The Rise of Indigo

By Michael C ONeal

Sam Bolton is recovering from his wounds after his harrowing battle with terrorists who crippled the nation’s economy by stopping shipping on the Mississippi River. Just when things look promising for the ex Marine, he is once again plunged into a world of spine-chilling danger and intrigue. Enemies, both domestic and foreign, have lit the fuse on plans for world domination. The certainty of world-wide chaos and anarchy make the stakes even higher in this riveting account of intrigue and downright blood and guts courage by a few men and women who see the world as it is. In this, the second installment of the Bolton trilogy, we find the most powerful force ever unleashed at work. Indigo, a new kind of intelligence with unimaginable power, is about to change the world, but how? Find out for yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael C ONeal
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005255374

Michael C ONeal

Michael C O’Neal or Mike as his friends call him is new to writing books but not new to writing. The plot for the first book started to take shape many years ago but until he retired he didn’t seem to have the time that he knew would be needed. Writing a book was more of a bucket list idea at first but now has become an obsession. Having spent a long career in computer systems engineering, he uses his life experience plus a firtle imagination to develop unique plots. He was born and raised in the Ozark Mountains of North Arkansas but lived in Texas and Louisiana where he worked for a computer manufacturing company for many years before starting his own computer business. He and his wife of fifty-two years now live in rural south Mississippi.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was an interesting way to start what might be the most important convention since May 25, 1787. Not one of the men and women gathered in the nondescript room would have thought to compare what they were about to do with the Constitutional Convention of 1787. The dampness of the limestone walls permeated everyone and everything despite the best efforts of the portable dehumidifiers which hummed softly in the corners of the room. The only other sound was the irritating buzz of the two defective overhead light ballasts. Outside, hidden behind a security fence and a thick hedge, the HVAC system labored to keep the room at a constant sixty five degrees despite being carved into the limestone mountain in northern Alabama. The only access to the site was by means of a narrow winding road which led to a sprawling one story stone structure that looked like something out of a gothic horror movie.

The room that the group was seated in was accessible through the back of an old cellar which had been carved from the rock face by some long dead owner. The narrow dark passageway was well hidden behind shelves which contained dozens of old fruit jars. The collection contained fruit and vegetables which looked like they had expired so long ago that no one could remember who placed them there. Thick layers of mold grew on the tops of most of the jars making it impossible to determine what the original contents were. The entire rack of shelves sat on two rusty casters which allowed it to swing outward on hidden hinges exposing a gleaming stainless steel elevator door at the far end of the ten foot tunnel. The door, which could only be opened by remote control from a security office which was located in a well concealed concrete bunker buried in the limestone mountainside one hundred yards away, sat silent and cold.

The idea of forming a shadow government designed to operate within the amorphous blob of federal agencies, spies, crooks, and power hungry political operators in and around Washington D.C. without being detected would seem absurd to most people, but not to those gathered for this meeting. Being frequent guests of the owner of the home provided perfect cover for those who were here today. They were all well connected members of the elite Washington power cartel.

The meeting had been planned to perfection, but to the casual observer would have seemed a little less organized than a herd of earth worms. With hunting season in full swing, no one would question the presence of guests at the hunting lodge, which was located to the east of Huntsville, Alabama. Corporations often invited prospective clients, politicians, and valued customers on all expense paid vacations, so this would not have raised an eyebrow among the political or corporate elite. No one would have suspected that the corporation that owned this facility and most of the thousand acre mountain compound which housed it was owned by one of the guests in attendance today, except of course by the others who were here. No public announcement of the meeting had been made. In fact, this meeting was one of the most closely held secrets, not only in Washington, but probably since World War II.

The rules of the organization were simple. There were no formal rules; no written records or formal votes taken; no election of officers; no campaign managers; no press agents; no fund raisers; no political rallies; no recording devices or electronics of any kind. Each attendee dropped cell phones and other electronic devices in one of the steel lockers at the tiny airport office ten miles away precluding any possibility of tracking.

All decisions would be by unanimous consent, which in most cases meant a grunt or a nod. The organization, which would become known informally among the members simply as The Directorate, was taking shape in this unlikely setting on a warm sunny afternoon in early fall in the hills of Alabama fifteen miles northeast of Huntsville.

