Yes, American civilization would be renewed for another century.
Marshall waited a full minute before the clattering stopped. He then removed two more keys from inside the safe and tossed one to Banks.
“The keys to the kingdom, Major Tom.”
Marshall cracked open the code card with the eight-digit enabling code. He repeated it out loud:
“Tango, Seven, Bravo, Four…”
Banks keyed it into the overhead launch console. “Tango, Seven, Bravo, Four,” she repeated.
The corresponding beeps locked in the code.
Marshall read the final four digits. “…Alpha, One, Delta, Nine.”
“Alpha, One, Delta, Nine,” echoed Banks, and locked in the code.
Marshall then inserted his key into the overhead console. “On my count.”
Banks inserted the second key and nodded.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
“Turn.”
Simultaneously they turned their keys.
42
1520 Hours
Air Force One
It was a white-knuckle landing onto Interstate 29. Sachs felt Air Force One touch ground only to suddenly lift again and then set down. The pilots immediately threw the thrusters into reverse to try and stop it. But the plane wasn’t slowing down and she couldn’t see outside from the seat with the five-point harness that Captain Li had strapped her into.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaking as her seat vibrated like an electric chair.
Captain Li put a finger to her earpiece. “There’s a new overpass across the highway that wasn’t on the maps. We had to jump it and now we’re coming up too fast on another one.”
This might be a real short landing, Sachs thought, but she knew that Marshall might launch missiles at any moment. She unbuckled her harness and stood up, her head immediately hitting an overhead bin she hadn’t noticed before. Captain Li was on her feet and right there behind her.
“What are you doing, Madame President?”
Sachs rubbed her head. “Koz can’t wait for us to stop to override Marshall’s launch authority. He’s got to do it now.”
Li didn’t try to stop her, but instead helped her move through the corridor to the battle staff compartment, where Koz and AF1 battle staffers were locked at their stations.
“Koz! We have to stop Marshall now!”
Koz was reading off his operations manual, punching in new authorization codes into the overhead consoles as the plane began to finally slow enough to make Sachs believe they were going to stop safely. “I think I’ve got it!” Koz shouted above the roar of the engines. “Get off this plane, everybody! You too, Madame President.”
She said, “I’m not leaving this plane without you, Koz.”
“Yes, you are,” he said and motioned to Captain Li and two officers, who grabbed her by the arms and began to drag her away.
43
1520 Hours
Bedford Country Club
Jennifer backed away from the window as she watched the two Green Berets walk toward the caddyshack. She ran back to the tiny kitchen that in the summer kept the caddies fed between golf rounds. She opened the pantry next to the refrigerator, which was unplugged. She pulled out the empty, removable stacks and shelves and hid them behind the fridge. Finally, she opened the back door a crack, to make it look like she had escaped. Then she hid herself in the bottom half of the pantry, ignoring the rat droppings. With a shiver she closed the door and held her breath in the dark.
She heard the front door rattle. A second later it was kicked open with a loud crash. She gasped and then clapped her hand over her mouth.
She could hear the soldiers check the sliders of the guns with a couple of loud clicks for effect, to signal they were coming after her, hoping she’d make a sound. She sat stone still.
One of the soldiers whispered, “Look.”
They were at the back door.
Jennifer felt a draft as the back door was fully opened.
“Maybe,” said a second voice. “Check it out.”
Jennifer heard the front door open again, hoping against hope they were leaving, when she heard the floor creak inside the kitchen.
Oh, God, no.
Someone was standing directly on the opposite side of the pantry door. The door began to crack open. She was about to scream when the soldier’s radio popped and the door closed.
She heard his gravelly voice say, “Copy that. We’re out of here.”
She listened to his footsteps walking out of the kitchen. Then she heard the front door open and close shut.
A minute later the heavy thuds of the Suburban’s doors closed. The engine roared to life and then faded in the distance as it drove off.
44
1521 Hours
Looking Glass
Major Banks looked at him blankly inside the battle staff compartment.
“Turn!” Marshall repeated.
Banks turned her key again. Still nothing. “She’s changed the enabling codes!”
Marshall stared at the two launch keys, both turned in their respective launch locks. “Goddamn that Koz!” he said, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled. “I think it’s time we remove the final layer of federal bureaucracy.”
Banks nodded and moved to the consoles. She booted up yet another sabotage program. “Crash and Burn, sir?”
Marshall nodded. “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie.”
Banks pushed the delete button on her terminal.
45
1522 Hours
Ethel’s Truck Stop
It was as bleak as the late afternoon could get in Drayton, North Dakota, population 913.
Especially after two separate nuclear attacks on America. But Ethel’s Truck Stop Café was open for business, as always. The radio by the stove was playing “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” from the old rock group Tears for Fears. Which pretty much summed up the mood at the counter as Ethel with the blue hair poured another cup of coffee to rumpled Joe the truck driver when his cup and saucer started rattling.
