She handed him the old driver’s license, which listed her correct birthdate.
Justin studied the license and did the math. Now it was Justin’s turn to take a long, hard look at her.
“Roger only spoke of you a few times. Always with deep respect. Karen….” He let out a sigh. “Give me a moment.”
Justin reached for his Multiphone, pulled up the Enigma App, and sent a quick message to Roger. Almost as soon as he hit “Send,” Roger responded.
Justin stared at the message for a full minute. Then he rose from his chair, stepped to his office door and opened it. “Stacey, we’ll be in the SCIF.”
Karen silently followed him into the company’s Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility.
+ + +
“That’s terrible!” Karen exclaimed.
“There’s so much we don’t know. The dude’s safe for now, at least, except for a bad gallbladder. He’s having attacks, like, about once a week. But…how do you operate on a ghost?”
“Hmm. So, all this is a dark program for the Department of Defense?”
“Yes. DPI’s founder, Cliff Nesmith, invented and perfected a transformational technology for additive manufacturing—most people think of 3D printing—that puts us light-years ahead of competitors. He caught the attention of Senator Matthews—”
“Jason Matthews?” she exclaimed.
Karen shuddered and turned pale. Her body stiffened.
“You know him? Why…what’s wrong?”
Karen stood and turned, walked several steps away. She faced back to Justin. A wave of fury rose up and turned her face from pale to red. Her pleasant countenance hardened, and she clenched her fists. She paused a beat before answering.
“Okay, everything on the table. That man has blood on his hands. And he’d kill many more to get those hands back on me again. I’d die first.”
“Karen…?”
“Long story. Short version: Yes, I’m fifty-six. A team of scientists, paid by Jason Matthews before he got into politics and whatever else he’s doing covertly, found a longevity breakthrough. It likely goes all the way back to the time of Genesis and somehow survived the flood. The scientists called it FSAT; Five Score and Ten. Early modeling indicated that it should increase lifespans to a healthy 110 years. But it was stolen while still being tested. It reportedly imbued the subject with a remarkable increase in strength and intelligence…but only for a few days. A lot has changed on the earth since the Garden of Eden days, and thousands of years of genetic degradation has also changed us. The product painfully killed everyone who took it. Except me. When the formula was lost, I was the only link. Jason and his people, they tracked me down, kidnaped me, and tested me mercilessly until I finally escaped. I’ve been running ever since. Don’t trust Jason Matthews. And be careful about trusting anyone who’s really close to him.”
“Like Cliff…” Justin said thoughtfully.
“Pardon?”
“Karen, somebody changed the aircraft’s attack software. Only a few of us could have done that and hidden the trace. Roger, Cliff, me, and maybe a few others. If the software hadn’t been altered, the intercept would have worked and Roger and the aircraft wouldn’t have changed. It was almost like somebody wanted to make sure the aircraft couldn’t accomplish its primary mission. Hmm…”
“What?”
“I never thought about it before, but the nuke launched precisely when Guardian should have been NMC…Non-Mission Capable, inside a cargo aircraft being transported back here. Even the test pilot wasn’t on board. But Roger found a way—”
“And the two of you saved hundreds of thousands, even when the gun missed.”
“And Cliff. He’s been acting really strange since the accident. He says he’s working on another advance in additive manufacturing, but the rest of us work seventy-hour weeks or more, and he just drops in every week or so…”
47. TRUTH
“Sybil Blalock. It’s so good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Garcia,” the former Fox News culture reporter said.
“Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water…?” Priscilla Garcia and the young woman both sat down in the First Lady’s private office.
“Thank you, I would love some coffee. The anti-jetlag medicines may work for some, but it’s just not there for me, if you know what I mean.”
Priscilla pressed Intercom on her desk phone and asked her assistant for hot tea for her, and a coffee serving for her guest.
“Will your husband be joining us?” Sybil asked.
“He’s pretty much left this project up to us, but he’ll drop in from time to time as we meet. Did your trip go well?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me. And I have these notes and papers for you and President Garcia.”
Sybil handed a folder to the First Lady. Inside was a personal note from Viktor Savin.
The beverages were brought in, including a small insulated carafe, cream, and various sweeteners, much to Sybil’s delight. The ladies spent the next half an hour going over how the two countries could learn from each other’s attempts to implement economic and social reforms, within the frameworks of their individual cultures and constitutions.
+ + +
Two hours later, President Garcia was alone, reading the letter.
“Mr. President, I spent several year study English. Regret that I speak and read much better than write.
“You and I are in danger. We were allowed to presidency. Secret organizations. Skull and Bones, Illuminati, Club of Rome—not enemy. They are just for recruiting. Real enemy more subtle. Think they call themselves One World Peace Now. Ten or so rulers over earth, one currency, possibly one religion.
“Nuclear missile was not Cold War! Modern, but I nor my people can find who or how it was made. Was stored and launched from an abandoned Soviet silo in Ukraine. Very few I trust, but one man was able to persuade a captured guard to talk. Unpleasant.
