Novus Diem: The Diem Trilogy, #1

By Tom Walsh

Novus Diem breaks the time barrier and clashes hi-tech with Native American beliefs. It pits the strength of a military super power against a people at peace with the world despite a history of injustice. It is a story of a woman empowered by a compulsion to do the right thing and a man that came to believe in her. They risk everything to set the world straight in the face of formidable odds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781680466768

Book preview

Prologue

Old Town Jerusalem

Archeologists claim it is a Roman street that dates to the second century. They also believe that it was built over a road which is even older still, one that was likely constructed during the reign of King Herod. It has always been a common thoroughfare and routinely traveled since before the time of Jesus. Israelis call it Hagai Street, and Arabs call it Al-Wad Street. This street known by two names is just one paradox of many in Jerusalem’s Old City.

Along a narrow cobblestoned stretch in the Muslim Quarter is the Wittenberg House. An Israeli flag flies from the building and a large menorah is affixed to the roof that is plainly visible on approach. Mark Twain stayed here in 1867. Ariel Sharon purchased an apartment here in the late 80s, some say to establish a foothold and to create a psychological security for the minority of Jewish residents. The street runs right through the base of the building and within its arched walkway, a variety of merchants sell their wares. The enticing smells of falafel and freshly baked breads from the stone ovens of nearby Arab bakeries mingle and drift through the air. The immediate area around Wittenberg House is considered the center of the Jewish community. You could say that this is the Jewish Quarter within the Muslim Quarter, although it is much less than that in geographical proportion. It is also known as the most policed stretch of road in the world, another paradox in a town considered to be a holy city by many.

Three of the world’s greatest religions converge here espousing messages of universal peace. A stone’s throw away is the Temple Mount as the Jews call it. The Muslims know it as the Noble Sanctuary. Less than half a mile away is the Church of the Holy Sepulcher which is venerated by Christians around the world. Winding through the midst of it all is this road known by two names that has seen much violence over the last 2,000 years. The children of Abraham have precipitated the attacks here against one another throughout history and they continue to the present.

A state of continuous heightened security imposes a limitation on the choices of weaponry for those committed to violence. When hostility breaks out, the description of the crimes do not vary much from those perpetrated here in biblical times. Attacks come with fists, rocks, and knives. The attackers are called terrorists, patriots, and sometimes martyrs depending on one’s allegiance or perspective. Violence by brother upon brother, all in the name of God whom each side says has bequeathed this land to them and to them alone. It is an unending fight over the family estate, a never-ending dispute that contests the will of a common benefactor. Time has changed little, and little has changed over time. Today is another day, but violence will surely emerge before it is over. It is dusk; the lights in Old Town Jerusalem come on as the sun has set.

Two Palestinian brothers are intent on assaulting any Jews they find on Al-Wad Street. They happen upon two Israeli brothers walking toward them on Hagai Street from the direction of Wittenberg House. Expletives are shouted, and curses are returned. There is a short scuffle and soon two bleeding victims fall onto the cobblestones. The response comes quickly. People are soon at the side of the victims. The attackers are chased by a nearby Israeli patrol while someone calls for medical assistance. The ambulance is quickly ushered into the area, stopping ever so briefly at the checkpoints and security gates.

A radiation detector alarm goes off at a security station just outside the Muslim Quarter. The driver and occupants are dismayed but they are ushered out of the ambulance while security checks the interior of their vehicle. A box is found with a bright yellow radiation hazard label. It is opened to reveal a portable x-ray machine. Follow-up radio calls from the crime scene indicate that the ambulance is needed urgently. The police want to know what is taking the ambulance so long to get to the scene. Security clears the ambulance to enter the Old City, and it makes its way to the vicinity of the crime scene, but this particular stretch of the road can only be accessed on foot.

The ambulance crew unloads a gurney. A few plastic medical boxes are laid out on top of it and the crew quickly makes their way up the walkway. Ahead they see a small crowd around two bodies on the street under the archway of Wittenberg House. The police clear the crowd to allow access for the ambulance team, and its three members immediately start unloading the boxes from the top of the gurney. One of the crew accesses a bigger box under the gurney while the other two kneel at the sides of the victims. A soldier notices a lack of professionalism by the two medical personnel; they are doing little more than staring into the faces of the victims. Now he sees them looking at each other and then the two of them together look toward the third member who has opened the bigger box under the gurney. The soldier realizes something is wrong, but he is too late.

