EMP Resurgence (Dark New World, Book 7) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  “Of course,” Choony said.

  “Though, either way,” Lance said, “we don’t make the decisions.”

  Squirrel nodded. “My partner here is right. Our leader does what he has to do in the here and now so we can survive long enough to even have long-term goals. His only focus is what is best for Philadelphia, whether that means an alliance with New America, the Clan, or Maryland. Our job is just to gather the information and send it back to him so he can make the final decisions.”

  Jaz and Choony both nodded in unison. They understood all too well the men’s job description. Their leader, as ruthless as he may sound, was likely just as pragmatic as Cassy herself. How could they argue?

  “Though,” Lance said, “anything you can do to help us convince him that an alliance with the Clan or the Confederation is a good idea, we would sure appreciate.” He grinned and gave a quick wink at Jaz.

  Jaz knew that charm all too well. She used it all the time. In fact, she’d practically invented it, but the harm usually was in not playing along. She figured he wanted to sweeten the deal if at all possible. She understood and had a good idea of what she could offer to hook them.

  Jaz smiled back at Lance and leaned forward, lowering her voice, “The Clan does have access to much more we can offer.”

  Lance leaned in, meeting her gaze. “Like what?”

  “For starters, we could certainly spare a number of MilGrade weapons.” She raised her eyebrows. “We’ve also figured out how to get cars running again. Boy, those trucks would be awfully helpful in your new farms, wouldn’t they?”

  Jaz saw a glimmer in both men’s eyes. She continued, “I wonder whether the Maryland invaders are going to give you an armory and a fleet of working trucks.”

  Eyes big, Lance came out of their little huddle. “Well, I guess that could sway my leader’s decision in your favor a bit. I need to jot this down in my report. Believe me, I would much rather be allies with Americans than with Koreans.”

  Jaz grinned. “I totally understand.”

  “Listen, here’s how I see it,” Squirrel said. “Sounds like the Confederation has plenty to offer in terms of a deal. I’ll be honest in saying that I am interested in going over the finer details so my partner and I can write up a full report to send back to our leader. As I said before, he makes the final decision.”

  Jaz was elated. Hook, line, and sinker.

  Lance nodded and pushed back his chair. “Sound like a plan to me.” He turned to Jaz. “Well, perhaps the lovely Jaz and I could wander the market and she can show me the sites. Squirrel and I are new here, after all, and all those details just aren’t my forte.”

  Squirrel rolled his eyes as Lance got up.

  “Shall we?” Lance asked Jaz.

  Jaz didn’t really want to show him around—she wanted to stick around during the overview of the smaller details. But she knew she should play along.

  She rose from her chair and followed Lance to the door. She sensed this could actually be some sort of trick to separate Choony and herself but thought better of it. Lance was kind of a bozo, yet she couldn’t help but respect both men. They were tough—smart—and reminded her of the good people who made up Clanholme.

  As Jaz headed for the door just behind Lance, Squirrel said, “Jaz.”

  Jaz turned around. What, no ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ this time? she thought.

  Squirrel got up and approached her. “You’re a good negotiator. Tougher than I expected. I respect that.” He put out his hand to shake hers.

  Yes, her intuition was right—these were respectable men. She smiled and gave him a firm handshake.

  - 6 -

  0830 HOURS - ZERO DAY +614

  MARK ENTERED THE office and walked across the room, which had four desks with a computer on each, although only one seat was currently occupied. Behind one of the desks sat a woman in her thirties with long blonde hair.

  “Janice,” Mark said, reaching his hand out to shake hers.

  Janice stopped typing and turned to face him. She smiled and shook Mark’s hand firmly, making steady eye contact. “Hi, Mr. Bates. Nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “Please, call me Mark.”

  He dragged a nearby office chair over to her desk and sat down. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. His practiced eyes made him reasonably certain the information in the dossier had been correct. She had risen through the ranks on talent and drive—a woman he could respect.

  Although she had spent her teen years in Colorado before joining the Army in Signals Intelligence, her family was from Louisiana. They were still down there, if they were still among the living. She had reason to dislike General Houle’s policies and tactics down there along the Gulf Coast. One of Mark’s cell leaders had tagged her as a possible recruit.

  “I have that report you asked for, Mark,” Janice said. She reached down beside her desk and withdrew a folder, which she then slid across the desk toward him. “There were certain irregularities with the information request write up, but I guess at your rank, protocol is optional.”

  He nodded and slid the folder across the wooden desk, but didn’t pick it up yet. Now was the time to get to know his latest potential recruit.

  “So, you’re originally from Louisiana?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Janice said, her gaze shifting down and to her right. She stared blankly for a moment before continuing, “I have family there.”

  “Have you heard from them?”

  Janice sat silently.

  Mark continued, “Surely you’ve turned in a contact request form. I’m sure we have enough assets down there to make contact.”

  She said, “I imagine our troops down there have more important things to do than to look for one mid-level analyst’s wayward family.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Besides, Louisiana is a big place and my family has always been hard to find. That was true even before the war.”

