Empire

by Brandt Legg

  The president’s popularity was at its highest point since the inauguration, but Hudson knew it would be fleeting. There were still thousands in prison and under house arrest, and the streets were filled with checkpoints and tension. Congress and the Cabinet were pushing him to restore normalcy as quickly as possible, but the president had other ideas. He had to act before the REMies or NorthBridge came back for round two.

  The strategy now was to launch the enhanced Cherry Tree on Monday—three days away. The enhanced part of the plan included evidence of the REMies’ involvement in the attacks that nearly destroyed the nation, combined with criminal charges filed against all the REMies for their long history of misdeeds and manipulations. Everything had been simplified and thousands of MADE events had been documented, linked back to the REMies, and illustrated. The cases were comprehensive and would shock the world, and the REMies had granted the president one important ingredient he’d been missing before—trust. A shaken public believed in him as a Lincoln-esque leader.

  Late Friday night, Hudson was in the president’s study working on more of the radical reforms and the new structure of government that would follow the REMies’ demise. In his exhaustion, he kept losing his thought, envisioning the new wonderful era that would be ushered in with Fair and Free practices: an economy built on environmental concern instead of environmental exploitation, a healthcare system built upon health instead of care, and incentives for sharing wealth instead of hoarding wealth, for lifting people up instead of becoming the first one to get to the top, or maintaining a pool of corruption which kept others down. Yet even as he imagined all of that great promise, he worried whether Granger would be able to salvage enough from the collapsing central bank REMie financial empire to create a new one which would allow for all the exciting changes ahead. He had nightmares about the world collapsing into brutal anarchy where tens of millions died of starvation as everything crumbled.

  A blinking on his computer brought him out of his worry. The Wizard was trying to reach him. After taking all the normal precautions that insured the communications would be secure, he opened the video window. Hudson could immediately tell something was wrong.

  “Dawg, I just broke another one of Crane’s encryptions.”

  “Crane?”

  The president had almost forgotten that there was still data out on the DarkNet hidden by Crane, one of their best hackers. He had discovered a trove of secret information the night he was murdered. The earlier revelations that Booker Lipton, Fonda Raton, and Thorne were the leaders of NorthBridge had dramatically shifted the way they approached the terror organization. Ever since, the Wizard had put a team on the search—their mission: find the identity of AKA Adams, AKA Franklin, and any other possible AKAs.

  “Have you found the other AKAs?” Hudson asked, his hopes surging.

  “I’ve got Adams,” the Wizard said, still looking grave. “Prepare yourself, Dawg. It couldn’t be much worse. Are you alone?”

  “Yes, tell me!”

  “AKA Adams is Vice President Celia Brown.”

  Hudson felt the air sucked from his lungs. For an instant, his brain shut down, as if a circuit breaker had tripped. Searching for the words to respond, it seemed as if he didn’t even know the language to speak them in.

  “I’ve quadruple checked it. Adams is really her. No doubt,” the Wizard said before Hudson could ask the obvious question.

  “I . . . I don’t believe it,” Hudson finally said.

  “Fine, but it’s true. What the hell are we going to do?”

  “How? Celia is antiwar, anti-violence . . . she’s got a long history of seeking peace at every turn. This can’t be right. She would never be affiliated with the terrorists.”

  “Are you going to arrest her?” the Wizard asked.

  “Can’t you hear me? Celia Brown is not a member of NorthBridge, let alone one of its leaders. They’ve started a war. You know the vice president would rather jump in front of a speeding train than start a war.”

  “She may know how to find Booker, Fonda, and Thorne. I don’t think waiting for AKA Franklin is a good idea anymore. You should get a DIRT team from the FBI to arrest the vice president. This might be our chance to stop NorthBridge before they strike.”

  “You’re telling me you really believe this?” the president asked.

  “I’m telling you with one hundred percent certainty that the vice president of the United States is AKA Adams, one of the leaders of NorthBridge.” The Wizard stared at Hudson with the nearly four decades of their friendship in his eyes.

  The president looked back, and although it was one of the most impossible things to believe he had ever heard, he no longer doubted it. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m heading to Camp David first thing in the morning. The vice president is in Texas right now. I think she’ll be returning a few hours after I leave. You know it’s always coordinated that we aren’t in the same building at the same time.”

  “Yeah. She could have killed you by now.”

  “But she didn’t,” the president said, still trying to come to grips with the shocking news. “I’ll have to check on her schedule to be sure, but I need to think about this. I need to strategize. You may be right that the best approach is to show up with a trusted DIRT team, question her, and see if we can get the locations of the others. She must know about AKA Franklin.” The president felt his adrenaline flowing. “What the hell is she doing with NorthBridge? This is so insane. “

  “Do you want to cancel Camp David?”

  “No! You know we have to put the final pieces together for Cherry Tree. And we can’t arrest her before Monday. Can you imagine if we suddenly announce that the vice president is a NorthBridge terrorist after everything that’s happened? Cherry Tree would be sunk.”

  “They don’t know we know, so we could wait to arrest her until Monday.”

