by Tom Wheeler
The operator knew from research that it was impossible to penetrate the massive door weighing 22 tons—even with Eva’s strength. He bit his fingernail as he nervously watched her make haste to the bank president’s office. She turned on the computer at the president’s desk, plugged in an HDMI cable, and within 30 seconds had the combination to the vault. At the same time, she disabled the entire security system, destroying all video surveillance for the past 24 hours. She returned to the vault, put her retina up to the scanner as if she were the bank president, entered the combination, and watched the light turn green. Eva pulled the vault open without issue or alarms. She filled her steel-laced backpack with thirty 400-ounce gold bars, threw it on her back as if they were schoolbooks, then closed and locked the vault before disappearing from the bank.
“You have 47 seconds,” the operator said as Eva began running. He remained hidden in his car, chewing his lip, his laptop sitting open on his lap as another aftershock gripped the area, sending bodies reeling in fear as another fire erupted.
She approached the car, the rear door sliding open. She set her backpack inside before moving to the opening in the passenger seat as the back door slid shut. The operator folded his laptop and set it on the backseat as he glanced to see Ralph Duncan talking to the police.
“Turn your head to the right,” said the operator. Eva complied.
The operator moved her hair back, used a small drill to unscrew the plate on the left side of her head, then pushed a button inside the mechanical brain of Eva Cruise, who slouched. The operator turned to the backseat, unzipped the bag, grabbed a bar of gold, and looked at it carefully. Then he returned it, a big smile on his face.
He turned on the vehicle, which was positioned out of sight of the turmoil, brought the car to a hover, and flew the vehicle back to the road, skimming the ground before setting the car down on Route 14, heading back to Sunnyvale.
“EVE,” he said, looking at the small white dial sitting on his dash—an advanced version of SIRI. It had red, yellow, and green lights circling the device.
“How can I be of assistance?” EVE responded via the sound system of the futuristic vehicle, the green light glowing.
“Dial General Troyanskiy,” he said as the oval artificial intelligence device turned to yellow.
“Connecting . . . ,” answered EVE. A moment later, the device turned to green, signaling a connection.
“Test proshel uspeshno,” the operator said with a satisfied look on his face, more sirens sounding in the distance.
“Khoroshaya rabota,” came a soft whisper. It was the affirmation he was looking for from the person known only by name.
“Does the POTUS know?” asked the operator.
“No.”
“What is that in the background? Are you at the State of the Union?” he asked, hearing a crowd roar.
Click.
The operator shook his head, wondering who this mastermind really was, not that it mattered. He had the connections to the American government that were needed to infiltrate that government. And Eva Cruise was ready. There was only one loose end: Ralph Duncan. He wasn’t sure what the man was telling the police, but he couldn’t risk a leak. He wasted no time after being disconnected from the mysterious general, telling EVE to connect him with another number—an assassin.
3
SPYGATE
September 2
USS George H.W. Bush
Sea of Japan
It was a crystal-clear day as the behemoth USS George H. W. Bush Nimitz-class aircraft carrier traversed the Sea of Japan at 24 knots. General Crane watched as Nero trotted past several members of the crew marked by bright multicolored vests, matching helmets showing large numbers identifying their position, large sets of goggles, and black ear caps keeping the deafening sounds from ruining their eardrums before they turned 25.
Another jet screamed from the active runway on the carrier’s deck—the roar fading into the distance as Crane noticed the crew member closest to him was a young woman, likely 20 years of age, executing her job like a pro. Crane continued to watch Nero, a.k.a. Captain Maxey, before fixing his gaze on the dark blue water. He estimated the swells passing underneath the gallant vessel to be 50 feet, large enough for the ship to descend from their crests with a rolling motion that an experienced sailor would find magnificent, like a slowly moving roller coaster, while an inexperienced sailor would find them terrifying, making his last meal chum for the hundred-or-so humpback whales Crane saw spouting in the distance, or whatever might enjoy a puke dinner. Nero, with the name Maxey printed on his jumpsuit, made a beeline for the F-15X loaded with four uranium-based, intermediate-yield nuclear weapons and 18 anti-air missiles.
