Doomsday Apocalypse

by Bobby Akart

  “Okay, Dad.” Willa stepped in because she’d overheard her mother say that Tom had another call to make. “You may not be able to get right through to sis, so we’ll let you go. We love you very much, right, girls?”

  Their youthful cheerfulness came through the phone loud and clear.

  “Yes, we do!”

  “Happy New Year, Grandpa!”

  “We love you!”

  Tears came to Tom’s eyes. He quickly turned the phone’s camera lens toward the bathroom to bring Donna into view while he wiped them away. He truly loved his family and regretted the years he’d missed with them all because of his sense of duty.

  “Your grandmother and I miss you and love y’all very much. Happy New Year!”

  Donna walked out of the bathroom with a blush brush in her hand. “I love you and happy New Year!”

  Tom returned the camera to his face and smiled. “Good night, munchkins. Good night, Willa. Happy New Year.” And then he disconnected the FaceTime chat.

  Tom sighed and looked at the phone as he scrolled through the contacts list. The next call would be a little less cheery. It always was.

  Chapter 9

  Hyatt Centric Times Square

  New York City

  Tommie Shelton, Tom and Donna’s youngest daughter, served in the Military Sealift Command, a branch of the U.S. Navy. The MSC was dedicated to replenishing supplies and transporting service personnel to naval vessels deployed around the world. This sealift operation, however, was in many respects a façade for the MSC’s real purpose—intelligence gathering.

  Tommie was stationed on the USNS Invincible, one of two tracking ships operated by the MSC. The Stalwart-class surveillance ship was initially dedicated to patrolling the oceans for submarines utilizing its large passive sonar array. The Invincible was later refitted with advanced radar capability and mobile surveillance. Now it looked like a spy ship and performed like one too.

  Officially a naval intelligence officer, Tommie never married and, like her father, became dedicated in her service to her country. She’d advanced through the ranks to lieutenant commander of the intelligence operation aboard the Invincible.

  Tom knew this was one of the busiest days of the year for Tommie and those within her charge. Large events in the United States were always the potential targets of terrorists. Tommie would have her hands full sorting through radio and internet chatter, but he wanted to fulfill his wife’s request to wish her a happy New Year.

  His relationship with Tommie was excellent. They talked as often as possible, but the conversations never dwelled on the usual small talk, such as the weather, health, and planned get-togethers that never materialized. They invariably revolved around more serious subjects like the threats to the nation they both served with distinction.

  “Commander Shelton speaking.” Tommie answered the phone exactly the way her father had when he was in the service, perhaps a little more brusquely.

  “Good evening, Commander. This is the other Commander Shelton calling to wish you a happy New Year.”

  After a short delay, Tommie laughed heartily on the other end of the line. The phone call was relayed through secured lines, which resulted in a two-second gap of dead air. “Hi, Dad. I figured it was you. Happy New Year to you and Mom.”

  “Thanks. Your mom is getting ready for dinner, but she wants to say hello before we go upstairs.”

  “Good. Say, where are you staying again?”

  “The Hyatt Centric hotel, overlooking Times Square.”

  “Dad, promise me you’ll stay in the hotel to watch the festivities. You know that I’ve been against this trip, especially at New Year’s. At your age, you’re not ready to deal with the madness that New York can generate.”

  Tom laughed, which drew Donna out of the bathroom to see what was going on. He waved at her and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Tommie, it’s not like your mother and I have one foot in the grave, you know. We’re barely sixty.”

  “Still, Dad,” she continued her admonition, but Tom was having none of it as he continued.

  “I think we should start referring to age as levels. You know, when you turn seventy, it’s referred to as level seventy. It sounds more badass than just being an old person.”

  Tommie started laughing and her protests stopped. She, above all, knew that Tom Shelton could hold his own at any age. He was never a man to tangle with.

  “Aye-aye, Commander. You win this round. Listen, Dad, before Mom comes on the phone, I need to mention something.”

  As expected, Tom braced himself for the serious part of their conversation. Tommie, like her father, wanted to shield Donna from the realities of the world. Some people were prepared to hear about the terrorist threats or the beating of war drums; others were not. Tom and his daughter, the naval intelligence officer, were not afraid of the geopolitical chest-pounding or terroristic threats. They prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.

  “Talk to me, Goose,” said Tom, channeling Top Gun, their favorite movie.

  Tommie began. “The locals have New York City on lockdown in light of recent events. They’ve doubled their rapid-response teams and have created dedicated sniper patrols on the rooftops of every building in the vicinity of Times Square. I’m pretty confident every available resource is being used to beef up security.”

  “Good to hear,” interjected Tom. “I sense a but coming.”

  Tommie paused longer than the dead air typically required as she gathered her thoughts. “Dad, there’s something else.”

  Tom sighed. He wanted this weekend to go smoothly. “What is it? Something from the Middle East?”

  “Our monitoring has revealed nothing out of the ordinary in the region. In the last couple of years, as you know, the military has shut down al-Qaeda and ISIS. They execute local insurgency operations but not much more. The information I’m receiving is stateside.”