The four men and one woman who made up the organization had not been screened, selected, elected or approved by any organization. In fact this was more organism than organization, having taken shape over the past two months out of the fabric of necessity. Only three members knew of the previous meeting which had set the broad criteria for moving forward. That meeting had not been mentioned to anyone else, much less memorialized or recorded.

The members, if you could call them that, are an odd collection by any measure. Philip Conrad, who is currently a veteran CIA staff analyst as well as intelligence liaison to the president, brings his inside connections within the intelligence community to the table. General Russell Rusty Helms, the chief military strategist, is currently serving as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He is a fierce old-school warrior and equally fierce opponent of the sissified military leaders of today. Most of the modern leaders think Helms is a dinosaur who should have retired years ago. In fact, he knew that his days were numbered. The WOKE weenies who were favored by the current administration had already set him up for extinction. Those who knew him well would probably advise his enemies to be careful. Piss him off and he becomes a T-rex with a bad hangover.

The one woman in the group, Nancy Phelps had served three terms in the senate before being chosen as the Secretary of Homeland Security in a purely political move by Harriet Schmidt, the current Chief of Staff at the White House. Everyone in Washington knew that the President’s Chief of Staff known as Harriet the Hatchet ran things. The president was usually too doped up or down, depending on the current situation, to be involved. What most of the deep state political hacks don’t know is that Nancy Phelps makes general Helms look like a creampuff. She is a tough old warhorse who has no intention of being pushed out by the deep-state vultures and hyenas in Washington. She is the eyes and ears of The Directorate within the White House.

The forth member, Colonel Jeff Collins, is the special operations point man. Having been in charge of special field operations in some of the most hostile environments in the world, Collins has been responsible for some of the most successful, yet least known operations in several hotspots, but most notably in the Middle East. He is known for getting things done, albeit the hard way most of the time. His superiors understood that deniability is always the key to avoiding personal liability. To use a trite phrase, Colonel Collins did it his way in situations where results talked and excuses walked. To make a long story short, Collins tends to be very direct. His methods might be a little too brutal for most in Washington, but not for those in this room. Collins has one other distinct advantage. He is like the plumber on a construction site. He knows where the bodies were buried. Think twice before crossing him, else he will dig some up then ram them down your throat. Collins was seated near the end of the table nursing a cup of coffee. His eyes had been closed for the past five minutes while everyone else shuffled about as they prepared to start the meeting.

The fifth member, Jon Thurston St Clair sat quietly nursing a cracked coffee stained cup containing what could have been used motor oil. When asked why he chose that cup, he glanced down at the cup then pushed his wire- rimmed glasses up further on his nose and paused before answering. He might has well have been considering buying a hundred million dollars worth of some obscure stock. It’s broke in. Makes the coffee special. Jon, as he was known by his small group of friends, then settled back and remained quiet. The fact that he was the designer of the super secret program called Indigo was something that was known by only a handful of people in the world aside from those in this room. He is currently listed as number ninety four of the one hundred richest men in the world. Aside from that, practically nothing is known about his personal life, or political leanings. The progressive elite power players around the world assume that he is a typical leftist tech billionaire nerd. On the other side of the isle the conservatives assume that he can be handled by throwing business his way in return for a generous campaign contribution. Both sides of the political spectrum would be shocked at the truth.

As the founder of one of the largest tech companies in the world, St Clair made a career and a fortune by inventing things that others can’t even imagine while keeping his personal life out of the public eye. To classify him as a reclusive genius would be to underestimate his intelligence and overestimate his interest in public life. St Clair blows the stereotypical picture of the computer programmer as a pencil-necked geek out of the water. He ran track in high school before competing for a spot on the United States Olympic Biathlon team while in college. At fifty four, the only telltale sign of aging is the finger smudged wire-rimmed glasses that he frequently pushes up and down while thinking.

After divesting himself of the majority of his holdings in Autobiotics, Inc. he quietly reacquired a major position in the company through a holding company which is owned by several shadow corporations. Before the stock IPO took place he had made a rare public statement in which he announced his intention to turn the operations of the company over to professional managers. What was not announced was that there was to be one exception.

