Doomsday Apocalypse

by Bobby Akart

  The two operators didn’t bother speaking with the pilots before they descended toward the dark waters of the Gulf. Using battery-operated headlamps attached to their foreheads with straps, they swung toward the Zodiac and landed inside with a hard thud.

  One of the operators immediately fired up the outboard engine to gain control of the boat, making it easier for the third member of their party to rappel on board. Once he was safely in place, they looked upward as the edge of the large hard plastic case emerged from the compartment.

  “Give it room to drop,” the Frenchman ordered, prompting the operative to steer clear of the helicopter. The case came sailing down, nose first, until it struck the gulf waters and plunged under the surface. Seconds later, it emerged into view and bobbed in the choppy waters created by the helicopter’s rotors.

  Using an aluminum boat hook found inside the Zodiac, the Frenchman retrieved his case, and the helicopter disappeared toward the twinkling lights of Florida’s Forgotten Coast.

  With the outboard motor idling, the operators set their course using waterproof GPS devices strapped to their wrists next to their watches. The trio took seats and set out for one of thousands of offshore oil platforms that dotted the Gulf of Mexico along the coasts of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama.

  Lease Block 916, as this particular rig was known, was owned and operated by Union Oil Company of California. Like other rigs of its kind, it had been built by connecting a series of modules together. In addition to the derrick, which pumped the oil from the mineral-rich floor of the Gulf, the facility consisted of a central well-bay structure, a power module, and administrative quarters used by the employees during the construction and drilling phases of the operation.

  The operators were tasked with clearing the rig first, and then the third member of the team was to be left alone to perform his, still unknown, contribution to the mission.

  After an hour ride, the three men found themselves at the base of the well-bay module, where they tied the Zodiac off and disembarked. First, the operators moved throughout the rig, checking every room and equipment space. As the intelligence had suggested, the rig was unmanned.

  The Frenchman, who knew the layout of the offshore rig without referencing the materials provided to them, waited for them by the Zodiac. Once they regrouped, he led the way up a series of steel stairwells.

  The operators easily carried the case as they made their way up the steel steps. Fifteen minutes later, slightly crisp air greeted them as they emerged on the top of the rig. The skies were clear, and the flickering lights of other wells in the vicinity could be seen in the distance.

  Several miles away, the bright lights of a city were visible to their right, followed by a dark void in the middle, and then more lights to their left. The Frenchman caught his breath, looked at his watch, and turned to the operators.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. You are no longer needed up here.”

  “Wait, what do you mean? You’re not going to show us what’s inside the box?”

  The Frenchman folded his arms and stood a little taller. “All will be revealed soon enough. Please, I have work to do, and time is of the essence. Please leave me alone. Thank you.”

  The operators sheepishly retreated and bounded down the steel stairs to the bowels of the offshore rig. Satisfied they were gone, the Frenchman opened his case.

  The molded foam inside the MANPADS case was specially designed for a mission like this one. A laptop computer and a small collapsible satellite receiver provided him internet access. He set up the computer and logged on to several websites to observe his target.

  Then he removed the parts to his weapon and began the assembly process. Not quite as simple to assemble as the shoulder-fired rocket, the device was far more powerful in its use and capability.

  Rockets with detonating warheads were the weapons of the past. Futuristic weapons were now being developed and tested by nations like China, Russia, and the United States. Included in this advanced weaponry were DEWs.

  Directed-energy weapons were developed initially by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency within the Department of Defense. A DEW inflicted damage on a target by emitting highly focused energy, including microwaves, particle beams, and lasers, depending upon the intended result.

  Despite a decade of research and development, the directed-energy weapons were still considered experimental by DARPA and considered unfit for deployment until several more years of testing. However, with the advent of cyber warfare, no technology was kept secret for long, and eventually the conceptual drawings were stolen by China and Russia.

  All three nations ramped up their programs, hoping to be the first to claim directed-energy weapons as part of their arsenal. Only one, however, had perfected its use during experimental trials.

  Tonight, a single French scientist, hired to be the first to deploy the weapon on the battlefield, made his preparations. He studied the laptop and reconfirmed his calculations. The clear sky assisted his visibility. He checked, and rechecked, his tracking devices. He adjusted the DEW’s internal hunting capabilities. There was little margin for error in order to achieve the desired result.

  It was almost time.

  Chapter 20

  McPherson Building

  Washington, DC

  Hayden stood to stretch her legs and relax her tense body. She was confident in her brief, and it had already been reviewed by the senior partners working on the president’s defense with her. She picked up the remote of the television monitor nestled in a ceiling-to-floor bookcase on the wall to the right of her desk. She navigated to the DVR and sought a press gaggle that had occurred earlier in the day as the president was departing the White House en route to Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, for the New Year’s weekend.

  The president approached Marine One with his wife and son in tow as the questions were fired at him.

