by Land, Jon
“Gold star, smart-ass.”
Young Roger flapped a frayed and tattered paperback at him called Cyber War by Richard Clarke. “If I’m a smart-ass, what’s that make counterterrorism expert Mr. Clarke here? I’ve read his book a dozen times and it scares me more each time. Wanna know what I learned from it?” No one at the table said yes, but Young Roger continued anyway. “Screw with these transformers and you end up with too much power being sent down high-tension lines that deliver electricity to homes. That destroys the line, maybe even resulting in a fire. Meanwhile, the resulting power surge overwhelms household surge protectors and fries every electrical device in the house.”
“You finished?” Jones asked him.
“Not even close,” said Young Roger, still holding Clarke’s book as if it were the Bible. “In two thousand three, a falling tree hit a power line somewhere in Ohio, creating a power surge. The backup systems that were supposed to reroute and compensate didn’t do their job and fifty million people all the way to the East Coast ended up losing power—all from a single tree limb. But that just scratches at the depths of the problem we’re facing here. See, the real crux of Guajardo’s plot to take us back to the Stone Age is to create uneven flow through the electric generators. Alter the spin rates on the subgrid from the standard sixty megahertz, change the rotation speeds to something other than what the programming calls for, and the turbines will literally tear themselves apart. The problem being that nobody’s storing these monster machines in a warehouse. They’re strictly built to order, custom made, and even under the best of circumstances it takes months. Now we’re talking about having to replace tens of thousands of them all at once. Years?” Young Roger asked, shaking his head as he let the Clarke book flop back to the tabletop. “Try decades. And that’s years and decades with factories shut down; distribution networks of food, produce, and other essentials destroyed; and financial markets back to the era of ledger books and abacuses.”
“While at the same time,” Tepper picked up, “her … what’d you call them again?” he asked Dylan.
“Monster-scale RC planes.”
“Her monster-scale RC planes loaded with this…” He looked to Caitlin this time.
“Carbon filament.”
“Carbon filament ignite over the nation’s top distribution stations and power plants serving the most populated areas of the country.”
“Not too hard,” added Young Roger, “considering that eighty-five percent of the population is concentrated in barely fifteen percent of the nation’s area.”
“We’re still missing something here,” said Caitlin, looking back toward Young Roger. “You said Guajardo bought a software company too, a software company that apparently wasn’t making any software.”
Young Roger spun the Cyber War paperback around. “Looks like I was wrong there.”
99
SAN ANTONIO
“Her transformers would give Guajardo access to the software systems controlling them through a back door,” Young Roger continued. “Just what the mad doctor ordered when it comes to launching some virus her software engineers have been developing into the power companies’ SCADA—that’s Supervisory Control and Data Acquisition—systems that balance the flow between each company’s substations, transformers, and generators. This virus is the final piece of the puzzle that’s going to shut the power grid down and keep it shut down by sending faulty signals to the devices that regulate the electric load across the country. Power surges flood the grid with no failsafe or shutdown, since the virus has effectively disabled the backup systems, blowing every generator and every circuit breaker panel from coast to coast.”
“India,” Jones muttered, his gaze drifting out the window.
“I’m old, sir,” Tepper told him. “You mind speaking up a bit.”
“One year ago in India. Biggest blackout in goddamn history.”
Caitlin laid her hands on the table. “Don’t tell me, Jones, it was you.”
“Test run, Ranger, just to see what we could pull off by infecting their system with a virus and just a virus. Half a billion people lost power.”
“But they got it back within, like, a day,” Dylan pointed out.
“Right you are, delivery boy, because it was a simple worm and they were still in control of their transformers and didn’t have to worry about a hard rain of carbon taking out their physical capacity to boot. And our worm didn’t disrupt their system to the point of destroying their electric generators.”
“But you could have, right?” Caitlin challenged.
“That’s classified.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Take it however you want,” Jones snapped. “The bottom line here is we’re the United States government, not a pissed-off bitch with a grudge. Right now all we’ve got is assumptions with virtually no proof whatsoever to back them up. I don’t care how angry this woman is, she’s not capable of pulling this off; no one is.”
“You never met Ana Callas Guajardo,” Caitlin told him. “My interview with her was like having an audience with the devil. These aren’t assumptions, Jones, they’re intentions. She wanted me to know she was up to something and gave me just enough hints to figure out what. Know why? Because she doesn’t think we can stop her.”
“Can we?” Young Roger wondered. “You know how long it took us to build the power grid that’s up and running now? Over a hundred years. More than a century of work Guajardo plans to erase in a matter of hours, days at most. And I do mean erase, since a three-pronged attack like this would render every part, every segment of the grid, from power lines to substations to the circuit breakers in your house, nothing but a mess of useless junk. Could we salvage some? Sure. Is a lifetime an accurate estimate of how long it would take to bring us out of the second Stone Age? Nobody knows for sure.
