Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (2 page)

2

Shakespeare’s house, three months earlier

At five months pregnant, Pamela Crittendon was feeling sluggish and cumbersome, but much better than she had felt during her first trimester. However, she did question why on earth they were eating outside in July when it was ninety-two degrees. This Brian Shakespeare, Jack’s friend from work, was one strange bird.

Pamela tried to cool herself with the oriental fan she’d been carrying around for months. It had been kind of Shakespeare and his wife, Sheena, to ask their family to dinner. They’d even invited Pamela’s mother, who was presently walking with Shakespeare through the rows of his huge garden.

Jack was helping Bobby, one of Shakespeare’s boys, get the John Deere toy tractor going. Shakespeare ran back and forth between pointing out his prized vegetables to Margaret and checking the meat on the sizzling grill. His own five children—including four boys (two with special needs) and a little girl—were everywhere, ecstatic to have guests in what Pamela was gradually realizing was their own crazy little compound. Her own children, ten-year-old Rebecca and eight-year-old Faye, were laughing and playing with them like old friends.

“You control individuals with guns and weapons, like Hitler did, but you control populations with
food
.” Shakespeare, wearing a brown denim apron, was on one knee, pulling weeds and lecturing to anyone within earshot. “The lettuce you see at Kroger, it’s coming from hundreds of miles away. There’s only a three-day supply in stores. What happens when the economy tanks or there’s a fuel shortage? I’m telling you, Margaret, you need to get on Jack’s case. He’s totally unprepared. I’ve been telling him this ever since we met.”

Margaret glanced over at Pamela as if she’d seen a ghost. Unfortunately, her mother was buying into Shakespeare’s gloom-and-doom theory. That was all they needed, with all the other stress at home.

“When everything collapses—and it’s only a matter of time—food will be king. If food is cut off, you’ve got chaos. Societal bedlam. Pillaging. Theft. Gangs of looters. What do you do then?”

Shakespeare grunted as he got up and moved on. Margaret stumbled in an effort to keep up with him, grabbing the crook of his arm.

“See those blue tarps along the border? That’s our SPR—strategic petroleum reserve. Ten barrels of petroleum.”

Shakespeare spoke in a deep, authoritative tone. The man had massive shoulders and a chest the size of a barrel. And, Pamela acknowledged to herself, with his curly black hair and large dark eyes, he was quite handsome in a rugged, outback sort of way.

“In the shed we’ve got a dozen five-gallon metal tanks full of fuel, a riding mower, and seven bikes. What’s Jack gonna do when there’s no gas at the pumps?”

Shakespeare excused himself to turn the meat. The aroma drifting over from the grill smelled scrumptious.

The spacious backyard was enclosed by a five-foot-high wall of cut firewood, which formed a homemade fence about four hundred feet long. Earlier, Shakespeare had shown them his “H
2
O stash” in the crawl space beneath the house, which included numerous water storage tanks, each filled with a hundred and fifty gallons of potable water.

A clanging bell.

“Chow time!” Shakespeare rang a bell on a post next to the grill. “Grab a plate from the porch. We’ve got dogs, burgers, and steaks. Take plenty.”

Sheena directed the guests to a spread that included potato salad, squash casserole, deviled eggs, chips, slaw, watermelon, cookies, and more.

“The eggs are from our own hens.” Shakespeare nodded toward another small shed at the corner of the property as he set the platter of meat down. Pamela wondered what the neighbors thought of Shakespeare’s survival camp.

The kids, red faced and sweaty, gathered with their plates on the porch steps while the adults sat down at a long picnic table in the direct sunlight. Eventually it seemed to dawn on Sheena that Pamela might be uncomfortable in the sun, and she dug out an old checkered patio umbrella, which she shoved into Shakespeare’s chest and asked him to set up.

“So just what is it that you think is going to cause these food and gas shortages?” Margaret had chosen a spot right next to Shakespeare. He couldn’t know that he was poisoning the mind of one of the most paranoid human beings on the planet.

Shakespeare smirked and took an enormous bite of his burger. “Let me ask you this, Margaret,” he said through his mouthful. “How long do you think our country can keep printing new money to throw after bailouts? How much longer will China wait before they call us on our debt? Hasn’t Jack told you anything I’ve taught him?” He looked at Jack, shook his head, and took another bite.

