No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2)

by Mark E Becker

  Pryor pressed the button. There was a brilliant flash, and the power went out from the border of the Potomac to the horizon.

  CHAPTER 45

  T

  he first realization of the crisis was the immediate loss of power to the microphones and cameras. Max continued talking, but his voice didn’t carry beyond the first few rows of the reserved section, where well-dressed dignitaries sat on padded

  folding chairs for which they had paid thousands of dollars to sit. The lights that provided the perfect ambiance for a presidential speech went out, too, along with every signal carried by a phone, TV camera, or wireless device.

  Immediately, Max, Scarlett, and Rachel were hustled into the waiting limousine. Armstrong barked orders to the driver as the security detail formed a protective cordon, guns drawn against an invisible enemy. “Get us out of here, now! Clear the road!”

  The turn of the key in the ignition was met only with a dull click. The driver muttered “Damn” and tried again. One more time. Another “Damn.” He turned to Armstrong and said, “Electronic ignition. It’s fried.” He paused as they stared at each other, incredulous.

  “Wish I was driving my old ’66 Mustang right now, that baby wouldn’t let me down,” Max said.

  “No electronics. You might have to put in new points, but I guarantee you that baby would run,” the driver replied wistfully. “What about Corvettes?” Max asked. “Would a Corvette run?” “You might need to change the points, but that’s no big deal.

  Anything with wheels that was built before 1968, but there aren’t many of those old classics around these days. Mostly hybrids and electrics, but no gas-guzzlin’ muscle cars like I grew up on,” the driver replied.

  Max leaped from the limo and began issuing orders. “The only transportation that works right now is that horse over there, those bikes over there, and the pads on the balls of our feet. Bring the bikes here,” he announced. Scarlett emerged from one door and Rachel from the other. “Rachel, you’re coming with me. Scarlett, you will ride on that horse with that Capitol policeman to the White House. You are in charge of this emergency, and your first duty is to get someone to put the power back on. I want you, Andrew, and you, Bill, to pass the word that this inauguration will continue in one hour, and that drinks are on me.”

  Scarlett was not adapting well. Her agenda of the day was planned, and this crisis had disrupted that plan. “But my speech! I was going to make my speech!” Max grabbed her hands firmly, comforted in a miniscule way that his every action was not being monitored or recorded by the disabled electronics, but still, when he touched, she pulled back. The physical contact was unexpected and unwanted, and he sensed that he had crossed a barrier that he should not have been crossed.

  He released her and studied her face. She was bewildered, and he needed her to snap back to the present. Catching her in his intent gaze, he spoke in a stern but comforting voice. “You need to take command. You will make your speech, but until we get the power back, nobody will hear you. I’m headed to my house, and in one hour, I will be riding back here in the damndest parade you ever saw. In the meantime, you’re in charge of panic patrol, and you have a million people to entertain. Right now, I suggest you pass the word that all is well, and you get those park service people over there to start gathering firewood for a bonfire that rivals a University of Texas homecoming. We need to make the best of this. In a few minutes, my guess is that you will be surrounded by the best military force that this world has ever seen, and they won’t know what to do, so I want you to make sure everyone is warm, fed, and in a good mood by the time I get back.”

  “This will not do. It will just not do. Our plans—”

  “I’ll show you plans. I have been planning to do this all day.” Max turned to Rachel and pulled Rachel to him, kissing her deeply. The holders of the expensive seats looked on, stubbornly refusing to budge from the spot they had attained to watch the Superbowl of politics and wondering what was next on the list of activities. Collectively, they looked like a flock of birds, all turning their heads in unison at each movement. At the moment, they were fixated on the president kissing his girlfriend in front of a million onlookers, an event to which another billion people had been deprived.

  “Max, they’re looking…” Rachel had suddenly become conscious that they were in the least private setting for a passionate kiss, and pulled away, looking Max in the eyes. He was amused, and his impish grin foretold his secret motivation.

  “All of you, listen to me! Are there any of you who would turn down a kiss like that?” They cheered. “Now, what are we going to do about this ? You can’t call anybody, and you aren’t on TV, so I’m going to make this into the world’s largest public party. We may as well make the best of it, right? If you hang out here for awhile, I’ll be back in awhile. Right now, I need to go be president,but I’ll be back, and we can get through Inaugural Day in grand style.” Max left the details to Scarlett, who was already busy gathering whoever she could find and giving them instructions.

  “I need a pen and something to write on.” She announced to the crowd. Instantly, she was handed notebooks from purses and pockets. “I am going to the White House, and with your permission, I will wait ‘til later to give my speech…” She became aware of the insignificance of her words, and stopped in mid-sentence. “Never mind about that. I have to plan!” The crowd cheered again. She walked toward the large Park Service horse, unsure of what to do next.

