by Bobby Akart
“Excellent,” interrupted Morgan. “Bring New England back first and then spread its prosperity to other regions. What’s your first step?”
“Well, as I mentioned, we drive the UN out of Boston. In the meantime, we dismantle the Citizen Corps by taking O’Brien into custody. Also, I will meet with all of the governors of New England and assist them in reestablishing their governments.”
“Are you prepared to initiate the recovery mechanisms that I put into place?” asked Morgan.
Sarge had lost sleep over DARPA—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency designed to coordinate technological innovations between the military and private defense contractors. The collapse of Washington and the inability to communicate took this option away. The concept was great on paper, but absolutely worthless in a grid-down America.
“RADICS is ready, with a few modifications,” replied Sarge. RADICS, an acronym for Rapid Attack Detection, Isolation and Characterization Systems, was designed to assist in the recovery efforts following a devastating cyber attack on our critical infrastructure. “From what we’ve been able to determine, there are no unaffected networks. Professor Andrew Lau and his Zero Day Gamers were very good at what they did. However, the advanced planning performed in the last couple of years should enable us to bring major metropolitan areas online in regions of our choosing.”
Morgan interrupted. “Julia tells me the President is undertaking this very thing on the West Coast.”
“That’s true. He is racing to establish electricity in the major port cities. I need to do the same in regions of the country that are interested in following the course for America that I envision. I believe our success in New England will breed success elsewhere.”
Morgan nodded his head and reached out from under the blanket to pat Sarge on the arm once again.
“Good, Henry. Isolate the President. His approach to markets and government won’t work. It never has. All of the country will follow your lead when they see your success.”
Chapter 6
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
7:00 a.m.
Downtown
Boston, Massachusetts
“Well, I guess we confirmed what we already knew,” started Second Lieutenant Mike Smalley as he wiped the blood off his military-issue M9 bayonet. He slipped it back into its scabbard tied around his leg. “O’Brien’s cleared out and is on the run.”
“Good work in there,” said Katie as she holstered her weapon. “That guy would’ve woken up the other worthless bastards if you hadn’t moved so quickly. Let’s go.”
Katie led them down the dark hallway toward the rear exit of 99 High Street, which had been the headquarters of the Citizen Corps governor James O’Brien for the last few months. After the ill-fated kidnapping of the Massachusetts legislature, the President disavowed the taking of hostages and removed O’Brien from office. Thus far, no replacement had been named.
Katie’s mission was to find Elkins, who had escaped during the melee at the State House that day. She really had no idea where to start. She met with any of the Mechanics who had contact with him and his pal Isaac Grant. Nobody knew any more about them than what was revealed during the secretive meetings of the Mechanics.
O’Brien had not returned home either. Katie had two teams rotating in and out of surveilling O’Brien’s residence. There had been no activity around the home, so last night, Katie and Smalley broke in and found it empty. They rifled through O’Brien’s belongings, searching for clues, hoping that a union roster or address book would yield a result. They left disappointed.
As the sun began to rise, Katie eased open the fire exit door, which led to High Street. She pulled her red Boston Red Sox cap out of her cargo pants pocket and affixed it to her head. Smalley followed suit. As part of their efforts to contain the United Nations forces at the Boston Seaport, Brad had stationed snipers throughout downtown Boston. The red cap was an indication to his Marines that the target was friendly.
“Ready?” asked Katie, adjusting her holstered weapon.
Smalley nodded. “It’s a couple of blocks to Summer Street. Then hang a right at the Bank of America, and then we’ve got another couple of blocks to Devonshire.”
“Stay low and use the parked cars as cover,” said Katie as she began to walk briskly alongside the deserted city street. “We can use the building entryways too.”
The cold wind blew paper debris down High Street into their path. They cautiously rounded the corner onto Summer Street until Katie could see the building that contained the offices of the Boston Carmen’s Union. A gust of wind blew Katie’s hat off her head, but Smalley quickly scooped it up like a shortstop deep in the hole.
Katie ducked into a pedestrian mall and gathered herself. All of the windows of a jewelry store were smashed, leaving only the remnants of signs featuring their high-end brands—Mikimoto, TAG Heuer, and Rolex. Katie felt Steven’s watch around her wrist. It gave her strength to continue.
The two darted down Summer Street until they could duck through the broken windows of a café directly across the street from the union’s local headquarters. Katie knew nothing about the interior layout of the building other than it comprised four floors and a lobby. One of the Mechanics thought there was an efficiency apartment on the top floor used by visiting union members.
“I don’t like the idea of going in here blind,” said Smalley.
“I don’t either, but it’s all we’ve got.” Katie suddenly stopped and crouched behind a restaurant booth next to the window. “Look, it’s O’Brien’s Caddy.”
Smalley rose up over the window ledge and confirmed the sighting. “That’s his car.”
“All right,” started Katie as she studied the open parking garage and the glass front entry door. “The garage entry appears to be solid steel. Unless we get lucky and it’s unlocked, we’ll have to bust out the glass at the front.”
“And,” interjected Smalley, “there’s probably a rear fire escape into an alley. We can’t cover them all.”