He retained intellectual property rights and total control of what he privately referred to as TMG. Collins had asked what TMG stood for. Jon tilted his head and smiled behind his coffee cup – The Moonshine Group. Having already invested over eight billion dollars in the operation that he and those closely connected to him called Indigo, he devoted all his considerable energy to further development of the program, even though Indigo isn’t really a program at all but a thing.

He rarely left the building where he worked and also maintained his personal living quarters. Much of the site is located under the foundation of an abandoned steel mill on the outskirts of Huntsville. The buildings, which are currently owned by one of his shadow corporations, has a well concealed triple redundant electrical generation system on site. Armed guards, plus state of the art cameras and motion detectors are concealed throughout. The site provides an exceptional level of security. He, along with his handpicked staff of oddballs and misfits, work in what he calls his personal sweatshop which is in fact one of the most advanced computer installations in the world.

Jon can usually be seen wearing his trademark wire rimmed glasses, sneakers and well worn jeans. He holds regular workgroup brainstorming sessions, where he and the others sit for hours, seemingly talking in circles until magically everyone suddenly gets it, whatever ‘it’ is. What they have all come to realize is the ‘it’ is what Jon had in mind all along. Others have noticed that he is probably slightly autistic, but to the best of anyone’s knowledge, never diagnosed as such.

General Helms was the first to speak. Can we all agree that there is no realistic hope for a political solution to the problems in the swamp? Conrad, the CIA analyst, spoke up for the first time. Not as long as the president of the United States continues to be treated with uppers to get her going for the public appearances, then downers to put her down long enough to recover.

Homeland Security Secretary Phelps cleared her throat as she looked at each person around the table. For all intents and purposes, she looked like someone’s nana. She wore a print dress that fit loosely enough to hide some, but not all the bulges around her ample midriff and hips. She had not bothered with makeup which was not unusual. As far as anyone close to her knew, no one had ever made mention of the need for makeup or new clothes, or at least if they had, no one had ever found their bodies.

She cleared her throat and spoke in her usual concise and articulate way. Now is not the time to hide and wait. We have to act and do it now. General Helms spoke up. I agree. Waiting is too risky. We know that the deep-state bureaucrats in Washington are in control, or at least they think they are, but they have actually lost control. We are being guided, or in this case misguided, into a war with Iran, which will almost certainly end in disaster. Conrad, the CIA analyst spoke next. I agree. Some of the stuff that I am hearing is scary as hell. The president is done. She is so drugged most of the time that she can’t find the toilet paper by herself. I think her handlers aren’t about to throw her under the bus. Of course, they assume that they can run the show themselves.

After sitting for a moment Jeff Collins let out a long breath before replying. Okay, so maybe it is time to turn Indigo on and see what it will turn up. Who knows, maybe it will gather enough dirt to force the issue.

Conrad, who had sat quietly, spoke up. Hell, yes. Maybe some of my boys and girls can get involved now. It’s about time that these deep state assholes who started this shit-storm feel a little heat for a change.

Collins waited as he looked around the table before responding. Think about this. What if we gather what we can use on any of the deep-state Toads. Either they move over or get crushed. And while we are at it, we apply a little pressure to move the president out of the way. Helms, who had sat quietly during the exchange, looked at the others then grunted his agreement. Each member nodded in turn. Just like that, it was settled.

Nancy Phelps turned to Collins with a question. Okay Jeff, I know you well enough to know that something is brewing. Collins straightened his back and took a deep breath. I have some disturbing news concerning our old buddy and his FBI hatchet men, and in this case Hatchet woman. I have good reason to believe that he has sent agents to take Sam Bolton into custody or maybe take him out. Actually the latter is more likely. Helms shook his head in disbelief. What! That son of a bitch wouldn’t dare. Conrad spoke up. I’m afraid that he not only would dare but has already sent two agents to New Orleans. Helms shook his head as if he was suddenly dizzy. They wouldn’t happen to be the same two idiots who fumbled the ball last time? Phelps chimed in. Those two, what were their names, Babcock and something, uh, Drake or uh, Mallard. That’s it. Babcock and Mallard. Collins smiled. Yep ‘fraid so. Mo and Larry sent by Curley.

