“That’s it, kill me!” shouted Butler, muffling his voice with his hand while winking at Swanson.
The moment the cell door began to open, Butler rushed it, catching their captors unawares. He drove his foot into the groin of the first man through the door, driving him up and into the man behind.
Swanson finally understood it was all a ploy to get the door open. Butler had obviously realized they would be listening to everything they said. With his imminent death, they’d have no option but to attempt to enter the cell, whether they were a full complement of men or not. The fact that only two were there suggested they had been caught entirely off-guard. She had heard at least four different voices when they had arrived.
With the second man losing his balance and falling towards her, Swanson did not need an invitation to join the fight. She brought her knee up to meet his falling head and caught him on the side of the temple. His eyes closed and a sickly thud followed as his unconscious body flopped to the concrete floor.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, as the second man hit the floor.
“Was this not just a little too easy?” she asked, stepping over the squirming man who would be singing a few notes higher for the rest of his life and would not be going anywhere anytime soon. With the strength of Butler’s kick, she was surprised the man was still breathing. The guards became the captured as the cell door slammed shut.
“That was the easy bit. There’re 25,000 acres of wilderness out there, between us and freedom,” said Butler hurrying towards the exit.
Swanson followed and desperately looked for any weapons she could grab on the way out but none were in sight. Butler was far less fussy about having a weapon to defend himself.
“Don’t we need some weapons?” she said, trying to slow him down.
“You get the weapons, I’ll get the transport,” he replied dismissively as though they had agreed on that already.
“Alrighty then!” replied Swanson sarcastically under her breath.
Butler opened the door carefully. The moonlight offered just enough light to see that they were surrounded by open country. He stepped out and scanned the area. The dirt track that led to the door was devoid of any transport. The building itself was small, some type of old workshop. From the number of windows, he reckoned there must have been only four cells. Only! Why the hell did they need any, he thought, never mind four. A flash of light to his right caught his attention. By the time he looked it had gone. It flashed again.
“We need to go now!” he urged, recognizing the flashes of bouncing headlights from vehicles racing towards them.
Swanson appeared in the doorway, the proud owner of a broom handle and a far more useful Maglite flashlight, a nicely weighted 3D one. She spotted the bouncing headlights and, like Butler, guessed they had less than a minute to get out of sight.
“Shit!”
“This way,” he said, grabbing the flashlight from Swanson. The last thing he wanted was her turning it on. He ran behind the small jailhouse and, much to Swanson’s surprise, ran up the small hill that would expose them to the world when they hit the summit. The moonlight hung behind the hill offering a shadow-puppet master a dream canvas and the approaching men a dramatic outline of their disappearing forms.
“Are you fucking mad?!” she whisper-shouted.
Butler looked back at the oncoming cars. She was right, they weren’t going to make it. The tree line in the opposite direction would have been a far better option, which was exactly what their pursuers would figure as well. As they neared the crest, he dived to the ground and began to shuffle forward on his stomach as fast as he could.
“Jesus, you do know I’ve got a couple of extra obstacles for this type of thing?” moaned Swanson.
Butler rolled over to the other side of the hill. Safe behind the rise, he crouched and waited for Swanson.
“‘Obstacles,’ seriously?” he asked as she appeared beside him. “A mouth like yours and you can’t say breasts or boobs?”
Swanson kicked out and pushed him over before rising to a crouch herself. In a great moment of released tension, Butler couldn’t stop himself from rolling down the small decline in a fit of laughter. Hardly able to talk he managed, “I’m…dying to… know…what you call…you know…down there!”
Swanson raced beyond him, not in the least amused. “You do know there are men with guns chasing us?”
Butler pulled himself together and followed with a smile on his face as he continued to laugh inwardly. He had to admit, from the brief glimpses of cleavage he had witnessed, they were very nice obstacles at that. The smile instantly disappeared as Swanson tripped and fell forward, falling face down. She tried to stop her fall with her hands, but the broomstick caught on something and she plummeted straight down, landing on her face.
Butler blinked when she impacted, not able to watch the moment she hit the ground. He raced toward her. She lay prone on the ground, not a noise coming from her.
“Don’t move another inch,” she warned, hearing him approach.
“Jesus! Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern. He was less than ten feet away from her.
“Stay the fuck there, Butler!” she warned, her voice dropping.
Butler looked down as his foot hit something, a spike he saw. His eyes strained to see in the moonlight below him. There was a rope trailing off from the spike, which attached to a net. A net that he realized Swanson was now lying on. A fine net covered in tufts of grass that from above looked exactly like a field stretching off into the distance.
Swanson shuffled carefully backwards. Butler stretched out his hand and helped her to her feet on solid ground.
“There’s a small army under there,” she said pointing to where she had been lying.
Butler looked around the landscape. They were in a bowl, surrounded by hills. The net stretched off beyond where the eye could see in the moonlight. In the daylight it may be far more obvious but at night or from satellite imagery, you’d never know. One massive camouflage net to protect what was below from prying eyes and satellites from above.