“What we do know, pretty much anyway,” he continued, “is what all this is going to lead to. You can forget about using your local bank or ATM, because there won’t be any way to access your accounts. That means the only cash you’ll have for who knows how long is what you’ve got in your pocket when the attack hits. Not that it matters much, because there won’t be a lot of places where you’ll be able to use it before too long. Any food that isn’t swept up in the initial panic will spoil. Stores won’t be able to sell you batteries for your flashlights, because their cash registers and inventory control systems will be gone. And whatever’s on the shelves is all that’s going to be there for a long time because, here’s the kicker, we can also look forward to the collapse of the entire transportation system. No air traffic control means nothing flying. No switching stations means no trains running. No traffic signals means utter chaos in the streets that’s certain to spread to the freeways, which are going to become one big, fat parking lot since there won’t be enough early responders to respond to all the accidents or any effective way for the responders to talk to each other. In short, no way to move anything, any goods at all, anywhere. Remember, we’re talking no cell service, no landlines, no television, no Internet. Maybe a few radio stations operating on backup power for a while, but that’s it.” Young Roger took a deep breath, his voice sounding strained and hoarse when he resumed. “Sure, the power, at least some of it, will be restored eventually, but what exactly will the country look like when the lights come back on? We’re talking about civil disobedience taken to a whole new level. We’re talking about an epic societal breakdown on every level. You want to know what Armageddon really looks like? Stay tuned.”
No one at the table spoke once he was finished. No one posed any questions. They all just looked at one another amid the grim silence, until everyone’s eyes fastened on Jones.
“You think Homeland Security might actually be able to help the cause this time, Jones?” Caitlin asked him.
Jones’s expression looked as flat as a granite statue. “We’d need to come clean to President Villarreal of Mexico and enlist his help. But that means asking him to go up agai
nst the political power broker who runs his party and pulls all his strings. Take our side against Ana Guajardo.”
Caitlin almost smiled. “I don’t think he’ll have a problem with that,” was all she said.
100
SAN ANTONIO
“Ranger,” Jones said an hour later, after emerging from behind the closed door of Captain Tepper’s office, which he’d appropriated for his own use, “I don’t know how you know what you know, but consider President Villarreal on board in a big way.”
“He’s got his reasons, believe me.”
“Okay, here’s the plan. Mexican troops are going to storm Guajardo’s software company and manufacturing plant simultaneously. Villarreal is also in the process of obtaining what they call an orden de apprehension, their version of an arrest warrant, for Guajardo so she can be taken into custody.”
“How long, Jones?”
“The troops are gonna hit the two locations at start of business tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “A mere ten hours from now. You don’t mind, I need to bring Washington up to date,” he said, starting back for the door. “Nice being on speaking terms with you again, Ranger.”
“Oh, you’ll find a way to disappoint me,” Caitlin told him. “You always do.”
* * *
They all remained at Ranger Company headquarters overnight, stealing what little sleep they could on cots in a ready room that had been a workout facility until it became clear no one was using it. At nine a.m. sharp everyone had gathered again in the conference room over doughnuts, bagels, and coffee, awaiting word from Jones on the results of the morning raids on Guajardo’s high-tech facilities in Guadalajara.
“Both facilities were abandoned,” he reported flatly, “cleaned out recently and fast by the look of things. We’re talking nothing left behind. I’m surprised they even left the floors and ceilings.”
“You think Guajardo’s wise to us?” Tepper wondered.
“Even if she was,” Caitlin replied before Jones could try, “it sounds like this must have happened before I paid her a visit yesterday. Which means the timing’s just coincidence and everything’s proceeding according to her plan.”
“So where’s that leave us exactly?” Cort Wesley posed to no one in particular.
“Up shit’s creek with a paddle we can’t use,” Jones told him. “The Mexican president is moving in troops to surround that game preserve of hers in Los Mochis, but there’s no sign of Guajardo or anybody else on the premises. Looks like it’s been abandoned too, except for the animals.”
“You have any recon satellite available?” Caitlin asked him.
“You got that look, Ranger.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Depends on what they’d be reconning.”
“Guajardo’s game preserve.”
* * *
Two more hours passed before Jones got the report from a satellite reconnaissance sweep that had used thermal imaging and density scans to survey Guajardo’s land in Los Mochis.
“Ever hear of Rio Secreto, Ranger?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a network of underground caves located near Mexico’s Playa del Carmen. Truly an amazing sight to behold, featuring a two-thousand-foot river that winds its way underground, with literally thousands of stalactites and stalagmites.”
“I appreciate the information, Jones, but what does that have to do with Los Mochis?”
“Well, it turns out Los Nachos,” he said, grinning at his purposeful mispronunciation of the name, “features a similar cave system, more limestone based in this case but also surrounding what is clearly an underground river even longer than Rio Secreto.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that next time I plan a vacation,” said Captain Tepper, the furrows and lines on his face exaggerated further by lack of sleep. His eyes drooped tiredly and the ashtray before him at the head of the table featured any number of Marlboros extinguished quickly so as not to set a bad example for Cort Wesley Masters’s oldest son. “But right now I’m more worried about all of us boarding an express train back to the dark ages.”
“There’s definitely a structure beneath the game preserve, people,” Jones elaborated. “But our initial satellite recon can’t determine whether it’s an extension of the underground cave system or a separate structure built to take advantage of the camouflage provided.”