Ethel stopped pouring and cocked her ear as she heard an ear-piercing noise outside. She had heard every kind of conceivable aircraft and missile in her lifetime around these parts, and knew it was a 747–200 military converted jumbo jet even before she ran outside and saw it coming straight for the diner.
“Jeez, Louise!” she screamed. “Everybody take cover!”
She ran back inside and ducked behind the counter, staring at Rusty the waitress and poor old Joe who wet his pants. The ground started shaking and plates were falling and crashing on the fverywhere. It sounded like a locomotive was passing straight through the diner.
And then, as suddenly as the roar began, it stopped until there was only the sound of a rolling dish or two breaking.
Ethel cautiously poked her head above the counter and looked out the glass doors as the plane skirted onto the I-29 in three bumps and rolled to a stop about 400 yards from the café.
A moment later it exploded into a giant ball of fire and Ethel ducked for cover again as the force smashed the windows, and shards of glass raked the walls like bullets.
46
1522 Hours
Northern Command
Now that Strategic Command was gone, General Block at Northern Command was suddenly having trouble communicating with America’s three main Minuteman III forces: the 90th Missile Wing at F.E. Warren AFB in Wyoming, the 341st Missile Wing at Malmstrom AFB in Montana, and the 91st Missile Wing at Minot AFB in North Dakota. Together they controlled 450 ICBMs, and Block had to ensure transfer of launch authority from Carver at Strategic Command to Marshall aboard Looking Glass.
He worried this was a War Cloud effect. A similar, inexplicable loss of communication between the control center at Warren AFB and 50 of its missiles had occurred months ago. Block had issued a statement at the time saying that the power failure was not malicious and that the Air Force ne
ver lost the ability to launch the missiles.
Which wasn’t true.
“I hope you’ve got Marshall on for me,” he said when his grim senior controller walked up.
“General, sir, we’ve lost Air Force One.”
“Damn,” Block said. “We’ve run out of presidents.”
However much he disagreed with Sachs, he admired her pluck.
“Well, there’s no choice now. Tell Marshall he can authorize our B-2s to deliver the Maverick strike on the Chinese high command. Maybe the destruction of their host supercomputers will cut off the War Cloud and release our missiles.”
47
1525 Hours
Bedford Country Club
Jennifer, her hand on the back of the pantry door, didn’t move. She was afraid to come out. What if the Green Berets hadn’t really left? What if one of them stayed behind? What if it was a trick? What if as soon as she opened the pantry door some guy with a gun put a bullet into her? She breathed slowly, listening for the slightest sound outside.
A minute passed.
Then five minutes, it seemed.
Finally, she could take it no more.
She burst out of the pantry and threw herself onto the kitchen floor, hands over her head, and screamed, “Don’t shoot me!”
She heard herself crying and lifted her head, realizing there was nobody else in the caddyshack.
Sl she got up and walked to the front window and looked outside. She could see the twin tracks of the Suburban leaving the club.
She ran to the back window and looked out too. Nobody there either.
She heard a creak overhead.
She looked up at the ceiling and had the terrible thought that maybe one of them was on the roof. Maybe they were waiting for her to pop her head out the front door and they would nail her then.
She looked around and saw a filthy broom in the corner of the main room. She picked it up and with a cringe of anxiety burst out the front door and thrust the broom outside.
But nothing happened. No shots. Just a dirty broom in the snow.
She was puzzled. Why did they leave?
She saw her blanket and radio in the corner and turned on the radio. The nerve-shattering signal of the Emergency Alert System blared.
The EAS announcer said, “This is the Emergency Alert System. The following is a message from the National Command Authority.”
Mom, she thought with relief.
But it was a man who was speaking.
“This is General Brad Marshall,” said the voice, which she suddenly recognized and felt a chill down her spine. “Minutes ago an enemy missile destroyed the plane carrying former President Deborah Sachs.”
Jennifer’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor.
“This further act of aggression will not go unanswered,” Marshall announced. “I have ordered the United States Armed Forces to respond with their full fury and might.”
Jennifer turned off the radio. She sat on the floor and let loose with tears and then wailed.
She didn’t care who heard her now.
48
1525 Hours
Ethel’s Truck Stop
Sachs and Captain Li were running toward the diner when the plane exploded with a thunderous KABOOM. She tried not to look back and be turned to ash, but she was worried about Koz, so she began to turn her head over her shoulder as she ran.
“No!” came a shout from behind.
Koz was flying toward her, tackling her like a shield as the force from the plane blew them off their feet and she felt herself hurl through the air over a snow bank. He intentionally landed on top of her, smothering her into the snow.
She couldn’t breathe and struggled for more than a minute until he got off.
Koz asked, “Still in one piece?”
She gasped for breath and brushed the snow off. “You trying to kill me?” she asked when a second thunderous explosion sent a chunk of the fuselage flying over their heads.