“Economic collapse?” Margaret said.

Shakespeare’s eyes darted from one food item to the next on the massive spread before them. “That or terrorist attacks, whichever comes first. Pick your poison. They could knock out the Internet, poison our food and water systems, cripple our fuel resources, hit us with WMDs …”

“Brian, please, can we not get into this?” Sheena said.

“What?” Shakespeare stared at his wife. “Margaret wants to know. And Pam should know too. It’s reality. Biological weapons, dirty bombs—the threat is real. They could spread a virus or attack the Internet with an EMP. It doesn’t matter how it happens, the fact is, it’s coming—and ninety-nine out of a hundred Americans aren’t prepared.”

Jack gave Pamela a look that said he was glad she was finally hearing it from the horse’s mouth. Pamela wished Margaret wasn’t there; she would be up all night worrying about it. Fortunately, Rebecca and Faye were clueless as they giggled and spit watermelon seeds with Shakespeare’s kids.

“But how real is the threat of terrorism here
in America?” Margaret said. “Things seem safe …”

Shakespeare threw his head back and laughed. “That’s precisely what they want you to think. The terrorists have training camps embedded across the US. It’s only a matter of time.” His eyes narrowed. “These people hate the West. They despise Jews and Christians. They think they’re obeying their ‘god’ and earning an afterlife in paradise by killing us.”

Margaret had barely eaten a bite. She looked away, out toward the garden, then at Jack. “What are you doing about this?” There was a tinge of anger in her voice, and she waved a hand toward Rebecca and Faye. “How are you preparing so they can survive?”

Jack’s face flushed. Pamela was about to stop her mom when Sheena intervened.

“Don’t even start.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Once you do, it becomes an obsession. You can never get prepared enough. You can never
do
enough. You can never
have
enough.”

Shakespeare rolled his eyes.

“Look at us. Look at our kids. Look at the way we live.” Sheena threw her hands up. “This is
not
normal. We’re like our own secret little militia. We’ve been living like this for so long, I don’t know any other way. We’ve lost touch with reality.”

“No, you live
in
reality.” Shakespeare jabbed a finger at her. “It’s everyone else who’s been hypnotized by the liberal media into thinking everything’s fine. One of these days when we’re hunkered down in the winter, staying warm by the wood-burning stove, generators giving us power, eating fine, and safe because we’re armed to the teeth—you’ll thank me.”

An awkward silence hung over the group. Margaret stared at Shakespeare with her mouth agape.

Pamela changed the subject. “This is the best burger I’ve ever had. Where do you get your beef?”

“It’s venison,” Shakespeare said proudly as Pamela immediately stopped chewing. “Made the hot dogs myself. Jack, remind me to give you some of my jerky when I show you the food-storage supply.”

Pamela forced down a long drink of water and vowed not to eat another bite.

“I’ve actually been thinking about storing a little food,” Jack said. “Nothing elaborate. Just enough to get us through an emergency.”

“Well, I should say so,” Margaret said. “You’ve got the girls to think about.”

Pamela didn’t disagree with having a few extra canned goods in the pantry. But she would absolutely not let Jack get excessive about it.

“Basic starter, get twenty pounds of rice and twenty pounds of pinto beans,” Shakespeare said. “You gotta have a way to cook it; I’ll show you in a minute. You’ll need multivitamins, plenty of water, flashlights, batteries, at least one generator, gas, weapons, ammo … I’ll give you some websites before you leave.”

Sheena shook her head, stood, and gathered some trash. “Don’t start, Jack. Honestly, if I had to do it over, I would do absolutely nothing—”

“Oh yeah, and when the mud hits the fan, the kids starve and we’re all dead meat. That sounds like a great plan, Sheena,” said Shakespeare.

“I don’t even care anymore.” Sheena’s voice broke. “Let it come. We’ll die with everyone else. What are the chances of that, though? I’d rather
live
while we’re
alive
than live like we’re dying! It’s gone too far, Brian. I’m sure Jack and Pam can see that.” She marched into the house.

