same incident that she had described to the American president. The night when a woman, with no name and swearing no allegiance to any flag, had spoken to her. She couldn’t help but feel the moments were connected somehow, and she wondered if she’d ever find out who the woman in black really was.
***
Rick Demps strolled along the outside of the compound, needing a break from the rigors of his office. An armed escort followed him, watching the surrounding field diligently from atop their sentry wall. The smell of grass and nature filled Rick’s nostrils, and he immediately felt sick. The rolling hills of New Zealand were a poor substitute for the beautiful concrete skyline of New York. He yearned for the city, his city. But he would have to wait, at least for a little while longer.
“Mr. Demps,” one of the guards said. “A call is waiting for you inside.”
Rick nodded, taking in the vast green around him. The trees, the wind, the sun, the land, all in their natural state, all useless without the hands of men to yield what those elements offered. “I’ll turn this place into a parking lot.” He spat on the ground and walked back inside.
The conference room was already set up, and the Tuck Investment Board members were all accounted for on the monitor screens mounted on the wall. “Gentlemen, I hope you’re not finding this time too stressful.” Rick took his seat as the board members shook their heads, the loose skin on their faces and necks wobbling as they did.
“No, Mr. Demps,” one of the board members said. “Although I would say that it has been a bit of a nuisance with the lack of choices in my own kitchen. I haven’t had a decent meal in days.”
“It will be over soon enough, Mr. Hayes,” Demps said. “The terrorist organizations we’ve collaborated with are turning the world’s major cities into chaos. The leaders of those cities’ nations won’t be able to ignore us for much longer. They’ll give us whatever amount of money we demand.” He turned his attention to the middle screen, on which one of the board members had his face blurred, as he always did. Of all the men to invest in his company, that one had been the most reserved, but he always had a piece of information for him when he needed it most. Rick didn’t know his name, where he came from, or what his end game was, but as far as Rick was concerned, all that mattered was the dollar. And that man had quite a few of them. “I’ve already begun negotiations with a few interested countries that would like their power turned back on. I’ve sent the details to all your secretaries. If you have any questions, my assistants would be happy to walk you through the process. Till next time, gentlemen.”
Grumbles and nods proceeded, and the faces disappeared from the screen—all but one. The blurred face of his mystery investor remained, per usual, and whatever device he used to distort his voice rang through the speakers. “I’m told that you’re almost done with your pest.”
“Yes,” Demps said. “My men are tracking her down now.”
“And you have what you need to finish the job?”
“Yes, the security files you provided for the GSF facility were very thorough.”
“Good.”
Without another word, the screen went blank, finally leaving Rick alone. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Heath. A few rings later, his right hand answered. “Bring everyone on board for this,” Rick said. “I want you to crush them.”
Chapter 4
Sarah marched her captive across the main floor, where every pair of support agent eyes watched the parading spectacle. She made sure to step on the back of his heel a few times, causing him to stumble and a smile to spread across her face each time she did it. The blindfold around his head was a security precaution that Sarah chose to keep on even after his arrival,
which she had a little fun with, failing to tell him about any obstacles in his path.
The HQ didn’t have a proper interrogation room, so Sarah brought him into one of the empty offices and kicked him in the back of the knees, where he collapsed into the chair behind him. She locked both his legs and arms together, making sure he was completely immobile, then closed the blinds to the office and tore off his blindfold. “Hi, remember me?”
The man blinked ferociously, adjusting to the unnatural light around him. His faced was scarred and bruised from the earlier beating. He wiggled his shoulders, hips, and knees in a fruitless attempt to break free.
“Comfortable?” Sarah asked, twirling a chair around until the back faced her prisoner, and she squatted down right in front of him, resting her folded arms atop the chair’s back. She looked around the office, taking in the blank walls and empty desk. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but with a little paint, some throw rugs, maybe a few of those scented candles, I think you could really turn this place around.”
“You’re one cocky bitch, you know that?”
