A New World: Conspiracy (6 page)

“How long until it begins orbital
decay?”

“Our best guess is that we have
approximately six months. I’d have something more definitive, but
we also aren’t receiving any data on those systems. Fuel burns to
remain on its current orbital pattern could be higher or lower than
our guesses,” she responds.

“Do you foresee any threats to us from the
radiation?”

“No, but that is hard to determine. The
leading elements of the radiation cloud are sweeping over Asia and
out into the Pacific. It will swing north toward Alaska and come
down the Western Seaboard of Canada and the United States. We
predict it will reach those shores in negligible amounts. I’ll say
this again. It would be nice to have the other sites available, but
we don’t. We need to figure an action plan about what we are going
to do. We need to develop a plan that takes into account the
limited resources we have. If we fail to do that, events will pass
us by….and our opportunity with it,’ Gav affirms, closing her
folder to emphasize her point.

“We will discuss it and get back to you,”
the first man says, dismissing her.

She walks out of the plush conference room
and into an elegant waiting room. This part of the facility is
reserved for the five men she just left, with her having the only
access. Leaving the wing and walking down a wide hall, her heels
once again solidly clicking on the hard floor, their sound
mimicking her frustration, Gav presses her lips together in
exasperation. To her, the men sitting in the conference room behind
her appear lost. They had the perfect plan, and, although they had
been able to adapt to differing situations in the world before, it
seems to her that they are holding too tightly to the wheels they
set in motion. Of course, maybe they aren’t so used to adapting;
they always controlled prior situations and never really had to
adapt to anything. They are accustomed to being in power and
perhaps feel helpless that they can’t control the current
situation.

For a brief moment, Gav wonders what the
personnel would do if her orders were countermanded by any of the
five men. Who would the personnel follow? She immediately dispels
the thought. She has her mission and will accomplish it to the best
of her ability.

* * * * * *

If Gav thought watching the group from camp
B-US-1 HALO jump and flying an AC-130 gunship was a surprise,
watching the LA class submarine surface and glide through the
waters close to Puget Sound is a downright fright. The control
center picked up periodic satellite transmissions and honed in on
the source. The sleek, cigar-shaped vessel surfaced outside of the
inlet to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and slid slowly beneath the
waves a short time later.

She had the control center watch the naval
yards at Bangor. Sure enough, she observed the submarine surface,
but the harder part to swallow was a contingency from the “B” camp
meeting with it. If the two came together, the camp would far
surpass her facility. Video of the sub making its way down the
narrows of Puget Sound fills her monitor. Gav watches as it docks
in Olympia and takes on supplies provided – apparently, from the
camp. It then sails up the sound the next day, out across the
straits, and vanishes under the waves of the Pacific.

Witnessing this series of events and the
apparent harmony of the camp with the sub strikes a very deep
concern. For one of the first times in her life since losing her
parents, Gav feels worried about an outcome. Although she has
control over the satellite network, the only ground resources she
has amount to a battalion of soldiers and several teams of special
operators. This is nothing compared to the equipment that the camp
currently possesses. Whereas the stalemate between the camps would
eventually swing in her favor as aviation fuels fail, the nuclear
propulsion capability of the sub far outweighs anything she can
bring to the table. Gav doesn’t have the latest load out of the sub
but knows they carry Tomahawk missiles and could be carrying bunker
busters which have the capability of causing harm to her facility.
She immediately has the camp upgraded to a category “A” status.

Finding herself summoned and sitting in the
same plush conference room with the same men, Gav updates them on
the status of now, camp A-US-1. Her own facility is differently
named to avoid confusion: A–CC-1. After her briefing, the men ask
her to leave for a moment while they discuss the situation.

Upon returning, one of them asks, “We can’t
allow another group to exist that can compete with us, let alone
outclass us. What do you intend to do about it?”