“We shouldn’t separate either,” said Katie. “Let’s try the garage entry first. Maybe there’s a key or opener in one of those four cars. Otherwise, we’ll break out the glass door in front, trying to keep the noise to a minimum.”
Katie thought of all the empty liquor bottles found in O’Brien’s home and office. She surmised he was a heavy drinker. At this early hour, she hoped he’d be passed out from another night of drinking—preferably alone.
They dashed across the street and stowed their Red Sox caps once they were safely in the garage. Katie doubted Brad had snipers this deep into the downtown area, but she didn’t plan on taking any chances of friendly fire.
The keyless steel security entry from the garage was locked, and they couldn’t locate the code in any of the vehicles. The front door was their only option. Smalley grabbed a four-way lug wrench out of a utility truck and tapped on the glass until it cracked. As quietly as possible, they removed the large shards of glass and slid underneath the push bar. They were in.
It was dark inside the windowless building as they pushed their way past the reception desk and toward the stairwell. The stale air and silence was eerie. Smalley tapped Katie on the shoulder, indicating for her to fall back. He switched on his pistol-mounted light and led the way up the dark stairway, which reeked of vomit. They reached the second floor.
“Okay, one floor at a time,” said Katie as the two pressed against the wall next to the door. “We’re looking for Elkins, but any live body will do. They might know something.”
“Got it. On my go,” instructed Smalley.
Katie nodded.
Smalley flung open the door and entered the room low and slow, hugging the wall as he moved to the right. The morning sun was peeking through the windows of this large, open gathering room. The space was filled with sofas, chairs, and side tables. It resembled a large cigar lounge in Las Vegas, complete with a bar, big-screen televisions, and audio-visual equipment.
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sp; They quietly made their way around the perimeter of the room, looking for any movement or sounds of life. After checking both bathrooms and a small kitchen area, Katie was satisfied that this floor was clear.
The two never spoke through the entire process, utilizing hand signals and body language to indicate their intended movements. Smalley nodded at Katie and the two reentered the stairwell. On the third floor, they followed the same routine except this time they had to clear almost a dozen offices. They entered each room forcefully to catch any occupants off guard. One by one, they found the offices empty.
The final stop, an employee break room, had been vandalized or rummaged through by someone. Vending machines were broken into and anything edible was taken out. The only things left behind were the bags of Twizzlers. Katie snatched them out of the spiral holder and stuffed them in her pants’ pocket.
“Okay,” said Katie in a hushed voice. “If he’s here, this will be our last chance. Let’s take him alive.”
The stairs continued up to the roof. Katie took a moment to climb to the top and check the exit to the top of the Devonshire Building. Katie opened it and glanced around the roof, looking for any signs of life or an alternative exit from the building. She returned to Smalley and shook her head.
“This time, we’ll roll right like before,” started Katie, “but I’m gonna lay behind you several feet. The fire exit to the building is to our left. If he makes a run for it, I’ll chase him down. He’s a big guy, right?”
“Yeah,” said Smalley, who opened the door and entered the hallway.
Immediately in front of them was an oak-adorned conference room with a long table in the center. Bookshelves and portraits of past union leaders covered the walls. An empty bottle of scotch and two glasses sat on the table.
After clearing the room, Katie picked up one of the glasses and pointed out a ring of water on the table. The humidity in the building had caused the previously filled glass to sweat, leaving the moisture on the table’s top.
Both of them immediately raised their awareness and quickly moved down the hall toward a large living area. Another bar, furniture, and a large-screen television filled the otherwise unoccupied room. Katie saw an open laptop on a coffee table and moved toward it when she kicked an empty liquor bottle along the floor until it rested against a table leg with a thud.
Smalley crouched to one knee and Katie froze, listening for any noise. For several tense moments, the two held their breath and waited.
Click.
Katie wasn’t sure her mind comprehended the sound. Then it registered. It was the same sound the attic door had made when she’d eased it shut a short time ago. She swung her arm around and patted Smalley on the shoulder. She worked her way down the hallway, pointing her weapon at every opening.
“Check the roof exit,” she instructed Smalley. “I’ll take the rear fire exit.”
Smalley nodded and flipped his weapon’s light back on as he cautiously entered the stairwell. Katie moved quickly down the hall. She had to clear the bedroom first. It stank of cigars, urine, and liquor. O’Brien was a pig, but there was no time to pass judgment.
She found the fire escape door and burst onto the landing overlooking the back alleyway. She welcomed the fresh air, and the sound of O’Brien’s heavy frame lumbering down the metal stairs.
Katie chased O’Brien down the exterior fire escape. Katie knew she was gaining on him because she could hear his heavy feet pounding the metal steps.
Boink-boink.
O’Brien was unlocking a car below. The sound of a door slamming and the engine starting signified to Katie that she had to hurry. He’s getting away!
She began to take the stairs two at a time, causing Katie to lose her balance and crash into the safety rail. Katie heard the sounds of tires squealing as a black sedan roared through the alley toward Otis Street.
