The Olympus Device: Book Three (14 page)

Trading was halted.

The news that Durham Weathers was pissed, on the prowl, and using his doomsday weapon against the U.S. government was enough to send the major markets into a nosedive. The Dow Jones Index lost 600 points in the first hour of trading after the president’s news conference.

The worldwide commodities markets immediately followed. Oil prices shot skyward, propelled as always by uncertainty. No one knew where the Olympus Device or its owner would strike next. Some believed Dusty was a lunatic, others a patriot. Regardless, he had a plane, accomplices, and motivation for revenge. Durham Weathers could be anywhere.

Fear was quickly fanned into outright panic. Millions of workers stayed home, unwilling to venture into the cities where the madman might strike. The FBI and other police agencies received tens of thousands of calls, most reporting a sighting of the fugitives. The resulting inundation and follow-up drew significant manpower away from security and everyday duties.

Every critical federal and state building, power plant, dam, dike, lock, bridge, and base was put on high alert. America hadn’t experienced anything like it since the terrorist attacks on 9-11.

The sky was filled with military and law enforcement aircraft. Just like the tragic event that dropped the towers in New York, civilian flights were grounded. Governors in practically every state mobilized their national guards, armed troops hustling to form perimeters around critical infrastructure.

And the flurry of activity wasn’t limited to just the United States.

A tsunami of dread quickly spread across international borders. Dusty Weathers and his gang were spotted in Mexico City, London, Moscow, and even New Delhi. The world’s economies ground to a halt, government spending on overtime, additional personnel, and the ongoing manhunt increasing exponentially with every passing hour.

The BBC World Service even went so far as to editorialize an opinion that the U.S. government should issue an immediate, unconditional surrender to one Durham Weathers.

Corporate giants felt the pain. Amazon recorded the fewest number of on-line shoppers since the internet giant had become a household name. Google, Apple, General Electric, Microsoft, and a slew of other industrial titans saw their daily sales plummet. The malls were empty, small businesses ranging from dry cleaners to hardware stores left wondering if their customers had vanished into thin air.

Only gas stations and grocery stores benefited from news of the attack on Fort Knox. Long lines of anxious drivers stretched for miles at every corner outlet, frustrated citizens wanting to top off their fuel tank in case outright anarchy occurred. Any shelf containing foodstuff was quickly assailed by the terrorized public, long rows of barren aisles leading the network newscasts.

Fights broke out, minor skirmishes soon turning into brawls, a few leading to full-out riots in larger cities and smaller towns alike. People were scared, desperate, and unsure of their future and safety. The unrest spread quickly, drawing yet more resources from an already overtaxed law enforcement community.    

The two girls sitting at the picnic table didn’t seem to mind the mid-afternoon Texas heat. Discussing everything from a pending chemistry final to the latest celebrity gossip, they appeared oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the campus that surrounded them.

All of that changed when a young man in his early twenties passed nearby. Sporting brown hair and enticing blue eyes, the blonde coed stopped mid-sentence to watch him stroll down the sidewalk.

“Isn’t that Andrew Weathers?” asked the gawker.

“Yes, that’s Andy,” replied the darker headed of the two.

“He’s kind of hot,” came the reply.

“Careful, sister,” warned the brunette, “He’s the one whose father is a terrorist… the guy that developed that crazy rifle-thing that blows the hell out of everything.”

“Oh, I’ve heard the story. Who hasn’t?” replied the blonde, waving off her companion. “My dad says it’s all propaganda and bullshit. He says the government is to blame, and that half of what we hear on the news is a lie.”

“True or not, dating that guy right now sounds a little dangerous to me. Besides, romance seems to be the last thing on his mind. I’ve flirted him up a few times in biology, and he only seemed interested in his books… Or maybe he’s gay.”

An expression of realization crossed the bombshell blonde’s face. “Why, you shameless jezebel… you’re trying to scare me off so you can have him for yourself!” she teased.

All of this was lost on Andrew Weathers, his mind wholly occupied by thoughts of pending mid-term exams. That… and the latest news concerning his father and Uncle Mitch.

He was trying to keep a low profile on campus, venturing outside rarely, and often sporting a hoodie and sunglasses. Until recently, Andrew had been living a normal college life. Then his father had apparently invented possibly the most dangerous weapon ever.  That was the moment everything changed. Being the son of the most wanted man in the world hadn’t proven to be a bowl of cherries.

It had started innocently enough. His friends ceased hushed conversations whenever Andy entered the room. Then people started avoiding him altogether. He could understand there being a bunch of controversy over the issue, but didn’t people realize he didn’t have anything to do with the events plastered across the headlines?

