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Act of Conspiracy, Chapter X: Beginning of The End
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 1 April 2005, 7:11 PM
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Chapter X
Beginning of The End
December 30, 2524
City of Standyle, Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System
Department of International Security, City Center
The papers slapped loudly against the steel table-top, provoking an instinctive blink from the single man sitting silently at the other end. The large, empty room was well lit by bright overhead lights, and the beige walls magnified the illumination. Specialized sound-absorbing materials lined the walls and ceiling, and not a single eavesdropping device existed in this secured area.
It was one of the few like it, especially in the DIS headquarters. Traditionally, rooms held a formidable assortment of devices to record all words spoken, and to catalog each visual frame of the event. Not this time around, however; nothing would be brought out of this room except for the accounts by each man's memories.
Mitchell Branson stood quietly in the corner of the room, staring at the man held captive in the chair. The terrorist leader had not resisted his capture, but had chosen to take the silent path in the wake of the appropriation. Though the physical cooperation was at the very least convenient, the mental blockade played out in the twisted mind was proving to be a far more troublesome offset.
The notorious Maynard Shamlin looked back, his eyes hard and cold. His imprisonment from the high Dalmaeter Cascades was a major success for the State—or rather, the first—and he recognized that not cooperating would benefit his own cause all the more. Multiple trials to break him had already occurred, with seasoned and violent interrogators taking their shots at getting the leader to talk, though to no Žclat. A bruised cheek and black eye were visual testimonies of the extremes those agents were willing to take, but the very fact that he sat yet again in this catechizing room proved his unyielding will.
Things were entirely different this time around, however. All attempts before this were nothing more then exertions in futility, with no information, evidence, or knowledge to back up any reason for the leader to speak. Now that certain returns from the raid on the dacha had surfaced at DIS, further and possibly more effective measures were going to be exercised to get this man to talk.
Branson recalled forwarding the bargained information to Charles Mahler, a man nobody knew much about, who in turn had forwarded back some documents ascertained by his paramilitary specialists on that raid. He was initially surprised that it was not sent conventionally up the chain of command, but quickly realized that from the very point on that he defied DIS protocols and regulations—the point where he exchanged confidential information—was the point where "normal" operations went out the window. As much as he hated it, it was painfully evident that they could not win this skirmish through even conventional internal-department means.
A behind-the-scene job, where he took behind-the-scene measures. The irony was both precarious and necessary.
Would this come back at him? Probably so. While it had turned out to be a successful choice, the exchange of information had given Richard Langston a certain amount of knowledge that no doubt led to a very resourceful location; why else would the most powerful entrepreneur he knew of want it? The fact that Langston desired that System coordinates meant that this was something very important that even him—a man with incomprehensible connections and wealth—could not retrieve.
It was haunting, and every free minute his mind drifted back to those engagements and the information he had given away. Epipotheo Kratos? What was it? And why was it banished from DIS databases by the Office of Naval Intelligence? The questions lurked subconsciously continuously, seemingly demanding to reach the light of truth. When this war was over—if it ever got over, he would find out what that was all about.
But pressing issues flooded his forethoughts. The past was unimportant at this point in time; only Shamlin could make any difference in their future. It was his objective, and that of his partner, to get something out of the leader; anything that would put the initiative back in the State's hands.
"We know all about your plot," Ryals stated suddenly, breaking the silence in the room. "We know of your little plans, thanks to a certain someone running into our assault teams back at your little vacation house."
Shamlin's gaze averted from Branson to Ryals, but he remained quiet.
Ryals slid a piece of paper across the table. "Your ploy will never work now; your entire efforts to dismantle this government for your anarchist ideals will never succeed." There was a brief pause. "You are fighting losing war. An enmity that will last no more then days as we finish cleaning up the mess that you and your illicit organization created."
Shamlin looked down at the paper before him.
"Targeting these vital facilities of the State can be done, of course, but executing them is another story. We have the information, and we are prepared to defend them. Our logistics, water supplies, military training sites—all of them, you'll never even get close to taking these assets from us. Your teams will fall well short of their goals. With that in mind, you have a choice before you."