“Captain Maxey,” General Crane greeted him as the men met at the jet, the whine of another passing aircraft drowning out his voice.
“General,” Captain Maxey replied, saluting.
“The rose is to be plucked today,” the general said, unable to hear his own voice due to the run-up of an F-16.
“Roger,” Maxey replied. He headed onto the steps of the F-15X piloted by Colonel Benjamin Wilson, who was already sitting in the small cockpit, his helmet secure on his head. General Crane watched nervously as Maxey confirmed his orders to Wilson while settling into his seat and connecting his oxygen to his helmet, a formality since he didn’t need oxygen. Wilson looked at Crane and motioned his understanding that the flight was on: he was transporting the most powerful weapon on the planet, Nero Ibrahim Tarek, a.k.a. Captain Maxey, to South Korea.
The general wasn’t nervous about the mission—not after watching Nero rescue embedded CIA agent Rae from al-Qaeda’s grip in Afghanistan weeks ago—but he was nervous about the line the United States was walking as it responded to a nuke detonated on US soil. This mission was to keep the peace rather than ignite further tension, although the same had been said about the mission of the Enola Gay and Bockscar when they had dropped the first two atomic bombs in history on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, ending World War II. Crane considered the irony of dropping bombs to secure peace. Of course, naming an assassination plot “Rose” had a touch of the same irony. He knew the world was more dangerous than ever, nobody playing by any fixed rules, which was why he liked being in a position of influence despite the chaos as the special assistant to the president of the United States and director of National Intelligence.
A moment later, Colonel Wilson saluted the general. Crane responded in kind, then pressed his palms to his ears. The Boeing F-15X, the latest version of the F-15, screamed down the short runway and disappeared into the blue sky, heading toward the Korean Peninsula a second later.
Before Crane took a step, he glanced down at his feet, to see a giant hornet attacking a praying mantis. Where the hell did that come from? he asked himself as another jet raced off the ship. He couldn’t help but watch as the hornet meticulously cut the larger insect in half. He’d heard of Asian hornets but hadn’t realized how large or strong they were until now.
Interesting, a praying insect is getting ripped apart by a hornet. Crap, he mused as he scurried off to the bridge, shaking his head while attempting to banish the thought from his mind. “Now I’m going crazy,” he muttered, wondering if he wasn’t being sucked into some mysterious world that insane people believed existed “behind the curtain.” Except those insects were at my feet, on a ship in the middle of the Sea of Japan, with men running to and fro. What are the odds? He considered Mason Thomas’s dream, told to him by then–vice president Tense:
The majestic orange and purple sky falling as if manna from heaven onto an eclectic group of people who one moment gave praise to the Almighty One, who was revealing his glory, then dismissed it as normal the next moment. Then the breathtaking event turning into chaos, the ground splitting in half, swastikas appearing on the adoring crowd following President Crumpler as a beast appeared,
horns rising from its head as two men of steel landed next to the president.
Does America believe that psychobabble? Crane asked himself as he entered the large ship’s bridge, still wondering what was going on inside his mind. “Do I?” he murmured to himself.
4
Phantasm or Reality
September 2
The Chamber of the House of Representatives
U.S. Capital, Washington, D.C.
The president grimaced, then waited. He bent over, grabbed a bottle of water sitting inside the podium, unscrewed the top, and took a long sip before setting the bottle back down where he had found it. He adjusted his tie. Moments later the vitriol died down.
“The question each man and woman in this chamber must personally answer, including the hecklers on both sides of the fence, is: Who are you going to fight? Each other?” he asked of a now-silent room. “Or the enemies trying to destroy our freedom?”
“Our enemies!” shouted a few members as the others appeared to be considering the remarks.