“You okay?” he asked again.
“Fine. The net saved me from a rather embarrassing fall,” she replied coyly.
“You must have tripped on one of the spikes that’s securing the net.” Butler pointed to the one he had stumbled on.
“So what’s under there?” he asked, bending down to lift the net.
“A shitload of equipment!” She shook her head in disbelief. “What in the fuck is going on, Butler?”
Butler lifted the net but struggled to gain any angle to see underneath, He began to crawl out across the net, which shifted very slightly under his weight. He pinned his face to the surface and, like Swanson had said, he could see through the netting and below onto a massive military compound. Line upon line of main battle tanks and armored personnel carriers stretched off into the distance. Low-level lighting shone downwards into the compound but offered little upward projection. Everything had been thought through to ensure the compound remained concealed from prying eyes.
Butler guessed the netting was about thirty feet from the ground below. He looked around at the hills that formed the bowl. The whole area was about 200 yards by 300 yards. He was no math genius but it was a massive area, acres and acres crammed with equipment.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, as he crawled back to the edge of the netting.
“Why would the Army store its equipment on the Trust’s training camp?” asked Swanson, confused.
“It doesn’t,” replied Butler, distractedly.
“What’d you mean it doesn’t. What the hell is that?!” asked Swanson, pointing below them. “There are hundreds of American tanks and whatever else under there.”
“I agree there are hundreds of tanks with American markings under there and--”
“So what’s the problem?” interrupted Swanson, fed up with games.
“None of them are American!”
Chapter 30
“Ilya, I promise you, we knew nothing of this!” pleaded Jack. The line was dead. Ilya had hung up.
With no number available to call back, Jack was left with no option but to return to the Situation Room where the phones were ringing non-stop. Jack looked at his cell. It was the only phone he wanted to hear ring and only one thing was likely to halt the madness.
“I’ve got the British PM holding for you, Mr. President,” called Kenneth.
Jack tentatively picked up the line. He fully expected the British to withdraw any support for their American cousins following the bombing of the Kremlin. However, it seemed the PM was blissfully unaware of the American involvement in the bombing. The Russians had not told anyone else. Ilya was keeping it under wraps. He must have known that such an act would destroy the NATO pact. With the full military support of Britain ringing in his ears, Jack’s cell began to ring again.
Unknown number.
Jack threw the British PM to Kenneth and rushed once again from the room.
“Ilya?” he said hopefully as he answered.
“I’m sorry, Jack, I lost some very dear friends tonight,” explained Ilya.
“I understand, and my condolences but you must know I would never--”
“I know, Jack, I know,” said Ilya, all anger having left his voice.
“That means a lot, thank you, Ilya. Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Not at the moment. We’re interviewing the pilot. He’s not talking yet but that will change.”
“Can we help?”
“With your laws I think it’s best we keep him here. We can make him talk more than you ever could.”
“What about the co-pilot?”
“That’s the most interesting part. We recovered his body a mile from the crash site. His body had been dumped from the B2 and his throat had been cleanly slit,” said Ilya, pausing to let Jack understand what it meant.
It meant the same to Jack as it did to Ilya but more importantly to Jack, it meant Ilya only believed Jack because of the discovery of the co-pilot. Had his murdered body not been found, there was every possibility that missiles would already be flying from Moscow to Washington, perhaps not literally but certainly figuratively.
Jack realized he was pacing nervously up and down the small office. He grabbed a seat and sat down as the full weight of the crumbling situation fell on him. The reality of an actual war was looming. Despite his and Ilya’s best efforts, somebody was one step ahead, ratcheting up the pressure. One step ahead, he re-considered, one mile ahead.
“Jack?”
“I’m just struggling to comprehend how we are where we are,” he said bluntly.
“Jack, as I said earlier, we just need to keep this line open. As long as we’re talking, we can stop whatever somebody’s trying to do,”
“Agreed,” confirmed Jack with his full military voice.
“I am about to release a statement that the explosion was a gas leak. Only a handful of people know the truth and all are sworn to secrecy. I understand the damage the truth would do to your relations with your allies.”
“Thank you,” said Jack, although he knew that Ilya would have known that a US abandoned by its allies would have been a cornered beast with an almighty bite. Not something the Russians would want to face.
“However, my generals have made me pay a price. Armored divisions are moving in response to your build-up of troops. I had until now deliberately not matched your build-up to prove to you that we’re not the aggressors in this situation.”
Jack sighed. “It was inevitable and I appreciate you explaining why, Ilya. We had noticed you were not moving your troops and it gave my guys great comfort.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Me to, Ilya, me too. We’ll get through this,” said Jack, not even sounding convincing to himself.
“I’ll text you my new numbers, Jack. Good luck, my friend.”
“You too,” replied Jack, ending the call.
