by Joseph Nagle
The President spoke, “CPL York, I presume that you heard everything. If Dr. Sterling has any ability to stop this, he has less than four minutes! He is the only one that can stop two-hundred million people from losing their lives! York, we need him! It is up to you to guide him!”
The President’s words did not just weigh heavy on York, they crushed him. His thoughts were pandemonium. His body went cold and the lump in his throat doubled in size. The only thing he could say in response to the President was, “Yes, sir!” It wasn’t a convincing reply.
CPT Scott stood behind the Corporal. He put his hand on the young man’s shoulder as if to say, you can do this. York looked at the Captain and just nodded.
On the screens at the front of the CORe Center, both soldiers could see the thermal outline of Dr. Sterling in the street.
CPL York tried to speak. He opened his mouth, but all that he could do was will the CIA Officer to move as nothing came out. He fought hard for his words. His lips moved to form words. Still, nothing came out.
What the hell is wrong with you, speak God damn it! York thought.
“Dr. Sterling, can you hear me?” York’s voice was on the verge of going hoarse as he yelled out to Michael. Michael didn’t respond, but York didn’t stop trying.
“Professor! Professor!”
“Yes, Corporal, I can hear you. There is no need to shout.” The sound of Michael’s voice rang sweet throughout both NORAD and the Oval Office. Both York and the President let out loud sighs of relief, albeit temporary.
“Sir, you have to get moving! Iran just launched! You need to do something and you need to do it now. You have less than four minutes!”
Two men from the small crowd around Michael helped him to his feet.
“Go down Matteo, the street is right in front of you. I still have him tagged. He is in a building at the end of the street; it’s only one block away! Go!”
The moment the command left York’s lips, Michael bolted through the startled crowd and down Via Matteo Boiardo. Fueled by the threat on millions of innocent lives, including his wife’s, he ran faster than he thought possible and ignored the aches in his leg, shoulder and, now, in his head.
“The building is in front of you! On the second floor! Head up those stairs and take a right, he’s in the room at the end of the hall!”
On the twenty-eight stairs of the Scala Sancta, were a number of Catholics that prayed while on their knees. Michael ran over them and didn’t think once about the blasphemy he had just committed. The Colonel’s weapon was in his hand and pointed at the door. There was no time for stealth. He jumped through the air and planted both feet into the door exploding it from its brass hinges.
He rolled on the floor and into the chamber to the amazement of the Primitus and the surprise of his guards. Every laser mounted on top of each weapon that was in the room moved in his direction. The lasers were followed by a rain of bullets.
On his back, he fired two shots; each bullet entered the throat of two of the men closest to him. Springing to his feet, three more expertly placed shots found their marks, and three more men lay dead. The sixth man started to fire and Michael dove behind a large white marble statue, pieces of which exploded from the barrage of bullets.
He looked around the statue and saw Geoffrey rising from his chair with his weapon raised. Michael looked at him dead in his eyes and fired, “That was for my wife you piece of shit!” Geoffrey fell to his knees and then onto his face. The bullet had pierced his heart.
“Wait! Wait a minute! Stop firing!” The Primitus was screaming.
Michael didn’t move. He slowly peered once more from around the statue; the last remaining guard stood in front of the Primitus. He used his body as a human shield.
On the floor and near him he saw, the clearly dead, Deputy Director Ron Willis. Michael recalled the incoming message on the Shadow. That son of a bitch, he’s the one who ordered the attack on my wife! He sent me home to set me up!
In his ear, the President shouted, “Dr. Sterling, what the hell is going on!”
Michael didn’t answer but York did, “Sir, the Professor has found the man with the codes. There was a gunfight and he dropped six of them. There are three other men still alive in the room, one of them looks hurt!”
“Dr. Sterling? It is you, isn’t it?” The Primitus had an ease in his voice, “Please stand up; you have no reason to be concerned. My man will not shoot.”
With trepidation, Michael stood with his weapon trained on the two men. Once on his feet he faced square with the two men.
“He may not shoot but I will!” Michael fired; he was not in a patient mood. The bullet hit the guard in the center of his forehead. Instantly, his body went limp; the dead man slumped to the floor.
The Primitus was stunned and threw his hands up into the air, “It is too late, Dr. Sterling! The missiles have flown and you can not kill me!”
Michael walked with a purpose to the man. Each step brought a recognition that flowed through him, “I know you! You are a Cardinal; the fucking primus inter pares!”
The Primitus was right, Michael couldn’t kill him.
The Primitus smiled, and said, “The first among equals; we choose our own names.”
“You have to stop those missiles, this is madness!”
“Dr. Sterling, stopping them is something that I will not do. This time is long overdue. One day you will see why this was so necessary. Our world needs new leadership; it needs a new beginning.”
“And you think that you are that new leadership?”
“Of course.”
Michael hit him in the temple with the butt of his gun knocking the Primitus out cold. He had no desire for a futile conversation. There wasn’t time.
A weak laugh was coming from the chair. Michael looked at the man but couldn’t believe what he saw. To his left was the dead body of Geoffrey. In the leather chair, and from where the laughter derived, was a ghost.
