by Joe Nobody
The farsighted thinkers knew the Texan wouldn’t have to strike more than a selective few landmarks or key points of infrastructure. There would be a momentum of panic; the public’s confidence in their government’s capability to protect and enforce rule of law would quickly erode. Some camps would declare for Weathers, crying at the top of their lungs that it was time for another revolution. Other segments of the population would take matters into their own hands, barricading communities and sliding down into the chasm of martial law.
The president cut the fantasy session short, turning to the press secretary. “Call a news conference. I need to talk to the American people.”
Chapter 6
Mitch returned a few hours later, pulling to the front curb and honking their new chariot’s horn like an excited teenager coming home to show off his new wheels.
Dusty and Grace responded in kind, strolling out the front door like the proud parents eager to see what their son had acquired.
Producing a small bag of groceries and toiletries, the younger Weathers seemed happy with his effort. “I talked that grizzled, old car salesman down another $500. She runs pretty well, and yes, the air conditioning works just fine.”
Dusty circled the black SUV, noting the temporary paper tags and checking the rubber. “Looks pretty good,” he noted, moving to open the hood.
“And the best news yet,” Mitch added with glee, “Is that I didn’t have to show the lot’s owner my driver’s license. This car is registered to Fane Land Development, the same company that is building this subdivision. I showed the old coot a business card I picked up inside, and he never asked me for any additional identification. It will be difficult for the authorities to trace this car.”
“Wow,” Grace replied. “Is that legal?”
Dusty grunted, “Showing a used car dealer a wad of cash bypasses a lot of hassle. I bet the folks at Fane will be surprised when they receive the new title in the mail.”
“Brother, there’s something else I saw. The president is on television. I watched his news conference while I was waiting on granddad to fill out the bill of sale. He’s claiming the government had nothing to do with the attack at St. Louis.”
Dusty digested his sibling’s report for a bit, a scowl slowly developing. “Well, of course. What else would he say? He can’t just exactly go in front of the American people and admit he’s a two-faced, lying, treacherous bastard, can he?”
“I don’t know, Dusty. He seemed pretty sincere to me,” Mitch replied. “He looked directly into the camera and made a plea for you to contact the White House. Said he would meet with you personally, anytime, anywhere.”
“Oh, we’re going to meet,” Dusty pledged, his voice laced with icy anger. “I can promise you we’re going to have a little powwow… but there won’t be a whole lot of talking going on.”
Grace pushed aside the bravado, focusing on Mitch. “Who did he say launched the attack?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch said. “Either I didn’t see that part, or he didn’t say.”
Turning to Dusty, Grace said, “Maybe I should call the White House and listen to what they have to say?”
Dusty shook his head, “No. The minute you put that battery back in that cell phone, they’ll know exactly where we are. You said yourself that they would try to shuck the blame for their skullduggery. The president is a politician, a professional liar and con man. He’s just attempting to protect his own hide.”
“Maybe,” retorted the lawyer. “Maybe not. You’re right, I did expect him to blame you and the rail gun for the destruction at the airport, but he didn’t. All along, we’ve been saying that attack didn’t make any sense, and it still doesn’t. There’s a chance, albeit a small one, that the government didn’t have anything to do with the attack. Uncle Sam’s military isn’t the only one that has missiles. The feds are not the only folks who are interested in procuring this technology at any cost.”
The Texan wasn’t buying it. Waving his hand through the air, Dusty pushed back. “No other nation would know the when and where of the meeting’s time and place. No other country would dare launch missiles at a target on U.S. soil. We’d wipe them out in a heartbeat. Washington did it, Grace. They failed, got caught with their hand in the missile jar, and now they’re just trying to confuse the issue and deflect attention.”
Grace could sense that continuing the debate was a wasted effort. She didn’t blame Dusty for his entrenched position. The government had been arresting his friends, attempted to kill him on more than one occasion, and had basically ruined the man’s life. She had felt the sting of abuse, jailed for several days on trumped up charges and false pretenses.
“I noticed a television inside,” she replied, changing the subject. “I’m going to head in and watch the news. At minimum, I think we need to keep an eye on what’s going on. It can’t hurt to have a little knowledge coming our way.”
Dusty shrugged, “Suit yourself. Mitch and I have to get rid of this plane. The neighborhood association is going to start complaining if we leave it parked here much longer.”
After watching Grace return to the house, Dusty turned to Mitch and said, “When we flew over, I spied a boat ramp leading down to the lake. Most of those are pretty shallow, so we need to figure out how to get the plane into deeper water before it sinks. It won’t do us a bit of good to have a partially submerged tail section sticking up in the air. That would probably draw more attention than the aircraft just sitting in the street.”
Rubbing his chin, Mitch said, “I understand the problem. Let’s go take a look see.”
