Overture (Earth Song) (24 page)

“
And what have you two gained for all this blood?”

“
We control the Portal, sir. That was our ultimate goal, after all. Why else did God send all these faithful to us? They fought for you, and for God’s will. They died for you, Victor. They went to God with your name on their lips. Our intentions were pure.”

“
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. As I’m sure you know that from your life before.” The big man turned his head as if Victor had been there to slap his face. “What good does it do the children of God if you kill them all trying to get the Portal?”

“
This is all His will, don’t you understand? Hundreds died, but hundreds more live. Most of the faithful are here inside with us. We need to get you in here with us, and I’m glad you called.”

“
How can you possibly get me in there? I’m looking at the park on television, and there must be a thousand cops. And what about that gunship a couple hours ago strafing the crowd? Things are getting even more out of control, if that’s even possible.”

“
While that wasn’t planned, it told me a lot about their contingency plans if they figure they’re going to lose the perimeter. Listen closely, here’s what we’re going to do.” Osgood continued to be a fly on the wall until Duke hung up and began quickly conferring with Gabriel. Once they were finished talking and moved to confer with their lieutenants, Osgood slipped back to the rest of the scientists and technicians and sat next to one he remembered.

“
Kyle, isn’t it?”

“
Yes, Dr. Osgood. Do you think we’re going to get out of here alive?”

“
Do I look like a gypsy to you?” the man chuckled. “You still have your Blackberry?”

“
Sure, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“
Good, let me have it.”

“
Yeah, whatever you say boss.” Osgood took the device and tapped a few keys. Its wireless card was still active and had a signal. As quickly as he could, he composed a message to Volant.

The meeting had started off bad and gone nowhere fast. First, the US Army General, a huge barrel-chested man named Hipstitch, had barged into the NYPD situation room like MacArthur storming a beach in the Philippines. “You are now relieved of all responsibility in this situation,” he commanded. He was followed into the room by a brace of single silver stars, full birds and a half dozen silver oak leafs.

“
Now you just hold on a Goddamn second!” Chief Niedelmeir roared. “You people took over this Central Park situation, which you insist was some sort of a fucking satellite crash, and it’s been nothing but shit ever since. Maybe you can tell me what authority allows you to come in and take over after that blood bath you just created? Seventy innocent civilians killed, more than two hundred wounded, and millions of dollars in property damage! And while you’re at it, maybe you can tell me what you really have in that compound? Satellite my ass!”

“
I thought it was Assistant Chief of Police,” the general said calmly.

“
It was until that war yesterday. Chief Anderson had another heart attack when he got the news, and this time it killed him.”

“
Sorry to hear that.”

“
Well, now that the fucking pleasantries are out of the way, maybe you can give me some fucking answers?”

“
Never cottoned much to people who curse unnecessarily. I’ve always considered them to be coarse and of low intelligence.” A couple people in the room choked back coughs of laughter while Chief Niedelmeir turned red.

“
The chief’s question still stands, General Hipstitch. Under what authority do you attempt to relieve this city’s lawful authority?”

“
I’m sorry, who are you?”

“
Captain Trisha Panini, I’m the temporary coordination officer for Chief Niedelmeir.” One of the general’s aids stuck his head over his shoulder and whispered something.

“
Ah, the good chief’s wife, how cozy.”

“
That is why it’s temporary, general. It would be rather difficult during this current crisis for the chief to be interviewing people for the position, don’t you think?”

“
It’s not really any of my concern, but this situation here is. As to authority you can have this.” Another of the general’s men came forward and placed a briefcase on the big oak conference table. He opened it and removed a file, which was handed to Trisha. She opened it and quickly surveyed the paperwork.

“
It’s all legal, Chief,” she said solemnly.

“
What are you talking about,” he barked and snatched the file roughly from her hands, “this can’t be legal!”

“
By order of the President of the United States, the vicinity of New York City is under martial law,” he told the chief with a big toothy smile. “You and your police department will go back to what you are good at, keeping the peace, while we regain our compound in Central Park.”

“
Not so fast there, General Hipstitch.”

“
Ah, and you would be a representative from the NSA?”

“
That I would. Steve Bradley, Deputy Information and Legal Director, US sector, NSA.”

“
Where is Volant?”

“
He was nearly killed in the attack; he placed me in charge of this operation until he is released from the hospital.”

“
No offense, young man, but you are not of sufficient authority for this assignment.”

“
None taken, General. I have the authority granted by the director. Just like a Cabinet member of the President, should the chain of command become interrupted, the NSA authority chain falls in the same manner.”

“
Regardless, martial law supersedes all civilian law enforcement.”

“
While that may well be the case, the NSA is not a civilian law enforcement agency. We are an agency of the federal government under the auspices of the executive branch, and when in the case of war or martial law, we are to operate
in conjunction with
the DOD and the military, not under them.”

“
You seem awful certain of yourself.”

“
U.S. 19.105.92, and it’s all in black and white.”

The
general stared him down hard. All Bradley did was stare back. “NSA legal and information, eh? You’re nothing more than a rules lawyer, Mr. Bradley.”

