A short time later he woke to a light jostling of his shoulder.
“Mr. Madison, sir, we’ve landed in San Diego,” the flight attendant said. “Due to a high number of planes on the ground, we were rerouted to the main public terminal upon landing. Air traffic communications are back up, but all planes have been grounded. There’s been some sort of attack.”
Jeff roused himself from his sleep coma, not feeling refreshed at all. He struggled to his feet, grabbed his small carry-on bag, and headed out the door. Arrington, his ever present shadow, followed him.
An attack. That was never what you wanted to hear in an airport. Jeff walked through the main terminal at the San Diego International Airport and immediately knew things were not right. Instead of the usual mad shuffle of people rushing to catch their flights or waiting in lines, everyone was huddled around the airport TV screens. Jeff stood behind a dozen or so spectators staring at a CNN news reporter talking from a mountain peak and pointing behind her to a thick, dark plume spreading through the clear blue sky.
On the screen, below the report, the crawl read, “Nuclear bomb explodes over Montana. All communication and electronics destroyed over hundreds of miles. President to address the nation.”
Shit. They actually did it.
Jeff suspected Paulson and his team had some plan in place for the nanobot swarm. But he never thought they’d actually ever have to go through with it, at least not for another thirty-six years. Apparently the swarm had found whatever it was looking for and began to divide and spread. Jeff could only hope they’d been able to destroy all the foul creatures. If even one functioning nanobot remained, then the nuclear blast would’ve been for nothing.
Around him people were gasping in shock. One woman cried as her husband or boyfriend put his arm around her. A man in a business suit looked at Jeff and said, “Is this the end of the world?”
“No, that’s not going to happen for another thirty-six years,” Jeff said solemnly.
The businessman scrunched up his eyes and backed away.
The scene on the TV changed over to an empty podium and a room full of reporters. The White House briefing room. President Bush walked out, a grim look on his face, and stood behind the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, today our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a deadly act of terror. An unknown group or groups were able to acquire a nuclear warhead and launch it from what we believe was an old modified Thor intermediate-range ballistic missile. It was launched toward major population centers in the U.S. and was intended to kill millions of Americans.”
Bush paused to look down at his notes.
“I am proud to say that our military was able to successfully engage and destroy this warhead in flight before it reached any major U.S. city. However, the warhead was armed and did detonate at a high altitude, generating an electromagnetic pulse wave. This wave has affected electronics and communications over an estimated five-hundred-mile radius. The immediate disruption of power and communication has resulted in several thousand deaths as planes lost power and crashed, and cars and trucks abruptly ceased operating, causing numerous collisions and traffic fatalities. Information is still coming in, but right now all electronic circuits in the blast radius have been completely destroyed. We ask that all citizens remain in their homes and refrain from travel as much as possible. We are working hard to restore power and other essential services. I’ve called the National Guard into the affected areas and deployed several military battalions to maintain order. A five-hundred-mile zone has been declared a federal disaster area, extending out to Portland in the west, the Canadian border in the north, Denver to the south, and Minneapolis to the east.”
Bush paused again, anger in his eyes as he stared into the camera. Jeff felt the president was glaring right into his eyes.
“This act of terror was intended to frighten our nation into chaos and retreat. But they have failed. Our country is strong. A great people has been moved to defend a great nation. I pray that we all will be comforted by a power greater than any of us, spoken of in Psalm twenty-three: ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me.’ Thank you. Good evening and God bless America.”
Bush walked away from the cameras and exited through the side door as reporters yelled out questions. The group Jeff was standing with stayed silent for a moment, then everyone started talking at once. Many pulled out cellphones to contact loved ones, banging away at the keypads in frustration, apparently not able to get through.
Jeff pulled out his own portable to see if he could get Chen or Paulson, to see exactly what had happened. There was no connection. Even routing communications through his company’s satellite, he still had no luck. It seemed ground communications crisscrossing the U.S. were down, as were satellites, casualties of the EMP blast.
The tracking function on his portable was still working. However, the strange nanobot signal had grown fainter. It would be harder to find now. Maybe it, whatever it was, had been injured from the blast. Or maybe it just realized that its friends had been destroyed, and so it was hiding.
Jeff thought about the nuclear blast for a second as he walked away from the TV screen. If there was any consolation at all, it was that the explosion took place over a relatively unpopulated area. If it had happened over the Eastern seaboard, near New York, there’d have been massive blackouts and unimaginable chaos.
“Let’s get a car,” Jeff said to Arrington.
“Already done, sir. There’s a Town Car waiting for you right now.”
Always so efficient, that Arrington. He was an ex-marine with over a decade of private-security experience. He’d been working for Jeff about three years now. The men walked out of the airport and got into the car, Arrington driving and Jeff in the back. Jeff tried to get a more accurate location for the signal on his portable.
“South Twenty-eighth and Ocean View Boulevard. I’m not sure of the exact location, but that should get us close enough.”
Jeff hoped when they were within range, the signal would grow strong enough for him to get an exact track on it. Otherwise this little adventure would turn into a wild goose chase.
