Authors: Keith Domingue
“That’s a suicide stance. And a bluff. You know this.” Brown responded. “Oil has always traded on the U.S. dollar, and it always will. They’ll never do it. They own too much of our debt to risk it.”
“Our analysts think that they are now willing to take the hit. They think that they’ve been planning for it. They believe that these radical jokers in China are willing to write off their losses in U.S. dollar value, because a deal with Russia and Iran will give them enough reserves in both cash and energy to survive, and the rest of our enemies and then the world will quickly fall in line behind them. We’ll be left out in the cold. It will mean tanks rotting on the battlefield. It will mean two hundred dollar loaves of bread. It will mean riots in the streets. We can’t survive that as a nation. And they know it.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“Well that’s what we need to know for sure, Richard. Whether or not this is in fact what they’re truly planning. Because if it is, it’s war. Or worse.” Mason let the impact of that hang a moment.
“Now, we pay Coalition Properties billions of tax payer dollars for its information gathering services.” He continued, using a different form of thinly veiled threat as motivation. “Can whatever the hell it is you’re working on give us the intelligence that we need to know?”
“Give me one hour.” Brown replied, and then hung up.
Mason’s sanctimonious talk of “tax payer dollars” aside, the implications were dead serious, he thought. The United States’ role as Superpower was dependent on two things, the control of oil supply and the strength of the dollar as the reserve currency of the entire world. There was a good chance that the Chinese and Russians were bluffing in an effort to gain a stronger footing in the Middle East. China’s energy needs were beginning to rival that of the United States and soon surpass it, and the Gulf Region was still the world’s largest supplier. If it were in fact a bluff, negotiations to allow more energy flow to China would be painful and expensive, but achievable.
But if it were a true threat, that in essence a scorched Earth scenario was being planned by this triumvate of states to reset the world order, Brown would need to know this immediately, including both the timing and details. Mason was right, it would essentially put the U.S. on an instant war footing. A profitable endeavor for Coalition Properties, should there be any survivors, Brown couldn’t help but think, but preferable to be avoided.
General Zemin would know the truth along with the details. And Luthecker could tell Brown about Zemin. It was that simple.
He would pressure Luthecker from every direction, and every way. He flipped open his phone, scrolled through the numbers, found the one he was looking for and hit the speed dial.
“Bring in all four of them into custody, now. I don’t care how, just make sure that they’re alive.”
• • •
Stern and Castillo watched in awe as Nikki punched at the keyboard, her fingers a choreographed blur not unlike those of a master pianist, her eyes staying locked on the center of the three screens she had set up in front of her. The screen showed what to them was an indecipherable string of alpha-numeric lines of code. On the left of center screen, high tech three-dimensional blueprints of the Coalition Properties West building popped up. On the right of center screen, the security video feed of the Coalition Properties West building lobby suddenly pulled into focus.
“Holy shit, that’s the fucking lobby.” Stern said, putting audible subtitles to the image.
“How in the hell did you do that?”
“It’s all floating in the air as encrypted signals. You just have to know how to grab it, decode it, and ride it on home. Phoebe and I can do all that.” Nikki answered.
She broke from her gaze on the center screen and looked at the two of them to shoot them a quick smile.
She turned back to her makeshift workstation, typed a few more keys, and the skeletal imagery of the building structure on the left of center screen began to rotate, focusing on the three heavily reinforced shafts that ran parallel through the center of the structure and made up the buildings’ elevator banks.
“What floor did you say Luthecker was on?” She asked without looking.
“I didn’t. Coalition Properties occupies the fifty-sixth through seventy-five, the top floors. We stayed on the seventy-first. That was like their barracks. We were originally escorted up to the seventy-third, got to look around. That floor looked like a high tech boiler room with analysts and computer nerds.”
“What’s wrong with nerds?” She asked, more playful than offended. “Nerds get shit done.”
“The last thing you are is a nerd. Anyway, it looked like there was a lot of action going on there.”
Nikki continued to manipulate the 3D blueprint structure, trying to zoom in on the top twenty floors of the building. It showed nothing but empty space. She shook her head as she spoke.
