by Brandt Legg
“Not only that,” the president said, “but there are very few times in history that the generals leading the coup have allowed the legitimate leaders to live.”
Everyone looked at him and at each other with sober angst. They may have already had the same thoughts, but Hudson, with his boundless grasp of history, had been the first to voice it. They might be living their last hours.
“Sooner or later they’ll have to dispose of at least me,” Hudson continued. “And probably you all as well, lest there be any witnesses or anybody to contest whatever new government they have in store.” His voice trembled for an instant as his eyes swept from Melissa’s and lingered on Schueller. “For all we know, they’ve already told the public that we were killed by a NorthBridge terrorist attack or some horrible accident.”
“And that’s why the military had to step in,” Fitz said. “Because if terrorists took out the whole leadership, the executive branch, and maybe even knocked off the Speaker of the House and the others in the line of succession, then anything is possible, and the military would be justified in taking over until order can be restored.”
“So why are we still alive?” Melissa asked.
“Because it’s early yet,” Hudson said. “We probably don’t have much time.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
“We need to change the narrative,” Titus Coyne said to General Imperia as the two men walked along the deserted Vietnam Memorial. The entire National Mall area in Washington, DC had been closed off since the coup. Washington had always been a city full of power and history, but now the nation’s Capital was full of military checkpoints, barricades, guard stations, and tanks.
“That damn rabble-rouser, Thorne, is still broadcasting somehow,” General Imperia said. “It’s outrageous that we haven’t been able to shut down his signals yet. He’s feeding into this anti-government fervor.”
“The same anti-government sentiments that allowed you to take power, general.”
“Pound was going to destroy our way of life,” Imperia growled. “Might as well hand the country to the communists.”
“Preaching to the choir,” Coyne said, smiling.
Imperia continued his tirade. “Chinese, Russians, Islamic extremists . . . Pound was weak, and all he was doing was weakening us. Our system works. Greatest on earth.”
“We designed an incredible system,” Coyne agreed, “and it’s been working for more than a hundred years. People may think it’s easy having seven billion people on the planet, as if there’s plenty of everything, or they imagine there’s some better way to do everything. Sure, anything can be improved, but look how much our system has achieved. Look at the advances. I know there are people in poverty and all that, but we’re slowly cutting that down. We’re extending life expectancies—well, mostly. We’re expanding the middle class around the world. Of course, it ebbs and flows in countries like ours, but overall it’s expanding. With all that, people are still impatient. Everybody thinks there’s another, better way. Well, there is no better way, general. If there were, we’d be doing it, and I—”
“Titus, do you mind saving your speech for somebody who gives a damn?” the general said. “I’m a busy man. I’m trying to keep this nation together.”
“We all are, general. That’s why I was saying we need a new narrative. The population is still getting information from pirated radio signals; and worse, somehow they’re reaching nearly seventy percent of the population on their phones.”
“I don’t know how that’s possible, we shut down the internet.”
“Nonessential internet,” Coyne corrected. “But there’s still a lot going through, and Booker Lipton or somebody has figured out a way to get unauthorized sites and traffic through the channels.”
“Then we’ll just shut off the cell phones,” the general said.
“Things are already shaky enough,” Coyne said, momentarily distracted by all the names of the dead on the wall. “It’s going to be hard enough to put things back together as it is, but we have to keep the country running. The economy will take years, probably decades, to recover from this. I don’t want to put it all in the toilet just because we can’t figure out a way to control what the people think, so I’m proposing we get our own agitators out there. We send in people who claim to be against the temporary military occupation of the government and we have them shift the narrative, move people’s opinions in our direction slowly, subtly. Meanwhile, we work on jamming NorthBridge and find that dead man—Thorne.”
“Sounds like the beginnings of a plan. I think it would be a good idea to use this opportunity to seize Booker Lipton’s assets.”
“That’s a touchy one,” Coyne said. “I’d like nothing more than to see just that. However, if people start seeing the military taking over nonstrategic properties, they’ll think their homes are next.”
“Hell, Booker Lipton’s got nothing but strategic assets,” the general said. “He’s a threat to our democracy.”
Coyne raised an eyebrow as if to say, And we aren’t? “Let’s put together a list of what we can do and get the boys over at the NSA to figure out how he’s hijacked the cell networks and where that information is coming from.”
“Each day is precious,” General Imperia said. “As you know, there are hundreds of millions of guns out there. I don’t want more guerilla fights in the streets than we’ve already got. Each day NorthBridge attracts more and more followers. Already people are saying they were right all along.”
“Not everyone. Lots of people blame NorthBridge for the military having to step in since Pound couldn’t keep things under control.”
“Not enough of them know,” the general said. “These are revolutionary times, and we just ceded that energy. People have less patience now. The changes come, and if things don’t get better, they’ll make another change even faster.”
