Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The Falcon Nemesis


Chapter 1


An abysmal melancholic aura shrouded the distant vicinity. A crimson slash smeared the once enthralling horizon. The winds and the dunes blew the same dust of hopelessness asserting the beginning of a wretched end, the dark nimbus clouds have the same tale to tell. A ravaged country lay ahead- the rock laced mountains, the desert sands- dark crimson stains hued every object. The mirage reflected it, the pale morning sky casted it, the sands and the dunes spoke about it; and the only sound that echoed out of that hellish dungeon were those of cries, wails, sobs and a deafening silence. Yes, a silence shriller than the most heinous of cries and a silence that’s becoming more and more pervasive by the minute. Gods own children lay crouched and wounded everywhere, the pale moon shining on the clots and divinity chuckling over its own creation.

Amidst the crimson rush, a mirror reflected the emaciated frame of a man trying incessantly to answer the questions asked by a shaken fate. He closed his eyes to shun everything that encapsulated him but with a constant nagging fear that he has to open it again and behold things that he never wanted to. He knew exactly why all this has occurred, it was inevitable, yet avoidable coz as they say truth and life are somehow stranger than the strangest of fictions.

The time-clock traced it back to September 11, when the mightiest nation fell victim to the wrath of one man. History repeated itself like it always does but this time, it did so with a propelled magnitude. He consciously defied the judgment of destiny because he believed that the weeping deity is wandering in the maze created by his own creation. Revenge begets revenge- begets revenge.

The frail emaciated frame stepped out of its dilapidated shack and what followed next bedazzled humanity for all times and time itself stood testimony to the fact. The vicissitudes of fate is to weave a destiny that fate itself would shiver to behold.

Six hours ahead.

A muted telephone buzzed in the office of Mike Derek, a retired senior officer of the US CIA bureau, now running his own private detective agency. He chose not to answer the call, instead flipped on a pre-recorded voice message- “Hi Charles, I am out for an urgent meeting, will ring you back, your papers have been dispatched friend, lets catch up for a drink on Friday. Goodbye”. A childish grin lightened the countenance of the man on the other side of the phone because his name was not Charles and he got the cue which was precisely meant for him. He smiled

Chapter 2

Time: 17:00 hours
Place: Delhi International Airport, India
Day- Wednesday

A uniformed bespectacled man in his mid-forties was sweeping the floor adjacent to the arrival terminal entry gate of the airport. Charles walked right up to him and muttered- “I am so sorry to bother you, I think I had dropped my pen here a while back, have you by any chance managed to see it somewhere here? The man looked up at Charles and at the same time dropped a worn out pouch on the floor which he pretended to be seen as accidental. Charles got the message again, picked up the bag and strode inside. The bag had all those documents that Mike alerted him about; the stack of parchments that established Charles as a legitimate citizen of the United States of America and some hand drawn maps.

Time: 1800 hours
Place: New York City, United States of America
Day- Friday

It was summer- a wet mist brewed twilight and the sun racing to hide behind the crimson horizon in the vicinity, after the day long downpour. The airport was swarming with people- not as much unlikely for a busy nation.. He quietly walked past the aisle, traversed a few yards and waved at a Taxi. A polite voice confirmed- Washington DC? The driver gave an assured smile and zoomed past. Thirty minutes later, a few miles down the foreign streets, the rear view mirror of Charles’s Cab reflected the remaining traces and a clumsy void that once housed- no too long ago- the world’s tallest towers, a bustling business arena, one of the most populated site of New York City. As the man sitting at the rear-seat of the car struck a match to light a cigarette, within the bluish yellow flame he could see the same void stretch of land- sans boundaries as it seemed- but not the one that housed the twin towers, but that of his ravaged country, palate of sands and blood- which now housed innocent victims of some satanic catastrophe for which they were not responsible in any distant manner. His country- Afghanistan.

