Grave Mistakes (The Grave Diggers Book 3)

by Chris Fritschi

  “I won’t even say who wins the coin toss,” chuckled Wesson.

  Fulton sat in front of Wesson’s desk on the sagging couch in the teams common room, staring at the TV in awe bordering on reverence. “We have TV,” said Fulton dreamily to Wesson. “I’m never going to bed, again.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  VULCAN 4

  High above the Earth cold moonlight shimmered across the Black and Mediterranean seas sharply contrasting the darken void of the surrounding continents. Civilizations betrayed themselves in clusters of lights that speckled the land like splatters of molten gold. A jagged red tendril of an uncontrolled wildfire snaked across the eastern plain of Siberia. There were not enough living to fight it.

  Indifferent to the breath-taking view the wide-band global SATCOM system WGS 7/1 satellite kept orbit at twenty two thousand, six hundred and eighty three miles above the Earth. Traveling at 1.9 miles a second the satellite, referred to as Vulcan 4, continued its solitary orbit as it had for several years.

  A primary platform for transmitting highly classified communications, Vulcan 4 belonged to the U.S. National Reconnaissance Office; one of the “big five” United States intelligence agencies including the NSA, CIA, DARPA and a host of others.

  Although the communication satellite was fully functional for another two years its diminishing fuel cells was deemed justification enough to fund, build and launch a newer, more advanced communications satellite.

  As such, Vulcan 4 was sent into the junkyard zone of high earth orbit until its replacement had passed the six months of testing and everyone was confident it was working and holding orbit. Once testing was complete Vulcan 4 would be sent a command to fire its maneuvering thrusters beyond earths orbit, where it would eventually feel the tug of the suns gravity. Over time the sun would reel in Vulcan 4 until the incredible heat vaporized it.

  At least that was the plan, but Vulcan 4, like many things, had been forgotten when death swept across the world in a terrifying hoard of remorseless carnage.

  When it started, before anyone could comprehend the magnitude what was happening, the undead, later named Victus Mortuus (Latin for living dead), or Vix, for short, were ripping though entire populations in a feeding frenzy throughout the world.

  For a while unimaginable theories and speculations grasped for a ‘how’ and ‘why’ at the origin and meaning of the Vix. Two years later the only indisputable truth was that the Vix had nearly exterminated the human race. It was believed that some countries had been entirely wiped out. That was the fate of South America. The tidal wave of undead grew in mass as it rolled across the continent.

  Science had long ago proven the speed and strength of the human body when it was unfettered from the fears, doubts and limitations of the mind. The raw power and frenzied savagery of the Vix was staggering and no one person could face them unarmed.

  While some cities and towns in America were overrun, others fought for their survival. People quickly realized running away only delayed a certain death. Subjugation, surrender, or negotiation didn’t exist to the Vix. Only gorging on the living.

  It was no surprise that some chose to horde and loot instead of taking their place alongside those risking their lives against the Vix. But that came to a sudden end when people began shooting looters on sight.

  Two years later the United States had survived, but was far from unscathed. Small towns and cities across the country ceased to exist. Agriculture and industries had been crippled.

  Most populations now existed in relative security within cities and towns surrounded with fortifications much like in medieval times. Outside the walls the Vix roamed and though there was talk their numbers had dwindled, at least locally, the Vix were an ever present danger.

  Nobody understood how, or why, but when a person died there was a 50/50 chance they could turn into a Vix. Science could not find an answer to this riddle. Because of this a death was as feared as a dirty bomb. Just like the bombs ability to spread deadly nuclear radiation the death from a lone Vix would multiply with every victim. Each victim becoming and spawning more Vix. An entire town could be wiped out if this cascade effect wasn’t stopped early enough. That wasn’t speculation. It had happened multiple times.

  Strict laws were enacted regarding a persons death. Those dying from disease were kept in restraints. Any fatality from unnatural causes had to be reported. Anyone who committed murder, but left the victim’s skull and brain intact would receive an automatic death sentence without the possibility of appeal.

  The rise of the Vix changed the world way beyond the obvious carnage of the human race. The Vix were the epicenter of a gargantuan butterfly effect working in reverse creating small, but significant ripple effects.

  One of these ripples stopped the scheduled jettison of Vulcan 4 out of Earth’s orbit because Derick Richards, the technician responsible for the demise of Vulcan 4 had had been eviscerated by the Vix in the middle of runway 19C of the Dulles International Airport as he hopelessly tried to flag down a taxing Boeing 7100.

  ***

  The login screen for the National Reconnaissance Office held none of the colorful embellishments, or exciting images of their public web page. Other than the agency’s logo the screen’s interface was barren except for the login fields. Female hands moved deftly over the keyboard typing characters into the computer. A tap of the ‘Return’ key and the screen changed to a list of menus.

  After navigating a warren of menus the user arrived at the satellite identification system. Under the title SAT-IS, the user began entering the search criteria for Vulcan 4. A moment later they were rewarded with a list of options. They selected number three; Status and Telemetry.

  The user’s slender fingers drummed lightly on the desk as she scanned Vulcan 4’s summary screen. Position, altitude, ground speed, tilt and more all reported in green assuring her that Vulcan 4 was alive and well.

