The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  He had gotten all the photos he needed. Best to leave. There was no way to know who to help, anyway. The mayhem was incredible; one faction fighting another, and all tearing the neighborhood apart. Even the police and other first responders were helpless. The streets were too jammed for their vehicles to navigate. The few brave officers who managed to penetrate on foot were now surrounded and forced to use rubber bullets to drive back the crowd.

  Joshua was about to leave when he saw Kamal standing off to the side, whipping up the crowd with shouts of “Roast the pigs.” The faces around him were frenzied. Terrifyingly so; beyond the point where cold, solid reason mattered anymore.

  This time there was no Cassy to worry about. This time he would get his man. He inched his way closer, all the while keeping his finger on the trigger of his concealed weapon. Two more steps and he pulled the gun from his pocket. Another step and he took aim. And when he did, Kamal turned and looked straight at him.

  The look was unmistakable. It was one of recognition. Kamal knew who he was though Joshua didn’t know how. Kamal signaled two men and at once, Joshua felt something rip into his back. The pain was searing and almost knocked him to his knees.

  By the time he steadied himself, Kamal and his men were gone.

  Joshua pocketed the gun then inched his way to the car. The back of his sweatshirt clung to him; a heavy, sticky kind of clinging. He was losing blood, a lot of it. He’d go to his apartment where he had a medical emergency kit complete with liquid stitches. Then he’d call David.

  The last thing he needed was to be questioned by the police while packing his Beretta.

  • • •

  “What are you doing here?” Joshua said, propping himself against the wall to keep from falling. He scowled at Cassy who stood barring his apartment door. She was the last person he wanted to see now.

  “I knew you’d go to the riot! When I saw the coverage on TV I came right over. I’ve been waiting here for hours.” She took the keys from Joshua’s hand and unlocked the door. “You look terrible.” She turned back to study him closer. “Good grief, Joshua! You should be at a hospital. You’re covered in blood!”

  Joshua shook his head. “Too many questions to answer.” He reached out a shaking hand. “Help me in. I’ve got some stuff that will stop the bleeding until my brother gets here.”

  “You could have internal injuries. You could need surgery. You could . . . .”

  “For once in your life don’t argue. I’ve seen enough combat to know the wound is superficial. It’s not life threatening unless I don’t stop this bleeding. Now, will you help or not?”

  Cassy slipped her arm under Joshua’s and nodded. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

  • • •

  Trisha, are you alright?”

  “Fine. Why, Daniel?”

  “You haven’t heard what’s going on?”

  Trisha pressed her cell phone tighter to her ear. “No. Tell me.”

  “Over a hundred people were brought to the hospital last night as a result of the rioting. Half of lower Everman was burnt to the ground. Twenty people are dead, including four police. And the authorities think there could be a hundred more dead in the destroyed buildings. I’ve never seen anything like it. How could you not know? Don’t you get cable where you are?”

  “Yes, but I worked most of the night and slept the rest. But are you okay, Daniel? And what about Joshua?”

  “I’m fine, just exhausted. And Joshua sends his regards.”

  “He’s there with you? At the hospital?”

  “No. His apartment. I just sewed him up. Thirty stitches this time. Someone sliced him with a knife.”

  “At campaign headquarters?”

  “No, the numskull put himself in the thick of things. Seems he was taking pictures of the riot.”

  Trisha had been making her way to the coffee corner and after reaching it, sat in one of the chairs. “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he? No internal injuries?”

  “Other than being sore from my needlework and the black eye I’m thinking of giving him for being such a fool, he’s fine.”

  “Why in the world did he take such a chance just for a few photos?”

  “He’s giving me the evil eye and wants me to change the subject so I better. I’ve been thinking about what you told me the last time you were here. Remember? On the way to Joshua’s house?”

  Trisha took a deep breath. “Yes. I said I was in love with someone.”

  “Any changes?”

  “No.”

  “Just asking because I had always hoped that someday it would be me. I guess that dream is dead.”

  “Daniel I love you like a . . . .”

  “Don’t say it! Please. I guess it was inevitable . . . that you’d find someone who wasn’t as safe as me and then fall for him. Someone who’d give you a run for your money. Anyone I know?”

  “Daniel, the world is tearing itself apart. Our love lives seem insignificant in comparison. Why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because a name will make it more real to me . . . give me closure. Help me get over you. Help me move on. And I need to with what’s happening around us. Just give me that, Trisha.”

  Trisha slumped forward in her chair and closed her eyes. “It’s my boss, Michael Patterson.” The silence on the other end lasted so long that Trisha thought Daniel had hung up.

  “Now, that’s the second shock I’ve had today,” he finally said. “And from the two people I love most.”

  “I’m sorry, Daniel. I never meant to . . . . But what shock did Joshua give you? Are you talking about his knife wound?”

  “No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Then the phone went dead.

  • • •

  That night, Mike, Trisha and Buck stood huddled around the TV in Trisha’s room listening to the press conference President Thaddeus Baker had scheduled for 9 P.M.. They had expected it to be about the recent nation-wide riots that partially leveled three major cities.

