Simon walked to their position and held out a hand for a shake. “Simon Redfall. Nice to meet you.”
The taller of the two looked to be about eighteen and Italian, with deep-set, dark eyes and a prominent nose. He was covered from head to toe in camouflage green and attitude, and wore a six-inch hunting knife in a leather sheath on his belt. The young man grabbed Simon’s hand firmly and shook it twice before his masculine voice took over. “I’m Slayer. Heard a lot about you, dude. Though I never thought we’d actually meet.”
Tally cleared her throat, catching Slayer’s attention.
Slayer rubbed the stubble across his chin, then continued, though the tone of his voice sounded rehearsed and deliberate. “Welcome, Simon Redfall. Welcome to Pandora. We are happy to have you as our guest.”
Simon wanted to defuse the kid’s suspicions. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night. These old bones needed some serious rack time, and in a real bed. For me lately, it’s been nothing but fart sacks in the mud.”
The girls at the sink started giggling, and so did G.
The other kid was plump and about six inches shorter than Slayer. If Simon had to guess, he was pushing fifteen or sixteen, though the puffy white of his cheeks made an accurate assessment difficult.
“And you must be Diesel,” Simon said, grabbing the grubby-faced youngster by the hand. The kid’s palm was extra wide, though his stubby sausage fingers didn’t match the width of his hand proportionally.
Diesel pulled his hand back quickly, then spoke in an uneven voice. “So, how long are you staying with us, exactly?”
Simon was about to answer, but Tally beat him to it.
“He’s staying for as long as he likes, Diesel. We had this discussion, remember?”
“Yeah, sorry. I forgot,” Diesel said in a fading mumble, turning his eyes away.
Simon wondered if the kid’s nickname was in reference to his obvious girth. Diesel wasn’t fat per se. More like husky thick. He reminded Simon of a brown-haired, cherub-cheeked bulldog. In fact, Bulldog would have been a better moniker than Diesel. Once the kid grew into manhood, the extra bulk would likely spread out and fill a much larger frame.
“Last but not least,” Tally said, catching Simon’s attention and pointing to the quiet redhead seated at the table, “is Kat. Say hello to Simon, Kat.”
“Hi,” she said in a nervously short voice, her hands wrapped around the book sitting on the table. The frizz of her hair stuck out in all directions, like what would happen after ten-minutes of intense electric shock treatment.
“She’s a bit shy around strangers,” Tally said, rubbing her hand on the girl’s hunched shoulder.
“Yeah, no lie,” G quipped. “When we first recruited her, it took almost a month before she said two words to anyone.”
Simon smiled at G—one of only two familiar faces in the room.
“You look better today,” G said with the most friendly voice in the room.
“Much. Another couple days and I’ll be golden. Any news about the storms?”
“Nah, not much. They’re still spreading inland and nobody seems to have a clue. But the FAA did ground all flights until further notice.”
“That’s no surprise. I’m sure the DOD prefers to only have their birds in the air until someone figures out what’s causing this.”
“No, even their stuff is grounded.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. President gave an Internet speech an hour ago, asking everyone to remain calm and stay indoors.”
“Why the Internet?”
“Apparently the broadcast towers aren’t working too well in these storms. I checked the TV—nothing but static. Same thing for the AM and FM radio stations. Even our windmill is starting to have trouble. I think this stuff is starting to build up on everything, unlike yesterday when it was just running off.”
Tally stood up from the table, walked to a cabinet, opened it, grabbed a pair of wrapped items and tossed them to Simon. They were energy bars. “Do you think the President is worried about some type of contamination, wanting everyone to stay indoors?”
He opened one of the bars and took a bite. “Could be,” he said while chewing. “I’m sure he has the CDC all over this by now,” Simon told her, instantly wishing he’d stopped himself from mentioning the CDC.
“Then we’re all screwed,” Slayer said. “We spent all afternoon in it. Everyone’s been exposed by now. Damn it. I knew we should’ve taken cover. Took me an hour in the shower to get the stink off.”
Tally looked at Kat. “How are your animals doing? Any loss of appetite or sign of illness?”
“No,” she said in a soft tone. “They all seem normal.”
“What about the weaker ones?”
“Yep, even the rabbits and pigeons. They’re all covered in red, but normal. Well, everyone except for the stupid goats. They won’t come in from the rain, but that’s not surprising. They never listen to me anyway.”
“Then I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but we should limit exposure when and where we can, especially ingestion and contact with the skin,” Simon said, wanting to keep the panic level down.
However, Slayer was right. They had all been exposed to whatever might be in the red rain, if anything. Either way, it was too late to do anything about previous exposure, other than to keep further contact to a minimum.
“There’s something else,” G said to Simon.
“What?”
“Check this out,” he said, tossing a compass to Simon. “Try to find North. I dare you.”
Simon held the compass flat in his palm, letting the needle swing around and stop once it found its bearing. But it never did, making one revolution after another.
“What the hell?”
G’s voice was charged with enthusiasm. “I went out and checked several spots across the farm, and even ran a mile down the road. It’s like that everywhere. I think these clouds are causing it. They must be magnetic.”