  “Mr. President, you’re leaving the White House at a time when many thousands of protestors have gathered outside the fence. Do you fear for your family’s safety?”

  The president paused and then turned to the reporters. “Naturally, I fear for the safety of my family when you have an angry mob surrounding your home. I do, however, have every confidence in the Capitol Police and the Secret Service, who’ve done an admirable job of protecting us and the people’s house.”

  “Sir, Senator Booker has stated that the protestors have every right to be heard, and that the extraordinary action of calling in the National Guard to quell dissent is an affront to Americans’ First Amendment rights of free speech. How do you respond?”

  “I understand the passions of the moment. But I would say to the senator, and others from my own cabinet who’ve stoked the flames of division in our great country, your words have meaning. Millions of Americans listen carefully to you. Given the rhetoric, would it be any surprise that some are willing to do anything, including making physical threats against my family and sending threatening messages to my son at school?”

  The president paused, and then his face was overcome with anger. “They’ve insinuated threats against all of my children and even my closest friends. They’ve threatened to blow me up and take me down.”

  The reporter interrupted the president. “But, sir, surely you don’t mean to imply that the senator’s comments and those of your own party are respons—”

  The president closed on the reporter, causing the press gaggle to back up a step. “Let’s get something straight. The coordinated strategy to destroy my presidency was soundly rebuked at the polls. Their further attempts to undermine the will of the people will have long-lasting effects on our republic.” He looked directly into the camera of one of the cable news networks.

  “You’ve sown the seeds of discord into the wind. I fear our great country will reap the whirlwind for decades to come.”

  The president had summarized a proverb from the Old Testament that meant one will suffer the consequences of his own actions.
/>   “Mr. President, another question, please?”

  The president took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. He’d just given the press a rare glimpse into a temper he normally reserved for behind-closed-doors meetings. It showed a crack in his demeanor that needed to be kept private until these hearings were completed.

  “Go ahead,” said the president.

  “Mr. President, going into the New Year, how confident are you that you will prevail?”

  He chuckled and smiled. “What they did a few weeks ago, in an attempt to overturn the will of the people, was nothing short of a coup d’état. I’m very disappointed in those members of the cabinet and my former vice president for the choices they made. That said, let me remind you that their efforts didn’t work. They worked overtime to undermine my presidency and have me defeated at the ballot box.

  “They failed, so a new tactic was needed. They were lying in wait, ready to use the so-called nuclear option of invoking the Twenty-Fifth Amendment. I believe their letter to Congress was waiting to be submitted long before the election, but these Washington swamp creatures couldn’t afford to lose the White House, so they waited. Once the election was certified, they fired this salvo.

  “Well, I’m a fighter. When you punch me, I’ll block it and then throw my counterpunch. This fight is just beginning, and so is the storm. Thank you.”

  The president walked away, and despite the barrage of additional questions, he simply waved his arm as if to say goodbye.

  Hayden exhaled, realizing for the first time that she’d been holding her breath during the entire exchange. They’d implored the president to stay off Twitter and avoid controversial statements to the media with the important Supreme Court arguments upcoming. She felt like today’s remarks were appropriate considering the righteous indignation the president was entitled to under the circumstances.

  Hayden powered off the television and turned when she became startled at the sudden appearance of Cipollone in her office. He was gazing out her office windows down upon Lafayette Square and the fully illuminated White House just beyond it.

  “I apologize for startling you, Blount,” he said, referring to her by her last name, as was his practice. He spoke in his typically calm voice. She’d never seen him angry or excited. He was like a robot with nerves of steel and a brain wired by artificial intelligence.

  “That’s fine, sir. It’s been a long day and I became engrossed in the president’s remarks to the press. I’ve been trying to monitor his public statements and social media posts in order to address any new issues that might arise.”

  Cipollone chuckled and removed his wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing his signature charcoal gray suit and a red power tie. He was a complex man who exuded a strikingly consistent exterior.

  “He needs our help. Storm clouds have been brewing over the president for years, but it’s more than that. Much larger than this president, in fact. This is a challenge to the office of the presidency itself and the ability of future presidents to govern.”

  Hayden joined his side. She shook her head as she observed the throngs of protestors that encircled the White House grounds. Lafayette Square had become a tent city and an outdoor restroom for the protestors to relieve themselves.

  “He said as much during his responses to the media,” she added.

  “I heard, and I have to say he has been remarkably restrained. But you know, the reporting of this press gaggle will be far different from the words the man said.”

  “Naturally, sir.”

  “Blount, mob rule cannot win out. Political partisanship cannot hamstring the occupant of the White House, regardless of party, with constant threats of impeachment and endless congressional investigations hanging like a thundercloud over an administration’s head. America will lose respect internationally, and confidence in the office of the presidency will be eroded among the American people.”

