An Armageddon Duology (7 page)

“
S
enator
, Mr. Avram’s yacht is probably the
safest
place you can be today,” said a gorgeous blonde hanging on the old man’s arm. She turned toward him conspiratorially, whispering in his ear. “They say it even has a radar system to detect missiles.” The senator reddened as her ruby lips brushed his earlobe.

The boat carved its way through New York harbor like a titan. Nebula was the world’s most expensive privately owned yacht, three years in the making and boasting a pool studded with Havana bars, a helipad, five water jets, a cinema, and a four thousand square foot master suite. Nine decks, each with entry and exit points, rose from the waterline and gave the vessel more the appearance of an aerodynamic condo than a private cruise boat.

“Truly,” came the deep voice of Robert Avram, “she’s the safest boat in the waters today.”

They stood on the upper deck, lower Manhattan a frozen collection of ten thousand Will-o'-the-wisps of skyscrapers, apartments, and bridge lights. A full moon rose into the night sky and painted the gleaming surfaces on the yacht in luminescent hues. The blonde escort smiled broadly at the CEO, her sequined dress a light show reflecting the moonlight, the plunge of her neckline scandalous. Soft jazz floated on the crisp air from below.

“I hope so,” said the senator, vacillating between the seduction hanging on his arm and a set of internal worries that he could not completely dismiss. “I’m actually scared to go home tonight. People have disappeared from their own houses!”

The woman purred. “Maybe you don’t have to go home tonight.”

Avram smirked and left the pair to their courting dance. He had no doubts the woman would be in the old fool’s bed this evening. He had hired the cream of the crop. And he had made sure that useful photos would be taken discretely at opportune moments. Robert Avram ran his business like an old Mafia boss, and he was proud of that fact.

Stepping down the stairway toward the floor below, he felt a buzz in his shirt pocket. He removed his phone and answered. Almost immediately his face turned ashen.

“You can’t be serious?” He closed his mouth quickly, glancing around the harbor in panic. “Yes, I’m listening.” His eyes widened as a man’s voice spoke on the other end. “You want me to what? This is crazy! Why should I—”

At that moment, a light flashed above him. A second later the event repeated. “Yes, I see it. No, you’re right. Our radar can’t detect objects that small. Yes. I see. Yes, of course you are.” He looked down to the guests mingling below. “Can I at least warn the others?”

His face grimaced as he placed the phone in his shirt pocket again. His hands gripped the railing tightly, and he breathed in and out slowly several times.
This is not happening.

But it was. And he had been told he had little time. He rushed down the stairway. Several people approached him, but he ignored them, darting into the heart of the vessel. Forgoing the crowded stairways, he would avoid being seen this way. No one would bother him, ask questions. He would not have to think about what was happening. He pressed his thumb to the scanner by the elevator.

The doors opened immediately. He entered and hit the button to the sea-level floor. The elevator descended, the doors opened, and he dashed toward the back of the vessel.

The area was empty, all the guests and staff concentrated on decks above with better views of the harbor. Avram removed his jacket and tie, kicking off his shoes and socks as well. He dropped his phone and Rolex on the deck beside a railing at the stern of the Nebula, the engines below softly churning the dark waters.

He gazed back at the boat. He had never been in love. He appreciated women, their beauty, enjoyed sex. But
love?
He hadn’t been raised on love. But the Nebula—that was a beauty to be loved. His design, his testament to everything he had accomplished and would do. He stared at it as a man would a lover on her death bed.

Then he climbed the railing, standing unbalanced at the corner of the stern, as far from the engines as possible. The lights of New Jersey and Manhattan formed a dizzying panorama of radiance around him. Placing his hands out to the sides, he leapt forcefully into the darkness.

The harbor was frigid, and he gasped for air as he struggled to tread water. Fortunately he had been a talented swimmer at Harvard, and despite the numbness creeping over his limbs, he was able to orient himself onto his back, his feet pointed back toward the Nebula, its music and soft lights fading as it sped away from him. A minute passed. Then two, and he worked to keep his arms and legs moving, the circulation flowing, retarding the hypothermia that had begun to freeze his muscles.

What sounded like a series of humming hornets’ nests streaked over his head and toward the boat. He spied small shadows cross over the lights of lower Manhattan, but he could not be sure it was anything more than his imagination.

But then the Nebula erupted in flame. A series of fireballs ignited around the boat, consuming his lady in a hideous light. The sound rushed over him, one-two-three punches of compressed air and ear-splitting detonations. Burning debris flew into the sky, then rained back down on the dimming skeleton of the boat.