The man looked up slowly at Ryals.
"You have the choice to remain silent, to sit this one out, and receive the dire consequences of your actions. You have dozens of domestic and international war crimes pinned against you, and there is no judge on this planet that would even consider you innocent. Murder, terrorism, conspiracy to wage war—the list continues on. You are looking at a dead-end future with this option; nothing less than life in prison and nothing more than death.
"Or, you can cooperate. You can give us the needed information to wrap this up quickly, and in return, our judicial system can be much more..." He paused. "Generous, if you will, towards you and all the crimes you have committed against the State and the citizens of this nation. The choice is yours, and from my viewpoint, one of them is significantly better than the other."
Shamlin didn't even seem to contemplate the options presented to him. The hardened man was not going to consider selling out the organization he led only days before, and was going to choose silence over a future. It was partially admirable, seeing such devotion and dedication to a cause that was tearing the government to bits.
The Government Dissimulation from Society Organization was fighting a very successful war against the government, and time and time again had only gained popularity among the citizens, who slowly began to believe their deceitful ideals. The State could never fall, the future of this planet and the System depended on it. Millions from other colonies depended on it as well, and a failure to retain law and order on this planet would lead to dire direct and indirect consequences everywhere else.
The skirmish here was turning out to be a series of small attacks be each side, but the big leaps forward was that of the offsets to the citizens. Ultimately, it was their favor for whichever side that would win this fight. While a majority still followed the government, the gap was closing as the GDSO fought to win the minds of the people, all while dealing vicious hits to a government that fought to retain its power. The news reports of the attacks were met with a mixed opinion, some denouncing them as meaningless attacks against the State that only killed and consumed resources, while others saw them as well planned strikes to evoke a government that needed relinquishing.
Win the minds of the people, and win the war.
Easier said than done.
"You have no idea what this is about." The words nearly startled the two agents as Shamlin spoke. "We are fighting to eradicate you, a group of individuals who believe you have the right to lead these people down any path you see fit, fulfilling your own personal agendas. Thousands suffer form your incompetence, and millions agonize from your injustice. You have created a world of deceit and elitism, and we will destroy this mentality of your own conception."
"And your acts of war that kill thousands is the solution?" Branson spoke up, looking intently at the man from the far corner of the room.
"If that is what it takes."
Ryals looked down at the stack of papers on the table. "We know everything; you cannot win."
Maynard Shamlin nearly broke into a smile.
"You know nothing."
Branson and Ryals stepped into the Assistant Director's office. Their superior looked on as they set papers upon his desk, obviously trying to figure out how he had never seen that information before. His skepticism was quickly erased as he read through the first page, realizing that that meant very little now. Only stopping this multi-front attack held any significance.
"That is the entire list of targets the GDSO plans to hit within the next two days." Ryals said. "At least thirty-five important facilities have been targeted, all of which can deal a substantial blow to our abilities and the short-term future. They're thinking this one out well, sir, and are only prepared to use force to exterminate the government, while not harming the long-term future of the people."
The Assistant Director didn't even respond as he read down the list. He got to the end, then looked up, a mixture of anger and fear on his face. "Can we defend all these sites on such short notice?"
"A tough call," Branson said. "I would think not, though."
"Damnmit! They're targeting everything from military sites harboring extremely potent resources to civilian facilities that would cripple us in a week." The Assistant Director's exclamation was met with brief silence from the two agents.
"The only thing we can do is mobilize the National Guard and hope they can defend these sites." Branson said. "Nothing else can be done."
Ryals had been bluffing in the interrogation room; there was no way to ensure the safety of all of those sites the GDSO was planning to attack. Only preparation could be made to the best of their abilities. Without the Rapid Deployment Force on hand, they were spread short and thin, which left them extremely vulnerable to spontaneous attacks on such a large scale.
Time would tell what fell to their enemy.
Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center (720 Kilometers South of Standyle), Civilian Operated Low-Security Complex
The complex was situated twenty kilometers from the nearest town, and for good reason. Guarded decently and well secured by civilian contractors, it was home to several black projects that would never reach the surface of attention for decades to come. Known locally as a secret government facility and nationally as the State's primary research facility, it held a number of secrets that would never be opened.
Only speculations raged about the true purpose of this facility, and no one could determine the nature under which projects were commenced. The acres around it were cordoned off to keep visitors away, and the airspace above was restricted to prevent any flyovers. On top of all these precautions, at least half of the complex's structures were underground, safely kept away from any weary eyes that would like nothing more then to see what was happening in far reaches of the research.
For the seven vehicles driving along the only road leading to the main entrance, all of these safety precautions meant nothing. The armed guards and three-meter high fences that surrounded the complex were of little significance either, as their mission was set and clear. They were prepared in every possible way, having restricted inside knowledge of what was really at this research center, as well as the arms and manpower to get in and take it.
Concerns had flooded each mind, especially after hearing that the State had intercepted many of their operations yesterday night, and that the National Guard was being deployed to counter the new threat looming on the horizon. Already, at least seven different teams had been captured or killed prior to completing their objectives, and that number was going to rise considerably as the night and next day wore on. Every one of these attacks was supposed to be covert and surprises, but now they were dealing with a prepared State that was doing everything to stop them.
Noronha sat steadily in the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle, staring out the front windshield as they moved along steadily towards the entrance gate several hundred meters ahead. He felt uneasy as they approached, seeing the lights from the guard shack and the dark figures that roamed about in the midnight darkness. They had been alerted of a possible attack, and would no doubt see the arriving convoy as a potential threat.
This made their job all that more difficult. Fighting to get to the proper facilities within the complex would be manageable, but getting past the gate with alert armed guards would be their major obstacle. While he had plenty of men at his disposal, this research center had its own formidable compliment of perimeter guards to ensure security was maintained; while not protected by the military, it was still notoriously well shielded by private contractors.
The wipers continued to remove the constant and relentless rain from the windscreen as they slowed for the approach. Spotlights were drawn upon them, but Noronha and his driver remained confident and still—or at least appeared that way. Inside, each man was fearful of dying on this wet night, but they knew that this was a purpose to fight for, being the first step into finalizing the conquest to bring fairness and justice back to this corrupt world led by tainted politicians; those who put their own agendas before the wellbeing of those they governed.
The truck came to an easy halt, stopping normally at the red line before the closed gate. Four armed guards began walking for each side of the vehicle, weapons down but their eyes alert. The other six vehicles stopped behind the lead truck and waited, their running engines and the downpour the only sounds as the guards looked them over quickly.
"State your business and authorization."
The driver nodded and produced an authentic looking verification document for the guard. "We're with GlobalTech, and have been asked to assist the faculty at this location in a new experiment to commence tomorrow morning." The driver's voice was calm and collected, which helped ease up Noronha's nerves, despite the fact that he was in charge of this entire attack.
"You aren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow, according to our logs."
Noronha winced, remembering the minor detail earlier in the day. They had attacked and subdued every last member of the true GlobalTech convoy in the late afternoon, commandeering their vehicles and leaving them tied and bound in an abandoned house several kilometers out of town, as well as stealing their uniforms to complete the masquerade. They altered the original verification document to include an authorized entry to the facility at midnight, though it was obviously being met with some skepticism.
"We understand. The authorization document includes an approved earlier arrival time."
The guard nodded and turned away, walking back towards the large guard shack with the paper. Both men in the truck watched him carefully as he entered and talked to another senior guard, showing him the paper. They conversed for a minute, and the guard walked out and back towards them. Noronha could feel himself tensing up as the sentry stopped and handed the paper back to the driver.
"We have no logs of this, so we can not allow you to enter until your original arrival time."
