Last War (24 page)

     “I don’t know. He seemed to be more hard on the car show than the government.”

     “He’s what’s considered ‘in a good place’ with what I do. He’s not hardcore gung-ho like some who would have called me paranoid or unpatriotic, but his, seeming, tendency to look for ulterior motives watered down some when it came to government-type issues. In my line of work, he’s a good guy. He’s a trustworthy American. Of course that’s only a sample-size.”

     They walked back to the car. The
evening was peaceful. As Jason sat into his driver seat, he heard the sputtering exhaust of one of the mall’s many medium-sized surveillance drones. 

     “Buckle up.” Jason said. “We’re going to find someplace safe to stay.

     Pulling out onto I 395, besides the smooth sound of the Mercedes’ tires gliding over the road, there was a moment of silence in the car. Czyra broke the silence. “Seems like you had a fun job; like, it was something you enjoyed.”

     “I love analyzing people. People
, overall, have detached from their natural selves to protect the government’s honor, and that’s 100-percent needed to build a strong nation. But, like any other empire, it leaves little room for growth and seems to lead to collapse. It happens in each age. And in each age, the people seem to think their advancement causes them to be the exception.”   

      After some time riding, t
he car pulled off an exit into a Virginia town.

    
“Where are we headed?” Czyra asked.

    
“We’re going to check into a hotel and figure out where we’re going next, and what in the world I’m going to do.”

    
Jason thought about Clareese. He was concerned with her safety. He didn’t know Max, but he hoped she would find a much better place to be protected. The last person he wanted protecting his wife was the man she might run off with.

    
“So, I’m assuming because they let you hold a pretty high place in the new government focal point department, that you knew that they needed something like 9/11 to happen in order to carry out this new government?”

    
Jason only glanced in his rearview mirror at Czyra.

     Czyra continued.
“He needed that to happen, he even said it; PNAC’s ‘new Pearl Harbor’. It happened only in the next year.”

             
Jason remained silent.

             
“It’s hard to read you.” Czyra said. “I feel like you’re not taking me seriously. What are you thinking?”

    
“Look, I’m not thinking anything. I’m just listening, as I’ve been telling you. You want me to tell you how amusing your conspiracy theories are?”

     “What’s wrong with you?” Czyra asked.

     “I’m tired and I can’t keep up with your vivid imagination. We’re almost at the hotel. Just, get your things together, and be ready to get in here quickly. Got it?”

    
Czyra slumped back into his seat.

    
“Feel free to talk as much as you want. When, and what you need to know, I will give you. Until then, you are the one that needs to tell me—someone who can
actually
do something about the info—what you know. Does that make sense to you?”

    
“Yes sir.”

    
“Glad we’re clear.”

    
They pulled into the hotel parking garage and gathered their things. The hotel was a typical hotel. Nothing overly fancy. They had to get on an elevator to get to the lobby from the parking garage. “How’d you get into the parking garage without checking in, yet.” Dany asked.

    
“That’s for me to know, and you to wonder.” Jason laughed. “Look guys, I’m going to tell you this, you’re going to see a lot of things that defy logic when you’re with me. It’s best you don’t ask questions.”

    
“This is kinda cool.” Dany responded. “Wasn’t your car green when we met you?”

    
Jason grinned. “Possibly.”

    
They reached the lobby. “Room for three. Make it a suite.”

    
The clerk looked up, “OK, and how many nights?” She asked politely.

    
“One.”

    
When the guys settled into their rooms, Czyra called out. “So, what did they do with the info you collected?” Jason from in the bathroom, washing his face responded, “Various things, I suppose. It was used for national security issues. It was sent to the NSA analysts, for one, so they can be better analysts, or codebreakers.”

    
Jason exited the bathroom. “Alright, guys. I have a few things to take care of. Don’t overly use your phones. We’re in a public place with UAVs everywhere, probably.”

    
Jason went into his room and closed the door. He had some papers to look over. He turned on the TV to see that counterterrorism chief, Harold Davis, had resigned and retired from his position.

    
Harold always seemed disgruntled.

     Massaging Tameka’s memory chip in his hand, he wondered if scanning it against his body chip would continue to provide clues for him.

     He scanned it over his wrist. Again, a dizzy feeling accompanied a keen memory that seemed like his own. One thing is for sure, it couldn’t have been hers, since in each memory flashback she was an outside subject. The memories weren’t from her eyes.

    
Jason picked up the phone and dialed Harold’s cell phone. The phone rang until voicemail.

