The Wall, page 24
John’s voice snapped him back to reality.
“This is PathNet’s most bleeding-edge information research institute. It’s been in operation for half a year. We’re running verification tests and conducting research on next-generation information and communication technology that makes full use of AI, in conjunction with PathNet’s central research center in San Jose.”
“That’s news to me. Surely it’s not yet a full-scale operation?”
“It is. We are opening the door to a new era by connecting the world with outer orbit.”
Adán looked around the room, amazed. “This place reminds me of the MIT lab when I was in college. It’s got that open, relaxed feel to it,” he whispered to Vanessa.
“You don’t mind if we take a look around?” Doug signaled, and from behind the Tactics Team agents emerged the ten tech-expert agents.
John sighed and pushed himself before them. “Could I ask you to wait a moment? I’d like to consult with my friend.” He took out his smartphone, looked at the clock on the wall, and sighed slightly before dialing a number.
Before the first ring of the ringtone was over, “Something bad happen? You hardly ever call me.”
John turned his back on the agents and spoke: “I’m sorry to have to call you at a time like this, Bob.”
“I’m still in the Oval Office. No way I can sleep tonight. It’s already begun, hasn’t it? What I would do to fly over there.”
“We have an emergency. We’d like to be able to concentrate on supporting Green and his men, but something is keeping us from doing so at the moment. That’s where you come in.”
“Got it. I’ll settle things.”
John had been talking under his breath but now he handed the smartphone over to Doug, who took it with a raised eyebrow. When he put it to his ear, the look on his face changed. He straightened up, and listened to the president with an occasional “yes, sir” and “I understand” thrown in.
“Yes, sir. But I would like an explanation from you later,” he said. Then he returned John’s phone. “All right, everyone, we’re going back. Let’s keep this little excursion a secret. Don’t divulge anything you’ve witnessed today.”
“But, sir, we—”
“Zip it. We’re out of here,” he said, silencing the young agent’s protests before making for the exit. His twenty-four subordinates followed hurriedly after him.
Billy stuck his tongue out and flipped them the bird behind their backs. Stewart slapped him.
John’s mind was racing. How did they find us in this desert hotel? The FBI’s tech-specialist agents must have been on our backs this whole time. Have I made a grave error that will sink the president?
“Let’s get back to work,” said Stewart, snapping John out of his reverie. “The operation will begin in just a few hours.”
Doug exited the hotel and kept walking. Even he didn’t know why a single phone call had him heading back, especially after he’d crossed the continent to reach the middle of nowhere. That one call had the authority—no, the sincerity and enthusiasm, to sway him.
“Are you really okay with turning back so readily?” asked Vanessa, who’d caught up with Doug.
“You can stay if you like.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“It was President Copeland,” he said bluntly.
Vanessa froze for a moment, before catching up once again. “Are you sure—”
“I know that voice. It was him. I voted for him after listening to a speech of his. He said he’d explain everything when the time came, but that for now, he’d like us to go back. He even said ‘please’,” he said excitedly, as though trying to convince himself it had really happened.
Then they got back on the choppers.
“What the hell kind of sorcery did you just use?” Stewart asked John as he returned to his seat.
“I asked for a little help from the Eastern Seaboard.”
John switched the image on the central screen. Now it showed the roundabout in front of the hotel and the three helicopters parked there. They also saw Doug climbing aboard a chopper, talking to a female agent.
“Well, that’s one thing settled. What’re you staring at? Back to work! The people down in Cordova are putting their lives on the line. We can’t afford to make any mistakes. Concentrate!” shouted Stewart.
With that, everyone recovered their senses and went back to their workstations.
“Why did the FBI come here? That Doug Fellure rolled through with all the confidence in the world. How did they find out about this place, and what else have they figured out?” John whispered to Stewart.
“Now we can be sure America’s intelligence agencies aren’t just for show. They could smell we were doing something fishy,” he said.
Everyone who overheard looked at Stewart.
“In two or three days,” stated John, “we’re closing this place down and moving to New York. That’s where Operation Caravan will proceed to Phase 2. Until then, we’re going to support Jadon and the revolution in any way we can. And we’re going to bring them back home to America, no matter what it takes. If we don’t, then . . .”
John glanced at the screen. The three copters were taking off.
“How did they find us here, and what do they know?” murmured Stewart.
Billy was pounding on the keys as laboriously as a concert pianist. “You know the term cyber warfare? Turns out you can wage war without firing a gun or even casting a shadow on the battlefield. That’s where war is these days. So let me join in on the fun,” Billy had told John the night before.
“You’ve done enough work for us already. Your hacking into those two bank accounts secured a whole year’s worth of funding for Cordova.”
“But Jadon and his men are bleeding while I’m here typing. Believe it or not, I want to help. There must be even more I can do for them.”
“Don’t ask me; why don’t you ask Colonel Gobel or Mr. Beasley? They feel the same way you do, in that they’d sooner spend the night in the War Room racking their brains as to how to help the revolutionaries than tuck in for the night.”