  “Are you referring to the Islamist terrorist cells inside the country? I thought they were contained.”

  “Dad, my counterparts are focusing on domestic sources, chat boards, text messages, and phone calls. I’ve been told that numerous FISA warrants were issued this afternoon.”

  Pursuant to the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, the FBI, under the direction of the Department of Justice, was allowed to conduct surveillance on both international and domestic terror suspects. Over time, the FISA court’s authority was extended to all manner of criminal activity, whether terror related or not.

  “Do you know any details?” asked Tom.

  “No, other than the fact that this is strictly a domestic investigation and the level of scrutiny indicates the threat is credible.”

  Tom glanced over at his wife, who’d slipped on her dress purchased for this special occasion. She was just as beautiful as they day they’d met. His eyes took her in as his attention turned back to his daughter.

  “Tommie, are we in the crosshairs?”

  She hesitated. “Dad, I honestly don’t know. I will say this—New York City is always somebody’s target.”

  Chapter 10

  Mercedes-Benz Stadium

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The teams entered Mercedes-Benz Stadium in pairs, spaced just a minute apart so they could mix in with other arriving workers. The security guard manning the rear entrance at the loading dock glanced at their security passes and quickly waved them through without question. Once inside, they dispersed in all directions, wearing the dark blue utility coveralls they were assigned, which were bulky enough to cover their street clothes underneath, and carrying a variety of bags ranging from soft-sided lunch totes to small backpacks. Even if they’d been stopped, their devices would’ve passed scrutiny. They possessed some of the best covert weapons developed in many years.

  The stadium was considered a modern wonder of architecture, designed to be a multipurpose venue for the NFL’s Atlanta Falcons and the major league soccer team Atlanta United. The extraordinary roof design featured sliding
panels. The design firm HOK-USA had studied the way sunlight passed through the oculus in the roof of the Pantheon in Rome. Using their observations as inspiration, they designed eight petal-shaped roof panels that moved together along individual tracks so that the roof closed and opened like the aperture of a camera.

  Wrapping the entire perimeter of the oval-shaped roofline was a high-definition, wraparound video monitor system that created a one-of-a-kind theater-like experience. For football games, seventy-one thousand fans could sit in comfort and watch the game. For a two-and-a-half-hour concert like the one that evening, a similar number would be attending, many thousands of whom would be standing at ground level in front of the stage.

  The Australian operator broke away from the group first and made his way into the bowels of the stadium that housed the mechanical rooms. Around the lower levels, several rooms contained communications equipment and the hub for the nearly four thousand miles of fiber-optic cable woven throughout the stadium. He’d taken a considerable amount of time to review the schematics available online through the Atlanta City Planning Department’s website. Based upon his analysis, he’d found the central location of the entire fiber-optic system.

  The two Americans were tasked with accessing the primary control rooms for the ventilation system of the complex. Once they located the maintenance panels for the massive ductwork, they’d strategically place their devices to perform to their maximum potential.

  Lastly, the team leader from the UK was tasked with lighting the fuse. Police departments in major cities received dozens of bomb threats every day. They rarely turned out to be real, and as a result, due to reduced budgets and manpower shortages, first responders had begun to scale back their initial responses.

  The City of Atlanta had the largest division of the Counter-Terrorism Task Force, designated CTTF, in the state of Georgia. Led by the Georgia Emergency Management Agency in conjunction with the FBI’s Atlanta Field Office, the CTTF devoted much of its time to surveillance and prevention of attacks.

  In a recent interview for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the head of the CTTF responded to a question regarding the number of false alarms this way: “Bombers make bombs, and people who make bomb threats make bomb threats, and they don’t cross paths.”

  He cited recent examples around the country, such as the Hampton Roads Navy installation in Virginia Beach, where seven credible bomb threats were made in a forty-eight-hour span. Fortunately, none of the threats materialized.

  He also went on to explain how Cesar Altieri Sayoc, the delusional former male stripper who had sent package bombs to more than a dozen democrat politicians and financial supporters, avoided law enforcement’s notice despite having a 2002 arrest for a bomb threat. When he sent bombs through the mail in October 2018, which were later discovered to be incapable of exploding, he didn’t make any specific bomb threats, only the now-typical vile, hateful things spewed on social media by a lot of political partisans.

  The head of the CTTF went on to disclose the agency’s philosophy when a bomb threat comes in. He said local authorities should hold off on any kind of evacuation until something beyond the threat was actually identified, like a suspicious package. His philosophy was simple. By eliminating knee-jerk responses to threats, the frequency of false calls would diminish and, hopefully, copycat threat makers would be discouraged because they didn’t get the results they’d hoped for.

  When the Brit watched the interview, he’d shaken his head in disbelief. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the CTTF’s approach. He thought it stupid that they would disclose it to the public through the media. Did the head of the CTTF not think terrorists would hear his words and plan accordingly? His team certainly did.

