Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (6 page)

“There’s been an explosion! Call 911!” someone cried.

Given the reputation of LA’s emergency services, Salmusa knew the response would be slow and disorganized. But in an hour, the police and fire departments would have their hands full.

Perfect.

Now to give America a few hours to reel from what had just occurred in LA, New York, Washington, and the other cities where his operatives performed their duties. Then, in the midst of the chaos, Phases Two and Three would be implemented.

Salmusa got into his car and drove away before the sound of sirens penetrated the dark, cloudy air.

   4:20
P.M
., PST.

Dressed only in boxer shorts, Walker sat on the sofa in front of the television, a glass of Jack in one hand, the remote in the other. Ever since he’d come home from the
Celebrity Trash
office, he’d done nothing but make a short journal entry and work on the whiskey. He’d had the sense to have a bite to eat, and now the crumbs from the microwaved pizza littered his lap.

There was nothing but crap on TV. If it wasn’t an idiotic game show, it was a talking head blabbing about America’s problems. Soap operas were a thing of the past, but there was still “women’s fare” such as cooking shows in which housewives were shown how to make complete family dinners out of practically nothing. Religious-themed stations dominated the cable channels; even Saint Lorenzo had his own talk show. The movie channels broadcasted decades-old features. That was fine by Walker, but nine times out of ten he’d seen whatever was showing. The big three networks—NBC, ABC, and CBS—barely had
the funds to keep operating, but they managed to do so. Nothing in their lineup was aimed at an intelligent audience anymore. Even the news programs were watered down, full of half-truths and feel-good pep talks about how “things were getting better.”

At the moment, Walker was watching one of the so-called “entertainment” programs, on which undeserving celebrities were profiled or interviewed. He’d just poured another glass of whiskey when a news bar appeared at the bottom of the screen. As it rolled, he read: “
BREAKING NEWS—EXPLOSION IN LOS ANGELES SUBWAY. AUTHORITIES ARE INVESTIGATING.
” Walker didn’t think much of it. There was always something.

He continued to watch the program, but a few minutes later another news bar appeared. “
BREAKING NEWS—EXPLOSION REPORTED IN NEW YORK CITY SUBWAY.
”

Walker blinked and sat up.

This was immediately followed by “
BREAKING NEWS—EXPLOSION REPORTED IN WASHINGTON, D.C., SUBWAY.
”

Hold on. What the hell?

Walker used the remote to change channels. He found a dedicated news station and the story was front and center. A popular anchorman relayed the disturbing news as images of fire, death, and destruction flashed on a screen behind him.

“—as we are receiving it. Again, we have reports that deadly explosions have occurred on at least three major U.S. city mass transportation systems. In Los Angeles, at approximately four o’clock Pacific Standard Time, a bomb exploded on the Red Line Metro. The death toll is estimated to be a hundred or more. In New York, a similar, simultaneous explosion occurred on the Number One subway at
approximately seven o’clock Eastern Standard Time. In Washington, D.C., at the same time, a bomb went off on the—hold on.” The anchor put a hand to his earpiece. “I am now receiving a report that a bomb has exploded in Dallas, Texas, on a DART train, and in Atlanta, Georgia, on a MARTA train. Wait—oh dear Lord, there’s one in Miami, too. A Metromover in Dade County was … And in Denver, Colorado …”

Stunned, Walker sat with his jaw open. What the hell was going on? There hadn’t been terrorist attacks in the country for over a decade. The fundamentalist Islamics couldn’t be back, could they? And why? America had left the Middle East. There was nothing for them to bitch about.

Who was behind it?

For the next hour, he stayed glued to the set as reports came in. Just when he thought it was over, another city was named as a target. Obviously, well-executed, well-planned, simultaneous attacks had occurred all over the country. Twelve major cities, all on mass transit systems. Most of the explosions were on trains, a couple on buses, one on a streetcar. Hundreds dead. Hundreds injured. Mass confusion and panic. Emergency services were pushed to the brim.