With his big elbows on the table, Shakespeare examined Jack, then Pamela, then Margaret. He spoke in a low, even tone. “Look, I’ve done my research. This country is gonna get hit, big-time. People are going to
panic
because they are absolutely unprepared. Looters will take over the streets. It is not going to be pretty. If I know this is coming, why would I not prepare?”

“Where do you get your news?” Jack said. “Where do you find out about this stuff?”

“There are tons of sources online. I’ll show you,” Shakespeare said.

“I want those links,” Margaret said.

It amused Pamela that her mom had become so tech savvy since she’d been living with them—but this was an invitation to disaster.

“Currency is another issue,” Shakespeare said. “Look at its value—it’s plummeting. This country is broke.”

“I know, I know—‘cash is trash.’” Jack mimicked the expression he’d told Pamela that Shakespeare uttered so often.

“That’s it. I’ve told you, you need to get into the metals, real silver and gold. When the mud hits the fan, it’ll save you.”

“Dude, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Jack said.

Shakespeare grimaced as if he’d told Jack this a thousand times. “I can hook you up. Start by buying a sleeve of twenty silver one-ounce coins, and if you can, an ounce of gold. Add to it as you can. It’ll add up fast.”

“I want to get some,” Margaret said.

“Well, it sounds like you’re the one I need to be harping on, Margaret.” Shakespeare eyed each of them. “People who went into the Great Depression with just ten percent of their investments in gold came out rich. You need gold and silver to barter with.” He looked at Pamela. “I’ve been nagging your husband about this for months.”

Pamela’s mind spun, thinking of how ill prepared they were, especially with the baby coming in four months. Should they try to do a little of everything—or nothing at all?

3

Festival Arena, October 6

“All we know at this point is that Homeland Security picked up some kind of algorithm, either over the Internet or the phone lines.” Clarissa’s brown eyes flicked back and forth, and veins arose from her scrunched forehead. “It mentioned the word
attack
, here, tonight.”

“It named the arena specifically?” Shakespeare said.

Clarissa nodded. “‘Columbus Festival Arena’ was picked up, as was Senator Sterling’s name.”

Jack didn’t like the concern etched in Shakespeare’s scowl, and it made him tip off balance, light-headed for a second.

“Who’s behind it?” said Steve Basheer, their tall, fiftysomething supervisor.

“No idea,” Tab said. “At this point it doesn’t matter. We need to do everything in our power to protect the guests coming to this venue tonight.”

“Tab, have Charlie do a complete sweep of the building, top to bottom,” Clarissa ordered.

Electricity sizzled in the air as Tab made the call on his radio.

They searched one another’s faces. Jack was thinking terrorists, or homegrown nut jobs. He was sure Shakespeare would have his own theory.

“You
are
going to announce it to the team.” Shakespeare eyed Clarissa.

“Yeah … of course,” she said tentatively, her head dropping. “Ideally I’d like to have more intel.” She straightened her posture and put a fist to her lips. “Tab, you need to track down Hedgwick at the Columbus PD and get as much police backup as they’ll give us—I mean busloads.”

“We need to contact Sterling,” Shakespeare said.

“I’ve got a call in to him. I’m thinking he might cancel.”

“He won’t cancel.” Shakespeare pursed his lips. “His whole platform is built on antiterror, building our defense back up—higher than it’s ever been. He’s pushing for that billion-dollar surveillance system—”

“Cameras on every major building and interstate in the country,” Steve said.

Shakespeare nodded. “He wants to hunt down every homegrown terrorist group on US soil and punish them, severely. That might be what this is about.”

“Assassination attempt?” Steve said.

Shakespeare shrugged. “Who knows? I’m sure terrorists don’t want him on the ballot. Whatever the case, I’m thinking Sterling might have the clout to get a special-ops team in here.”

Tab squirmed. “The army?”

“They’re trained for this,” Shakespeare said. “All we are is a bunch of suburbanites with flashlights.”

“Oh, come on,” Tab complained.

“He’s right,” Clarissa said. “I’ll put in the request as soon as Sterling contacts me.”

Suddenly Jack and Pam’s financial woes meant nothing. Their differences had been pure stupidity. He regretted that he’d been so negative toward her.