Some of the experts had been working twenty-four-hour days, to the point of bringing a cot to a corner of the room, or slipping into a sleeping bag placed under a desk. They were analyzing the Cordovan military’s movements and scope through the satellite images and sending the intel to Jadon.
Billy went up to Nick. “If I were to hack into the Cordovan military’s communications network, what would happen?”
“Nevada is two thousand five hundred miles from where the war is.”
“But the weapons they’re using were manufactured by developed countries. Missiles are equipped with digital devices, and their communications equipment is internet-connected. For lots of weapons, if you were to take out the PathNet technology, they’d become useless museum pieces.”
“You may be on to something. We could spread false information to confuse the military, and if we can direct the enemy’s electronic hardware from here, it’d be a huge help to our soldiers,” said Nick.
Billy gave it some thought. “It doesn’t seem too hard to do. For me, anyway . . .” he murmured, before returning to his desk.
■ ■ ■
8
The Final Battle
Two hours had passed since they started trekking through the jungle in the wee hours of the morning. Luis was pushing himself hard to keep up, walking with his daughter’s aid.
“It’s not long now. You can do it. As soon as we make it to the road, the trucks will be there.”
It was quite bright now; the Revolutionary Army had emerged from under the dense canopy at a point twelve miles north of La Caridad. A parched road leading to the city appeared—Foundation Road (Ruta Fundadores).
“The trucks will be here soon. Let’s take a break for now.” Jadon set up camp and bade the top executives of the Revolutionary Army assemble.
Sebastian, Jadon, Tsutomu, Luis, and Penelope sat in front of the map. La Caridad was near the map’s center.
Jadon listened and contemplated as everyone voiced their opinions:
“According to the War Room, the enemy is mobilizing border troops toward La Caridad. Obviously they’re hunkering down against us.”
“Maybe it’s to up security for the ceremony and military parade. They’re having foreign dignitaries, including United Nations reps. If a battle broke out then and there, it would rattle Cortázar’s authority.”
“But Cortázar is more preoccupied with crushing the revolution.”
“So you think he’s absolutely certain we’re coming for him?”
Jadon raised his head and eyed the group. “The ceremony will take place tomorrow afternoon. If the War Room’s intel is right, Cortázar will watch the parade on a viewing platform alongside the dignitaries and senior United Nations officials he’s invited. Cortázar only rarely makes public appearances, so this presents a unique opportunity to capture him. Though, in his eyes, this will serve as a chance to kill us all.”
“Security will be strict. It won’t be easy to reach the square, which is where Cortázar’s going to be.”
“We’ll arrive at the edge of La Caridad by noon, enter the city when the ceremony starts, and push toward the Plaza. Cortázar will escape inside the Residence, where his elite guardsmen can protect him.”
“Enemy troops will be waiting for us inside the city. If we engage them in our current state, that’ll put us at a disadvantage. We’re still not anywhere close to rivaling them in numbers,” replied Tsutomu.
“You’re the one who said war isn’t just a numbers game. And I happen to agree with that.”
“The number of men and quality of weapons do play a role though. The soldiers’ morale also matters, but in this case the gap in strength is just too big.”
“The time the ceremony starts isn’t going to change. You’ve got to do something about the situation by the time we attack.”
The Escárcegas, sitting beside Jadon, just listened without a word.
The soldiers waiting on the roadside started making noise.
They filed out of the tent to find a cloud of dust kicking up. There was a line of about fifty large trucks headed their way.
“Everyone, get your weapons. It’s the enemy.”
The soldiers raised angry yells, and the camp was in disorder. Jadon and his men ran out onto the road with their guns. The gathered revolutionaries stared down the road with their own firearms in hand.
“It’s not the enemy; those are our trucks. Don’t shoot!” someone shouted.
The trucks contained gun-toting men in various clothing. Bryan Fuller and some of the other mercs were waving their hands out the windows of the truck in front.
Revolutionaries on both sides of the road cheered. Tsutomu brought Bryan to Jadon and the rest.
“We made it on time. But we still haven’t got enough soldiers or weapons. If only we’d had the time.”
“This is enough. We may not have enough guns or ammo, but we can manage.”
“We took a little with us. It’s stuff we stole from the enemy.”
Bryan filled them in on how they spread the rumor that the Revolutionary Army was mobilizing, while also attacking government troops stationed at the border for their weapons.
“We also told people it was soldiers from a neighboring country that attacked those guys. For the time being, those garrisons won’t be able to leave the border. Cortázar can’t call them back anymore. He can’t shore up La Caridad’s defenses,” said Bryan, pointing to various places on the map.
The country’s borders were always in a state of high tension. Several times a year, skirmishes at the border inevitably yielded casualties. Most of Cordova’s tanks were already deployed. And if those tanks couldn’t be summoned to La Caridad, it gave the revolutionaries’ chances a significant boost.
Outside the tents, the soldiers were still cheering in welcome of their new comrades.
At the Presidential Residence, Cortázar could have heard a pin drop.
He was pacing around his office with his army captain’s uniform on. Meanwhile, Dourne was on the sofa, watching.
