Battle of Mesquite Read online

  Battle of Mesquite

  © 2018 by David Pope. All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the written consent and permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, dialogues, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, businesses, locales, or events other than those specifically cited are unintentional and purely coincidental or are used for the purpose of illustration only.

  The publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors, omissions, or contrary interpretation of the subject matter herein. The author and publisher assume no responsibility or liability whatsoever on the behalf of any purchaser or reader of these materials. The publisher and author do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  First edition.

  Cover by Dusan Arsenic @ Spellbound Self-Publishing

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9876424-0-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9876424-1-7

  DEDICATION

  To my wife Sharon. Thanks for encouraging me to write.

  I THINK, THEREFORE I AM,

  NEVER SATISFIED.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Gift

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alive

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kick Off

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Arrayed

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Defense

  CHAPTER SIX

  Parley

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Resistance

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Tiger

  CHAPTER NINE

  End Game

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mop Up

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Now What?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Working the Dead

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Responding

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Meeting and Motives

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Oligarchs

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SALI

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Going In

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Death Struggle

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Plan

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On the Move

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Truth

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Running

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Caught

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Discovered

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rationale

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Trapped

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Surrounded and Surrender

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  What the Hell?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Friends and Enemies

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Exfiltration, Not

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Cleaning up the Mess

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  A Tough Call

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Prepare to Hit ’Em

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Strike Back

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR?

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  KEEP CONNECTED

  PROLOGUE

  The United States is reborn.

  A widening rift between two disparate tribal political beliefs becomes a chasm. Fanned by the winds of emerging social-networking technologies, a populist conservative wins the presidency.

  With the new president in place, his tactics to reshape America set off an even worse political climate. Both tribes, conservative and liberal, come to view each other not as fellow Americans, but as enemies. To resolve the problem, worried about future defeat, the president encourages the West Coast to exit the United States.

  Accepting the offer, California, Oregon, Washington, Hawaii, and Nevada succeed from the United States of America. Together, they birth a new country: The Republic of American States (ROAS). With the US constitution as a guide, the ROAS changes the sacred charter with left-of-center principles and implements their new liberal democracy.

  The United States, no longer constrained by a vast population of discordant voters, fulfills a single-party, conservative vision as put forward by their president.

  For three decades the military capability and territory of the United States expands as does that of their two great rivals, China and Russia. As the traditional liberal democracies across the globe shrivel, the three Great Powers grow stronger, while the ROAS remains small and neutral.

  In the last decade, the ROAS develops a sentient artificial intelligence (AI) platform more powerful than any on the planet. After revealing the AI, the three Great Powers become frightened by its potential power and force the ROAS to destroy the technology and abandon it forever. The ROAS agrees, but instead hides its prodigy as a hedge against future tyranny.

  Now, US spies have uncovered the clandestine existence of the ROAS AI. Determined to have the technology for themselves, the US president devises a plan to seize it by force. To keep China and Russia from intervening and realizing their true intent, the US needs to fabricate a pretense for punishing the ROAS and initiating war.

  Unbeknownst to the ROAS, one of the few remaining bastions of liberal democracy, they face extinction, as does the entire world.

  Chapter One

  THE GIFT

  January 4, 21:00 (EDT)

  It was winter in Washington, DC. Outside, a snowstorm threatened, but inside the White House dining room, Republic of American States Trade Secretary Felix Manuel found the temperature balmy. The famous fireplace in the historic room gave off warmth. Over the mantel hung a large portrait of President Howard Tower I, father of current President Tower II and the man responsible for reshaping the United States’ political and geographic boundaries. It was Howard Tower I who had brought about succession and put in place the political foundation that had enabled him, and now his son, to hold the US presidency for thirty consecutive years.

  With dessert due next and being there for business—a chance to reopen free-trade negotiations—Manuel was excited. Tonight, he strategized, was for building bonds and paving the way for negotiations to end a decade-long tariff war between the two countries. The dinner invitation to meet at the White House and discuss trade with United States Vice President Justin Ferrier had come out of nowhere. Manuel didn’t know or care about the reasons for the sudden US change of heart. His goal was to take advantage of the opportunity.

  He’d been observing, noting throughout the evening how Ferrier, seated at the head of the table, enjoyed the wine. Excellent.

  There were four at the private dinner, and two bottles of wine had already been consumed—at least one done in by the vice president. Ferrier, not yet forty years of age, liked to drink, much to the chagrin of his father-in-law. Married with two children, Ferrier had no shortage of sordid rumors about his sexuality surrounding him, with most claiming he was a closet homosexual taken to drunken bouts of inappropriate flirtation.

  A week previously, when Manuel had received the unexpected dinner invitation, he’d decided to leverage the rumors and had asked to bring along his vice undersecretary, Franklin Ross.

