An Armageddon Duology by Erec Stebbins

Russian, muffled beneath the words of a man translating the speech into English.
    “...are extremely destabilizing and foolish. We urge party leaders in US House of Representatives to stop extremist wings and put stop to many bills now on floor. We call to United States President to veto laws passing. Russia will not tolerate more US imperialism over regions and resources international law has divided.”
    The focus point shifted to a monitor in the middle of the array, a young woman of Middle Eastern appearance interviewing a cabbie on the streets of New York.
    “Miss, what’s to say? It’s open season on the one percent. It’s bombs and guns in New York. All the VIPs are disappearing or going nuts in Congress. You know what I think? I think it’s the antichrist. I think it’s the goddamned end of the fucking world. First we’re gonna eat each other and everything’s gonna fall apart. Then all those angels with fire and lightning are gonna come down and fry us. You know what I’m gonna do tonight? I’m gonna go to church. I’m gonna light some goddamned candles and pray my ass off that God’s got a place for me in heaven.”
    The man rolled up his window and the cab sped off. The reporter turned to the camera, her face troubled, her words stuttered.
    “This is Maryam Tavazoie, Al Jazeera America, in New York.”
    All the monitors went dark and the figure in the chair brooded in silence for several moments. From the faint afterglow of the screens, a weak line reflected off a hard surface.
    A toothless smirk.

OCTOBER 21

14

Eye in the Sky
    A ngel Lightfoote poked her head around the doorframe. “John, the kids—they’re not all right.”
    Savas sat behind his desk and held up his index finger with one hand and cradled the landline receiver in the other. The digits of his free hand also tapped onto a cell phone as he texted.
    “Right. Ronald, look, I have to go. Thanks for the report and I’ll share it with the group.” He hung up the phone.
    “Forensics?”
    Savas nodded. “Yes. Residues found at the car and boat bombings match. Synthetics. Nothing special that we can trace.”
    She nodded, the fluorescent lighting reflecting brightly off her scalp. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

    F ive minutes later they were exiting an elevator and stepping onto the basement floor. Savas smiled as he looked around the maze of monitors and racks of computers.
    "Love what you're doing with the place, Angel. Looks more and more like the Bat Cave."
    Lightfoote gestured toward several rows of servers. "That's the Hernandez pile, all Manuel's machines that can still keep up. Most of the connections to law enforcement and other agencies—not to mention the satellite uplinks—are now ported to the Great Wall." Her hand swept toward a much large bank of computers racked in metallic girders, floor to ceiling.
    "Glad to see the money's well spent."
    Lightfoote shook her head. "Everything's been augmented, enhanced. More aggressive than the old crises center. Militarized . It’s cyberwarfare out there now." Lightfoote sat at a long table with several monitors. “We’ve been stalking both of Senator Moss’ girls. One is at UCSF, the other Georgetown.”
    He sat down next to her, watching windows displaying two young women’s faces. Video footage streamed and maps and other surveillance software recorded locations and other information. “So there’s a problem, or I wouldn’t be down here. Disappearance?”
    “No, it’s a lot more subtle. The women are fine. So far. No sign of anything on their social media, personal emails, or phone conversations. We correlated their routines to video surveillance footage over the last few months. Nothing to indicate that they are functioning under duress.” She turned toward Savas and winked, the piercings running across her face inches from him. “But we’re playing with some inside information.”
    She cleared the active windows and opened several CCTV montages displaying