Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  “You guys move fast,” Craig said. “And what division of Homeland am I answering to now? Secret Service? Coast Guard? Immigration and Customs?”

  “Counter-terrorism,” Jenkins responded. “I’m glad to see that you find this massacre amusing.”

  Craig stared into Jenkins’s dark sunglasses, enraged, and raised a finger in his face. “You’re out of line, Deputy Jenkins. And I don’t answer to Homeland any more than I would the Peace Corps.”

  Jenkins seemed amused. “Well, since we’re out here cleaning up your mess again, I say that makes us the authority in the matter.”

  “Get out of my way,” Craig said, pushing past him.

  Jenkins turned around. “You look a little angry, Agent Davis. Need a ride back to headquarters?”

  Ignoring him, Craig found Detective Harper and asked him where he could find Patterson.

  “Richmond Medical Center. ‘Bout ten miles from here.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  Without saying another word, he left as the Homeland agents took immediate control of the scene. Even with all his work slowly crumbling in front of him, Craig could think only of Patterson. Still light on the details, he ran to his car and drove off, leaving the madness behind.

  Washington, D.C., Tuesday

  Craig sat in the small downstairs meeting room with only his Supervisory Special Agent Vince Walker and Assistant Deputy Director Calderon sitting across from him. All blinds in the room had been drawn shut over the glass window looking out into the halls.

  It was a tense two-on-one—the first grilling from his superiors since his return from Richmond. He had little idea what to expect. Calderon had been vague on the phone, but Craig was prepared for disciplinary action.

  Calderon sat at one end of the rectangular table with a file in hand while Walker sat in the middle, examining a copy of the same file. Seated at the other end, Craig patiently waited for their verdict.

  He had written a report detailing every aspect of the Richmond investigation. In it, he took responsibility for the outcome, while claiming that their presence had prevented the Surkov brothers from fully carrying out their plans.

  Calderon came across Craig’s conclusion in the report. He shook his head, looked up, and folded his hands together.

  “You make a compelling case, Agent Davis. And your report clearly tries to justify your actions.” He raised one hand and pointed out the window, beyond the blinds. “I was wondering if you happened to catch Mrs. Patterson out there.”

  Craig looked over.

  Calderon continued, “She’s patiently waiting in the lobby for some answers on how her husband took two hollow-point shells to the gut. She wants the bureau to be held responsible.”

  “Kathleen,” Craig said under his breath. In all the commotion, he had yet to talk with her face to face, although she was one of the first people he had called after arriving at the hospital.

  “The doctors tell us that Agent Patterson will be eating from a tube for some time now,” Calderon continued. “But I guess we can thank God that he’s alive.”

  Craig thought back to his brief hospital visit, before leaving Richmond. Patterson had still been in surgery. Craig waited for hours, making calls back home and to Patterson’s wife, apologizing for everything.

  Post-surgery, Patterson was unconscious, on a million drugs, and being closely monitored. Their main concerns were infection and internal bleeding. Now back in D.C., Craig was ready to answer for everything.

  His supervisor, Agent Walker, spoke up. “Your intended target was Rasheed Surkov, but you seem to have completely disregarded his younger brother, Darion. Why was that?”

  “Because we didn’t know who he was,” Craig answered. “And you are correct. Rasheed was our main focus.”

  Walker continued. “And this was after explicit instructions from the assistant deputy director not to pursue further investigation into this case.”

  “Yes and no,” Craig answered. He appeared calm and unshaken, his palms resting flat and at ease on the table.

  “What do you mean by that?” Calderon interjected.

  His superiors were hard to read. They looked prepared to distance themselves from Craig, and he could understand why. Politics had infiltrated the bureau from top to bottom. The current climate did not tolerate rogue agents, despite the results of their actions.

  “My partner and I discovered evidence prior to the case being closed and decided to pursue our lead without direct involvement from the FBI.”

  Agent Walker cut in. “Which could be understandable, Agent Davis, but the diner shootout should be a stark reminder of what happens when you work outside your chain of command.”

  Calderon was more blunt. “We’ve got bodies in the morgue. A suspect in critical condition. A driver in a coma. Your partner being fed through a tube. Families mourning their loved ones. Thousands of dollars in property damage. And no evidence linking these men to the Islamic State or any other terror organization.”

  “Did you search their apartment?” Craig asked.

  “Yes. We came across your spy camera still implanted on the wall outside, and you better hope the Justice Department doesn’t hear about it.”

  “What did you find inside?”

  “Nothing,” Calderon said. “A big fat nothing.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Look, we know that these two were up to no good. We can assume that had you and your partner not intervened, things would be even worse, but we’ve got a big problem on our hands.” Calderon took out his smart phone and scrolled down the screen and began reading.

  “FBI Bungles Terror Attack. Diner Shooting Rocks Richmond. Eight Shot in Cold Blood after Botched Raid. You see where I’m going?”

  “Why don’t they print how Darion Surkov was here on an expired visa? That goes right back to Homeland. Yet you’re closing the entire case at their behest.”