Allah Akbar! shouts the man disguised as a medic. The man knows that from this moment forward, he will be vilified as a terrorist and yet also honored as a martyr. The other two shout Allah in unison before a bright flash and a thunderous explosion silence their voices.

Wittenberg House falls into rubble as security forces at surrounding checkpoints are rocked by the explosion. Checkpoint personnel look toward a gray cloud emanating from the Muslim Quarter. Within minutes, most of their radiation detectors are sounding alarms.

1

Caffiend Café, Ft. Meade, MD

Dawne took a hefty bite out of her sandwich. She rolled her eyes and shook her head as her friend sitting across from her observed her dramatic gestures. Then, looking at her friend eating a salad she said, Oh my God, I can hear my mother telling me how to eat a sandwich like a lady!

Is she also telling you not to speak with your mouth full? asked Annie. Her clear plastic ID tag hanging from the lanyard around her neck displayed her name as Anoosh Zakot.

I’m sorry. I’m just starving! Dawne said.

I can tell, Annie said with humor at play in her smiling eyes. You didn’t eat any breakfast again this morning, did you?

No time, I overslept.

Sounds familiar, Annie said, now sounding perturbed. You really shouldn’t take work home with you. What good does it do you anyway? You need to get a life.

You should talk. Besides, what bad does it do me? Crittendon doesn’t care if I come in late. But since the bombing, he’s probably paying more attention. Dawne chewed on her sandwich while she thought about it. Maybe you’re right, I’d better be more careful. She was thinking out loud as she surveyed the group of young techies eating at the outdoor tables of the café.

I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re a scientist. He’s not so concerned about the people focused on their research, Annie said following Dawne’s people-watching gaze. But now if you had weapons or routine surveillance responsibilities like me, he’d probably have your ass.

Yeah well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t then, Dawne snapped back. And he would never touch my ass, I promise you that! Her animated response drew the attention of a few people seated at the tables nearby. She realized that she had lost control of her volume and quickly covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes widened in mock surprise.

Annie laughed, and then responded in a much quieter voice, I wish I knew what you’re working on that is so interesting it keeps you up working all hours of the night?

"You might find out soon enough. We’re having some breakthroughs, well, actually, I am having some breakthroughs."

Sounds exciting, Annie said facetiously, but you’re not really working solo, are you?

The team as a whole is tackling the more mundane issues, but it’s way too cumbersome and everything moves in slow motion. I say it’s a classic case of paralysis through analysis. I need something a little more exciting to keep my work interesting, so I’ve got my own little side project.

Suddenly the crowd at the bar let out a collective Ohhh! Some patrons got up from their seats in the dining area and headed toward the bar to get a closer look at the overhead flat screens hanging above the bar.

World Cup? asked Annie.

Annie, that was over weeks ago, Dawne said hinting laughter. She always found Annie’s lack of interest in current events outside the world of surveillance very amusing.

Oh my God! said two other women in unison at the bar.

Dawne put down her sandwich and nodded at Annie as if to say, let’s go take a look.

They got up and headed over to a growing crowd of people gathering near the bar. As they approached the television screens, Annie abruptly covered her mouth and her eyes began to water. They read the CNN banner running across the bottom of the screen: Israel Launches Retaliatory Nuclear Strikes on Iran. The broadcast showed snippets of iPhone video taken from social media sites. Some showed bright flashes on the horizon; others captured rising mushroom clouds in the distance.

Annie, come on, we have to get back! Dawne tucked her hand up under Annie’s arm and pulled her in close. Tightening her grip, she assertively led her out of the restaurant. Annie was sluggish, shocked by the news. Dawne struggled to pull her friend through the crowd as the whole restaurant was now making their way toward the television screens. They were like fish swimming against the current and heading in the opposite direction of everyone else.

On the way to the front door, Dawne stopped their waiter and pulled two twenty-dollar bills from her wristlet. Keep the change. We’ve got to go.