Strangers would approach him, some adamantly declaring his father’s guiltlessness. They claimed that the government attacked first and that the co-ed should be proud of his dad.

Other people weren’t so diplomatic or open-minded, announcing harsh opinions about his father. They claimed Dusty was a monster out to destroy the American way of life.

Throughout it all, Andrew kept his feelings bottled in, making a serious attempt to focus on his schoolwork and trying to ignore things he couldn’t control. That, however, proved to be nearly impossible.

There was an equation to it all. The more his father appeared in the headlines, the more people treated the student differently. It didn’t matter if he were meandering through the commons or attending a lecture. Folks were continually throwing distrustful glances in his direction or bending closer to whisper private comments. People stared but rarely made eye contact.

His mother assured Andy that his father was blameless and that the truth would come to light soon enough. “Son,” she’d said during one of their many phone calls, “your father is doing what is morally right. His actions are honorable, and I’m proud of him. You should be, too.”

Andrew just wished he could talk to his dad and hear his side of the story. He was confident that would clear a lot of things up.

Glad to get out of the public eye, Andy was relieved when he finally reached his dorm. Before entering the nondescript low-rise, habit prompted him to turn and scan the street.

There they were, sitting in the usual spot. Andy waved to the two men wearing suits despite the heat. He wondered if the black surveillance van was well air-conditioned.

For a brief moment, the student smiled, the thought of strolling over and asking for a demonstration of their super-secret devices triggering a transitory moment of comic relief.

As if reading his mind, one of the agents lifted a white cup of what was most-likely coffee, tilting it in Andy’s direction as if offering a toast. “Oh shit,” the young Weathers whispered. “Can they read my mind? That was freaky!” He turned and hustled quickly inside.

Andy was never quite sure why the FBI was watching him so closely. At first, the common sense answer was they were waiting for the father to attempt communication with the son. But over time, Andy decided that wasn’t all there was to it.

Finally, it dawned on the inventor’s son that the small surveillance force was there to protect him from being abducted.

The ransom would be the rail gun. They’d probably cut off his finger and send it to his father with the demand letter.
Who am I kidding?
he wondered.
They most likely would kill me after getting their hands on dad’s toy…. if he’d make the trade
.

Throughout the entire ordeal, that reoccurring quandary had been troubling for the young man. How would his father react? Would the tough, old Texan give into the kidnappers’ demands?

To make matters worse, Andy wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if the situation were reversed. Would he surrender the most powerful weapon ever devised to men who by their very actions, were proven criminals?

It was all so serious… so permanent… so… so… life and death.

In the end, it wasn’t character, honor, or determination that allowed Andrew Weathers to push it all aside and continue to function. Nor was it the love and devotion he felt toward his father that pulled him through. It was raw, basic, animalistic survival.

He simply reached a point where it was impossible to dwell on it anymore.

Andy took to laying low, managing his daily activities while trying to stay under society’s radar. It was the only option. He avoided social situations, stopped going to rallies and sporting events, and even washed his laundry in the wee hours of the morning. He fell into a lifestyle not unlike that of a hermit. “Well, at least my GPA should improve with all the additional study time. I haven’t just exactly been a social butterfly these days, Mom, I feel like a butt-ugly bookworm with the sex appeal of a sloth.”

He’d found an isolated nook in the library, discovered the rear-most booth in the coffee shop was nearly invisible from the main seating area. Andy often walked to his classes taking longer, but less visible routes. He hadn’t been to a party since news of the rail gun had commanded the headlines. Dating, once a primary focus of his energies, was off the table.

He often observed the FBI teams performing their duties. Andy occasionally found himself thinking of the serious-faced men as part of his social circle, having one-sided conversations with distant vans while he walked or gazed out his dorm window. “Now that’s just sick,” he’d pronounced after a particularly boring afternoon. “You’re like a little kid with make-believe friends that wear badges and guns.”   

Initially, Andy had thought the surveillance teams consisted of eight to ten men, but after a few weeks of no results, that number apparently had been scaled back. Lately, there were entire days where his federal buddies were nowhere to be found.

But not today.

His dorm room’s door was just like all the rest, identical portals into small chambers that somehow never quite felt like home. Digging out his key, Andy pivoted to unlock the entry to his only private space when the scuffle of a footfall caused him to turn.

The world went black as a hood was yanked over the student’s head, an extremely foul odor filling his lungs.
Ether
.

For just a moment, the student thought some upper classmen were pulling a prank. That pissed him off, prompting a broad swing of his arm in an attempt to locate a target.

Instinct then took over, prompting an automatic reach for the dark cloth blocking his vision and polluting his nose and mouth. But Andy found he could not move his arms. Strong hands held him – iron-like grips on his wrists threatening to pulverize every bone.