The murderer of 15,106 Americans opened a manila folder. Inside were his orders: capture the capital—Austin, Texas. He smiled at the notion of a complete mobilization of forces. They hadn’t a clue of the onslaught that would occur. The American administration would fall to its knees. The government crumbling in ruins, a new one would grow from the rubble, and he would rise to the top.
Dressed in a green camouflage combat uniform, he entered the corridor and walked toward the mess hall. Cement dust from the ceiling hit his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and frowned at the powder on his hand. Men flowed into the hallway. He tried to understand the screams of his soldiers. Are we being attacked? Impossible. A fissure appeared in the solid cement ceiling. What the hell? The bunker shook as he fell to the floor. A four-foot piece of concrete landed on top of his legs. He screamed in agony as the left femoral shaft ripped its way through the thigh muscle and exited the skin above the knee.
A hole erupted in the wall followed by five feet of the GBU-57 bomb. He struggled through his pain to free himself. In punishing slow motion, he saw the explosion. First, he felt the flying metal pierce his body, followed by intense heat as the flames engulfed him. In an instant, his flesh was obliterated and his soul sent to hell in retribution for the innocents he’d slaughtered.
Chapter 43
Giacomo awoke to the sound of the door opening. Startled, he jumped out of bed.
“Hello, handsome.”
“Em . . . what time is it?”
“That’s the best you can say?”
“Sorry.” He walked to his wife, the mother-to-be, and tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek at his advance.
“No kisses until you brush your teeth.”
“Turn on the TV, will ya?”
A few minutes later, Emily appeared in the bathroom doorway. Giacomo finished shaving and wiped his face with a white hand towel. “What’s going on?”
“You need to see this.”
He placed the cloth by the sink, grabbed his cell phone, and followed his wife. It was three o’clock in the afternoon—nine in the morning in the States. He had four voicemails.
The headlines sped across the bottom of the screen: Thousands die as American bombers thrash the US countryside. The video images showed massive explosions as aerial bombs destroyed the landscape. Husband and wife held hands as they sat on the couch.
“This is unbelievable, Giacomo. The size of those craters?”
Giacomo recognized them right away. “Bunker buster bombs.”
“What are they?”
“They destroy underground facilities. That hole—two miles in diameter. This is surreal . . .”
“How could this happen?”
“I don’t know, Em. I mean . . .” Giacomo was shocked by the carnage, the destruction. His mind filled with theories. He heard Emily’s mumbled words, but his brain was unable to process them. Instead, he floated in and out of reality. He tried to recall what his father had said. Who can I trust? How am I being deceived? Could Rio really be behind this? Emily punched his arm; Giacomo turned with a stern gaze and said, “What? What? Damn it, Em.”
“Giacomo, what is wrong with you?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” He pounded his fist on the wall. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. The dead, the hurt, the pain. Em . . . what have we done?” Giacomo noticed her puzzled, distraught expression.
“Calm down, Giacomo.” She rose from the couch and approached him. “I don’t understand. What have we done?”
His hands covered his face as he drew them to his chin and then folded his arms across his chest.
“My father knew. Hell, so did I . . . but I didn’t do enough.”
“What could you do?” She reached over and turned the television off. “Your father’s words always came true. You can’t stop what’s inevitable.”
“So, we sit here and do nothing?”
“No. You’ll figure out what to do. Your father said it wouldn’t be easy—hard choices to make.”
“Do you realize our government attacked its own people, Em?”
“I’m sure the president had no choice. Giacomo, the terrorists are trying to destroy the country. What options did he have?”
The cell phone rang.
“Pronto,” Giacomo answered. “Hi, Andrew. Yeah, I’m fine. Little shaken up over what’s going on in the States. What?” He beckoned his wife with a wave. “The news reports are saying Rio financed the FFB.”
Emily switched the TV back on.
His cell phone chirped. “Andrew, got another call. We’ll talk later.”
The TV screen came alive with his sister’s picture in the upper right corner. “Yes, Alessio . . . thanks for the heads-up.” He hung up and stared at the TV for a moment, incensed.
“I can’t watch this. Boyle, that bitch, may she rot in hell.”
“Giacomo, calm down. You and I both know Rio was not involved.”
He turned his back and walked to the windows. “Honey, come on. Let’s take a walk. You need some fresh air.”
Giacomo felt the touch of his wife’s hand on his back and jerked away from her.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go. I can’t take this anymore.”
Husband and wife took the elevator to the hotel lobby. They entered the reception area, where they were met by Alessio and two of his men.
“Giacomo.” Alessio gave Emily the customary European kiss on either cheek.
“Alessio, what are you doing here?”
“Thought you might need my help with . . . the problem outside.”
“Damn. I forgot you even called.” Giacomo answered Emily’s questioning face. “News media.”
“They’re waiting for you in front of the hotel.”