“Moments ago I declared that what we’ve witnessed recently will never happen again on my watch. You rose to your feet. Then you began the normal political heckling that plagues Washington. If those words are to be more than rhetoric, we all must unite under tolerance and peace! Republican, Democrat, black, white, Latino, Muslim, Christian, Jew, atheist, gay, straight, male, female, or non-binary. We must all work together as Americans against our real enemies, who should not be in this room!” He paused, his gaze moving slowly and intentionally across the chamber floor, as did mine. But for different reasons.
“If our rhetoric to win elections isn’t set aside in the name of our democracy, what happened in California may just be the beginning of the end. Our political cold war must end—now!” he exclaimed as he scanned the chamber confidently. To me it appeared that he was born for this moment. My eyes jerked to the right, noticing unusual movement. It was a woman bending over, picking up something she had apparently dropped. False alarm. I took a deep breath, exhaling for a longer period than normal. Then I sighed.
“Uncross your arms, lighten your hard faces, stop voting to satisfy a tribal or partisan loyalty, and start doing your job of protecting and prospering the American people!” President Tense demanded, pausing after each word for emphasis as the entire chamber exploded in applause. He loosened his grip on the podium and stepped back as if he had just scored a touchdown. He paused. Then he straightened his arms in front of him, hands clenched on the podium as if he was starting the second round of a prizefight he was now winning. The clamor died down, and he began reading from the prompter on his left side.
“My fellow Americans, America has no territorial ambitions other than the protection of the country we all call our home. We do not occupy countries, and while we have built a wall to keep others out, we have no walls preventing our people from leaving our borders. We are free. Our commitment to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is the very soul of America, and it is as strong today as ever. And it isn’t going to change; not now, not ever!”
Clapping ensued.
“However . . . ,” he said, pausing, pinching his lips for a second before returning his left hand to the podium, “despite our desire to make the world a more peaceful place, a place that gives opportunity to every American, despite our reluctance to use weapons created to deter the use of powerful nuclear weapons, despite our best efforts to maintain peace in our nation, we have failed to maintain peace through peaceful coexistence. But that is going to change. We have apprehended all the assailants of Diablo 8-16, including the notorious Rama Rhamine,” he said, referring to the name now associated with the nuclear detonation, to loud applause. “But there are others. And all of the coconspirators will face the full response of the United States. As I speak, we are hunting down their accomplices. So be warned, enemies of the United States,” he intoned, looking out over the chamber.
“Out of the darkness, a rogue soldier will rise up, holding you accountable for crimes against humanity. Out of the sky, birds will cause you to fall to your death. I have . . . ,” he said as the crowd erupted in applause, preventing him from continuing. A moment later the din subsided as I considered what it meant for a bird to cause someone to fall from the sky. And a rogue soldier? My eyes narrowing, I contemplated its meaning.
“I have convened the Joint Chiefs to conclusively establish the identity of those at the root of this tragedy as well as come up with a response. I am asking Congress for the support to hit back and hit back hard, which they have unanimously agreed to do.”
The room erupted again with applause. The president waited until the applause died down.
“As a result of our recent tragedy, and in an effort to protect the United States from further carnage, I am asking Congress to immediately institute the Biometric Entry/Exit Visa Tracking System called DECREE 2020, an upgrade to the REAL ID Act. For years Congress has been talking about requiring this additional protection yet has never implemented it.” He paused, as if for effect. “It is time to track who is on our land, who is on our seas, and who is flying in our airspace. DECREE 2020 will accomplish that goal!” he said, backing away from the podium, his confidence appearing to have soared. Applause from the Republicans followed, while those on the Democratic side of the chamber turned to their neighbors with astonished looks etched on their faces, as if caught off guard.
