The God Complex: A Thriller (6 page)

Deep Space Mission – New Hope

Log entry 17 – Mission Commander

After months of monotony
, we are finally nearing our destination
. The engines have begun the process of gently decelerating the ship as we near our future. An asteroid belt encircles our final destination and requires a careful approach.

The mood on the ship has improved since my previous entry. The realization of how important the mission is has slowly but surely sunk in. The change in rhythm of the engines as we began the slowing process was even met with a cheer.

We have three crew members pregnant, including, I am proud to say, my wife and even prouder to say, with twins. The colony we will begin will already be growing by the time we arrive, a great and hopeful start to a bright future for us all, I hope.

So far, all the readings from our forward scanners are suggesting the atmosphere and environment are about as perfect as we had imagined. The alarms have begun to sound, so we are nearing the final stages of our approach. My next log will be in either low orbit, or even more exciting, from the planet’s surface. Our future home beckons.

Antoine Noble, head of the Atlas Noble empire, swept into the UN building with little fuss, unlike the scores of heads of state who would soon be hanging on his every word. Atlas Noble was a company that owned nothing and everything. With a history dating back to the beginning of records, nobody outside of the Noble family truly knew how old the company was. Although it had been noted, even at the creation of records, some 1,500 years earlier, that Atlas Noble holdings was an old and distinguished company of significant standing, little was recorded of its purpose. With the expert acumen of the Noble family ancestors, nothing had changed. Atlas Noble was still of significant standing and few people had any idea what it did. What it did, however, was simple: it used money to create power and influence.

Atlas Noble was a holding company for a mind numbing and untraceable maze of trusts, charities, banks and businesses that invested in the world’s businesses. The first time that a company would become aware of the involvement of the Nobles was the point at which a Noble family member was appointed to their board of directors. Family members spanned the globe and between the various branches of the family, all under the direction of Antoine, they sat on the boards of most of the world’s listed companies
, and certainly on all of those of note. A company’s appointment of a Noble as director of the board was a badge of honor and once public knowledge, always ensured a significant increase in value. Consequently, a Noble removing themselves from a board invariably led to a crash in confidence in a company and was a major warning to investors. Atlas Noble didn’t sell for profit, they only ever sold to avoid losses.

The
banker,
the
businessman,
the
director, Antoine Noble was known as many things around the world but only by those who mattered. And those who really knew him, knew him as
the
king maker. Antoine Noble’s monies, influence, and backing changed the world’s democracies as he saw fit. One-term presidents fell at his displeasure, two-term presidents served at his behest.

Publicly
, he was little known. Conspiracy theories surrounded the family, their influence and their wealth. Rumors and anecdotes abounded regarding their power and influence, one even suggesting that Air Force One was put on hold to allow Antoine Noble to land first. Not that it was true; it was in fact Antoine’s daughter, Amy, who was aboard a Noble jet and who had given up her landing slot to save the President having to wait.

Whatever the case, there was one reason the UN was about to welcome more heads of states than in its entire history
. Antoine Noble was addressing the UN and he had asked them to come and listen. One hundred and eighty-eight of the one hundred and ninety-three member states had sent their heads of state. Only five had not, and each of those was excusable due to age or illness, and had sent a significant deputy in their place.

Antoine
studied the wall of TV monitors in his dressing room while he waited for the UN Secretary General to announce his entrance. The news stations were having a field-day. The entrance to the UN was more like the entrance to an awards ceremony with a red carpet style analysis of the attendees. Instead of comments regarding what they were wearing, viewers were hearing who they represented. A news banner at the bottom of the screen made reference to the tragic loss of the Hubble 2 telescope and an ongoing development in Santa Cruz but there was only one news story that day that was going to grab the headlines and it wasn’t how many heads of state were visiting the UN.

Antoine checked through his speech
one more time. He was literally going to blow his audience away.