“Damn it. How did they find out I was here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Alessio responded.
“Emily, you up for this?”
“Up for what?”
“We’re not gonna run away from this. Let’s go meet the press.”
Alessio’s men stood on either side of Giacomo. Emily was behind her husband. Major news networks from around the world had positioned their cameras outside the hotel. The reporters shouted their questions as they moved closer. The polizia tried their best to keep them back.
“Mr. DeLaurentis, are you involved in the attempt to overthrow your government?”
“Did your sister finance the FFB?”
“As a general in the American military, why aren’t you home defending your country?”
The questions continued to pound Giacomo. He listened without answering. How he wished he was anywhere but Rome. But where could he hide? “Keep a low profile,” his father had always said. Damn it, Rio. Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut? His anger surged. Emily touched his shoulder. He held up his hands. The questions stopped. The silence was interrupted only by the sound of the digital camera shutters.
“I love my country and am saddened at the horrific terrorist attacks on the United States. I unequivocally deny the allegations made against my sister.”
“General, Senator Boyle said she has proof your sister, Rio, helped finance the FFB,” an Italian reporter shouted.
“Where’s the proof?”
“So, you deny it?”
“How easy it is to blame the dead.”
“Sir, are you afraid to go back to your country?”
“Why should I be afraid? I did nothing wrong. The president and I spoke on the day of the attack. There are no issues.”
“So, why do you remain in Italy?”
“This is where our president wants me to be. Thank you for your time.”
A wedge of eight body-armored police officers made a pathway to the car. The doors shut. The vehicle inched forward through the crowd.
Giacomo’s face flexed in anger. He tried to control his irritation as his heart pounded. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Hello, Andrew . . . yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I need your help. Do you have an empty apartment in Vatican City?”
Emily whispered, “What are you doing?”
Giacomo held up his hand for her to be quiet. “Thanks, Andrew. Em and I will see you soon.”
Chapter 44
Two Days Later
The world was in shock. Condolences from around the globe poured in at the loss of American lives. In joint statements, the leaders of all the religious faiths united in condemning the deplorable actions of the terrorists and called for peace and unity. Countries that were once enemies extended helping hands.
After the capture of Kahn’s headquarters, First Sergeant Edward Gaines and his men were dispatched to San Antonio and stationed at what was once the River Walk. Three days earlier a thriving tourist area, it was now a mass of rubble. Their mission was to protect the people while they sought out the enemy. Gaines traversed the darkened streets. Another half hour and the sun would begin to rise. An aerial drone circled overhead.
Daylight began to cast its shadows. Crumbled hotels with blown-out windows highlighted the horizon. Black soot lingered on nearby rocks. To his right, he saw a cordoned-off section and a memorial of flowers with candles, the melted wax spread across the pavement as if frozen in time. All lay tribute to the 15,106 Americans who died in the three-block area he patrolled.
Gaines spotted two men escaping the dark cover of a half-destroyed building. They carried a blue cooler with a white top. The BOET member used the infrared monocle over his left eye to scan the container. He came to a sudden stop.
“Freeze, gentlemen!” Gaines held his M-16 carbine at his shoulder, the red laser light focused on the forehead of one of the men.
An expletive erupted from the other man as he reached for a gun. With a quick motion to his right, the rifle popped—the insurgent left for dead. The sergeant refocused his sight on the chest of the other man, who urinated in his pants.
“I won’t run, I promise—please don’t shoot me.”
“Gaines at section four-one-seven. One insurgent dead, one captured. Explosive response team needed.”
His headset squawked. “On the way.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gaines and his commander, Captain Haysmith, met outside the operations center. “That’s the forty-fifth American traitor we’ve captured since yesterday, Hulk. Excellent job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The ground rumbled. The side of an office building crumbled. Dust flew into the air.
“What the hell?”
“Relax, First Sergeant. One of ours—a GBU-57. We’re still cleaning up north.”
“We’re not going through that again, are we?”
“No.” Captain Haysmith pulled his phone out of his pocket. He clicked on the gallery app.
Gaines swiped through the photos. His eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Looks like an asteroid impact. No wonder the buildings shook. How many sites?”
“Twenty-three underground cities.”
Gaines shook his head. “May I ask a question, sir?”
The captain nodded.
“What’s happened to our country? Our own people are attacking us.”
“I don’t know, Sergeant. We were the land of the free. Now? Shit—I don’t know what the hell we are. That bastard over there and his friends—they think they can run the government better.”
“They should live in Afghanistan. A friend told me once that the reason the grass is greener on the other side is because it is fertilized with bullshit.”
The captain made an unintelligible remark and then said, “Well, First Sergeant, headquarters verified that we have either captured or killed these bastards. The intelligence you gathered provided the names of the enemy. Those two are the last of the San Antonio Fighters for Freedom Brigade. You’ll be transferred to a BOET base in Virginia. Washington reports we eradicated the Islamic fundamentalists. Our job is finished here.”