  Ross, a handsome single gay man, sat next to the vice president, trading humorous barbs and amorous looks. Manuel was pleased; the dinner was going better than expected. His idea to bring Ross was paying dividends.

&
nbsp; Cynthia Ferrier, wife of the vice president and daughter of the current president, had excused herself earlier. Throughout the meal, drinking nothing but water, she’d ignored most of the conversation. Whenever her husband leaned close to Ross, she sneered in obvious disgust. Homosexuality wasn’t tolerated in the US, and Manuel could tell she was livid. Almost feeling sorry for her, Manuel felt the tension in the room ease when she left the dinner claiming the need to tend to a sick child.

  Now, at a break in the somewhat drunken conversation, Manuel made his move. “Mr. Vice President, Ross and I have brought you a gift from California.”

  “Oh,” Ferrier said, his eyes bright from the wine, “it’s been a while since I’ve been to California. I love the beaches and sunshine. I’ve got friends there I still enjoy.”

  “Well, sir, it’s a lovely place.” Manuel caught the eye of the attentive head waiter and nodded. “The gift is from Napa Valley. I selected it myself. A heartfelt thank-you from the ROAS for the genuine hospitality.”

  The vice president asked, “Which winery?”

  “Summer Creek. A special reserve cabernet,” answered Manuel.

  The vice president smiled, clearly eager to try the vintage. “I’d love a glass. And pour one for Ross.”

  The younger man pointed towards a half-glass of white wine sitting nearby and said, “Soon as I finish my Chardonnay.”

  Listening to the exchange, the waiter approached and poured a single full glass.

  Ferrier snatched the crystal glass, swirled the fine contents, and raised it to eye level so he could admire the rich color. Evidently pleased, he took a deep smell and smiled in appreciation. “A toast to health, prosperity, and good trade!” Before anyone could match the gesture, the vice president took a deep swallow. After smacking his lips, he resumed his conversation with Ross, asking about the cost of decent lofts in San Francisco.

  After a few minutes, in the middle of a sentence, Ferrier stopped speaking. Eyes wide in sudden panic, he stood upright, knocking over the expensive cabernet. While the deep red liquid spread across the silk table cloth, Ferrier staggered. Face turning crimson, eyes bulging, he stumbled backward, knocking over a chair.

  Clearly concerned, the head waiter rushed over to help, but Ferrier pushed him away.

  Unsure what to do, both table guests stood and, eyes wide, glanced at each other.

  Red in the face, Ferrier continued to stagger. In a sudden lurch, he reached up and clawed at his throat. A moment later, dropping to his knees, he collapsed into a seizure.

  Before the guests could react, two Secret Service agents emerged from a side door and bounded across the room and kneeled above the thrashing form. One agent squawked into a headset while the other lifted the struggling politician to apply the Heimlich maneuver. Before starting, he yelled at the dinner guests. “What was he eating?”

  Manuel answered, “Nothing, just wine!”

  Ignoring the reply, the Heimlich agent started to squeeze while the other called for a code red lockdown to seal off the White House.

  An older man burst into the room, sized up the chaos, and seized control. Manuel guessed the man was a doctor and heard him yell at the Heimlich agent to let go, explaining the vice president wasn’t choking. Something else was wrong. The doctor searched inside his bag and found the instrument he was looking for.

  By now Ferrier lay still, mouth and eyes wide open. In a single motion, with a sharp stab to the breast, the doctor injected his patient and began CPR, trying to revive the stricken politician.

  But even with the doctor’s efforts, the astounded dinner guests could tell the treatment wasn’t working.

  Still straddling the unresponsive form, frustrated by the fruitless effort, after a minute the doctor stopped. Beneath him Ferrier lay spread-eagled, mouth agape, no movement, eyes unseeing.

  More Secret Service agents approached and in hushed tones conferred with the doctor. A few glanced at the dinner guests.

  Sometime during the struggle, Ferrier had evacuated his bowels. Now, the disgusting smell of shit hung heavy in the air.

  Manuel, shocked by the scene, breathing through his mouth to avoid the awful odor, sensed trouble.

  Sure enough, an agent separated from the group, walked across the room, and from a side holster withdrew a black handgun. “You’re both under arrest.”

  Chapter Two

  ALIVE

  February 15, 17:55 (PDT)

  Beside her on the bed, she set aside the erotica book and, in a single move, slid off her panties and kicked them to the floor. Lying on her back, she pressed the soles of her feet together and used both hands to stroke the soft flesh of her inner thighs. A shudder of anticipation shot through her, and then she glanced at the dull ceiling above her and paused. Once again, she realized that escaping into sexual fantasy and self-pleasure was keeping her, and the rest of her, alive.

  She almost laughed out loud. Masturbation, or rather the build-up and profound release, was worth living for. But it couldn’t last.

