Executive Conference Room – Houston Zoo
One Week Before the EMP
The insidious plot to change the course of American history had been years in the making.
The room normally set up for zoo executives to host major fundraising events showed none of the usual pomp and circumstance reserved for the wealthy patrons. The wealthiest of the wealthy were not accustomed to such inconveniences endured by the common people. There were no complaints because they were about to change the course of history.
Waitstaff in tuxedos were missing, expensive wine reserved for special occasions to be served in the best crystal was lacking, and absent was the plethora of hors d’oeuvres and finger foods for a discerning palate.
Instead, flimsy red plastic cups and plates were available. Lawn chairs replaced executive seating, and a folding table took the place of the conference table.
No forgiving lights were available to soften the hard lines on the only woman seated, the harsh glow of lanterns casting unflattering light on the woman, exaggerating her haggard features.
There was nothing common about the five men and women sitting in the room. At one time, all had made the list of the twenty-five most powerful people in the world.
Regardless, the people sitting around the table were in the stratosphere regarding wealth or had held some of the highest political positions in the world, including a former vice president of the United States. Visionaries of ecommerce were sought for their forward thinking.
“Let’s go over the number of nukes required for the EMP strike,” Beverly Shaffer said. A former cabinet member, she exhibited no motherly qualities. Her icy stare and perpetual frown were immediately recognizable. Without the normal entourage of professional make-up and hair artists, she appeared old and unkempt. However, her brain remained sharp, along with her conniving skills.
Royce Brazos, founder of Brazos Unlimited, the world’s largest gaming retailer, sat opposite Beverly Shaffer. “All nukes are on standby in underground bunkers,” he said.
“I know that,” Beverly said sharply. “Let’s go over the location and the number needed.” She had a number two pencil in hand, ready to take notes on a legal sized yellow pad. She preferred pencils to pens for the sole reason pencil lead was erasable, and because there were no working parts to hide a camera or microphone. Pencils were also easier to cover tracks, and if she wrote lightly, there’d be no impression on the piece of paper beneath the one she was writing on. Ink left marks, and without a shredder at hand, she erred on the side of caution.
“Where’s your sidekick?” Royce smirked. He withdrew a cigar from his coat pocket. Striking a match, he inhaled two short breaths, then a long one, while he stared at Beverly. Exhaling, he savored the taste.
“Thanks for asking.” Beverly’s lips turned up slightly, revealing a fake smile. “He’s at home, recuperating.” Her tone was dismissive. “He knows nothing about our meeting, and I want to keep it that way. He would be, let’s say, unapproving of our methods. Since the voters aren’t smart enough to elect the right people, and even though he’s not a champion of our constitution, he’d shut this down in a heartbeat.”
“Speaking of, how is his heart?” Royce asked. “He’s had more heart attacks than a cat has lives.” Royce inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment, then exhaled a long stream of smoke wafting upwards.
“Let’s stay on course. The number of heartbeats left in my husband’s heart is of no concern to us or to the future of America. His time has passed. And if you, Royce, continue smoking, your heart and lungs will suffer the consequences. Besides, indoor buildings prohibit smoking.”
“Point taken.” Royce languidly rubbed out the cigar. “We are rewriting the rules,” he said, pointedly addressing Beverly, “including smoking, and if it wasn’t for rulebreakers like ourselves, none of us would be sitting here.”
“Again, let’s go over where the nukes are located,” Beverly said. “Royce, you have the table.”
“The ones meant for the Super Bowl are in an innocuous bird reserve, and part of what’s left of a prairie. Specifically, a prairie chicken refuge. It was selected due to several reasons. First is its close proximity to Houston. Second because of its remote location. And—”
“Excuse me,” Beverly interrupted. She peeked over the top of her reading glasses, scowling. “Remoteness and close proximity to Houston are a conundrum. The Houston metropolitan area is the fourth largest city in the United States and covers a sprawling area. It’s twice the size of the New York metropolitan area.”
“Understood,” Royce said, obviously irritated at being interrupted. “The site is approximately sixty miles from the stadium which is the main target in Texas. Numerous VIPs and several high government officials will be in attendance. According to our studies, ninety percent of the people at the stadium will perish due to lack of food, medical care, exposure, violence, and a host of other things. A lot of foreseen opposition to what we are trying to accomplish will be taken care of by nature.”
“I still think we should have targeted Austin because of it being the state capital.”
“You have a good point, Beverly. We actually have one spare nuke to cover the Austin and San Antonio area. It will also be launched from the same site.”
As Beverly was about to interrupt a second time, Royce waved her off. “The reason the prairie chicken refuge was selected was also due to the terrain. It’s prairie. It’s flat, remote, and the surrounding area is sparsely populated. No mountains or waterways for anyone to launch a clandestine strike. Also, due to the endangered species of prairie chickens, access has been limited to the public, and I’d also like to point out the generous donation made by a shell company of Brazos Unlimited is untraceable. The donation shut down most visitors so the prairie chickens can do their thing.”
Several muffled snickers could be heard around the table.