The two men proceeded walking through the desolate subdivision, casually speculating on why the development had never taken off. “Fane properties sank a lot of money into this land,” Mitch observed. “Nice, wide streets, underground utilities, raised and leveled lots. Really makes you wonder about the economy when you see something like this floundering.”
Eventually, they came to the boat ramp, which was nothing more than a lane of pavement gradually declining to the lakeside where it widened into a large turnaround and parking area. Given the weeds growing in the concrete’s expansion cracks, both men assumed the facility didn’t see a lot of traffic.
They continued down to the shore, staring at the spot where the roadway’s surface disappeared into the murky waters. “I remember the first time I saw a ramp like this,” Dusty began. “I must have been six, maybe seven years old. I asked dad if we could drive down and see the underwater city.”
Mitch chuckled, “And what did the old man tell you?”
“He said, ‘Sure son, be my guest. Go ahead and walk on in, and let me know what you see,’ and I think he would’ve let me,” Dusty smirked.
Nodding his agreement, Mitch added, “Sounds like dad. He was all about letting us learn our own lessons, that’s for sure.”
A sad expression came over Dusty’s face. “And yet, here we are… fugitives who have just attacked our own government. I bet dad’s rolling around in his grave, shaking a fist at both of us.”
Mitch didn’t agree. “I think you’re wrong about that, brother. I think dad, above all other people, would have understood and supported what we’re doing.”
Dusty glanced at his younger brother, a questioning look replacing the melancholy appearance. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“No, I’m not blowing hot air up your skirt. The one thing dad tried to hammer into both of us was to stick up for what we felt was right. That’s all we’re doing here, Dusty. I still think we’re on the high ground, and I’m not going to hang my head for one second.”
“Even if it makes a widow out of your wife? Even if your young ones have to grow up without their father?”
“Yes. Soldiers face the same dilemma. They’re willing to die for something they believe in.”
Dusty hadn’t looked at it that way. After rolling his sibling’s words around for a moment, he finally smiled and said, “Thanks, Mitch. You’ve given me
something to think about.”
Mitch walked to the edge of the pavement, picking up a fallen tree branch just a little longer than he was tall. He returned to the water’s edge and began prodding the bottom. After a few pokes, he reported, “Simply pushing the plane into the water isn’t going to work. The downward slope is too gradual.”
Dusty nodded his agreement. “Plan B?”
“What about up there?” Mitch responded, pointing to a nearby bluff. “That little cliff looks to be about 30 feet high. What if we pushed the plane off the edge?”
Studying the formation, Dusty shook his head. “Looks like the water is pretty shallow at the edge. We’d end up with the tail sticking up like a big beacon to the searchers.”
“What if we let the plane kind of fly over the cliff? That would get it into deeper water.”
Dusty considered his brother’s idea, running through visions of a brick on the gas pedal of the car, just like in the movies. He’d pulled a similar trick in Laredo just a few weeks before. Better still, planes didn’t have gas pedals. “We might be able to pull that off,” he responded. “But we’ve only got one shot.”
They returned to the plane, Dusty skipping the pre-flight checklist and immediately starting the engine. Before long, they were rolling toward the bluff.
He steered the craft onto lot #14, its nose facing directly toward the precipice. “Go ahead and hop out, Mitch. I’m going to give her some juice and then release the brake. With any luck, she’ll sail over the edge and arch into deeper water. Hell, we might even manage an explosion on impact.”
The younger Weathers did as instructed, staying out of the way, but ready to run forward so he could see the show. Mitch was apparently excited by the pending destruction. “We’ve not had this much fun since we rigged all those firecrackers to Lucy Miller’s bicycle,” he reminded.
Dusty paused for a minute, having forgotten all about the childhood incident. Smiling, he added, “Yeah… and her older brother didn’t appreciate our little joke, as I recall. I think he was actually going to kill you.”
Rubbing a spot on his jaw, Mitch agreed. “He did have one heck of a right hook. Good thing you convinced him I wasn’t worth the effort. By the way, what took you so long to rescue me? Sure seemed like you took your time.”
Dusty grunted, “I wanted him to expend all his energies on you before I got involved. As I recall, that Miller boy was a stout son of a bitch, and I wanted to make sure he was good and tired from beating you before I took him on.”
Mitch laughed, not believing his brother. He remembered the thrashing Dusty had issued to the local bully, as well as the fact that none of the Miller brothers ever bothered him again.
Standing off at a safe distance, Mitch watched his brother adjust the cockpit controls. The engine increased its roar to a medium pitch, the flaps moving up and down until Dusty had them where he thought was the correct position.
The pilot then stepped out of the plane, leaning in through the open door and releasing the brake. Dusty quickly rolled away, trying to escape entanglement from the now moving wheels and wings.
The Cessna began rolling, increasing speed as it bumped and bounced across the empty lot. Both men scurried along behind the unpiloted aircraft, their expressions filled with the anticipation of seeing what was sure to be an unusual sight. The fact that there was going to be a destructive impact and destroyed equipment helped.