The waiter nodded with understanding, though he too appeared distracted over the breaking news that now had the attention of everyone else on staff as well. As soon as some of the crowd realized what had happened, they turned around to make their way out of the place as many of them also worked at the nearby Ft. Meade complex.

Dawne and Annie stepped up their pace as they reached the sidewalk.

Oh my God, said Annie trembling, now speaking to herself in Farsi.

Dawne looked at her friend and assumed that she had to be praying. Keep it together, Annie. If Crittendon sees you like this he’ll take you off the floor, and you know he won’t let you back into the ‘big room’ until you’ve had a complete psych eval.

Annie nodded, looking into Dawne’s eyes and tried to regain her composure.

Take deep breaths. Come on, let’s walk. Dawne led her friend down the street as Annie wiped her eyes with a tissue, then she tilted her head back as she walked. She took deep breaths as she tried to calm herself.

After a couple of blocks of walking, Annie grew more composed. Okay, said Annie. I’m good, I’m good now. Thank you.

You don’t have to thank me, I’m always here for you. You know that, right?

Annie grinned and nodded in response, and they both stopped to hug each other. They continued on and soon approached the outer perimeter security check at their building complex, flashing their ID badges to the guards at the post just outside the parking lot. Inside the compound, a sign with an arrow pointing to the right read, National Security Agency, and underneath, their motto, Defending our Nation, Securing the Future. Another sign with an arrow pointing to the left read, USCYBERCOM. They walked briskly to the left and once past the second perimeter security check they entered the lobby of the main building. On the center wall between the banks of elevators hung a large government seal, USCYBERCOM, Ft. Meade. People jammed into elevators and others fought through waiting crowds to get out. The place resembled a buzzing beehive that had just gotten swatted by a grizzly bear.

They were the last to squeeze into an elevator car as the doors started to close behind them. Sorry, said one of two military men who caught the doors just before they shut. Even though the car was as packed as a sardine can, the soldiers somehow managed to position themselves into the elevator. Dawne and Annie looked at each other and then started rolling their eyes in synch. One of the two soldiers had wedged himself between them. His tall muscular physique towered over them, and a large rack of brightly colored service ribbons adorned the front of his uniform. They were positioned on his chest and at eye level to the women, so they couldn’t help but notice them as they looked at each other. Annie bit her lip as she watched Dawne pretend to get dreamy-eyed over the soldier’s display. All the while, the soldier stood there like a rock focusing his gaze on the ceiling of the elevator car. Dawne’s play mockery forced Annie to close her eyes and bite her lip to avoid laughing out loud, though it was a welcome diversion from all the seriousness of the current situation. Annie shook her head but appreciated that this was just one of the many gifts of her friendship with Dawne.

Dawne! Annie!

They instantly recognized Bill Crittendon’s voice. Craning their heads, they spotted their boss towering over the other passengers in the rear corner of the car. Dawne responded to his callout with a nod.

Team conference in the ‘big room’ stat.

They looked at each other, their eyes acknowledging what they sensed in Crittendon’s voice. Normally a rock-solid guy in the midst of crisis, the developing events obviously shook him too.

The elevator doors opened and most of the car emptied out. People scurried in all directions. Dawne and Annie headed straight to the ‘big room’, otherwise known as Real-Time Global Surveillance Operations, or RTGSO. Just outside, a normally smiling and cheerful Leon Davis greeted them at the security desk where they underwent the usual comprehensive security process. Okay, let’s move along, ladies. The guard desk looked like any other you would see in a corporate lobby, but the security technology at the entrance to the big room said that this place was ultra-serious.

Hi, Leon, Dawne said, somewhat preoccupied.

This place got a whole lot serious all of a sudden, Dawne-darlin’, said Leon.

I’m sure you’ve heard? Annie asked.

Oh yeah. They don’t tell us much but when it’s already on the news it isn’t really classified, now is it? Leon gave hand signals directing two other security guards assisting in the security process. They quickly put the ladies’ clutches in a cubicle, giving them each a respective tag with a number on it. Dawne and Annie completed their retina scans and one at a time entered the security door to the Big Room. Dawne waited for Annie just inside the door so they could walk out to the main floor together. She watched people exiting elevators and getting into the security line as Annie passed through the security door.