    
“Sir, it’s me. Call back.”

     
Jason’s phone rang one minute later.

    
“Nosaj?” Harold spoke first.

    
“Yes.”

    
“Oh, hey. How’s it going?”

    
“I’m on the run, man.”

    
“I can tell, ‘Nosaj.’ What’s wrong?”

    
“I’m gonna call you right back. Pick up the phone no matter what.” Jason said.

     
He hung up. “Sirus. Take my body chip offline, please. And scramble my phone signal.”

      He called Harold back
. “So, I’m guessing this is a new private connection?”

    
“Yes, sir.”

    
“I’d expect nothing less. So, what’s going on, Jason?”

    
“I found out some stuff they didn’t want me to know, apparently.”

    
“Are you certain? How do you know?”

    
“I’m positive. Michael told me everything. They’ve set up a whole command center at the Nebraska Complex to get me.”

    
“Geeze. Now, what?”

    
“I’ve got some questions.”

     “Well, I don’t know, Jason
. It seems you’ve gotten yourself into some stuff, and I’m far too old to be on the run.”

    
“Give me what you can without getting in trouble. Trust me, I have the tools to go untracked.”

     “Well, you can ask. I can’t guarantee answers.”

     “What did you think about the first set of commission meetings?” Jason asked looking at his notes.

    
“Ugh. I feel for them, ya know? These families—these people—they’re all looking for answers. It’s a shame, because they’re all looking for closure. They think the answers are closure, when, in fact, the answers may be the most unsettling discoveries of their lives. The real answers will change the world as we know it today. I mean for god’s sake, they’ve set up a whole command center set on chasing you around.” Jason could hear Harold sigh on the other end of the phone. “This is bad, Jason. It may have just been better to stay out of their way. You can’t change history, alone.”

    
“That’s not acceptable to me, sir. I know the government. I’m not threatened by their ways or tactics.”

    
“It’s not the U.S. government you should be worried about. They’ve been meeting with some powerful people. These people, essentially, run the world. They’re the people who make the materials that make the phone you’re talking on. They own the building you’re standing in, the car you drive, the technology that you use, the clothes you wear, the gas you fill your car up—everything.”

     “So?”

     “So? The president’s administration meet with these people, and they exchange ideas, favors, and anything else. It’s a partnership—the governments and the gods of this earth. Politics are politics. But, only so that there is a feasible explanation when things are all said and done.”

    
“Who are they?”

     “The Brendenhalls, who
can only be stopped by their evil thug nemesis, the Megiddos. It reads like a comic book, but it’s real life.”

    
“What’s their plan?”

    
“One can only speculate. I’ve only been to one meeting; they never invited me back. The meeting wasn’t threatening, really. From what I know, it’s not a plan as much as it is a love/hate relationship between the two societies. They both want the same thing: World domination, they just both go about it in completely different ways. The Brendenhalls are wealthy and can get whatever they want. There’s nothing they can’t do. They know everyone, and run everything.”

    
“So, why partner with the Megiddos if they’re not completely on board with them?”

    
“The Megiddos are crazy. They kill. They’ll make you disappear in 2.39 seconds, and do it silently and methodically. The Brendenhalls can buy anything else, but until immortality is for sale, they’re at the Megiddos’ mercy.”

    
“So, they work together to form something no government can battle. For now. They use each other to reach their goals, but when they’re the last two standing, the war for that last agenda could be cataclysmic.” Jason could hear Harold eating something in between his speaking.

    
“How long do you think we have?”

    
“Months.”

     “How do you know all of this?”

     “I’m supposedly a member of the Megiddos. The only way they’d let me free is if I retire from politics. And at this old age, son, I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of. They let me out of this foolish middle school recess without a fight.”

    
“Hey, Harold, I stumbled upon a tab in the database named Operation F.A.I.T.H. It said it came down from ‘The Summit.’ I, apparently, had signed the approval of this operation. Before I could figure anything else out, that’s when the alarm went off on me and I’ve been running ever since. Who makes up ‘The Summit’?”

    
“I can’t talk about project F.A.I.T.H. right now. But, this is what I can do at the moment: I’m going to give you this number: 2125558347.”

    
“Who is it?”

    
“Call him tomorrow afternoon. Tell him your name, Nosaj, and then, he’ll fill you in. Okay? I gotta jet. You stay safe. If it were anyone else but you, I’d say you have 24 hours to live, at most.”