For a moment, Mitch was sure the plane wasn’t traveling fast enough. Jogging behind, the professor watched as the front wheels reached the edge of the drop-off, and then the plane tipped forward, the tail section slamming into the earth as it disappeared from view.
The two men reached the bluff and stood motionless as the Cessna sailed downward, slamming into the water less than 20 feet from shore. It was anti-climactic. No explosion. No sheared or ripped metal. It didn’t even make much noise.
“Keep your finger crossed,” a disappointed Dusty said. “It didn’t go as far as I thought.”
They stood silently, watching the bubbling water slowly surround the nose-down craft. It seemed like it was taking forever for the damned thing to sink.
Gradually, the aircraft slipped downward, disappearing into the brown water bit by bit. Both men exhaled when the last of the tail finally slid beneath the surface. “Damn… that was close,” Mitch commented.
“No shit,” Dusty replied. “But we did it. They’ll have a hell of a time finding that bird now.”
Trading was halted.
The news that Durham Weathers was pissed, on the prowl, and using his doomsday weapon against the U.S. government was enough to send the major markets into a nosedive. The Dow Jones Index lost 600 points in the first hour of trading after the president’s news conference.
The worldwide commodities markets immediately followed. Oil prices shot skyward, propelled as always by uncertainty. No one knew where the Olympus Device or its owner would strike next. Some believed Dusty was a lunatic, others a patriot. Regardless, he had a plane, accomplices, and motivation for revenge. Durham Weathers could be anywhere.
Fear was quickly fanned into outright panic. Millions of workers stayed home, unwilling to venture into the cities where the madman might strike. The FBI and other police agencies received tens of thousands of calls, most reporting a sighting of the fugitives. The resulting inundation and follow-up drew significant manpower away from security and everyday duties.
Every critical federal and state building, power plant, dam, dike, lock, bridge, and base was put on high alert. America hadn’t experienced anything like it since the terrorist attacks on 9-11.
The sky was filled with military and law enforcement aircraft. Just like the tragic event that dropped the towers in New York, civilian flights were grounded. Governors in practically every state mobilized their national guards, armed troops hustling to form perimeters around critical infrastructure.
And the flurry of activity wasn’t limited to just the United States.
A tsunami of dread quickly spread across international borders. Dusty Weathers and his gang were spotted in Mexico City, London, Moscow, and even New Delhi. The world’s economies ground to a halt, government spending on overtime, additional personnel, and the ongoing manhunt increasing exponentially with every passing hour.
The BBC World Service even went so far as to editorialize an opinion that the U.S. government should issue an immediate, unconditional surrender to one Durham Weathers.
Corporate giants felt the pain. Amazon recorded the fewest number of on-line shoppers since the internet giant had become a household name. Google, Apple, General Electric, Microsoft, and a slew of other industrial titans saw their daily sales plummet. The malls were empty, small businesses ranging from dry cleaners to hardware stores left wondering if their customers had vanished into thin air.
Only gas stations and grocery stores benefited from news of the attack on Fort Knox. Long lines of anxious drivers stretched for miles at every corner outlet, frustrated citizens wanting to top off their fuel tank in case outright anarchy occurred. Any shelf containing foodstuff was quickly assailed by the terrorized public, long rows of barren aisles leading the network newscasts.
Fights broke out, minor skirmishes soon turning into brawls, a few leading to full-out riots in larger cities and smaller towns alike. People were scared, desperate, and unsure of their future and safety. The unrest spread quickly, drawing yet more resources from an already overtaxed law enforcement community.
The two girls sitting at the picnic table didn’t seem to mind the mid-afternoon Texas heat. Discussing everything from a pending chemistry final to the latest celebrity gossip, they appeared oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the campus that surrounded them.
All of that changed when a young man in his early twenties passed nearby. Sporting brown hair and enticing blue eyes, the blonde coed stopped mid-sentence to watch him stroll down the sidewalk.
“Isn’t that Andrew Weathers?” asked the gawker.
“Yes, that’s Andy,” replied the darker headed of the two.
“He’s kind of hot,” came the reply.
“Careful, sister,” warned the brunette, “He’s the one whose father is a terrorist… the guy that developed that crazy rifle-thing that blows the hell out of everything.”
“Oh, I’ve heard the story. Who hasn’t?” replied the blonde, waving off her companion. “My dad says it’s all propaganda and bullshit. He says the government is to blame, and that half of what we hear on the news is a lie.”
“True or not, dating that guy right now sounds a little dangerous to me. Besides, romance seems to be the last thing on his mind. I’ve flirted him up a few times in biology, and he only seemed interested in his books… Or maybe he’s gay.”
An expression of realization crossed the bombshell blonde’s face. “Why, you shameless jezebel… you’re trying to scare me off so you can have him for yourself!” she teased.