“Nice things, your satellites,” snapped Cort Wesley, grumpy from worry and lack of sleep as well, his short coarse hair sticking up at one side thanks to a few hours spent twisting on a cot to no restful end. “They can tell what kind of vodka somebody’s drinking from five miles up, but not whether a megalomaniac Mexican has built herself a lair from which to launch an attack on America, or where she’s got my son stashed.”
“Well, the satellites did pick up some hot spots in the grid, temperature variations usually indicative of man-made structures carved out of the ground.”
“You mean like stairways, emergency escape routes, something like that?” Caitlin raised.
“That’s exactly what I mean. There are four of them pretty much equidistant from one another on the game preserve.”
“That’s good, right?” asked Tepper.
Jones nodded. “It sure is. But what isn’t good is the fact that our reconnaissance picked up no signature normally associated with a power source or any power in general. Now, boys and girls, it could be Guajardo reinforced her bunker with lead shielding to throw our birds off or is using propane to throw us off. But it could also be that there’s nothing down there at all but stalactites.”
Caitlin found herself staring at the remarkably detailed array of overhead shots of the game preserve taken from satellites miles up in the sky. “She’s there all right.”
“Why don’t I put you on the phone with President Villarreal and let you convince him to attack what might be no more than a fancy zoo?”
“Because his top cadre could be beholden to Ana Guajardo, maybe even on her payroll. Leave this in the hands of the Mexican army, Jones, and you might as well start stockpiling batteries and flashlights.”
Tepper shook his head and pressed out another cigarette without even puffing on it. “Oh boy, here we go.…”
Jones moved from the table to better face her. “Not gonna happen this time, Ranger. Mexico’s an ally last time I checked and you going gunfighter down there is the last thing we need.”
“Who said anything about going gunfighter? I’m going down there to serve an arrest warrant on the suspected killer of five children in Texas.”
“With a signature or a bullet?”
“Whatever it takes, Jones.”
“You better make it fast once you’re inside, Ranger,” Jones told her. “Because if you’re right, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold off the Mexican army.”
“You leave that to me,” Caitlin said, pulling her phone from her pocket.
“Who you calling now?”
Caitlin aimed her answer at Cort Wesley. “Couple new friends of mine named Rojas and Castillo, descendants of the generals who helped my great-grandfather bring down Esteban Cantú.”
Jones shook his head in disbelief, then shook it again. “You’re talking about the cartel leaders, public enemies one and two.”
“Not today,” Caitlin said to him, then immediately looked back at Cort Wesley. “Today they’re the only men who may be able to find out where Guajardo’s got Luke stashed.”
* * *
“I couldn’t reach Castillo,” Caitlin told Cort Wesley, after ending the call. “But Alejandro Rojas is calling me back as soon as he learns something. Turns out Guajardo’s brother killed a bunch of his druggers in a Juárez bar before crossing the border.”
Her cell beeped with an incoming text message, Caitlin lifting it back out of her pocket.
“It’s him,” she said.
* * *
“I need one thing from you, Ranger,” the head of the Juárez cartel said, so softly that
Caitlin had to press the phone tighter against her ear. “A promise that the killer of my children dies tonight.”
Cort Wesley had slid over to her and Caitlin put the phone on speaker so he could hear. “You’ve got it, sir.”
“In that case, I believe I’ve found where this boy is being held.…”
* * *
“You gonna do this alone, Cort Wesley?” Caitlin asked him, sticking the phone back in her pocket.
“You bet,” Cort Wesley told her, his expression a mix of determination and renewed hope. “Just like you’re gonna handle Guajardo alone.”
“Not quite alone.”
“You reached Paz?”
“He was waiting for my call.”
“Then there’s something else you need to know about Ana Guajardo, Ranger,” Cort Wesley said, “something Jan McClellan-Townsend told me that I can’t believe myself.…”
101
LOS MOCHIS, MEXICO
Just past midnight, the Blackhawk brought Paz and Caitlin right up to the edge of the game preserve, landing in a field mixed between saw grass and red clay that had hardened into a gravel-like texture. Not far away, Caitlin thought she caught a glimpse of wild grapefruit trees mixed with hibiscus and flowering pink camellias. The ground beyond the field was thick and rich, indicating an underwater source rare indeed for a country that was primarily composed of desert and brush.
Caitlin looked toward Paz, found him smiling tightly, prepared to do what he did best.
“We don’t get this done our way, Colonel, the Mexican army will move in and get it done theirs.”
“We’ll get it done, Ranger,” Paz said, even for him remarkably calm and self-assured. “We always do.”
* * *
While awaiting the logistics to be finalized, Young Roger had managed to extrapolate the satellite reconnaissance provided of the area to find an aboveground entrance to the cave system and river that ran beneath Ana Guajardo’s game preserve.
“Okay, Ranger,” Jones said, shaking his head, “if you’re right, Guajardo will have dozens of men with her. They will be well armed and likely drawn from the Mexican Special Forces, who tend to be pretty tough hombres themselves. And you intend to walk in there waving your gun and ask them to please not throw the switch that turns the lights out in the U.S., as you arrest their boss for murder. How am I doing so far?”
