Authors: Bill Diffenderffer
Ten minutes ago Nick had received the call from Lieutenant General Carl Greene that the terrorists had just landed and Nick received the coordinates and their direction of travel. Even as he and his team started moving, Nick wondered first how any vehicle could land where they had been told it just landed and secondly how could the intel about it be so good? It was like someone on the other end of his radio was watching from up above exactly what was happening.
Nick and his team did not lose a moment thinking about those questions. They had jumped in their SUV and driven as directed until they had eyes on two individuals who the radio in his ear identified as the targets. They were up ahead of him and walking quickly with their backs to the SUV on a path along the river. He drove closer to them on the road and then he jumped the curb and drove onto the jogging path and was just three hundred yards behind. Then he cut the engine and coasted to where the distance was less than two hundred yards. Neither of the two suspected terrorists had yet to turn around. Nick and his team jumped out of their vehicle and Pete Sagan, the best shooter of the four of them stayed at the vehicle and took a comfortable position and lined up his rifle on the taller of the two suspects. If either moved in any way deemed hostile, they would be dead before they could complete what they were trying to do.
That was when Khalil thought something was wrong. Some sound was wrong. He looked again at the designated spot where he was to fire the missile and it was just fifty yards away. He paused for a moment and tapped Lars-Plato on the shoulder. He paused too and looked at Kahlil. Then both of them looked around, then looked behind. Now everything was wrong! How could it be so? Allah, please help me now. Let me just do this thing and then take me away. I accept dying on this cursed land.
Three men running toward him all with guns. Lars-Plato now saw it too and turned around and he brought his Kalashnikov out from under his raincoat and tried to shoot at the men coming from behind. Khalil heard the crash of rifle fire and saw Lars fall to the ground as the Kalashnikov fired. But only a few rounds were scattered into the sky before the gun went silent.
Khalil had only one thought, get his missile weapon out from under his coat and fire at the Capitol. He had practiced this and he had opened his coat earlier. Quickly he started to raise the weapon in order to aim it. The dome of The Capitol was before his eyes. It was huge and gleaming before him – the symbol of all he hated! Now all he had to do was bring the view of the dome into the cross hatches of the scope of the weapon. Just like he had done at the Tel Aviv Embassy. Then he had time. He had savored that moment. But now he was rushing and his hands were shaking. He needed an extra moment to get the weapon lined up. Just one more moment, then pull the trigger.
All four of the Delta Force team saw Khalil raise the weapon. All four fired at him and one of their bullets hit the bomb strapped to his chest and Khalil exploded in front of them. The concussive force knocked all but Pete, fifty yards further back, off their feet. They were lucky not to be closer.
Nick still on the ground looked around and saw no other threat. He called out to his team and they called back they were OK.
As soon as he was able, Nick called in what had just happened. Again he talked to General Greene and said the threat was ended. He wasn’t sure since his head was still buzzing but he thought he heard the general say “Thank you Plato!” What a Greek philosopher had to do with this mission was beyond Captain Nick Hoyle.
Within minutes Captain Ragnar up on The Freya was told by his observers about the failure of the mission. He turned to Hasan who had just arrived back on the shuttle and was now standing across from him. He glared at Hasan as he fought down the urge to take out his pistol and shoot him for the failure. Hasan stood soldier straight; his fear showing only in the pallor of his face. He has seen others killed for smaller failures.
“What went wrong?” Ragnar asked, his eyes boring into Hasan. “Were we just unlucky? Did a stray patrol happen to spot us?” The Captain’s right hand settled against his right hip, just inches from the butt of the pistol he had in his black leather holster.
Hasan considered agreeing to that conclusion. Yet his Captain too often had said that he did not believe in luck or fate. He believed only in execution. Finally, reluctantly, Hasan said, “No Captain, I do not believe it was a random patrol. I think somehow they knew we were coming and where. How they knew that I do not know. But that patrol was looking for us. And they knew about where to look.”
The Captain moved his hand away from his pistol. If Hasan had said it was just bad luck, Ragnar would have shot him. He agreed with Hasan; somehow the Americans were expecting them and knew where to look for them. Before he would attack them again, he needed to know how that had happened. He had his suspicions. If he was right, then it meant that somehow the Americans had tracked the movements of The Freya and its shuttle. He still doubted that this Earth had the technology to do that, but that was the most likely answer. His instincts said that had been what happened. He could not blame Hasan if that was it. Then he thought some more. And he knew. His mind told him to follow the technology. Without question there was one party who had such technology – better technology than he could even imagine. For The Bucephalus it would be as easy as an adult reading a book for kindergarten students.
Captain Ragnar made his mind up then. For the next attack against America, he would be very careful. He would not use idiots like Khalil. He would anticipate that Plato was now actively involved. But he would succeed – he would set off a nuclear device in Washington, D.C. After all, he had done it before with The Bucephalus circling above.
When General Greene entered Hank Scarpetti’s office at The White House, his friend told him that the congratulatory meeting with the President would have to be postponed. The President had something else more important come up. As he sat down on the couch in Scarpetti’s office he thought he knew what had caused his meeting to be postponed.
Plato’s ‘Documentary’ about Earth #309 had been released that morning. Though its long term effect was not yet known; in the short term its worldwide viewership made the Super Bowl media audience look like that of a high school football game. Not only was the audience for it huge, but its interactive capabilities were fully utilized. People spent hours on the site. Once again, Greene marveled at the necessary computing power to deliver the interactive documentary to so many with no glitches or outages.