  The mission that evening was unusual in that their employers wanted the CTTF and first responders to react. His instructions, although cryptic, once decoded were crystal clear.

  Terrorism was different from murder. In any battle, collateral damage in the form of innocent lives lost was to be expected. But the overall objective of a terrorist, in the broadest sense, was to use a person’s fear against them. Acts of terrorism had proven to be extremely successful since 9/11 in achieving recognition for the cause of radical Islamic terrorists. Since then, terrorist acts around the world have effectively allowed bad actors to level the playing field with their adversaries in furtherance of their political, religious, and ideological aims.

  His financial benefactors were not interested in murdering the attendees of the Beyoncé concert. He surmised this operation was part of a much larger overall plan that would reveal itself in due time.

  The head of the team was in place and checked his watch. Precisely at 9:00 p.m., two local Atlantans who’d made a name for themselves in the hip-hop scene began their thirty-minute set as the crowd began to file in. Following their performance, the stage would be cleared and reconstructed for the feature performance that would last until midnight.

  Reports indicated that Beyoncé and Jay-Z would perform their own special rendition of the poem written by a Scotsman, Robert Burns, in 1788. The poem was eventually adopted by countries throughout the English-speaking world to be sung at the stroke of midnight as a new year was rung in.

  The lyrics to “Auld Lang Syne” began with a rhetorical question, one the team leader of the operation considered to be apropos.

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

  He chuckled to himself as he thought of the literal meaning. Is it right that old times be forgotten? Or should we remember the old times and forget the ones in between then and now?

  “I guess we’re about to find out,” he muttered with a smile.

  Chapter 11

  Six Flags Great Adventure

  Jackson, New Jersey

  “Guys, welcome to the world’s scariest theme park!” exclaimed Dr. Angela Rankin to her two kids and man-child of a husband, Tyler. Angela was an intensivist, oftentimes referred to as a critical care physician, at Virginia Commonwealth Medical Center in Richmond, a renowned critical care hospital. Her primary field of study was emergency medicine.

  “Let’s go!” Kaycee, their oldest, exclaimed, banging her hands on the back of the seat as if she were playing the bongos. The eleven-year-old had a zest for life that was unparalleled. Perhaps it was her adventurous parents who taught her the thrill of the outdoors and pushing their bodies to the limits, or maybe it was her own brush with death as a child that gave her a new lease on life coupled with an outlook that she was invincible. “Right, J.C.? We’ve got this!”

  “I’m not scared, Peanut,” replied her younger brother of eight. J.C. had been overshadowed during his childhood by the trauma the family had been through when Kaycee almost lost her life five years prior in a freak accident.

  The family had been vacationing at the beach in their hometown of Hilton Head, South Carolina, when a tour helicopter flying overhead suddenly lost power. The pilot attempted a crash landing in the shallow waters off the shoreline, but the unpredictable nature of the chopper’s glide path brought it toward the sandy shore, catching the Rankin family in an untenable position.

  J.C. was still a toddler at the time, and when the helicopter started to crash, his parents scrambled to carry him out of harm’s way. They managed to miss the spinning rotor blades of the helicopter, but the fuselage bounced across the sand and landed on top of Kaycee, who had been separated from the group during the chaos.

  She was being crushed under the weight of the chopper as her parents frantically dug the sand out from under her. For several minutes, her parents thrashed in the sand, trying to dig under the wreckage so Kaycee could be freed. However, they couldn’t move her due to the extensive injuries she’d received. Helpless, they waited for an ambulance.

  For several weeks thereafter, Kaycee was in intensive care and went through a significant amount of physical rehabilitation before she was released from medical supervision. To the young girl’s credit, she came through the trauma as i
f she’d won the lottery of life.

  “Of course you’re not, buddy,” said Tyler Rankin. Tyler had grown up on the beaches of Hilton Head, spending his days as a lifeguard and his nights on the town. After meeting Angela while at a house party in Los Angeles during spring break one year, he got serious about life and became a firefighter. He then obtained his certification as an emergency medical technician.

  The two married after Angela got her undergraduate degree, and Tyler helped support the young family while she attended medical school. The four of them were inseparable, despite the long hours Angela had to spend at the hospital. When available, they hiked throughout the southeastern United States and visited places of interest to help further their kids’ education.

  Angela was given a rare two-week vacation between Christmas Eve and into the first of the new year. The family decided to take a road trip to Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington to see historic sites related to America’s founding.

  After Christmas, they drove up to Boston and saw several historic sites around the area. Their next planned stop was a day in Philadelphia for a walking tour and finally two days in DC. But first, they were going to celebrate New Year’s Eve at Six Flags Great Adventure in Jackson, New Jersey, about thirty minutes east of Trenton near Fort Dix.

  “Dad, I’ve been studying our options ever since we planned the trip,” said Kaycee, who clearly was taking over the tour guide duties from her mother, at least for today. “There’s a reason they call this place the world’s scariest theme park. They’ve got the fastest, tallest, wildest, gut-wrenchingest roller coasters on the entire planet!”