  They were only half right.

  Trisha was the first to collapse in a chair, but Mike and Buck soon followed as President Baker claimed his emergency powers and declared martial law. He then went on to detail how life was about to change; that a nightly curfew would be enforced by armed military patrols, and that the upcoming presidential election, just two short weeks away, was suspended indefinitely.

  • • •

  Trisha stood off to the side as a gentle zephyr carried the smell of ocean and sent it swirling around the hangar like a dervish dancer. The distant cry of gulls was drowned out by the squeaking of the huge, overhead cranes as they moved the empennage into place and by shouting men running along the scaffolding.

  Slowly, the scaffolding and crane slid over the cylindrical body of the P2 like a table over a chair, and a dull thud told Trisha that both empennage and wings were ready to be secured. Then a symphony of air hammers and drills filled the hangar.

  Someone shouted, “She’s on! She’s secure!” And not even last night’s news about martial law could dampen Trisha’s joy.

  The empennage, like a shark’s fin, rose high over the sleek bullet-like back, while the wings flared out like two great fans against the sides. The P2 was beautiful and sleek. But she was resilient, too, resilient enough to endure the supersonic speeds that her reactors would put her through, the ones Audra was sure to complete soon, judging by her amazing success so far.

  Everything was going well.

  • • •

  Hours later, after everyone was long gone, Trisha finished her paperwork and left the hangar. It was way past curfew but Peter Meyers, who knew of their crazy hours, had sent a courier with special passes for them to use if stopped by the military patrols.

  When she reached the Sea Breeze, she took a detour before heading for her room and tapped on a do
or she had never entered before. “You in, Audra?”

  The door opened in jerks. “Oh . . . Trisha . . . come in.” Audra patted her matted hair. “I . . . wasn’t expecting company. Excuse the mess.” She picked up an empty wine bottle from the floor and hurriedly tossed it into a small garbage pail. Another empty bottle stood on the coffee table. “Sorry I can’t offer you anything, but I’m all out.”

  Trisha smiled. “I guess a lot of people are celebrating tonight. It was wonderful, wasn’t it? Seeing the P2 coming together. And we’re all so proud of you, Audra.”

  “Look, Trisha, please don’t be offended, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  “I understand.” Trisha felt the familiar disappointment. No matter how much she tried to forge a friendship between them, nothing worked; not her invitations to lunch, not her friendly manner or polite conversations. Nothing. It was obvious Audra didn’t like her.

  Trisha had experienced this before, being disliked without cause. At one time, such unwarranted hostility hurt. And it had puzzled her until finally, in high school, she had asked her father about it. “Trisha,” he had said in his customary good-natured way, “you mustn’t expect to be liked by everyone.” His remark had stunned her and she returned by saying, “But why. I like everyone.”

  She thought of his kind face now, of his response: “You’ll learn lass, that people who like themselves tend to like everyone else as well.”

  Over the years she had come to learn her father was right, and no longer took rejection personally. And being disliked by someone never prevented her from liking them just the same.

  Now, as she stood in the doorway she pushed her disappointment aside and smiled. “I’ll keep my visit short. I’m here at Michael Patterson’s request. He asked me to speak to you.”

  Audra’s face paled as she eyed the empty bottle on the table. “Well, if someone is making a fuss about my going to the liquor store from time to time and getting a few bottles of . . . .”

  “It seems that PA has recently been plagued by an industrial spy.” Trisha refrained from referring to Azad Hosseini or mentioning Robert Gunther. “We believe the problem is resolved, but Mike wants you to take special care of your notes. Don’t leave them or your laptop lying around the hangar or in here, unattended.”

  When Trisha saw Audra’s face grimace as though she was going to heave, she nodded. “I know. That’s how I felt when I first heard. But don’t worry, Mike is handling everything. Just take precautions.”

  “I will, Trisha,” Audra mumbled almost incoherently. “I . . . I’ll be careful.”

  • • •

  Joshua and Cassy sat behind closed doors in the senator’s office. Senator Merrill was in D.C. along with his party’s chairman and a huge delegation protesting President Baker’s martial law. Most of the volunteers at campaign headquarters had quit, but most of the paid staffers were still there trying to figure out their next move or if there even was one.

  “I’m in!” Joshua said, smiling at Cassy and secretly pleased he was the first to crack the security code.

  She rose from her place on the opposite side of the desk to peer over his shoulder. Her hand briefly touched his as she watched him maneuver through the Tafco Oil database on his laptop. They had been trying to hack into it for the past twenty hours, ever since President Baker declared martial law.

  “Don’t get too cocky, mister. I was almost there myself.” When she tapped his back, he flinched. “Oh, sorry. Forgot about your new trophy.”

  “Trophy?”

  “Your thirty stitches. From playing the hero.” Her face was crunched in a frown but there was concern in her eyes. “And I really really dislike heroes.”

  “I had to do my job, Cassy. And speaking of job, did I say ‘thank you’ for the great job you did patching me up? As it turned out, it was a good thing you were there. I may not have been able to stop the bleeding myself.”