Cortázar stopped in his tracks. Moreno and Los Eternos were no more, and the preparations to strike against the Revolutionary Army were in place. But what was this sense of foreboding? Whenever he stopped moving, he could feel the lump of anxiety reemerge inside him.
From the veranda outside the office, one could look upon the whole Plaza, where people were making the final arrangements for the ceremony and military parade scheduled for noon the next day. Orders were occasionally issued to the workers at the site through the loudspeakers.
The door swung open, and a soldier stepped inside. “We’ve been informed that the Revolutionary Army is getting ready to leave the jungle for La Caridad. There are around two hundred of them. They are all armed with Kalashnikovs or M16s.”
“Two hundred, eh? That’s fewer than I was expecting. Is Luis with them?”
“He is, or so we heard. The leader of the Revolutionary Army is Sebastian Loyola.”
Cortázar glanced at Dourne.
“We will lure them to the Plaza. In the run-up to that, we will dispose of their leaders. I’ll tell them that there’s a bounty in it for anyone who takes Luis’s head. Without its leaders, the soldiers will run around like headless chickens. And the snipers have already taken their positions,” said Dourne.
“When the Revolutionary Army enters the Plaza, our soldiers and the elite guards will spring their attack. We will make a show of the Revolutionary Army’s annihilation so that the people get a good look and learn their lesson,” said Cortázar. They’d discussed this many times before.
“Let’s call back some of the border garrisons, just in case.”
Cortázar nodded and went out the door at the other end of the office onto the veranda. The viewing platform for the military parade had been fully constructed, as well as the ceremony stage. The perimeter of the Plaza was heavily guarded.
United Nations officials will be at the ceremony when the revolutionaries come barging through. They’ll see it as an act of terrorism. And then the righteous government of Cordova will put an end to their campaign of terror. A new Cordova will be born, all right. A Cordova that is mine.
Cortázar stretched his back and clicked his heels to bolster his spirits.
The line of trucks carrying Jadon, Luis, and the soldiers was driving down Foundation Road for La Caridad. Including the new soldiers, there were more than fifteen hundred of them.
Luis’s calls to action, conducted from a jeep, continued even as they made their way to the capital. People’s reactions became more and more pronounced as they got closer to their destination. Cordovans dashed from their homes at the professor’s voice. Whenever the jeep came to a halt, it would get surrounded by adoring crowds. The news of how Luis had been freed from his confinement at Cortázar’s hands by the Revolutionary Army he now led, and how people were joining the revolution from each and every region of Cordova, was spreading across the land.
Jadon could still only marvel at the sheer magnetism Luis exerted over the nation.
“Let us raise up our voices, my brothers and sisters. It is silence and meekness in the face of evil that give rise to refugees, and that caused the Tragedy at The Wall. We must rise up and build Cordova as we see fit.”
The closer to the capital they came, the stronger and hotter the fire in Luis’s voice. Penelope was providing him the necessary support, looking after his health so devotedly one might surmise she was making up for years of absence and resentment.
At the same time, Jadon was taking notice that she herself was a beloved and popular figure among Cordovans. It wasn’t that she was Luis’s daughter. She’d earned her high esteem by helping to build hospitals and schools throughout the years and by contributing to the medical care and education of her people. She was especially well regarded by women and children.
When they left the jungle, the number of troops increased even more. People who couldn’t get on trucks followed on foot. Most of them were farmers or townsfolk who had never held a gun in their lives. Needless to say, they didn’t possess any firearms, nor did the Revolutionary Army have any to give them.
“It’s like they think they’re going on a picnic. Like we’ve already chased Cortázar’s soldiers out of the capital. Do they think they can take knives and sickles to a gunfight? At this rate, we’ll have a bloodbath on our hands,” sighed Tsutomu, a grave look on his face.
“Nueva Cordova will serve as the advance contingent. We’ll use the weapons we take from the soldiers we defeat. That’s why we need to get them used to handling guns.”
“Sebastian and Bryan are training them with that in mind. But—”
“The Tragedy at The Wall will never happen again,” said Jadon, his words full of determination.
What little training they could conduct in the time they had continued even as the Revolutionary Army neared La Caridad. The new soldiers were drilled on the basics of how to handle guns and how dangerous they could be, how to toss grenades and how to work RPG launchers, how to tell what direction bullets were coming from, and how to hide from gunfire, all to vest them with the absolute essentials and thereby save some lives.
Jadon announced that he was the Border Butcher of infamy for the peasants, townsfolk, and soldiers to hear. “Look at me. Your brethren died before my eyes, shot through the head and stomach. Feel free to hate and detest me. You can even pull your triggers and end me altogether. But this is your one and only chance.”
The farmers and soldiers just listened, dead silent. The air around him was charged with a strange tension.
It was a small village near La Caridad where they camped out for the last time. Revising their strategy, they would advance toward La Caridad the next day. The soldiers were exhausted and the majority were fast asleep.
A single step outside the camp, and it was complete darkness. The cries of small animals could be heard coming from the jungle.