“It looks like somebody’s been reading my annual performance review.”
“You should have killed me in the field.”
“What? And miss all this bonding time?” She playfully punched his arm and smiled. “You know, I didn’t even catch your name. How rude of me.” Sarah reached for the knife on her hip. The blade scraped against the sheath as she pulled it out. The razor-sharp edge set a collision course for the exposed flesh of his neck. She tensed the muscles along her shoulder and arm, slowing the blade, regaining control, just before it touched the man’s jugular. “Who hired you?”
The man said nothing. Sarah applied another ounce of pressure, and the blade’s edge penetrated the flesh slightly, leaving a crimson gash on the side of his neck that trickled blood down his tanned skin. The man’s neck went rigid, tilting to the right, away from the blade’s edge.
The door to the office flung open, and an out-of-breath, red-faced Bryce greeted her. “I need you. Now.” He slammed the door shut, and Sarah removed the blade from the man’s neck. She put her hand on the door and turned around, pointing the tip of the blade, which dripped with his own blood, at him. “We’re not done here.”
Sarah wiped the blade on the edge of the door, scraping as much of the blood off as she could, then sheathed the weapon. She closed the door behind her and could see that most of the floor was in a massive panic. Every screen and monitor flashed with warning and error messages. Sarah joined Mack over by Bryce. “My Spidey sense is tingling.”
“We’re losing connection with the satellite link,” Bryce said, his fingers moving faster than his lips.
“Wipe all our servers,” Mack ordered. “If whoever is doing this has the ability to hack the satellite, then they’ll have the ability to view our secured information.”
“Sir, if I wipe it, I won’t be able to get it back,” Bryce said.
“Do it,” Mack ordered.
The lights in the room flashed red, painting everyone in a scarlet glow. Sarah’s eyes immediately fell to the door behind which their new prisoner was locked. “The system did a scan for any GPS trackers when I brought him in, right?”
“Yeah,” Bryce answered. “The scan came back negative.”
“Is there anything the scan doesn’t check for?”
“No, it’s calibrated to check for any known GPS tracking device. The system has the ability to pick up any digital signal.”
“What about nondigital signals?” Sarah asked.
“Nobody uses that technology anymore.”
Sarah sprinted back over to the office in which their prisoner was held, snatching a medical kit along the way. She dumped all the contents out, with the exception of the portable x-ray scanner. She burst through the door and started the process of scanning the man’s body, looking for any foreign objects. She pushed and rotated his arms and legs in awkward positions, at times triggering painful pops, until the small digital screen rested over a pen-cap-sized tube over his left shoulder. “Son of a bitch.”
Sarah ripped the cloth covering the man’s shoulder, which revealed fresh scar tissue. The man wailed and thrashed as she dug the blade into the meaty flesh and pried out the inch-long tube. It didn’t contain any microprocessor, only the remnants of an old radio tube used for shortwave frequencies. She crushed the tube in her fist and popped one across the man’s face. “Sneaky bastard.”
Sarah rushed back over to Mack and Bryce, who were still attempting to wipe the files. “It’s not a hack. It’s a breach. We’re about to have company.”
An explosion rocked the elevator, rumbling the ground and desks as chunks of rock, followed by a plume of smoke, flew from the elevator’s entrance and onto the floor. The dust clouded the red, flashing lights inside, and Sarah rushed over to her own computer. She banged on the keyboard and mouse, clicking random buttons. “Why isn’t this working?”
“It’s not plugged in,” Bryce said.
Sarah rolled her chair over to his desk, pushing Mack aside, “Sorry, boss.” She got right in Bryce’s ear while he attempted to finish the wiping of all their classified files. “You need to hack into the security feed.”
“What?” Bryce asked, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know how many bullets I need.”
“Sarah, they’re not going to be able to get in.”
Another explosion rocked the base, triggering chunks of concrete to rain from the ceiling and crash into the desks, sending support agents running for their lives. Sarah swiveled her chair and looked at Bryce, whose fingers had yet to stop typing.
