The Guardian (46 page)

“Roy, this is Becky. You change channels on me to try and get some R and R?”

Nothing.

Now she was getting worried. She switched the channel back. “Clay, this is dispatch. Check in—over.” Nothing.

“Marcus, check in—over.” Nothing.

She walked down the hall and found her boss, told him what was going on, and waited for a response. He told her not to worry. It was probably just weather-related. “Probably a sun spot or something messin’ with the radios,” he said. “Try again in a few minutes.”

Back at her desk, she waited, watching the end of the show. As the credits rolled, she picked up her microphone. After five minutes of the same thing, she decided that this was no sun spot.

She grabbed the phone and called the Cameron County Sheriff’s office—the next county over. She told them what was going on and asked if they were having any trouble. Gina, the dispatcher over there, said she had been experiencing the same thing for the last hour. None of her deputies had checked in or returned back to headquarters.

She immediately hung up and called Star, Zapata, and Webb counties. All three reported the same goings on. At that point, she dismissed paranoia and hurriedly called the state police. They too had a few officers who weren’t responding, but all of the state police vehicles were equipped with GPS systems and were being located. The young man at state police headquarters offered to send a few officers her way to check on her deputies, too. She thanked him and provided the deputies’ last known whereabouts.

July 4, 2025, 12:00 p.m.

Becky stood in front of her fourth TV camera in the last hour and told her story again. This time it was Fox. NBC and CBS had already been by. The mysterious disappearance of her deputies two days ago was making national news. Several sheriff’s deputies, border patrol agents, and state and local police officers had turned up dead all across the border towns of Texas. Over the past two days, New Mexico and Arizona had reported the same.

Becky was one of the first to discover the disappearances along the border, and therefore, she was a hot commodity with the news anchors.

The blond supermodel-looking reporter nodded intently as Becky told her story. The reporter was about to ask her fourth and final question before wrapping the interview up with her own summation of things, when her left ear bud beeped. An excited voice began to relay information. The reporter’s expression faded and gave way to a look of disbelief, shock, then horror. Tears filled her eyes and her face turned ashen. Her arm dropped to her side, along with her microphone. Becky stopped mid-sentence and asked, “What’s wrong?”

The reporter turned to her, eyes wide. She moved her mouth, but nothing came out.

Becky grabbed the woman by her shoulders and shook her.

“What’s wrong?”

The reporter looked at her blankly and said, “Bomb … they’re all dead.” Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the hard, dry ground.

Becky let go of the woman and ran back inside to the flat-screen TV.

F
ollowing the directions he was given, Jonathan Keene pulled his car off the road and onto a dirt path. After a mile, he came to the fork in the road. Then up ahead, on the left, stood the house.

He parked the car, got out, and surveyed the area. Nothing. Walking into the house, he noticed a reflection of light coming from the hillside off to his left. He waited ten minutes. Then, as per his instructions, he left through the back door and walked slowly up the hill from toward the reflection’s source.

At the top of the hill he knelt, placed his hands behind his head, and interlocked his fingers. This was the unsettling part. Out in the open. No cover. The sun blazing in his eyes. The wind blowing dust everywhere. It was hard to see anything more than twenty feet away. He did feel better though knowing that strapped to his back, under his loose shirt, was his Glock 9mm. It lay mere inches from his fingertips.

After nothing for five minutes, he finally heard the faint hum of motorcycle engines. Within seconds, he was surrounded by a half dozen armed Mexicans.

One covered with tattoos and a scar across his left cheek moved toward him. According to the description he’d been given, this was his informant.

“Hola
, holmes,” the young man said. “Welcome to
Mehico.”
Though the walk uphill was a short one, Keene knew that he had illegally crossed the invisible border into this gang-banger’s country.
“Gracias,”
he replied. “You must be Hector.” “Do I need to search you?” Hector asked.

“Not unless you want to find the nine mil I got strapped to my back,” he said flatly.

Hector laughed and said, “Stand up.”

“Now what’s so important, Hector, that you need to talk to the CIA?” he asked.