Cash felt as though the world had fallen
in on him. He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed, the darkness remained. He tried to move. His arms and legs tried but failed to follow his instructions. He listened. Nothing, not even blood pumping through his veins. His last memory was of jumping into the tunnel. The Surenos gang members had spotted them in the treeline and unleashed a torrent of fire towards him and Rigs.

A scrabbling sound caught his attention
. Something was rubbing against his leg. His immediate thought was rats. He hated rats. The scrabbling grew wilder. His leg was being tugged.

“
Cash.” It was muffled, but it reached his ears; it was definitely Rigs.

“I wouldn’t give up the day job,”
said Rigs, clearing the earth around Cash. “You build shitty tunnels.”

“Thanks,” said Cash
, still dazed.

“The tunnel collapsed
in front of me and swallowed you up,” explained Rigs, catching his breath after his manic burrowing efforts.

“But why?”

“I’d think it was something to do with the explosion,” Rigs remarked.

“Explosion?”

“Best guess, a two thousand pounder, direct hit on the house,” said Rigs.

Cash pushed past Rigs and made for the exit hatch
. The steel hatch and vertical tube that led up to the surface had protected Rigs from the collapse. A few seconds more and both of them would have been buried alive, deep in the tunnel, never to be found. A sobering thought that Cash had no time for.

He pushed the hatch hard
. It moved slightly. He pushed harder and as it slowly gave way, a body of a Surenos gang member slid off the lid, no doubt trying to follow them into the tunnel when the explosion struck. Daylight lit the surreal stage. The tree line that had once camouflaged their spot was all but gone. Only the trunks survived, the branches and leaves had been blown away in the blast. Cash turned to face the house. A smoldering pile of rubble remained, leaving only a short chimney stub still intact.

“Oh my
God!” His son, a son he hadn’t even known he’d had, a son he had barely spoken to, lay beneath the rubble.

Rigs joined him on the surface and exhaled expletives
.

Cash
ran towards the rubble, dropping his M4 to dig through the rubble in search of the basement.

A cacophony of sirens suggested help was on the way. Rigs
didn’t wait for the help, he tore into the rubble alongside his partner Cash. Neither spoke a word as they systematically moved through the rubble, clearing it urgently. Within minutes, they were where the doorway to the basement would have stood. A solid pile of rubble lay where the staircase should have been. Neither spoke, they just had to remove the obstruction and get to the basement and the shelter below.

The first fire crew’s arrival did not pause their efforts. Calls from the crews that the structure was unsafe were ignored. Only when the first police officer arrived and on seeing the array of tattooed body parts that littered the area were they ordered to stop at gun point. Even then, it took all of Rigs’ strength to pull Cash away from his task and avoid the bullet the officer was threatening.

With the arrival of more police officers
, the scene became chaotic. Cash and Rigs were placed in handcuffs while the police officers tried desperately to ascertain what had happened to their Chief and his family. Meanwhile, fire crews procrastinated about how safe it was to search through the rubble of the house, almost causing Cash to burst the veins in his temple.

“There are people buried under there
!!!” screamed Cash for the tenth time. “Sir,” said Cash to the officer nearest him, trying to calm himself. “Call this number, 555-223-4312, and ask for the boss.”

The officer looked at him, his interest piqued.

“555-223-4312,” repeated Cash.

The officer dialed the number and immediately hung up
. He then rushed over to Deputy Chief Sanders who had just arrived and whispered in his ear.

Sanders
’ head spun to fix on Cash and Rigs. “Okay, that gets you the chance to talk,” said Sanders, walking over to the two suspects.

“The Chief
’s wife, daughter and grandson are buried under that rubble,” Cash said urgently.

“We’re getting to them, don’t worry,” said Sanders calmly
. “But what in the hell happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the devastation around them.

Cash spoke as calmly and slowly as the situation allowed
, given his family was buried beneath them and all he wanted to do was get to them.

“The Chief
’s dead?!” exclaimed Sanders, when Cash recounted the attack on the cars. “And you think they hit this place with a two thousand pound bomb?” asked Sanders, incredulous.