“Appears OWPN is trying to bring our countries to brink of war, then eliminate elected leaders and use crisis to take over. Old plan. Never waste a good crisis. If one is not available, make one! Martial law. Eliminate Bill of Rights in your country, personal freedoms left in mine.
“Watch out for false provocations. Do not have all your key people be vulnerable in same place. Find out who would take over and expect a traitor. Find him, her fast. Possibly many, but one key leader.”
You must know that my control and influence, limited. Particularly over military. Will do all I can.
Be safe,
Viktor”
For a moment, a stunned President Garcia sat motionless. Then, he considered the most obvious question. Did the note truly come from Viktor? Priscilla Garcia had a good read on people, and she had interviewed Sybil Blalock extensively before recruiting her as their clandestine go-between. She believed Sybil passed it directly from one leader to the other.
Second question: Was Viktor telling the truth? If not, what could he gain from it, unless his goal was to mislead a naïve “non-politician” president? For what purpose? Viktor was himself a non-politician president; the first Russian President without roots in the KGB.
Juan knew of the Bible prophecies foretelling the general arrangement of world power that Viktor was describing. But he also knew that nowhere did the Bible suggest that he should lie down and passively wait for the apocalypse. No, not on his watch. It would happen in God’s time regardless. But Juan Garcia would fight to keep the Church Age open as long as possible. He understood God was holding off judgment because He was “…not willing that any should perish, but that all should be saved.”
“Lord God, in heaven’s name, what would You have me do?”
He trusted Vice President Linda Manfrida and Speaker of the House Charles Zucker. He counted both of them as friends, as patriots, and as great Americans. And he respected that they had each taken difficult stands on critical iss
ues despite brutal, unrelenting, personal attacks by the press against them, their families, and their credibility. They had taken the heat without flinching. Unlike so many in Washington, they actually believed in the Constitution, the separation of powers, and the concept of personal freedoms matched with personal responsibilities. No free lunches. A hand up, always. But no handouts.
Jason Matthews.
Juan’s blood ran cold as he remembered the grueling debates against Jason. For the thousandth time, he reflected in amazement over the final debate. He knew it was the Spirit of God who pulled aside Jason’s mask just enough for Juan to see that the man was a master of graphite statistics and doublespeak. There, on national television, Juan asked the one completely unexpected question that caught Jason off guard. The one question he had no perfectly manicured response for. And he asked it in such a humble, non-confrontational manner that he blew the tires right out from under Jason’s bandwagon: “Jason. Do you really believe what you’re saying?”
Of course, Washington—and the rest of the country—has a poor memory. Also, multi-million-dollar ad campaigns based on extensive focus-group-tested sound bites make sure that overworked, over-materialized Americans quickly forgot. Jason easily returned to the Senate and even to a position that put him fourth in line for the Presidency.
What were the other three of us doing the night the nuke was launched?
Juan quickly checked his calendar.
A conservative off-site to work out a detailed, structured plan for tax reform. All three of us were there!
Unlike some previous Presidents, Juan trusted, respected, and appreciated his Secret Service team. He believed that most or all would give their lives to protect him. But thinking back to that venue, he had to admit that it was vulnerable to attack from another nation or a Jihadist bombing. And a successful attack on that night would have provided the additional benefit of eliminating a significant number of remaining pro-capitalists and conservatives from influence in the Beltway.
Also troubling, if a secret organization was bent on taking over the world, they would certainly try to infiltrate the bodyguards tasked to protect the world’s key leaders.
He had been spirited away to an underground bunker, along with the Vice President. Was an assassin down there with them? What about the others? Did they make it to their shelter in time, with someone there to take them out as well?
So…what now?
As usual, Juan knew he might only have minutes before he’d be pulled away from his reverie by another crisis. He also knew that this was not an issue that he wanted any written or electronic copy of. He quickly wrote notes to help him visualize the situation. He would chop-shred them along with Viktor’s note before leaving the room:
Viktor’s analysis seems reasonable and must be taken seriously.
Jason is the likely point-man; probably many others through news media, academia, politics, possibly military.
Passive options?
Do nothing, rely on Secret Service protection.
Warn Secret Service, Vice, and Speaker.
Avoid any venue that puts all three of us together.
Active options?
Investigate Jason.
Find a way to match mine and Viktor’s schedules; increase security when we’re both most vulnerable. Try to flush out the enemy.
Next, Juan went through the list to eliminate options that were non-players. Doing nothing was the first to go. He would notify the VP Linda Manfrida and Speaker of the House Charles Zucker; that made sense. They needed to be aware of their personal danger and be ready to step in if an attack were partially successful. But should he tell the Secret Service? If even one of them might be a mole, the risk would be unacceptable. Anyone there he could trust?