“Don’t say it,” Bryce said.
“What?” Sarah asked innocently as particles of concrete dust floated down from above them, covering the desk, keyboard, and monitors. She looked up at the cracked ceiling. “Oh, would you look at that.”
“We’ve got movement in the utilities room,” Bryce said, pulling up a secondary screen that provided him a view of the other levels of the facility. “We also have a group working through the service elevator from the factory entrance.”
Sarah hurried to the armory, stuffing as many bullets into as many magazines as she could. She threw on two belts, one across each of her shoulders, in a crisscross Rambo pattern. She holstered the two .45 Colts and snatched one of the AR-15 rifles off the gun rack. She was almost out the door when she spotted the box full of grenades. She stopped, turned her head, and reached over to pluck one out of the box. She headed out the door, stopped, rushed back inside, and grabbed three more, attaching them to her belt. “Better safe than sorry.”
The red lights started to flicker on and off as Sarah passed Bryce and Mack in the hall, where the rest of the support agents were in a frenzy trying to stop the shutdown of the satellite link. Bryce popped his head up from the computer as she ran across. “The server room! They’re trying to break in!”
“On it!” Sarah hightailed it to the staircase and sprinted down the steps, at times sliding down the railing. The server room was at the lowest level of the facility. Sarah’s footsteps pounded and echoed down the winding staircase, and her eyes strained from the dim emergency lighting around her, one of them illuminating the giant Level 19 plastered on the side of the wall. “We really need to get another elevator installed.”
Three levels before she made it to the bottom of the stairwell, she could see and smell the sparks from welding tools attempting to access the satellite server’s room. One of the infiltrators spotted her, and she pushed herself up against the side of the wall as bullets ricocheted in the metal cylinder that was the staircase. “Bryce, you still there?”
“For now.”
“The server doors are blast proof, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason.”
Sarah unclipped one of the explosives and triggered the magnetic strip, throwing it down the center of the staircase to the bottom, where it glued its
elf to the floor. She covered her head as the scurry of boots sounded before the explosive device detonated, spewing a twisting tornado of fire up the steps.
The heat from the blast singed a few of her hairs, and she could feel the heat rush across her back and arm. Smoke quickly followed, and Sarah coughed and hacked as she tried peering through the gray plumes, her eyes stinging from the smog. She eased her way down the steps, forcing the rifle in her hands to steady the closer she made it to the server floor.
Four charred, smoldering bodies lay motionless outside the server room. While the door had done its job to protect the servers, the mangled, twisted piece of metal hung bent from the door frame. “I hope Mack kept the receipt for that.”
“Sarah!” Bryce screamed over the radio. “Get up here now!”
Sarah double-timed it up the steps, the heat from the fires triggering the sprinkler system and extinguishing what flames still remained below. The water droplets pelted her face, her lungs still aching from the smoke and exertion from the sprint. The red lights continued to flash their warnings, and the closer Sarah moved to the main floor, the louder the sound of gunshots grew. “Sounds like you guys are starting the party without me.”
Gunshots echoed back through her earpiece along with Bryce’s panicked voice. “We all know how you like to make an entrance.”
“That I do.”
The booming thunder at the top of the stairs grew as she picked up her speed. Gripping the rifle in one hand, she reached for two grenades on her belt. She held both of them in her free hand, and she lowered her shoulder before it made contact with the door. “Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny!”
The door burst open, swung wildly on its hinges, and smacked against the wall. The operations floor had been split into two sides, one that was winning and one that was losing. Unfortunately, Bryce and Mack were on the losing side. Desks were flipped over as both sides fired back and forth, with Sarah tearing through the crossfire. She aimed the rifle across her body, firing into the enemy while she thumbed the pins off the grenades still in her palm. The moment the pins fell to the floor, she chucked grenades into two separate clusters of men advancing on the line in the sand that Bryce and the other support agents had managed to create.
