John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“Regarding that, have you had any success with satellite communications?”

“Not at this time. We are working on that night and day but it appears that any transmissions we send are not being received. We are still receiving telemetry data, but we have lost all ability to communicate with the satellite itself,” Gav answers, hating to utter those words as it feels like her failure, even though she knows it isn’t.

“How long until it begins orbital decay?”

“Our best guess is that we have approximately six months. I’d have something more definitive, but we also aren’t receiving any data on those systems. Fuel burns to remain on its current orbital pattern could be higher or lower than our guesses,” she responds.

“Do you foresee any threats to us from the radiation?”

“No, but that is hard to determine. The leading elements of the radiation cloud are sweeping over Asia and out into the Pacific. It will swing north toward Alaska and come down the Western Seaboard of Canada and the United States. We predict it will reach those shores in negligible amounts. I’ll say this again. It would be nice to have the other sites available, but we don’t. We need to figure an action plan about what we are going to do. We need to develop a plan that takes into account the limited resources we have. If we fail to do that, events will pass us by….and our opportunity with it,’ Gav affirms, closing her folder to emphasize her point.

“We will discuss it and get back to you,” the first man says, dismissing her.

She walks out of the plush conference room and into an elegant waiting room. This part of the facility is reserved for the five men she just left, with her having the only access. Leaving the wing and walking down a wide hall, her heels once again solidly clicking on the hard floor, their sound mimicking her frustration, Gav presses her lips together in exasperation. To her, the men sitting in the conference room behind her appear lost. They had the perfect plan, and, although they had been able to adapt to differing situations in the world before, it seems to her that they are holding too tightly to the wheels they set in motion. Of course, maybe they aren’t so used to adapting; they always controlled prior situations and never really had to adapt to anything. They are accustomed to being in power and perhaps feel helpless that they can’t control the current situation.

For a brief moment, Gav wonders what the personnel would do if her orders were countermanded by any of the five men. Who would the personnel follow? She immediately dispels the thought. She has her mission and will accomplish it to the best of her ability.

If Gav thought watching the group from camp B-US-1 HALO jump and flying an AC-130 gunship was a surprise, watching the LA class submarine surface and glide through the waters close to Puget Sound is a downright fright. The control center picked up periodic satellite transmissions and honed in on the source. The sleek, cigar-shaped vessel surfaced outside of the inlet to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and slid slowly beneath the waves a short time later.

She had the control center watch the naval yards at Bangor. Sure enough, she observed the submarine surface, but the harder part to swallow was a contingency from the “B” camp meeting with it. If the two came together, the camp would far surpass her facility. Video of the sub making its way down the narrows of Puget Sound fills her monitor. Gav watches as it docks in Olympia and takes on supplies provided — apparently, from the camp. It then sails up the sound the next day, out across the straits, and vanishes under the waves of the Pacific.

Witnessing this series of events and the apparent harmony of the camp with the sub strikes a very deep concern. For one of the first times in her life since losing her parents, Gav feels worried about an outcome. Although she has control over the satellite network, the only ground resources she has amount to a battalion of soldiers and several teams of special operators. This is nothing compared to the equipment that the camp currently possesses. Whereas the stalemate between the camps would eventually swing in her favor as aviation fuels fail, the nuclear propulsion capability of the sub far outweighs anything she can bring to the table. Gav doesn’t have the latest load out of the sub but knows they carry Tomahawk missiles and could be carrying bunker busters which have the capability of causing harm to her facility. She immediately has the camp upgraded to a category “A” status.

Finding herself summoned and sitting in the same plush conference room with the same men, Gav updates them on the status of now, camp A-US-1. Her own facility is differently named to avoid confusion: A–CC-1. After her briefing, the men ask her to leave for a moment while they discuss the situation.

Upon returning, one of them asks, “We can’t allow another group to exist that can compete with us, let alone outclass us. What do you intend to do about it?”

Ready for their question and having already thought over the possibilities, Gav answers, “We have only one solution. We need to take out their leadership, specifically Jack Walker. It’s our only hope. That will set them back and allow us an opportunity to contact them while they are in a state of confusion and fear. I believe that if we contact them, without alluding to the fact that we were responsible, that they may be amenable to joining us. We approach them with a saving situation and fold them within our group. I know what you said about this, but it’s our only choice. We need them to join forces with us…assimilate them. And for that to happen, he needs to go.”

The men sit in silence, contemplating. Three of them lean forward with their elbows resting on the polished surface, chins poised on interlaced fingers. The other two are reclining with their hands folded behind their heads. One man finally lifts his head from his hands.

“See to it,” he states.

Fear and excitement envelop her. Finally, they are going to do something other than maintaining the status quo. She has never done well with that and always felt that if you weren’t moving forward, you were going backward. She meets with one of her special operations teams and gives them their mission. They leave to ready their gear and begin the drive to the Northwest to eliminate the leader of the specified camp. They will have satellite feeds and communication at their beck and call. They pour over maps to familiarize themselves with the area. They will observe video feeds sent by the control center to establish the movements of their target and orchestrate a plan upon their arrival.

Gav feels a renewed energy as plans are set in motion…her plans. The game has started. Pieces on the board are moving, and this is where she thrives. There is the fear that things could go wrong, as they sometimes do, but that only adds to the challenge. She cannot underestimate this Captain Walker.

Later, the control room notifies her that the camp and the LA class submarine, now identified as the Santa Fe , are using satellite communications to stay in contact. She looks at the supervisor briefing her, this time in the control room itself.

“Shut it down,” she says.

I feel a pressure of air and hear an all too familiar ‘zip’ pass over my head. Warm liquid splashes on the back of my neck and in my hair. A sharp report follows.

“Sniper!” I yell, instinct taking over.

A moment of panic seizes me. A projectile traveling at high speed just passed over my head, close enough that I felt the air being displaced by its passage. I know what the sound and feel of warm liquid on my neck means. I also know that Robert, Bri, and Lynn were right behind or next to me, aside from the others.