For active options, Juan knew that any attempt to launch an investigation of Jason would be practically futile and politically devastating. The man was too slick, too powerful, with too many connections. He was able to make Teflon look like course sandpaper.
Should he warn other world leaders? While he and Viktor certainly weren’t the only key leaders, it was possible that some of the others might already be part of One World Peace Now, especially China. Again, too risky to alert them. But it might be wise to watch for a time when several of them would be simultaneously vulnerable to attack. Juan knew that any request from the president immediately generated assumptions and speculations. Even asking an aide to look at the schedules of key leaders could be on social media today, in the news tomorrow, and on talk shows the day after.
Priscilla.
Another task for the one person he trusted the most; his eminently capable wife.
It wasn’t like he and Viktor could share their calendars online so they could watch out for events where they’d both be vulnerable. On the other hand?
A plan began to form. Juan took his faith very seriously. His marriage and family and his responsibilities were all extremely important. But he didn’t take himself seriously. He was just a servant, whether as a doctor, an administrator, or as president in the White House.
President Garcia had his answer.
48. YOU NEED TO KNOW
Tamika was wrapping up her long shift, looking forward to getting some much needed and well deserved sleep, then spending an hour at the gym for her heavy workout. In the evening, she’d make her next call to the senator.
She couldn’t remember feeling more alive, more excited, more of an up-and-comer since Professor Jacobs secretly recruited her to collect social media information on rival faculty members in his department. Tamika had felt so alone going to the university, leaving the welfare and entitlement mentality of her family and everyone she’d grown up with in the housing project. She worked hard for scholarships and grants, then still had to work almost full-time hours to make it through college. It took her five long years instead of four, plus five more years to pay off her academic loans. College for her provided little time for friends or relationships. She worked hard for her high GPA, and Professor Jacobs saw that she had potential.
Senator Matthews also made her feel important. She was honored to serve her country in these difficult times. The man was always so keenly attuned to her ambitions, her dreams, and even to her frustration that Justin wouldn’t let their relationship get physical. Although, as she expressed to Senator Matthews, it was nice to be appreciated for more than just her body.
“Yes, Tamika, certainly. But you are a lovely, young, healthy woman, and you have needs. And it’s so natural that you would want to share those needs with each other and be intimate,” he said the last time they talked.
Tamika began collecting and organizing information for her weekly report.
There wasn’t much to discuss this time. The various DPI teams had reached an efficient plateau to carry them through the final stages to deploy System Two by the six month deadline. With few exceptions, they now worked two twelve-hour shifts, Monday through Saturday, and took Sundays off. One shift worked from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.; the other from 9:00 p.m. to 9:00 a.m. That allowed for a two-hour morning overlap to meet and plan, which “The New Twenty-One,” with the addition of Tamika, did daily. The two-hour evening break gave Maintenance a chance to service and recalibrate machines and equipment. Maintenance personnel split their shifts between the other two, but several of them were always on call in case something broke between times.
Justin was currently with the day crew and Tamika was on the night crew. They hadn’t had time for much social interaction, aside from casual Sunday afternoon dates after he had gone to church and she’d gotten some rest.
Tamika looked over her notes. No unusual purchases, problems, or issues. The only visitor they’d had in several weeks was some woman named Karen L. Richardson. Everything was on schedule. Her full report shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes of the senator’s time, once he called her back on his private phone as he did every time.
“Tamika, got a minute?”
She jumped. “J
ustin! You startled me.” She slid the note in with other papers and rose to her feet, giving him a hug.
“Always have time for you, Boss,” she teased.
It was six in the morning, so Justin had come in an hour early.
“Let me get some coffee and let’s go to the SCIF.”
They walked to the snack area together, kidding and teasing, with more than a little PDA between them; although technically there was no public to witness their genuine displays of affection at the time.
Once inside the SCIF though, Justin sat down and became strangely thoughtful. Tamika remembered the evening in his apartment when he fed her a gourmet meal and surprised her about his conversion to Christianity, along with his serious concerns for America. She had shared the first with Jason; for some reason, she hadn’t felt compelled to share the second.
“Tamika,” Justin started. “Have you ever felt you were part of something big, I mean really big, and you were only able to see some very small part of it?”
“Well, I guess that just about covers everything here at DPI, doesn’t it?” she responded.
“What if I told you that I believe this is just the tip of a very large iceberg?”
Tamika cocked her head to one side. He’d gotten her interest.
“And, you know how sometimes a person you most trust, you later find out was just using you?”
Does he know about my calls to the senator?
“Okay…something really big, and an issue of trust?” she raised her eyebrows.
Justin stood and began pacing.
“Honey, I can’t get it out of my mind that we were not supposed to be able to intercept that warhead back in November. It was launched just a few months before Guardian was operational, while it was being transported, without the test pilot, and I already told you about the targeting software issue. It took miracles to pull off what we did.”
The Guardian Collection (End of the Sixth Age Book 2) Page 24