Cash and Rigs both
nodded.

“So who is
‘they’?” asked Sanders, looking at Rigs, who in turn looked at Cash, avoiding Sanders’ gaze.

T
he fire crews made progress on the house. The movement calmed him.

“
‘They’,” he answered, “could be any number of people, but I’d start with the Chinese, Russians or North Koreans.”

Sanders rocked back as though hit by a right hook
. “What?”

“Everything leads back to the observatory and Hubble 2,” said Cash.

“Hubble 2?”

“The most powerful telescope ever built.”

Sanders was unimpressed. “And?”

“The most powerful spy satellite ever developed.”

“Seriously guys, let’s get back to reality. Lumps of Surenos gang members are littering this area, not old world Commies.”

“A back
-up plan for when their initial plan failed,” said Cash. “If I’m not mistaken, Hubble 2 was blown up last night by a missile.”

Sanders paused
. “It was hit by a meteor,” he said quietly. “It’s only just been reported.”

“A meteor that flew upwards?”

“Shit,” whistled Sanders. “What do we do?”

“First thing
is, we need to cancel the President’s visit if it’s not already cancelled, and more importantly, we need to rescue my family,” said Cash, beckoning for his cuffs to be removed.

“
The President was coming here?”

Cash
nodded. “Yes, tonight, in secret, to inaugurate the telescope.”

“Bullshit
. He has a huge entourage, we’d have been informed.”

“
Only when it’s a public visit. This was a very secret visit. It wasn’t going to be made public. If nobody knows he’s coming, there’s far less to worry about.”

“And you guys are?”

“Not the guys who should be in cuffs,” Cash snapped. “Give me that number again?” asked Sanders with his cell phone at the ready.

“555-223-4312,”
Cash repeated for the third time.

Sanders dialed the number and
, as described by his officer, the phone was answered on the first ring.

“President Mitchell
’s office.”

Sanders took a deep breath
. “Could I speak to the President, please?”

The line disconnected.

“No, ask for the boss!” Cash said impatiently. “It’s a code that proves you know it’s the red line.”

“The red line
?”

“No matter where
he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be put through to him immediately.”

“Bullshit
! I bet it’s one of your buddies that can do a good impression, it’s not…” Sanders spotted a news crew truck that had arrived. He knew the President was at the UN. Everybody knew he was there; it was the only news across every network. He walked over to the truck and ignored every question hurled at him.

“Can you get the news feed from the UN?” he asked the
technician in the back of the truck, looking back at Cash and Rigs.

“
Umm, yeah,” said the techie, looking out at the carnage in front of them. It seemed a bizarre request.

“Any
feeds covering President Mitchell?”

The techie flicked through a number of feeds available to the media and found a camera that settled on President Mitchell, leaving it on the screen for Sanders.

“Fantastic, thanks,” said Sanders hitting the redial button. He could make out the audio feed from the UN. The Secretary General was introducing the keynote speaker. The President was in no position to accept a call.

He hit redial, keeping his eye on the screen
.

“President Mitchell
’s office.”

“The boss
, please?” asked Sanders with a sneer.

“
Please hold.”

After three rings
; “Yes?” came the reply of a voice Sanders couldn’t fail to recognize but did not match the vision before him. The President was still listening to the Secretary General on the screen.

“
That is a fantastic impression of the President’s voice.”

The tech
ie tried to catch his attention, having listened to Sanders’ end of the conversation, but Sanders ignored him.

“Who is this
?” demanded an angry President Mitchell.

“The guy who’s about to put your buddies Cash and Rigs in jail and throw away the key,” he said
.

“Was that the
President?” asked the techie, stunned, when he hung up.

“Obviously not,” said Sanders pointing
at the screen.

The president sat motionless listening to the Secretary General.

“One small problem,” said the techie, pointing at the screen. A Secret Service Agent rushed into view with a cell phone outstretched. “There’s a twenty second delay on this feed!”