“
Be that as it may, you are not to sweep in here and brush all other authority aside. We are not at war,
General
Hipstitch.” Bradley placed heavy emphasis on the word general while not raising his voice in the least. “We, you and I, will work together to regain the compound from these cultists with a minimal use of force and endangerment to civilian lives.”

“
As long as it is prudent and expedites my orders, I will work with you. But the moment you exceed your authority, tenuous though it may be, I will assume complete control, just as the President of the United States intended from the beginning.”

“
I do appreciate your willingness to follow constitutional mandate and perform your duties legally.” General Hipstitch took his seat, whispering a prayer for the patience to deal with bureaucratic twerps under his breath. “Now, shall we get back to business?” Bradley asked.

An
NYPD SWAT commander came forward to start the briefing. He showed a few charts and summarized a lot of things they already knew. “They demonstrated little knowledge of basic tactics in the initial assault,” he told them.

“
Yet it was still sufficient to overpower the military units,” Niedelmeir pointed out, drawing an angry glare from General Hipstitch.

“
And this shows signs of competent leadership,” continued the SWAT commander. “Several times when SWAT teams were sent in to surround and neutralize pockets of resistance we were met with ambushes. Once, a SWAT team was in turn surrounded themselves. They were allowed to leave the park after being disarmed.”

“
Your men surrendered?” General Hipstitch said in disbelief. “That is disgraceful.”

“
And I suppose you would have been happier if they had somehow fought to the death?”

“
At least those wackos wouldn’t have walked away with quite as much ammo.”

“
Notwithstanding the good general’s desire for my men to have perished, they brought out vital intelligence about the leadership of this cult and interviews of other hostiles gave us a picture of their beliefs. Captain Panini is trained in psychological evaluation and will take it from here.”

“
Thank you, commander. It seems the cultists are of the opinion that the compound within Central Park contains a Portal to Heaven that was sent by Angels of God. They refer to this angel as an Avatar, and to themselves as the Followers of the Avatar. Surprisingly enough, they only came into existence a few weeks ago.

“
Their dogma is steeped in Christianity with a strong apocalyptical bent. Their leader is someone named Victor, no last name given, and their beliefs center around this Portal. They believe the asteroid is going to hit Earth and kill everyone except those who will escape through this Portal and that they are ordained to be the ones to do so. Their fanaticism lies in the belief that we are all dead anyway, so who cares if they die or kill other people. They truly feel they have nothing to lose. I believe pressing them in the wrong way could result in the suicide of all the cultists, the murder of the hostages, or both.”

“
That’s quite a dark pronouncement,” Bradley said to cover his discomfort at the mention of the Portal. He knew there was a third possibility, that they would all just run through the Portal and thereby deny it’s use to qualified research personnel.

“
I’ve been over all of this with the department’s best psychologists and also discussed it with a friend at the FBI criminal psychology department and she agrees with our evaluation.”

“
Have you brought a lot of people into your evaluation of these cultists?” Bradley asked.

“
As many as I had time. Some were quite excited when we discussed this Portal. They volunteered to come out and assist in evaluating the cultists.” Bradley and Hipstitch, who had been on opposite ends of a conflict only minutes ago, now exchanged worried looks. Volant had warned Bradley that they were in imminent danger of losing containment and that would appear to be the case.

“
I think it’s time you people come clean,” Niedelmeir said suddenly.

“
What are you talking about?” Bradley asked calmly.

“
I think everyone in this room knows there is no satellite in that park.”

“
Just what is it ‘everyone’ thinks is in the park?” General Hipstitch said.

“
I think they’re right about the Portal,” Niedelmeir said with a malevolent look in his eye, “and you are trying to keep it quiet at all costs.” There was utter silence in the room as all the police and city representatives stared at the general and the intelligence agent.

“
Are you foolish enough to think there is a real Portal to Heaven in there, and we’re keeping it from people?” Hipstitch snorted.

“
We don’t believe it goes to Heaven,” Niedelmeir said and nodded to his wife. Trisha Panini took a file from her own briefcase and tossed it onto the big conference table where the contents slid out. Dozens of pictures went spinning around. Some from the website of the Portal, others from foreign sources of other Portals. “It’s time to come clean. That meteor is going to hit, and that is some kind of an alien escape device. Why are you keeping it secret, and why are people dying to keep that secret?”

“
This meeting is over!” Hipstitch roared and slammed a fist down on the table. “Clear a cordon for five blocks in all directions around that area if you don’t want to see more innocent blood shed.”

“
This isn’t over!” Niedelmeir yelled back, jumping to his feet and moving to cut off the portly general. “You have a lot of explaining to do! I’ll go to the fucking press!” He only made it a couple steps before the sound of guns being cocked brought him up short. All the military “advisors” the general brought with him were armed, and they had drawn their weapons. A dozen more soldiers who had been outside burst into the room. The few armed NYPD officers attending the meeting yelled and reached for weapons. They found themselves staring down the muzzles of locked and loaded M-4 carbines.

“
I’m afraid it is over, Mr. Chief of Police. By order of the President of the United States and under proclamation of martial law, I hereby place everyone in this room under arrest for reckless endangerment of a military operation. Major, take them away!”

There
were cries of outrage and a few people had to be butt-stroked to get them moving. Before long the big conference room was empty except for Hipstitch and Bradley. “Am I under arrest, too, General?”