A New World: Conspiracy (14 page)

“Not really much other than he is a pro. I
know he’s an Aussie and I’m guessing Australian SAS. I think I’ve
discovered some of his buttons but haven’t gleaned anything of
value so far. Unfortunately, these things take time, and that’s
something I don’t think we have a lot of.”

“Do you think this a prelude to an assault,
then?” Lynn asks.

“I don’t know but, if they’re after our
leadership, that seems the next logical step,” I respond.

“We need to arrange longer patrols then. We
can’t really afford to spare many of the teams being out, and that
would put them at risk. We need aerial patrols and can have Craig
and Roger conduct those in light aircraft. That way we can have
some warning of anyone approaching,” Lynn says.

“Good idea. Let’s make that happen. I would
venture that, because the shooter’s support team was located where
they were, their main encampment is some distance away. That
doesn’t mean anything and is only speculation,” I say.

“It makes sense,” Frank states.

I notice Drescoll is not his usual self,
which is to be expected. He is quiet and fidgety. I let him know
that it’s okay if he wants to take some time for himself – he
doesn’t have to be here if he doesn’t want to be.

“No, this is where I want to be. I want to
be a part of this,” he replies.

“So, what else can we be doing?” Bannerman
asks.

“Well, as Frank mentioned, we have to take
it that they know our leadership and may be targeting it. Greg is
still out there, and we need to get him back. We also need to
notify Leonard. Without our satellite comms, that means a flight
down the seaboard to find him and attempt to communicate via UHF.
If we are being targeted, our greatest defensive asset is the
Spooky and it’s vulnerable on the ramp at McChord. We need to clear
a runway nearby where it can be better protected. Bannerman, can we
create a runway inside the compound?” I ask.

“There’s still some land that we aren’t
using for pasture. We can grade a runway there if you’ll give me
the specs you need,” he replies.

“That also means we’ll have to transport our
ammo down and store it,” Frank comments.

“We can dig some bunkers but that will take
time. In the meantime, we can store it in some of the storage
containers. Fuel will be trickier, and we may have to transport the
fuel down and store it in tanker trucks,” Bannerman says. “As soon
as you get me the specs, we’ll start clearing a landing strip,
though.”

“If we are looking at an attack, I think we
need to start storing more of our ammo and vehicles here rather
than at Fort Lewis,” Lynn states.

“Most of the crews are working to get
material for the living quarters, but we can re-prioritize some
crews. What and how much were you thinking? We have some space in
the vehicle sheds, but it’s not unlimited,” Bannerman says.

“I’ll get with you after to see what we can
bring down,” Lynn responds.

“So, let’s get Harold set up with the hard
drive and see if he can dig anything out. We still don’t know this
is what we’re dealing with, but I think we go along with that
assumption for now. Frank, will you talk with Craig and Roger to
arrange patrol schedules and, Lynn, get with Bannerman for the
storage requirements. I’ll talk with our prisoner later today to
see if he has any desire to share with us. If we can get a
rudimentary runway carved out today, I’ll bring the Spooky and 130
down in the morning. We’ll meet tonight to discuss getting Greg and
contacting Leonard,” I say.

“I think there is something else we need to
discuss,” Franks chimes in.

All eyes turn on Frank.

“Go on,” I say.

“In all of this, we can’t forget about the
threat of the night runners. We’ve picked up an increased presence
of night runners around the bases. We don’t have a lot of cameras
in place, but the pictures we’ve gathered from those few show an
increase. I don’t know what that means. It could be that they are
being pushed south out of the Seattle area due to a food shortage,”
Franks says.

“Any idea of how many or pack sizes?” Lynn
asks.

“It’s hard to tell from the occasional
snapshot, but it seems like moderate pack sizes. I have no idea how
many total may be in the area. Perhaps we could take the Spooky up
some night and get a better picture,” Frank answers.

“We can do that. I believe our priority is
to consolidate our resources, get Greg back, and contact Leonard
soon,” I say.

