A New World: Conspiracy (15 page)

“What am I looking at now?”

“This,” Harold says, pointing at the screen
again, “is a plan initiating the whole mess. It lists a phased
approach…building locations, facility maps, along with the goal of
emerging and taking control of resources…the whole thing.”

“Still, it’s just a plan in a document.
There must be a thousand such plans nestled in computers
everywhere. There is a contingency plan for almost everything.
Again, that doesn’t mean they are put into place and acted on,” I
state.

“True, except for several emails I culled
out.” Harold opens yet another document. “These messages detail
information about putting the nanobots into the Capetown flu
vaccine. If I read these correctly, they put these in two-thirds of
the vaccines distributed.”

The room feels both colder and warmer at the
same time. All else fades from my consciousness except Harold and
the screen with the open documents. As if this world wasn’t fucked
up enough, it suddenly becomes more so as I read through several
emails that Harold consolidated.

“So, let me get this straight. This all says
that this was a planned event. Whoever this was, or is,
administered these nanobots with the intention of killing off
two-thirds of the population, effectively destroying the
infrastructure, and then they planned to emerge and take control of
the resources?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Harold
responds.

“So, the deaths weren’t from the flu at all,
but from these nanobots?” I say, more rhetorically than as an
actual question. “How does that explain the night runners?”

“Here’s the funny thing. I don’t think the
deaths were from the bots at all. I think they were actually from
the vaccine itself. With regards to the night runners, I can’t find
any indication in any of the tests mentioning DNA alterations. I
get the feeling that it’s something they didn’t see and comes from
the vaccine itself rather than something concocted. I think it
really messed up their plans.”

“How do you know that?”

“There are several urgent messages that were
passed back and forth asking what was going on. The replies come
back with how they don’t know. Then…nothing,” Harold answers.

“If that’s true, then the nanobots are still
there,” I state.

“So it would seem,” Harold replies.

“And they can initiate this, well,
destruction anytime they want,” I comment.

“I think so. Although…”

“Go on,” I say.

“Well, the vaccine pretty much took care of
the population in that regard. Only ones who took the vaccine would
be at risk, and most of those either died or became night runners,”
Harold states.

“So, if that’s true, then why haven’t they
initiated these nanobots? Why are we still seeing so many night
runners?” I ask.

“Keep in mind that only two-thirds of the
vaccines contained the bots according to these reports. Maybe they
were initiated and what we’re seeing is what is left. Maybe the DNA
changes altered the bots in some way. I don’t know the answer to
that one.”

I realize that I’ve gone from a skeptic to a
believer. It makes sense with what we are seeing. However, it still
points to the fact that it was the flu vaccine rather than this
plan that brought about the downfall, created the night runners,
and brought us to where we are now. It also means that this group
is possibly still out there.

“Okay, let’s leave that for now. Did you
find out anything about this group? Where they are located? How
many are we talking about?” I ask.

Harold closes the files currently open and
opens a few others.

“According to what I’ve managed to find so
far, there are, or were, thirty-two sites across the world,” Harold
answers.

“Thirty-two sites?! That puts us against
something much larger. What kind of size and arsenal are we looking
at?”

“Quite substantial on both accounts. Enough
so that they could walk over us while enjoying a refreshing
beverage,” Harold responds.

“Then why haven’t they?”

“Now that’s the question. By the timeline
established in the plan document, they should have emerged and
taken control. We should have seen them by now.”

“This team and their attempt could be the
beginning of that emergence,” I say.

“I don’t know about that. Like I said, it
appears the vaccine itself may have screwed their up plans. I found
several indications that the sites mentioned weren’t able to come
into operation due to the swiftness of the spread. All sites, that
is, except this one,” Harold says, pointing to a document on the
screen. “This appears to have been manned before the vaccine was
distributed and, by all indications, it still may be. The notes
show that this is a command and control facility. It doesn’t seem
this place has a large arsenal, but only houses a security force,
along with technicians, and a communications center. I think this
is where our friend came from.”

I look closer at the document on the screen.
The facility doesn’t have a name associated with it other than the
designation, A-CC-1. The coordinates show an underground location
approximately twenty miles to the northeast of Denver. Scrolling
through the pages, I come across a blueprint detailing the facility
layout. I don’t see anything about any defenses or a complete
layout of their equipment. It only notes that there is a battalion
in place as a security force along with an accompanying equipment
list of Humvees and a small number of Strykers. This force far
outweighs anything we have in regards to personnel.

Leafing through some of the other sites, I
hope that Harold is correct in that they aren’t in operation. The
details show armored vehicles and personnel to spread out to nearby
bases to take control of the forces there – armored vehicles,
weapons, and aircraft.

After a brief look, I see it wouldn’t take a
genius to know that we wouldn’t last but more than a couple of
seconds should we ever encounter this armada. The battalion in
place at the command and control facility is more than we can
handle on the ground. The Spooky is the only thing that would keep
the balance should this force come against us. The pressure of time
weighs even heavier. There’s so much to do and, although we have
this information, there is so much more that we don’t know. If this
is the group who sent the shooter against us, at least we now have
a location. We are still way behind the curve with regards to
capabilities, though.

After leaning over Harold’s shoulder for so
long, I straighten and attempt to stretch the tightness out of my
back. I would like to stretch the tension out of my whole body and
soul, but this will have to do.

“Thanks, Harold…I think. Do me a favor and
print out everything you find on that facility. And dig deeper to
see if you can find a definite status on those other facilities. I
want you at the group meeting tonight. And, if I hear a single, ‘I
told you so’…”

“Hey, I wish this shit wasn’t true, believe
me. And I’ll be there.”