There was also a nagging worry in the back of his mind that maybe he should have backup. It was just him and Arrington, who carried a sidearm. But if there was some kind of nanobot here, the gun wouldn’t do them any good. They needed an EM pulse weapon at the least.
Jeff thought about waiting for backup again. There really wasn’t any time. He needed to see what had been activated by the nanobot swarm. Once he knew, he could either try to take it on himself or call in reinforcements. But if he waited, it had more time to go back into hiding, ready to strike another day.
They drove out of the airport, southeast along the waterfront. Palm trees dotted the narrow strips of land between the concrete and asphalt of the highway. The road ran along a gorgeous blue harbor full of sailboats. A huge cruise ship was docked in the distance, waiting for excited vacationers to board. As they drove, the glitzy, glass high-rises of downtown gave way to small homes and neighborhoods.
They quickly arrived at their destination. Jeff pulled up information on their location. The area was Logan Heights, not a place they wanted to be. The barrio of Logan Heights was notorious for its gang that took the same name. They were over four-hundred-members strong and extremely violent, often serving as hit men and enforcers for Tijuana cartels smuggling drugs over the Mexican border just fifteen miles away.
Jeff sure as hell didn’t want to run into any gang members, and he could tell from the graffiti on the walls of every building that he and Arrington were right in the middle of their turf.
“Where to now?” Arrington asked as he stopped on the corner of South Twenty-eighth.
Rows of small homes surrounded by chain-link fences filled the sides of the road in front of them. The signal was stronger here, but Jeff couldn’t get an exact read.
“Make a right here,” he said.
Arrington turned the car and said, “Sir, it would help if I knew what it was we were looking for. If you need a quick pick-me-up, then perhaps we should go through the usual channels.”
Arrington thought they were there to buy drugs. He knew Jeff well and when Jeff needed something, he had a go-to guy for it. A billionaire playboy couldn’t be seen out in some poor barrio scoring drugs.
“No, Chase, it’s not that. This is business related.” Jeff tried to think of a plausible story. “There was some technology recently stolen from one of my rivals. I’ve been able to track it to this neighborhood. We need to retrieve it if we can.”
Arrington gave him a wary look through the rear-view mirror. He didn’t usually ask a lot of questions, but Jeff could tell he was thinking they might be in for some trouble.
As they drove, the signal started to grow stronger, then it faded.
“Go back and make a left there.” Jeff leaned forward from the back seat and pointed.
They turned at the stop sign and drove past a run-down two-story, apartment building surrounded by small houses with tiny white-picket fences. The signal weakened again as they continued.
“Back up.”
It wasn’t exact science, but the signal seemed to be the strongest right in front of the apartment building. The structure was split up into four units, two on top and two on the bottom. A staircase ran along the side to the second floor, and dead grass and scattered weeds peppered the front yard.
“Park over there,” Jeff ordered.
“And then?” Arrington asked.
Jeff really wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what the hell had signaled the other nanobots and why it would be in Logan Heights, San Diego, in a tiny apartment building.
“We wait.”
As the minutes passed, Jeff found himself dozing off again. He woke up to Arrington’s voice.
“Sir, there’re some kids coming home from school. A few are entering the apartment building.”
Jeff checked the time—3:45 p.m. He studied the kids. They were young teenagers, likely sons and daughters of Mexican immigrants. They all stared at the Town Car as they walked by. It was certainly out of place in the neighborhood where everyone knew each other’s cars. Several of the kids pointed at them. One boy yelled to someone down an alleyway, gesturing and glancing at their car the whole time.
“We might need to move pretty soon, sir,” Arrington said firmly. “I have a strong feeling we’re going to get some company.”
Jeff watched the group closely, looking for anything out of the ordinary. One boy was lighter skinned than the others and had sandy-colored brown hair instead of the dark black that indicated Hispanic descent. He walked up the stairs of the apartment building and went inside. He came out a minute later, this time with his skateboard in hand, ran down the stairs, hoped on the board, and rolled down the street. He still had on his school backpack.
A slow beep from Jeff’s portable indicated the signal was fading.
“Follow the kid on the skateboard.”
Arrington pulled out of his parking spot just as several large muscular men in tight white tank tops and baggy jeans rounded the block. They were heavily tattooed and looked angry. They were likely the neighborhood enforcement crew who took it upon themselves to keep out strangers like Jeff and his bodyguard.
Arrington followed the skateboarder slowly at a safe distance. The kid was wearing head phones and didn’t seem to notice them. They followed for several blocks, crossing over the interstate until they eventually came to Chicano Park.
The park was probably eight acres, part of which ran under the San Diego-Coronado Bridge, and was covered with various earthwork-type art and murals. The grounds were neatly manicured, with palms and other tropical trees planted in orderly rows. Despite the park-like feel, Jeff could sense a gritty undertone. Gang-style graffiti crept into certain sections of the park, growing like insidious crabgrass into the areas with the elaborate murals depicting Mexican culture.
Arrington stopped the car on the outskirts of the park. They watched the skateboarder join a group of kids and walk past some swing sets, slides, and jungle gyms.