Robert Avram wept. He knew in that explosion he had lost not only the symbol of his greatness, but everything. Confirmation arrived with little delay as he felt hands grasp his shoulders and lift him out of the water, dumping him harshly onto the deck of a small motorboat. Burly shadows manhandled him like livestock, binding his arms and legs, toting him to one end of the vessel, and casting him painfully into a corner. His captors revved the engine, and turned the boat southward toward Staten Island, racing into the darkness.

S
avas watched
the faint light of the morning grow over the East River. He sped down the FDR en route from La Guardia airport in an FBI vehicle, retracing part of the path Goldman CEO Craig had taken right before he died. The lights of the Queensboro Bridge were still bright enough to be easily seen in the creeping dawn, the tram lifting sleepy commuters into Manhattan from Roosevelt Island like a floating cabin in the sky. To his right, the concrete redwoods of the city flew by him with trails of light.

He was hardly awake himself. Last night an explosion had occurred in New York Harbor, before the eyes of Lady Liberty herself. Another CEO of a powerful multinational financial company was dead, his luxury liner blown to pieces where the fresh water of the Hudson mixed with the sea. The agency branches in Washington could work on their disappearing governmental employee problem themselves. New York,
his
city, was under siege again.

He had spent the better part of a night arranging his travel and for Frank Miller to stay in DC to coordinate between the coupled investigations. An early plane landed him in New York with the first businessmen. His driver flew down the East Side highway, traffic still minimal at this hour, their destination lower Manhattan. Cohen was waiting for him there.

The thin tower of the UN building darted past on the right, the reddening sky casting an infernal hue across its glass facade. For Savas, it seemed prescient, foreboding. His instincts told him that something subterranean and evil was brewing. He only hoped that they could find a break in their endless game of catchup with these dark forces and find a way to prevent further attacks.

The car passed NYU Medical Center and soon entered lower Manhattan. Lost in his own ruminations, he failed to notice as they darted into the Battery Park Underpass and emerged on the western tip of the island. He was surprised to sense the car slowing as it pulled into North Cove Marina.

Cohen was immediately at his side as he stepped out of the vehicle.

“God, John, you look like crap.”

He laughed and fingered the lapel of her coat. “Always good to be home.” They walked toward the dock and the Coast Guard boat waiting there. “We’ve lost three CEOs in a week.”

“There’s still no claim for the attacks or abductions. The JP Morgan CEO, Robert Avram, is presumed dead, although his body hasn’t been found. Most of the bodies on the ship manifest haven’t been found.”

“But Senator McDougal?” He asked. “I heard that he was found.”

“Confirmed an hour ago at the morgue.”

“
Jesus
. I’ve heard talk of the National Guard, although I can’t imagine what good it would do outside of giving the public and news shows some sense that we aren’t sitting here helpless.”

“But we are, John.”

They neared the boat and several members of the Coast Guard approached them. He gritted his teeth. “Let’s see if we can change that. Gentlemen!” They walked forward and shook hands. “Agents Savas and Cohen.”

“You’re the man who took down Gunn,” said one of the sailors. “Honored to meet you, sir. I know about your son. I was here on 9/11, evacuating folks trapped on the south end after the towers fell.”

Savas swallowed. “Then
I’m
honored. You guys moved more than half a million, if I remember right.”

“Maybe more. Papers said it was bigger than Dunkirk in WWII. Somehow feels like we’re always at war.”

Savas understood completely. “Let’s get out there and see what we can see.”

They stepped onto the boat, the sailor gave instructions, and they pushed off from shore. “We towed it to Governors Island. Used to be a Coast Guard base. Boat was sinking, even with all the technology built into it to prevent that. I read up on it. The owner was a paranoid son-of-a-bitch.”

Within minutes they had arrived on the small island. The wreckage of what had once been a luxury yacht was awkwardly tethered to the dock, wisps of smoke still trailing upwards from her, the smell of melted plastic overpowering. It was obvious why no one had survived.

Police and fire crews worked with investigators combing the remainder of the vessel. A sharply dressed man, attired in a suit, with black hair and a French nose walked up to the FBI agents.

“JP,” said Savas. “What do we have?”

