An Armageddon Duology (2 page)

T
o Nina and
Billy

T
he baby pulled
on a string and the toy’s small disk chimed. A lion roared and birds tweeted. A dog barked, and the disk stopped spinning. The baby giggled and pulled again.

The room was dark except for multicolored stars projected onto the ceiling. A window was cracked open, letting in crisp spring air. Across the room, a tired-looking woman rested, eyes half-closed, in a rocking chair, watching the child.

The baby grew bored with his toy and turned to a mobile above. A panda-headed cord dangled there, and he could just reach it. Lights blinked and a tune played. The baby smiled.

He pulled himself up awkwardly, legs wobbly. With one hand the baby grasped the panda, with the other the thick string hanging from the disk. With jerky movements, he pulled back and forth on each, nearly stumbling as each mechanism activated in succession. A light shone on the child’s face, an obsessive gleam in his eyes as they darted between the two chiming toys.

Jenny smiled and suppressed a laugh. Even so late at night, when really all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed with her husband, watching her son play was magical. She’d suffer tomorrow for another interrupted night, but it was worth it. He was so happy!

She rubbed her eyes and sat up stiffly in the chair, getting a better view into the crib. Her expression clouded as the toys continued to chime, her son now sitting again on the mattress, bouncing lightly as the racket continued.

Shivering, Jenny draped a shawl around her shoulders and stood up, stumbled to the window and closed it. She turned to the crib and yawned. “How you reaching them down there, pooh-bear?”

She stopped and stared as the baby pulled on the string to the animal disk again. The mechanism clicked and the heads began to rotate. At the same time, the mobile above lit up and played its little tune. The baby smiled and giggled.

“How did you do that?”

The string with the panda was wrapped around one of the animal heads of the disk, so as the disk advanced slightly with each pull, the tug on the mobile activated the second toy, the mechanisms now linked. There wasn’t any slack left in the mobile string, and she detached it from the lion head the string had looped behind.

“There,” she said. “You’ll break it, silly boy.”

The baby pulled on the animal disk string and it moved. He stared at the mobile expectantly. Nothing happened. He pulled on the string again. His lip quivered, and he began to cry.

“Shh. Sorry, pooh-bear, but you got it all tangled.” She smiled and cooed at him. He didn’t seem to notice her and continued to tug on the string in frustration. The woman sighed. “We got to get some sleep, sweetie. Mommy’s tired.”

She walked back to the rocking chair. “Mommy’s just going to close her eyes for a few minutes.”

She slumped down and exhaled deeply, the chair swallowing her whole like an ocean pulling her down into slumber.

And then the sounds again. Animal noises followed by the little tune. Dancing, dancing together in her mind one after the other. The patter of them landing on her like rain. Where had she heard them before? Oh, yes. But the string would break...

Jenny snapped awake and knuckled at her eyes. Sure enough, the baby had done it again. The string from the mobile was fixed to the other toy disk mounted on the side of the crib.

She got up slowly and walked to the bed, reaching in to untangle the devices again. The baby began to cry.

“Sweetie,” she began and then stopped, staring quizzically at the child. She reached up and slowly detached the string, letting the panda head drop downward back under the mobile. She watched her son closely. His complaining slowed and then he toddled up, reaching deliberately over to the panda head to pull it to the side, and yanked the string clumsily to the disk. After several failures, the string latched around one of the animal heads. The baby squealed and dropped back down. He pulled the string and the two toys danced in unison.

She repeated the process to the same effect.

Then she ran from the room.

“
L
ook
, Henry, just look!”

Jenny stood beside the crib, Henry, the boy’s father, yawning. He watched his son.

“See? He’s hooked them together. They both play when he pulls one string!”

“Okay, Jenny? So he tangled them up. We just undo it and it’ll be fine.”

“No. Don’t you get it? It’s on purpose.”

His forehead creased. “On purpose?”

“Yes! He likes it when they both play. He figured out a way to link them together.”

“At nine months? Jenny, come on. You need sleep.”

“No, listen! I undid it like three times. He keeps putting them back together.”

“Honey, how about I take over tonight and you get some rest?”

She pushed forward, the wild look in her eyes causing him to backpedal unconsciously. “Henry, do you know what this means? Do you?”

The man shook his head.

“It means he’s a genius, Henry.”

The father had reached the doorway, yet she pursued him, grasping the folds of his robe and pulling him toward her.

