A Journey to Understanding

Chapter 1:

The White Mountains of Eastern California

Thursday, October 24, 5:19 am, Hour 1

There are several unpleasant ways to be rudely awakened; thrown against the side of a trailer ranks among the worst. Jostled by the unseen forces lifting and bouncing his trailer, Jeremiah was almost dumped out of bed. Building nausea added to his confusion. Again, he was hurled toward the wall. With the continuing assault disorienting him, he cried out, “What’s goin’ on?” For a moment he wondered,

“… Did a fighter jet from Groom Lake crash? No, no, that doesn’t explain the rocking and rolling.”

In the dim early morning light, he struggled to focus on his watch, “5:19.”

At that moment, a strong upward thrust lifted the trailer. A crescendo of sliding rocks and crashing trees contributed to his building sense of fear, bordering on panic. His mind screamed, “Move!” He struggled to get out of bed in the heaving trailer. Another severe jolt slammed the trailer. Just thirteen seconds had passed since the first jolt threw him against the wall; this jolt cleared his mind, “Earthquake!” The intense shaking transitioned into rolling waves. Earth, solid earth, rose and fell like swells on the ocean. The trailer kept rolling and swaying in constant movement. Getting dressed in the moving trailer was like dressing on a giant plate of jiggling Jello. As the rolling and shaking continued, another look at his watch, three minutes had passed.

Finally, the movement began subsiding. Jeremiah took one more peek at his watch as he buttoned his shirt and grabbed his jacket.

“5:24…, five minutes… five minutes that seemed like an hour!”

He recalled hearing or reading, he wasn’t sure which, the longer an earthquake, the more severe and deadly the quake. Jeremiah lived on the central coast of California, he’d experienced earthquakes before, but never one this long, no one had.

The five-minute quake would later be declared one of the longest, most deadly, quakes in recorded history. Five minutes that literally altered the shape of the world and changed the destiny of humanity. Five long minutes that set Jeremiah on a journey to deal with events of thirty years ago. Oh, it would be a few hours before Jeremiah realized that Crazy Ron’s bizarre booklet just saved his life. It would take a few more hours before he recognized the journey started three decades earlier, three decades before he met Ron.

Five minutes of earth rolling like waves on the ocean messed with the delicate balance of his inner ear. Dizzy and nauseous, he opened the door for a breath of fresh air. Instead of clean mountain air, choking clouds of earth from the nearby landslide swirled through the campground. Through the dusty fog, he saw a large juniper tree had fallen and collapsed the roof of the restored vintage Airstream trailer he had admired yesterday. The damaged Airstream sat where he almost parked his trailer earlier in the week.

“That would have crushed my rig, with me in it!”

Staring through the dust at the ruined Airstream, the eerie silence caught Jeremiah’s attention. There wasn’t a sound, no birds, no wind, only deathly silence.

A lone voice shattered the silence. “Help, I’m trapped. I can’t get the door open. Someone help me, please.” The plea came from the crumpled Airstream.

Jeremiah sprinted to the ruined trailer. He gripped the door latch, “On three, push... one, two, three… Ah nothing, no good, looks like the frame is bent, jamming the door. I’ll go get a pry bar.” Jeremiah hustled to his Jeep, grabbed a tire-iron and small sledgehammer from his toolbox. He ran back and wedged the tire-iron into the doorjamb next to the latch, pulled back, ready to strike, when a breath of air froze his movement mid-swing… “Whoa, just a minute, I smell propane. I’ll shut the tanks off. Crack a window or two. I’ll be right back.”

The voice said, “A couple are shattered… the tree is blocking the emergency exit.”

Jeremiah hurried to the front of the trailer, turned off the propane. He didn’t think a spark from the hammer could cause an explosion, but who knows? When he returned to the door, the propane odor was gone. Jeremiah studied the jammed door, recalling that it takes eight hours at the Airstream factory to hand make a single door. Jeremiah pounded the tire-iron between the jamb and latch, prying and yanking. The trapped owner threw his weight against the door a couple of times. On the third try, it popped open, the owner sprawling out onto the ground.

Jeremiah offered a hand up, “You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m George, George Greene. The tree blocked the exit window. This was the only way out. I’m sure glad you were here and heard me.”

Still gripping George’s hand Jeremiah said, “Jeremiah Jackson, I’m glad you’re okay. Sorry I had to ruin the door, but it was jammed tight.”

“I know…”

“What a shame this happened to your beautiful trailer. Listen, I’ll check on the other campers, then help you get the tree off. I’ve got a small chainsaw.”

It was late October, the summer crowds were gone. Grandview campground is at an elevation of 8600 feet in the remote White Mountains along the California/Nevada border. The sun was just breaking over the eastern ridge, swirls of dust still hung in the cool morning air. By mid to late November, sometimes earlier, snow would close the area. Jeremiah checked on the other half dozen campers. Everyone was okay, concerned, with a ton of questions.

Jeremiah pulled out his chainsaw and helped clear George’s trailer. The trailer looked towable despite the deep crevice across the middle of the roof. At least George should be able to make it to his home in Henderson, Nevada.