The baby was due in a month. What would Pam do if something happened to Jack and she was left with three kids to support? Things had been so tight that Jack had been forced to reduce the death benefit on his life insurance to lower the cost of his payments. The current benefit was so low it would barely get him in the ground, let alone provide any extra funds for Pam and the kids. And he hadn’t told her he’d changed it, because he fully intended to raise it again when he landed a decent job.

All the more reason he needed to make sure that he and everyone else in that building remained safe and secure.

“Hold up.” Tab shot up a hand. “I’ve got Keefer on the phone. He’s heard from Homeland.”

Everyone inched closer to the speakerphone as Tab pushed a button, hung up the phone, and adjusted the volume.

“Clarissa, can you hear me?” said Keefer O’Dell, the president of EventPros, based in Cleveland.

“I can, Keefer. I’m here with some of my team.”

“Okay.” Long pause from Keefer’s end. “The latest intel from Homeland Security is that fifteen to twenty hostiles are planning some kind of takeover during Martin Sterling’s visit to our venue.”

Eyes searched eyes. Some heads dropped.

Jack felt sick to his stomach.

“We’ve contacted Sterling and advised him to postpone, but he’s a tough nut,” Keefer said. “You know his stance on terrorism. He’s still deciding. We’re trying to get more intel. We’ve also told Everett Lester and his people that we think they should postpone. Ultimately it’s up to him and Sterling and the arena if they are going to go on with the event or not.”

“We can’t just shut it down based on this threat?” Tab said.

Clarissa gave him a nasty look and shook her head at him.

“Who said that?” Keefer barked.

“It was me … Tab Deacon.” His face was instantly pink.

“Deacon, you should know by now what service we provide. We’re just a contractor in that venue to welcome guests, make sure they have a good time, and keep them safe. Only the arena’s CEO can call off an event. So until I hear from Reese Jenkins, we’re full speed ahead.”

“Yes … yes, sir, you’re right. I apologize.” Tab twiddled his fingers and stared down at the floor as if Keefer were standing there in person, burning holes into him with glaring eyes.

“Clarissa, tell your people to keep their eyes and ears peeled and to contact you if they see anything suspicious. You should have Hedgwick and the Columbus PD in your office so they can respond in real time. I’m on my way down, but it’ll take me a while. Any questions?”

Tab stood like a soldier, hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head no.

“Sir, this is Brian Shakespeare. As you know, our team is not prepared in any way, shape, or form for combat with hostiles.”

“Shakespeare? The marine?” Keefer said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad you’re on duty. And you’re right. Look … the main thing is, if our people do see anything suspicious—anything at all—we evacuate the building. Pronto. Have all your people know precisely where their exits are tonight. Tell them to remain calm and guide people to the exits in an orderly fashion. Clarissa, don’t hesitate to evacuate.”

Shakespeare rolled his eyes.

“Mr. O’Dell, do we know anything more about the threat? This is Gordy Cavelli, by the way.” Gordy was a slight guy, about thirty-five, with ruddy cheeks.

“Gordy, I’ve told you all we have,” Keefer said. “But Homeland is good, very good. They’re on this, and they’ll have more for us, I’m confident. And I’ll let your team know the second I do. There’s a good chance this is not real. It could be anything: kids pulling a prank, wannabe terrorists. It happens all the time.”

“This is Shakespeare again. What about getting a special-ops team in here?”

“If Reese Jenkins wants to request that, he can. Same with Martin Sterling. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ve got another call coming in. Over and out for now.”

“Bring it in, everybody,” Clarissa called out from the top of the steps in the staging area. “Bring it in and quiet down.”

Dozens of bright orange coats closed in around her for the usual pre-event talk. But this one was anything but usual. Jack was on edge. He hadn’t had a second to contact Pam and was debating whether he should even tell her what was going on.

“Quiet, people,” Tab said, towering over Clarissa, who stood next to him.

“Tonight we have the campaign rally with Martin Sterling and Everett Lester,” Clarissa announced. There were cheers, hoots, and clapping. “Quiet … listen up.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard by the EventPros thirty feet back, but her voice wasn’t as confident as usual. Jack sensed fear in her eyes and voice.

“The event is general admission, so no tickets. That’s good, makes our job simpler. There are passes.” She held up a printout showing three different-colored badges guests could be wearing. “This one is all-access—the God badge—they can go anywhere, anytime; this next one is backstage, but preshow only; and this third one is for the meet and greet afterward—that’ll be upstairs, club level with Sterling. I’ll need some of you to stay late for that.”