  Mark nodded. “I’m sure the troops will keep trying,” he said, hoping to reassure her. The pain was written on her face, at least it was to anyone with the training Mark had. “On the other hand, some have said that Louisiana in particular is carrying more than their fair share of the burden in supporting our general’s efforts to reunite the country.”

  Janice’s eyes cut to Mark’s, and that’s when he knew he had her. So long as he didn’t screw it up now, she’d make a fabulous asset.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Mark continued. “You already know I head up the civilian liaison department between Houle’s military and the civilian contractors and residents, such as yourself.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What we don’t advertise is that I’m also heading up a department for the intelligence services. Particularly the CIA, but indirectly, also the DIA. It can be rough, balancing the demands of the two jobs, particularly where loyalties conflict, but I find a way to navigate those rough waters.”

  “I see,” Janice said. “That’s… interesting. You know, I’ve been approached by the DIA to handle some analyst work for them. Specifically, handling the deciphering of data related to what’s going on with the Midwest Republic.”

  Mark remembered seeing that detail in her dossier. They had approached her, and she had agreed to do the analyst work in her spare time. She had a lot of that, living in the bunker as a civilian. In fact, it was his own asset within that DIA sub-department that had alerted him to Janice’s potential as an asset. If he recruited her, he’d have a safe chain of communications between himself and the DIA.

  He said, “You know, that particular region has been a headache for the General for well over a year.”

  Janice nodded. “It’s a mess there.”

  “Were you aware of the abortive invasion attempt?” Mark asked.

  Janice shook her head and waited expectantly.

  Mark continued, “Not only did we send what airpower we could spare, we also diverted troops and especially vehicles from all over the contr
olled regions, sending them up there to fight. Houle’s allies, the Midwest Republic, had gotten in over their heads messing with a small group called the Confederation, based in south-central Pennsylvania. Unfortunately for many of our brave men and women in uniform, the plan was poorly thought out, poorly supplied, and they went in with limited intelligence. The result, as you can imagine, was disastrous. We lost a lot of assets in that so-called war. That was a bit less than a year ago. More like six months.”

  “My God,” Janice said. “How are we keeping control, then? We struggled to keep as much of civilization going as possible before that, but what about now? And where did we get the airpower?”

  “Unfortunately, that was all the airpower we could get. We no longer have air superiority because of that decision.”

  “How on Earth did they manage that?”

  “The method they used to defeat our airpower, vehicles, and ultimately our infantry forces is classified, but needless to say, it was very effective. We recovered less than ten percent of our original forces sent into the region.”

  “Wow. Ten percent?”

  Mark nodded. “Now the regions we stripped forces from to support that war find themselves destabilized.”

  “That would explain the uptick in bandit and cannibal activity over the last few months.”

  “Yes,” Mark replied, “pretty much our entire southern holdings are in turmoil, and our military personnel stationed in those regions are fatigued from being in a constant state of readiness, due to the increased danger. Our losses are mounting, yet our leadership has, for whatever reason, declared their determination to hold every last inch of territory we previously controlled.”

  Janice looked suddenly wary. “You do know that in many of those regions, we only controlled the areas immediately around our prefab firebases in the first place, right?”

  Bingo. Mark was fairly sure he’d found his ‘in’ with her at last. “Yes. And there are some who say—in private, of course—that we should pull back our borders so we can increase troop densities in the remaining controlled territory. But I’m curious to see what you think of all this.”

  Janice took a deep breath, but Mark suspected she was buying time to think of an answer.

  Mark cleared his throat.

  Janice hesitated a moment longer, then said, “Do you think perhaps the General isn’t being given all the pertinent information?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m just trying to understand why he made the decisions he made. Of course, I’m not questioning his leadership—I want to make that clear.”

  Mark said, “You wouldn’t be the first to do so. But some have said they feel it’s equally likely that he did have all the available information and simply had an overall objective that’s different from the rest of the people in the base.”

  “I see.”

  Mark shrugged. “People are entitled to their opinions, of course. My main concern, though, is the fact that your family is down there.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “If they live, they are the ones dealing with the consequences. Actually, I wonder, is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Given the personal recommendations I’ve received about you from people I trust, it seems the least I could do is offer to help in some way.”

  Now came the easy part—simply waiting for her to speak first. If she did, then odds were good she was internalizing what he’d said and was considering it.

  After a long silence, Janice said, “If you’re serious, Mr. Bates, I guess I would be really grateful if I could at least get some closure about my family. I’m not sure what you can do about it, though.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help, either, but I do know how to find out. I’ll tell you what—write down their names, last known addresses, any other places they might be such as a vacation home, and their Social Security numbers. If you have photos of any of them, you should make copies.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then, during fourth shift, take the paper and any photos to the CIA’s radio cubicle and ask for Tom Smith. Hand him what you have and say, ‘Here’s that weather report you asked for. The Navajos ought to like this.’ ”

  “Got it.”

  “Do that, and they’ll make sure we begin allocating whatever resources are available to go look for them.”

  Janice’s eyes lit up but she remained outwardly collected by giving a slight nod of appreciation.