“Our baby is a genius!”

C
ounsel on Behalf
of Defendant (CBD): Will you please identify yourself for the record?

MR. MILLER: Franklin J. Miller, Special Agent, Counterterrorism. Intel 1 division.

C
BD
: You have a service record?

MR. MILLER: Yes. Three tours in Afghanistan. Honorably discharged.

C
BD
: Honorably? I’d say that is an understatement. Medal of Honor, if I’m not mistaken? Second Battle of Fallujah, according to your records here.

MR. MILLER: That’s correct.

CBD: Would you care to elaborate for the panel?

MR. MILLER: I would prefer not to.

C
BD
: Thank you, Mr. Miller. You understand that your testimony here is on the record, and your words might later be used to charge and try you as an enemy combatant of the United States?

MR. MILLER: No, I don't understand that.

[
R
EDACTED
]: Have you not been informed of your rights and requirements under the new Tribunal Act?

MR. MILLER: Yes, sir. But none of this makes any sense to me.

[REDACTED]: You have been informed of the law?

MR. Miller: Yes. Jesus.

C
BD
: Mr. Miller, how long have you worked with the defendant?

MR. MILLER: Nearly a decade.

C
BD
: And in what capacity?

MR. MILLER: First I was a special agent in the Intel 1 division under the umbrella of Larry Kanter's counter-terrorism branch. After the attacks on our division, I served under him in the restructured Intel 1.

C
BD
: And it was serving in this role during which the events in question occurred?

MR. MILLER: Yes.

C
BD
: And how did you and the Intel 1 division become involved?

MR. MILLER: John likely knows the chronology better. But-

C
BD
: You mean the defendant, former agent Savas?

MR. MILLER: Former?

CBD: Agent Savas.

MR. MILLER: Yes. Special agent in Charge,
John
Savas.

C
BD
: Continue.

MR. MILLER: I mean for the rest of us it was a relatively normal day, if you can ever consider counterterrorism a normal job. We had our usual reports, chatter, kidnappings by more extremists, talks of retaliation for the French raid in Algeria. It was also the ceremony for John's medal, and that morning we were all in front of the Mayor and Attorney General.

[
R
EDACTED
]: And the Anonymous case? Please focus your responses to material relevant to this inquiry.

MR. MILLER: Right. It started with the bombing, obviously. As far as I know, NYPD was the first on the scene but they called us in fairly quickly.

[REDACTED]: You know this because?

MR. MILLER: John told us.

C
BD
: Can we just back up and get the events from you one step at a time. Tell us from what you remember what happened.

MR. MILLER: I wasn't there for a lot of it, but we were all briefed.

CBD: That's fine. Just your words, please.

MR. MILLER: All right. Like I said, it started just like any other day.

"
M
r. Craig
, sir."

A man in a chauffeur’s uniform held a door open patiently. The CEO of Goldman Sachs stalked toward the car. Silver-haired, dressed in a tailored business suit with a golden watch that glinted in the sunlight, his thin-framed glasses gave his harsh features a predatory intelligence. The black leather handle of his briefcase contrasted sharply with his golden wedding ring. Two bodyguards left his side and walked to a second car parked immediately behind.

Jack Craig nodded to the chauffeur and stepped into the limo. He dropped his briefcase onto the leather seat, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed as his driver shut the door. The interior was spartan compared to the cars kept by many of his equals at the top echelons of corporate power. But Craig had never taken to the ostentatious bravado that infected so many of his peers. To his mind, there was no surer sign of dominance than the refusal to flaunt it.

The driver entered and started the engine. “World Financial Center, Miles." The driver nodded and pulled the car out into midday Manhattan traffic. Craig engaged the auditory dampening system, sealing him off from the driver. "
Yes
, Heidi. I understand that there are midterms coming, but this bill cannot come up for a vote. It's got Warren's dirty paw prints all over it and it’s a step in the wrong direction." He paused, listening. "No, it doesn't matter. You won't lose your position on the committee. Hell, given how much you lot have gerrymandered things I doubt I'll be alive the next time you lose the House. We've got you more than covered with the advertising, believe me. Kill this vote. You’ve got nothing to fear." He pulled the phone away from his head to mitigate the shouting on the other end of the line. "For fuck's sake, Heidi! Least of all the press! Not even the
Times
has anyone off the payroll now."