Phelps spoke through a deep frown, How can he get away with that? It isn’t legal unless he had the balls to fabricate enough garbage evidence to convince one of the rubber stamps at the FISA Court to issue a warrant. Collins spoke as he shook his head. Nothing so quaint. I think he made a unilateral decision to ignore the law as well as FBI protocol. Wouldn’t be the first time. Those assholes have been out of control since Hoover. Anyway, in my humble, but very accurate opinion, we better get ahead of this before they make Bolton mad again. St Clair grunted more than said, I second that. Helms nodded. We already know what happens when he gets pissed. So, Jeff my boy, what do you suggest? Collins turned his head from side to side as he thought then said with a shrug. Do we go all the way to Protocol 19 now or maybe something less scary?

St Clair and Collins looked at each other before turning to the group. Phillip Conrad, the CIA analyst, broke the silence. What, pray tell, is Protocol 19? Collins turned to St Clair. Jon, do you want to take that one or do you want me to enlighten the group? St Clair shrugged. You let this horse out of the barn. You ride him. Collins thought for a moment before continuing. Protocol 19 is basically a nonexistent protocol in spook circles. It’s like phone numbers with a 555 prefix. Simply stated, when Bolton receives the message invoking Protocol 19, he will go dark and do whatever the hell he thinks is best. He will not resurface until he is sure the threat has been secured. Conrad said, Okay, so? What is with all the mystery? Collins continued. The mystery is that once Bolton goes dark there is no going back. Maybe we can reel him in and get him disconnected from Indigo, and then again, maybe not. This is uncharted waters. If they both go dark, who the hell knows! Our only point of contact is through the Indigo console.

Helms thought for a minute before asking the obvious question. Why can’t we unplug Indigo and just call Bolton off if things get out of control? St Clair turned to Collins. Let me take that one. The simple truth is that once deployed, Indigo can’t be unplugged or disconnected and we don’t know if it will allow us to recall Bolton. Let me be clear. There has never been anything like Indigo. We have no idea how it will react. This will be the beta test version. Phelps shook her head in disbelief. You mean to tell me that this thing, this Indigo thing, is so powerful that it can’t be unplugged, rebooted, shut down, or halted once started!? St Clair shrugged. Well folks, I won’t say yes and I won’t say no, but I might say maybe." St Claire’s attempt at humor missed its mark.

He shrugged and plowed on. Okay, well, there is hope. We built in what we hope, and I stress, hope, is a safety valve, at least theoretically. We hope we can interrupt Indigo by removing the control cipher. At least that’s the plan. We tried it on the alpha version with success, but that isn’t a beta model by normal standards. Actually, alpha was tested under simulated conditions, a little like a wind tunnel test for an aircraft. We know that if we lose access to the control console, we may have a problem.

General Helms had heard enough. Ok, so you lost me there. I have spent my entire adult life figuring out how to blow up things and kill people. I don’t know what a control cipher is much less how it works, but desperate times require desperate people to take some risks. So, what is a control cipher and who has it? St Clair took a deep breath before answering. The control cipher is an extremely large and complex polynomial which allows us to manage Indigo. Notice, I said manage, not control. We can task it through the control console. If we want to change its tasking protocol we do that by manipulating the nodal array which changes the control cipher. Helms sighed then held his hands up. I give. I’m just a simple old soldier. Can you tell me what that means in English? St Clair thought for a moment. What that means in English is that we have indirect and limited control of Indigo. Helms seemed satisfied until St Clair cleared his throat. The problem may not be that simple. Indigo will respond to the cipher, but once Bolton goes dark, he isn’t easy to unplug.

Collins suddenly sat upright as if someone had punched him in the butt. I can address that. Once Bolton gets pissed, you would be way better off trying to sandpaper a lion’s ass blindfolded than to tangle with him. After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality just a few seconds, Phelps turned to the group with a sigh of resignation. Ok, what do you think? Maybe Protocol 19 is too drastic under the circumstances, considering the unknown situation with Indigo. Maybe two unknowns are just too risky. What can we do that gets Bolton out of the fire without taking a chance on losing complete control of both?