“I think the term electromagnetic might be more appropriate,” Simon said, thinking it through.
“What? Like an EMP?” Slayer asked in his manly voice.
“No, that’s a momentary, directional burst of energy then it’s done. If G’s correct, this is more like a stable EM field. Probably from inside the air mass.”
“Like a giant mesh charged with static?” Tally asked.
“Sure, that’s as good an explanation as any.”
“Shouldn’t we see lightning by now? Lightning can affect a compass, right?” she asked with eyebrows raised.
“Sometimes, but only for a very short period of time and only in close proximity to the strike. Otherwise, we’d never keep any compass working,” Simon said, chewing on the facts. “But I think the absence of lightning is an important clue, especially with all the visual turbulence. Lightning is a buildup of static energy created by water droplets and ice crystals colliding with each other inside the cloud’s turbulence. Once the positive charge reaches a critical level, it releases to find a negative, usually a tree or other grounded object. Since we’re not seeing lightning, then this isn’t a static buildup and it’s not heading for a discharge. It’s more like a natural EM grid—something that channels and controls the electrical current within the storm so it doesn’t discharge.”
“You mean like a force field?” Diesel asked, his voice cracking in midsentence.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but at this point, it’s all a guess. The universe and our planet are full of strange anomalies.”
“Maybe the Earth is cleansing itself?” G asked.
Simon didn’t know what to say to that remark.
“Maybe it’s not a what,” Jazz said, grabbing another knife from the counter. She bounced it in her hand.
“You mean a who? Like God?” Tally answered.
“Nah, I was thinking it might be manmade,” Jazz said, throwing another blade at the dartboard. She adjusted the tilt of her ball cap. “Maybe it’s an ex
periment gone bad or something.”
Tally looked at Simon but didn’t say anything.
“It’s possible,” Simon answered, sifting through his memories. “A former co-worker of mine now owns an advanced research firm that dabbles in weather-related technologies, among other things. Word has it they’re into all sorts of top-secret projects, so I wouldn’t put it past Hansen. His will to succeed is legendary, but not always in the right way, if you know what I mean. When it comes to the almighty dollar, men like Hansen are willing to gamble and take shortcuts, no matter the risk or the cost.”
“Can you call him and find out?” Tally asked.
“Unlikely. He and I are not on speaking terms, not since Istanbul.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say I decked him and walked away. That’s the last time we spoke.”
“Where’s the field’s energy coming from?” Kat asked, finally joining the conversation.
“That’s the million dollar question. G mentioned yesterday that the ocean air might be a catalyst in some way, and he may be right. But let’s not forget the enormous power behind the ocean’s current and waves. It’s an endless source of energy, if someone found a way to harness and control it. We really don’t know how the EM field is being generated, just that it is.”
“When you think about it, this is all pretty insane,” G told him.
Simon agreed. “There are a lot of brilliant scientists on this planet, and any one of them might have stumbled across a way to control the weather like this. Hansen is one of them.”
“Well, not as many scientists as there used to be, with your wife and all,” Diesel said.
Tally gasped, swinging her eyes to Diesel. The look of disapproval on her face was obvious as it burned into the young boy. She opened her mouth and looked ready to scold him, but Simon spoke up first.
“Don’t worry about it, Wicks. He’s right. My wife did what she did. I’m not going to dwell on it anymore. A man can only take so much pain in one lifetime. So let’s move on, okay?”
“You got it, Red.”
Simon appreciated her understanding. “These storms seem to be designed to target specific aspects of the atmosphere, at least above a certain altitude. That’s why we’re seeing issues with broadcast signals and air traffic. It’s all related to an agenda somehow.”
“That makes sense. It’s almost like they’re trying to blanket us in an electric net—to blind us from something,” G said.
“Simon? Can I ask you something?” Kat asked in her meek voice.
“Absolutely,” he shot back, figuring a personal question was about to land on his ears. Hopefully, not about his wife.
“If this rain is starting to build up on things around the world like it’s doing here, what would happen if it started to cake on an aircraft’s wings?”
“It wouldn’t be able to achieve lift. Basically the same thing that happens when ice builds up. They have to de-ice the aircraft before takeoff.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said in a fading voice. “Someone’s gonna have to figure out how to de-red the planet if this keeps up for much longer.”
“Wouldn’t a wide area EM grid also mean the satellites are down, too?” G asked in a confident tone.
Simon nodded, playing with the compass. “I doubt their signals could penetrate the field at this point. Even radar and ultraviolet may be affected. If we’re right, the entire surveillance network is down. President Cooper must be about ready to go postal on his staff.”
“That’s one good thing, at least,” Slayer added. “No more big brother watching everything we do from orbit.”
“Except over the oceans,” G said with a twisted mouth. “It’s weird. They’re spreading everywhere else, but not over the water.”
“Are you sure?” Simon asked him.
“Positive, just take a look at the weather maps online. So far, major land masses only. Well, them and the island of Cuba for some reason.”
“Probably targeting Gitmo, you know where they take terrorists for rendition,” Slayer added, looking at Simon, then Tally.
