Last War (39 page)

     “This is the highest level of national security we’re talking about. Our best agent in U.S. history now has intel on our biggest obstacle in the biggest operation ever carried out in human history. So, yeah, the security has been risen.”

     “Well, your biggest agent ever asked you a question a few times about why I’m here, and what the decoy was for? Cause your biggest, most intelligent agent ever happens to know, decoys are typically used for alibis and/or planned deaths. So, which one is it?”

     “We don’t want to alarm people who think you got off in Philly. Your internet friends are pretty good with the technology, and we can’t have them know you’re with us. Speaking of which, what do you have for us? What can you do?”

     “What do you need done, and why?”

     “Have you been alerted to Operation S.A.F.E.?”

     “I have not.”

       The woman pulled out a folder of papers with Jason’s name. “Alpha” was written on the front. “Operation S.A.F.E., Security after
FAITH
engages. Upon the results of this upcoming presidential election, we will determine which route S.A.F.E. will go. If they elect Hilary, then we’ll go with plan A. But, if they elect Milton, then we go with B. Each operation plan calls for switching our F.A.I.T.H. operation, which centered around stirring pride and fear in order to become their only form of hope.   Make sure you look at each of the plans because your role is important to making this go as smoothly as possible.”

     
“Can you give me a summary rundown?”

     “Yes. The campaigns that both candidates are running are themed in drama.
Governor Hilary will be promising to vamp up what President Harris did first term. Governor Milton will be promising to turn everything around, and introduce bold new, and even mkore taboo, ideas.“

     “Which one are we hoping happens?”

     “It’d be a much better sign for us if Governor Milton were to get the public’s votes.”

     “Why?”

     “His changes and proposes would indicate more willingness to flex or change.”

      “I see. So while they’re both set up for dramatic changes, Milton would be more of a
comfortable indication that Project S.A.F.E. would work.”

     “Yes.”

     The car pulled up to the new DHS headquarters in DC. “Welp, sir, we’re here. Back at your old home. You ready to get back to work?”

     “I have been working.”

     They entered the DHS building from the parking garage’s entrance. The woman pressed the pinky-side end of her closed fist on a screen marked with the DHS seal in the background. It sat next to the elevator doors in place of elevator buttons. The elevator made a dull chirp before the door glided open.

     “Welcome, Tammy Friesen,” the soo
thing voice of Sirus greeted. When they walked into the elevator a light flashed into Jason’s eyes. “I see you’ve brought agent Upton with you. Greeting, agent. Where would you two like to go?”

     “Everyone who gets into the elevator is iris scanned?” Jason asked.

     A harsh noise sounded out of the speaker. “I’m sorry, the voice software does not recognize the voice as Tammy Friesen.
Tammy Friesen, where would you like to go?”  

     “Yes, Sirus
.” The woman said. “Take us to six.”

     “OK. One moment, please.”

     The elevator in one swift fast motion motored them to the floor. The doors opened.

     “We’re here?
I didn’t even hear a noise.”

     Tammy smiled. “Cool, right?”

     Once they walked out into the hallway, the woman asked Jason to have a seat in the first room to the left.  After the door closed, he heard it engage.

     He
tried turning the knob.

     Locked.

    
The room was semi-empty. He recognized the design of the room as a room to keep someone contained. Could be a dangerous person, or possibly an important person.

     The room was empty. The walls
were reinforced with steel.  One wall had a small mirror above a tiny shelf. Jason stuck his index finger on the mirror. The separation in between his finger and the reflection told him it was a double-sided window. The tables and chairs were all screwed down. There was a TV, as well. Fastened to the table was an touch tablet. His finger awakened the screen. Illuminated in a vibrant green, ‘Turn on TV’ was at the very top. Under that option, ‘Turn on Input’ next to, “Turn on Cable”.

    
To distract himself, from his growing anxiety, he turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels, he found a station showing breaking news.

     “A follow up on that deadly Amtrak accident.
The body of retired Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, Jason Upton has been identified by his wife, Christine Upton. His body was found in one of the carts that were severely twisted up as the train derailed on the bridge. The folks who knew him are understandably very torn up about this.”  

     “What?
Hey!” Jason yelled towards the door. He got up and walked to the locked door and pounded on it with both fists. It was solid steel; it barely made any noise. “Someone come here, now. What’s going on?” His continual request to speak to someone went unanswered for thirty minutes. After he became tired, a voice sounded through the speakers in the room.

     “Welcome back, Jason.”
Grambling said.

    
“Really, Grambling? I’m dead.”

    “For now.”

     “For now? Sir
, once you’re dead you’re gone. What? Are we going to tell the public we found the Lazarus cure?”

     “
That
would
work with these sheep. But, um… we won’t be needing that. Not this time.”

     “What are you talking about? Let me out of here. I have work to do.”

     “You didn’t really think I was going to let you back on this operation, did you?” Grambling laughed. “You’ve paraded around here, frolicking with those miscreant terrorists, breaking them beyond into restricted meetings and exposing them to classified documents. You’re guilty of dozens of counts of treason in the last three years, and you think you’re strolling back into my control room? You must be out of your mind.”

     “Grambling. Look, you are making a mistake. You’re not going to be able to deal with them –“

     Jason was cut off by Grambling’s condescending laugh. “Bottom line, Jason: You work under me. I’m Homeland Security Council on the POTUS administration. You’re Deputy Secretary. This is my call. You sit this out, and then we’ll deal with you after we finish this.”

