He failed to suppress a smile as he read about nations that were decimated — blasted back to the Stone Age in less than twenty minutes, and how their leaders were literally begging the United States to help them. His allies in Western Europe had immediately jumped to his side, but he’d already spoken with his fellow presidents and prime ministers, assuring them they needn’t get their own countries into debt trying to rebuild the world — he had it all under control.
He turned the page and saw a large feature on the work GlobaTech Industries was doing in the Middle East, notably in Syria and Israel. Both nations had been hit hard in the attack, and had opened their borders to each other without hesitation, in an effort to help refugees find shelter and medical support. GlobaTech was acting as a peacekeeping force, as well as transporting food, clean water and temporary housing to the region.
Cunningham’s smile broadened as he read the report, in which the journalist had commented that, while it was an obvious tragedy, the fact that the conflict between both countries had immediately come to an end was a silver lining in an otherwise black cloud. It went on to say just how strong the human will to survive truly was, and that it was a shame that sometimes it took something so horrifying to make people see there’s more to life than each other’s differences.
The president closed the paper, folded it in half and placed it on the table next to his armchair. He then stood, cradling the glass of brandy in his hand as he walked over to the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames.
He knew the world would hate him when they inevitably found out what he’d done. But reading that article only served to strengthen his belief that everything he’d done was in the best interest of not only the people in his country, but around the world as well. He might go down in history as the worst terrorist to ever live, but at least the future in which that history was taught would be a peaceful one.
SANTA CLARITA, CALIFORNIA, USA
April 21st, 2017
Jericho was woken by a persistent knocking on his apartment door. He opened his right eye slowly, rubbing it to remove the grit accumulated during the five hours of broken sleep he’d managed. As per the doctor’s instruction, he’d left his eye patch in place.
He swung his legs out of bed and stood slowly, stretching and grimacing through the cacophony of aches and cracks. Wearing nothing except his boxer shorts, he padded slowly over to the door, opening it without a second thought.
Julie was standing in the corridor, leaning on his doorframe. She looked wide awake and fresh-faced. Her hair was tied up, and she was wearing a tight vest top and cargo pants.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” she said with a smile, looking him up and down. “Get your shit together — we’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“Who with?” asked Jericho, still half asleep.
“Winters and Schultz. C’mon, let’s go.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after six, why?”
Jericho sighed and shook his head. “No reason — I’ve just not readjusted to military mornings yet.”
Julie looked at him with mock sympathy, pouting. “Poor baby… Come on, shift your ass.”
She stuck her tongue out playfully before turning on the spot and walking off down the corridor, not waiting for him to respond.
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, before ducking back inside and closing the door. He grabbed a quick shower and threw some clothes on before leaving his apartment and following her out of the building.
The sun was already shining, high and bright in a cloudless blue sky. Jericho navigated his way across the base, which was already alive with activity, passing troops, weapons testing ranges, and an array of vehicles, both parked and mobile. He caught up with Julie as they neared the office building in the southwest corner of the compound. To highlight exactly how large the base in Santa Clarita was, it took them nearly ten minutes to walk there from the apartments.
The meeting was on the fourth floor — in the same place Jericho was de-briefed the other day. They rode the elevator up, and walked side by side down the corridor toward the conference room. As they entered, both Josh and Ryan Schultz stood and looked over.
“Thanks for coming so quickly, guys,” said Josh. “Take a seat.”
He gestured to two chairs facing the door, backs to the window. Julie was the first to sit down, leaning back on her chair and resting one leg on the table. Jericho took a seat next to her and looked around, noting the tense look on Schultz’s face.
“Has something happened?” he asked.
“Nothing bad,” said Josh, before Schultz could say anything. “We just have news. And a mission for you. We’re just waiting for one more. They should be here—”
“Sorry I’m late,” said a voice from over by the doorway.
Everyone looked over to see Ray Collins standing there, smiling as his gaze rested on Jericho and Julie.
“Fuck me — Blackbeard!” he said, laughing.
“You all… know each other?” asked Josh, surprised.
Collins waved his hand dismissively as he stepped into the room and took a seat opposite Jericho. “Aye, we go way back! The big guy here saved my ass from a beatin’ last night in the bar.” He nodded at Julie. “And Sarah Connor over there just can’t control herself around me…”
“You wish!” she scoffed, giving him the finger.
He smiled and nodded to her raised middle digit. “You wish, sweetheart!”
Jericho chuckled, which prompted Julie to glare at him and punch his arm. “Don’t you start…” she said.
Jericho shrugged. “Hey, what have I done?”
“Alright, alright,” said Schultz. “Everyone zip it. In the interest of full disclosure,” he looked to his left, “Julie Fisher, Jericho Stone… this is Ray Collins. He’s one of our best, believe it or not.” He turned to Collins. “These two are your new teammates, so play nice.” He sat back down at the head of the table, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward in his seat. “Alright, ladies, listen up. Individually, the three of you are impressive soldiers. Julie, Ray… you’ve served GlobaTech for many years between you, and you’ve proven time and time again we can rely on you. Jericho, you’re a decorated soldier with a history of commanding a black-ops unit. But right now, in this room… this is the big leagues, understand?”
“Okay,” said Josh, taking his cue. “You’ve all been briefed on what’s happening and why you’re here. We need to put together a small team, to work quietly in order to conduct our own investigation into the CIA, with regard to the recent attacks. Also, we need to know how the president factors into all this.”
He took out a remote from his pocket and aimed it at the TV on the wall opposite, which Jericho figured was a replacement for the one he broke the day before. He clicked it, and an image flickered onto the screen, showing a file photo on the left, with information on the right, bullet-pointed.
“Our first client, so to speak…” he continued. “We’ve been contacted by one of our employees — an engineer who worked on the Cerberus satellite. In light of the recent terrorist attack, and our internal revelation about who’s responsible, he’s come to realize that he has information about the work he did that actually serves to implicate the president in what happened.”
“Fuck…” said Collins. “Who is he?”
“His name’s Daniel Vincent. He’s hiding out in Prague, staying in a low-key hotel in the city center. He’s concerned the CIA might be on to him, so we need to get to him first and bring both him, and his information, home safely.”