2047: Hell In A Handbasket
Page 11
"Last question, Mr. Gwinnett, and we're still on the record. I have sources telling me your daughter was involved in Daniel Smithers death. Would you care to comment," asked Gordon.
Gwinnett's head snapped back upright, his eyes opened wider, he checked his biometrics on his heads-up glasses, shook his head. Blinked rapidly three times ordering a total data-hold. Took two deep breaths, his breathing resumed its regular biometric readings on his screen so he released the hold and spoke.
"My comment would be to ask you to go public with this story so we can sue the ass off you and your source. Remember, freedom of the press doesn't protect deliberate libel. I'd welcome the chance to earn some easy money," said Gwinnett.
"Thank you, Sir. That's what I needed to hear," said Gordon.
Gwinnett smiled. He'd win this one, but you never knew what the future would bring in this crazy world they lived in.
A second later, his face changed. Who was talking about the Smithers' accident he wondered. That wasn't a story he wanted investigated, not after Sarah went off the reservation like that.
28/01/2047 08:30
The tide was turning on the Hudson and that meant the water swirled in unusual and new patterns as the ocean pushed its way inland. Leaning against the black iron railings beside the river, Gordon watched the foam bob and swirl with the currents and decided reporting was much like the river. Both had expected outcomes but both could and would surprise you with something new every day. He'd watched a river since he was old enough to get out of the house by himself and indeed, only gave up the dream of being a river pilot when he discovered he liked the excitement of news reporting more.
He thought about Smithers and understood Gwinnett wasn't to be taken lightly. Unless he had the proverbial smoking gun, he couldn't put the story on air. His career would die a faster death than Smithers had in her car wreck. He took a breath. Smiled as a dolphin fin cut the surface right in front of him. He scanned the area to see if it would rise again. A minute passed, the dolphin didn't surface, and his mind rolled back to Smithers. How do you get the car records when the car's computers have already been recycled and melted down? How did this data survive and where is it kept? And who the hell sent it? Too many damn questions with no answers he grumbled to himself.
"Record." He paused for a second to organize his thoughts. "File. New Story. Key. Daniel Smithers. Note. Possibly murdered. Info file implicating Sarah Gwinnett. Name Murder. Hashtag Gwinnett comma, Quellcorp comma, Smithers comma. Priority 1 comma. End." The data went directly to his filing system via his auditory implants.
He considered it for a few moments. "Open Daniel Smithers. To do: talk to Henry about tracing file back to source. Remind 0900 tomorrow."
The dolphin shot out of the water twenty feet in front of him, gracefully arched its back and cut the water cleanly as it landed.
Ed laughed out loud. "Thanks for the good omen buddy, I am indeed dreaming of good things and happiness today."
At least for me, he thought as he turned his back on the river and started his search.
04/04/2047 08:30
"I know you killed Daniel Smithers. It was well done, but that's not what I asked you to do." George leaned forward, elbows on his desk and watched Sarah's face, it didn't change or react. "Thank you for not acting surprised or shocked and denying the story. I'm sure you think you were doing the right thing but our reality is a reporter now has information about your doing this, and is searching for confirmation. Let's start with who else within the company knows about this?"
"Harrison"
"You had to pay somebody?" asked George.
"Yeah, there was a surveillance tech problem that required adjusting." Sarah emphasized the word "adjusting".
"Anybody else?"
"Don't think so."
"Harrison told me right after you asked him," said George.
He held Sarah's eyes until Sarah dropped hers to stare at her knees.
"I don't know what you were thinking. I really don't. There's only so much I can do to help you with something like this because we both know if a rich, white kid like you goes into Smith State, she isn't coming out in one whole, breathing piece," said George.
Sarah raised her eyes, met George's and nodded. "Understood," she said. "I'll be more careful."
George locked eyes with Sarah but Sarah neither blinked nor wavered. George blinked first. He looked at Sarah and shook his head. "I'll do my best to keep this quiet, but you have to keep that temper of yours under control."
"Yeah, I know," said Sarah.
The change in attitude and agreement caught George by surprise and he stared at his daughter.
Who dropped her eyes.
Do I trust this? Maybe we can get through to her sometimes. Maybe we can, thought George
"We'll ride this out. Plug the leak. As long as there's no more information rolling around than there is now, we're likely fine," said George.
Sarah nodded and said, "Sorry about running off like that. I really am. Won't happen again - I'm too used to the Forces way of taking direct action against perceived threats. I'll go talk to Cummings and see what I can do to help. OK?"
George nodded and said, "Sounds like a plan." He was relieved the conversation had gone so quickly and smoothly.
He didn't see the lopsided smile on Sarah's face as she left the office.