“When you get back will be fine. I haven’t
seen much of an increase, but it’s there. Let’s just not forget
about it. And I’m wondering if there are any ramifications that
might come from taking out the night runners at the hospital,”
Frank adds.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, in the past, we’ve seen something
from the night runners when we’ve struck. We began attacking them
at night and hit one of their larger lairs, although they had
moved, and then they attacked the compound here. It just seems that
when we do something, they counter by changing tactics and seem to
gain in their abilities. I’m just wondering if there is something
that might spawn from this one.”

“I couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess.
I’m hoping nothing happens as we took out the entire lot of them.
But it does bear some thought. How many night runners do you think
are in the area?”

“Well, from the number we saw from the
Spooky that one night, and from the percentages in the CDC report,
I would say we were initially dealing with a total of plus or minus
sixty thousand in the area. That number may have become whittled
down, but I don’t think we put much of a dent in that pack of ten
to twenty thousand we saw in the AC-130 video. They’re still around
somewhere,” Frank muses.

“Do you think they are the ones you’re
starting to see up north?” Robert asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve compared photographs
with the ones we’ve seen here and haven’t seen a match yet. It
could be, but I think I would see at least one pack that was the
same. And they aren’t in the same groupings we saw around here. So,
my guess is that these are different,” Franks answers.

“Keep an eye on it. We’ll try and get the
Spooky aloft tonight or tomorrow night to take a look. Today I’d
like to take it out and conduct a perimeter patrol as Lynn
recommended. At least we can clear the immediate area,” I say.

Upon leaving, I feel that there’s a certain
renewal of energy within our encampment. There is still a depressed
aura, but there is a focus underlying it – like there’s a lot to do
and we’d better get to it. The air has almost a frantic electricity
to it. We need to inform everyone about what is happening and what
we’re doing about it. Rumors left unchecked can create a crazy all
its own. Without straight information, the mind will create its own
and wander to the craziest of places – coming up with boogeymen of
the worst kind. The pervading depression is not so much the loss,
but the way it happened…by an unknown entity. That creates its own
fear. Giving a name to the boogeyman, making them real, and
therefore something that can be dealt with, will alleviate a
greater part of that.

Pulling onto the ramp, I hate the paranoia
that has crept in. I move faster from the vehicle to the aircraft
and check the panels closer during the walk-around which itself is
conducted at a quickened pace. I search the surrounding building
rooftops for flashes of light or silhouettes. We manage to get the
beast into the air without any fatalities or the aircraft blowing
up; although I must admit, being exposed on the ramp like that
wasn’t my favorite place to be.

We are a crew member short with Lynn taking
care of things at Cabela’s with Bannerman. It’s daylight, so we
don’t really need the low light monitor. We stream north, looking
for signs of the night runners Frank mentioned. There are a few
fresh trails through some of the tall grass, but I don’t see
anything that would indicate a vast number of them. Opening up, I
discern a few packs in the area and have Robert mark the buildings.
We have a lot of miles to travel but taking out night runner lairs
have a priority just as high.

Circling the first marked building, Robert
places a single round into it. The eruption of fire and smoke
scatters debris far into an adjacent parking lot. There’s a breeze
blowing, and the smoke clears quickly showing that the building has
fallen in on itself – a jumble of concrete, plaster, and rebar.
Small plumes of smoke drift upward from the rubble and are whisked
away in the wind. Scanning the building, the sense of the night
runners that used it as shelter is gone.

We hit several other buildings in the same
fashion, but soon find our time whittling away. There always seems
to be another small group in another structure. Frank was right,
there has been an influx of night runners around the bases. We have
a choice to continue demolishing buildings or continue our
scouting. We have verified Frank’s sightings, but I won’t be able
to sleep comfortably tonight until I also verify that we are clear
from any imminent attack. With that thought, I radio base to let
them know of our findings and proceed to search for any signs of
vehicles or encampments.

