Seven Unholy Days

by Jerry Hatchett

  He was prepared to kill the control monitor if need be, but the idiot did himself a favor by being asleep. A sturdy clip to the base of the skull ensured he’d stay that way for an hour or so. Reinstalling the code into CEPOCS proceeded without a glitch but it was a step he hoped he wouldn’t have to do. He checked his watch. We never do jobs alone.

  You can handle him just fine, baby brother. Working in the dim lighting in the control room, he slipped a cordless electric screwdriver from his pocket and removed the screws holding a cover panel in place on the base of the big display at the front of the room. With the panel removed, there was an empty space inside the cabinet large enough to hold something the size of a small footlocker. He stepped into the hallway and wheeled in a dolly with two metal boxes on it. One was a faded green color. The other looked like a giant high-tech briefcase.

  Jana watched him work the briefcase box into the space in the bottom of the cabinet. She considered running, since she wasn’t tied or handcuffed, but after thinking about the way he killed the poor old security guard she decided to stay put.

  He raised the lid on the case and a chill rippled down Jana’s spine. The device was obviously a sophisticated bomb, the interior of the case loaded with electronics and a shiny metal sphere. Soft beeps sounded as he keyed in numbers. A long beep sounded and he shut the lid on the case. He looked carefully at his watch, and then began reinstalling the panel on the cabinet, leaving the contraption hidden without a trace.

  “Why are you doing this? What have these people ever done to you?”

  “Not a thing. This is business.”

  “Your business is killing innocent people?”

  “I do what I’m paid to do. I don’t ask why.” He tightened the last screw on the cabinet.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you were ‘told’ to kill Mr. Stevens.”

  “He pulled a gun.”

  “All you had to do was tell him to stop. He was an old man, you cold-hearted bastard.”

  “Can the chatter, lady.”

  “Or what, you’ll kill me too?”

  “I’d rather not.” He winked and smiled.

  “Keep dreaming; you’d definitely have to kill me first.”

  Dane slapped her so hard she saw white flashes and her knees buckled. The urge to cry was overwhelming but she refused.

  “Let’s get a move on. I still have work to do,” he said. He wheeled the dolly out of the control room and into a dark corridor, then opened the door to a supply closet and looked around. He grabbed Jana’s arm and shoved her inside, then closed the door.

  Jana heard the dolly rumbling down the hallway outside. As soon as the sound faded she pulled on the door handle. It moved, but only slightly. There was no lock on the door handle but he had obviously tied the door shut. She braced her feet on the wall, got a good grip on the handle, and yanked hard. She’d need another plan. After a bit of fumbling she found the light switch and flipped it on. The door opened in and to the right. To the left was a tall industrial shelf filled with an assortment of janitorial supplies. She settled for a broom and an industrial sized aerosol can of tub-and-tile cleaner, put them on the tallest shelf she could reach, and started climbing the shelves. They were metal, and clanked and clattered as she made her way up, but not knowing how long she had, speed trumped quiet.

  The top shelf was covered in a thick layer of dust that clogged her nose and burned her eyes, but it was empty. She lay on her stomach, reached down to the shelf underneath, and retrieved the two items she had placed there. The broom handle was just long enough to reach the light switch and turn it off. She pulled the broom back, unscrewed the handle, and laid the head aside. Then she waited, crouched in the dark, the broom handle in her left hand like a spear and the aerosol can in the right, listening for the sound of the dolly coming back down the hallway.

  After a few minutes her thighs started cramping and her eyes poured tears from the dust. It took every ounce of concentration she could summon not to sneeze. Should she try anything at all, or was it suicide? Her fighting spirit had been high earlier, but the darkness and dust and cramps were sapping it more by the minute. And the minutes crept by like days.

  She flinched when she heard something outside the door. Had her attention lapsed and caused her not to hear the dolly approaching? Maybe it was a janitor mopping the floor outside, someone who could help. Or get killed like poor Mr. Stevens. The urge to scream for help at the top of her lungs was overpowering but she resisted. Then the door opened and her heart sank. It was him.

