Team Omega

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Maybe someone too obsessed to leave with the others,” Ron said, “maybe someone taken against his will. Get some sleep. If the Captain calls us, we have to be ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The report about North Korea was about as useful as Chester had expected.

  North Korea was the single most isolated country in the world. Very little came into the country and even less came out, including people. The North Koreans did have a superhuman program of their own—superhumans were cheaper than nukes, even if they did think for themselves—but very little was known about it. There had been a defector who had brought some information on two of the four known superhumans, yet the information was very limited. Chester had a private suspicion that the North Koreans were far behind everyone else in superhumans, but there was no way to know for sure. Japan and South Korea were paranoid over the prospect of North Korean superhumans smashing though the DMZ and heading south. They had their own superhumans on the border watching the North.

  He put the report aside as General Kratman sat down next to him, waiting to see the President. The entire meeting had been arranged at short notice, unfortunately while the President was due to meet a group of Boy Scouts who had won a competition to meet the most powerful mundane human in the world. There was no way the President would cut that short, or the media would pick up on it and wonder what had been so urgent as to force the President’s hand. Who knew what conclusions they might draw...?

  “I saw Marvin’s kids,” the General said, without preamble. “The girl is likely to be very useful in the future.”

  “One would hope so,” Chester agreed. The gang fighting in New York had died down with two of the four gangs effectively destroyed and the remaining two splitting the territory between them. He’d hoped that they’d destroy themselves completely, but as long as there was a demand for illegal drugs, someone would fill it. “And the boy?”

  “Has potential,” the General said. “A shitload of anger in his head, though. The shrinks think that he really needs a nice holiday somewhere warm so he can recover from everything he did.”

  “I thought we weren't listening to shrinks,” Chester said, with some amusement. “It was bad enough with Jay Argon—now I have to listen to Grimes every two weeks on why Omega is a danger to society.”

  The General laughed, and then sobered. “Poor kid. Having all that on his shoulders at fifteen years old. His mother just wanted them to be normal.”

  “So she tried to keep them away from us,” Chester said.

  “And the boy goes out trying to be a man,” the General said. “And kills seventy-odd people in hopes of living up to his father.”

  “We’ve done worse in our time,” Chester reminded him, dryly. “At least all of his targets deserved to die. How many of ours deserved it? You and I covered up Marvin’s death because we wanted to hide what happened to him in the hopes of finding another way to do it. And have we had any luck?”

  He shook his head. The human race had only two confirmed ways to kill Level 5 superhumans; nuclear weapons...or the powers of a rogue superhuman who had developed the ability to turn superhuman powers off. But that superhuman was dead, and no one with similar talents had ever been discovered. Given the nature of his powers, it was quite possible that a dozen similar superhumans were walking around with no idea what they could do.

  “There’s the untested stuff the techs came up with,” the General said. “Thinking about Hope, are you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Chester said. “Affairs in the Congo have taken a turn for the worse.”

  The President’s aide appeared before he could elaborate and invited them both into the Oval Office. Inside, the President looked tired and worn after his long chat with the Boy Scouts—but then, the job wore anyone down. Almost every President had grey hair when they left the office.

  “Thank you for waiting,” the President said. It wouldn't be the first time that politics had interfered with government business. “I take it that there have been developments?”

  “You could say that,” Chester said. “Mr. President, we sent a pair of agents into the Congo to attempt to determine just what the situation was on the ground. One of those agents was intended as the decoy for the other as Hope has a powerful telepath on his staff. That agent was returned to the United States only three hours ago.”

  The President nodded. Telepathy touched on very deep phobias in the human mind, the fear of losing all that remained of one’s privacy. The government had moved with remarkable speed to determine that telepathic evidence could not be admitted in court, at least without the consent of the accused, and to ban telepathic scanning without permission. It was difficult to prevent telepaths from flexing their powers—many telepaths ended up in mental hospitals because they couldn't control their powers—but at least it made it harder for telepaths to blackmail people. There had been any number of politicians keen to make telepathic blackmail as hard as possible. Anyone would think that they had something to hide.

  “Unfortunately, the agent—Sparky of the Young Stars—brought us a message from Hope,” Chester continued. “He wants a sniper handed over to him—or else.”

  The President frowned. “What sniper?”

  “The second agent shed some light on that affair,” Chester added. “Which is lucky, or we wouldn't have the slightest idea what Hope was talking about. Several days ago, a sniper killed one of Hope’s superhumans and a pair of aid workers—and then vanished before they could track him down. Hope’s general theory appears to be that the United States sent the sniper.”

  “I see,” the President said. His voice hardened. “And did we send the sniper?”