The rest of the flight is much the same –
finding scattered groups of night runners in urban areas – although
I note the farther north we travel, the denser the packs become. As
we travel east and south, they dissipate dramatically. All of the
monitors are running and we should be able to pick out heat
signatures, but there’s no sign of a buildup or human group. It
takes a few hours, but we cover north, east, and south out to a
range of three hundred miles. I would like to go out farther as a
fast-moving military convoy can travel almost four hundred miles in
a night. However, we just don’t have the time to cover that much
area and be back before dark.

Upon returning, I notice a convoy of
Strykers , Humvees, loaded flatbed trucks, and tanker trucks
heading south down Interstate 5. Contacting base, I find that the
runway hasn’t been finished; we’ll have to set down at McChord.
Hopefully we’ll be able to move the aircraft in the morning.

The compound is a bustle of activity – our
plans being put into motion. The consolidation of our resources
takes some of the work crews, but others continue working on our
housing. At the southern end of the compound, machinery and crews
are carving out a runway and associated ramp space. All-in-all,
it’s a good sight to behold. Many things are coming together, but I
feel the looming pressure of time. With the late afternoon closing
in, I step into the darker interior of Cabela’s.

Harold is at one of the tables staring
intently at the screen of a laptop, its blue light reflecting off
his face. He shakes his head and his fingers move rapidly across
the keyboard before he returns to stare at it intently once again.
Looking up quickly as I make my way across the first floor, he
waves me frantically to him.

“Any luck?” I ask, coming to stand at his
shoulder.

Swiveling in his chair to face me, he
answers, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about in the middle?” I respond.

“What?”

“I’m kidding. I’ve always found the
beginning to be the best place. Let’s try that,” I state, glancing
at an open document on the screen.

Harold sighs heavily and takes a moment to
gather his thoughts. “You were right to take this hard drive,
although not for the reasons you initially thought. There were more
than a few hidden, locked files. The algorithm wasn’t that hard to
figure out, but it’s as I suspected, the director was definitely in
on this,” Harold says.

“In on what?” I ask, trying to make sense of
the files spread across the laptop screen.

With another sigh, Harold spins back to face
the laptop. “There are files here denoting locations, test results,
goals, maps of facilities, lists of names, transmission modes,
a—”

“Whoa. Slow down, Harold,” I interrupt.

“…few corrupted files, satellite control,
nanotechnology,” Harold continues as if I had merely blown hot air
into the room.

I reach down and grab his shoulder, making
him turn to meet my eyes.

“Harold, slow…the fuck…down. What are you
talking about?” I ask, having gained his undivided attention.

“I told you I didn’t know where to start,”
he murmurs, turning to the screen once again.

With another deep sigh, he rubs his face.
“Okay, remember our conversation about the rogue network and me
getting in there momentarily?”

“Only too well,” I reply.

“Keep that conversation in mind as I go
through this,” he says, closing the documents on the screen, but
leaving one in place.

“This,” Harold says, pointing to the screen,
“is a report from test results conducted with nanotechnology. I
haven’t read through the entire thing but, from what I have read,
it shows results of various transmission modes to administer
nanobots.”

“Nanobots? And you mean transmission to
people?” I ask with a sick feeling settling in my stomach.

“Yes. And the ones mentioned here are
particularly nasty ones. They adhere to the cerebral cortex,”
Harold answers.

“And?”

“They contain small explosives.” Harold
pauses to let the emphasis of what he is saying settle in.

“This was tested?” I ask, the sick feeling
settling deeper.

“Yes. With varied results. The transmission
was tested with food, liquids, aerosols, and a few others…including
vaccines
,” Harold answers, emphasizing the last.

“Fuck me,” is all I can reply with. “This
still sounds like contingency planning and think-tank stuff. They
test nasty shit all of the time. It doesn’t mean it’s enacted.”

With a small shake of his head, Harold pulls
up another file. “This says differently.”