  “That’s just how it is, so you better get used to it,” Calderon said. He then signaled to Agent Walker.

  Walker looked up and adjusted his glasses. “Agent Davis, we wanted to talk to you privately as a courtesy, just to get everything out in the open.”

  Craig remained quiet as Walker took a deep breath and continued. “But there will be an internal investigation into this matter. You will need to have your answers ready to give to an investigative panel in the next couple weeks. And no more accusatory language against other departments.”

  He knew it. They were going to try to bring the hammer down on him. He only wished he had gotten more evidence against the Surkov brothers prior to the shooting.

  “In the meantime, you’re being placed on administrative leave until further notice.”

  The blow was quick and painful, but not unexpected. Craig nodded. “Very well.”

  “We will keep you posted on the details of the investigation, and you are hereby suspended from duty.”

  Craig cleared his throat. “What about Patterson?”

  Calderon interjected, “The bureau isn’t currently pursuing action against him but will determine that upon his recovery.”

  “His wife?” Craig asked.

  Calderon shook his head. “She’s looking into a lawsuit. So I hope you see why we have to do this.”

  Craig nodded. He felt defeated.

  “You’re dismissed,” Walker said, shutting his file.

  Craig rose from his chair. He thanked his superiors and began to walk out of the room while keeping his head high.

  “Oh, Davis,” Calderon said.

  Craig stopped at the door and turned.

  “The Surkov brothers have a mother. She’s flying all the way from Chechnya, under supervision from our embassy, to identify her youngest son. She has already publicly condemned her sons’ terrorist actions, and could be a voice in discouraging other youths from following their paths.”

  Craig remained with his hand on the doorknob waiting for Calderon to get to the point. “We don’t want you anywhere
near this woman, understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And you’re not to talk to the media about any of this. You know the rules pending an internal investigation.”

  “Yes sir. Not a peep.”

  “Dismissed, Agent Davis,” Walker said again.

  Craig turned and exited the room, holding his file. He was glad to have gotten the reprimand over with but also knew there was more to come. He could see Kathleen Patterson sitting in the lobby. Her face was exhausted with anguish and looked streaked with tears. He took a slow breath and approached her. She looked up in a daze.

  “I’m sorry, Kathleen. And I promise you this isn’t over.”

  Her eyes were red and puffy. She had a nice black dress on, but her red, curly hair, usually one of her remarkable features, was disheveled. She looked confused, even angry. She stared at Craig, her lips quivering. Then she spoke.

  Craig made it home that evening, back to his wife and son, feeling relieved, but riddled with guilt at the same time. When he walked into the house, briefcase in hand, the absence of his pistol on his belt felt even stranger. Was he finished with the FBI? It was hard to tell. The news was on TV again, and the lead anchor’s report stopped Craig in his tracks.

  “Authorities have released few details about the Chechen brothers, Rasheed and Darion Surkov, and their affiliation with terrorist organizations. Witnesses in the shooting reported that the younger brother, Darion, delivered a lengthy screed against ‘American aggression in the Muslim world’ to terrified patrons as he recorded the attack with a GoPro camera.

  “Surkov was shot by an FBI agent who had apparently been pursuing the seventeen-year-old. A half mile away, Darion’s older brother was fleeing from another FBI agent on foot when he was struck by a moving vehicle and found with a backpack of explosives.

  “An investigation is underway into the attack and its link to a web of sleeper cells discovered around the country. The FBI agent who stopped Darion Surkov from fully carrying out his attack has been listed in stable condition after being airlifted to a D.C. hospital.

  “Rasheed Surkov has been listed in stable condition as well, and is being held in an undisclosed location.”

  Craig set his briefcase on the hardwood floor of the foyer and looked up to see Rachael standing beyond the living room in the kitchen. She was wearing plaid pajamas and had her arms crossed like a disapproving mother. He approached her, not sure what to say. There wasn’t much more drama he could handle that day.

  “Hey.” Somehow he managed a small smile. “Where’s Nick?”

  Her lips were pressed in a straight line. Without saying anything, she pulled out the GMRS radio he had given her. “I called your cell phone and tried the radio. You didn’t answer.”

  Craig approached her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “We were worried sick about you.”

  Craig took another step forward and wrapped his arms around her. She raised her arms and finally wrapped them around his back.

  Craig looked up at her, distraught. “Everything fell apart so quickly. We had them. We were closing in, but…” Craig stopped. “I think I’m finished.”

  Rachael could hear it in his voice. He sounded utterly defeated. “It’s okay. We’re just glad you’re back home.”

  Craig looked up at her with hollow eyes. “Patterson. His wife. He trusted me, and I feel like I let him down. Him and his family. I was so damn set on cracking this case that I didn’t see the danger I was putting us in.”

  “Why don’t you come lie down?” Rachael said. She walked with him back to their bedroom, where Craig sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

  “They’ve suspended me, Rachael. Pending investigation.”

  “We’re gonna get through this. I know it. You need to take a step back, clear your head, and relax.”

