by Bobby Akart
“The situation is grave,” interrupted Hunter. “Why are you so angry at them declaring a phase six pandemic?”
“No, Hunter. Don’t you see? It didn’t say phase six. They wrote level 6 in the email.”
“They?”
“Yes, see the bottom?” asked Mac as she spun the monitor on her desk for them both to see. She angrily tapped the part of the email indicating the signature field. “It’s signed by the DHS and the UN. They’ve given up, Hunter. They know they can’t contain it or stop it. The United Nations and our own government think this is an extinction-level event. It’s over. My God!”
Mac walked back and forth through the room, hands firmly planted on her hips.
“Mac, what does level 6 mean?”
“Eradication, Hunter. Level 6 is their code word for eradication of the diseased members of the species.”
Thanks for reading!
The saga continues in…
LEVEL 6
Book three of the four-book Pandemic Series.
You can preorder the remainder of the series by visiting Amazon.com
Learn more about The Pandemic Series on www.BobbyAkart.com
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And before you go…
THANK YOU FOR READING PANDEMIC: THE INNOCENTS!
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READ ON FOR A BONUS EXCERPT from Bobby Akart’s #1 bestseller, THE LOYAL NINE, book one in The Boston Brahmin Series. Political suspense collides with post-apocalyptic thriller fiction as fiction mirrors reality proving that all empires collapse eventually, and America will be no exception.
Bonus excerpt from The Loyal Nine, The Boston Brahmin Series
All Empires Collapse Eventually and America is No Exception.
From critically acclaimed author Bobby Akart, The Loyal Nine is a gripping novel of an America teetering on the edge of economic and societal collapse.
With social unrest sweeping the country, Europe on the brink of war and the U.S. economy under siege by foreign nations, a new threat emerges. The nation is caught in the crosshairs of a power struggle between wealthy oligarchs and the political leaders who claim to have the country's best interests at heart.
As the collapse events escalate, enter The Loyal Nine - direct descendants of the Founding Fathers, a modern day Knights Templar whose mission is to protect America, and the republic, from those who would inflict tyranny upon her.
But will America be destroyed from within? Conditions of war are building and they do not involve bullets and bombs. There is a new battleground - cyberspace. As the country descends into decline economically and socially, will America be caught off guard by a threat never before experienced - a devastating Cyber War?"
The Boston Brahmin series takes the reader on a frighteningly realistic journey into a post-apocalyptic fiction world.
CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR BOBBY AKART AND THE BOSTON BRAHMIN SERIES
"Mr. Akart brings together political history, technology, geopolitics, and current events into a vast and intriguing story." ~ Franklin Horton, Author of The Borrowed World Series
"Bobby Akart has quickly developed into a MUST READ author. His knowledge of history, law, preparedness, and literature coalesces into a fantastic series of novels." ~ Tom Abrahams, Veteran Television Journalist and Author of Home
"A cracking great start to an epic new post-apocalyptic fiction series that is going to have many, many loyal followers." ~ Murray McDonald, bestselling author of America's Trust and The God Complex
"A terrifyingly realistic, prescient new post-apocalyptic fiction series ... which can only be described as prophetic." ~ G. Michael Hopf, best-selling author of The New World series and former Marine
"A political thriller for our times!" ~ Joseph Souza, award winning author of Unpaved Surfaces
"The Loyal Nine is a rare combination of gripping and realistic action scenes together with a narrative rich in historical detail ..." ~ R. E. McDermott, Author of The Dugan Thrillers
"Interesting and original. Ripped from the headlines doesn't begin to describe the excellence in this writing." ~ Amazon Top 100 Reviewer
Prologue
August 2016
Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts
He was thankful for clear skies and a lack of turbulence. The short ride in the Sikorsky S-76 from Boston was devoid of the sudden sideways movements and occasional rapid changes in altitude typical of helicopter flights. The swooping motions which created a thrill for some presented difficulty for others. He requested the morning meeting to avoid a return trip at night, when the human eye struggled to find a reference point on the horizon. This could result in serious spatial disorientation and motion sickness—and his day did not need the added stress.
The newly designed Sikorsky was ideal for his trips to the Vineyard. Most people think of the deafening thump – thump – thump sounds of the rotors, but inside the cabin, the redesigned Pratt & Whitney engines and noise-reduced tail rotor barely competed with his thoughts.
Flying over Buzzard’s Bay, he glanced out of the starboard side windows, catching a glimpse of the Blackhawk helicopter that had shadowed them since they passed New Bedford. To his left, he observed the lines of cars, full of tourists and gawkers alike, waiting for the ferry trips departing Woods Hole—taking them to the island. Naturally, security was heightened due to the importance of the vacationers, but the appearance of Coast Guard coastal patrol boats throughout Vineyard Sound was a reminder of the state of world affairs.
