Last War Read Online Free Page A

Silverstone, property owner of the WTC.
         “OK. I’ll let him know.”
         “Tell him to check his email.”
         “Sure thing, Mr. Upton. I’ll let him know.”
     
     
    
     
     
    THURSDAY, MAY 22, 2003:
    (CURRENT HOMELAND SECURITY ADVISORY SYSTEM: ORANGE —HIGH TERRORIST RISK)
         A phone call on Jason’s work desk jolted him out of his daydream.
         “Hello?”
         “He y, Jason. This comes down from The Summit.” The lady said over his speakerphone. That was the simple code that told Jason the message was the highest of national priority. He picked the phone up off of the hook.
         “Go, ahead.”
         She continued. “We have an email coming through from Summit to you on a list of possible terrorists. Please check your email.”
         “Thanks, Kim.” Jason said as he hung up the phone.
         He checked his secure email address; another 486 names on the Terrorist Watch List. Two files were attached. One, a list of names to collect, and the other was a file of small town’s approval for increased police monitoring.
         His skin always tightened when he’d get these file requests. We’ve gotta keep this place safe . Stretching out his arms and taking the same redundant swallow and deep breath that would push the lump in his stomach momentarily down, he sent out a request to MyFace social networking company.
         He typed in the routine request, “Full detail.”
         It was common mythical knowledge, amongst the people, that technology could, and was, tracking everyone. But what wasn’t: was the fact that hundreds of people were being logged everyday. All, it seemed, he ever did was receive MyFace’s logs, and file them away. Each status update, each page they viewed, pictures they looked at, places they’ve travelled, statuses they’ve liked – all logged into government computers.   Special cases had their every activity live-streamed into the system.
         The work email detailed preliminary suspicion of a group of conspirators aiming to perform terrorist acts at the upcoming Super Bowl events. 
         While looking at that, a new email buzzed through to his cell phone on one of his personal email accounts from “Unknown”.
         “Time to begin #OpConn, tonight into tomorrow morning. We’re going to the Connecticut Courthouse to take these rapers down. Bring your masks, bring your guns.”
         At times, Jason felt like he had bitten off more than he could chew.
         He had felt out of the loop at work. They all operated in ways that indicated that everyone knew something more than he did. The surface wasn’t adding up like it used to. He had no clue what the plan for the future was. There were myriads of threats towards the U.S. and it didn’t seem like progress was moving fast or urgently enough.
          His desk phone rang. The aqua blue screen on the phone displayed Michael’s extension.
         “What’s up, Mike?”
         “Bro, you about to leave?”
         “Yeah. Wrapping up, now.”
         “You get the email?”
         “Yeah. I put in the request to raise the HSAS, too.”
         “Cool. Hey, bro. Have you ever noticed anything weird with the way Grambling acted at these cabinet meetings when you were in here on them?”
         “He’s fidgety. He always has been.”
         “He never says much, either. Neither does the Vice President. They may as well be wall-flowers. The last meeting, Grambling, basically, threatened Harold.”
         “Well, who hasn’t at one point or another?” Jason chuckled. “Are you being a codebreaker again? We’re not at the NSA anymore.”
         “Well, listen to you. As if you’re not reading into everything, yourself.”
         “I have my reasons.” Jason laughed. “It’s OK. Harold has always been Harold, and Josh, Josh. Hey, I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you back