Fear the Future (The Fear Saga Book 3) by Stephen Moss Read Free Book Online

to business. “We are here, as you know, to review security procedures for next week’s conference. In order to make this as meaningful a meeting as possible, Neal will be attending in person, as will several other members of TASC’s leadership, myself included.”
    There were no comments at this, so Ayala went on, “Let’s us first discuss our arrival and egress. We will not, for obvious reasons, be using the main airports or local hotels, but will be flying directly to the site.”
    “Yes, of course, we will make a slip available at the 34 th Street heliport,” said Peter.
    “Good, the plane will remain there for …”
    “Plane?” said Peter.
    “Yes, Peter, plane. We will be using our StratoJets.”
    “Umm, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said Tony D’Amico, New York’s Chief of Police, and the man who had the unenviable job of reconciling the plethora of security requests coming in from UN delegations with the city’s very real and very pressing security concerns.
    New York was not the city it once had been. It still retained a place in the world’s economy, and still had a pulse that would take a long, long time to fully die out, but the engine of commerce and creativity that had been the site of so many a novel, movie, and sitcom was now a place under siege.
    As the country’s economy had faltered, the nation’s wealthy elite had taken up refuge in pockets of ever shrinking privilege. In enclaves both virtual and physical, they had bolstered themselves against the growing storm of economic and political strife, and no place was that more true than the island of Manhattan. It was not officially now a police state, but the tollbooths that had once taken cash or swipes of EZ passes to cross the Hudson now acted as a border control.
    Similar barriers now also guarded the many bridges and tunnels over the east river. You needed a reason to come to New York now, a pass, an invite. Tourism had all but died out in the country anyway, and the few tour buses that still remained were conspicuous in their emptiness. It was into this borderline militarized zone that Ayala was now asking to fly an armed fighter jet.
    “Ms. Zubaideh,” Tony went on, “you know I cannot authorize foreign military craft access to New York’s City’s airspace, I’m not even sure that StratoJets are allowed in United States airspace unless they are piloted by US personnel.” His voice trailed off under the iciness of her gaze and he glanced to either side for backup from his military and diplomatic colleagues.
    He received it, surprisingly, from an Israeli, himself a former Mossad employee, though his job had been of a more administrative nature than Ayala’s.
    David-Seth Ain spoke calmly, resisting the urge to speak in Hebrew for his erstwhile colleague, except to say, “Shalom, Ms. Zubaideh.”
    They exchanged brief dips of the head before he continued, “We all appreciate, I am sure, your somewhat unique security concerns. But I am sure you will also appreciate that if the heads of state of, say, Israel and Iran can both arrive at the UN compound via … conventional channels, so, too, can the head of TASC.”
    Ayala returned his collegiate smile and did not break contact with his keen, intelligent eyes as she replied, “I appreciate your perspective, Mr. Ain, but the comparison is, I think, not an apt one. We do not come to participate in any greater discussion, and we do not come as an equal. We are not a nation, we are a military state. And one that we know all of your leaders would very much like not to negotiate with, but to control, as they once did.”
    It was a blunt accusation, but to deny would have been nothing short of ridiculous. That said, its fundamental truth did not make it any less uncouth to state it so openly. Like so much in the current geo-political environment, it was a topic people preferred to accept but not mention. It was a political bowel movement, a fart in the world’s elevator;