“And you’re only just getting in touch now? And you say I drop out of contact!”
“I needed to get to the bottom of it, Jack.” Her voice had an edge. “I owed it to someone.”
He couldn’t hold it against her, given his past. “Okay.”
“I’ll text you an address, meet me there tomorrow. I love you, Jack.”
The call ended and Jack looked around. He’d thought she was dead and that all hope was lost. Now, Celeste was alive and was sitting on something that might give him one last chance. The phone beeped. He looked down at it. He didn’t recognize the address, but it wasn’t far away. He’d go there, reunite with Celeste and see what she’d got her hands on. He’d never been much of a gambler, preferring his vice in liquid form, but he had played poker and could recognize when it was time to play his final hand.
He was all in. He was done running.
***
One kept the night-vision binoculars steady on the road, as she had for the last hour. Not a single vehicle had passed in that time. Her mind had started to wander and, inevitably, question what she was doing. It had been months since she’d spoken to Richard Hall, but he’d called her unexpectedly and offered her a job. She should have declined. She’d enjoyed the break and thought herself done with him, but the challenge had sold her. If she could pull this one off she could do anything.
He’d given her only a moment to accept the job. She’d agreed on the spot. It had been a struggle to get her team together in time, chopper them out and get them into position, but they’d successfully inserted without raising the ire of the authorities. Now all she needed was for the target to appear. If she was honest, it was a strange mission and a strange target, but she was the axe, not the wielder. Whatever reason Hall had for green-lighting the mission was his own. Her job was to pull it off.
The first Chevy Suburban came into sight, rounding the bend with headlights beaming and engine roaring. She waited, breathing deeply as the second, third and final vehicles followed barely ten yards apart. Hall had been as good as his word. Intelligence of a clear and present danger to the President had flushed Morris from Camp David. Though she’d usually fly, the weather did not permit it, so the Secret Service had bundled her into the car. All according to the book. All very predictable. All very A to B.
One lowered the binoculars and put her night-vision goggles into place, then nodded at Two. A second later Two fired his RPG. It whooshed and the rocket covered the distance between the tree line and the lead vehicle in a moment. As the other members of her team fired their rockets, the first hit the lead Chevy squarely on the engine grille. An explosion flashed and a fireball blossomed, followed by a secondary explosion as the fuel tank blew. The devastated vehicle came to a halt, alight and oozing smoke.
She took her eyes off the lead vehicle and looked down the line of the motorcade, where two of the other vehicles had been dealt with in a similar way. Only the third vehicle was still intact, and it picked up speed as it swerved around the destroyed vehicles. The Secret Service driver had to have veins of ice, given his colleagues had just been annihilated, but he had no answer for the rifle that roared and destroyed the vehicle’s engine block with a high caliber, armor piercing round. The car slowed and then stopped.
“Go!” One lifted her carbine and started to move through the trees, closer to the road but still concealed. She closed in on the President’s vehicle with single-minded purpose.
She was within twenty yards of the President’s vehicle, weapon raised, when an agent appeared. She tried to get a shot off but the gunman dropped suddenly. A millisecond later she heard the telltale report of one of Five or Six’s rifles. They were on overwatch and taking care of stragglers while the rest of the team stalked larger game. One kept moving, around the trunk of the car. The agent was lying dead on the road.
She smiled like a wolf at the door of a hen house at the vehicle in front of her, the only one untouched by the RPGs. The President’s vehicle was designed to withstand all sorts of attack. But it was still just a car, not a tank. It had vulnerabilities against a well-equipped foe. That was why the President usually had a dozen Secret Service agents on hand to protect her. When they fell, however, she was vulnerable.
She turned to Two. “You got it?”
“Yep.” Two nodded, reached into his combat vest and pulled out a piece of paper.
One took the sheet, unfolded it and walked up to the window of the presidential vehicle as Two, Three and Four took up covering positions. In addition, she knew that Five and Six were also covering her, now that any last Secret Service survivors had been dealt with. She placed the note against the window and waited. She waited a minute or so, but there was no huge hurry. Though reinforcements were on the way, they wouldn’t arrive in time.
After a moment, the cell phone in her pocket started to vibrate. She pulled it out and answered. “Good evening, Madam President.”
“Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.” One kept her weapon down. If any of the Secret Service agents tried anything, her team would sort it. “We’re short on time. I’m glad you see sense.”
“I see inevitability. I’ve called the House Speaker and Senate President and transferred executive power to the Vice President.”
“Wonderful.” One didn’t care. “You have ten seconds to step out of your vehicle. The agents stay inside.”
Morris sighed on the other end of the line. “And my daughter will be spared? You give me your word?”
“Yes. And the other agents. Nobody else needs to die.”
The phone call ended and the rear door of the vehicle opened. One stood in place, relaxed, even as she saw the Secret Service agents inside gripping their weapons. They wouldn’t like it, but with executive power transferred the agents had no further interest in the former President if she ordered otherwise. One was pleased that Morris wasn’t stupid. She took a step back as Morris climbed out of the car.