G continued. “Plus, I heard one of the talking heads on YouTube discussing it earlier this morning. Though it was hard to watch with the connection dropping in and out like a schizoid on crack. I was finally able to work through the interference with my voodoo. Once I buffer-locked video stream, it played all the way through.”
Tally shrugged at Simon, who spoke next.
“Since Mother Nature doesn’t act this way, then this isn’t some random atmospheric event. There’s intelligence behind it, which also means there’s an agenda in play. If it turns out my old pal Hansen is involved, you can bet your ass this is only the beginning of something bigger. I can’t stand the man, but he is brilliant. And motivated.”
“What’s the next step?” Tally asked.
“Until we know more, let’s start by securing some things around here to protect them from the weather. Anything mechanical or electrical needs to be brought indoors. Equipment, tractors, the van—everything that’s not nailed down.”
Tally looked at Slayer and Diesel. “Sounds like a job for the men of Pandora.”
Slayer nodded. “Will you watch my soup? I don’t want it to burn.”
“Dixie?” Tally responded.
Dixie nodded and walked to the stove, taking the stirring spoon from Slayer.
Simon swung his eyes to Tally. “Is there an elevated vantage point where I can get a tactical view of property?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I know a spot. But what do you say to a shower and shave first? Not to be rude, but I can smell you from here. And that hair—”
Simon grinned, lifting an eyebrow. “Been a long couple of days.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Director of National Intelligence Nancy Wiggins waited at her vintage desk for the next appointment to arrive. Conner Haskins was now ten minutes late, as usual, which she assumed was to send a message. She’d called Haskins earlier, directing the NSA Director to prioritize the search for the van carrying Simon Redfall on I-95. Haskins wasn’t happy about it, but General Rawlings needed it done and she agreed with his request.
Director Haskins despised her, that much she sensed, even though the long-standing NSA man would never publicly admit it. He answered to her, as did the rest of the seventeen-member Intelligence Community, but the current chain of command in Washington didn’t sit well with everyone, especially for a narcissistic dinosaur like Haskins. She wasn’t sure if Haskins hated her personally, or if his contempt was simply because she was a woman.
Old school spooks like Haskins hated change and preferred things the way they were before the Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act was passed, the same legislation that created her DNI position and gave rise to a more coordinated effort across agencies. Wiggins reported directly to President Cooper, and Haskins and some of the other directors—mostly male directors—weren’t happy about it. Not one bit.
She’d heard the rumors, the innuendos, and the sophomoric flack floating around the back channels about her management style, her pale complexion, and her scowl. Her unofficial nickname was The Hyena, because the mouth breathers in intelligence were jealous, and all thought she had a mock penis.
In the end, it didn’t matter whether she was liked or respected across all fronts. She had a job to do and the President was counting on her.
The office door opened and Haskins appeared, wearing his trademark gray suit, red tie, receding salt and pepper hairline, and face of stone. However, he wasn’t alone. A young male in his twenties was following close behind, carrying a thin folder in his hand.
Wiggins stood and leaned forward in her Karen Scott Clancy pumps to shake Haskin’s hand, but the sixty-six-year-old curmudgeon ignored her gesture and sat in one of the two chairs stationed in front of her imported walnut desk. She swung her arm, aiming her hand at the young man, who promptly took her hand.
“
Nancy Wiggins,” she said, squeezing his palm with extra firmness during the shake.
“Nice to meet you, Director,” the kid said, taking his hand back. “I’m analyst Jacob Thompson.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, shooting a piercing look at Haskins, who was staring at her with glazed eyes and a look of complete disinterest.
“What do you have for me?” she asked Haskins.
The NSA Director remained silent and motioned at his assistant to give her the folder. Thompson did.
She opened the folder and found a single sheet of paper inside, printed on NSA letterhead. Only one sentence was typed on it:
1200 NW Bell Tower Lane, Lancaster, PA.
The document was missing Haskins’ signature, an authoritative seal, the date, and the rest of the formalities usually associated with an interagency intelligence document.
“What’s this?” she asked, waiting for the statue sitting in front of her to answer.
He sat quietly, staring at the wall behind her.
She couldn’t be sure, but the reddening of his face and the bulging vein on the side of his neck made it appear he was holding his breath.
“Haskins?” she asked in a firm tone.
Haskins stuck out his chest. “Redfall’s location. Per your request, Director.”
“What’s at this location?”
“A farm.”
“Isn’t Lancaster County the home of the Amish?”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. His jaw was stiff, making him look even more agitated now.
“Is there something else, Haskins?”
“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”
“If you feel you must, then by all means,” she said, leaning back in her leather chair with her arms folded across her chest.
“I had my entire team drop everything to focus solely on penetrating the TravelNet system for a voice print match. Thompson here led the infiltration team. In truth, the hack was all his idea and frankly I thought it was an enormous waste of resources. But in the end, you demanded results and my team and I stepped up and gave it to you. I just pray your sweeping redirect didn’t compromise the safety of any of my assets in the field while my entire agency was involved in this ridiculous ghost hunt.”
Redfall: Fight for Survival (American Prepper Series Book 1) Page 14