Because Jeremiah had helped George and checked on the others, he quickly became the campground answer man, peppered with questions. “How bad is it? What do you think we should do?”

Jeremiah said, “This clearly was a serious quake. Beyond that, I have no idea. The radio only has static. It’s hard to know if the radio silence is from our remote location or related to the quake. It may be both. You ask, ‘What should we do?’ My advice is, pack-up; if the road is open, get out of here. Aftershocks could cause landslides blocking the road. If that happens, we’ll be here awhile.”

An advantage of his cargo trailer conversion was the speed and ease of getting ready to move out. Jeremiah was the first to leave. He had an uneasy feeling about the severity of the quake. His investigation into Ron’s outlandish theories was now on hold. There was something about Ron’s booklet though that intrigued him. The booklet clashed, collided, and conflicted with everything Jeremiah believed. Yet, in moments of reflection Jeremiah wondered,

“What if Ron is right? No, he can’t be. But what if he is? Oh, it doesn’t matter now; just get out of this remote area.”

“I wish I could find some news about the quake. I hate being in the dark. The intensity of the quake says, San Andreas. If it was the San Andreas, everything in the world just changed.”

The radio continued playing static.

Chapter 2:

Utah Data Center, Bluffdale, Utah

Thursday, October 24, 4:22 am, Before Hour One

Four-hundred and fifty miles northeast of the Bristlecone Pines is the Utah Data Center, near Bluffdale Utah, south of Salt Lake City. The Center is code-named, ‘Bumble-hive’ after the state’s nickname, ‘The Beehive State.’ Workers shortened that to ‘The Hive.’ The Hive is 1.5 million square feet of innovative surveillance gear that can monitor every digital device in the country, some say the world. They monitor everything from cell phones to confidential medical records. If it’s digital, the Hive can eavesdrop on every device, looking for any sign of threat to national security.

The key to mining the data is a supercomputer named “Cascade.” Analysts who work with Cascade refer to it as the “Beast.” The Beast uses advanced facial recognition software along with multiple hundreds of thousands of surveillance cameras to find and track a person within minutes. Once the Beast finds an individual, it then studies the details of their digital plans. It is impossible to hide from the Beast.

Deep in the bowels of Bluffdale, Dr. Tegan Tannin turned to his aide, “Biel, it’s time for the closing phase of Operation Enemiste. We’re at a critical point. There’s a potential threat from people like Jackson, nosey reporters asking questions that can draw attention to our plans. We dare not forget how resourceful the enemy is. I don’t understand how we lost him. Get Schwartz in here now.”

“Yes, sir.” Biel slinked out of Tannin’s office. Tannin watched as Biel stalked to Megan Schwartz’s station. Tannin chuckled as Megan, unaware of Biel’s movement, jumped when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, you startled me…” Megan said.

Snickering, Biel said, “Dr. Tannin wants you in his office.”

“Oh, this guy gives me the creeps. If he touches me again, I’m filing a sexual harassment claim with Human Resources.”

Megan walked to Dr. Tannin’s office. She knocked on the door frame and waited for Dr. Tannin to acknowledge her and bid her enter. Tannin finished his call and, without looking up, motioned her in.

“Schwartz, I want you to set up a high priority surveillance track on Jackson. Since you lost him east of Bakersfield, we don’t know where he went. Why can’t you find him?”

“Sir, he moved into a zone where we don’t have any cameras. We’re blind. He’s traveling on secondary roads. He hasn’t been places we have surveillance capability. Cascade can’t locate him if he doesn’t cross a public cam…”

“Schwartz, I’m declaring this a Priority Alpha One. Turn Cascade loose, highest priority, to locate, observe, and track him. Intelligence has evidence he is working with domestic terrorists who are planning an attack on the Supreme Court. Can you comprehend the chaos that would cause?”

Megan tensed. A Priority Alpha One meant Cascade could access every personal phone in the country, all 310 million of them looking for Jackson. She had never used or heard of a Priority Alpha One being used. She realized the only thing worse than murdering a Supreme Court Justice would be killing the President. Her stomach tightened as she furrowed her brow, realizing how serious this threat was to start an Alpha One, but something about Dr. Tannin and this entire operation made her uneasy.

I’m beginning to wonder if Jackson really is a terrorist?”

She knew not everyone branded ‘domestic terrorist’ and put on a watch list deserved to be monitored and tracked the way they could track a person. When Cascade tracks someone, their private life is gone. She was having second thoughts about working at Bluffdale.

“Uh, sir.… Sir, I’m expected to have form #SVA103-1a to set up a systemwide Priority Alpha One Search.”

“I know all about procedures, Ms. Schwartz. I’ll get it to you shortly. Begin setting up the criteria of the scan immediately. Biel will get you the paperwork.”

“Sir, this is highly irregular. I don’t mean to question you, but I don’t want us to get in trouble with the oversight committee. Regulations specify that I’m supposed to have the forms entered before I begin a Priority Alpha One Search.”

“I know all about the restrictive, hamstringing regulations. Start the procedure, now. Jackson was lost on your watch. Find him. The security and stability of the country is at risk. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is all. Find Jackson.”