The Taxi screeched to a halt in front of St. Allen’s bakery at a shady crossroad of Washington DC. Charles got off the cab, tipped off the driver and walked inside. Smiling at the guests who gathered there for their supper he climbed up the stairway, knocked and entered Room No 42. As he closed the door behind him- “Welcome my guest” whispered a voice, distinctly different from the voice which once said-  “Hi Charles, I am out for an urgent meeting, will ring you back, your papers have been dispatched friend, lets catch up for a drink on Friday. Goodbye”. As Charles pulled aside a chair to sit down, his eyes met someone he knew well enough. Someone, who was a prisoner of somewhat same kind of fate; known to the outsiders as a guardian of the federal law- Officer Mike Derek.

“So Charles, tell me how have you been? Any problems?”. All that came from the other side was a smirk and the quietest possible “No”. Mike rang the bell for coffee. Neither of the two exchanged a singe intelligible word till the last sip of the warm brew, perhaps they both knew why they are here for- they surely knew. “Goodbye Charles, don’t forget to take some rest, you must be fatigued, we got a lot of work to do, busy days ahead of us…hoping to see you tomorrow morning- Mike placed a torn piece of paper on the table beside the bed and walked out.

Charles switched off the lights and lied down. As his glance swept past across the room and then outside the window, he saw the neon board which displayed “The School of Cyber Artillery” across the narrow byline on the other side; where he met Mike for the first time six years ago. Nothing has changed through all these years except the circumstances, the purpose and the resultant horrific misinterpretation of existence- to live and strive towards achieving a distorted and destructive objective- infuse terror and attain vengeance.

As thoughts spun down the memory lane, a kaleidoscope of colors, images, voices and events crossed his mind- Charles fell asleep.

At around 5 AM in the morning, the silence of the dark room was troubled by a noisy telephone ring. It rang thrice and stopped. Charles woke up, got dressed in one of his best business suits, climbed down the staircase, crossed the road and picked up the parcel which said, “Mr David, C/O “The School of Cyber Artillery”, 5th Main, 2nd Cross,  . Washington DC. A familiar expression appeared on Charles’s face, the expression is always there whenever this man is too sure of himself. He walked up to a stationary shop round the corner of the road as the shopkeeper was pulling the shutter up for cleaning before the busy day starts. Charles purchased a few cables, cartridges, camera, a few blank DVDs and some metals. “Hi Charles, Howah, whassup? Haven’t seen you around for quite some time…How is Della? Where are you putting up? You are no more in that school I hope?. Yes, Charles was a poor student and he was subjected to such sarcasm earlier as well.

“No, I am putting up at California, am a restaurateur now” was the crisp short answer to those quiver full of questions. The shop-owner seemed quite content with that answer and didn’t bother to ask anymore questions. He smiled, shook hands and got back to his cleaning. Charles left- Never to meet him again.

Next day, the daily news paper reported the death of the shop owner. Reason cited- Bankruptcy and debt. Charles knew a different version of the story which is best untold. There was no Mr David in that school either to whom the parcel was addressed.

Charles retired to his one room apartment atop the bakery where the crowd has gathered for their morning cuppa of tea and muffins. He did not take the main entrance this time, but the spiral stairs in the backyard. He decided to catch up on the slumber, interrupted in between.

After completing their education in the “The School of Cyber Artillery”, he and Mike were colleagues at the Pentagon, working as cyber security administrators and IT infrastructure supervisors along with four others. This was about five years ago. A one-liner telegram cost him his career, his happy and fulfilled life, ruined him and brought him home, never to make him come back again.

Chapter 3

The time has arrived to knock at the door of destiny, crafted by that telegram; which now brought him here amidst the peace and tranquility in a ruthless search of vengeance and catastrophe.  A catastrophe that will make the world’s biggest nation fall to its knees. The pages of history would be written by an event that history itself would shiver to behold. Charles took out the laptop from the same parcel and switched it on…

Time 2:30am

Charles computer screen displayed an e-bomb manual- the same military grade weapon that a CIA-supported Internet watchdog, Search for International Terrorist Entities institute, raised an alarm on August 7 when it noticed the e- bomb manual circulating in jihadi fora supporting Pakistan, Iraq, Afghanistan and Chechnya movements.