The ghost spoke, “You may not be able to kill him, but you can knock him out cold, is that it, Michael? You have always had a way with people.” The ghost laughed harder.
Michael could not speak.
The ghost stared back at him through his one blue and one black eye. Yousef stopped laughing and said, “I knew you could do it, Michael. That’s why I came for you. You were the only one that could give me what I needed; you were the only one that could decode the riddle.”
“Two minutes, Professor!” CPL York’s frantic reminder brought his focus back to center.
Michael raised his weapon, “You are dead!” He pulled the trigger over and over again. Yousef winced. The metallic click of the falling hammer on the empty chamber surprised both men. Michael had used all seven remaining bullets.
“I guess you are wrong. I still live.”
Michael felt a pain run through his body as everything became clear. He thought of the photo that Jimmy had shown him when they were at the safe house. It had been a man with a long beard and hair, with eyes of two different colors. He had recognized the face then but couldn’t place where he had seen it. Now he knew why.
“You are the Security Leader of Hezbollah; the assassin was your man! You had the Ayatollah killed and drug me all the way to Syria just to give me that book. Director Willis wouldn’t give you his half of the codes for the guidance system would he? I was the only one in the CIA that you could get close to; that you knew would be able to decode it. You and Willis were trying to take control of The Order, but you turned on him, didn’t you! You wanted control for yourself!”
General Diedrick and the President stared at one another shocked at the sound of, Deputy Director of the CIA, Ron Willis’s name being spoken.
“Very good, Michael,” Yousef said. “If I could clap at your display of brilliance I would.” Yousef held up his blackened stump, “But as you can see that would be a bit difficult given my current predicament.”
“But you died in the mosque! I was there, I saw you die!”
“It was nothing but theatrics, Michael, cheap Hollywood tricks. No more difficult to accomplish than it is to wear contact lenses, a wig, and a beard.”
Then it struck Michael, the Primitus had said it.
Looking at Yousef with pure hate, Michael said, “You choose your own names. Alaina always called you her “Angel Joseph”; I thought it was just an English translation of your name. I thought that your middle name meant Angel but it has another meaning doesn’t it? Malak also translates to messenger. You are the fucking Messenger!”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be figuring that out now?”
The Corporal’s voice was so loud it stung Michael’s ear, “Professor, one minute! You have one minute before the US responds!”
Michael picked up the XM8 from the floor. He looked at Yousef and yelled to him, “Say good night you fucking one-handed, freaky-eyed hobbit!”
Like his wife had done to Chris, Michael slammed the butt of the weapon into Yousef’s forehead. Unlike Sonia, his had a far more reaching effect. Yousef’s forehead split open and the impact knocked him unconscious. Michael hung the weapon around his body and went to the laptop. On its screen he saw the flight path of the missiles.
“I have access to the guidance system mainframe, putting the codes in now.”
The President wasn’t the only man to hold his breath.
Michael tapped expertly on the keyboard making sure he didn’t miss one number. The first code was accepted.
“First code accepted,” Michael said.
He put in the second code.
The computer responded, “ERROR! INCORRECT CODE!”
“What the hell?” Michael typed in the code again.”
He received the same message.
“It won’t take the second code!”
The President’s focus was broken by a tap on his shoulder. General Diedrick pointed to the clock on the wall. The second hand was moving past the top of the dial, “Sir, we have run out of time.”
“Dr. Sterling, this is the President. I have no choice but to respond to the threat.”
“No, Mr. President! Don’t do it – Iran isn’t behind this! They are innocent! Give me more time!”
“Dr. Sterling, I am afraid that I have no other option. Forty-eight nuclear warheads are on their way to the United States. They were launched from Iranian soil and are on Iranian Rockets. You will have as much time as it will take for our missiles to hit Iran. Dr. Sterling if you have any hopes of ending this you will need to get control of those missiles!”
The President turned to his staff; together they all nodded as they authenticated the codes for a full-scale nuclear strike.
“General, send those codes to the 6th and 7th Fleets. Get the 5th Fleet the hell out of the Persian Gulf! I authorize a nuclear counter-attack on Iran. Use all weapons available; fire at will!”
After he uttered his commands, the President of the United States fell into the chair behind the Resolute; he was no longer the President: he was a man shattered. All he could do was hope.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The Response
The Mediterranean
Aboard the USS Arizona, Captain Savage stared over the guardrail and at the waters of the Mediterranean. The sea was unusually calm, not that it would have mattered; the large carrier would not have been affected if the normally choppy waves had been there. In his hand was an unfiltered Camel, a nasty habit he picked up twenty years back in Bangkok; he was down to two cigarettes a day, but that would soon change.
Over the loudspeaker, a loud siren wailed and surprised him and every other sailor on the carrier’s deck. Startled, he mouthed the Bowdlerization, “What in the Sam Hill?” He threw the cigarette butt to the deck and smashed it into the metal and then turned toward the island. Two officers were running toward him.
“Sir, we’ve received a priority message from Headquarters!” The young Lieutenant handed the message to the Captain. Across its top it was marked: “Classified.” He scanned the message, but couldn’t finish; the young officer that delivered the classified message yelled out, “SIOP Protocols, sir! We are at DEFCON 1!”