Ready for their question and having already
thought over the possibilities, Gav answers, “We have only one
solution. We need to take out their leadership, specifically Jack
Walker. It’s our only hope. That will set them back and allow us an
opportunity to contact them while they are in a state of confusion
and fear. I believe that if we contact them, without alluding to
the fact that we were responsible, that they may be amenable to
joining us. We approach them with a saving situation and fold them
within our group. I know what you said about this, but it’s our
only choice. We need them to join forces with us…assimilate them.
And for that to happen, he needs to go.”

The men sit in silence, contemplating. Three
of them lean forward with their elbows resting on the polished
surface, chins poised on interlaced fingers. The other two are
reclining with their hands folded behind their heads. One man
finally lifts his head from his hands.

“See to it,” he states.

Fear and excitement envelop her. Finally,
they are going to do something other than maintaining the status
quo. She has never done well with that and always felt that if you
weren’t moving forward, you were going backward. She meets with one
of her special operations teams and gives them their mission. They
leave to ready their gear and begin the drive to the Northwest to
eliminate the leader of the specified camp. They will have
satellite feeds and communication at their beck and call. They pour
over maps to familiarize themselves with the area. They will
observe video feeds sent by the control center to establish the
movements of their target and orchestrate a plan upon their
arrival.

Gav feels a renewed energy as plans are set
in motion…her plans. The game has started. Pieces on the board are
moving, and
this
is where she thrives. There is the fear
that things could go wrong, as they sometimes do, but that only
adds to the challenge. She cannot underestimate this Captain
Walker.

Later, the control room notifies her that
the camp and the LA class submarine, now identified as the
Santa
Fe
, are using satellite communications to stay in contact. She
looks at the supervisor briefing her, this time in the control room
itself.

“Shut it down,” she says.

I feel a pressure of air and hear an all too
familiar ‘zip’ pass over my head. Warm liquid splashes on the back
of my neck and in my hair. A sharp report follows.

“Sniper!” I yell, instinct taking over.

A moment of panic seizes me. A projectile
traveling at high speed just passed over my head, close enough that
I felt the air being displaced by its passage. I know what the
sound and feel of warm liquid on my neck means. I also know that
Robert, Bri, and Lynn were right behind or next to me, aside from
the others.

I rise and turn before I even know I’m doing
it. Adrenaline, which I was coming down from after safely exiting
the night runner lair with Lynn, resurges. A small amount of relief
enters as, upon turning, I see Robert and Bri – Robert just
beginning to rise from his bending to help with the dropped mag and
Bri staring open-mouthed. Both have droplets of bright red blood
sprinkled across their faces. Time slows and seems to stop for an
instant before zooming back to normal speed like a train running
through a tunnel at high speed.

More relief floods in as I see Lynn
crouching in answer to the shot ringing out. Grabbing the backs of
Robert’s and Bri’s vests, I shove them in the direction of the
hospital wall and head after them.

“Against the wall, NOW!” I shout.

The outside wall of the hospital offers our
only chance of cover and I hope we can make it to its safety before
another bullet is launched, seeking a target. A quick glance behind
tells me that the others heard and are racing on my heels through
the overgrown front lawn. I know someone is hit, but right now it’s
about getting everyone to safety – at least what I hope is safety.
From the path I felt of the bullet and it hitting someone behind, I
feel fairly confident that the wall will enable us to stay out of
the line of sight, providing that whoever fired at us doesn’t
move.

There isn’t another shot; there is the only
loud swish of the tall grass against our pant legs, the sound of
our boots hitting the ground on the run, and our panting breath. I
pass by and move to the side of Bri as she streaks through the
grass, putting myself on the sniper side of her and Robert. We sail
through untrimmed, waist-high bushes lining the outer hospital
wall, sliding to our knees on the bark-covered ground. Carried by
my momentum, my shoulder slams into the brick wall.