* * *
Vatican City
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Giacomo, I’m not mad at you. It just drives me crazy when you make decisions without discussing them.”
“We need a place where we’ll be protected. What better place than here in Vatican City?”
“Well, you’re right on that account. Remember, the pope will be our neighbor.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“Come on, Giacomo. It’s funny. And you’d better watch your language and forget about making love.”
“Really?”
“I’m going to visit with your mother. Are you going to the office?”
“Yes, the computer wiring and satellite hookup was completed yesterday. I’m totally operational here.”
“Operational? Sounds like the military. Remember where you are, Giacomo.”
“Yes, dear. The pope blah, blah, blah.”
“Giacomo!”
“Sorry.”
“You should visit your sister. You haven’t seen her since we moved in here.”
“I will. I promise.”
Giacomo loved his wife’s smile, but not only was the world going to hell, he also needed to make sure he could keep her safe while he focused on exonerating his sister. He was convinced that Senator Boyle was involved in the smear campaign against Rio. His gut told him the legislator was corrupt. What did Dad say? “Trust your instincts.” He needed Waldron’s permission to pursue Boyle. It would be a hard sell. The plan firmly formed in his mind, he would discuss it with the president today.
Chapter 45
Giacomo opened the conference room door. Sergio sat in the corner by the fresco of the Last Supper. The former Italian prime minister connected the satellite cables through the black VPN box provided by Alessio.
“How’re we doing, Sergio?”
“All done.”
Giacomo sat in one of the brown leather chairs. He reached for the secure satellite phone. He reviewed his notes as he dialed the access code for Waldron.
“Mr. President.”
“Hello, Giacomo. I got your email. Tom and I were just discussing your plan.”
“Good morning, Tom.”
“Giacomo, I’m concerned about your course of action.”
“I understand, Tom. Mr. President?”
“I appreciate where Tom is coming from. I don’t care whose personal privacy we invade.” Giacomo heard Waldron pound his fist. “I want these bastards out of here.”
“Arthur, if you authorize this and it fails, your presidency is doomed.”
“I don’t care, Tom. My presidency was doomed from the start. We need proof, and we need it today. This betrayal of our Constitution has got to stop.”
Giacomo moved the satellite phone from his ear as the president yelled. He visualized Waldron’s red face and the protruding vein on his forehead as he continued his angry discourse.
“Boyle is involved. I guarantee you the senator is not the only one. She’s a traitor to the American people. Am I correct, General?”
“Yes, sir. I believe she is. With your approval, I can investigate her without the eyes of the government looking over my shoulder. I’d do this on my own if we weren’t at war.”
“Strong statement, Giacomo.”
“I don’t care.” Giacomo tried to stay calm. No use in two angry people screaming. “There are two issues: our government nearly collapsed, and my sister has been accused of financing the FFB. I cannot accept that. Neither should you. Boyle is behind the overthrow.”
“Giacomo, I too am troubled that our congressional leaders could be a part of this. But the laws of this country protect our citizens from having their privacy invaded without due process.”
“Due
process? Was there any due process given to the thousands of American citizens who lost their lives this week? We must find these sons of bitches, and if Giacomo can catch these traitors with his drones, then let it happen. Let me be very clear—when we find them and discover the truth, I will cut them off at the knees.”
“Giacomo, when are you going to start?”
“As soon as Arthur says yes.”
“Permission granted, General. How much time do you need?”
“A couple of days.”
The phone line went dead.
Giacomo adjusted the white louvered shade on the window, peeking through the slats to peruse the Vatican Gardens. He was anxious for the intel report from Jason. Any moment now.
“How was the conversation?”
“Loud and angry. The pressure is getting to him. Kinda surprised at Maro’s privacy comments. He’s probably right.” Giacomo didn’t elaborate. His cell phone chimed to alert him that the email from Jason had arrived.
“Sergio, is the drone in place?”
“Yes. Your BOET men are with it now.”
The quadrotor reconnaissance vehicle was new to Giacomo’s arsenal. The flying machine measured five feet square by two feet high. On its base, a translucent domed apparatus housed an array of surveillance gear. A transmitter issued discreet signals from the pilot station to a geosynchronous satellite back to the remote-controlled aircraft. What set this drone apart from the others was the equipment it carried, its software, and its ability to silently hover in one place for seventy-two hours.
Giacomo transferred Jason’s email to the computer. The captured list of ninety-two telephone numbers appeared on the screen. He typed a command, tapped the enter key, and the figures were downloaded to the server. Next, Giacomo uploaded the individual photos of the congressional body, their staff, and assistants. He had only one shot. He hoped his plan would work.
The Third Trumpet Page 14