  “It was not authorised or carried out by either Team Omega or the SDI,” the General said. “I have asked around in the community and no one else appears to have authorised the operation without referring it to the White House. It is possible that someone in the CIA authorised it without permission—it wouldn't be the first time the CIA did something without taking it to the White House—but none of my contacts know about it.”

  “Try convincing the leftists of that,” the President muttered. Enough of the CIA’s failures and misdeeds had come to light to leave the world convinced that the CIA would do anything for Uncle Sam. All of the CIA’s successes were classified and never made the news. “And if we didn't do it, who did?”

  Chester snorted. “It would be easier to come up with a list of countries who aren’t suspects,” he admitted. “First, every country neighbouring the Congo has reason to fear and resent Hope’s success; they’d have good reason to want to derail it. Second, there are the regional powers that aren't exactly democratic; Libya, Egypt, even Iraq. And thirdly there are the greater powers; Europe, China, Russia...and us.”

  “Don’t forget the various terrorist groups,” the General added. “Some of them found safety in the Congo after Saudi folded in on itself and Iraq took over. They consider themselves the defenders of Islam, and Hope has already made it clear that Islam won’t enjoy any special status in the Congo. The bastards still have links to Iran and Pakistan—hell, the Pakistanis could have provided the sniper on loan from their army. They need support among the terrorists for their endless confrontation with India.”

  “Wonderful,” the President said. “And with all of those suspects, he blames us?”

  “We have been under a great deal of pressure to do something about the situation,” Chester said. “Hope is American, a third of his team is American...the Russians and Chinese have already been muttering about Hope’s former SDI status and wondering if we unleashed him deliberately. And you know how paranoid Europe is these days. The last thing they want to deal with is another superhuman state to the south.”

  “Of all the paranoid conspiracy theories,” the General said. “How the hell do we gain if Hope smashes the Congo’s warlords?”

  The President chuckled, humourlessly. “Do you know how many rare minerals and suchlike are in the Congo, wa
iting to be exploited? I do, because I had a delegation from a dozen mining companies demanding that I do something about Hope—apparently, he’s already decided that none of the contracts the warlords signed will be honoured. Which isn't too bad from our point of view—the bribes threatened to overwhelm the profits—but it may have international implications. Do you know that a certain European country had an agreement with one of the warlords to supply him with a military-grade ATC system?”

  He shook his head. “And if they decide that the Congo will not be paying its debts, the international banking system would take a hit,” he added. “It could get worse if the rest of the continent follows suit.”

  The General smiled. “Maybe that would be the best thing for them. It might teach bankers a lesson about loaning to countries without the rule of law.”

  “In an ideal world, I’d agree with you,” the President said. “But so much money suddenly vanishing would destabilise several banks here—and probably do the same to Europe. A large-scale banking crash is the last thing we need.”

  He shook his head. “But that isn't the issue here,” he said, flatly. “The point is that we have been issued an ultimatum in all but name. Hand over the sniper...except we can’t hand over the sniper because we don’t have the sniper. So what do we do?”

  Chester hesitated. “The best thing to do would probably be to tell him the truth,” he said, finally. “We didn’t send the sniper; we can go through all the intelligence reports from the last two weeks and see if we can pick up any clues as to who did send the sniper.”

  “Which is all well and good,” the General said, “assuming that Hope believes us. What happens if he thinks we did it and we’re just lying to him?”

  “He said he wanted the sniper for trial by telepathy,” Chester said, slowly. “But if we don’t have the sniper...”

  The General snorted. “And which official were you going to hand over to have their mind read to prove that we didn't send the sniper? All that would really prove is that that official doesn't know anything about us sending the sniper. Even if the President goes himself, a paranoid mind could wonder if the CIA carried out the operation and simply forgot to tell the President. And Hope has enough experience of the darker side of operations to know that that is quite possible.”

  “And if we don’t,” Chester said, “then what?”

  He looked at the President. “Right now, according to my operative on the ground, there’s upwards of two hundred superhumans working with Hope in the Congo. That’s a small army in its own right, with enough power to overwhelm even the SDI if it came down to a pitched battle. Right now, Hope is the most powerful person in the world, and he’s mad at us personally. This isn't the time to...assume that we can carry on, business as usual. Hope has proven that he’s willing to knock over an entire nation. I think we have to assume that he’d be willing to strike at us.”

  “And if he did,” the General said dryly, “he’d also hit the NGOs who are providing him with food and medical supplies for the Congo. To say nothing of the countless volunteers who signed up to help purchase the supplies, drive them to New York and ship them through the portals in Central Park. Striking at us would be shooting himself in the foot.”

  Chester shrugged. “Would he realise that?”

  He shook his head. “I have the report from our...sensitive agent on the ground. He only saw Hope from a distance, but reported that Hope was angry and frustrated. Hope had this grand plan and its being dragged down by petty nationalistic bickering and small-minded men. I think we have to assume the worst and act as conciliatory as possible.”

