Franklin glanced at the thermometer on his tiny weather station. Seventy-nine, with barometric pressure rising. Pretty seasonal for August in the mountains, although the humidity was thick enough to cut with a rusty knife. “Close,” he lied. “But I’ll live.”
“And some of those idiots still say global warming is just a goddamned theory.”
“If you backtrack on those assholes, you usually find a pipeline between their bank accounts and the oil and coal industries,” Franklin said. One thing he liked about his faceless friends is that they dispensed with small talk like the weather and immediately started solving the world’s problems.
If only we had an audience as big as Rush Limbaugh’s and Howard Stern’s, we’d save the human race whether they wanted it or not.
“Once you get your Alaskan pipeline built, maybe the U.S. will quit bombing the hell out of the Middle East.”
“Yeah, but then we’d have to invade you, good buddy. Got to feed those defense contractors.”
“Fine with me. Just don’t make me drink that watered-down American beer. Budweiser. Christ, I’d rather drink moose piss.”
“I’ll put in a good word for you,” Franklin said. “So what’s happening with the ice caps? Still melting?”
“I’m pretty high up here in Ottawa, but I’ll bet Alabama goes underwater in five years,” Charlie said. “Maybe you’ll have some nice beachfront property.”
“It’s a liberal plot to do away with the Red States,” Franklin said. “Take away the Deep South and the Democrats will hold the White House for the next century.”
“You never did tell me what party you support.”
“Lemonade Party. I think you ought to run the government like a lemonade stand. Serve it up on the sidewalk, cold and sweet for a nickel a glass.”
“That’s just the heat getting to you.”
“Could be. Don’t take much to bring me to a boil these days.”
“Speaking of heat, did you hear about the big solar storm?”
Franklin had adopted a policy of “Ignorance is bliss,” focusing mostly on daily survival and maintaining a sustainable compound. While he owned a tablet computer with an ethernet card that allowed him to connect to the Web via satellite, he rarely prowled the Internet for news anymore, simply because he no longer trusted any sources. Even Charlie.
“No,” he said into his microphone. “I’ve been too busy picking cotton and stuffing it in my ears.”
“Scientists say it’s going to be one of the biggest on record. Supposed to shut down radio communications and TV and shit like that. Government’s putting out official warnings.”
“Does that mean I won’t be able to hear your angelic voice for a while?”
“Careful, Soldier, or I’m going to sing you a lullaby and it might start the cats to howling.”
“Well, from what I know of solar storms, they can blow the hell out of the electrical grid. Can’t imagine what they’d do in New York if the lights went out for a week.”
“Come on, Soldier. You know how fragile the whole system is. You blow out all those transformers and you can’t replace them all for years. Plus, you need power to manufacture the new ones. Sort of a Catch-22.”
“Don’t sound so excited about it, Charlie. I might start thinking you’re one of those Doomsday nut jobs.”
“Well, that’s worst-case scenario. But if it happens…”
A pause filled Franklin’s cabin, a high band of white noise coming from the speaker. Franklin eventually completed the thought. “Total shutdown. No gasoline pumps, no grocery stores, no air conditioning or heat, economic collapse.”
“Now you’re the one getting all excited. I swear, you’re starting to breathe heavy, like a teenage boy with his first Penthouse.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault everybody got dependent on a government run by foreign bankers. But I’ll be ready when it hits, whether it’s an asteroid, a pole shift, World War III, or a Martian invasion.”
“Assuming you live long enough.”
“I’ll be around as long as I need to be.” Franklin thought of his family. His wife Bitsy had died of breast cancer, and their daughter Laurel had disowned him after his political views attracted too much notoriety. She wanted to protect her two daughters from him and his twisted views, she said.
Well, Chelsea had been taken from them all, leaving only Rachel. And Rachel was his hope. They’d maintained an uneasy correspondence hidden from Laurel, but Franklin felt a desperate need to leave some sort of legacy. Rachel wasn’t exactly a convert, but at least she was kind enough to humor his occasional emails.
“Well, you better research the solar storm,” Charlie said. “Even though you can only trust half of what the mainstream media tells you.”
“They feed you just enough of the truth to keep you stupid.” Franklin was suddenly anxious to get off the radio. “but I’m on it.”
The evening seemed to have grown warmer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maj. Arnold Alexander slid the NASA report into a manila folder. He was a fastidious man with a neatly clipped moustache, narrow-set eyes, and a heavy chin that gave him the aspect of a perpetual scowl. Which made it easier for him to disguise the scowl he was currently biting back.
“Worst-case scenario,” Henry Gutierrez was saying. The major thought the curly-haired man was far too fond of the word “scenario.” Gutierrez had used it at least five times since the meeting had begun.
“Doesn’t look like much of a scenario to me,” Alexander said. He secretly chafed at the power wielded by this little pencil-pusher. As chief of Homeland Security’s Office of Infrastructure Protection, Gutierrez had risen through the ranks on departmental politics, not experience or merit. But in the terrorism era, army officers like Alexander had to defer to bureaucrats like Gutierrez. The abstract goals and elusive enemies of the last decade of U.S. warfare paled in comparison to the invisible threat the Department of Homeland Security was created to stop.
Alexander’s people fought a war of flesh and blood, but Gutierrez fought a war of emotion. And that emotion was fear, the side that always won in the end.
Maj. Alexander was not only outranked, he was outnumbered in the compact Homeland Security boardroom. The third person at the conference table, Ellen Schlagal, was from the Office of Cyber Security and Communications. She had scarcely spoken after accepting a cup of black coffee, and she turned the cup before her in small circles, mostly staring into the drink’s surface. When she did look up, her intense blue eyes swept both of the men’s faces like an emergency beacon.
“We can educate the public about the problems, but of course that opens the door to opportunists,” Gutierrez said.
“It’s either that, or when somebody’s cell phone goes out, they start blaming terrorists, and then we have a full-on panic,” Alexander said.
“If we announce in advance that blackouts are coming, we might have a panic anyway. A stock market crash, ammunition stockpiling, food hoarding.”
Alexander rubbed his moustache in annoyance. “Let’s say that a terrorist group has a planned mission, more or less ready to roll. And they find out major cities might lose their electricity and communications. That would be the perfect time to swoop in and pull off an attack. Not only would they benefit from the chaos, the odds of getting caught—assuming they weren’t packing suicide belts—go way down.”
“That’s still just a theoretical risk,” Gutierrez said.
“But that’s what your whole department is built on,” Alexander said. “Something that might happen. Might.”