  He was backlit by the dim light outside and she had a good target as he stepped into the closet. Now or never. She pushed to spring herself off the shelf and found out that her right foot had gone to sleep. The uneven pressure caused her to come off the shelf at an angle and instead of a clean dive into him with her broom handle spear, she fell on top of him in a tangle of arms and legs. He fell to the ground under her weight and she with him. She fought to get up without letting go of either weapon but it was impossible. He had the other end of the broom handle in one hand and her right foot in the other as she struggled to free herself.

  “You little bitch!”

  She let go of the broom handle and dove for the doorway but he still had a solid hold on her foot. On her stomach now, she grabbed the edge of the door frame with her left hand and pulled hard but his grip was too strong. She pushed herself up onto her left hand, then aimed the aerosol can blindly behind her with her right and pushed the button. He screamed and let go of her foot, and she scrambled on her hands and knees through the doorway and into the hall. She looked back just long enough to see him wiping the caustic white foam out of his eyes, then jumped to her feet and ran.

  As she stepped into the control room she heard his footsteps pounding the floor, coming fast. She made her way through the room and was six feet from the front door when she heard the sound of a pistol being chambered.

  “Take another step and this one will be your doing.”

  She stopped and looked back.

  He was standing over the man he had hit in the head earlier, the gun pointed at his head. “As it is, he’ll wake up with a bad headache. Or you can go through that door and he’ll never wake up at all.” He pulled the hammer back.

  Jana slowly raised her hands and said, “Please don’t shoot him.”

  “Don’t try another stunt like that unless you want to be shot yourself. Got it?”

  She nodded. “What next?”

  “We’re going to bury my brother, then take a trip.”

  “Where?”

  “A nice open field. He never liked being cooped up.”

  “I mean, where are we taking a trip to?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Why take me anywhere? If you’re going to kill me, just do it here and be done with it.”

  “I’m trying to save you from being—” He paused. “Never mind.”

  “From being killed? By that nuke you planted?”

  He arched his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I’m not stupid. There’s only one kind of bomb that looks like that. You think I want to live somewhere else while that thing murders everyone I love? I don’t.”

  “You’re confused. I’m not running a democracy and I don’t give a shit what you want. I sure as hell can’t leave you here to blab to the cops. That leaves me with two options, kill you or take you with me. So save the lip and be glad I’m choosing the latter.”

  “Did you hear a word I said? I don’t want to—”

  Dane grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the door. “You talk too much.”

  Back in the Jeep and in search of a suitable place to bury Riff, Dane tried to make sense of what he was doing. Once he found the woman inside the house, he had no choice but to do something with her. But what? The professional thing was to kill her and move on, but he couldn’t.

  Losing Riff changed everything. Born a year apart, they had been partners in life. Dane the level head. Riff the impuls
ive. Together, it worked. He fed off Riff’s cold aggression, using it to stay focused when doubts crept in. His mind kept drifting back to the teenagers in the pickup. And the woman. Riff would’ve had no problem taking care of the her, innocent or not. “Business is business, big brother,” he would’ve said.

  But Riff wasn’t here, only Dane and the woman, and things didn’t seem so cut and dry anymore. They were confusing as hell.

  “Hello, am I alone in here?” Jana said as she nudged Dane on the knee with her foot—after her attack and attempted escape at GCE, he bound her hands with nylon wire ties—and startled him from his reverie.

  “What?”

  “I was talking.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Please go back and turn that bomb off before it’s too late.”

  “Lady, don’t start up again. I’m not in the mood.”

  “How much are you getting paid?”

  “Enough for this to be my last job. Ever. Happy?”

  “Happy? Your bomb might kill every family member and friend I have, and you want to know if I’m happy?”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. The whole world will.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means there’s one hell of a week ahead, lady.”