As the pilot swooped across Menemsha Pond, he thought about the words used in the past that drew so much criticism from pundits — you didn’t build that. There is some truth to the statement. Nobody gets rich on their own money. They leverage their wealth on the backs of others. Similarly, power is achieved through the adept application of your strengths.
Machiavelli once wrote he who wishes to be obeyed must know how to command. A commander-in-chief may be anointed with power, but it does not necessarily provide him the ability to command. He needs guidance. Today, help arrived in the form of a message — one that must be delivered face to face.
The pilot gently set the Sikorsky down on the helipad built by the Corps of Engineers on his property just three weeks ago. Men and women in dark suits surrounded the landing zone, along with several golf carts. The welcoming committee was a little much—especially for his own home.
He loved the Chilmark House. Situated on the southwest part of Martha’s Vineyard, the open floor plan and the floor to ceiling windows, in each living space, accentuated the panoramic views of the South Shore and the Atlantic Ocean.
After the obligatory security check, he was escorted inside as a guest in his own home. It was an odd feeling. He was not accustomed to meetings outside of the sanctity of his offices in Boston.
“Hello Sir,” greeted David McDill, the White House Chief of Staff. McDill was not part of the inner circle. He filled a role as an intermediary, a conduit for the exchange of information. The President’s real confidant, the person whom he trusted the most, was by his side — Valerie Jarrett.
“Good morning David,” he said. “It is nice to see you again.”
McDill escorted him down the s
teps into the sunken living room, where the President finished a putt across the carpet to a makeshift cup. The President whispered something into the ear of Jarrett who looked up at him and smiled. There is something between them — something more.
“Mr. President, your guest is here,” announced McDill.
Jarrett hastily broke away from the President and smiled as she exited the room.
“Thank you David, you can go now,” said the President.
Silence filled the room as Jarrett and McDill exited, closing the doors behind them. Once the room was empty, the President smiled and spoke first.
“How are you my friend, it has been too long.”
The men shook hands and shared a brief embrace.
“We’ve come a long way in the twenty five years since we met at Harvard,” he said.
“I will always appreciate your assistance in landing the summer clerk’s position at Hopkins and Sutter,” said the President. “That summer changed my life.” The summer Saul Alinsky changed your life.
“Well Mr. President, do you have something against the nine-hole course I built on the grounds?” he asked. “We built it with you in mind — all doglegs turn left.”
“Very funny!” said The President. “It’s ironic. My swing produces a terrible slice, but it plays into a dogleg left perfectly because I’m left handed. I absolutely love your place. It‘s difficult for me to find solace. Somehow, Chilmark gives me the opportunity to think and reflect.”
He set the putter aside and motioned for the men to sit by the windows overlooking the pool.
“Your children seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“Definitely. They start school soon and this gives them an opportunity to relax. It’s not easy being the children of a President.”
“How is your wife?”
“She hates me, to be blunt,” said the President. “But you probably already know this. When I entered office, she envisioned an opportunity to effectuate a new direction for America in a dramatic way. Change isn’t easy. I tried to explain to her there would be setbacks and false starts. She wanted me to crush my political detractors. She thought I was being weak, indecisive. In hindsight, I should have fast tracked some of my initiatives while I had super-majorities in both houses. Frankly, I received bad advice from political advisors who were more concerned with an upcoming mid-term election than my agenda. The party sustained heavy losses anyway.”
“I suppose,” came the reply. Let’s get down to business. “Mr. President, the election is in ninety days. You know why I am here. A decision needs to be made.”
“Here’s the deal,” started the President. “I still have a lot of work to do. When I came into office, I promised my constituents meaningful change. I told them we are greater together than we can ever be on our own. I am running out of time and I know it. I will not leave office without fulfilling my legacy.”
“I understand Mr. President.”
He decided to allow the President a little more time to speak and reflect. He would encourage the leader of the free world to reach the necessary conclusion on his own. The President rose to his feet and stared out the window. He put his hands in his pockets and stood stoically for a moment.
“You’ve warned me for years of this possibility,” said the President, breaking the silence. “I have watched as you expertly orchestrate events around the world to achieve certain mutual goals. For my part, I have purged the military. I have executed both executive orders and secret directives with a singular purpose in mind. Your associate, Mr. Holmes, has been useful in that regard.”
“He’s a good lawyer, and appreciates the importance of our goals.”
“I have spent the last eight years preparing for this eventuality,” said the President. “In addition to advancing my agenda, I have taken measures to allow for a continuation of my work. In order to win the future, I need more time.”
“What do you propose?” he said.
“There is only one way to circumvent the Constitution without a series of annoying courtroom spectacles,” replied the President. “Martial Law.”
