Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  Hicks stood outside Malaka’s room as Craig examined Rasheed, who only a few days ago had fled from him with a backpack full of pipe bombs. Now he was a shell of his former self—pale, weak, and defeated. Craig had had to pull some heavy strings to arrange the transport. The two armed guards stood by him with indifferent expressions. They were FBI as well and wore identical hats, blue jackets, and jeans with pistol holsters at their sides.

  “I can’t thank you guys enough,” Craig said. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

  “The doctors heavily advised against it, I’ll tell you that,” the shorter of the two agents said.

  “We’ll have Mr. Rasheed back in time for supper. Isn’t that right?” Craig asked, looking down at his former adversary.

  Rasheed stared ahead, unresponsive.

  Craig stood up straight and turned to Hicks. “You ready?”

  “Sure am. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  With that, Hicks unlocked Malaka’s door and walked in. Craig told the guards to keep Rasheed in the hall as he went toward Husein’s cell. Everything was in motion for a risky plan that could either garner them the right information or collapse under its own weight.

  Hicks approached Malaka, calmly took a seat at the table, and set a file down in front of himself, keeping one hand on top of it. In the file were a few sheets of paper, nothing more. But it made his presence look official. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him, even as he sat right in front of her. Hicks couldn’t explain how she did it. It was almost as if she were looking through him.

  “Mrs. Surkov, I’d like to apologize to you for the actions of Agent Davis. We at the FBI don’t condone his behavior one bit. I understand that you might have said some things out of anger to get a reaction out of Agent Davis. We don’t hold you to your claims of being a part of ISIS, because frankly, the idea is preposterous to us.”

  Hicks opened the file and displayed a typed memo, only for a second. “What I have here is a request to grant you full immunity and temporary asylum in the United States. This, we hope, will begin to make things right.”

  He noticed her eyes glance quickly down at the form, then jump back up. She then stared ahead with a straight-faced, icy glare. “I have been through the worst kind of pain a mother can go through.”

  “We agree,” Hicks said.

  “And I am too tired to play any more games with the FBI.”

  Hicks leaned back and cleared his throat. “Again, I understand.” He shifted forward and placed his palms on the table. “We’d like to start over again. Press the reset button, if you will.”

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “Agent Davis,” Hicks said, scratching his chin. “Why was it so important to speak to him?”

  Malaka’s brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of game?”

  “You seem to be involved in something you want nothing to do with, but there’s still time to turn back the clock.”

  “My time is up,” Malaka said.

  “That’s not true. We can help each other out. We’ll provide immunity on the guarantee that you’ll use discretion about what’s happened here today.”

  Malaka’s mouth moved from a straight line to a near smile. “I see. So the FBI wants to play nice now?”

  Hicks leaned back as the chair squeaked. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Surkov.”

  Malaka turned away. “Doesn’t matter. I have nothing more to say. I regret even coming to this country.” She stared ahead, unblinking, with large black eyes full of conviction.

  Craig leaned against the table at which Husein sat with his head down. “Your aunt is going away for a long time. Now you can join her or go a different route. The choice is all yours.”

  Husein looked up. “My aunt is not who she says she is. Yes, she says crazy things, but she’s not a terrorist. She’s just confused.”

  Craig moved in closer, staring him down, causing Husein to flinch. “Let me get straight to the point.”

  Husein winced and backed away as he felt Craig’s hot breath in his face. His eyes closed, and he prepared for the worst.

  “I believe you,” Craig said, backing away.

  Husein opened his eyes. “What?”

  Craig pulled a chair closer and sat across the table from him. “I said I believe you. I believe that you think your aunt has nothing to do with any of this, but I’m here to tell you she does.”

  Husein looked down at the ground and bit his lower lip. “No, that’s not true.”

  “It is, Husein. Look at me.”

  Husein looked up, then shouted, “She took me in when I was five! When no one else would. My parents died when I was young. Murdered by terrorists. How dare you accuse us of being a part of such evil? Just because I’m a Muslim? I know that’s how your country operates, but I have nothing to do with my cousins’ actions.”

  Craig raised his hand. “All right, calm down, Husein.”

  Husein’s eyes watered. He rubbed them with his free hand. “I’m just so tired. I want to go home.”

  Craig tossed a notepad on the table and pulled out a pen from his pocket. “I’m going to ask you three simple questions. Yes or no. After we’re done with that, I’ll think about removing those cuffs.”

  “Okay,” Husein said, eagerly.

  “Is your aunt the Black Widow?”

  Husein seemed surprised at the question. “No?”

  “Are you aware of any imminent attacks following the port bombings?” Craig asked, scribbling. He then looked up and studied the dilation of Husein’s eyes, having some background in deception detection.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Was your aunt sent here by ISIS to deceive us?”

  Husein stopped, thinking to himself. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “One more question,” Craig said. “Is your name Husein?”

  “Yes.”

  Craig stood up quickly. The chair skidded behind him, rolling across the tile. “Excuse me,” he said, leaving the room.

  Husein lifted his head in surprise. He pulled on his handcuffs. “Hey, wait!”

  The door closed before he could finish.