Leon sure hasn’t been himself lately, has he? asked Dawne. She looked at Annie thinking that she would again try to deflect Annie’s attention away from her own concerns about the strikes in Iran, though she knew in a few short minutes they would be in the thick of it.

Nuclear warfare has a way of doing that to you, said Annie.

No, I know, but he’s been very different the last few days. I mean, do you ever see Leon really down? I’m worried about him. You know, he just found out that his granddaughter is sick, and I’m sure that is weighing on him.

Oh! No, I didn’t know that, said Annie. Poor Leon, I hope his granddaughter will be alright.

Me too. He’s such a sweet guy, said Dawne as they made their way out onto the main floor of the Big Room. He’s like the grandfather you wish you had. Once again, Dawne was momentarily successful in diverting Annie’s attention away from the crisis that might have dire implications for her own family.

Upon entering the room, they could see a flurry of videos flashing on the large far wall. The Big Room looked much like an amphitheater-style college classroom except with desktop HD flat-screens rather than personal laptops sticker-plastered with all the latest mottos of popular movements that college kids affiliate themselves with. Each workstation on the tiered rows or decks had at least three flat screens and each deck had eight workstations. The room supported six decks with a middle aisle and two side aisles. At the bottom of the stairs was a small open floor area that could function like a stage. Rising almost two stories from the stage was a solid wall of flat screens that could operate independently or interconnectedly as one large screen.

Annie and Dawne now sat at their assigned stations parallel to each other, but with a separating aisle between them. Looking around the room, they could see that some of the consoles were doubled up. People had arrived early for their shifts knowing they’d surely be called to come in as a result of the developing situation in the Middle East. Because there were not enough seats for everyone, some people stood along the perimeter wall. The big screen currently showed a large strike map in the middle. The names of strike targets were lit up in red and bold—Bushehr, Darkhovin, and Natanz. Around the names were multiple circles. At the center of the multilayered circles were bright red solid circles where total annihilation could be expected, no survivors. The people in the room understood that the desert sands in these areas were now not much more than molten glass. These places would be uninhabitable for the foreseeable future. The circles extended outward into orange and then yellow circles which represented gradually declining levels of damage and fallout. Information from weather satellites was compiled to predict prevailing winds and plotted the direction of radioactive plumes. From each of the town names were red lines pointing to video boxes around the perimeter that ran media loops from a myriad of sources. Satellite photographs, cell phone video, and real-time drone surveillance video made for one big collage of destruction.

Dawne periodically looked over at Annie, keeping an eye on her ability to cope with what she was seeing.

They watched Bill Crittendon make his way down the center aisle of the Big Room. Bill towered over most of the other men at USCYBERCOM. With a mild manner and a John Wayne saunter, he also exuded the calculating intellect of Coach Bill Walsh. Those old enough to remember thought his mannerisms sometimes resembled the famous coach pacing the sidelines. Crittendon stayed steady in a crisis, typically calculating and prepared for the daily barrage of incidents around the world, however, today’s events were unprecedented.

Halfway down the steps to the stage in front of the towering screens, Crittendon started speaking like the coach of his beloved team. Just as he spoke, the large screen went black except for the USCYBERCOMMAND emblem in the middle.