Rideout squinted in the light of the rising sun. “Well, this is big league forensics. Half the evidence is at the bottom of the harbor. But from what we’ve found and working with witnesses on shore and in other boats who saw the explosion, we’re talking about multiple detonations spaced a few seconds apart. Odd for a bomb planted on the boat, but there you go. The fireball was hot enough that we can assume synthetics and a big payload. But it will take some time to analyze the residue and debris.” He indicated a small boat pulling out nearby. “We’re still relocating the bodies, the remains. It will take some time to identify them all. In some cases DNA matching might be the only way—there isn’t much left to go on. NYPD and several university labs with the required equipment are pitching in. Avram threw a big party.”

Savas shook his head. “Grim work.”

Cohen shuddered and rubbed her hands together in the morning chill. “You said multiple blasts. Could it have been explosives delivered externally?”

Rideout nodded. “Drone idea again? I think it’s likely. Missiles are out, as crazy as it is to even say something like that. Avram had a pretty sophisticated radar system that not only detected incoming birds but automatically would send the data out encrypted on military and police frequencies. I guess he had some issues, but the fact is that the boat didn’t squeak last night. But I don’t think it could pick up fliers as small as many drones. They’d be invisible to the radar.”

“I guess he didn’t modernize his paranoia,” said Cohen. “Who would have thought to protect their assets from drone strikes?”

“Why aren’t there more agents here?” asked Savas, glancing around the dock.

“It’s a bit chaotic,” said Rideout, “and you’ve been in transit for the last two days. Commands from on high have all agencies scrambling to put bodies on people and places. The Bureau is like a ghost ship, if you’ll excuse the juxtaposition.”

Cohen turned to Savas. “It’s all been in the last twelve hours. The kidnappings and killings have a lot of powerful people very frightened. Pressure is being put on all governmental and state agencies to secure them. Favors are being called in. People are starting to panic.”

Savas nodded. “Should have seen it coming. You’ll have to excuse me—I’m running on about negative three hours of sleep. Hopefully I can get some shuteye soon, that is if nothing else goes FUBAR in the next few hours.”

His cell rang.

Rideout and Cohen stared at him. He just sighed. “Here we go.” He tapped the screen and placed the phone to his ear. “Hi, Angel. What blew up now?”

M
R. RIDEOUT
: John had just flown back. He and Rebecca met me at the dock and we got our first look at the boat. What remained of it.

[
R
EDACTED
]: Is this when Agent Lightfoote became involved in the investigation?

MR. RIDEOUT: Angel? No.

[REDACTED]: Statements from other members of your division state that she was.

MR. RIDEOUT: Why would she be involved in the bombing case? She was cybercrimes.

C
BD
: But she called at the dock? We have cell phone records and the testimony of Agent Cohen.

MR. RIDEOUT: Yeah, she called. So what? The virus was completely unknown to us at that point. Angel didn't know why they were calling. She took the call and passed the message on to John.

C
BD
: Is that normal?

MR. RIDEOUT: NSA called. She's cybercrimes. What's the mystery?

C
BD
: But Savas took her along with him to the meeting?

MR. RIDEOUT: Of course. Again, she's
cybercrimes
. Why wouldn't she go?

[
R
EDACTED
]: But you said you didn't know about the virus.

MR. RIDEOUT: That's what the NSA meeting was about! So, no!

[REDACTED]: So, why bring your cybercrimes leader?

MR. RIDEOUT: Because NSA, duh? Angel is our digital guru. We're retreading this thing like you've never heard of a circle.

[
R
EDACTED
]: And now she's AWOL.

MR. RIDEOUT: AWOL? What the hell? She's not conscripted! She doesn't owe you guys anything. Just because your goons failed to grab her doesn't mean she's up to anything bad. If I hadn't been shot, I might be out there with her, deep in hiding from this mess.

[REDACTED]: She's breaking the law.

MR. RIDEOUT: Not any laws I know about. But you all have new laws now, don't you? Just making them up as you go. Christ, I had a bad feeling when martial law was declared. Little did I know!

[
R
EDACTED
]: There have been extraordinary events. Unprecedented threats to the nation. We are doing what we can to preserve order.

MR. RIDEOUT: Don't you think I know that? But you're shooting at friendlies, dammit!

C
BD
: Then you can understand our need to get to the bottom of things. Tell us about Lightfoote.

MR. RIDEOUT: Why are you so obsessed with her? Don't you have one hundred dossiers and film surveillance and case records? What the hell am I going to tell you that you don't know?

[
R
EDACTED
]: How about where she is?

MR. RIDEOUT: If I knew, that'd be the last thing I'd tell you.