  Next, the user scanned the menu options, in the form of cryptic acronyms, which cluttered the bottom of the screen until she found the desired option.

  SAT-GPOS headlined the next screen proving an automated guidance system. The woman replaced the current longitude and latitude with a new set of coordinates. Then changed the value of the current altitude to zero.

  Pressing ‘Return’ prompted the user with a verbose warning and highlighting ‘zero’ in bold, red. The warning finished by offering the user with two options, “press ESC to cancel or RETURN to proceed”.

  “What do you think?” she said to herself. After a moment of feigned indecision she pressed the ‘Return’ key.

  The command was accepted and added to the automated maintenance command queue system which managed the mundane operations of keeping satellites in their correct position, running utility tests and other redundant tasks deemed below the skill levels of the technicians.

  Seconds later the encrypted navigation commands were transmitted to Vulcan 4. In response, Vulcan 4 fired its number two and six navigation thrusters for less than a second and began its inevitable, and terminal, return to terra firma.

  Believing their job done, the user signed out, not knowing they had activated a small chunk of programming code. A local sub-routine embedded into the exiting programs for Vulcan 4. This wasn’t part of the original software, or an addition created by any of the programmers on staff with the NRO. The subroutine had been skillfully introduced through a back-door hack and had only one purpose. Send an alert if Vulcan 4 left its position.

  * * *

  Nathan’s phone sharply droned on the nightstand like an angry wasp trapped in a box. The screen lit the darkened bedroom in blue/white light. With something between a sigh and a groan Nathan rolled over and groped for his phone.

  “I’m getting it,” said Nathan as his hand blindly slapped the nightstand, feeling for his phone and sending a half empty water bottle bouncing off the floor.

  Cursing under his breath he grabbed the phone and brushing his light brown hair out of his face, he cracked
one eye open against the glare of the phone’s screen and read the message. What he read brought him fully awake and out of bed.

  As he stepped into his office the motion sensor checked the time at 2:18 AM and slowly brought up the room lights enough for Nathan to see his way around. The room consisted of a lone chair and wide desk crowded with computers and monitors.

  Pushing the chair out of the way, Nathan squinted his brown eyes against the bright computer screen and began typing commands. Within seconds Nathan was looking at the NRO navigation screen for Vulcan 4. Switching screens, he brought up the satellite’s communication status. In red letters it said OFFLINE.

  Pursing his lips he activated another monitor, pulling up Vulcan 4’s fuel status then cross-referenced its current location.

  His phone began buzzing and he spared it a resentful glance before returning his full attention to the computer screen. He requested a plot map of Vulcan 4’s reentry and point of impact.

  His phone went quite for only a second then rattled, again, on the desk with an incoming call. He ignored it. The phone buzzed twice more before Nathan’s computer screen displayed a graphed map of Vulcan 4’s flight path and estimated area of arrival. The phone went silent as he studied the map.

  Having seen everything the map had to tell him Nathan pulled his chair over and sat down with a groan, rubbing his stubbled face. Taking a deep breath he stared at the phone, waiting for the phone to renew it’s nagging. This time he answered the call.

  “We lost the signal,” snapped an angry voice.

  “I know,” said Nathan evenly. “Vul…”

  “What’s going on?”

  Nathan ignored the interruption and drew another deep breath. “Vulcan 4 has been moved.”

  “4 what?” demanded the voice. “I’m talking about the satellite. We can’t connect to it.”

  “Vulcan 4 is the satellite,” said Nathan. “Someone…”

  “I’m coming over.”

  Nathan sat forward. The situation just took an ominous turn. “I’ll get dressed.”

  The line was quiet for a long pause. Nathan could feel the wheels turning in the head of the person on the other end of the call until they broke the silence. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Nathan opened a new window on his monitor and began typing. “Does that even make sense?”

  “No.” The line went dead.

  On the screen, Nathan scrolled over and clicked on a skull and crossbones icon. A female voice spoke from the recessed speakers in the ceiling, “Identification required.”

  “Beware the Jabberwocky,” answered Nathan.

  “Identification accepted,” said the automated voice. “Jabberwocky activated. Your message has been sent successfully.”

  * * *

  Even though he was expecting it, Nathan jumped when someone pounded on his door. Opening the door, he stood out of the way, understanding his visitor was coming in whether he liked it or not.

  “What do you know?” the visitor demanded, walking past Nathan as if he wasn’t there.

  On the heels of the visitor entered another man who looked beyond Nathan. His stoney, blank face turned as he quickly scanned the room. The visitor stood in the middle of the room as his companion did a quick glance through each doorway. Satisfied, he stood with his back against a wall and settled his unflinching eyes on Nathan.

  “Hi Walt,” began Nathan.

  “Walter,” the visitor said. “What happened to our network?”

  “Walter,” said Nathan. “Vulcan 4, the satellite, has been moved.”

  Walter stared hard at Nathan while he rubbed his hands together as if grinding the life out of a bug. “Don’t waste my time making me ask questions.”