“Who would have thought prairie chickens could be so important to our cause,” Beverly mused. “And we have Graham Carr to thank.”
“Being a vice president had its perks, including national security knowledge,” Graham explained. “Nobody cares about prairie chickens except for a small group of people who were easily bought in the name of research. And since it’s a national refuge, managed under the auspices of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, government vehicles and personnel were easily explained. It was the perfect place to build an underground network of tunnels and storage facilities.”
Beverly turned her head and made eye contact with Mike Steen, an executive of Life, a social media giant. “Mike, what’s the pulse of America’s youth?”
“Ready for social change and for eviscerating the old guard,” Steen said.
“Is that what your stats indicate?”
Without skipping a beat, Steen replied, “It’s what the posts indicate.”
“So much for the privacy your company touts.” Beverly scoffed at the youth of today, living their lives online for everyone to witness.
“There is no privacy any longer. If you think there is, then you’re dead wrong.”
Beverly thought about his statement. Being part of Steen’s inner circle regarding how social media drove opinion, and how it could easily be monitored or influenced, she had no doubt he was being truthful. Beverly had become wary of any type of electronic communication, and preferred face to face meetings. Even so-called encrypted communication wasn’t foolproof. Then there were always the Russian hackers and spies to be concerned about. She found a noisy restaurant was the best place to conduct one on one business.
“Wilson, you’ve been quiet so far,” said Beverly.
“I’m busy listening. One can learn a lot by listening.” Wilson Doyle, the founder of Macrohard, a giant technology company, gave his full attention to the former cabinet member.
“Has this room been swept for any type of recording device and cameras?” Beverly asked. “Technology has improved regarding how to hide those, for example, a camera can be hidden in a button or a pen.”
“The room has been swept,” Wilson assured her, “including the requirement for everyone to place their electronics, briefcases, pencils and pens, jewelry, and watches in the metal container. While I know it was met with displeasure, we have to be careful. It’s too easy for anyone to be compromised without knowing it. Russian spies are everywhere, and one slipup would cause our entire plan to fall apart. I’ve also swept the place for listening bugs and cameras. Planters have been removed, and I have literally used a broom to sweep the floor for any fake rocks or other debris where a microphone could be hidden.
“The lanterns have replaced light bulbs so no voice transmission can occur. Technology has improved to where the vibrations made by our voices on light bulbs can be transmitted then converted to language. The reason for the plastic chairs is because it would be extremely difficult to hide a bug in them.
“So, unless everyone strips naked, I will need to rely on your honor regarding this meeting is private, and no listening devices are on your person.” Wilson looked at the attendees. “Raise your hand to declare you have not been compromised.” He counted ten hands, including his. “Thank you.”
“What about cell phones?” Beverly asked. “It would be quite easy to hide one under a blouse or jacket, or in the air conditioning vent.” She raised her hand to point at the grill in the ceiling. “It’s possible someone has placed one there.”
“Any type of spyware needs a battery or electrical components for data transmission.” Wilson withdrew a device from an inside pocket of his jacket then held it up for everyone. “Let’s give this a test.” He took a drag on a cigarette then stamped it out in the ashtray. He scooted his chair back from the table then retrieved a cell phone from the metal container. He read the tag on the phone. “Elton, this is yours. Can you turn it on?” Wilson handed the phone over.
Elton Atour, one of the richest men in the world, founder of many companies including ventures into space, pressed the power button, waited a moment before using his thumbprint to activate it. He placed the phone on the table. “It’s on. Do you want me to start recording?”
“No,” Wilson said. “Put it in the inner pocket of your blazer.”
Atour complied without questioning the reason. The room was silent, and the occupants anxiously waited for the next move. Wilson slid his hand inside his blazer and showed the room a plain cigarette lighter.
“This is no ordinary lighter,” Wilson said. “Although it can be used as one.” For demonstration, he flicked the lighter once, igniting a flame. “Satisfied?”
Unimpressed mumbles followed his demonstration.
Wilson clicked the lighter shut. “It can also be used for something else.” He pressed a hidden button on the bottom of the lighter. It buzzed once. Holding it in his hand for everyone to see, he casually strolled by each participant.
Nothing happened.
As Wilson came within a few feet of Atour, the lighter vibrated. He showed the lighter to everyone so they could inspect it for themselves. “Elton, now turn your phone off.”
Atour powered his phone off, and when it went dark, the lighter stopped vibrating.
“Beverly, are you satisfied the room is secure, and no phones or any battery-powered devices or otherwise are in use?”
“Mostly. I’m curious regarding how the lighter works. Would you mind filling us in?”
“Not at all. It has a chip designed to detect if any type of cell phone or other device is powered on or is transmitting data. If it is, the battery generates a minor amount of electricity, and the chip in the lighter is designed to vibrate if it detects a certain level of electricity specifically generated from a cell phone or transmitting device. Since this room was reserved by a shell company, the likelihood of a sophisticated listening bug would be miniscule.”
“Interesting. Do you have an extra one?” Beverly asked.
“I do, but if I give it to you, I’d have to kill you. I’m waiting on the patent for the technology. Even the U.S. government doesn’t have this.”