Collins thought for a moment. Protocol 10, which is a real protocol, would probably work. St Claire frowned. Okay dispense with the spook speak for a minute. What the hell is that? Collins nodded. It basically means that should his position become compromised, and or command and control temporarily lost, he will immediately go dark and wait for instructions from PACS. Phelps added. PACS being the Prearranged Alternate Secure Command Server? Collins almost smirked in spite of himself. Ex…actly!

Each member nodded in agreement. Phelps took charge of the meeting. It’s settled then. Jeff, can you get the word out to Bolton? Jon, maybe you had better talk to Keith about this. Just make sure that he does it right. And whatever you do, once the satellite is deployed, don’t shut down the console link until we see how this plays out.

Chapter 2

The camera operator drew the shot in as the director counted down. Live in five, four, three, two, one, you’re on. The anchor, a man with a reputation to uphold, at least in his own mind, began his intro. Welcome to the show. Tonight we have some very special guests, but first we have these breaking stories. At that point he went on to spend four minutes rehashing old stories using a combination of hyperbole, and well worn political talking points, all of which were then mixed with generous dose of his own self-important conjecture.

Our first guest is a frequent contributor to the show. We are pleased to have retired Marine Corps Colonel Andrew Bates with us tonight. In contrast to the host, Colonel Bates is known as a man who people take seriously. It is widely understood around Washington that Bates had been instrumental in making the case for an attack on Iran and other rogue states in the Middle East after the Mississippi River attack. Regardless of a lack of evidence he blamed Iran for the attack. On several occasions in the past month he kept up the pressure for military intervention.

Thanks for being here with us tonight. What can you tell us about the increasing pressure to what most agree is certain to involve military action? Given that this confrontation will draw Iran and others into a possible war, what is your take on our position? With that, the shot changed to a close up of a well dressed, confident man in his early fifties. Thanks Brian. My sources in the Pentagon have assured me that plans for an all out assault on the rogue terrorist sponsors is nearing completion. Sir, I must tell you that several people, both in government, as well as in the military, have said that talk like that jeopardizes the brave men and women who are sent into harm’s way. The segment degenerated into a shouting match before ending with the guest walking off the set.

Mercifully, the next segment started out on a better note as the anchor introduced the next guest. We have another special guest tonight. Professor Andrew Oberlin is a well respected authority in the field of hydrology. Thank you for being here with us. What can you tell the folks at home about the ongoing situation with the Mississippi River disaster? The professor struggled for a moment while trying to stick with what they had discussed in the production meeting, but then seemed to recover. What we see unfolding before our eyes is something that I and other…. With that the anchor rudely interrupted. Can you tell us if the dams can be repaired and if so, when? The professor, who was not accustomed to being interrupted took a moment and then continued. The answer is maybe, but it is not as simple as people think. We are dealing with one of the largest rivers in the world. It is not going to give up easily. The anchor turned to the camera with a long practiced look of deep concern. You make it sound like the river is a person. Surely the Corps of Engineers can simply dam the river again. After all, they did it once, why can’t they do it again? The professor took a moment before answering, causing the anchor a brief moment of discomfort. I am not saying that it can’t be done, but it isn’t going to be done this year or maybe even the next. Well, that certainly isn’t the news that the nation wanted to hear, but we are into truth regardless of the discomfort that it may cause.

The next segment went much better with the introduction of a regular contributor from a business network. The anchor set the segment up. "With the stock market finally stabilizing at a fifty year low and banks teetering on the brink of collapse, there wasn’t any good news, which made for wonderful ratings for a network whose stock-in-trade was peddling fear and panic.

The next program in the nightly lineup was a two hour special news digest which promised an in-depth and exciting look at the river disaster including a profile of the mystery surrounding Sam Bolton. The program delivered on the promise with a riveting blow by blow of the events which led up to the disaster and then capped it off with a look at the future.

The next anchor turned his attention to the continued failure of the government to come to grips with what everyone agreed was a rapidly expanding national and international crisis. The president continued to be the focus, but many key agencies weren’t spared, including the media’s favorite whipping boy, the Corps of Engineers. The segment opened with a detailed rundown on how the president’s health had complicated the problems. Statements from medical doctors had already put the president’s fitness to serve into question. Now the pressure on congress was mounting. The senior White House correspondent, an aging graybeard who looked at the camera with practiced