  “I’ll need that long just to figure out how the world got so upside down,” Hudson said. “And even then, her arrest would jeopardize Cherry Tree.”

  “Maybe we announce an illness and keep her hidden for a few days? Quietly detain her? Question her?”

  “Risky. Maybe we do nothing. I’ll put it into the mix with the others tomorrow. We’ll come up with something.”

  After the call, Hudson wandered into the Oval Office. Only one dim light was on. He stood there absorbing the history of the room as he hadn’t done since his early days in the White House. Silently, the president of the United States, facing a narrowing window to save the country, called on the wisdom of his predecessors, the real John Adams, Abraham Lincoln, and Thomas Jefferson.

  What would make the vice president join NorthBridge?

  He’d picked her with no influence—or at least he thought with no influence from Vonner or Fitz. Vonner had been so furious when Hudson had named her as his running mate, the first African American vice president. He wondered if the old man had known who she really was. He doubted it. However, Booker Lipton must’ve been laughing and toasting champagne when he heard that Vonner’s boy had chosen a NorthBridge leader to be his vice president. And how had Fonda kept a straight face? He had trusted Celia Brown and believed in her, believed she was on his side. She had actually been the president during those nine minutes and for several days after the Air Force One attack. What if he had died for good? Celia Brown would’ve been the president. NorthBridge would have been in full control without ever having finished their revolution.

  Why hasn’t NorthBridge killed me? They could have so easily, and then they would have the presidency. Brown could appoint another NorthBridge member as vice president. They’d have it locked up by now.

  He looked at the Resolute Desk in the fading light and whispered, “I don’t know why I’m still alive.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Only the weekend remained before their final chance to launch Cherry Tree and tell the world the truth about the REMies.


  “We have forty-eight hours to get every last detail right,” the president said, “because Cherry Tree isn’t just going to change the future, it’s going to shatter the past and change the present reality for everyone on the planet.”

  “Especially the REMies,” Schueller said as the inner circle huddled in tense deliberations at Camp David.

  It was a particularly heavy fog that morning; everything seemed eerily still. Even with the gravity of the times, an excited anticipation permeated the air as they finally felt the time for launch was here. Still, each of them knew that every single thing had to go right for Cherry Tree to have a chance at succeeding. The president had reviewed the list of problems they had to resolve before Monday morning. Then there were the wildcards: Would the uprisings stay suppressed? What would NorthBridge do?

  The latter was made all the more unpredictable now that they knew Vice President Brown was one of the founding members of NorthBridge and a part of the terrorist group’s leadership.

  “The vice president knows about Cherry Tree?” Schueller asked.

  “Celia must be the leaker,” Melissa concluded. “She’s been undermining you all along.”

  “She’ll be expecting an update this evening,” Fitz said.

  “I agree with the Wizard,” Schueller said. “We should have a DIRT team quietly pick her up, now.”

  “Quietly arresting the vice president of the United States is not as simple as it sounds,” Dranick said.

  “Enough of this debate,” the president said. “The vice president has no idea we’re onto her. I’m scheduled to call her in about ten hours. We’ll deal with it then.”

  “And what if NorthBridge attacks in the meantime?” Melissa asked.

  “Then the vice president will be the least of our worries.”

  During the next six hours, they reviewed every aspect of Cherry Tree and made final decisions based on the latest intelligence provided by Dranick and simulations created by Gypsy. They held numerous video conferences with the Wizard and Granger about radical reforms. Progress was slow, but the looming deadline grew closer like a hooded executioner walking to the gallows.

  The pressure mounting, their deliberations grew more heated. As they discussed what America’s role would be in a post-Cherry Tree world, the tricky issue of the military rose to the fore. Fitz had just spoken about receiving some pushback from the Pentagon about closing bases and recalling troops.

  “The Pentagon doesn’t get to decide,” the president said bitterly. “The people elected me president and commander in chief of the Armed Forces. To quote George W Bush, ‘I am the decider.’”

  “Dad, I don’t think you need to bring the Bushes into this,” Schueller said. “Not in mixed company.”

  “We all know that you’re the commander-in-chief,” Fitz began, “but I think allowing the Pentagon to have a little more input wouldn’t be such a bad idea, the Secretary of Defense said as much yesterday when you met. And—”

  “Do you really think the Pentagon is going to act as fast and forcefully as we need them to?” the president asked, pacing at the window. “They’ll drag their feet until the next election or until an assassin finally gets me.”

  “Hudson, please,” Melissa said, aghast.

  “Sorry Melissa, Schueller,” the president said. “My point is this has to be done quickly, and I must act unilaterally, because otherwise it won’t happen. You know this.”

  Melissa nodded.

  “Let’s ask Enapay,” the president said. “His military background, role as DNI, and dealings with the Pentagon during the uprisings gives him special insight.”

  “Mr. President,” Dranick began. “I tend to agree with Fitz on this one. If we do the cuts too quickly, we leave ourselves vulnerable at some of the hotspots around the globe, and it will affect our foreign policy for decades. After the rise of NorthBridge and our recent domestic hostilities, I fear the timing is wrong and the outcome will be negative.” Dranick paused to gauge the president’s reaction.