“I believe you are correct Mr. President. I know you understand the ramifications of such a declaration.”
“I do,” said the President. “The groundwork has been laid. Over the last seven years or so, I have conditioned the American people to accept the presence of our military in their cities and towns.”
“The law supports your approach Mr. President. Never in the history of our country have we faced so many potentially destructive threats at the same time. Your leadership can guide the nation through a crisis and if handled properly, a continuation of your presidency will be welcomed.”
“Thank you for that,” said the President. “Difficult times lie ahead and will require shared sacrifice by all. I know there will be pain inflicted upon average Americans. I can focus the government’s vast network of assistance upon those who welcome our help, and who agree with our vision for a new America.”
“You will experience resistance from within the government, and beyond.”
“Let me be clear,” said the President with conviction. “This will be an opportunity for all Americans to choose a side. If they wish to be a part of an America that is open to fairness for all, then they will join me. Those who remain loyal to my vision will relish the opportunity to be placed in positions of power. I have no concerns about the American people who have grown accustomed to the benefits my government provides them. They will thrive with the full protection and care for their families.”
“What about your most vehement opponents?”
“Oh, I have a plan for them,” said the President. “Congress gave me fast track authority for trade agreements last year. Under the TPA, I have the ability to issue domestic executive orders over virtually all goods and services produced in the United States. I can issue executive orders for weapons and ammunition confiscation, prohibitions on hoarding food and necessary supplies, gold confiscation and the required relocation to detention facilities for our citizen’s safety. For those who choose to resist by clinging to their foolish notions of patriotism, guns and hypocritical religious beliefs, they will receive the full weight of my government upon them.”
“Russia and China?” he said, digging a little further.
“We’ll toss them a bone,” said the President. “And stop opposing them at every turn.”
“What about your end? Do you have everything in order?”
“I do Mr. President. With your assistance, I have planned a series of carefully orchestrated false flag attacks this year. Everything is in order for the final collapse event.”
“Perfect. I will be in Hawaii,” said the President.
“And how will the Vice President react?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the President. “He will be in an unfortunate location when it happens.”
“Where will you be?”
“Initially in Boston with my daughter, then we will evacuate together to Prescott Peninsula.”
“I am glad the acquisition worked out for you,” said the President. “We can offer your daughter a position in the new government when things settle down. What about her patriot friends?”
“They’re lineage dates back to the founding of America. They will see the big picture, as will my daughter. All of them realize this country needs a reset. They just don’t know what that entails.” As for you, Mr. President, your entire career is based upon planned obsolescence.
Chapter 1
December 15, 2015
Shirokino, Ukraine
No warning preceded the artillery barrage. A sharp detonation shook the BTR-7 “Defender,” knocking the American halfway off the troop compartment bench, as fragments thunked against the armored personnel carrier’s thin protective plate. Personal equipment and gear attached to the inside of the starboard-side hull popped loose, tumbling into the tight aisle.
He traded knowing looks with the Ukrainian Special Operations tea
m assigned to escort him. There was nothing they could do to improve the situation. Combat was defined by probability and statistics, and they all knew what to expect next. The second round in the barrage would either land closer or farther from the vehicle, deciding their fate—and there was no way to hide from it.
The next explosion straddled the road, violently rocking the vehicle on its eight-wheel chassis. Fragments punctured the port-side hull, hissing and ricocheting through the armored coffin. The soldier seated to his right snapped backward against the vehicle’s hard interior and slid motionlessly off the bench. Screams of pain pierced the compartment, quickly muted by successive high-explosive blasts. He tucked his knees into the metal bench, making room for the team’s medic, who sprang into action from the back of the vehicle.
“This one is gone,” the American said in broken Russian, lifting the dead soldier’s black watch cap.
A jagged, charred hole appeared above his left eyebrow, evidence that a small red-hot fragment had passed through the wool hat and penetrated his skull. The Special Operations medic directed a flashlight beam at the grisly sight and nodded, pushing through the cramped compartment to reach the source of the screaming near the vehicle’s turret. By the sound of the soldier’s cries, the wound had to be severe. Special Operations soldiers had a predilection for suffering in silence, and this one was kicking and screaming.
The barrage lifted as quickly as it arrived, leaving them alone for the rest of the short ride to the Shirokino front. A few minutes later, after they had calmed the wounded soldier, the vehicle commander’s voice echoed through the vehicle, spurring the soldiers into action. A pair of soldiers lifted the hatches above the troop compartment, squeezing their equipment-laden torsos through the openings. Shirokino was a fluid battlefront against pro-Russian separatist forces, and the vehicle commander wanted three hundred and sixty degree situational awareness as they approached their destination. Freezing rain sprayed through the hatches, driven by a brutal wind that had accompanied a rare Crimean weather front.