Wilson Doyle’s comment was met with an icy stare from Beverly. “Your macabre humor is not appreciated since I’ve had many credible death threats made against me.”
“As have all of us in the room,” Graham Carr said, butting in. “Eight years of being the vice president of the U.S. comes with threats, and I for one won’t live my life in fear of a miscreant hellbent on destroying me or anything I stand for. I’d like to remind everyone here of our mission to change the political landscape, to drain the swamp once and for all, and to create an America our forefathers envisioned. An internal war has been simmering for years and if we aspire to create a new America then lives will have to be sacrificed, just as lives have been sacrificed when we declared our independence from England nearly two hundred and fifty years ago. So let’s get down to business. Agreed?”
“Proceed,” Beverly said.
“Here’s how it’ll start,” said Graham. “First we’ll—”
“Stop. Don’t say anything else.” Beverly’s voice was tinged with apprehension. “Wilson, did your device vibrate?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Double check it. I’m sure I heard something. I don’t trust any of these devices anymore. Cell phones have become too sophisticated.”
Wilson walked around the room, stopped by each attendee, and aimed the device at the person. “We’re clear.”
As Wilson started to turn the device off, Beverly stopped him. “Let me have it please.”
“Why?” Wilson asked.
“You didn’t check yourself.”
The room became so quiet, if a flea sneezed, everyone would have heard it.
“Excuse me?” Wilson stared down Beverly.
“You heard me. Let me have the device so I can check you. Can’t be too careful, even around friends.” Beverly smiled without mirth.
“This is preposterous,” Wilson complained. “We are all in this together, and have put our lives and our reputations on the line.”
“I know that.” Beverly stood. “Hand it to me.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
“We had to leave our firearms outside. Remember?”
“Suit yourself.” Wilson handed the device to Beverly.
She stepped close to Wilson and slowly waved the device over his body, starting at his shoes then finishing at the top of his head. The device remained silent.
“My apologies.” Beverly dipped her chin. She turned the device over to Wilson. “Still friends?”
Wilson replied with a laconic, “Sure, yeah. Why not?”
Graham Carr huffed audibly and cleared his throat. “Now that the useless demonstration is over, this is how the show will begin.”
For the next thirty minutes or so, Graham laid out the plans on how the EMPs would be launched, naming the locations and their targets. He outlined the number of casualties expected, the timeframe specifically targeting the impact on the over sixty-five crowd, and anyone with serious underlying health conditions. The survivors, weak from lack of proper nutrition and other shortages such as the scarcity of clean water, would be easily controlled. An entire generation of citizens would grow up under government control. He repeated the location of the safe house, and the interim government.
“In order to achieve Utopia, sacrifices must be made,” Graham stated with forceful determination. “Are we all in agreement?”
A collective yes was spoken by each attendee.
“We will adjourn now and return to our lives as if we had never met here, nor discussed the plot. Good luck everyone, and God speed.”
~
Hannah didn’t move for what she figured was an hour. In reality, it was only twenty minutes, and she didn’t dare turn on her cell phone to check the time, especially after what she had heard. If it dinged, buzzed, or vibrated, she’d be a dead woman.
Listening for movement or voices, she waited another minute, then stretched her legs and massaged them until circulation returned. She had experienced pain before, but nothing compared to being cramped in the tight quarters of a credenza. Fortunately for her, files had been removed. Despite that, she could win the number one place in a contortionist competition after what she had endured.
Jesus.
Who were those people? One of them sounded like the general she heard at the prairie chicken refuge and the woman sounded like, well, she couldn’t even bring herself to say the name. It was a woman who had broken the glass ceiling and had become well known in political circles.
Due to the wall between them, Hannah had only heard bits and pieces of the conversation. Hell, most of the talk sounded like she was listening through an aquarium wall. When talk became heated, she could hear better, and what she heard was unimaginable.
The sole reason Hannah was at the zoo was due to hoping to find some leftovers. A meeting hosted for top donors of the zoo had been held in the room the day before with all sorts of food and drink, and normally the leftovers weren’t removed until the cleaning crew showed up. Her budget required her to think outside the box.
She found something much richer than leftovers.
And she was damn lucky to have turned off her cell phone when whoever it was demonstrated how the cell phone finder, or whatever it called, worked to locate hidden cell phones and other devices. And even more damn lucky she had hidden in the credenza, because when the meeting was over, someone had entered the room she was in, flicked on the light, and snooped around.
While hiding, Hannah froze at the sound of footsteps and the connecting door opening.
She waited in darkness until she was satisfied everyone had left.
The walk to her car was long, and the sounds of the zoo at night freaked her out. She checked over her shoulder several times, thinking she had been discovered. When she was safe in her car with the doors locked, she sat for a few minutes digesting what she had learned. The only logical explanation was a movie plot. After all, the guy had alluded several times to the show, or plot, and explaining how it would begin.
Hannah took a big breath, and decided she’d blog about it.
Even politicians must get bored.
Why else would they decide to collaborate on a movie script to destroy the United States?