“The layout of the top twenty floors are not a part of public records. It’s probably on a different server, maybe even classified. Can’t say for sure. It would take forever to crack, even if we did find out where they are, my guess.”
She took one more look at the schematics and turned back to them.
“I think I can get you inside that twenty-floor zone easy enough, though.” She continued. “There’s a service shaft that runs up along side the Eastern elevator bank. I can trip a fire alarm on the West side of the lobby, turn off the service door alarm on the west, getting everyone to move away from you before glitching the lobby cameras for twenty seconds, allowing you inside the service entrance. Then it’s a long set of iron rungs up until the top twenty floors. Hope you guys are in shape. When you get to Coalition territory, we’ll pick a floor and pop a door. That’ll get you on their turf under the radar. Once you’re on their twenty floors, you’ll be on your own, although I may be able to help, depending on what you can give me when you’re there. When you make contact with Alex, I should be able to help you get back out.”
“This is all assuming they don’t find you out first and shut you down.” Castillo stated.
“Yes.” She confirmed. “Assuming that.”
“When do we go?” Stern asked.
“I’d say 6PM, when it’s busiest.”
“That’s three hours from now.” Castillo replied.
“The longer we wait, the more time they’ll have to prep for us.” Stern added. He didn’t notice that he had begun to pace. The adrenaline for action he had missed since Afghanistan was starting to kick in.
“Is that doable? 6pm tonight?” He asked Nikki.
“Maybe.” She answered, paying attention to her computer monitors. She kept clicking the center screen through security camera footage from different parts of the building. The series of video feeds ran through dull and lifeless black and white images of hallways, security desks, conference rooms, individual floor lobbies, some views completely empty of people or movement, some with occasional tie-wearing automatons moving about, unaware that they were even being watched.
Her jaw dropped when a ceiling camera showed video footage of Luthecker sitting on a couch.
“How in the hell…” Stern reacted. “Where the fuck is he? What floor?”
Nikki didn’t answer. She hit keys, overriding the local camera control and zooming in on Alex’s face. She stared at his visage as he sat there, unmoving, his eyes closed.
“Ms. Ellis.” Castillo said, with just enough volume to get her attention away from Luthecker and towards himself and Stern.
“I’m sorry.” She replied, snapping out of it. “I was going floor by floor, tip-toeing on their security cameras. This one is on seventy-two.” She answered.
“Then that’s our floor.” Stern said.
“Any audio?” Castillo asked.
“Believe me, I’m working on it.” She replied, her fingers back to work on the keyboard.
The sound of the front door opening had both Stern and Castillo reaching for their sidearms.
A muscular Latino whose head was shaved clean and whose neck was completely obscured by tattoos entered the room carrying a large brown paper bag. He stopped in his tracks when he saw two guns trained on him.
“What the hell, Ese?” He reacted.
“Gomez.” Castillo said in recognition. He carefully re-holstered his weapon, and Stern slowly followed suit.
“I got everything you asked for.” Gomez said, before slowly approaching and tossing the paper bag on the floor. It landed with the considerable clunk of two pounds of metal on wood.
“And the car?” Castillo asked.
“Honda Civic. Windows tinted like you asked. Gun-metal grey. Jacked up to go fast.”
“Good. You done good. Leave your pick up, too.”
“What?”
“We may need it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Walk.”
Gomez shook his head.
“Fine.”
He tossed the keys on the table.
“You gonna take care of my shit now?” Gomez asked, the implication being a legal problem that Castillo could fix.
“Count on it.” Castillo replied.
Gomez stood there a minute, overlooking Castillo, Stern, and Nikki.
“Viva la revolution.” He said, dismissive, before wheeling about and exiting the front door of the home.
Stern quickly picked up the bag Gomez left behind, and carefully emptied its inventory, going through each of the items. Everything came in pairs, one set for Stern, one for Castillo:
A Streetwise Blackout 5MM volt stun gun. The size of a thin pack of cigarettes, it was easily held and hidden in the palm of the hand. The five million volt discharge could also render a man unconscious and quivering in less than a second.