Katie opened fire, hitting the rear of the trunk lid, causing it to fling open. From above, Smalley rained a volley of rounds, which missed the mark. O’Brien screeched to a halt and then gunned the sedan, turning right down a narrow side street.
Katie descended the remaining stairs, hit the pavement, stumbled, and rolled back onto her feet. She raced to the corner of the alley and without hesitation burst into the open. All she saw was the trunk lid waving up and down as if to say good-bye as O’Brien sped off.
Chapter 7
Sunday, November 20, 2016
11:30 a.m.
Downtown
Boston, Massachusetts
Snow flurries began to fall and swirled through Boston’s abandoned skyscrapers, creating a post-apocalyptic snow globe. Brad considered the prospects of a harsh winter on the people of the city who’d survived so far. He’d learned years ago that a person could only survive three hours without shelter in extreme conditions. Boston’s coastal weather was somewhat warmer in the coldest month of January as opposed to other inland Massachusetts locations. But when your body was undernourished and the twenty-degree nights of winter soaked into your bones, death by hypothermia could come quickly.
Gunny Falcone returned the high-powered binoculars to Brad, who once again studied the UN’s encampment at the Seaport. He had scheduled a meeting with General Zhang to discuss the withdrawal of the UN troops from Boston. Brad was distrustful of Zhang and had always had a disdain for the United Nations. Between his encounters with Zhang’s men at Fort Devens and the debacle at the State House, Brad’s senses were on high alert.
“Sir,” said Falcone, “no vehicles have been observed coming or going across the remaining bridges in hours. We detained three of their patrols that ventured out towards Newton and Woodland. Per your orders, sir, they will not be returning to the Seaport.”
“Good,” said Brad. “I want Zhang to become concerned about defections. If all of his patrols are taken into custody and fail to return, he’ll stop the incursions into our city.”
“We need access to the Ted Williams Tunnel if we’re going to gain control of Logan, sir.”
“That will depend upon Zhang,” said Brad. “He can make life easier on everyone if he’d just pull up stakes and leave.”
“Who’s he taking orders from at this point?” asked Falcone.
Brad studied the Seaport once again and saw Zhang’s vehicle lead a three-Humvee procession across the Seaport Boulevard bridge and right onto Atlantic Avenue. The two men were scheduled to meet at noon in the center of Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park. After the meeting was set, Brad immediately sent teams to the adjacent buildings on Long Wharf and the Commercial Wharf complex to secure the perimeter. Brad preferred an open meeting space, as long as his men occupied the high ground surrounding the location.
“Let’s meet this general,” said Brad as he handed the binoculars back to Falcone.
They bounded down the stairwell of the Boston Marriott until they reached the lobby. Two Marines awaited his arrival and advised Brad that the meeting appeared to be secure. Brad took a deep breath, adjusted his Kevlar vest, and walked into the cold November day.
Snow flurries swirled in the air around him as Brad walked down the brick paver walkway toward the frozen-over water fountain. Once a favorite spot of downtown brown-baggers at lunchtime, the circular fountain area was now occupied by turned-over trash cans and wilted plant material.
General Zhang’s five-foot-six frame surprised Brad. Despite his advanced age, the general appeared to be unfazed by the unseasonably cold fall day. He stood stoic, alone, waiting for his nemesis.
Brad, despite the adversarial circumstances, intended to treat Zhang with respect. Brad approached the man and extended his hand. Zhang stepped to meet Brad and shook his hand, with a slight bow. “I am Major General Zhang Wei.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Bradlee.”
“Colonel, my forces are in an awkward situation here in your city. I am still operating under orders from Geneva to serve the governor of this region, James O’Brien. O’Brien has not contacted me since November eighth. His liaison
, Mr. Pearson, is also nowhere to be found.”
“I have an idea, General,” said Brad. “You can pack up your men and equipment and sail back to Europe.”
“I cannot leave without the proper orders,” replied the general.
“May I suggest this, General. Order your men to stand down during your occupation of the Seaport. No more patrols, and no hostilities on American soil. Once your orders come through, then you can leave peacefully.”
General Zhang stood a little taller in his boots. “No, I have orders to secure this city. I must do my duty until informed otherwise.”
Brad stared at the man, who was easily a foot shorter than he. He had to admire a soldier who held his ground when all the events surrounding his command pointed to the contrary. Brad also knew that sometimes soldiers could make decisions that were smarter than the orders they’d been given. He decided to give it one last try.
“General, you are on foreign soil as an occupying military force. On behalf of the people of Boston and Massachusetts, I urge you to reconsider. I will give you ten days to leave our country.”
General Zhang turned and walked away without providing Brad a response.
Chapter 8
Sunday, November 20, 2016
5:34 a.m.
Massachusetts General Hospital
Boston, Massachusetts
“I really wish you’d stay in the car, Jim,” said Marion La Rue as the two men led a couple of their associates up a back stairwell at Massachusets General Hospital. “There are still wounded people being treated from the State House shooting. Somebody might recognize you.”
“I wanna see this guy for myself,” said O’Brien. “I thought he was supposed to be released three weeks ago. What happened?”