  “Well . . . you can thank that little spray bottle of yours. What did you call it, liquid stitches? But don’t try to change the subject. I haven’t finished my tirade. Just what did you hope to accomplish? You’re only one person. One little person against a crowd of out-of-control terrorists.”

  “King David was only one little shepherd and he killed Goliath,” Joshua returned with a smile.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not dating or anything, that’s all I can say. Because I wouldn’t put up with it. If you think I’m going to walk the floors every night worrying about you, you have another thing coming!”

  “Stop babbling and help me out here. There’s a file with an added layer of security I’m having trouble accessing so get on your laptop and start . . . .”

  “Fine! But let’s be clear. I’m not interested in you and never will be. I’ll never fall for another hero again.” Cassy sat down and began pounding keys. “I’ll never fall in love with someone who’s in danger all the time.” When Joshua didn’t answer she added, “So . . . what was your girlfriend like?”

  Joshua sighed. “I’ve already told you—beautiful, funny, smart.”

  “And how exactly did she die? I know Kamal killed her, but what happened?”

  “Cassy!”

  “Just tell me and I’ll never ask again, I swear.” She paused and looked up at him. “It’s hard competing with a memory, you know. Someone who’ll never disappoint you again, never say the wrong things, never annoy you.”

  Joshua leaned one elbow on the desk and frowned. It still hurt to talk about Rachel. He glanced at the pretty woman across from him and by the look on her face knew she wasn’t going to let it go. “Rachel was in Mosul helping an international group set up a school for girls when ISIS attacked. I had pleaded with her to get out long before this, but she didn’t think there was any danger. Like I said, she could be stubborn. She thought the Iraqi forces would stand and fight. They didn’t. Kamal had just declared jihad on all western teachers and his band had swooped in with the rest of ISIS. That was right before he claimed America as an Islamic state, calling it ISA, and moved his operations here.”

  “So was she killed in the fighting?”

  “No . . . Kamal beheaded her along with every other teacher there. Okay? Now not another peep.” When he turned back at his laptop, he was surprised to hear her crying.

  • • •

  Mike had never been so angry. “You can’t be serious!” he shouted at the man sitting across from him.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Peter Meyers said, adjusting the collar of his crisp JCPenny shirt. “Since 9/11 every president has been racking up more and more emergency powers. Baker declaring martial law has changed everything. The Constitution has been suspended. No one has any rights, now. Curfews are in place and the military patrol our streets. And the president can, if he needs to, seize private property.”

  “But why in the world would he want to seize my company!”

  “I didn’t say he was going to seize PA, I said he might. You’re now one of the leading companies in nuclear fusion. That should say it all. The government has a right to protect its interests and investments. Must I remind you that startup R&D for your current project was funded by several grants from dear old Uncle Sam? Right now, seizing your company is purely a rumor. I’m just giving you a heads-up.”

  “Well, I’d like to see anyone try taking PA!”

  “Don’t be a hothead, Mike. President Baker has the law on his side. Section 201, Priorities and Allocations Authorities gives him the right to ‘allocate materials, services, and facilities as deemed necessary or appropriate to promote the national defense,’ and there’s nothing you can do. Just sit tight. The National Continuity Coordinator is the Assistant to the President for Homeland Security and Counterterrorism. I know him well. I’ll know before most people if they plan to move on you.”

  • • •

  Joshua held Cassy in
his arms as she wept on his shoulder. “What kind of country do we live in?” she said, between sobs.

  “Right now, a very messed up one.”

  “I can’t believe they arrested him! How could they? On what authority? On what charge?” When Cassy pulled away, Joshua picked up the box of tissues from the desk and handed it to her. She blew her nose then sat down in her uncle’s chair.

  “I’ll have my people try to find out what camp they took him to. Maybe we can do something then.”

  Cassy shook her head. “This is unbelievable! Unbelievable! I would never have believed it if I hadn’t gotten the call from Uncle Phillip himself just before they took his phone. Can you believe it?”

  Joshua stood silent not wanting to tell her that yes he could, that it was poised to happen in the 50s when the FBI created “Plan C” for rounding up subversives, which under the current administration’s definition includes anyone “who can influence the lives of the population while undermining the authority of the state”—a broad, scary, open-ended definition.

  In the 50s the list of people needing to be interned during an emergency numbered 13,000. Now that list contained over eight million—the “Main Core” it was called.

  “Do you think it has anything to do with us hacking Tafco Oil?”

  “If it did, they would have come for us.” But even as he said it, Joshua was sure there was a connection. Their rooting around in Tafco’s database turned up damaging information. Its invoices to dummy corporations provided a trail showing Tafco had made a pact with the Devil. They were paying ISA, through an ISA agent, to protect their oil fields. But that wasn’t all. He and Cassy had found proof of government payments to Tafco for building five internment camps, though they hadn’t learned what Tafco got out of the deal.

  He was sure that one of the reasons Senator Merrill had been arrested was because the enemy didn’t know how much he knew or what proof he had obtained from his anonymous emailer.

  “Just sit tight,” Joshua said, bending over and kissing her on the forehead. “Maybe headquarters can come up with something.”