“We should get out here,” Jeff said. He thought briefly about just sitting in the car and observing, but at this point, time was a factor. He needed to find out what had sent the signal to the nanobots and he needed to find out fast. If there were more of the creatures around, every second he wasted being cautious and over-thinking would mean more opportunities for the little bastards to breed and spread.
Jeff and Arrington strode into the park, dodging playful screaming children and the occasional dog chasing a ball. At the far end of the park, under the concrete and asphalt of the highway overpass, was a makeshift skateboarding area. Zooming in and out of the concrete columns supporting the interstate, about a dozen teenagers were trying their best to look rebellious.
“Over there,” Jeff said, nodding in the direction of the skaters.
“What are we going to do, sir?”
Jeff wasn’t really sure. He knew the signal was coming from the boy, but he didn’t know what that meant. The teenagers eyed them suspiciously as they approached. They didn’t exactly blend in, two white guys in a Latino park in a poor section of town. To top things off, Arrington was wearing a business suit and tie, and Jeff had on a white dress shirt and tuxedo paints from his night of partying.
Jeff decided to use a direct and bold approach. Perhaps it was his addled mind still craving a quick hit of coke or a swig of Jack, or maybe it was just the urgent pressure and fear that hit him when he learned the nanobots were on the loose again.
He walked right up to the kid they’d been following.
“Son, we need to talk to you for a second. Can you come over here with us?”
“Quiénes son estas perras?” one of the teenagers said.
Jeff knew enough Spanish to recognize the phrase; they’d just been tagged as bitches.
“You know these guys, Mateo?” one of the larger teen boys asked the skateboarder in a thick accent.
The boy shook his head, staring intently at Jeff and Arrington.
“What then?” another teen yelled out. ”You two pedophiles looking for a little boy?”
“Why don’t you putas head back to the accounting office,” said another, getting a laugh out of the group. “We got nothing for you here. We know all the cops, and you two ain’t cops.”
By that time the group of men from neighborhood enforcement had reached the park. They walked over and immediately circled Jeff and Arrington. One guy with a shaved head and long black goatee that came to a point on his chin sauntered over to pose in front of them. He wore a white tank top, and his arms, chest, and neck were covered in angry tattoos. He eyed Jeff and Arrington closely, studying them up and down, then approached Jeff, stopping inches from his face.
Staring him right in the eyes, unblinking, he asked, “What do you want?”
Arrington was edgy, and Jeff could feel his tension. He could pull his weapon out at any second and this could get real ugly, real quick. Jeff wasn’t intimidated by the ganger, but he did know that in this neighborhood, at this moment, the young man was the boss.
Jeff smiled and held up his hands. “We meant you no disrespect. I’m sorry we had to come into your neighborhood like this, with no introductions. But this boy here”—Jeff pointed at the skateboarder—“he has something of mine, and I want it back.”
The younger teens gathered up around the skateboarder to protect him.
“You mean little preacher boy? Mattie? That kid is about as straight as they come. What’d he steal from you?”
“I didn’t take nothing from him, Pacho,” the skateboarder, Mattie, said.
“That’s our business,” Jeff said firmly. “I’d like to talk to him in private.”
The tattooed man’s eyes narrowed, and his head tilted slightly. He leaned in even closer, and Jeff could feel his breath on his face. Arringt
on took a step closer too.
“You better step the fuck back, bitch,” Pacho said to Arrington. “And you, you don’t order me to do shit, motherfucker! I’m not going to ask you again—what did he steal from you?”
“My watch,” Jeff blurted out the first thing he could think of. “I think he’s got it on him now, maybe in his bag.”
Pacho just laughed. “You mean to tell me you came all the way out here just to get your watch back? You and your little bitch look like you could buy ten Rolexes with just what’s in your wallets right now. Plus it looks like you’ve already got a new one.”
He pointed at Jeff’s portable, carefully disguised as a cheap digital watch.
“Tell you what. Why don’t I help you get your watch back for a little finder’s fee?”
Jeff knew where this was going, but he hoped he could talk his way out of it.
“How about five hundred?”
“How about you give me everything you got?” Pacho shot back with a smirk on his face. The other members of his group nodded in unison. “Then maybe I’ll think about letting you out of my barrio with your balls still attached.”
Jeff handed over his wallet and nodded for Arrington to do the same. Jeff guessed he had maybe five thousand in there, left over from the stash he took to Vegas. Pacho pulled out all the money and stuffed most of it into his pocket.
“Ooooo, there some rich motherfuckers here,” Pacho said as he passed a couple bills to his friends. “I feel like motherfucking Robin Hood.”
All the teenagers and men laughed.
“And you?” Pacho stood in front of Arrington.
Arrington looked angry and hesitated before handing over his wallet. When Pacho tried to take it, Arrington held on a little too long and a little too tightly. Pacho yanked it away and stared coldly at him.
“You better rein in your little bitch here, jefe,” he said to Jeff before turning back to Arrington. The two men stared each other down.
“What the fuck you looking at, bitch?”
NanoSwarm: Extermination Day Book Two Page 7