  From behind, a uniformed officer approached and said, ”Pardon me for being so forward, ma’am, but I’ll get you on that horse.” He placed one hand under her right arm and the other on her backside and hauled her aboard in one motion. Scarlett sputtered for a moment, indignant that her personal barrier had been violated, and mortified by the fact that she sat astride the rump of a horse in her inaugural dress, which had pulled up to expose her legs.

  “Your undies are showing,” someone shouted, which prompted Scarlett to blush, humiliated at her predicament.

  “Well, I never…Take me out of here!” She swatted the horse, which caused it to rear up. To avoid tumbling to the ground, Scarlett wrapped her arms around the waist of the cavalry officer and hung on tightly as they charged forward into the crowd.

  Rachel stood with her arm tight to Max. “You know, I can fly that old Baby Belle that your dad had restored, and as I recall, it had some good landing lights installed on the struts. I have been taking it up on some days when you’re out politicking, and I’m getting pretty good at it.”

  Max turned to her, oblivious to the chaos that was spinning around them. “First of all, my dear lady, I’m not a politician, and second, have I ever clipped your wings? Ever?” He pulled her close and kissed her passionately once more, to the raucous applause of the onlookers. “We’re going to go to Fairlane, and you can lead the way back in the helicopter. We’re going to show whoever did this that we may be inconvenienced, but we are far from defeated,” he explained quietly.

  Max thrived on the unpredictable, and a clandestine call from Roger Sinclair the evening before the inauguration had cemented his plans. Sinclair had received a tip from a confidential informant, a member of a clandestine society of wealthy silver spoons with a community of interests. He disclosed that the inauguration would be disrupted in a major way, with the intention of embarrassing Max in front of the world. The informant had laughed as he said it, implying that Masterson would not last the first months of his presidency, resigning in disgrace.

  The words had enraged Sinclair, but he refused to reveal his true feelings to his informant. The man was a wealth of information, and his only pipeline to the perpetrators of the plot. Their visit was brief, as the man, known only as “Bob”, had stopped for the night at a hotel on the interstate north of Philadelphia on his way west, where he had been hired to do a “three-week job”. He was paid well for the tip, as he had been paid in the past. Sinclair knew he could rely on the information, but without specifics, he was powerless to prevent
what was inevitable. His only consolation was the fact that their intentions were to embarrass and not to kill. He communicated that to the president.

  “How, Max? How are we going to get to your house? It’s ten miles away, across the river. The Capitol is shut down, darlin’.” Rachel was the practical one, and when she had command of the situation, she was calm and powerful, belying her exotic image of dependency on Max’s strength. This time, though, the overwhelming unexpectedness had left her drifting.

  “Don’t worry. I have a huge surprise waiting for you at the White House,” Max replied mysteriously.

  “What kind of a surprise?”

  “You’ll see. We need to get ourselves and those bikes down to the kitchen.”

  Justin Armstrong, barged forward, shaking his head. “Mr. President, may I have a few words with you? In there?” He gestured toward the disabled limo, its doors open on both sides and guarded by the Cajun driver. Realizing that the opportunity for a private conversation would be impossible immersed in the well-dressed mass of humanity that surrounded them, Armstrong abandoned the idea and resorted to cupping his hands and whispering in Max’s ear. “All of our electronics are fried, and we can’t communicate. I have taken an oath to protect you with my life, and I insist that you let me do my job. We need to keep you out of harm’s way until the helos get here and extract you from this mess.”

  Max turned to Armstrong with a bemused look. “I know you want to protect me, but whoever did this is trying to embarrass me and our new administration in a big way. If they wanted to kill me and about a million people along with me, you would be scraping my remains off the sidewalk right now. Today is not my last day, and the last thing I want to show to the American people is an impotent president who cowers and hides in the face of an emergency. You and my security escort will ride with me to the White House, and I will need ten riders.”

  “Mr. President, in about ten minutes, I expect that Marine One and a squadron of fighter jets will be here to protect you and get you out of here,” Armstrong pleaded, realizing that he was arguing with the most powerful man in the world.

  “Armstrong, where are they going to land? I expect your people to get busy while I’m gone, clearing a space for the helo. Everyone will think that the jets in the sky are part of the festivities, but you know that they are useless as tits on a bull in this situation. When the helo lands, I want someone with a soothing voice to use the loudspeakers to tell these people that everything will be OK and to try to maintain order. Do you think you can do that for me?”

