The First 2 and a Half Chapters of Security Breach (Unedited)
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Sorry about the potentially wrong post icon, but this is sort of the 'beta' part of the book.
SECURITY BREACH
Prologue
IRAQ, 6 YEARS AGO
Sergeant Major Jack Morris walked into the mess hall. He passed by the tables and entered the door beyond. The base was makeshift at best, but it served its purpose. There was a small hallway, lined with doors to the recreation room, barracks, garage, and at the end, the General’s quarters. Morris walked up to the door, and knocked twice, followed by a “Sir? It’s Sergeant Major Morris for the report!” There was a muffled “Get in here, Lieutenant.” Morris turned the knob and entered through the doorway.
Inside was a makeshift office: a desk with a laptop, a small chair behind it, papers stacked high, a printer next to the laptop, and pictures of the General’s family. There was another chair located in front of the desk. “Sit down,” ordered General Steven Stark. Morris sat down in the open chair. He was tense. This was maybe the most embarrassing mistake he’d ever made.
“Sergeant Major, you have been in the United States Army for over five years,” began, “you have commanded in many battles, many of which were successful. If not, you at least got the majority of the work done.” The General seemed surprisingly calm, given the problem at hand. “So how, in all of the military, could you,” Morris knew what was coming. “Lose an entire battalion, their vehicles and their equipment?!” Morris tried not to show his shame. This was a gigantic disgrace. He lost an entire battalion in the middle of a huge battle that could’ve ended the Taliban, but instead he somehow let the entire 97th Infantry Battalion go AWOL.
“I have no excuse sir,” apologized Morris, “Permission to speak freely?” “Granted” said Stark. “I just can’t find a way of how the whole battalion did it,” began Morris. “The Tallies couldn’t have done it! The force they were engaging could have taken them out in a quick swat. The battalion itself has enough experience to not let that happen!”
Stark thought for a second. “Should I read the names of its commanding officers?” he asked. “Maybe that will help.” “Please, General,” replied Morris.
The General started typing on his laptop. After a few seconds, Stark turned his laptop so Morris could look at what was on the screen. He began to read the names. Corporal Turner White, Corporal John Higgs, Private Jim Donovan, Private Zach Madrid, Master Sergeant Frederick Krauss….
Chapter 1: Lighting the Flames
NEW YORK, PRESENT DAY
The day was bright and sunny, like any other June day in the city that never sleeps. At about 11:10, people crowded to Rockefeller Center to hear President Randolph Markson give his speech. The year was 2012, and finally the last troops were brought back from the fight with the Taliban. The goal of Markson’s speech was to motivate the US after the terrible war, explain our new peace talk strategy, and congratulate the returning soldiers. The forecast was calling for a remarkable and historic speech.
There was a forty-foot tall podium erected in the middle of the restaurant/ice skate rink of the famous Rockefeller Plaza. Secret Service men surrounded the area, keeping the crowd about 190 feet from where the President was about to stand. The anxious crowd cheered for the President as he walked to the foot of the podium fifty minutes after the crowd arrived. He smiled and waved at the crowd as he walked up the long set of steps to the microphone. The agents of the President’s protection were all skeptical of holding a speech in the middle of a city with high rise buildings. It was very risky, especially because they couldn’t monitor all of them. And since it is the end of a war against terrorists, they could try to use this as a revenge attempt. The President could be shot from almost every side.
He completed his stride up the steps and finally took his place at the microphone. He had two secret service men right next to him; one on the left and one on the right. “My fellow Americans,” Markson began to say “we have just endured a terrible conflict between us and the members of the Taliban. We were brave enough to send our soldiers into battle so we can help the innocents within Iraq, and make it a safer place for them. We fought hard and valiantly, and captured the dreadful leader Osama Bin Laden. Recently, we achieved this seemingly unendurable goal. With these victories, it is evident that we are becoming a greater country, enough so that we may extend our reach to the rest of the world and make it a better place. As a country, we can conquer anything!” The crowd cheered, and then the president died.