“Then we don’t need Pound anymore, or the vice president,” Coyne said with a firm nod. “Okay?”
General Imperia nodded, a smile forming on his lips. “I understand.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
The vice president had been in her West Wing office when the soldiers came. They quickly cordoned off the West Wing into four sections, leaving her detained with one other man, one of the president’s senior aides who had been working the weekend to provide support to the president and his team at Camp David. The two of them were allowed to move to the southwest quadrant of the West Wing, which included the Chief of Staff’s office (vacant since Fitz was at Camp David), the aide’s office, and the vice president’s office, along with a few other unoccupied rooms, a storage closet, and a restroom. Guards were posted outside the hall leading to the National Security Adviser’s office, the two doors to the outside, and the hall leading to the Oval Office.
They told her only that the president had been arrested and that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was now in charge. When she demanded more information, she was informed that General Imperia would be there at five p.m. to brief her. Thirty minutes after the takeover, she took the aide into her confidence and told him she had a way out, but needed him to remain.
“I’ll be back for that meeting,” she said. “Be ready to go.”
He nodded, too stunned to question her about anything.
A few minutes later, she was down in the tunnels. The president had showed her a secret entrance between the Chief of Staff’s office and hers. It had long been concealed after several renovations, and involved some tricky maneuvering in the back of a closet to reach. The steps down were narrow and creaky, but solid.
From there, she made her way through the tunnels, and after a series of unmanned security electronic doors, for which her passcode gave entrance, she made it to the Treasury Building and reached Booker on a landline.
“It’s a coup,” he told her. “Full military takeover. Well planned.”
“Damn it, they did it!” she said. “Is the president okay?”
“We’re still trying to find out
,” Booker said. “Either way, our next move must be perfect or we’ll be in an all-out war.”
“Neither side can win that.”
“We knew the uprisings were only the first step to this. It gave them perfect cover to blanket troops across the country with no objections. They were welcomed in most cities. And it was an easy leap to install military officers at all levels.”
“And, as expected, they’re blaming it all on us,” she said. “Have they implemented Beta-Pi?” she asked, trying to figure out if her plan could work.
“Not yet, which means they’re getting little resistance, but that will change, and within a few days we’ll no doubt hear the media announcing that we’ve unleashed a bioweapon. Viruses will be detected wherever they’re having trouble subduing the population.”
“Has Congress been dismissed?”
“They’re calling it a ‘temporary suspension’,” Booker said, and then read from the Pentagon’s official declaration: “‘Entire Constitution on hold until we eradicate NorthBridge from our country. When that mission is accomplished, the Constitution will be restored, and new elections held.’”
“New elections?” the vice president asked.
“Yes, because you and President Pound were killed by NorthBridge agents today.”
“I see,” she said, knowing she did not have long to live. She told Booker her plan.
“It could work, assuming we get through security at the entrance . . . but that’s doable,” Booker said. “Still, why don’t we get you out of there? I can have someone get to you in fifteen minutes, and we have ways around the checkpoints.”
“No, I want to do this,” she said.
“You’re not an operative.”
“No, I’m the vice president of the United States, and until we know the fate of the president, I am the acting president. The REMies may have rigged the system, and America may only be a part of their empire, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let them take it.”
Booker was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he finally said. “Sit tight. I can get a package to you in less than an hour. That will give you plenty of time to make the delivery. Celia . . . are you sure?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But AKA Adams is positive.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
The president, first lady, Schueller, Fitz, and several aides, sat around the conference table at Laurel Lodge, all in a state of shock. Two Secret Service agents, having been relieved of their weapons and communications devices, sat by the window, continuing to search for ways to fulfill their assignment of protecting the president.
“I never could have guessed that Dranick would have helped orchestrate a coup in America,” the president said. “Let alone betray me.”
“He said that his actions might not immediately make sense, but that eventually they would be understood,” Melissa said. “Do you think it’s possible he thinks he’s somehow helping you?”
“How is this helping anything?” Schueller asked.
“I have no idea,” the president said.
“He said that as he was walking out of the room with the soldiers who are holding us here,” Fitz said. “I think he was attempting to prevent one of us from taking a swing at him.”
“Maybe,” the president said. “Dranick is a tough guy. I don’t think all of us combined could take him.”
“I’d like to take a shot at him,” Agent Bond said from across the room. “If you’ll excuse my intrusion.”
Hudson smiled for the first time since they’d been arrested. “I stand corrected, 007. I have no doubts that you could handle the colonel.” His smile faded. “But right now, I can’t think about it. Nothing matters more than defeating this coup, reestablishing democracy, and restoring the duly elected president.”
“Hell yes!” Schueller said.
“I have sworn to uphold the Constitution,” Hudson said. “What the soldiers and their superior officers have done here today is unconstitutional. There’s no excuse for their actions, and no reason good enough for what Colonel Dranick has done.”