  The President pushed his fingertips together. “Assuming the worst,” he said, “could we take Hope and his core group out before they came for us?”

  Chester and the General exchanged glances. “It would depend on what level of force you’re prepared to authorise,” the General said, finally. “We could unleash the latest tactical nuclear weapons on the Congo; they were designed to deal with rogue superhumans if all else failed. But we would have to get the weapon close to Hope to ensure success—and he is well-protected, as well as being tougher than a Shiva tank. And he moves around, all over the country. We could launch a mass nuclear strike over the Congo, but we’d kill pretty much everyone in the entire nation. Even if they didn't die in the blasts, they’d die when the remaining infrastructure was utterly destroyed.”

  He hesitated. “And we’d probably need to use ground-bursts,” he added. “Even with modern weapons, there would be a great deal of radioactive contamination in the air afterwards. I don’t want to think about what it would do to the rest of Africa.”

  The President looked sick. “I cannot sanction the deaths of so many people,” he said. “I saw the contingency plans, but...we can't do that.”

  Chester knew exactly how he felt. Team Omega wasn't the only brainchild of President Cheney, not by a long shot. Some of the contingency plans called for using nuclear weapons in American cities, accepting the deaths of millions of Americans in exchange for bringing down a rogue superhuman. The media had almost completely ignored that aspect of the planning, thankfully. Others hadn't; the growing survivalist trend might just have been fuelled by the fact that cities could turn into war zones without warning.

  But what would history say about an American President who launched a nuclear attack on his own cities? A madman, a traitor worse than Benedict Arnold...or a hard man making a hard choice?

  “There are other possibilities,” Chester said, “but most of them are riskier. If they exploded in our face, and they might, they’d make the Slaughter Incident seem like a damp firecracker.”

  The President looked down at his fingers. “What would happen to the Saviours if Hope were to die?”

  The General smiled, thinly. “The shrinks say that it’s Hope who provides the vision,” he said. “The general theory is that they’d come apart if he died. God knows there’s always one alpha dog holding superhuman teams together; if he died, there would probably be a struggle for leadership...they’d certainly not be able to hold on to the other superhumans who have joined their cause.”

  Chester hesitated. “And what if they’re wrong?”

  “I think we have to accept the fact that Hope is out of control,” the General said, sharply. “I know...all of those warlords deserved to die horribly. But he’s become paranoid and is starting to threaten us, to add to the problems he’s causing for the rest of the world. He’s a good person and he means well, but he’s turning into an absolute dictator. We have to deal with him now.”

  The President nodded, very slowly. “You will determine a way to kill Hope and use it, without involving anyone outside your organisation,” he said. Reaching into one of his drawers, he pulled out a sheet of paper and started to write. “I will order you to do so directly, so no one else can be blamed if it goes wrong. Even so, I want you to cover your tracks thoroughly. If possible, whatever you do should not be linked to us.”

  He finished writing and passed the General a sheet of paper. Years ago, Congress had prohibited the President from ordering assassinations. But after the problems in Mexico and Latin America had started to spread north, the law had been quietly relaxed. The President could order someone killed if he took personal responsibility for it. Chester understood why the President was doing it, and accepted the logic, but he couldn't help feeling that they were crossing a line. Hope had far too many superhumans under his command...

  ...But what would happen if his frustration caused him to lash out at someone else?

  “It might work in our favour if it did,” the General said. “Letting the world know that we have a way to kill such a powerful superhuman without the collateral damage...”

  The President nodded towards the windows, looking out over the White House lawn—and the protesters beyond the gates. “Right now, large parts of this country believe that Hope is a hero for actually doing something about the suffering in the Third World,” he said. “They are ou
t there, demanding that Congress pull their thumbs out of their asses and vote to send humanitarian aid to Hope and the Saviours. Hope seems like the golden guardian of good to them, a true hero who is actually doing good.”

  “They used to cheer Ho Chi Minh and Castro,” the General said, dryly. “They always swallowed the shit the Soviet Union pumped out and ignored the actual facts. Even after Warsaw, they still believed in the Worker’s Paradise. What does the opinion of such ignorant people matter to us?”

  “They’re ignorant people with votes,” the President said. “I know, I think, how Hope feels. This office confers power, but it also confers limitations. I could do so much short-term good if I abandoned the limits, yet in doing so I would wreck the office and drag it through the mud. Hope doesn't have those concerns...”

  “I’ve ordered nine assassinations since I took the oath of office,” he added. “This one is the first one I regret ordering, even though it is the most significant. General...don’t fuck up.”

  “No, Mr. President,” the General said. “I won’t let anything go wrong.”