Chapter 3:

Bristlecone Pines Road, Grandview Campground Area

Thursday, October 24, 8:00 am, Hour 3

Jeremiah pulled out of Grandview Campground heading the five and a half miles back to state highway 168. He planned on turning west to highway 395 and then head home to San Luis Obispo on the coast. If he didn’t run into any problems, he should be home in around six hours. He set the radio to auto scan, looking for a station; the scan kept searching.

“I sure hope it’s the surrounding mountains blocking the signal and not the effects of the quake.”

The remote high desert terrain reminded him of northeastern Turkey.

“Strange how my brain works. Even though I’m driving away from an earthquake, I’m reminded of traveling along the Black Sea in Turkey with Kara. I’ve avoided thinking about that for over ten years. I must be more shaken up than I realize.”

Thinking of driving along the Black Sea with Kara soon shifted his thoughts to that more pleasant drive with her — that drive along the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California to Laguna Beach.

“It was a perfect day for a top-down drive in the old Triumph TR3. The temperature was upper 70s, clear blue sky, gentle ocean breeze, laughing, just enjoying life.”

“Dinner in that old house, La Strada Inn, was excellent; they had great Italian food. I wonder if it’s still there? Oh, probably not… Kara wondered why I seemed so quiet. Boy, it’s been awhile since these memories have tormented me. Why today of all days…?”

“… It was a nice evening. After dinner, we strolled along the cliffs overlooking the ocean under a full moon. The moonlight on the ocean made a romantic setting. I finally got the nerve to pop the question. I had planned to ask her to marry me at dinner, but I just couldn’t get it out, and she wondered why I was so quiet. I’d never asked anyone to marry me before, or since. It’s curious how memories can be pleasurable and painful at the same time.”

Thinking of Kara soon brought her question to mind. The question… the question I had avoided answering or explaining why I did, what I did to her. My mind shifted back to the drive along the Black Sea in Turkey.

“That was also a moonlit night.”

Her soft-spoken question echoed, bouncing, reverberating around in my thoughts…

“Jeremiah, why did you do it?”

“After three decades, it still hurts to relive that moment. How could I tell her I had gotten scared? I was afraid of ending up divorced like my folks. Fear of divorce wasn’t the only thing that gnawed at me. There was the growing clash of our worldviews that also worried me. The difference in worldviews was one factor in my folks’ break-up. I didn’t want to hurt her, but the fear of divorce and the hurt that would cause left me no choice. It was best to break it off. My mistake was how I did it. I was wrong, thinking it was best to get her to hate me by stealing our story. That worked out brilliantly, didn’t it?”

I remember saying, “I suppose it is a little unfair to have never given you an explanation, Kara…”

She said, “Yes, it is.”

I kept my gaze glued to the road; I hung onto the steering wheel with a death grip. I was glad I was driving, so I didn’t have to face her, to look in her eyes. Her earlier anger from when we were first thrown together was gone, no bitterness or sarcasm, now with a barely audible voice she repeated, “Yes it is…”

I tried my best to explain my thoughts as we drove eastward to an uncertain future. How do you express thoughts based on irrational fears? It was hard to communicate such conflicted thoughts; I struggled to choose the right words. “I… I… I’m sorry for being so immature and running out on you without an explanation. I am sorry for hurting you. It was wrong of me to steal our story… I was afraid… I was a fool…”

In silence, Kara turned to the window. After a few minutes, she shifted back toward me, I stole a quick glance at her as she said, “I guess that’s what I assumed or hoped happened...”

“Oh, can you ever forgive me…?” My words were uttered in a desperate plea.

I kept my eyes straight ahead on the road but could sense her looking at me. I don’t think she could see tears clouding my eyes. A quick sideways glance and I could see her tears well up... and flow.

“Please?” I pled.

She turned away, toward the window; it seemed she was silent forever. Finally, after a few moments she turned back and with a trembling voice said, “I already have Jeremiah, but thank you for asking.” It’s strange, her forgiveness didn’t make me feel better… her willingness to forgive, made me feel worse for what I did.

“Even after thirty-plus years it still troubles and haunts me. I was a dumb fool for the way I broke it off, but it was for the best. Guess I’m destined to be alone... what’s that old song, ‘Can’t get used to losing you… no matter what I try to do…?’ Oh, frankly, I deserve to be alone for what I did to her. It wasn’t just losing Kara, it was losing someone. I guess my first love was my only love. It wouldn’t have worked out, we were too competitive, too much alike. Here I am, approaching sixty, alone. When I was younger, I thought being married to my work was noble. Work and a keyboard aren’t the best long-term companions. It would be nice to have someone to talk with besides Siri. Even Siri seems to say, ‘I’m a fool.’ She’s probably right… I suppose I’ll end up an old bachelor. You fool, you are an old bachelor!”

“Ah come on, enough of this, what’s past is past, stay alert. I’m kinda in a dangerous situation here.”

Jeremiah rounded the corner faster than he should have, “Whoa…” he slammed on the brakes. Half a mountain lay across the road.