I leave to clean up and have a bite to eat.
What Harold found occupies the entirety of my mind. Lynn tries to
strike up a conversation about something or another, but I merely
grunt and nod my responses as I try to sort through the
information. I notice the buzz of her attempts at conversation go
quiet. That, in itself, sets off an internal alarm. We’ve been
together long enough to know that isn’t a good sign. I turn to look
at her.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have
you?” she asks.

More internal alarms.

“Of course I have,” I answer, quickly
plowing through my memory to see if I can remember anything she did
say. No luck.

“Okay, what did I just say?”

“That you like toasted bagels,” I say,
throwing out the shield of humor in an effort to block what I know
is coming next.

“Yeah, Jack, that’s exactly what I
said.”

“Look, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I
ask.

“I asked you how the flight went.”

“Fine,” I respond.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she
rises and walks off. I hear her mutter something about “men”,
“dense-headed”, and something else that sounds a lot like my skin
being removed. I’m also pretty sure my heritage was called into
question. It’s good to have her back. I sigh and return to my food,
the thoughts once again crowding into my “apparently” limited head
space.

I think about heading over to talk with our
prisoner again, but the information Harold found can’t wait. At my
request, the others gather to meet earlier than normal. It seems
like there is a never-ending stream of things coming at us and I
wonder how long we can last. It’s not that I feel like giving up,
or in, or whatever, but it’s just exhausting at times when we are
constantly confronted by danger. I also wonder just how long our
sanity will prevail. It’s like swimming into a riptide. We must
swim to keep our position, but we don’t ever seem to be gaining any
ground. Yes, I know, swim to the side; but where is the side in
this situation?

“I’ve brought Harold because he found some
rather…um…interesting information on the hard drive we brought back
from the CDC director’s office,” I say, starting the meeting. “I
think I’ll leave it to him to explain.”

In a better sequence than how he told me,
Harold explains what he found. Similar questions to the ones I had
are asked and answered to the best of his, and my, ability. Harold
finishes delivering the information to a very shocked group.

“Frank, just out of curiosity, do you know
how many of us in the compound took the vaccine?” I ask.

Frank shakes his head slightly, coming out
of whatever thoughts were cycling through his head.

“I’m sorry, Jack. What?”

I repeat the question.

“I remember us looking into this a while
ago. I think eight, but that’s not including any of our newer
arrivals,” Franks answers.

“Find out, would you. And I need to know
who. I know this may sound harsh, but if they decide to trigger
this technology, I don’t want others at risk if it’s done at the
wrong moment,” I state.

“You mean, anyone on the teams or in a
leadership capacity,” Lynn comments.

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I say.

“Will do, Jack. I’ll see to it in the
morning,” Frank replies.

“Jack, you asked me to look further into the
files. I’m reasonably sure the other facilities weren’t manned, and
therefore, aren’t operational. The only other thing I found is that
this command and control facility seems to be run by something or
someone named Nahmer,” Harold chimes in.

“Nahmer?! Are you sure about that?” I ask,
startled.

“As reasonably sure as I can be,” Harold
says.

I’m sure there was a resounding thud as my
jaw hit the floor. I’m stunned into silence.

Lynn notices my reaction more than the
others. They seem only partially here as they sift through the
information.

“Does that mean something to you, Jack?”
Lynn asks.

“I’ve heard that name before, and I’m not
even sure it’s real person. As the story goes, she was one of
Mossad’s most successful agents and led several assassination
squads. That was all hearsay though and, as far as I know, never
really verified. It was more of a boogeyman kind of thing,” I
answer.

“That would explain the attempted hit,”
Frank says.

“I don’t know. While we may have this info,
there isn’t really anything to connect them with our being
targeted. It could be something completely different,” I say.

“Oh, come on, Jack. If this information is
true, it’s pretty easy to connect the dots. We are a strong enough
threat to them taking control of resources, especially now that
they may be limited,” Lynn states.

“While that may be true, the only thing that
can actually connect the two is our prisoner,” I comment.

It’s then that I notice that Drescoll isn’t
with us. Perhaps it’s because he usually chimes in about now with
an opinion. I’m sure I would have noticed that he wasn’t here if so
many other thoughts weren’t crowding my mind.

“Where’s Drescoll?” I ask.

The others turn toward where he normally
sits, perplexed as I that he isn’t there.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since this
afternoon,” Bannerman says.

“Shit,” I say, rising. “Lynn, find his team
and find out where he is.”

“Okay, Jack. Where are you going?”

“To check on something.”

With a quickened pace and a sinking feeling
in my gut, I make my way downstairs. Heading to where the prisoner
is shackled inside of the storage container, I see two guards
posted.

“How is our guest doing?” I ask the one
closest.

“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t looked in
since Sergeant Drescoll left word that the prisoner wasn’t to be
disturbed in any way,” the soldier answers.

“I see. And when was that?”

“Sometime this afternoon, sir. He went in
and came out with orders from you that no one was to go in.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Open it up.”

The soldier opens the lock and, with a
metallic screech of protest, one of the steel doors swings back. I
look in fully expecting the sight that greets me. Inside, his arms
still hanging by chains overhead, the prisoner is slumped, his chin
on his chest. I don’t need the blood spattered on his shirt or in a
large puddle on the ground below him to know he is no longer with
us.

“Fuck me,” one of the soldiers mutters.

“Sir…I…” the other stutters, starting his
apology.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, venturing to
the body.

I lift the prisoner’s head to find one side
of his face mostly gone. There’s a smaller hole in the upper back
of his head. The skin around the entrance wound is singed and
blackened.

“Sir, we didn’t hear a thing. If we’d
known…”