  “My name is Jana.”

  “Whatever.”

  2:14 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME

  CABIN, GULFSTREAM 216

  For years Hart had dreamed of the Glorious Beginning, and always the dream had been to witness it from this one awesome perspective. The road had been long and filled with obstacles, the complexity overwhelming. Now the moment had arrived. His psyche was operating in two distinct modes, one of frenzied anticipation, another that matched his outward appearance; serene, beyond petty emotion. One wanted to revel in what he had personally accomplished, and what was to come. The other was driven to accept his role, great though it was, as a pawn in a grand universal scheme of destiny over which he had no control. The former gave him the drive he had needed to put the plan together. The latter afforded him the ability to rationalize and justify the atrocities that would unfold over the next few days.

  The luxury jet flew lazily at six thousand feet above New York City. The late hour provided few other planes in the clear night air to contend with, but the view of the city that never sleeps shone true. No other place on Earth could offer up such a view from the heavens, such a testimony to the accomplishments of modern man. There were other cities in the world that covered more ground, but none had the breathtaking prowess of the islands of light below as they lay shouldered against the blackness of the water along their shores.

  Visual symbolism aside, certainly no other city wielded the tangible power over the rest of the Earth that did New York. Other cities could affect economies globally in a technology-driven world, but there was none other that could essentially shut them down. There were cities that had more people, but the Grand Lady below was alone in her diversity. She was a snapshot of the modern world. Other cities were important to the modern world. New York was crucial. It was the one and only logical vantage point for Hart as the beginning of the end arrived. She and her people had proven resilient before, but this time they would acknowledge defeat and yield to a superior power.

  He watched the timer on his wristwatch count down the last few seconds, vowing to kill those responsible should the timing be amiss and ruin the moment for him. There would be no need. As the digits reached zero, it happened. It was so startling a thing to witness that the plane momentarily bobbled side to side as the pilot jerked.

  In one instant, the massive presentation of lights below was gone. New York City was as black as the waters around her. Chaos would soon reign on the ground, but from the nighttime skies above, it looked as if the nerve center of the world had just died. He couldn’t see them from the Gulfstream, but he knew reconnaissance satellites above the United States were already transmitting even more staggering images: New York City was not alone. In the blink of an eye, the mainland of the United States had just gone dark. All of it.

  Hart gazed out the window for about thirty seconds, closed his eyes in a euphoric state of satisfaction and said quietly, “It has begun.”

  7

  2:12 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  IUKA COUNTRY INN

  WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! My eyes popped open and I shook my head. Not again. I fumbled with the switch on the lamp beside the bed but it wouldn’t turn on. It was too dark to see anything through the peephole so I left the chain in place and cracked the door. Tark.

  It suddenly hit me that the power was off. My boxers clung to me with sweat. I let him in.

  “Matthew, we’ve got huge problems.”

  “I see that. How much dropped?”

  “All of it.”

  “Good grief, the whole state again?”

  “Not just this state, Matthew. All of ‘em.”

  “All three?”

  “All sixteen,” he said.

  “The hell you say!”

  “The heck I say.”

  We found the security guard lying in a puddle of congealing blood inside the little guard shack at the entrance to the complex. “Tark, we’re bad out of our league. We need to call in some help, and I don’t mean the local sheriff. The FBI needs to be here.”

  He took the guard’s gun from its holster, which was already unsnapped. “That’s fine, but in the meantime we’ll have to fend for ourselves. You know how to shoot?”

  “I can shoot.”

  “Good.” He spun the pistol on his finger and handed it to me butt first. “You take this one. I brought my own.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue Smith & Wesson Chief’s Special. Five shots, snub nose, .38 Special. Very nice personal defense weapon if you liked small revolvers. I prefer good automatics with triple the firepower. I had a stainless Beretta fifteen-shot 9mm at home, but I was a long way from the Oregon coast. The guard’s gun would have to do, a Colt that looked to have been handmade by old Samuel himself.