  He looked into her concerned eyes and felt true comfort. “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

  “You’d be a sad old man, taking selfies with your gun in front of the mirror for dating sites.”

  Craig laughed and put his arm around her. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Suddenly his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen: Supervisor Walker. He looked at his wife apologetically.

  “Here we go again.”

  She nodded, understanding, and got off the bed as he answered. “Agent Davis.”

  “There’s been some new developments, and things just might turn around for you,” Walker said.

  “What is it?” Craig felt a moment of hopefulness.

  “The mother of those Surkov boys. She flew in tonight and so far has been very cooperative. Her name is Malaka Surkov, fifty-eight-year-old widow.”

  “Okay?”

  “She’s very distraught over what has happened and wants to provide additional information that she has about their activities. Things they sent her in letters. There’s only one catch.” Walker stopped and sighed.

  “And believe me, Calderon tried to fight this all he could. This Surkov mother, she requested to talk to you and only you. She claims that our government has been infiltrated by the very people her sons worked for. She says the information she has can only be trusted to you.”

  Craig paused. “ISIS?”

  “That’s her claim.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “It means get your ass to headquarters, pronto.”

  The call ended, and Craig still held onto the phone in bewilderment. His work, it seemed, was never done.

  Mother Surkov

  Patterson’s wife, Kathleen, looked at Craig almost as if he was a different person. She looked hurt and betrayed, distrustful of the man standing in front of her. Craig gave her a knowing look, prepared to take whatever she had to throw at him. He thought of Rachael and how distraught she would be had it been him in that hospital bed, unconscious, sedated, with tubes coming out of his stomach. Patterson was in a bad spot, and his family was obviously upset and had every right to be.

  “He would have done anything for you,” she said, eyes down, her voice quivering.

  “I know, Kathleen. He always went above and beyond. He’s the best field agent I’ve ever worked with. And he’s going to get better, I know it.”

  She shut her eyes and shook her head as tears rolled down her cheek. “What were you two doing out there? Just the two of you?”

  “We were conducting surveillance. Neither of us thought it would escalate like it did. Believe me, if there was anything I could do…”

  Her body was shaking, and she looked ready to collapse.

  “You should sit or something. Can I get you something?”

  Her eyes opened, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “I haven’t been able to talk to my husband in two days. Your department better give him the best care available. If anything happens to him, so help me God, I’ll…”

  Her voice drifted, and she started to cry, keeping her head down and eyes closed. Craig brought a hand to her shoulder and then pulled her close.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to make everything right, okay? I promise.”

  “It’s all your fault,” she said, pulling away. “You put my husband in danger, and I’ll never forgive you.”

  Craig kept his hand locked on her shoulder. “It is my fault. You’re right. Someday you will forgive me, though, I’m sure of that. He’s going to get better. He’s a strong person. A fighter. And so are you.”

  With that, Kathleen turned away, sobbing, and walked toward the public restroom. Craig knew she needed some time, and he was more than willing to take the brunt of her pain. Seeing her so upset, he had to admit, was no cakewalk. The Surkov brothers came to mind. They were a vessel for an ideology of hate, and Craig was certain it didn’t stop at them or at some terror cell in Minneapolis. For the first time in his career, he felt true vengeance in his heart.

  It wasn’t just Kathleen’s words that had unsettled him that day. There seemed to be so
much more. The world felt like it was coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t remember the last time he had gotten a good night’s sleep, but there he was, strolling back into the FBI building after being placed on administrative leave. The Chechen mother of suspected terrorists, one dead and the other in a coma, was waiting to talk to him.

  He felt suspicious of her true intentions, though he hadn’t even met her yet. Why the mother of the Surkov brothers would insist on talking only to Craig alone baffled him. Assistant Deputy Director Calderon and the top heads of the FBI seemed to share his sentiment.

  A group of FBI officials were huddled together with Supervisory Special Agent Walker outside a secure room where Malaka Surkov was said to be. As Craig approached them, Calderon was the first to take notice, and he didn’t look happy.

  He stepped away from the group, with Walker at his side. “Listen to me, Agent Davis. You’re on thin ice here. The fact that this Surkov mother wants to talk to you changes nothing. The internal investigation is still underway. In the meantime, I suggest that you get whatever information you can, share it with us, and go home.”

  “Gladly, sir,” Craig said. “I just want to help however I can.”

  The group of high-level staff remained quietly huddled together. Craig knew who they were: the bureaucrats who called the shots. Their presence alone made him question the FBI’s true interest in the case. At any moment, he expected Homeland Security to burst into the room and take everything over.

  They were in a darkened hall below ground level, standing by a waiting room of sorts with very few other people moving around. Personnel needed a special security badge to even walk the halls.

  Walker leaned in close. “Mrs. Surkov has been waiting for you. We have her set up in a hotel downtown for later. Rooms for both her and her Chechen escort.”

  “Escort?” Craig asked.

  “Her nephew, Husein. A teenager, like the Surkov boy, and very quiet. Don’t expect much from him.”