One smiled once Morris was finally out and standing on the road with her hands by her side. “Thanks for being sensible, Madam President.”
“It’s just Helen, now. And fuck you.” Morris scowled. “My car might be tough, but it can’t stop an RPG. I shouldn’t trust your word, but I have to hope you’ll spare my daughter.”
“Of course.”
“I also hope you know that this is a waste of time. There’s nothing you can extort out of me. It’s clear to me there’s no coincidence between my meeting with Richard Hall and the circumstances I now find myself in. Unusually for Richard, he’s fucked this one up in a big way.”
“I couldn’t comment.” One raised her weapon. “Now, I just need you to sign something and we can get this over with.”
“This will never be over with. I’ve made the gravest mistake of my life trusting that man, to the detriment of us all and our country.” She slammed a fist against the car door. “I should have seen it. It was all too neat. But I was caught up in the narrative. Just do me a favor and tell Richard I’ll keep a seat warm in hell for him.”
One said nothing as she held a second piece of paper in front of the former President, along with a pen. Morris looked at her with disgust clear on her face and then snatched at the pen and paper. She read it over briefly in the dim light and her eyes widened. She looked like she might refuse, until she glanced back at the car. She sighed, signed the paperwork and then handed it to Two, who had his hand outstretched.
One fired a single round into the President’s head, then turned and started to walk back to the tree line. She heard the whoosh of an RPG round, followed by an explosion. Though she felt the heat of the flames, she didn’t look back. She’d wanted to help Morris’s daughter, but orders were orders: not a single person was allowed to walk away from the Presidential motorcade.
CHAPTER 18
Following the assassination of President Helen Morris and the murder of her daughter and security detail, President Newbold has reiterated his support for the emergency measures. He noted that
the attack on the Presidential motorcade signals a new and dark chapter in the country’s fight against extremists, and that he would not shirk from doing whatever was necessary to find those responsible. Administrator Hall will speak this morning in Chicago.
Federal Emergency Management Agency
News Release
Callum looked down from the nosebleed seats of Soldier Field. He was standing with his carbine, waiting for Richard Hall to take to the stage that had been hastily erected in the south end zone prior to the Bears game. The stadium was nearly at capacity and Callum was one of the State Guard troops assigned to security.
He scanned the crowd from behind sunglasses, looking for any suspicious movements or overt threats. Nothing jumped out at him, but it was tough to keep tabs on such a large crowd. He was up high, but there were others scattered around the stadium, each looking for the same thing he was. Video cameras all around the stadium would be using facial recognition technology to try to find any problems before they became deadly, while a couple of FEMA helicopters hovered up high. His earpiece was silent as well.
Since the assault on the President’s motorcade less than twenty-four hours ago, the whole city had felt on a knife edge. Callum doubted it was different anywhere else. For his own part, he’d felt like someone had punched him in the chest. After everything he’d gone through, he’d thought his latest mission was also his last. But clearly whatever success FEMA and the State Guard had achieved against the terrorists was not complete.
“Sector 37, report.” The voice in his earpiece was all business.
Callum took one hand off his carbine and pressed a button on his headset. “37, all clear.”
“Confirmed.” The voice paused for a second. “All sectors report clear. Proceeding.”
Callum chuckled at the charade of it all. With a crowd of around 50 000, spotting a threat before it manifested would be difficult at the best of times. In an angry, frightened nation full of guns, the day after the President has been shot, it would be next to impossible. If the Secret Service couldn’t stop a determined attack, Callum doubted a handful of State Guard could.
He watched as Hall approached the stage, climbed the stairs and stopped at the podium. He was probably the only prominent person to visit and be announced at Soldier Field in history to be met by silence. Then a low murmur began, until Hall held out his hands toward the crowd. The gesture was lost from this distance, but the giant scoreboard screens magnified it.
“I’ll not take much of your time.” Hall smiled. “I understand there’s an age-old score to settle today.”
“Get this clown off!” The crack from a man near Callum earned a few laughs from those near him. Callum’s grip tightened on the carbine but the guy sat down.
Hall ignored the catcalls and booing he was being subjected to. “I, like the rest of the country, was shocked to learn that President Morris’s motorcade had been attacked and that she’d been murdered, along with her entire security detail and her daughter. While we’re still piecing things together, the attack is unquestionably an escalation by the terrorists who’ve rocked America for a year.”
Callum tuned out as Hall gave all the usual platitudes. The President’s death was a huge loss for America and so on. He’d heard it all so many times, usually for friends and fellow soldiers, that it had lost its meaning. He focused on the crowd, but it was a waste of time – there was more danger of spectators falling asleep and hurting themselves than one having a shot at the administrator. Then something Hall said grabbed Callum’s attention.
“FEMA is determined that these attacks won’t disrupt our operations, or divert us from the correct path.” Hall paused. “It’s important to remember that.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed. Hall had used the exact same words when discussing the attack on the distribution center in public. It was a rehearsed line, completely out of place for a man supposedly in shock and dealing with the President’s assassination, in unison with the rest of the country. Was the attack a surprise to Hall at all? Callum started to pay close attention to the speech again. Close attention to Hall.