  Inside the control room, the night monitor was sitting on the floor beside his console, conscious but groggy. He had no idea what happened, only that he had a killer headache. Tark did a walkthrough of the building and found what looked like the scene of a scuffle in a janitor’s closet, but nothing else looked out of place.

  I went to the code console where Abdul Abidi spent his days and started digging into the code where the crack had been hidden that caused the earlier failure. This time wasn’t going to be quite as easy. That module of code had been encrypted and asked me for a password, which was bizarre. If they wanted to flat out deny access, all they had to do was encrypt it and leave it at that. Why set it to pop up a password prompt?

  “Matthew, I just pulled this out of the CEPOCS wire.” Tark handed me a sheet of paper. I literally stopped breathing for a moment when I read it.

  PRIORITY COMMUNIQUE

  FROM: GREAT AMERICAN ELECTRIC

  TO:

  GREAT EASTERN ELECTRIC

  GREAT CENTRAL ELECTRIC

  GREAT MOUNTAIN ELECTRIC

  GREAT PACIFIC ELECTRIC

  BEGIN MESSAGE – AT 2:16 AM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME THIS DAY, THE POWER GRID OF THE UNITED STATES WENT INTO A STATE OF TOTAL FAILURE. ADVISE ALL CONTROL CENTERS TO COMMUNICATE VIA SECURE ELECTRONIC MAIL ON EMERGENCY VPN FROM THIS POINT FORWARD TO MINIMIZE CONGESTION IN TELEPHONE SYSTEM. TAKE ALL APPROPRIATE MEASURES TO RESTORE OPERATION AND ADVISE THIS HEADQUARTERS OF ANY SUCCESS. A NATIONAL STATE OF EMERGENCY HAS BEEN DECLARED BY THE PRESIDENT. STOP

  8

  9:45 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  HART COMPLEX

  Jana watched Dane stow the single-engine Beech Bonanza in the hangar, then swallow a couple of pills as he walked back outside.

  “What now?” she said.

  “We wait for the boss. When he gets here, we stick to the plan.”r />
  They sat on the ground beside the hangar and waited, neither speaking. Within a half-hour the Gulfstream appeared on the horizon. Three minutes later, the pilot floated the sleek jet onto the runway and taxied to the hangar.

  “Why is this woman here?” Hart said as soon as he stepped off the plane and saw Jana standing beside Dane.

  “She’s a nurse. We lost the one we had on staff here, so I brought her with me as a replacement.”

  “Brought her from where, Mr. Christian?”

  “Mississippi.”

  “I see.” Hart turned to Jana. “Within the realm of medical technology, what does the term CBC refer to?”

  “Complete blood count.” Something about Hart’s eyes terrified her.

  “And within a complete blood count, what primary parameter might return a value of fifteen thousand?”

  “White cell count.”

  “Assuming a white blood cell count of fifteen thousand, what might we infer about the patient?”

  “They probably have an infection of some sort.” Did the man never blink?

  “Very well. What is your name?”

  “Jane Ashley.”

  “I assume it is Miss Ashley?”

  “Yes, sir.” Dane seemed to soften a bit en route, but not enough to land the plane and let her go. He explained the ruse and advised her to be convincing if she wanted to live. She couldn’t use her real name for fear Hart would know of Brett’s involvement and recognize the name. Jane Ashley would be easy to remember; Ashley was her mother’s maidn name and she had spent a lifetime saying, “It’s Jana, not Jane.” According to Dane, Hart also didn’t allow married workers or volunteers, no room for distractions from pure loyalty. Since she was indeed a nurse there would be no problem with that aspect; she only hoped Hart didn’t find out it was Dane who had given the order for the existing nurse to be transferred immediately to what he referred to as the L.A. branch. All she wanted was to survive long enough to escape the nightmare she had fallen into.