Somewhat sober now, Walker managed to stand, walk outside onto his deck, and look over the hills toward the city. He heard sirens in the distance. He thought he saw a couple of dark clouds of smoke over Hollywood, but compared to the haze that normally hung over the area it was difficult to tell for sure.

Feeling a chill, he returned inside and went to his computer. He browsed some of the blogger websites that tended to focus on the realities of the world. Discussions of the attacks were all over the Internet.
Conspiracy theories abounded. The fundamentalist Muslims were back. It was the Koreans. Angry radical revolutionaries in America were responsible. Washington was behind the attacks in an attempt to rally the people to a common cause.

Behind him on the television set, the president appeared to deliver a short address from the Oval Office. He urged the public to remain calm and pledged that the government would do everything in its power to find the culprits and bring them to justice.

No one listened to the president anymore.

Walker grabbed his cellphone. He had a sudden compulsion to call his ex-wife, Rhonda, to whom he hadn’t spoken in ages. But when he dialed the number, the network was busy. He tried again a few minutes later with no luck. He finally gave up the attempts after an hour.

He had a very bad feeling about it all. Somehow Walker knew this was just the beginning of something unprecedented.

JANUARY 15, 2025

11:15
P.M
., PST.

The day had gone well.

Salmusa sat at his computer in the Van Nuys home. He had carried his wife’s corpse into the bedroom and left her there. He would have no further need for their home after today. If she was found by authorities, they wouldn’t be able to locate him. Besides, they would have so much more on their hands without having to worry about finding the killer of an insignificant Korean American woman who worked at a donut shop.

In hindsight, Salmusa acknowledged that Kianna had been a good woman. It wasn’t her fault she was an American. It was too bad she and her family had bought into the American lies and decadent lifestyle. She had served her purpose well as part of his cover. He wished her happiness in her next life.

Still, Salmusa felt no remorse for what he’d had to do. He had conditioned himself long ago to kill with calculated objectivity. If it was for the Greater Korean Republic and the Brilliant Comrade, then it was his duty. He would lay down his life for Kim Jong-un, and he would murder thousands for him.

He would never forget the pledge he had made to his friend when they were both eight years old. They
were in Kim Jong-il’s summer residence outside Pyongyang, where Salmusa had gone to stay for a few months with young Jong-un. His friend had read somewhere how the Italian mafia would swear blood oaths to each other. New recruits attended a secret ceremony at which the don or whomever would prick the newcomer’s finger as well as his own, and the two men would ritualistically join their blood together in front of the entire group. Then the recruit guaranteed his loyalty to the “family.”

Jong-un had been fascinated with tales of the Italian mafia. He admired how the “family” was controlled by a father figure, the so-called “don,” and the organization beneath him was made up of lieutenants and captains and muscle. He had advisors, too, but the final word rested with the don.

Salmusa’s friend likened the mythos to North Korea. His father, Kim Jong-il, was the don, and everyone else in the country was his family. Men had to pledge allegiance to him and act on the dictator’s orders.

So, in private, on the banks of a stream near the summer home, Kim Jong-un and Yi Dae-Hyun pricked their fingers and held them together. They swore to be friends forever. Even though they did not know then that Jong-un would one day be chosen as his father’s successor, Dae-Hyun pledged eternal commitment to him. Reciprocally, Jong-un vowed to afford Dae-Hyun a place of power in his organization.

Salmusa glanced at his watch. It was time to commence Phase Two.

He logged in to the private URL and chat room. All but one of his operatives were present. The man from Miami was missing.

Salmusa asked if anyone knew where he was.

The man stationed in Atlanta replied that the Miami operation was problematic. There were eyewitness reports from a survivor that a passenger on the Metromover noticed the abandoned briefcase and tried to stop the operative from leaving the train without it. Apparently there was some kind of struggle. The bomb went off with the operative still in the car. The survivor reported that the man attempting to leave the car was Asian.

Salmusa didn’t think it was of any consequence. They had all known it was a dangerous task.

“We honor our fallen comrade,” he typed. “I will see to it that his name is known to the Brilliant Comrade and appropriate tributes are made.”