Craig nodded several times, satisfied. He ended the call and sighed.
No one in Congress has any balls except that damn bitch Warren!
And they hadn't been able to find a price for her. He doubted there was one, but they still had many years to find out. Especially if they could couple it with some dirty laundry and rattle her cage a little. He swiped across the phone and hit an entry, placing a call.

"Hi, sweetheart!" For the first time that day, Jack Craig smiled. "No, I can't make your show today, I'm sorry. Daddy's got a very important meeting with the
President
. Tell that to your friends!" He frowned as a whining pitch escaped from the speaker. "I know, I know, honey. I'll bring you something special tonight, from that new toy store they opened, what's it called? The one with the giant bear?" There was a sound on the other end. "Right. That one. A surprise, okay?"

The vehicle pulled out onto FDR Drive and sped south beneath the Hospital for Special Surgery, the sun glinting off the East River on his left. Craig cracked the window open a wedge, gazing toward the looming mass of the Queensboro Bridge and the white sailboats bobbing along the currents.

"Now, Daddy’s got to go. You give him a kiss." A pop sounded on the speaker. "Thanks, honey. Talk to you later." He closed the connection.

Continuing to stare outside his window, Craig felt a weariness descend. Soon, he knew, they would reach their exit and the nasty courting ritual would begin at the hotel. A presidential speech on financial reform, dutiful agreements from the top managers, handshakes, TV moments, and reporters' questions. Too much money had changed hands for there to be any real concern. They owned the committees. The damn politicians had to trot them out every few years, give them a public tongue-lashing, and then it was back to business as usual.

A black spot in the sky in front of them caught his eye.
What the hell?
He disengaged the sound suppression.

"Miles, can you see that thing in front of us? I thought it was a plane, but it's something else."

While he was accustomed to the low-flying aircraft along this route—helicopters heading to the Hamptons and tourist planes lumbering overhead—something was wrong. The craft, whatever it was, seemed way too low.
Too small
.

"Look at it—it's off the river and over the damned FDR.”

He could see his driver straining upward and nodding. "Some kid’s remote control helicopter or something, Mr. Craig."

Craig shook his head. "Maybe. Damn if it’s not going to hit us."

The object careened straight for them, slowing its approach until it paced the car. He could see it better now: four helicopter-like blades spun equidistant from each other separated like the points on a square. A mass of spidery arms underneath held what looked like a cylinder, the bottom shining like a large metallic disk. Craig felt a strange unease.
It's like some giant insect from Mars
.

"Miles, take the next exit. There. The sign that says 53rd. Take that exit.”

"But sir, we'll get snarled in the local traffic."

"Just do it!"

Craig wasn't sure what was happening, but his instincts were never wrong. He had lived too long as a predator and master of the games of power. When soldiers around him died in Vietnam, he made it out alive. It was a sixth sense, background processing,
something
that always alerted him to danger and opportunity. Right now, his alarms were ringing frantically.

The limo darted across lanes toward the exit to a chorus of horns. The small flying thing matched their motion and continued to close the distance.

Miles grumbled as the wheels hit the exit ramp. "This some new paparazzi thing?"

Then, the impossible! The small craft accelerated and slammed directly onto the roof of the car.

Craig jumped.
Shit!
"Pull us over, Miles. Now!"

But there wasn't a place to stop the car. Still exiting the off-ramp, the driver accelerated and hurtled toward a curbside ahead.

"Goddamn thing is stuck to the rooftop," yelled Craig, grabbing the handle of his door. He prepared to leap out of the vehicle.

A large explosion rocked the corner of 53rd and Sutton Place. Windows of surrounding buildings shattered, facade stone fractured and fell, and debris from a black limo blasted outward with a fireball that set nearby trees and garbage on fire. Smoke surged upward from the demolished vehicle, only a chassis and partial skeleton remaining. Alarms sounded from cars parked near to the blast radius, and voices screamed over the din. Bodies were strewn motionless around the inferno. Wounded screamed for help.

Above the growing chaos, unseen by anyone below, a frenetic buzzing purred. An apple-sized object hovered hundreds of feet above the fire, a propeller whirling above an octagonal hardware collection ending with a downward-pointing lens. The mechanical insect observed the scene with a cold stillness. As the first sounds of sirens began to spill toward the carnage, it climbed above the buildings and disappeared into the sky.