  “I make no promises,” Mark continued, “and I’m sorry to say the odds aren’t good, but at least it’s something. Better than nothing. But if we do find them—any of them—I’ll make sure they head this way on the next transport available.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bates.”

  “It’s the least I can do for someone on my team, right?”

  Janice took a deep breath and nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

  “Of course, there’s no pressure,” Mark said. “My team isn’t about office politics or hostile takeovers of other people’s staff silos. It’s about getting things done—the things that need to get done, not just the things certain other people decide should be our priorities.”

  “Good.”

  “In return for doing what I can to help, I’m not asking you to do much. All I ask for now is that you just make sure I get a copy of anything you think I might be interested in. I leave that up to your judgment.”

  Janice turned to stare at her computer monitor, which had gone black from entering sleep mode during their conversation. She paused then said, “Actually, I do have something you might be interested in…”

  Opening a desk drawer, she pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Mark. “Obviously, I didn’t just give this to you, although I’m sure you have the security clearance. It’s just that Chief Banez gave me specific instructions to deliver this to him directly, whenever it came in. I made a copy, of course. For the official file… Would you mind putting it in the department backup storage for me, when you get a chance?”

  Mark rose from his chair. “Of course. Anything I can do to help,” he said with a wink.

  They made their polite farewells, then Mark headed for the door while Janice turned back to her computer, moving the mouse to take it out of sleep mode.

  At the doorway, Mark stopped. He turned back to her and said, “It goes without saying that our efforts to find your family will go a lot smoother if I don’t have to waste time explaining it to some petty bureau chief or other. Maybe you should just keep our conversation between us, okay?”

  “Of course, Mr. Bates.”

  Then he walked out, closing the door behind him. Folders in hand, he strolled back toward his personal quarters, a bounce in his step. That particular analyst had chain-of-communications access to so much of what flowed to both CIA and DIA. If she was any good at being a spook, he was about to have an entirely new, independent source of information. Information was power—the power to get things done the right way, the power to mitigate the damage Houle had been doing, running amok.

  And if Mark got really lucky, he’d find a way to get in touch with so-called President Taggart, halfway across the country in New America. But for now that was only a pipe dream.

  Of course, getting an asset within the CIA/DIA communications chain had been only a pipe dream as of an hour ago.

  It was turning out to be a good day.

  * * *

  1900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +614

  That evening, Mark sat in his private office, feet up on his desk while leaning back in the office chair. He had a tumbler of whiskey next to him on the desk and the file Janice had given him in his hands, open. As he read, he let out a low whistle. A few of the details were obviously in some sort of code, but he had learned enough of the standard-use code words around there to understand most of what he read. It appeared to be an ordinary directive from Houle himself, specifically instructing the head of the DIA to enact Operation Clean Sweep. In
the document, the operation objective was referred to as “sweeping out the boiler room.” A chill ran down Mark’s spine, and he felt his heart pounding.

  Operation Clean Sweep, he knew, was a set of orders for a hypothetical, what-if scenario, one of many contingency plans the military was so fond of creating. There were such orders to cover almost every eventuality, the idea being that with a plan in place, if that situation ever did come up, the powers that be could respond quickly. At worst, the existing plan could be rapidly revised for the specific factors of a situation, rather than having to create it from scratch.

  These particular orders dealt with the possibility of a cabal of members of the Legislative Branch attempting a coup and how to quickly and quietly derail them and then deal with the traitors, all without stirring up the civilian populace.

  The problem with that, and the thing that made Mark’s heart thump hard in his chest, was that no such coup plot existed. Mark had access to most of the Intel files, and his position afforded him the opportunity to be spoon-fed the most important data coming through both CIA and DIA operating here at NORAD. If there was a coup even suspected by either of those agencies, he would likely know about it.

  In other words, there was no way Houle would know about a burgeoning coup plot before the intelligence agencies did. Hell, they were the ones that briefed Houle.

  “No way. Houle couldn’t be that stupid… Could he?” Mark muttered under his breath. He reached to grab his glass and downed the whiskey in one slug. Then he poured himself another. If ever there was a day to have another double, this was it. If this was really going down, it would happen soon.

  How could he stop it? The few dozen representatives who had made it to safety at NORAD, right before the EMPs fell, represented the last connection anyone had to the old America—the last, best hope of restoring the U.S. of A. Anyone who viewed them as enemies was by definition an enemy of the state.

  That made General Houle an enemy of the state.

  He sat for a moment in stunned silence, allowing that thought to sink in. Again, he asked himself how he could stop it. He brought his feet off the table and leaned forward to turn on his computer. When it booted up, he loaded his contacts list. Not the publicly available one that sat on his hard drive, but the hidden and encrypted one disguised as a graphics image. He let it decode and then pulled it up to go through the list of names. Could he trust anyone on this list? At any other time, the answer would have been a resounding yes, but with Houle engaging in what was probably treason, Mark wouldn’t be so foolish as to make his move alone and without support. Powerful people within the base must have given Houle their backing or that old man would never be brave enough to pursue so rash a course of action.