Tom Clarkson was somewhat happy. The plan was working perfectly, all on time. His train under the Hudson rolled into Grand Central Terminal just as planned at 11:30. The artificial intelligence-operated trains always made the mark, if not one or two minutes over. Tom lugged his huge sports bag off the luggage rack above him and carried it out through the crowd of other passengers. They have no idea, he thought. He hoisted the Nike sports bag over his shoulder and continued down the terminal. He neared an escalator and stepped onto it, letting it carry him up to the top. He got off and walked into the main room.
The ceiling was covered with artists’ renditions of the constellation as Tom passed. He looked at the crowds moving to the ticket booths, down and up the stairs, tourists taking group photos. It’ll all be ours, he thought.
He proceeded up a flight of stairs and out the front door. He saw a cab coming down the street and waved for it with his one free arm. The cab slowed and pulled up on the side of the street. Tom opened the cab’s door and climbed in with his bag. He shut the door behind him and said to the cab driver, “Rockefeller Center, please.” “Sorry, but I can only go so close,” said the driver “The President is making his speech-” “Just do it. Drop me off as close as you can,” Tom said. The driver pulled away from the side of the street and drove through the city, passing stores and large crowds heading toward the speech. The driver had to beep at people several times who were running across cross walks on green lights.
The cab stopped at the edge of the large crowd that was slowly consuming the streets around Rockefeller Center. It was about three blocks away from the actual building. Tom paid the large cab fair and exited the vehicle. The cab backed out of the street into the next one and drove away into the streets. Tom checked his watch. It was 11:42. He moved his metal-filled bag back up on his shoulder and started to walk through the throng of the crowd. He was able to squish himself up against the side of a building that sported a few sea food restaurants and a store posted with bright yellow signs advertising electronic brands such as Nikon, Sony, Samsung, Kodak, and other brand names. He proceeded down the street until he made it to a block from 5th Avenue, the street where he would begin to carry out his objective. The crowd turned into a screaming, babbling, phone-ringing, impassible wall. No problem.
Tom began to shove people aside as he proceeded down the middle of the crowded street. People began to criticize him for his rude actions and began pulling at him. He just ignored their cries and continued on. After ten minutes of walking, he made it to 5th Avenue. He was at a crosswalk when he arrived there. He had to shove even more people out of his way here, being so close to the center of the action. Finally, he reached the glass doors of Farther Enterprises, a large business company that now owns Wal Mart, The Macy’s, Dell, and is a major stockholder. The door was open, so Tom opened it and entered the large, white colored lobby.
The lobby was a large open space, lined with white couches, white chairs and tables, all spotless and clean. The lamps were white and made of a perfectly clear glass. Framed pictures of the logos of their numerous owned companies lined the walls. In the center of the lobby was a large desk. Sitting there was a woman wearing glasses and an outfit of the everyday secretary. She was stationed at a thin-screened computer that was almost the thickness of a sheet of glass, now on a website showing a live view of the speech next door. Tom approached the white desk. “Hello, I’m Clark Thomas; I have an appointment?” he said to the secretary. He had a cover name with such low creativity…. She turned her head to a white clipboard with a printed page of the day’s appointments was clipped to it. “You’re the 12 o’clock?” she asked. “Yes,” replied Tom. “Thirty-first floor, please,” instructed the secretary. Tom noticed the two elevators on either side of the desk. He decided to take the one on the left.
He tapped the ‘up’ arrow to the left of the elevator doors. An artificial ding sounded and the elevator doors parted. Tom stepped into the white interior of the elevator, turned and tapped a button next to the doors, labeled ‘31’. The white doors silently slid closed and sealed with a click. A low hum indicated the elevator was moving. On the rear wall was a screen with today’s headlines scrolling up it slowly. Tom turned and looked at it, reading the normal “President Making His Middle-East Speech in New York” headline. Just when Tom finished reading, the elevator whirred to a stop. The doors parted, and a man in a black suit was standing here.