Damnit. The driver looked over at him, question etched on his face. The falsified document and GlobalTech uniforms—and vehicles—wouldn't work, which left them only one other option. They had gotten right onto the doorstep of this facility, and doing it twice would not work. Besides, they had to complete their objective well before dawn, which left them no other alternative.
The compact sub-machineguns appeared in both men's hands, their muzzles shooting up and leveling at the guards around them. Without leaving even the slightest amount of time to react, the semi-suppressed rounds tore into the guards around the vehicle, sending them to the muddy earth. The other dozen guards didn't even notice at first, but turned in surprise as the lead truck accelerated suddenly and the two vehicles behind it came out in a flanking maneuver, armed men firing out of the windows.
Rifles in the hands of the guards shot up and fired, but the initiative was on the attacking force, and there was no time for them to effectively aim and take out the insurgents attacking their post. The guards quickly fell to the small arms fire, leaving bodies scattered on the wet pavement.
The loud siren began wailing, and red lights flashed as the two remaining guards in the shack quickly armed themselves and set off the complex-wide alarm. Noronha jumped out of the truck as they stopped right next to the shack, keeping his sub-machine gun up as he ran around the front towards the door. Others mimicked his actions and quickly encircled the shack, some firing at the windows, although meeting an impenetrable bullet-proof glass. By the main gate, a meter-high steel wall suddenly raised out of the ground, completely blocking the road into the complex as the siren echoed into the night.
Noronha ripped a grenade out of his trench coat and pulled the pin, choosing to deal with that barrier after these guards met a fitful end. Another one of his men kicked the door open, and he threw the grenade in. Rifle fire returned in kind and tore through his comrade's body as the remaining guards gallantly held their ground. The blood-pool began forming around the dead man even before the loud crackle of the grenade went off inside; he would have to be ignored, for the sake of their Cause.
Several men quickly stormed into the smoke and secured the guard shack, turning off the alarm in the process and locating the controls for the gate. The gate began sliding open, but the meter-high wall remained erected. It probably could only be lowered from inside the complex.
He motioned for his driver to back away as another member of his assault force ran forward, a device in his hands. They had anticipated this blockade and had prepared accordingly. Everyone retrograded from the entrance as the explosive was set, then the figure with the detonator ran back to join them, setting off the device after diving behind a truck. The area around the wall violently erupted in a bright flash as debris shot out in every direction, the explosion shattering the relative silence. Noronha looked at his watch; they had to move faster.
Everyone quickly ran back to their vehicles, and the convoy began moving again. The explosion had destroyed the steel barrier and left a manageable crater in its place. The trucks dropped harshly into it, but climbed out a second later, continuing along the slick roads and passing through the open gate and into the complex perimeter. Only the lights from the buildings a kilometer ahead illuminated the darkness, with no civilization being permitted to live anywhere near this location. The terrain was flat and clear, and only small shrubs protruded from the saturated ground, allowing them a straight and unhindered drive to the structures ahead.
Noronha looked over briefly at the speedometer as they sped faster ahead, the driver trying to close the distance quickly before the additional forces at the complex could get ready. He removed the magazine from his sub-machinegun and replaced it with a fresh one, pulling the charging handle back. They had been fortunate thus far, and only one had been killed at the entrance. He could only hope that luck would last.
The vehicles advanced into the initial parking lots, passing by dark motionless cars, and then they separated to their respective final locations. Noronha held on tightly as the truck leaned dangerously into a tight turn, heading for the secondary elevators that would take them below and towards their objective.
He blinked instinctively as the windshield shattered suddenly, an array of bullets tearing through and sending glass fragments everywhere. The truck veered left suddenly and impacted into a parked car, the force shoving him hard against the seat belt.
While the collision was strong, he found himself fully conscious. He looked over quickly at his driver while unbuckling, seeing the head tilted back in an unnatural position, blood from glass fragments and bullet wounds running down his head and chest. Damnit!
More rifle fire erupted from nearby, and he threw the passenger door open, immediately spotting a target that was firing his direction. The weapon in his hands came up and fired several bursts, finally sending the figure to the ground.