As the hour-glass struck 3 am, some cracking sounds were heard at pentagon’s IT systems hall- almost unheard. Seconds’ later, all electronic systems went totally dysfunctional, the computers and even the main data source got completely erased- or so they thought

A few days ago a newspaper carried the story of terror organizations in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq and Chechnya circulating popular jihadi Internet manuals to make Electromagenetic Pulse (EMP) bombs that can wipe out data from computers within minutes. A powerful radiation of electromagnetic waves generate as soon as an EMP, also known as an e-bomb, explodes while passing through any electronic gadget and it disables it. The cyber security officials raised an alarm as soon as they found out that this time the victim is them.

Charles entered a password- the third and the final try- The Falcon Core 2046! Confidential mission critical military information resources, ammunition reports, experimental trial documents of  nuclear weapons and their sites, flowcharts, formulae , , technical documents, top secret de-coded defense equipments files, ammunition reports were remotely downloaded from the storage infrastructure and computer networks.

The cyber- surveillance team of pentagon did their job….emergency back-up on, anti- virus software activated, the shield put up, networks were shut down and disabled – The hacker traced – But it was too late…

3:30 am- Charles walks out of that shabby hotel room, leaves all doors open…after disabling all the laptop’s functional features, wraps it in the same package in which he had found it. Crosses the road to that same ammunition academy from where he had picked up the parcel from… puts it at the doorstep and walks off.

Carefully wrapping the hard-drive and the cds, he strode inside Suniville hotel, asked the man behind the counter- I want to stay here for the night, here is my id- The name it carried was – Dan Sullivan…I am expecting a friend of mine to come tomorrow morning at around 8, please send him upstairs. The man behind the counter replied- I am so sorry Mr Sullivan, actually your friend was here a while ago, he waited for quite some time and left, left a parcel for you- here it is and your keys sir…

The same smirk appeared again on Charles chiseled countenance- No problemo, thanks for your help, see you, bye…With those words, Charles went up the stairs to his hotel room. A uniformed man was waiting at the door- silently uttered ‘Mike’. Charles handed over the bag of cds and the hardrive to him and went inside. The parcel contained his flight tickets and the ‘friend’ and the man in the uniform was the same person, sent by Mike Derek.
Charles smiled.

Chapter 4

4th July, Time 11:00 am

United States of America was in a pensive mood- The celebrations of Independence Day was muffled by the frantic news telecast over all national broadcast channels of the last night’s data theft and the explosions. The elite investigative departments sprung into action to trace the culprit and negate the losses. - Charles smiled and boarded his flight.

11:30 am- Suddenly, all electronic channel broadcast was interrupted- People thought it to be a security measure. Every household was wondering how grave the issue was- The screens go blank, comes back and what all of the multitudes of screens displayed now was more than just nightmarish to the millions of American citizen who woke of to a morning of celebrations and merrymaking.

Iraq, Afghanistan, China, India, Pakistan, Russia, Uzbekistan and channels of a few neighboring countries displayed the title “The Falcon Nemesis” with Pentagons’ logo in the background followed by - in complete graphic detail; all the confidential security vault guarded information that was robbed last night….

The nation watched with bewilderment- emergency announced- curfew launched- all broadcast stopped- FBI and CIA was tipped off- The President gets a phone call- “The Falcon Nemesis is here Sir- That beautiful reality show is being aired internationally Mr President. It is up on the Internet as well. I am sending you a copy of the CD for your comfort. Enjoy!”- a laugh…beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep….The deafening silence prevailed…

6 days later- A car bomb killed 10 army personnel and injured many others at one of the US Military contingent at Abu Dhabi.

20 days later, a passenger airplane- Airbus G 599 crashed and massacred the Navy headquarters at the Pentagon city.

The nemesis has begun…

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