This man was of normal height and in his later thirties. He had jet black hair that was in a hair do that was flat and made a curve that arched backward. This man was William Wright, the CEO of Farther Enterprises. He was standing with a proud look on his face staring at Tom in the elevator. “So, you’re the highly-trained assassin that Frederick said he was sending?” he joked. “A man in a sports T-shirt carrying a gym bag? He must have been kidding!” Tom put a smiling look on his face. “If you would’ve gone through preschool, you would know that ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover’.” William laughed “Sir, I doubt you went through preschool yourself!”
Tom ignored his taunt, pushed past him, and went to work. Before he started, he asked, “Where is your office?” William said, “Follow me.” The pair went down the hall, which was gray with a black carpet. They passed a few units of cubicles and meeting rooms and walls lined with pictures of the past CEOs and major investors. They arrived at a large oak door at the end of the hall. Nailed to it was a brass nameplate, reading ‘WILLIAM R. WRIGHT, CEO’. William opened the door and let Tom inside. William closed the door behind him. Tom surveyed the room.
It seemed to be a normal office, charts of recent sales on the walls, a glass desk, and a computer similar to the secretary’s. Also along the walls were five HD TV’s, four were locked on a live image of a chart of the four largest stocks. The fifth was a live broadcast of the speech outside. The most striking feature of the room was the window. The whole wall facing the middle of Rockefeller Center was glass. You could see the entire place from here: the crowd, the podium, the President. Perfect.
“The windows are tinted, you know,” mentioned William. Good, thought Tom. He now started his work. He found a part in the window that swung outward. He sat his heavy bag on the floor and unzipped it, revealing its contents. They were parts of a Barrett M1382 sniper rifle. The barrel, stock, scope, and gearbox were all laid out on the ground by Tom, and then assembled in less than five minutes. Tom looked at the TV when President Randolph Markson began his speech with “My fellow Americans.” Tom got ready. He pulled a clip of .50 caliber rounds out of the bag and slammed them into place on the gun. “We have just endured a terrible conflict between us and the members of the Taliban,” said the President. Tom looked through his scope. The glass was crystal clear. William watched in amazement. “So I guess your organization is real,” he said. “None of that money will go to waste, I think?” Tom looked up at him, “Not a cent, sir.” He ran to the opening part of the large window. He pushed it open and it swung silently open. “We were brave enough to,” the President continued. Tom checked everything one more time. He was ready. “The escape tunnels start in the basement,” instructed William, “for after you finish, of course. Make sure to take the service elevator at the end of the hall. “Alright,” acknowledged Tom. “-enough so that we may extend our reach,” said Randolph. Tom stuck the barrel of his rifle out through the open window. “As a country,” he said as Tom leveled his rifle, “we can conquer,” Tom looked through his scope, “anything!” Tom pulled the trigger, and the President fell down the podium steps. The crowd erupted in screams. Today would be remembered as the Lighting of the Flames: the beginning of World War III.
Chapter 2: Prelude to War
A SECURE LOCATION SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDWESTERN UNITED STATES
Kirk Steiner began his long walk down to the Communications room. He stepped out of the mess hall, from where he became full of MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), and turned to his left down the gray, boring type of hallway that dominated the base. He straightened his white collared shirt and pulled his tie taught as he walked. When Kirk reached the end of the hall, there was a large metal blast door with a numeric keypad next to it. Kirk stepped over to and typed a code into it quickly. There was a quick, positive beeping noise, and then the two sides of the enormous, 2-meter thick radiation proof doors slid apart. It took a full thirty seconds for the doors to part enough for Kirk to pass through. The doors halted, and Kirk proceeded through.
On the other side was a large, elevated walkway, stretching out into a huge, half kilometer in diameter, cylindrical room. It was mostly dark, except for a small light shining on what the metal walkway connected to in the center: a cargo elevator that was open on all sides, except for the safety rails. Kirk speed-walked down the walkway and onto the waiting, barely-lit elevator. There was a small keypad next to where the walkway connected to the elevator into which Kirk typed another code. There was a loud whirring noise, and then the elevator began to descend. It took a full minute for the elevator to reach the square hole in the bottom of the room. It dropped into the hole, and stopped. There was a ding from a bell, and Kirk disembarked. A tiny room lay before him. It had two sliding doors: one in the front, which was open for Kirk, and one in the back, which was sealed shut. Kirk stepped through the open door. The door sealed behind him.