“Follow me,” Hector said, walking down the hill toward the house.

Keene followed the men back into the house, thankful to be back on sovereign U.S. soil.

“I know what happened to those sheriff’s deputies,” Hector said.

“Yeah, so? Call the police.”

“Nah, holmes—
la policia
don’t want none of this.” “None of what?”

“That’s a nice watch, CIA. Where was that made? China?” “Yeah,” Jonathan said quizzically. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Lots of stuff in your country made by China.” “Yeah, so?”

“Funny thing. In the last two months, I been seeing lots of Chinese people ‘round here.”

“Maybe they like the food,” Jonathan said.

“Maybe,” Hector answered. “But these Chinese been coming in droves, holmes. In big military trucks. From down south.” “Interesting,” Jonathan murmured. “You want to know what’s really interesting, CIA?” “I give up,” Jonathan said in mock anticipation. “These Chinese, they got guns.” “So?”

“And tanks. And airplanes.”

“What?”

“You heard me, holmes. They got an army down here. They been bringing it up here to the border for the last two months.”

“Impossible. We would’ve known about it.” Jonathan said, a little worried.

“You wanna know what happened to your cops, CIA? About three hundred Chinese foot soldiers with automatic weapons crossed your border and took them out. I got boys all up and down the border saying they seen it, man. Now, I don’t know what’s up with a hundred thousand Chinese being in my—”

“What did you say? How many?”

“From what I hear, about a hundred thousand.”

Jonathan’s jaw went slack. There was no way that a hundred thousand Chinese soldiers were living across the border without the United States knowing about it. Something was wrong.

“You look like you seen a ghost, CIA.”

“Why are you telling me this, Hector? Why now? Why not two months ago?”

“‘Cause two months ago, I couldn’ta cared less, holmes.” Hector said. “You Americans don’t know what goes on down here. You come to our fancy resorts and get treated like kings. Then you go back home and don’t care what happens to the rest of us out here. Well guess what? These Chinese start showing up and doing nice things for our communities. Nobody says anything ‘cause they like it. Then, without warning, they start taking over. And our policia don’t care. They gettin’ paid off. Next thing I know, I start seeing guns, tanks, and fighter planes. And then they come into town and line up five men and shoot them in the head. They say, anyone talks or tries to do anything, they kill the whole town!”

“This is—this is just ridiculous, Hector!” Jonathan said. “I don’t know what your game is, but this isn’t funny. You could get into a lot of trouble—”

“I ain’t playin’, holmes!” Hector shouted angrily. “They kill my little brother, man! And something bad is about to happen! I’m telling you as a favor.” He hung his head and wiped his eyes. “I don’t know why your government don’t know about this, CIA, but I’m telling you. Someone had to mess up big to miss this.”

Keene stood there dumbfounded. There was no way this could be true. An entire army couldn’t march on the United States’ border and not be detected. He had to call Langley. He reached for his phone and felt it vibrating in his pocket. He looked at the display. Funny, he thought.

“I was just getting ready to call you,” he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Get back here immediately,” Kevin Jennings ordered.

“Yeah, about that,” Jonathan said, “I think I need to stay here awhile. I need to check something out.”

“No, you need to get back here immediately. Turn on the TV.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just do it!” came the reply.

Keene glanced around and saw a small television sitting on a makeshift stand at the opposite end of the room. He pushed past the group of men and turned it on. It only took a few moments for him and the others to see what was happening.

Every channel had interrupted their programming, now covering the breaking news. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky from devastated buildings. Bridges and highways melted into a pile of searing red metal. Ash and debris covered the entire landscape. Cars were turned over and blown to bits. Then the camera changed. A new city. Same result. Then another. And another. Finally, the images ended. The cameras returned to the news station. A disheveled looking man in blue jeans and a sweater sat in front of the camera. He opened his mouth and said the words that would change the course of history.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, less than ten minutes ago, the entire west coast of the United States of America was attacked. A full nuclear strike. Every major city from San Diego to Seattle. The death toll is in the millions ….”