5
DECREE 2020
“Through my executive order, the federal government has contracted with Intel and an organization called LEGAL-U to implement insertion chips for every alien crossing our borders and for all of our paroled citizens roaming our great country,” he said as the Republican side of the house gave him a standing ovation. The president hesitated, smiling at the response. “These biometric chips will contain vital identification information as well as citizenship status, helping law enforcement do their job of protecting our citizens. It’s time, folks; we can no longer let people flood our borders or take advantage of our great nation after being convicted of crimes.” The ovation continued. “As for the people who don’t like it . . .”
“To hell with them!” yelled one of the Republican senators, causing the Republican side of the house to leap to their feet, howling. Unexpectedly, the president reveled in the moment, as if his previous words about unity were just that—words. The Democrats remained stoically planted in their seats.
“USA! USA! USA!” the Republicans began chanting as many in the audience rose to their feet in another standing ovation.
A breeze hit my face.
I looked around for a vent, but there wasn’t one. Then I saw what appeared to be a giant gargoyle perched on the desk in front of the vice president and Speaker of the House, the grotesque creature’s head slowly scanning the area, looking as if it were filled with rage and hatred. It had one horn in the middle of its monstrous head. It turned toward me.
I abruptly stood up, terrified. “Oh my God! Look out!” I shouted, pointing as the dark, insidious monster darted off the podium, disappearing without anyone else reacting. I closed and opened my eyes hard, still standing. I stretched my neck to see if I could find it again. I sat down along with those in my row who had stood to praise the president, but now I was gazing down at my shoes. I felt light-headed, as if I might pass out or vomit, which reminded me of a dream I’d had weeks ago of being in the presence of Satan himself. The woman next to me turned to look at me as she continued to clap. Thankfully, the crowd didn’t see or recognize my behavior as I continued looking down. The folks around me probably thought I was praying—which, in fact, I now was. Help me, Emmanuel! Please help me, I begged silently, hoping this was just another dream.
“I am also making the chips available to the 20 million government employees nationwide,” the president continued. “This is not mandatory, rather a free offer tha
t will afford government employees the ability to have their identification on the chip, as well as their financial information and government status, as a convenience,” he said, emphasizing the issue of convenience. As terrified as I was, I could still hear the speech.
“LEGAL-U has agreed to put chip-reading stations in all major airports, allowing government employees to scan their chips without standing in lines before boarding flights,” he said. Many in the audience nodded, as if that made sense, while others had deadpan faces. “Facebook, Google, Apple, Tesla, McDonald’s, and Walmart have all agreed to incorporate chips into their own organizations, following the lead of our government. Those with retail locations will add chip readers as a convenience for their customers. They believe DECREE 2020 is the answer to keeping their people safe and customers happy,” said the president, pausing briefly to scan his audience. “If our voluntary test is successful, I am asking Congress to consider implementing DECREE 2020 for all citizens interested in this same safety and convenience.”
Applause broke out in the Republican side of the chamber as if American factionalism survived, the members agreeing with their president despite what he did or said, just as they had with former president Crumpler. I sat up, taking a deep breath.
“I realize some of our citizens will be skeptical,” Tense said, pausing to gaze intensely at the camera. “Some of you may believe this is the government’s effort to seize more control over its citizens,” he said.
“You’re damn right! What’s next, a social credit system?” screamed an anonymous congressman from the Democrats’ side of the chamber, referring to China’s citizen assessment program that ranked citizens based on their behavior.
“A chip is the mark of the Antichrist!” screamed another. “I thought you were trying to unite us! This divides us even further!” yelled another. I glanced up, seeing a light dash across the room, followed by a creepy, red-faced demon embedded in an indescribable cloud of darkness. My heart spiked, as I could now see hundreds of eyes peering from the walls, then joining a black cloud darting through the chamber as lights exploded into the cloud and loud shrieks deafened me. I put my hands over my ears, terrified, my stomach churning as I felt the metallic taste in my throat as if I was about to puke. I gagged, then screamed, “Emmanuel!” as those around me stared, eyes narrowed. “Satan, I rebuke you!” I screamed. I could see my neighbors talking to one another while looking at me.