Hearing others break through the bushes, I
glance back relieved to see Robert, Bri, and Lynn, all looking my
way; Robert’s and Bri’s are eyes wide. Feeling covered for the time
being, I rise over the bushes to look back where we were standing
just moments ago. Lanes of bent grass attest to the routes we
hastily carved through it. Just over the tops of the grass, I see a
dark-clad body lying face down on the concrete path leading to the
hospital entry. I immediately recognize the diminutive figure with
dark hair fanned across the warm stone. Looking down the line we
are forming against the wall, I verify my assumption – McCafferty
isn’t with us, but instead, lies unmoving on the sidewalk.

“McCafferty,” I hear Lynn and Gonzalez call
out at the same time.

There is no movement in response. I feel my
heart sink with sorrow. I want nothing more than to run to her
side…to find that she is okay and help her to her feet, or patch
her wound and carry her to cover. I know in my heart that she is
most likely gone. In a flash of an instant…gone. A sweet, young
woman, always with a ready smile. Her laugh always the first to
burst forth, or her giggle, which earned her endless good-natured
ribbing…silenced. A woman with the sweetest disposition…with dreams
and fears…one of us. One moment standing with the rest of us, happy
that Lynn was back, and the next…unceremoniously falling to the
hard ground…her life ended in a flash of a moment.

“Allie,” Gonzalez calls, eliciting the same
response…nothing.

I notice both Lynn and Gonzalez take a step
away from the wall toward McCafferty, their expressions making it
evident that they are on their way to aid a fallen comrade.

“No!” I whisper harshly.

I’m torn. My heart goes out to Allie, and I
am filled with grief…a grief that I can’t express until we are safe
– providing that moment comes and whoever fired on us doesn’t shift
positions. A sorrow that, once started, will flow unrelentingly.
Time is critical. I glance to the corner of our wall of protection
and back to McCafferty. Looking down the line pressed against the
brick, all eyes are on me. I notice a couple glances toward
McCafferty.

I know the sniper is either changing
positions to get a better shot on us or waiting for us to break
cover toward our fallen teammate. That’s if they know what they are
doing. From the time of the bullet passage to the sound of the
shot, I know the shooter is some distance away. It will be
difficult to get a shot on us in this position from any distance.
The trees in the parking lot to our front give us additional
cover.

Two things I do know…by the accuracy of the
shot from a distance, the shooter knows what he or she is doing
and, that I was the target. It could have been just a random target
selection and not a defined target. However it came to be, I was
the one being shot at, and my bending down to pick up my mag caused
the round to sail overhead. Instead of hitting me, it hit
McCafferty standing behind. This makes me feel worse.

With everyone’s eyes still on me, I give a
big sigh. I know what needs to be done. It’s something that’s just
ingrained. I unhook my M-4 and hand it to Robert who is kneeling by
me.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Without answering him directly, I sharply
whisper down the line, “Stay here.”

I launch through the bushes and take off at
a run, hitting a lane of bent grass one of us created moments ago.
I left my carbine because it’s not going to do me any good against
a sniper firing at long range and will only slow me down.

Feeling the sun on my shoulders as I streak
through the overgrown lawn, adrenaline coursing through my body and
expecting to feel the solid impact of a round hitting me, the
situation feels surreal. My sight picture narrows to single
focus…getting to McCafferty.

I feel like I’m making no progress at all as
I stare at the body lying prone. No matter how fast I run, it seems
to stay the same distance away. I don’t alter my path, but instead
change the speed of my dash across the lawn. Zig-zagging with
someone shooting at right angles won’t hinder their shot, that’s
for when you are running toward or away from them. But changing
your speed will make it harder for them to hit. And it’s important
not to make predictable alterations, but do it almost constantly.
As will varying your height from semi-crouch to upright to leaning
forward.

I slow to a trot and, two steps later, break
into a sprint. I feel something tug on my fatigues at the shoulder,
pulling my vest to the side slightly and almost knocking me off
balance. The sting comes at the same time as the sound of the
gunshot. I recover and keep running.