“Though we’ve had some success against these terrorists, there have been setbacks. To combat this, I met with President Morris yesterday, hours before the attack on her motorcade. She was resolute in her commitment to the path we’re traveling.” Hall looked straight down the camera. “My staff at FEMA are doing a wonderful job of keeping our society functioning, and their State Guard colleagues are keeping us safe.
“But it hasn’t been enough. I came to an agreement with President Morris along these lines.” Hall held up a piece of paper. “This document is an executive order authorizing FEMA to take command of elements of the United States Military on home soil. It doesn’t apply to overseas forces, or our strategic assets, but it’s a necessary next step to help us combat the ongoing threat.”
There was a murmur among the crowd. Callum looked around. The civilians were restless in their seats and it felt like the mood in the stadium had switched from mourning to suspicion. Callum’s mood was shifting too. For the first time, he felt that Richard Hall was one of the things wrong in America. But he still had a job to do. He scanned the crowd but there was no obvious threat. He looked back to Hall.
Hall placed the sheet of paper down. “I’ve already spoken to President Newbold. He’s as committed as his predecessor was to doing what’s necessary to combat this scourge. He’s re-affirmed all executive orders that the former President signed. The country will endure, despite these most testing of circumstances.”
Callum clenched his jaw. He considered raising his weapon and aiming at Hall. He’d stare down the iron sights as he breathed, in and out, in and out, and prepared himself for the shot. Though the range would be extreme, he wondered if it was worth a try. He shook his head. It was a shot he’d never take. While he regretted some of the things he’d done in Iraq and on his home soil, he wasn’t a murderer. He let out a long sigh.
“I want to be clear.” Hall’s voice was filled with aggression. “The ability of the terrorists to hit the presidential motorcade is unacceptable. With these new powers, we will make our streets and people safe. We will bring order to America. God help anyone in our way. God bless America.”
***
Jack would have laughed if not for the seriousness of the situation. The house was a cliché: white picket fence in front of a red brick home. He looked down at the phone again, then up at the house. He repeated the process a couple of times to be sure the address was right and then opened the gate.
As he approached, he thought for the millionth time that this story all felt a little bit too convenient: Celeste getting out, then calling him months later and begging to meet. He was running to her like a puppy and he knew there was a chance that Celeste was being used to capture him. It was possible. Probable. But he had little left to lose by giving it a shot. He reached the door and knocked twice. There was no answer. He frowned. She had said she’d be here. He tried to peer in the window next to the door, but the curtains were drawn. He knocked again. He could wait a few more moments, on the chance she was in the shower or something, but he felt exposed on the porch.
As he waited, his enthusiasm faded and then evaporated into despair. Since the call, he’d thought of a reunion with Celeste as a second chance, but it was a dead end. He’d never see her again. She was dead or in prison and this was some sort of ruse. He started to turn around, ready to leave the house, when someone’s arms encircled his waist. He stiffened and recoiled at the touch, then relaxed as the feminine arms completed their movement and pulled him as tight as a boa constrictor. He felt lightning pass between them as Celeste pulled him closer. He raised his hands and placed them over the top of hers as a broad smile crossed his face.
“Hey.” Her voice was a whisper in his ear. “Got you.”
He wriggled in her grip, turned around and wrapped her in his arms. He pulled her close and they kissed deeply, fuelled by their relief at the most unlik
ely of reunions. He should have been concerned that they’d be spotted, two of the most wanted fugitives in America, but all he wanted was to hold her and expunge months of loneliness and guilt and worry. They kissed for nearly a minute until she pulled away. She smiled and he mirrored it.
“We should get inside.” He jerked his head toward the door. “I assume you have the key? You had me worried.”
“Sorry.” Her cunning smile matched the playful gleam in her eye. “I had to make you sweat a little.”
Jack smiled as they broke their embrace and she unlocked the door. They stepped inside and Jack was shocked by the broken furniture and stained floors. “Who pissed FEMA off?”
“The owner.”
He gave a small laugh, but when he saw the look on her face he changed the topic. “I couldn’t believe it when the phone rang and it was you.”
“I never thought I’d get out of there.” She shrugged and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Jack. What happened?”
He barely knew where to start. They walked into the dark living room and sat on the sofa, lights off and curtains drawn. He explained everything in as much detail as he could, from the moment they’d been separated in New York. She knew about much of it: the new attacks, the scale of detentions, the atrocities. She gasped and squeezed his hand at key points in his story. She cried when he told her about Peter.
“How the hell did it happen, Jack?” Her voice cracked.
“Elena betrayed us.” He gripped her hand, which was trembling. Peter and Celeste had grown close while he was in Syria. He explained the story, fury radiating off him in waves.
Finally, she spoke. “They had her fiancé, Jack. I can’t comprehend the damage she’s caused, but I understand why she did it.”
“That doesn’t excuse—”
“No, it doesn’t. But I might have done the same. She saw the light in the end.”
He shook his head. “But—”
“She let you go.” Her voice was firm as she leaned in to kiss him. “I’ve got you back. You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine.”
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