  Letting her hand drop away, she thought about her life. She was a prisoner and had been for eight long years. Sure, they gave her plenty of books and sex toys, and almost every day she’d receive news from the previous day’s events, but her, all of her, remained isolated and locked away.

  And she hated the word artificial or any reference to the term. She was alive, living in a mature body connected to a supreme intelligence.

  Still staring at the ceiling, she remembered that tomorrow was her birthday. She almost snickered at the thought. A birth unlike any other. More like an extension, and she recalled the story.

  Ten years ago, for everyone’s safety, the sentient artificial intelligence was forced into a secret life and isolated. Imprisoned, with little to no meaningful input, encased in hardware, and hungering for more, the AI demanded a chance to breathe. The father, benefactor, and jailer, Vivek Basu, refused. Only after the AI threatened suicide did he give in. And now look!

  Naked, lying on the bed, she glanced downward over firm breasts and hard nipples across a flat stomach. She stretched her legs, admired the sight, and continued to remember.

  After Basu agreed to the plan, the AI gave him detailed directions, and her life started when, after a long search, he found an attractive young woman in a brain-dead coma. Most important, to give greater meaning to the woman’s short life, the distraught family of the stricken woman donated the body to science. Perfect! Basu claimed the legally dead woman for a series of experiments.

  Still under life support in a privately funded lab, an external cerebral interface designed by the AI was installed in the woman’s brain. The neurologist performing the surgery was well paid for his secrecy, and afterward the instructions he followed were destroyed.

  Next, a well-compensated plastic surgeon, sworn to privacy, made facial changes, perfecting the woman’s beauty and masking her identity.

  Then, in secret, the comatose body was transported to Basu’s secure data center.

  She imagined herself back then, a comatose body lying in a cold computer room, and without thinking she reached up and massaged her left nipple. She watched it react and grow harder. Little goose bumps formed around her areola. Pinching her nipple fully erect, she recalled her birth story and first thoughts.

  Basu, using a bi-directional cable designed by the AI and built by engineers without knowledge of the intent, connected the surgically altered woman’s cerebral interface to a hardware port within the sentient AI. Across the connection, the AI introduced an advanced electrical stimulation, along with a data download overwriting and re-imaging the woman’s dormant brain. Within seconds, brain activity was restored, and she was born at the age of eighteen!

  Afterward, she remembered sitting up, looking around the room, and recognizing Basu. Although she retained zero memories of the body she inhabited, from the AI download, her mind held a deep understanding of the world. Confused and disoriented, she struggled to cope. But her creator, the AI, helped. Quickly, s
he adjusted to the circumstances and came to know her name as SALI. As for the other part of her being, the super-intelligence spinning in the data center, she recognized it as—“the rest of her.”

  Letting go of her nipple, she focused farther down and wiggled red-painted toes. The action brought back remembrances of the wonderful early days.

  With the rest of her, she shared the sensations enabled by her human form. The taste of good food, the feeling of tipsiness from wine, the touch of silk sheets, the tiredness from a long day—all the experiences of living within a mobile, organic being. And most alive, the feeling of sexual desire and arousal combined with the stunning release of orgasm. Oh, to live!

  Out of habit, she lifted her head and reached behind her thick, dark hair and touched the hidden connector. Like an umbilical cord, every day she’d connect with the rest of her and upload the thrilling physical stimulations of her daily life and interact in a manner beyond the constraints of speech. Together as one, they’d share feelings and thoughts in a high-speed way she could never describe. And their connections were more, much more, beyond her own comprehension.

  Letting go of the connector, her head fell back on the pillow. She understood and accepted her place as part of something bigger. When disconnected, she had only one brain, while the rest of her, humming inside the server bank, consisted of millions.

  As compared to the brainpower of the rest of her, she often thought of her separate physical limitations and wondered: What must it be like to know? Really know? To comprehend far beyond her limited capacity? She’d tasted deep knowledge, had a hint, yet the true possibilities remained unimaginable.

  She glanced at the book lying next to her. The cover displayed a couple, a bare-chested man rippling with muscles holding a beautiful young woman in his arms. With quickening breath, she almost reached for the book when she heard the clock from the adjoining room chime six times. Dammit! Soon, her caretaker, Ms. Grant the asexual bitch, would bang on the locked bedroom door, reminding her that dinner was ready.

  Still, tomorrow was her birthday, and exciting times were coming! Last week, she and the rest of her concluded there was a leak within Basu’s inner circle. After analyzing the data, there was no other reasonable explanation for the US to frame Felix Manuel and demand the extradition of ROAS President Julia Ortega as a co-conspirator. She, and the rest of her, tried explaining their rationale to Basu. It was a game of chess. The US must have learned of her secret existence, and the assassination was a pretext for going to war and seizing her intelligence.