A bright white lamp switched on in his face. Then, small jets sprayed a non-toxic gas throughout the room. There was a beam of red light that scanned Kirk from all directions. Then a voice said “You’re good to go, Mr. Steiner. The door in the back of the room slid open, revealing a large, open space. It was the command-and-control center for the United States Military, or the USMASH (United States Military and Security Hub). There was a large screen on the back wall, similar to those used by NASA, showing all the aerospace activity within and around the State’s borders. There were other screens, showing the stock market, a live-updating screen of the Federal Reserve’s finances, and a screen showing today’s news. That was the most interesting screen at this time.
The USMASH was abuzz with activity, people talking and running around to adjacent rooms and hallways. The people at the multiple terminals in front of the giant screen were constantly checking news stations and with military personnel, trying to figure out who would have caused today’s “incident”. There was an empty terminal, which belonged to Kirk. He headed across the floor and sat at his terminal next to his good friend, Carl Benson. “You’re a little late today, aren’t you?” he asked as Kirk sat at his terminal. “Yeah, my lunch took a little longer than it should have,” Kirk replied. “I’ve been told to tell you that you need to clean out the old communication files. They are clogging up the system, along with all the other crap we’re constantly receiving about today,” Carl instructed. Kirk acknowledged his instructions and began his file clean-up. He tapped a button with a power symbol on it on his keyboard, and the terminal flashed to life. A sign-in box appeared, telling him to type in a username and a password. Kirk typed in KCOM608 and the password HANCOCK1776. The computer beeped in acceptance and then snapped to a desktop screen.
A file was marked as “Communications.” Kirk clicked it with his computer mouse and opened it. The enormous file flashed onto the screen. Every major communication for the past eight years was recorded here. “Only remove the files that are unimportant, like supplies and food orders and troop deployments for past battles; stuff like that,” said Carl. “Gotcha,” replied Kirk. He began listening to each conversation individually. There were food orders, family talks, battle commands, and other random files. To make communication easier and faster, these unimportant files had to be removed. The process continued for an hour or so when Kirk found a strange, anomalous file.
“Strange,” thought Kirk aloud, “This file has no sender. And its subject is” he looked back at the file, “Play Me.” Carl looked at Kirk’s monitor, puzzled. “Weird. We should check it. Play it.” Kirk hovered his mouse over the file icon, and double-clicked. The file icon highlighted, and then a media player program popped up over it. The file turned out to be a video. It began to play itself.
On the screen was a man in a black business suit who was holding a large automatic rifle in his hands. Behind him was a small room which was filled with weapons: automatic rifles, sniper rifles, pistols, shotguns, even rocket launchers. This was very odd.
“My friends within the government of the United States, my name is General Frederick Napoleon Krauss, formerly of the US Military.”
Kirk stared at the video. “Put it up on the main screen!” ordered Carl. Kirk snapped out of his daze and tapped a button on the keyboard. The USMASH’s main screen snapped to the video. The whole staff of the complex watched. The video continued.
“I am here to remind you of a fact that should already be quite obvious, and that came into existence many years ago: The United States government is bound to fail. The majority of the government on the planet is corrupt! How could you have passed over us for so many years? That is why I broke away from it all and formed my own little cleansing spirit: The Retribution.” Most of the staff began to converse among themselves in the man’s lull in the speech. It didn’t last long.
“We have a system of government that works! It is quite foolproof, with ways that are simpler for its people to understand. We modeled it after the great empire that the Romans established. We have the power to make it happen, by surrender or battle. We have technology that you haven’t even thought about yet. So either surrender within the next 24 hours, or watch us demonstrate our power on your outpost in Qatar. We have already shown you our stealth in New York, so let me show you our power in battle. But only if you surrender now, will I spare you. Thank you.” The video ended.
QATAR
I wrote this all myself. Should I continue with the 20 or so more chapters I plan to write?
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