    
“I’ll be fine. We’ll stay in touch.”  



XXIII

DHS HEADQUARTERS AT THE NEBRASKA AVENUE COMPLEX

HSAS: ORANGE: HIGH TERRORIST ALERT

     Josh Grambling rocked in his chair at his command post awaiting word from Michael. His phone sounded a subtle purr before he answered it. It was the secretary of defense.

    
“Have we ridded ourselves from all the major roadblocks?”

    
“I’m still waiting on the word, sir.” Grambling responded. “I have reason to believe, from my number one guy, that we have. Michael has good news for us.”

    
“You put
Michael
on this? Michael, Jason’s best friend, Michael? That’s secure to you?”

    
“Sir, trust me on this one. Mike has this. He’s a pro, and he’s our only hope. If you think we, or any of these sloths we call agents, can catch Jason without Michael you’re crazy—respectfully, sir. It’s like having a man on the inside. This would not be possible without him.”

    
“Well, let’s get this show moving. We’re wasting precious time. I’ve got representatives from both the Brendenhalls and the Megiddos on my line as we speak.”

    
Michael walked in the control center. Grambling picked the phone up off of speaker phone into the earpiece.

    
“MmHmm. He’s here now. Let me call you back.”

    
Michael walked over to Grambling and let out a sigh. The chair he always sat in was the seat directly next to Grambling.

    
“So what’s it looking like, kiddo?” Grambling asked.

     “I couldn’t quite catch him. H
e’s slick. But, before you get upset, I’ve got his wife’s phone, which I know he tracks. So, we can get to him silently without him realizing we’ve got this, and we can end this rather quickly.”

    
Grambling deliberately nodded his head. “So, let’s get on it. We don’t have time.” He motioned to the analysts at their desks.

    
“The only dilemma we have is, how do we find his location without risking that he checks the location of this phone?” Grambling asked.

    
“Easy, I sent him a message while I was still at his wife’s location. So all we have to do is turn this back on, and see if he messaged us back.” Michael threw the dissembled phone back on the counter.

    
Grambling quickly gathered the phone up, and snapped the battery back in it while it powered up. “How long ago did you send this message?”

    
“About 13 hours ago, sir.”

    
“Everyone quiet.” Grambling shouted as the phone regained power.

    
A message game through.

     “Track it!
”



September 11, 2001     

    
Jason’s eyes were moving – he could feel them. But, everything was pitch-black. He felt pain in his neck as he turned his head. A sharp pain shot from the back of his left ear down to his shoulder.

    
Jason didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He heard more dirt trickle followed by a cough of someone else. He wasn’t alone. He was—he was
alive.
  “Anyone else there?” Jason called out.

     A grogg
y male voice over top of him, close by, struggled to respond, “I’m here. Who’s this?”

     “I’m a
government official, Jason Upton. I’m here with you. We’re going to make it. Anyone else here? I’m going to do a roll call to see how many we have under here. Man A. What’s your name?”

    
“Tom.”

    
Ok. Do we have another person?

    
“I’m here, my name is Melissa.” A woman said from about six feet under him.

    
“OK. Woman A; Melissa.”

    
They ran through a list of about eight people buried under the rubble. Jason had a wall resting on his right arm. He was lying on his left side which felt like it was against concrete. He felt around for his phone. The people trapped around him spoke about their disbelief in a relieved tone. It was the first feel of positivity he had been exposed to for hours. He couldn’t quite move, so his feeling range was low.

    
“Anyone got a phone in their pocket?” Jason asked. Only one woman could move enough to reach hers.

    
“I have one.” Melissa said.

    
“OK. Call a contact and have them get in touch with the WTC 7 building. Then tell them where you are, and that you’re with government official, ‘Jason Upton’ buried with 7 other people. Center stairwell WTC 1.”

    
Jason wondered about Vanessa. Surely because he survived, others had, too.

     A phone rang. Jason saw its light
in the distance through the rubble in front of his face. It was his phone. He stretched his arms out to try and reach it. It fell just outside of his grasp.  The struggle was painfully annoying. Trying to get maybe a centimeter of slack from the rubble lying on top of his legs, Jason stretched to his limit. His fingers reached so close they had felt the slight heat from the cell phone screen’s light.

     Stones and dust trickled down his pants and legs. He felt more stones roll down the
back of his shirt settling on the left side of him.

    
Finally, his fingertips touched the phone. Not nearly enough to make a difference, however.