Enough of that.

“This will be our last communication, as Phase Two begins in minutes. Please verify that your snake is implemented and ready to strike.”

The “snake” was Trojan spyware for which each operative was responsible. It had taken two long years, but the Koreans managed to hack into all U.S. networks and communication systems, including the military and Federal government agencies. Because 50 percent of all software and hardware in the last ten years was made in Korea or the member countries in the Greater Korean Republic, it was possible to compromise the Trusted Platform Module components that went into American government computers. The TPM was a security device that offered facilities for the secure generation of cryptographic keys, as well as authentication procedures for hardware. Since most of the hardware was manufactured by third party companies—many under Korea’s control—it was possible to install backdoor Trojan access into the modules. Of course, not every computer in the Federal government was applicable, but
a very high percentage was. Most important, the military networks had gone through a computerized upgrade within the last two years—one of the few things on which money was spent since their methods had become more automated. With the “new military” consisting of more drones and robots and less human deployment, the upgrade was necessary.

Nearly all of the computer equipment bought by the military indirectly came from Korean suppliers. The plan had been in place since 2016.

Each man answered, “Ready.” The snakes were coiled and prepared for triggering.

Salmusa congratulated the operatives on the success of their mission, wished them well, and signed off. He then placed a video call to Pyongyang.

After the usual few minutes of security checks and verification of Salmusa’s identity through two subordinates, Kim Jong-un appeared on the monitor.

“Brilliant Comrade, good day,” Salmusa said.

“It is indeed a good day, Salmusa,” the dictator replied. “The sun is shining and it’s not too cold.”

“I am happy to report that Phase Two is ready for implementation.”

“Very good. I will send authorization to the appropriate administrators. How is the mood in America?”

“They are panicking like ants that have had their hill stepped upon. As you know, all twelve mass transit attacks were successful. We lost one operative.” He relayed the man’s name to Kim.

“I will inscribe his name in the Book of Honor and inform his family that he died serving our country.”

“For the past seven hours, emergency services in the twelve major cities have been put to the test. It is time to enact Phase Two while the police, fire departments, and ambulance drivers are busy attempting to deal with our work today. And after that … Phase Three.”

“Your safe house is ready?”

“Yes, my Brilliant Comrade. It is not far from here. I will abandon this house as soon as we sign off. I sacrifice my Hyundai in the name of the GKR.”

Kim laughed. “I will see to it that you have another one day.”

“I am sure the Volkswagen in the shielded garage will be fine. The Germans made good cars … once.”

“Then this is goodbye for now, my friend. In three days we will talk again?”

“Providing the satellite data card in the safe house works properly. Do not be concerned. I will get a message to you one way or the other.”

“Very well.” Kim bowed his head. “Thank you, Salmusa. Thank you, Dae-Hyun. You have done a great service for me and for Korea.”

Salmusa felt a surge of great pride. “My service is not over, Jong-un. I will see my mission through as long as I am needed here. Thank you for the opportunity, Brilliant Comrade.”

Then Kim did something Salmusa wasn’t expecting. The dictator held up his index finger, the same one he had pricked many years ago. Then he smiled. Salmusa nodded and held up his own index finger. The scars had disappeared but the memories were still there.

The two men said goodbye again and signed off.

Salmusa looked at his watch. 11:30
P.M
.

Time to go.

   The North American Aerospace Defense Command, otherwise known as NORAD, provided advance aerospace warning, air sovereignty, and defense for both the United States and Canada. Located at the Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station in Colorado, the facility remained on active status
even after the downsizing of the U.S. military. NORAD’s commander was also the head of USNORTHCOM, a Unified Combatant Command that supplied protection from air, land, and sea approaches to the contiguous States, Alaska, Canada, and Mexico, as well as the Gulf of Mexico, the Straits of Florida, the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, and the U.S. Virgin Islands.

While there had been significant cutbacks in staff of both NORAD and USNORTHCOM, a minimum crew of fifteen constantly monitored satellite communications, air traffic, and early warning systems.