Once again Koz face-planted her into the snow.
“Stop it!” she ordered when he let her come up again for air.
“You can court-martial me lat told her as they stood up to survey the damage.
What was left of the Nightwatch plane — Air Force One — burned in smoldering ruins. Engine parts were strewn across the interstate. A broken wing stuck upright out of the frozen ground, glinting in the weak late afternoon sun.
Sachs said, “We need to contact Block at Northern Command and rescind Marshall’s launch authority.”
Koz pointed to his right, and Sachs saw it: Ethel’s Truck Stop Café. “But with Air Force One gone, Block is going to assume you’re dead. How are you going to prove your identity?”
“With this,” she said, and began to unzip her flightsuit.
She watched Koz raise an eyebrow and then smile when she flashed the presidential authenticator card he had given her.
49
1548 Hours
Looking Glass
Marshall stood with his juniors Harney and Wilson, staring blankly at the radar screens inside the battle staff compartment: The D-10s were in position, but the first-strike B-2s carrying the bunker-busting Mavericks were turning back.
“What the hell?” he said.
Banks turned from her console, bad news written all over her face. “Bombers turning back, sir.”
“I can see that,” Marshall said. “Put me through to them right now.”
She paused, putting a finger to her ear. “Northern Command is calling.”
He nodded, and she put General Block through on speaker.
“Our bombers are retreating, Block,” Marshall said. “Zhang already surrender?”
“Sachs is alive,” Block said. “Just got the call.”
Marshall didn’t believe it. “You authenticate her?”
“Yep, and voice prints match too,” Block said. “Listen, son. You’re busted. The president wants to ground Looking Glass, pronto. You are to land at Grand Forks AFB, where a reception team will be waiting for you to turn yourself in. You’ll be tried in a military court and executed for your treason.”
Marshall blinked in disbelief. “I don’t know what kind of horseshit Sachs is feeding you, Block. But pulling back our bombers now is going to cost us. Big time.”
Block didn’t like backtalk any more than Marshall. “You heard me, Marshall. Your pilots have been instructed to land Looking Glass immediately. And in case you have any trouble understanding, we’ve got a couple of F-16s on the way to escort you. Over.”
Block disappeared from view, and Marshall was aware that his own, unreadable poker face was still plain to see for Banks and the others. So he kept it that way on the outside. It wasn’t difficult. Because he knew exactly what to do next.
50
1625 Hours
Ethel’s Truck Stop Café
Sachs watched blue-hathel pour her a cup of Kona blend coffee while the TV blared the downing of Air Force One and her death. It was freezing with the shattered windows, and a dozen AF1 crew were taping plastic sheets from the surplus store in back to keep out the cold. Koz, meanwhile, was still on the pay phone talking to Block, having been unable to connect his phone with its satellite in space. They were trying to set up a call with General Zhang for her, to confirm he knew the U.S. was standing down and requesting the same.
Ethel, who had an old military tattoo on her arm and a Tea Party pin on her apron, asked her, “You really the president?”
Sachs said, “So they say.”
Ethel snapped her gum. “You spoiled everything, you know. Women have been running the country just fine for two hundred years, only our men didn’t know it.” Then she winked and walked off with her pot of coffee to serve the rest of the AF1 crew. All 48 had been accounted for, thank God.
Koz walked over with a frown on his face. “Looking Glass landed at Grand Forks, but Marshall and three crew were missing.”
Sachs stared at him. “How can they be missing?”
“They must have bailed in flight.”
“From a 747? Is that even possible?”
“Not at 35,000 feet and 500 knots,” Koz said. “But the pilots report that Marshall had ordered them down to 18,000 and 150 knots before everything went berserk. That altitude and speed are about what the top extreme skydivers use, and Marshall and his threesome are trained paratroopers. Looks like they shot their way out the rear transport hatch on the cargo deck. There were lots of bodies on the floor and four sky suits with oxygen masks missing from the racks.”
“But where did they go? What does he hope to accomplish?”
Koz shrugged. “I have no idea. Looking Glass by definition circles the Midwest in a nuke attack, to be close to the missile fields. But there must be a reason he stuck close to the badlands of North Dakota. Only problem is that the only active missile fields are a couple of hundred miles away at Minot. There’s nothing in this immediate area except abandoned missile silos. Maybe he’s going to hide out in one and keep us hunting for him for as many days as possible.”
Sachs heard a grunt. It was Ethel. “He’s right, you know,” she said. “We used to have a full missile wing here associated with Grand Forks AFB, until they closed it down, moved almost everything to Minot. That cost us a lot of jobs.”
“Almost everything?” Sachs asked, glancing at Koz.
Koz said, “They still keep a few weapons storage areas around here that hold nuclear contingency weapons. And there’s the old Safeguard complex in Nekoma, but that’s been abandoned even longer than the silos.”
The War Cloud Page 11