    
The phone stopped ringing.

    
“No one’s picking up, sir.” The woman said.

    
“At the WTC 7 building?”

    
“Yeah, no one.”

    
Suddenly they heard a walkie-talkie let off a static sound within the confines of their dark hole.

    
“Someone in here has a walkie-talkie?” Jason shouted. “Are there any firemen? Any police officers in here?”

    
No one answered. “Can anyone feel around them? Are there any unconscious people around you? If there’s a fireman in your vicinity, you can get his walkie-talkie and try to alert someone that we’re here.”

    
He could hear the people around him move as the walkie-talkie continued to make some commotion.

    
“I think I feel a helmet, sir.” A man above said before knocking on it. A groan let out followed by a cough and a holler.

    
“What just happened?” Jason asked.

    
“I don’t know. Whatever I did, I think I woke someone up.”

    
“I can try to use my cell phone light to illuminate some things in here.” The woman said. A dim light lit up only enough to show a portion of her face.

    
“Still nothing, dear. Thanks anyw—“

    
“Who’s there?” A new voice shouted.

    
“This is Jason Upton. I work with the the U.S. defense department in WTC 7. We’re all trapped under here, me you and seven known others. Who are you?”

    
“I’m Jack. From Engine 77 in Manhattan.”

     “OK, Jack. How badly are you hurt?”

     “I can’t feel my legs.”

      “Listen up, Jack. If you can get us some help, we can save all nine of us, and your legs.
Can you call for help.”

    
Besides the apparent jostling around the fireman began to do, he said nothing in return. He heard the sound of the walkie-talkie clicking into a new channel. Out of breath, the man spoke.

    
“JC to command po—“ He let out a sigh. ”JC to command post. Come in.”

    
“Yeah, go ahead, JC, where are ya? Talk to me.”

    
“I’m in Tower 1, caught under some rubble. I have eight other people here, including a government agent. Center staircase.”

    
The walkie-talkie fluttered in and out with a seeming urgent noise. “Wow, JC. We’re on our way.”

    
“10-4.”

    
There was some applause in the darkness of the stale hole. The firefighter’s walkie-talkie chirped back in. “We’re looking for ya, JC. Hang in there, buddy.”

     A large pile of rubbish above
shifted. The sound of a machine moved the things around them, causing some increased discomfort for Jason. “That’s us,” the firefighter shouted into his walkie-talkie. “Keep digging!”

     A
light pierced the darkness leaving only a skinny hole of smoke contaminated sunlight shining through. The dust grew heavier as the hole enlarged. In a matter of minutes, Jason’s leg would be free. He immediately swiped at his phone to look at it. The dusty screen was off, and the power button wouldn’t revive the phone.

    
He tried to free himself from the pile, unsuccessfully, at first. But as the machine grabbed another claw-full of rubbish, Jason managed to prop himself up to his knees with his arms, exposing himself to an apocalyptic scene.   

    
Where did everything go?

     The chalky
dust was so thick it covered everything in a deep wintry film; everything from the surrounding buildings, to the few folks somberly walking around the area.

    
A team of firefighters reached down into the pit that the nine survivors sat in, and yanked everyone to safety. Once Jason reached the top of the pile of trash he spun a full 360 degrees. Despite the dense dust, the space felt open. Jason looked into his rescuing firefighter’s ghostly face.

    
“Where are the towers?” He asked.

    
“They’re not here anymore.”

    
“What? Completely gone?”

    
“Completely.”

    
“Survivors?”

    
“So far, you know them all.”

    
“Oh my god.”

     Jason’s eyes and nose burned with emotion. With
the help of two paramedics under his armpits, he stepped out onto the street which was a couple inches deep in ash, dirt and gravel. With each slow step, he heard a crunch under him. He didn’t have a clue what he was stepping on or over—at one point he had gone back to being unsure if he were even still alive. He kept thinking,
where is this place? I’ll wake up. This is all a dream.

    
His body temperature was rising. He felt hot. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Where was Vanessa? He called out her name at the top of his lungs. “We’re going to need you to reserve your energy, sir.” A paramedic said to him.

    
The heat made no sense. It felt like summertime on the beach, rather than actual the typical fall day that it was.

    
He called Vanessa’s name louder than before. His body cramped, before going into violent convulsions.



     Jason opened his eyes to dark smoke and fire surrounding him. Czyra was shaking him in his bed calling his name.

    
“There’s a fire, Jason, we’ve got to get out of here.”