  Hudson stared attentively at his friend, waiting for more.

  “At the same time,” Dranick continued, “I see a substantial drawdown of troops abroad as a good strategy both to ease the deficit and to curtail our enormous national debt.”

  “The debt is unsustainable,” Schueller said.

  “Yes,” Dranick agreed. “A drawdown also offers some stability here at home should we face renewed rioting and revolution. But I think your overall plan is too aggressive.”

  “Schueller, what do you think?” the president asked, sitting back down.

  “I’m with you, Dad. We need those troops at home to combat NorthBridge and deal with the next wave of riots and uprisings that are definitely coming. We’ve been lucky that we were able to get that under control.” Schueller had been suspicious, and even baffled by exactly how the military put down the uprisings so efficiently. He’d urged his father to appoint a committee to investigate, which he had, but those answers were a long way off. “Until we break down the rise and fall, we won’t know when, but we can be sure it will happen again. There’s too much discontent and divisiveness in the country. The REMies spent decades dividing us, and there are so many different factions of us versus them that we need all hands on deck here at home. I don’t think your plan is aggressive enough. No offence, Colonel.” Schueller nodded and smiled at Dranick, then continued. “That is to say nothing of the hundreds of billions of dollars we’re wasting overseas for no reason, and as you yourself pointed out, the military has changed a lot just in the last few years. Wherever we face threats, we can get unmanned drones and other assets to hotspots quicker to handle any situation. We don’t need all these bases and all those soldiers. They only serve the REMies. War sucks! Let’s save the money and bring them home where we need them. The Pentagon routinely ‘misplaces’ hundreds of billions of dollars. They shouldn’t be handling this—that’s like asking the fox to clean up the henhouse.”

  “Good then,” Hudson said. “Melissa, Granger, and the Wizard, also agree with me. I’m sorry Fitz and Enapay, you see it differently, but this is too important of an issue.”

  Fitz took a sip of his Coke and said, “I think it’s a mistake.”

  Dranick nodded.

  “Next topic, environmental protection agency,” the president said. “I’m going to issue an executive order that’s going to give them new authority. And Fitz, I know your reservations on this one, too, but we’ve got a couple friends in Congress to help us with this, and part of it no doubt will wind up in the Supreme Court, but by then—”

  The door suddenly burst open and seven soldiers carrying MK416 assault rifles and 9mm pistols entered the room.

  “What’s this? What’s happened?” the president asked, startled.

  “Sir, my name is Major Anthony Miller, and my orders are to place you under house arrest.”

  “What? Who ordered you?” the president asked, astonished, as he jumped to his feet.

  “Sir, unfortunately I am not at liberty to give you that information at the present time. Rest assured, no harm will come to you or your family. However, I must detain all of you here.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the president asked, not recognizing his own voice.

  Fitz stood up. “This is unbelievable.” He moved toward the soldier at the same time Schueller dashed to the door. Three soldiers immediately aimed their weapons at Fitz, one aimed at Schueller. The others kept their assault rifles trained on the president.

  “Gentlemen, please return to your seats. You will not leave this room until we have an understanding,” Major Miller said.

  Fitz and Schueller each went back to their chairs.

  “You are American soldiers, I am your commander in chief, and you will stand down immediately. I order you to put your weapons on the table and leave this room at once.”

  “No can do, sir,” the major said. “You have been relieved from duty. You are no longer the commander in chief.”

 
Chapter Seventy-One

  The president stared out the window toward the woods that surrounded the cottages at Camp David. They were in the somewhat isolated Laurel Lodge. Hudson had chosen it for the final Cherry Tree preparations for that reason, as well as its three conference rooms, kitchen, spacious dining area, and other amenities. He hadn’t expected it to become his prison.

  Dranick had walked out of the building with the other soldiers. He’d been in on it, the president brooded. How could he have done this to me? I saved his life and now he’s thrown mine away.

  Hudson could see three soldiers between him and freedom. They patrolled the open area between the lodge and the tree line. As the others spoke their outrage, voiced their concerns not just for their own safety, but for the future of the country they loved, Hudson Pound stared out the window, unwilling to submit to this outcome. He’d been through too much to panic now, but his parental instincts took hold as he worried about Florence. The soldiers refused to give him any information about her or his siblings when he asked, and their cell phones had been confiscated.

  Hudson wondered where Tarka was. Has she also been arrested? Has she somehow escaped?

  His thoughts ricocheted off the questions bouncing around the room from the others.

  What is the news reporting? How can I get word to Tarka? Did she know? Has the Wizard been arrested? Granger? How long are they going to keep us here? Where will they move us?

  “Hudson? Hudson?”

  Melissa was calling him back into the conversation. He reluctantly turned.

  “Hudson, we have to figure this out,” the first lady said.

  “How can the generals think they can get away with this?” Fitz asked.

  “Because generals always do get away with it,” Schueller said.