DEFCON 1?
The Captain finished reading. He looked at both men and ordered, “Get all hands to their assigned stations. Make it fucking happen now!”
Both shouted out in unison, “Aye-aye, Sir!”
Beneath the waters of the Mediterranean, and with the mission to protect the USS Arizona, Captain Theodore “Teddy” Lowe of the USS Missouri sat in his unassuming Captain’s chair. Always small for his age, the chair swallowed the curly-haired man in it. (He was called the “toy poodle” by his men, but behind his back.) He was tired and hadn’t moved from his post since the Fleet had gone to DEFCON 3, now elevated to DEFCON 1. The dark circles under his eyes declared his tired state, but his demeanor reflected control, a trait his men admired. In his hand was the same Priority message that Captain Savage of the USS Arizona had just seen.
As Captain of the boat – his submarine – what he would order his men to do next had no room for errors. Calmly, he ordered the XO of the boat to sound the alert. He handed the message to his right-hand man and then removed the chain hanging from around his neck. On it was a small key. He ordered the XO, “Put the authentication sequence in and then meet me at the box.”
The “box” was a small reinforced safe, and was black in color. Stored inside of it were the counter-authentication codes to the ones that he had just received. It takes two keys to open the box, one of which hangs around the XO’s neck. The other key was held firmly in the Captain’s hand.
He stood and walked to the box; the XO followed ten seconds later.
The Captain inserted his key and turned.
The XO did the same.
Reaching inside, the XO pulled out a small red index card and handed it to the Captain. On it were a series of letters and numbers.
From the Priority Message the XO read aloud, “Alpha Charlie One One Niner.”
The Captain scanned the card for a moment and then replied, “Confirmed – Alpha Charlie One One Niner. I authenticate; Bravo Delta One Zero Four.”
The two men looked at one another as the rest of the crew breathlessly waited for their orders. The first half of the authentication code received from Headquarters was on the index card. The Captain verified it and then read back the second half to the XO.
The XO verified it. The authentication code on the Priority message was real.
The Captain’s steely eyes didn’t blink and his order was quite clear, “Initiate launch sequence on my mark.”
Every bone in the XO’s body wanted him to stand steadfast. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to be the man known in history as having started a nuclear war. He hesitated slightly. His Captain saw this.
The Captain repeated the order, this time louder, “On my mark!”
The XO bolted to the command center behind him. He inserted a second key from his chain into a depressed keyhole on the terminal. He unlocked the small Plexiglas box and lifted it. A small red button automatically illuminated. He looked at his leader and said, “Ready, Captain!”
“In: three, two, one, mark!”
On the word mark, the XO pressed the button.
On the surface of the Mediterranean, and just moments prior, Captain Savage had finished the same series of steps. Both Captains – unknown to one another – sat in their respective Captain’s chairs; both quietly hoped for the order to recall the weapons.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Yousef’s Reckoning
Rome, Italy
For a moment, Michael stood numb. Lying slumped in the leather chair in front of him was the dead Monsignor. Unconscious and behind him lay the Primitus – the Primus inter Pares: the first Cardinal among equals – and the leader of The Order. Also dead, on the other side of the room, was the Deputy Director of the CIA. Together, all of these men had conspired to start a nuclear war between the US and Iran, and the nuclear
tipped missiles were now in the air.
At NORAD, Corporal York stared at the large screens at the front of the CORe Center. He stared at the thermal image of the Professor. He stared at an image that was frozen in place.
“Professor, what now?” York’s words snapped Michael to attention.
The next words heard were not Michael’s. Yousef regained consciousness and looked at Michael, “You are too late.”
Michael looked back at him, angrily he shouted, “Why, Yousef, Why are you doing this?”
Yousef didn’t answer.
Michael’s voice escalated as he shouted, “Why won’t the code work, Yousef?”
“The Primitus changed it.” Yousef replied.
“All of those people, they are innocent and will die! Don’t let this happen! Help me put a stop to this, give me the code!”
Yousef looked at Michael; his eyes belonged to someone else. Michael no longer recognized he friend.
Yousef breathed heavily. His words came out weak, “None of them are innocent, Michael. Can’t you see that? This planet is infested with hordes of evil and apathetic people. Most of them are just cattle, and, without question, blindly follow whoever has the loudest voice or the strongest whip. Every single one of them stares at a cross, a crescent, or a star, and murmurs needlessly for some sort of salvation from their God.”
Yousef paused. He turned his head and spit out a mixture of blood and saliva. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the hand that still remained.
“Michael, every religion is corrupt and every continent tells the same story: in Africa, women and children are raped by their own people, and boys younger than ten are forced to fight wars; in the Middle East, the laws of Sharia are used to rationalize burying a woman to her neck and stoning her until dead; your own President puts his hand on a bible and throws the name of God around as if it was a headline, and then sends men and woman off to war to kill and to be killed, and for what purpose? Christians kill Muslims, Muslims kill Jews, and Jews kill Muslims. I haven’t even mentioned the Buddhists or the Hindus. How can you even tolerate another day of this?”