"Camaradas! Voc Ž ferido?"
He turned to see another man jump out from the back of the truck, several more following him. Good, not all had been hurt in the crash. They fired sporadically on some more figures that hurried towards them.
"Stay with me, companheiros!" The order was not necessary as they immediately moved next to him, ready to fulfill their objective. Noronha began running for the structure a mere hundred meters away, eyes alert and scanning for any other guards that would appropriate themselves as futile targets. They had made it in with almost complete surprise, and it was showing as nobody stood between them and a very sensitive item held under the surface.
He reached the door and threw it open, finding nobody waiting for them. They ran into a well lit hallway, turning left at the end towards the elevator; all of them had memorized the schematics gained from a very cooperative source, someone would sell them anything for the right price. Even this united government has its leaks.
Ahead of them was the large cargo elevator, the door actually open as if waiting for them. They passed by closed doors on either side, choosing to riskily race in rather than thoroughly checking each room for any more enemies. Regardless, it wasn't their intent to kill everyone at this complex, but rather to get their hands on this item and defend it. Doing so would no doubt win the war.
A total of eight had made it from his group, and they fit easily in the large elevator. One of his men quickly hit the descend button, and the large doors closed slowly, provoking impatient sighs from a few. The lift began sinking, lowering the group to the ten-meters below surface-level that a majority of the research labs existed on. In one of those labs abided their objective.
They would get it, then use it against their enemy.
The State.
Standerfer Space Port, in orbit around Pacificatorius
The large installation was busy with the incoming and outgoing of passengers. Each day, thousands of people arrived at this port and were shuttled down to the surface, while thousands more departed on large passenger ships for various destinations out-of-System. The high traffic use even merited several moderate hotels, provided that some passenger-carrier companies had this port as a mid-way layover location.
The modern space station was pleasant, at the very least, despite its busyness. Large, armored windows gave the passengers a spectacular view of Pacificatorius, as well as the bright sun and stars in the darkness of space. Exotic trees and plants grew in small contained areas, offering a diversity other then man-made walls and floors. Even some animals existed on this station, despite the port's maintenance crews best efforts to eradicate them. To top off the nearly luxurious station, in the center was a magnificent eco-dome, a place for weary and tired passengers to enjoy some natural aspects and relax.
Jakov looked up at the high glass ceiling far above him, the sun just about to shine through. The amazing part of those large windows was the fact that the glass tinted appropriately to keep the light level comfortable for all. He looked back down as his line moved ahead a little, then smiled in content as the sounds from some marvelous bird chirped in the background of the relatively loud talking of the hundreds of people around him. At any given moment, this station probably had several thousand people aboard it.
The line moved ahead again, and a clerical staff member motioned him to come forward. Jakov picked up his single bag and walked towards the ticker counter. He pulled out his fake identification naturally and set it on the table.
"There should be a reserved ticket under Rafael Azoraz."
The staff member quickly accessed the computer from her end of the counter. "Yes, Mr. Azoraz. I have one first-class ticket to the Meulllion Space Port in the Ravenelle System, is that correct?"
Jakov nodded. "And what is the travel time?"
"Five to six days."
"Excellent."
She printed off his ticket quickly and handed it across the counter. "Would you like to check your baggage, Mr. Azoraz?"
He shook his head, tightening the grasp on it unconsciously.
"Very well," she looked at her screen. "Your departure gate is T14 on Concord Theta, through the main security checkpoint and to your right. Your craft departs in two hours. Have a nice trip."
Jakov slipped the ticket into his pocket and walked away, thanking the staff member. He was on his way to link up with another man who wasn't expecting him, but wouldn't try and stop him from tagging along. The research and following he had done in Standyle had given him this lead, and something inside told him it would be important enough to chase down even though it completely left the Atropos System. He still could only speculate as to what it was, but his instincts told him to follow it. And that is what he was doing.
Here I come, Richard Langston.
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