  Walter glowered at Nathan, but the short man in his rumpled suit and disheveled combover did not intimidate Nathan. It was who Walter represented that made him dangerous and Nathan understood he could toy with Walter only so much, but this time he had to take Walter deadly serious.

  * * *

  The year before, Walter had approached Nathan for a job that needed a “quiet touch”. He said he represented an investment company, whose name was unimportant. They needed someone skilled in bio-neural and quantum lattice crypto security.

  Nathan was unsettled that someone not only knew who he was, but they’d known where to find him. After every job Nathan burned his identity, dumped his equipment and relocated. He simply disappeared into a black hole. How they knew who and where he was meant he was dealing with powerful people and that kind of power meant they could be dangerous.

  But he was also intrigued. Crypto security meant working with seriously high-end systems available only to major corporations, governments and military. Nathan first suspected Walter was contracting out of a secret intel branch of the government. He took the job because the money was good, but his primary goal was to find out who they were and how they tracked him down. That was a hole in his personal security he was going to plug.

  Achieving his goals proved to be harder than he anticipated. Who ever these people were, they were good at keeping secrets. The jobs they gave him were always strongly compartmentalized, seemingly random, and unconnected. But Nathan was persistent and focused.

  Over time and careful not to leave any trace of his snooping, Nathan data mined anything related to the jobs they gave him. A location, business, a date and time of day, an employee, or a building, etc. He compiled everything associated with the subject of each job. He ran though millions of data points and thousands of computing hours, but found nothing. One thing he was convinced of was this wasn’t a government intelligence agency. They were good, but not that good. This was something deeper. Darker.

  The catalyst that led Nathan to the answers he was looking for began with an unremarkable, week old news story about the suicide of Mr. Billamy McGhee. It wasn’t his name that caught Nathan's attention, but the date. He’d been given a job the same day of the suicide. Break into the computer system for a metals testing lab and change the results for item #WEP-03B88 from fail to pass.

  Nathan zeroed in on Mr. McGhee, who it turned out was a stress analysis engineer and a contractor for the U.S. Military. Delving into McGhee’s electronic life, Nathan ignored the ordinary looking for anything out of place and he found it.

  Buried in an obscure cloud storage site, filed under a fake name, McGhee has stashed several recorded conversations.

  Scanning through the recordings Nathan learned someone was making McGhee fake test results, approve faulty weapon parts and inflate project budgets.

  It sounded like the typical sabotage corporations do to each other in order to steal contracts, etc., but as he listened to McGhee’s last recording he realized he was in the middle of something deadly serious.

  Billamy: What you’re telling me to do doesn’t make sense. How is putting defective, possibly hazardous, equipment in our military’s hands for the good of our country?

  Unknown voice: The government is defective and hazardous. It’s little pushes like the military losing confidence in the government that help add up and eventually weaken it enough for change.

  Billamy: Wait, weaken? You said The Ring was going to make the country better.

  Unknown voice: After the Vix gutted the leadership in our government things have gone from bad to worse.

  Billamy: Yeah, but undermining the government… we’re throwing gas on the fire.

  Unknown voice: Exactly. Look at fools running this country. Grade school teachers, insurance salesmen, community organizers. They’re children playing at being leaders. They have no vision, or courage to make meaningful decisions. We have to burn it down before we can put the right people in power.

  Billamy: Nobody said anything about burn…

  Unknown voice: Okay, poor choice of words. More like re-direct.

  Billamy: No. Don’t bullshit me. This isn’t about saving anything. You’re talking about a coup.

  Unknown voice: …

  Billamy:
Oh my gosh, I’m right.

  Unknown voice: Open your eyes, McGhee! The government is trying to tread water while holding on to an outdated anchor that only worked for the founding fathers. Voting the right people into power one at a time will take years, maybe generations. Do you honestly think the country has that long?

  Billamy: I’m not doing this. No way.

  Unknown voice: McGhee…

  Billamy: I’m done. Out. Don’t contact me again.

  Unknown voice: I want you to think long and hard before you make the wrong decision.

  Billamy: Is that… are you threatening me? I have insurance, you know. You even come near me and I’ll make sure everyone knows about The Ring and what they’re doing.

  Unknown voice: (long pause) That’s a mistake.

  The recording ended at 1:37 AM and Billamy McGhee was dead three hours later.

  A chill began to trickle through Nathan. The more he uncovered the deeper his dread deepened.

  The Ring was a secret organization that was quietly, subtly manipulating companies, individuals, organizations, banks, stocks, industries and politicians. Recruiting influencers, people of power, decision makers. Spreading its tendrils until it was in the perfect position to take power over America and he had been unwittingly helping in laying that foundation.

  Nathan was many things, but not a revolutionary. His first instinct was to disappear. He had a lot of experience with that. Burn his current identity, dump his equipment, scatter his electronic footprint, and fade away like smoke in the breeze. He’d be safe, but an uninvited voice in his head wouldn’t stop asking, for how long? They’d found him once. They might do it again.

  His absence wouldn’t stop The Ring. Someday they’d be powerful enough to make their move and take over the country. His mental picture of an totalitarian America holding complete power over everyone chilled him. They wouldn’t forget his desertion. He’d be on their wanted list.