14/04/2047
Charlie climbed down from the air-conditioned cab of the giant John Deere tractor where he'd stopped at the north end of his biggest and best field. He smiled broadly as he saw the effect two inches of rain in the last two weeks had on the seeds. The rows were dead-straight and the corn was exploding out of the ground. It seemed to him the twelve-inch tall plants, with their unfolding dark green leaves, were stretching upwards at an inch a day. The cloudy sky promised more rain, and that was fine with him. The soil was bone dry as far down as you could dig and would soak up more than Mother Nature had ever delivered in her best month. Charlie whistled as he walked down the row. His daddy used to walk part of the crop every day and what was good enough for Charlie Senior was good enough for him. He'd see problems before they became established and he'd saved quite a few bushels over the years by walking his rows. Daddy was right about that, he thought and a grin creased his well tanned face at the memory.
He turned at the headland, went across five rows and started back to the tractor. Two more similar patterns and he'd done his walking for the day.
Nothing out of the ordinary thought Charlie and then a wry grin emerged. Well, unless you count great growing corn as out of the ordinary. Which it sure as hell has been, he thought.
He climbed back into the cab, and the 400-horsepower diesel rumbled back to life. Charlie steered for home and lunch. He continued whistling. Things would be fine, just fine.
All we need is three-inches of rain a month now, and we'll take care of the bank and be ahead of the game, he thought.
24/04/2047 21:35
The four best friends occupied couches facing each other in the personal quarters of the White House. The two men leaned back, ties, jackets and shoes off, lovers cuddled close, and all sipped drinks after an exhausting day of the swearing-in ceremony.
"I wanted to let y'all know I put the word out that George has my confidence and will have unlimited access and an important V.P. role to play. That'll ensure the circling sharks treat him with respect. Told Hagin and Hutchins and they'll make sure it gets to those who count. Did all y'all like how this Yankee dropped a big y'all in there?" A big grin accompanied the question.
The other three rolled their eyes at each other.
"Bill, I've been reading the fluff your team put out about this new Vice-President of yours. 'A man who didn't want to be a politician but one who solved all the problems life handed him. A man with recognized military experience, able to deal with the violence sweeping the country. Brilliant strategist. Well educated. Built a major company from scratch.' I'd surely like to meet this paragon of virtue and a
bility."
Charlotte punched him on the shoulder and Alice threw a couch pillow at him.
"Careful, you'll spill my scotch," said Gwinnett in mock horror at the possibility.
"Mr. Vice President, it has been a very long time coming but I am now your commanding officer," replied his best friend.
"Mr. President, Sir. You may be my commanding officer for the next two years but you still aren't getting that buck back."
"I don't think I've seen so much ass-kissing since that young Lieutenant back in basic. What was his name?" George asked.
"I know who you mean, but don't remember his name. Didn't he get killed somewhere in South America?"
"We are not talking war stories or politics tonight, are we Sugar," said Alice Barrett. The President's wife was his main strategist, confidant, and the first and last person he consulted on all major decisions. But she decided they were with their oldest and best friends and she wanted to end the day with a quiet drink and relaxation. Tomorrow they'd have to start the serious work ahead of them but for the moment, this was a time for celebration.
"Whenever I hear 'Sugar', even after all these years, I know I'm supposed to say, 'Yes dear' and do what she says."
"Copy that Bill. Copy that."
The two men shared a knowing smile.
With the temptation to talk business removed, they relaxed and traded stories of the antics of old friends and updated family news. The conversation flowed as smoothly as the Scotch they all drank. The stress of a very hectic day disappeared, and they all laughed and enjoyed the magic of friendship for this one final moment.
12/05/2047 13:15
The two cops never knew what hit them. Their battle armor didn't help when, distracted by several lovely young girls, four German Shepherds shot out of a nearby doorway and attacked. Before they could get their personal weapons out of the quick-draw holsters the dogs were on them and knocked them down.
Even then, the cops might have survived because the dogs couldn't penetrate the armor to do much damage. What they didn't survive were the four men following the animals.
Immobilized on the ground, the cops never noticed the approaching men until sawed-off shotguns were shoved under their helmet face shields and discharged.
Dispatch heard the yelling, heard the shots and sudden silence.
They sent backup and support but when reinforcing police arrived, all they found were two dead bodies, half stripped of armor and without any weapons.
Ro got the news of the successful raid and smiled. Those were the two that raped Aleysha and he'd just taken revenge for having made her talk to that reporter. He'd known she'd likely suffer, but I needed to establish reasons and motivation for our people he thought.
Sorry Aleysha, sorry Jerold, he thought. He took another sip of coffee and raised the mug in a silent toast to his two former friends.