Jack listened anxiously, wondering how Clarissa would communicate the threat and how his colleagues would respond.

“We’ve got chairs on the floor, the same as a concert setup, but we are in the round tonight with the circular stage in the center of the bowl. Doors open at six thirty. Everett Lester is due on at seven thirty and will go just thirty minutes.”

Again, catcalls and laughter.

“Quiet down. I understand Mr. Lester’s visit has hit the airwaves. We originally staffed tonight for about three to four thousand people, but we’re going to have way more than that. We’ll fill in the bowl first, then the mezzanine. We’ll open the club level only to people with club level passes.” She examined her notes. “Fifteen-minute intermission between Lester and Martin Sterling. Sterling is scheduled to go from eight fifteen to nine thirty. Now, before I have supervisors call your people, I need to make an announcement.”

Clarissa dropped her head and waited.

Slowly the room fell silent.

Her head lifted. Her shoulders went back. “What I’m about to tell you, you are not to discuss with any of our guests. I realize word is going to get out, but we have no comment on it. I need your full and sober professionalism on the job tonight.”

Jack had never heard it get so quiet so fast in there.

“I don’t know how to put it gently. Homeland Security has picked up the threat of a possible attack here at the arena tonight.”

Instant commotion arose across the crowded room.

“Quiet, please,” Clarissa said.

“Quiet, guys!” Tab yelled.

“Senator Sterling’s name was mentioned. The arena was mentioned. Homeland says fifteen to twenty hostiles may try some kind of takeover or attack. That’s all we know at this point.”

Loud talking. Movement. People on cell phones. One older blonde EventPro turned and busted out the double doors. She was quickly followed by a teenage employee and two more female staff.

“People … people, please.” Clarissa held up a hand. “Just hold on and give me a chance to talk. We are not going to make you work this event. Let me finish explaining the situation, then we’ll see—”

“Why don’t we just cancel and get out of here?” a male voice called. His question was met by shouts of support.

Clarissa nodded. “It might be canceled. That has to come from Mr. Jenkins, the CEO of the arena, or from Sterling’s team. Now listen, please.” It was loud. EventPros were texting and talking.

“We do not know that an attack will happen. This could well be some sort of prank. We will have plenty of police here, and possibly special ops.”

It dawned on Jack that every person in that room could walk out right then. Most of them were part-time. But for Clarissa, this was her career. She needed them. She might even doubt their safety and well-being, but this was her job, and she could not abandon ship if she intended to keep it. Tension electrified the room.

“This is all being figured out as we go,” she said. Would things unravel completely right then? On her toes, Clarissa yelled to be heard over the clamor. “Your job tonight is to take your positions as usual, be friendly, greet people, and be
keenly observant.
I need you to check your exits when you get to your posts; know where every nearby exit is. I need you to let your supervisor know if you see
anything
suspicious—a backpack, a bag, a package sitting unattended. We will have team members outside doing quick bag checks. Keep your eyes open for suspicious people with bulky jackets who might be hiding things underneath …”

Two male EventPros ducked out; one Jack knew well.

“We will have at least five floaters checking restrooms and empty club rooms, patrolling, watching, checking in on you.” As Clarissa examined her notes with trembling hands, the EventPros surrounding Jack talked in hushed voices and wore somber expressions. Many were texting as they spoke to coworkers.

Clarissa looked up. “There is a chance we might need to evacuate the building. If that happens, people with radios need to inform people with pagers. Then we need to be calm.” One more EventPro exited the building as she spoke. “I repeat, remain calm and get people out of the building in an orderly fashion. That is our job, people. If you don’t think you can do that in a professional manner, now is the time to clock out. Edgar? Where’s Edgar?”

Edgar raised a hand. He’d already grabbed his clipboard and was checking out the people who’d left.

“Thank you, Edgar,” Clarissa said as several more EventPros exited through the double doors.

“I want to thank you for being here tonight. When we know more, we will let you know. The key tonight is going to be flexibility. Be ready to move around, to go where we tell you and do what we ask.” She looked at her watch. “We need to get to our positions and check our exits. Supervisors, call your people …”