  Hayden pressed her index finger against the tall plate-glass window. “Look at the protestors. Their numbers have been increasing for weeks despite the holidays and the inclement weather. Now that the president has left for Florida, I doubt they’ll disperse.”

  Cipollone shrugged. “You see protestors; I see an angry lynch mob who, if it wasn’t for the Capitol Police and the National Guard, would storm across the White House grounds and ravage the place like it was the presidential palace of some banana republic.”

  “It’s never been this bad,” remarked Hayden. “During the sixties and early seventies, the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War protests generated passion, but the public discourse was largely civil. Even prior to the Civil War, the so-called gentlemen spoke to one another in archaic, but civil tones.”

  “The president is trying to take a stand, although many don’t like his approach. But that’s what the ballot box is for, and our Constitution was designed to deal with situations like this. To some the Constitution is a tired, worn-out document that needs to be replaced, but until it is, we have to respect its meaning. Removing a duly elected, sitting president because you disagree with his rhetoric, or even his policies, by some means other than an election is simply unconstitutional.”

  Hayden nodded in agreement. “In response to actions he was taking while in office, the president’s predecessor once stated that elections have consequences. If that maxim is applied to one president, it should be applied to all, regardless of their political leanings.”

  Cipollone adjusted his jacket and turned toward Hayden’s desk. “Which brings us to your brief. I take it you’re satisfied and ready to let it fly?”

  Hayden checked her watch. It was almost ten o’clock. She’d planned on waiting until the last minute, but she wasn’t all that interested in riding the DC Metrorail to her home after midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  She replied, “It is, sir. I’ll affix the appropriate signatures and file it before I leave. Hopefully, at least in the next seven days prior to the justices’ conference, there won’t be any bombs dropped in the media that might derail our arguments.”

  Cipollone rapped his knuckles on the edge of her desk and headed for the door. As he did, he added, “Your former boss, Justice Alito, once said, I think the legitimacy of the Court would be undermined in any case if the Court made a decision based on its perception of public opinion.”

  “I remember that, sir.”

  “Let’s trust that his opinion hasn’t changed and the other justices agree with him.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  An outburst of laughter made its way down the hallway so that it could be overheard by them. Meanwhile, above them, a financial-planning firm was having a more high-spirited affair with loud music and what sounded like a herd of buffalo thundering past but was most likely dancing.

  Cipollone looked up and laughed. “I’m not much for these things, but it’s good for the troops. Our firm is entering a new era in Washington. We’ve emerged from a boutique law firm to a powerhouse, and you’re an integral part of it.”

  Hayden blushed slightly, clearly appreciating the accolades heaped upon her by the boss. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Blount, after you file the supplemental, why don’t you join us for a celebratory drink in the conference room. It’s been a great year for this firm, and the future looks bright for us all. As our firm has been thrown into the spotlight, we face an interesting year of complications and challenges.”

  “To be sure,” Hayden interjected.

  Cipollone glanced out the window toward the White House one last time. The snowflakes had become thicker and were sticking to the glass momentarily before melting. Then he added, “Challenges not unlike the ones our client faces.”

  Chapter 21

  McPherson Building

  Washington, DC

  Despite wanting to leave, Hayden did the right thing from an office-politics perspective and made an appearance at the party. She was not much of a drinker in public settings. Instead, she opted for a can of strawberry Perrier that she kept sto
cked in the small refrigerator located in her office. She quickly made the rounds, speaking with everyone and exchanging the obligatory New Year’s wishes before she left.

  Donning her Burberry cashmere trench coat, she loaded her briefcase and waited for the elevator. The noise from the boisterous party above her floor was amplified through the elevator shaft, causing Hayden to grimace and shake her head. Sometimes, she missed the comfort and serenity of the Blount farm in East Tennessee. After her parents had passed, she sold the property in order to live full-time in the DC metroplex.

  With a ding, the elevator announced its arrival, and without looking up, Hayden made her way into the cab. She glanced at the only other passengers in the elevator, a couple making out in the corner. The man was kissing the woman aggressively and had pulled her short dress above her waist as he pressed his body against her. Hayden forcibly cleared her throat to announce her arrival.

  “Oh, hey there,” the man said provocatively. He backed away from the younger woman, taking his time about allowing the woman’s dress to fall into place. “I didn’t know we’d have company.”

  Hayden nodded and pressed the L-lobby button without speaking.

  “She’s a party pooper,” the young woman slurred, pulling the man closer to her. “Let’s pretend she’s not there, you wanna?”

  “Hey, I like it,” he said, and the two resumed their sloppy, drunken make-out session.

  The elevator began its descent under the watchful eye of Hayden as she begged for the illuminated numbers above the door to continue dropping. Seven, six, five.

  The elevator suddenly stopped, jerking to a halt. The lights dimmed, then flickered, and eventually all power went out. At first, the cab remained still, as did its passengers. But when the elevator mechanism shook, causing the cab to move up and down slightly, the young woman shrieked.