The impact zones you just saw were struck by Israeli nuclear warheads less than an hour ago. The quiver in Crittendon’s voice so obvious in the elevator car was no longer. Because of the contained areas of damage and the relatively minimal radiation plumes, we assume the Israelis used precision laser-guided bunker buster casings. He got down to business without so much as a good afternoon. Reconnaissance drones are in the air, on their way to survey the impact areas. We will have more precise fallout levels and clearer impact assessments and projections within the next hour. No consulates were notified in advance, but fortunately, none were immediately impacted by the attack. That situation is going to change quickly. We need all of our eyes and ears on this. His voice, normally loud enough to be heard without the wireless mini-mic presently clipped to his shirt, gave even more gravity to the moment as his words were amplified through the room’s P.A. system. Israel is calling this a retaliatory response to the dirty bomb attack in Old Town Jerusalem just two days ago. The Prime Minister has publicly stated that the uranium contained in the dirty bomb has been traced to Iran, and therefore Israel holds Iran accountable and complicit. As I said, the US and its allies were not informed in advance of this action. I don’t need to tell you that we anticipated Israeli retaliation of some sort, though this level of response came unexpectedly. We will certainly see reprisals at our embassies in the region, as will our allies. Crittendon paused and surveyed the room. Shit has hit the fan, people. This is not our doing, but we do have to help contain this mess as best we can. There will be counterattacks, refugees pouring into neighboring countries, and terror cells are undoubtedly activating around the globe. Our priority is the safety of our people in the Middle East. We will be coordinating extraction missions and prevention strikes on any detectable terror plots in progress. Obviously, we’ll also be monitoring Iran’s response. State is currently having discussions with the Israelis. All drone assets in the region will be coordinated and synchronized here. All R&D consoles are suspended until further notice.

An audible disappointment came from some in the room. Crittendon took notice and addressed it. We have a real-time crisis here, folks. We will need all R&D techs to take on surveillance and joint forces coordination roles.

A hand went up in the crowd. Yes, Crittendon pointed at the tech.

Does this mean that R&D could be engaged in strike missions? the tech asked sitting with wide-eyed anticipation on the edge of his seat.

In some cases, yes, that could be a very real possibility. A mixed and very audible reaction came from some. A few of the non-military techies, fist-pumped in response like they were getting permission from Mom and Dad to play a new video game on the family Xbox. Still others commented to each other in phrases that suggested deeper intellectual arguments.

Crittendon raised his voice and spoke more directly into the microphone on his shirt to gain volume over the commotion. You were all trained for this possibility. You may not be happy with it, but that’s part of the deal. Live with it and move on. There are active missions being assigned to your stations as I speak. Let’s get down to work.

The emblem disappeared, and the big screen went live again with the strike map in the middle and updated reference videos around it. As the Big Room recovered from Crittendon’s brief sermon, the din of multiple conversations resumed.

Dawne and Annie looked over at each other with raised eyebrows and tight lips as people in the room began to move about. Some were getting situated at their stations and others were heading to smaller conference rooms which had entrance doors along the perimeter wall.

Dawne saw Annie’s worried look and noticed she was fighting back tears. Do you have family near any of those zones?

Not that I know of, but my father has been to most of those places because of his research. Annie showed signs of losing her composure again.

Annie, send me his number, I’ll ping his phone, said Dawne trying to pull her back from an emotional brink.

I don’t want you to get into trouble.

I won’t get into trouble, I just got assigned to Communications Surveillance.

Annie smiled and said thank you with her eyes. She turned to her console and quickly ran her hands over the keyboard.

Got it, said Dawne. Now Dawne’s keyboard, a flurry of clicks. Tehran. They simultaneously looked up to the big screen still showing a map of the strike zones. Tehran appeared to be substantially clear of any impact zones.

Annie closed her eyes and let out a sigh of gratitude, her chin sinking to her chest. She looked up at Dawne. Thank you, she said, then blew her a kiss with two fingers.

Dawne replied with a smile and a sideways look while she motioned a silent shhh with her index finger over her lips. Then she looked around before asking Annie, What’s your assignment?

Sat Recon for tracking refugee movement, Annie responded with a flat expression.

See anything? asked Dawne.

Not much really, it’s probably too soon yet. People are still trying to figure out exactly what happened. The EMPs probably fried local communications so the general population in the affected areas won’t have a full picture of what’s happened for a while. Where do you flee to if you don’t know what happened and you don’t know where the safest routes are?

Yeah, I’m not seeing too much activity on their cell phone towers near the target areas, which means they are either damaged or gone, like you said. But the unaffected areas sure are abuzz. Most are overloaded. A significant amount of their telecom infrastructure is impacted. Any cell towers that survived in the peripheral areas are inundated with traffic.

Annie sighed. I have a feeling we’re going to be very, very busy today.

Dawne nodded in agreement.

2

USCYBERCOM, Ft. Meade, MD

Okay you two, said Crittendon while looking at Dawne and Annie over the top of his clipboard. "Your reliefs