Scarpetti took the chair across from the general. “Did you survive?” he asked, not needing to explain the question further.
“Yes, I was at a meeting in London.”
“I didn’t. I was here.” Scarpetti said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Bizarre isn’t it? It feels so real.”
“It is real, Hank. Don’t you get it? Everything there really happened.”
Scarpetti looked over at his friend of thirty years; a man who he knew was as level headed and intelligent as they come. If Greene believed it, it was real. “I guess I know that. I think more than anything, I don’t want it to be real. On #309, I was Chief of Staff. This President was in the White House. That means that whatever happened there was in part our fault – my fault. And fifty million people died and that world is so fucked!”
The general was sympathetic to his friend but only to a point. “So make sure it doesn’t happen here!”
Scarpetti just stared out his window. What could he say when the best he could do might not be good enough – and the world itself was at stake?
The President’s secretary walked into Scarpetti’s office. “He wants to see you. General you should go in too.”
The two men looked at each other and stood up and followed her into the Oval Office. The President stood up from his desk when they came in and pointed them to one of the couches and took a seat near the fireplace. Scarpetti saw immediately that the President lacked his usual bounce to his step and easy access smile.
“Congratulations, General. Thank you for what you did in stopping the attack on the Capitol. Hank tells me that Plato helped us. I guess I was wrong about him.”
“Yes sir,” said the general. “His surveillance capabilities made it all possible. The Bucephalus has been tracking every move of The Freya and its shuttles for days. They gave us their positions in real time.”
“Our surveillance technology couldn’t do that?”
“No sir. The Freya and its shuttles don’t show up on our radar and we can’t see them from our AWACs.”
“But you had already lined up Delta Force. That was the right move.” The President gave him a thumbs up.
“Delta Force did a great job. They should be commended.”
“I’ll see to it,” Scarpetti said.
“So the question now is, what do we do about Captain Ragnar and The Freya?” the President said. “We still really don’t know what their military capability is, do we General?”
General Greene shook his head, “No we don’t sir.”
“I don’t suppose your friend Plato could handle this for us?” His tone was resigned; clearly he knew the weight on his back couldn’t be shifted to anywhere else.
The general shook his head again, “Plato has his own rules as to what he does and doesn’t do. He has said that The Freya’s technology isn’t that far ahead of ours. He seems to think we can handle this ourselves.”
The President nodded to the general. “I think this is something we have to take care of ourselves. My highest priority is to protect my country and its citizens. And I want to protect the peoples of the world. We are not the only nation feeling the effects of The Freya’s actions. I’m setting up emergency discussions with my counterparts in London, Paris and Berlin to set up a plan of attack. And I need to talk to Beijing and Moscow. Then we’ll determine who else needs to be brought into this. Our world needs to take a united stand.”
“What about us taking unilateral action?” General Greene asked.
The President regarded the general with both a determined and sympathetic gaze, “Believe me, I’d like to just order a missile attack against them, but I just don’t think that is wise. This isn’t just about us and I don’t think we should go into this alone. I’m confident that I can get them to join us. This needs to be an international effort. We can all do this together. That’s how it should be done.”
“What about the Chinese and Russians? Do you think they’ll join us too?”
The President nodded, “I think they will. It won’t be easy. The Russians haven’t really been affected by The Freya. And we don’t know why that is. And the Chinese did have that bombing of The Great Hall which has never been explained.”
Scarpetti added, “And there’s the matter of The Lucky Dragon. No one seems to know what they want or what kind of risk they pose. They might have some sort of relationship to The Freya, for all we know.”
General Greene discovered he just didn’t want to stay silent. Politically correct or not, he had to say what he thought. “Sir, what you are suggesting is going to take time. Too much time. We don’t need any help. We can launch a much better attack if we don’t have to coordinate anything with anyone. And if by chance The Freya can take us on, then we better find that out too. Sometimes, you just have to attack – then deal with what follows.”
The President met the gaze of General Greene with a steady resoluteness, “I really do wish we could do just that. But it wouldn’t be wise. We need to take the time to do this right. The Freya may be the first of the ships from other Earths to threaten us this way, but they won’t be the last. What we do will set a precedent. We need to establish a protocol for this and we need to have allies with this. Don’t worry General, we will take action – and it will be the right action and it will be definitive.”
On one level General Greene understood that what the President wanted to do probably seemed the right course of action. Still he knew it was the wrong thing to do. The President was correct about one thing; more threats would come from other Earths. And that was why his proposed course of action was wrong. They had to learn the United States was a fighter. You hit us; we’ll hit you back – as hard as we can. We won’t wait and talk about it. We’ll strike. But the general knew he couldn’t argue further.
The President saw that the general would say no more. He knew the Pentagon would be frustrated by his seeking the support of the international community. That was their problem. He would do what he knew was right. Still he appreciated that Greene had been right about Plato and had done what needed to be done. He valued Greene and what he could do. He had to think about whether he should push to get Greene another star – it would be good to have a 4 Star General owe him.
“So General, how did you do on 309? I think you know that I bit the dust there.” The President was trying to make light of it – he didn’t feel good about any of it, though. Somewhere deep inside him he knew it had happened. Since he had seen Plato’s documentary and spent time with its interactive capability he had felt sick to his stomach. He really had died there. And worse, now he knew that what had happened on 309 could happen here and it would be his fault. And he didn’t know how to make sure it didn’t. It would be his fault. His fault.