  Hicks was leaving Malaka’s room just as Craig was walking out into the hall. The two guards stood patiently with Rasheed nodding off in his wheelchair. Craig pointed at Rasheed and looked toward the guards. “How much time does he have left before the sedatives wear off?”

  One of the guards shrugged. “Not sure. He’s pretty sedated as far as I know.”

  “We don’t have much time,” Craig said to Hicks.

  “No shit,” Hicks responded. “Momma Malaka isn’t talking.”

  “Did you butter her up for me?” Craig asked.

  “Best I could,” Hicks said.

  The door to the viewing room suddenly swung open. Calderon stood there, arms folded with Walker standing meekly by.

  “What was that all about?” he demanded. “Why are you making false deals with that woman?”

  Hicks looked off into space as all eyes went to Craig.

  “Well?” Calderon shouted.

  Walker spoke quietly as he nodded along.

  “We’re close, sir. I can feel it,” Craig answered. His hair was standing up on end. His shirt was wrinkled, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Craig looked like a wreck. But then again, everyone did.

  Calderon looked at his watch. “Whatever Columbo shit you have planned, I’m giving you five minutes to get some info. Then the entire family will be Homeland’s problem.”

  Dismayed, Craig looked at both Calderon and Walker. “No, you can’t do that.”

  Calderon spun around and shouted to the other agents in the room. “Donaldson, Rivers. Get Homeland on the line, now.”

  Both agents typed wildly on their phones. Calderon and Walker went back into the viewing room. Calderon pulled the door halfway shut, stopped, and held out his hand. “Five minutes, gentlemen. I want to see some progress.”

  The door slammed shu
t.

  Hicks looked at Craig.

  “Well,” Craig said. “Let’s give ‘em what they want.” He gently opened Malaka’s door as Hicks went toward Husein’s.

  Malaka stared at Craig with unadulterated anger. She seemed honestly surprised to see him.

  “Miss me?” Craig said. He received no response. Her eyes looked away and locked on the glass window in front of her, where she was sure that they were watching.

  “Not the talkative type today?” Craig continued.

  Cool, calm, and collected, her eyes met his. “Why do you keep wasting your time on me, Agent Davis? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  Craig paced around the table, walking in circles around her. “It’s funny how much your English has improved.” He held up his wristwatch. “In the past five hours.”

  “I’m a quick learner,” she responded.

  Craig completed another full circle, then stopped on the other side of the table, across from her. His shadow cast a reflection on the wall behind. “Malaka Surkov. The Black Widow.”

  She said nothing.

  “Isn’t that what you called yourself when you confessed to being involved with ISIS?”

  He took in her steady silence, then smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, your nephew is going to take the rap.”

  Her head shot up. Craig seemed to have gained her interest. “Husein? What about him?”

  “He confessed to everything. Got caught up with the wrong people. A shame, really. He seemed to have such a bright future ahead of him.”

  Malaka laughed. “The boy is no terrorist. He knows nothing.”

  “He’s protecting you. And if not him, then who will take the blame? You?” Craig leaned back and howled with laughter. “You think our government wants to disclose that some seventy-year-old woman is the face of terrorism? Think again. Husein makes the perfect poster boy: young, foreign, and deadly. Maybe you can visit him before the sentencing.”

  Malaka looked confused. Craig could see that she was getting flummoxed. Finally, she looked at him. “This is ridiculous. Not two minutes ago, an FBI man offered me immunity. What is your game here?”

  “Transport truck is on its way now to take Husein to a secure prison.”

  Suddenly a knock rattled the door. “Yes?” Craig said.

  Hicks opened the door. Husein stood next to him, shackled at his wrists and ankles, tears slowly tracking down his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” Hicks said. “We’re going to take him down to processing now.”

  Malaka looked shocked. “Husein!” she shouted. Before the boy could respond, Hicks closed the door.

  Craig stood over her with a satisfied smile on his face. She sneered at him with utter contempt. Her face contorted in anger—a deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips were drawn into a tight, intensified line.

  “It’s too bad about Husein. At least there’s always Rasheed.”

  He waited for a response and got none. “He’s right out in the hall.”

  Malaka refused to look at Craig. He knew she was done talking. However, once she saw her son, he believed things would be much different. With leisurely steps, he went to the door and opened it. There, outside the room, sat Rasheed in his wheelchair, looking as if he had been through some horrible car accident.

  Malaka gasped in shock and apparent relief. Tears welled in her eyes. Craig half expected her to leap up from the table and run to her son, but she remained seated. He signaled for one of the guards to push Rasheed in, and when they did, Malaka held her folded hands in front of her face as her handcuffs clanked.

  “Thank you, Agent Thomas,” Craig said as the guard turned and left the room. Craig walked behind the wheelchair and pushed it a small distance from the table, across from Malaka.

  “Rasheed,” she said in an excited, quiet voice.

  Craig stood between them with his hands on the table. “Rasheed is going away for a long time, too. I’m giving you this opportunity, Mrs. Surkov, because I have children too. This is your chance to say goodbye to your son before we put you on the plane back to Chechnya.”