Two soldiers entered the building carrying a brick-sized black box. “Sir, we have a phone call for you.”
They all looked at Hudson. He shrugged. “Apparently someone knows I’m alive.”
The icy voice of General Imperia was unmistakable as it came over the speaker. “Hello, Hudson. Of course I know you’re alive. I’m the one who’s keeping it that way.”
“Imperia, I should have known,” Hudson said, seething, as if trying to find a way inside the black box to strangle the general. “Have you forgotten this is America?”
“Save your patriotic history lesson, Hudson. I’m preventing the country from enduring any more of your incompetence.”
“That’s not how it works!”
“Really? It seems to be working just fine,” General Imperia said. “Although, San Francisco is proving to be a hassle. I’ve tried to keep casualties down, but you left people with the impression that the military was weak.”
“Do you think the public is just going to—”
“That’s the reason for my call,” Imperia said. “One of my officers will be bringing around a document I’d like you to sign. It’s an admission of your inability to govern during this crisis, and a statement that you have voluntarily relinquished control to the military until NorthBridge is defeated.”
“I’ll never do that,” Hudson said bitterly. “Maybe you should ask Colonel Dranick to sign it.”
“Fine. Later you’ll recall this as another one of your great mistakes. Meanwhile, I’ll be in charge and doing what you couldn’t: protecting the American people.”
“Protecting? You’re murdering people!”
“In times of war, it’s not called murder. I’m fighting the enemy.”
“That’s what the Nazis said.”
“Do you know how many lives we’ll save if we stop NorthBridge now? Something you were unable to do.”
“That’s how Truman justified dropping the atomic bomb on civilians.”
“History proved him right.”
“Only the history we wrote—that doesn’t make it true,” Hudson said. “Tell me, why did he have to drop the second bomb, then?”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s my point.”
“A debate for another day,” General Imperia said. “This is a revolution.”
“A revolution you are leading!” Hudson yelled.
“No. No, I’m stopping the revolution you allowed. A few more days, and NorthBridge would be occupying our cities.”
“Instead you’re doing it. You’re power mad.”
“No, don’t paint me a villain,” General Imperia said. “I can’t make you understand this, but the future of our country is at stake if we allow you to continue down this path.”
“My God, who put you in charge?”
“The United States Army and God.”
“You’re a sanctimonious tyrant, Imperia. It wasn’t God or the Army—the REMies made you! You’re nothing but an errand boy for the elites, and you don’t even realize that you’re already dead, because when the dust settles, the REMies will need someone to blame for mishandling the situation, and that’s you. I’ve seen this before. You have the two great traits of a fall guy—you know too much, and you’re dumb enough to believe you’re important to the boss.”
“We’ll see about that, Hudson. Your arrogance is amusing . . . that you somehow think I won’t be at your funeral—”
“You’ve threatened me in front of witnesses.”
General Imperia guffawed a laugh. “Oh, there won’t be any witnesses.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
After the call with Imperia, the mood in the room turned desperate and depressed. Each of them knew at any moment the soldiers could return to execute them.
“No one thinks this can ever happen in America,” Fitz said. “Vonner always said, ‘At any given time, we are only three days away from the end of the world as w
e know it.’ But everyone just pretends it’ll always be this way. One bullet, one nuke, one virus, one natural disaster, one mad man . . . ”
“One conspiracy,” Hudson finished.
“Exactly,” Fitz said.
“But there’s always a way,” Agent Bond said.
“Do you have an idea?” one of the aides asked.
007 shook his head. “Not yet, but there is a way. We just have to find it.”
“We’re smarter than they are,” Melissa said. “We need to get word to the outside world. The Wizard, Granger . . . ”
“Booker, Fonda,” Hudson added.
“Would they help us?” another aide asked.
“I bet they would,” Schueller said. “They hate the REMies more than we do.”
“I know they would,” the president said.
“But how can we reach them?”
“Maybe there’s a way.”
“We’ve already talked about trying to escape,” Schueller said. “It’s way too risky. Even if by some miracle we could get past all the soldiers, we don’t know what’s going on out there, and how do we get transportation?”
“No, nothing like that,” the president said. “But we need to get them to move us to another building.”
After huddling with Fitz, Schueller, Melissa, and Bond, the president asked his other aides to trust him.
“It’s better if you don’t know the plan.”
They were all members of his inner circle. They knew the stakes, and agreed.
Soon, one of the Secret Service agents went to the door and asked the soldiers if they could be moved to Aspen Lodge or Holly Cabin—the only other two single buildings large enough to accommodate the group. The soldiers came in and inspected and found that the agent had been telling the truth. The heat was no longer working in the lodge, and with snow on the ground and outside temperatures already in the twenties, the drafty lodge was no longer comfortable, and definitely wouldn’t be adequate overnight.