A Baretta PX4 subcompact 9mm. Weighing in at twenty-six ounces, it had a polymer composite frame and a short, three-inch barrel. It was the smallest, most advanced subcompact sidearm of its kind. It came with a black leather ankle holster.
A KA-BAR Necker knife. Made of hardened metal, and matte-black in color, it was razor-sharp with a short blade length of three and a quarter inches. It was called the “Necker” for a reason. It too, came with an ankle holster.
The final items in the bag were two zip tie restraint packets, and blue tooth earpieces for each of the three prepaid cell phones.
Castillo and Nikki watched as Stern strapped on the ankle holster for the sidearm on his right ankle and knife on his left with a bit of frenzy, pocketing the zip ties and holding the stun gun in the palm of his hand.
Stern looked at Castillo.
“We stun to get in and out. We shoot to survive. Understood?”
“You need to stay calm.” Castillo replied.
“I am calm.” Stern shot back, unaware he was flexing his hands. “You need to strap up. I got a lot of questions for this guy. I bagged him once in the desert, and I can do it again, right under Coalition noses.”
He turned to Nikki.
“How do we look for time?”
She stared at him a moment, a bit uneasy from his aggressive energy. She turned her attention back to her monitor layout.
On the left center screen, she had pulled up a schematic diagram of fire alarms that dotted the Coalition Properties West building framework like Christmas Tree ornaments. On the right center, a matching security door alarm grid.
The center screen remained focused on Alex Luthecker.
She slipped in the blue tooth earpiece, synched it with her cell phone.
“We’re good to go.” She said. “Synchronize for 6:15pm. Call me when you’re in place.”
Stern and Castillo nodded, putting their blue tooth earpieces in place.
“Just remember, when you’re in the elevator shaft, there will be no cell signal. I won’t be able to talk to you until you’re actually on the seventy-second floor.”
Both men nodded.
“One more thing.”
They both looked at her.
“I need a gun. Just in case.”
• • •
“No way I’m fucking running from these assholes.” Yaw said, as he sat directly across from Winn.
“Me either.” Chris Aldrich chimed in.
Both men, along with Camila and Winn, sat at the kitchen table of the safe house apartment. The unit was now furnished, and the Vietnamese women who had previously been destined for slavery now chatted in the kitchen, happily preparing a late afternoon meal for their new friends.
“We stay here and fight. Take our chances. That’s where I come out.” Yaw continued, with a tone not open for debate.
Winn nodded his head in response, but said nothing. The answers were in regard to a question he had no choice but to pose to them: The option of all three of them going on the run. Winn already knew the answers he was going to get, but knew it necessary to offer it. They had to choose freely. He looked over at Camila, who had been sick since their return two days previous.
“Are you feeling better?” He asked.
“I’m fine. All you fools step off me.” She said. She was visibly pale, and looked worn but defiant.
Yaw reached over and gently took her hand. She squeezed his a moment, then pulled it away.
“I’m with Yaw. And Chris. I say we stay and fight. I mean, we’re gonna bring these people here,” She nodded to the women in the kitchen, “Tell them to be strong, and then run away when things get hot? I don’t think so.”
The Vietnamese women approached the kitchen table with steaming plates of carefully prepared food, putting one in front of each of them. Chris and Yaw dug in, near ravenous with hunger. Winn did not make a move towards his plate, his mind lost in thought, his fingers steepled in front of his face. Camila took one look at her food and pushed her plate away.
Yaw noticed.
“Eat.” Yaw told her.
She responded with one brief headshake in the negative.
“How many trained Couriers we got?” Yaw asked Winn, with a mouth full of food.
“Twenty-two. Including you three.”
“They’re going to be coming at us with a goddamn private army.” Chris offered.
The formidable odds against survival hung in the air. Everyone ate in silence a moment.
“We just have to hold them back for a brief period of time.” Winn finally added, a notable calm in his voice.
They all looked at him.
“Hold them back? For what?” Yaw asked.