  Craig pushed the wheelchair tight against the table, pivoted toward the door and walked away. “I’ll give you some time.” He closed the door behind him and stood in the hall, where Hicks waited with Husein at his side.

  “Good to go?” Hicks asked.

  “Let’s see if she takes the bait,” Craig answered.

  “What are you doing to my aunt? Why was Rasheed here?”Husein asked.

  Craig looked at Hicks. “Take him back to the holding room.”

  With everything in place, Craig and Hicks re-entered the viewing room, much to the confusion of their colleagues. Husein was back at the table in his room while Malaka and Rasheed sat across from each other in their holding room. Craig moved quickly to where Ariel Robinson, the translator, was standing and proceeded to examine the surveillance station, displaying the detainees in both rooms.

  “Is this capturing everything that’s going on in there?” Craig asked.

  “Yes, it is,” Walker said. “I checked it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Craig said. He turned to Robinson and looked directly into her eyes, intensely focused on the mission at hand. “I want you to tell me everything they say. Every word. Every grunt. Anything.”

  Robinson nodded and moved closer to the window. Malaka’s room was miked to play through the speakers. Craig flipped a switch on the desk, and everyone unconsciously leaned forward to hear the conversation taking place between Malaka and Rasheed. So far, little had been said. The viewing room went quiet, everyone waiting for the conversation they were hoping for.

  “This is where we find out what we need to know,” Craig said softly.

  Calderon looked ready to object. He opened his mouth, but then just slouched forward.

  “Every word,” Craig repeated to Ariel. He pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket and prepared to write. All eyes were on the Black Widow and her son.

  Malaka studied Rasheed carefully. For a moment nothing was said, but through the window, Craig could see a hint of emotion across her face. She began talking in her native tongue. Some Chechen words came over the speakers.

  “Idiot,” Robinson said. Craig scribbled on his pad.

  Malaka spoke again as her eyes grew fiery. Robinson translated.

  “You have exposed yourself. You think I want to be here? In the belly of the Great Satan? How could you do this? How could you allow yourself to get caught? How could you let them murder your brother?”

  Malaka’s words flew from her mouth like rapid-fire. Her angry tone was unlike anything they had heard from her before.

  Rasheed raised his head and moaned something, his voice drifting.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “Shit,” Craig said. “We’re losing him.”

  Malaka spoke again. Her anger appeared to have subsided.

  Robison continued translating. “There’s still hope for us. The Islamic State has only just begun the caliphate. I asked for the man who killed your brother. They sent him here. And soon he shall be dead, as will they all.”

  Rasheed spoke in a surprised tone.

  “What are you talking about?” Robinson said, translating.

  Malaka’s Chechen poured from her mouth again. She shook her handcuffed arms.

  “They shouldn’t have brought you here. But it does not matter. You and I, Rasheed. We will be martyred. It’s almost better that they’re transporting Husein. There is a very large truck on its way, and Allah willing, it will blow this building into dust.”

  Rasheed’s head dipped down again as he moaned in protest. He was losing consciousness fast.

  Robinson continued, “It’s time to be strong, my son. I do love you very much. Now we can be at peace.”

  The observing agents all looked at each other as an unmistakable panic spread through the room. They were hanging onto the translator’s every word. Craig frantically scribbled, trying to take notes and keep up with he
r.

  Malaka continued, “You did your part. After we reach martyrdom, the Islamic State will strike again. Another blow to the beast. By the third strike, they will all fall from the earth. We will look down from heaven—you, me and your brother—and we will laugh.”

  Calderon looked at Craig. “Are you getting this?”

  At that very moment a huge blast shook the building. Donaldson and Rivers hit the ground. Craig fell against the wall. Dust and plaster particles of drywall dropped from the ceiling. The lights flickered. Calderon stumbled back with eyes wide. A low rumbling followed the blast as one of the panels fell from the ceiling above.

  Craig stood back on his feet as his stunned colleagues tried to grasp what was going on. “We have to get out of here, now!” he shouted.

  In Malaka’s room, her eyes were closed. She was in deep prayer. Husein screamed for help. No one knew for certain if the tremors reverberating throughout the building were a prelude to something more and their own demise. Shoot-Out#

  Convoy Attack

  After a startling tremor swept throughout the building, Craig and company reorganized. Dust continued to fall from the ceiling panels above. Several ear-piercing smoke alarms rang throughout the building. It wasn’t clear what had happened or what damage had been done to the building, but no one underestimated the seriousness of the situation.

  “We need to evacuate!” Craig shouted, grabbing Robinson’s arm and moving quickly out of the room, crouching low. He called on the others to follow. Dazed and shaken, they wasted no time clearing out. The monitors in the room had both gone out. The lights in the hallway flickered.

  Craig led the group out into the hall and told everyone to stay close. They stood together, hunched over and staying low to the ground. Other personnel on the floor ran right past them, looking for the nearest exit.

  “What are you doing, Davis? We need to get out of here,” Calderon said, moving to the front of the line.

  “Not without the Surkov crew,” Craig answered. “I’ll need some help, but the rest of you should leave.”

  “I’ll help,” Hicks said.

  The two transport guards agreed to stay as well. They were, after all, responsible for Rasheed.