Reentering the mayhem of the Situation Room, Jack immediately noticed that the theatre of operation board had come to life. The Russians were true to their word. Armored divisions were moving throughout the country and reserve depots were being activated. Satellites were beaming back updates as the military compounds across Russia burst into life.
“Looks like they’re responding to the Kremlin incident,” said Kenneth, while Jack watched the unfolding activity.
“Nope, they’re just responding to us,” replied Jack quietly.
Kenneth spun around. “Were you talking to President Chernov again?’ he asked accusingly.
“No,” lied Jack. He didn’t know why but he felt safer keeping his talks with Ilya just between them, at least until he had a better grip on what was happening. “Get me the Director of National Intelligence on the phone. I want to know everything we possibly can about that B2 bomber pilot. I’ll take the call in the briefing room. In one hour, I want a full National Security Council meeting by videoconference with the Combatant Commanders present,” he barked.
This was what he did best. Command. For three years, he had never felt he had anything to command. The country had run itself better than it had for decades. He was a born Commander-in-Chief at a time his country hadn’t needed one. Jack King knew what was needed to save his country. His country needed him and he had absolutely no intention of letting it down.
Chapter 31
Lauren’s cell had twenty-three missed calls when she finally made it back to her room, every one of them from her mom. Thoughts raced through her head as to what could have happened as she waited desperately for her mother to answer the phone. Her parents knew where she was. She had only spoken to them a few hours ago, and they knew she had landed safely. Something must have happened.
Finally the ringing stopped and her mom’s sleepy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Mom, is everything okay? Is Dad okay?”
“Of course honey, what’s wrong? You sound panicked.”
Twenty-three missed calls panicked thought Lauren. “You’ve been trying to call me, Mom?”
“I’ll pass you to your father, it was him that was calling,”
“Hi, honey,” her dad said when he picked up.
“Hi, Dad, what’s up?”
“I want you to come home, honey,” said her father firmly.
Even at the age of twenty-four, Lauren had never once disobeyed her father, a strict Christian man who wasn’t one to tolerate anything but total obedience from his family. What he said in his house was the law.
“But, Daddy, why?” asked Lauren, as her world began to crash around her. If her father said she had to go, she would obey.
“Honey, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this nonsense in Europe with the Russkies. I want you home where I can protect you.”
Lauren turned on the TV set and selected a twenty-four hour news channel showing wall-to-wall talk of war with Russia. Footage of boats and planes being loaded with men and equipment was playing on a loop. She knew it was exactly what her dad would be watching.
“Daddy, it’s just talk. I’m fine, the president is going to be here tomorrow,” she pleaded.
“President King is going to be there?” he asked, suddenly very impressed.
“Yes, and I’ve been selected to ask him a question, Daddy,” she added in her sweetest voice possible.
Her father was an American patriot, a Republican and a God-fearing man who worshiped the ground President Jack King walked on. A man who had fought for his country and had stood tall when he was needed. President King was her dad’s kind of man. The fact that she had left out he was going to be there on the video screen and not in person was the only untruth. She had, as stated, been selected to ask a question. The fact that this had been secured by allowing Roger Young to grope her was her only other white lie.
The line went quiet as this new information was digested. Lauren watched the images she knew her father was watching back in Nebraska. Queues were forming at stores a
nd gas stations. The public was beginning to panic buy. News stations were feeding the fear of shortage, despite no shortages actually existing. Although they were now inevitable, as a nation that lived on weekly shopping was about to try and purchase several months’ worth of supplies in a day.
The longer he thought about it, the less he was likely to allow Lauren to stay. This was hers and Mike’s chance for greatness.
“Daddy, I’m going to meet the president, shake his hand, and get to ask him anything I want!”
“I’ll call you back,” he said after some thought.
Lauren watched as the news channel continued to play scenes of panic buying across the nation. It was nearly midnight and cars were queued for miles at gas stations. All night supermarket car parks were overflowing and queues were already forming for those that opened in the morning. She looked out of her fifth floor window to the absolute tranquility of Camp Trust’s main concourse below. Mini skyscrapers lined the concourse and you really did feel like you were in the heart of a large city but without the hustle and bustle.
She was about to call Mike when her cell rang and interrupted her thoughts. Dad.
“Hello?” she answered tentatively, dreading her father’s decision.
“I’ve spoken to your Uncle Bill. He was going to head out here to be with us,” he began.
Lauren held her breath waiting to see where her father was going with this. On hearing her uncle’s name, her hopes rose. Uncle Bill was her mother’s brother and was nothing like her father. He was fun.
“He’s going to take a detour and head on up to Emmetsburg. He’ll be there to bring you straight home should you need him.”
“Thanks, Daddy, I love you!!” she screamed with delight and relief.
“Yes, yes but you tell President King not to take any nonsense from those Russkies. We’re ready to kick their asses,” he said before hanging up.
A low knock on the door brought the image of Roger Young to mind. Oh no, surely not, she thought, edging towards the door.
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