     “You’ll never make it to Operation S.A.F.E., Grambling.”

     Grambling laughed, again. “You’re so cute. Listen, Jason. I’ve got a lot to do here at the White House. There are snacks in the refrigerator, there’s vodka in the freezer and you have all the channels you need on that TV. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable.”

     A
beep noise signaled the end of the transmission. “Conversation terminated.”  Sirus informed. “Would you like some vodka from the freezer, Jason?”



     Czyra shut off the fan at
his office desk. It was blowing the papers of operation F.A.I.T.H. He was studying them, in depth. There had to be some indication in where he needed to strike first. His army was preparing to march down to D.C., but he wanted to be make the right moves.

    
The files mapped out a systematic way to manipulate the Nation’s atmosphere. A strategic placing of accidents, tragedies, successes, and advertising, supplemented with a sensationalizing of the events in various forms of electronic media.

    
Its mission statement was to be the constituents’ clear sign of hope. Make the world look hopeless, strike their emotion, and be their last dispenser of hope in the end. Exploiting patriotism and revolution. Within the operation plans, there was a rouge character. Much like the character he remembered them speaking of when spying on one of the Brendenhall meetings with Jason. In the operation files, his code name was: Bond.

     A high-ranking accomplice of Czyra’s entered the room. “Hey, wassup?” Czyra asked.

     “I know things are difficult for you right now, but I just wanted to encourage you, a bit. I wanna to let you know that I’m very proud of you. You’re, like, the new George Washington, or something.”

     Czyra smiled. “Thanks, Keith.”

     “What are you lookin’ at?”

     “These files show intention to get the people to turn on anything else that they hold higher than their government. Namely religion. That, and other things – such as just your own notion of what’s right and wrong. They plan to eliminate all those things.”

     “How?”

     “How have all of the other empires have tried it?”

     “I don’t think there’s any way they’ll get away with those sorts of operations these days.”

     “
This place has perfected it. Oh, they’ll get away with it, alright. They’re going to hide behind the cloak of Democracy. You already see the way people react when we attempt to fill them in on what’s going on; the U.S. government can do no wrong. And when they’ve been caught, all they have to do is false flag us – appeal to our pride, sadness, fear, and/or simply distract us. It’s a very sophisticated operation. The perfect social psychology storm.” Czyra flipped through the pages. “Look.”

     Czyra handed Keith a pack of papers. This is the “Fear Acknowledges” portion of the package
. “Everything from WWI, to the War on Terror was a part of this.”

     “How’s that possible? And for what?”

     “There are people pulling strings, as we thought. But, here, it doesn’t look like Brendenhall is behind.”

     “So, there’s no ‘Illuminati’?”

     “Well, they seem to exist as government code word ‘The Summit’ either the Brendenhall Group or the Megiddos. Probably all of them But, something isn’t right?”

     “What?”

     “I don’t know.” Czyra slammed his pen on his desk. “Everything is off!” He shouted.

     “Calm down, Czyra. What do you mean?”

     “Brendenhall and Megiddos aren’t the only putteteers. There’s a force or two missing and I don’t think I have enough info to figure it out.”

     “You said there was something you and Jason were supposed to look for? How about you and I do it? Where are the tapes? Let’s listen again.”

     Czyra slid his chair over to his dented file cabinet to grab his recordings. He studied them before popping one in the player.

“Haven’t heard from him yet. He should be in town right now. This was about the timetable we were thinking of.”

“Do you think we should proceed? We have a lot of stuff going on. We have the Olympics coming up, we have election this year, all of these things we have to get the folks ready. We need him to do his part.”

“The man is brilliant. Let’s just go with it. This is what we put him on the job for. We don’t have to worry about him. He’s reliable, and completely off the radar to everyone. Everything proceeds as planned. We knew there’d be a chance we didn’t hear back from him until it’s all said and done.”

“OK. “

     Czyra froze. Under his breath he said,
“’The world can’t suspect, what the world thinks doesn’t exist.’”
He lifted his head towards Keith. “Keith. You think that’s Jason they’re talking about? He was once a member of the Brendenhalls. This can’t be. He
gave
me these files. He told me all of their plans. Is this another decoy? Is this more propaganda?”

     “Did he give you those files, specifically? What happened?”

     “I was…” Czyra stood up and kicked his chair over. “I was drugged and woke up in a ditch! I don’t know what the hell happened. He gave me this way after the fact. I didn’t get them myself nor did I see where he got these... I knew this was all… you know what? It’s time to take action. If they’re going to insist on secrecy, we’ll beat the secrets out of them. Let the civil unrest movement begin.”

     “What are we going to do?”

     “The DNC is going on right now. You and I are going down to the DNC. We’re going to meet our army down there, and we’re going to start our assault in front of the world. It’s time to make some noise – right now. The Unknowns are going to help us drum up awareness and be our watchmen while we’re there. Tell the travelers to bring their arms.”



CURRENT HOMELAND SECURITY ADVISORY SYSTEM: RED —EXTREME TERRORIST RISK

DHS Headquarters

     Jason watched TV from his holding room. The Democratic National Convention was ready to start in a matter of hours. The feed broadcasted from the outside of the convention came from broadcast drones.   

     He flicked back and forth between the various news channels to monitor how the media was targeting the various crowds. One channel targeted the poor, the other targeted the wealthy. The analyst in him couldn’t help but to note these social tactics.