16/05/2047 13:15
His daughter Sarah's a carbon copy. Except she's worse; has several black belts and is all-contact, no philosophy in the dojo. She used to sucker guys into a fight and she'd take them apart. I saw her leave more than one guy on the floor holding his balls and moaning. She did her killing with drones - easy shit, and no crawling through mud - and she killed a lot more than her old man. No combat fatigue or PTSD, unlike half of drone operators. It's not a job with her, she enjoys it."
17/05/2047 12:15
Ed Gordon leaned back in his chair to survey his work space. "Not bad," he laughed.
The bar in the Willard Hotel with its leather seats, dark paneled wood walls, fine liquor, and sound-suppressing technology so each table was private.
Gordon felt as if he'd made the big time. He enjoyed the expense account, the top-level equipment and now he had his first bar-office. Life is sweet in the fast lanes, he laughed to himself.
"Gordon," he said in response to a heads-up display on his broadcast glasses. Ah, good, voice-only, he thought. Some of the best stories came in anonymously.
"Good to talk to you, Ed. You don't recognize my voice and you don't know my name. I'm untraceable."
Ed didn't know the voice; he knew it was likely tech-altered, but this was harder to tell now with the new software randomly altering the basic nature of speech to make identification much more difficult to reverse engineer.
"I have interesting leads for you about our new Vice-President. Start digging into QuellCorp, there are a great many five-star stories there, from tax evasion to war crimes and even to using armored troops to wipe out petty criminals in Savannah that pissed George off. Stories about rich men cheating on their taxes, troops plundering and raping innocent third-world citizens they're supposed to be protecting and mass-murdering black Americans would interest a lot of people."
Ed put his glass of orange juice back on the table, pulled out a stylus, opened a new note and got ready to write on his tablet.
"All very interesting I'm sure, but I've heard it before. There's nothing new here. Good folks have already examined these allegations," said Ed.
"What happened to those who looked the deepest?"
"If you're talking about Smithers, she was in a single car accident, ran it off the road late at night. Are you suggesting somebody would take out a reporter? That was fully investigated," said Ed. "Got anything new on this?" He held his breath.
"She had a drone in her face blinding her. Her steering software was hacked and under remote control so instead of heading towards the curb and safety the car accelerated and was steered into that tree. Her body and onboard computer records were badly mangled in the subsequent fire. A fire that was caused by a timed charge in the gas tank and set off with a flick of a switch."
"Interesting story. But it's just a conspiracy theory unless there's proof. Got any?" asked Ed.
"The tapes and drone video - she had hers programmed to follow her automatically - is in your inbox."
"What do you want out of this?" said Ed. He smiled broadly and began framing his rejection for the demand for money he was sure would follow.
Silence.
"Return call,"said Ed.
"That number is non-existent," reported his phone.
Ed knew that burner-phone was now likely destroyed. He nodded to himself. At least the guy was good with tech. And, if he's as smart as I hope, he's avoiding the damned ever-present CCTV feeds. Last thing
I want is for him to be caught and me implicated in the dark web. Damn, I hope this is worth it, he thought.
Ed glanced at his inbox and there was indeed a new email with a large attached file. He shuffled the file to his secure company server. A truce existed between the NSA and Vid-channels at the moment so he hoped they'd be secure there. Both ZeeVid and NSA employed highly-paid, computer geeks to both protect and invade others data and feeds. It as an old and ongoing war between the press that worked to expose government crimes and security that tried to keep their secrets and the country safe.
What a screwed up world we live in, he thought as he walked out of the bar.
17/05/2047 14:22
"Sarah. Private. Secure." George's comm connected him to QuellCorp's high-security network. George avoided the problem-prone, government systems whenever possible, and particularly when talking to Sarah.
"Hey Sarah, how's the weather down there? Your momma told me to tell you to wear your hat and sunscreen and you better say you are or I'll have her call you."
He paced around his White House office. From one end to the other. Turn. Pace back.
"Mr. Vice President, Sir, you can inform Madam Vice-President her daughter is duly armed and protected."
"You saw the news about funding cuts to overseas protection and staffing details I assume," said George. He reached one end of the room, tapped the nose of the bust of Thomas Jefferson. Wondered how many people knew Jefferson had been a V.P. But then focused back on Sarah's voice. Turned, walked the other way.
"I cut the orders and the men are being shipped home as quickly and safely as possible. We made a deal with the local warlords in South Sudan to let us leave peacefully. They're welcome to whatever oil is left in the ground and we didn't blow the machinery. We'll also leave them our remaining supplies instead of having to fight our way out with a reduced number of troops. That'll get us out of there faster and more easily and there'll be none of that last man jumping into a chopper from the highest building shit," said Sarah.