  “No, sir, Mr. President.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I have been assigned to protect you, and that is what I’m going to do. I can’t leave your side,” the burly Secret Service agent responded in a strong voice, conveying the determination that had propelled him through the ranks as a Navy SEAL.

  “Then delegate, dammit! I need to get to the White House, and the quickest way to get through this crowd is the old-fashioned way.” Max didn’t wait for a response, quickly realizing that his protector, and the hundreds of agents within several steps of him, were going to do as they were trained, and he wasn’t about to change protocol with a few words.

  He smiled briefly and turned to review the collection of mountain bikes that had been hastily assembled. Most were Park Service bikes, but some were state-of the art titanium and carbon fiber wonder bikes that had cost their owners a fortune. They were guarded by their owners, who were nervously standing next to their prize possessions. In the nation’s capitol, losing sight of your ride meant the difference between riding and walking, and the brightly polished, urban transportation was the best available way to move quickly in a city with no power.

  “I need your help,” Max announced to the bike owners, who zealously gripped their handlebars in a protective death grip. “I need to get to the White House quickly, and I would like to borrow your bikes for a while. You can pick them up later. And to say thanks, you will get a free ticket to the inaugural ball. How does that sound?”

  A young woman, approximately Rachel’s size and build pushed forward. “Here, take mine.” She graciously surrendered her bike to Rachel.

  Rachel examined the bike, wondering how to mount it in her inaugural outfit. She resigned herself to show some leg on the ride. “I’ll take care of it for you,” she said.

  An athletic-looking man in his 30’s stepped forward. From the look of him, he was probably a local resident and most likely a government employee of some kind, his neat, yuppie appearance betraying his status. He moved his bike in Max’s direction. “She’s my baby,” he exclaimed with pride. “You won’t find one lighter and quicker, and I want the bragging rights.”

  “Thanks. You can pick it up at my place after the party,” Max said.

  Max was satisfied that everything was in good hands, and gestured to Rachel. “Come on!” he coaxed her toward the mountain bikes that had been commandeered in the name of national security. The security detail quickly commandeered the remaining bikes, and they moved forward at the front, making a path through the crowd. “We’ll be right back,” Max announced.

  Those within earshot clapped loudly and the ripple effect was huge. As they moved forward, the words “Here comes the president. Let him through!” were followed by a wave of applause as they made their way toward the White House.

  CHAPTER 46

  O

  nce they had reached the security gate, there was a glitch. The gate was powered by an electronic mechanism which locked automatically in a power outage, and their means of access was sealed for the time-being. Without hesitation, Max

  and Rachel propped the bikes against the fence and Max turned to hoist her over the top.

  “I can do it, oh gallant one,” she said with exuberance. The exercise had buoyed her spirits, and she was feeling less like a fixture at his side, which had made her feel unnatural and plastic. “I have been hopping fences all my life.”

  “I’ll bet you didn’t try this in a designer dress, though” he replied. “Don’t any of you even think of trying to help,” he announced to the security detail. “Secure the perimeter and address the crowd,” he ordered.

  The Secret Service turned their backs to them as Rachel placed her hands on the top rail and did a neat pirouette over the top. The crowd burst in raucous applause as Max approached the fence. In similar fashion, he vaulted the fence, landing on his heels hard, followed by an unceremonious fall to the grass, creating a grass stain on his inaugural coat. He recovered quickly, bouncing to his feet and looping his arm in Rachel’s. They bowed simultaneously and ran to the front door, where the Vice President and the White House staff awaited.

  CHAPTER 47

  S

  carlett looked rumpled, but she had been able to find a comb and makeup and was busy reassembling her image in a large, ornate mirror in the main hallway. She was simultaneously barking orders to the assemblage, who would periodically run in

  the direction of their assigned tasks. Max immediately realized that in a city that had been rendered powerless, the lights in the White House were still lit. Scarlett turned from her mirror, anticipating Max’s question.

  “I know, I was surprised too, but it seems that all of the essential government buildings have been hardened against this kind of attack, and it’s only the civilian grid that went down. We won’t have any way of restoring power to the full area for a few days, but we should have the Metro running by the time people decide to head home. If they drove here and parked their car inside the blast zone, they are going to be looking for a ride, though…what a mess!”

  uuu

  Andrew Fox and Bill Staffman were breathless with excitement. They had been monitoring the festivities from the Situation Room when the flash occurred and the screens went dark. From the shelter beneath the White House, they had been unable to determine the source of the outage, and had been forced to return to the first floor by a seldom-used stairwell.

  “The subway
is still down. So are the elevators, but I’m told we should have them repaired within a few hours. We are maintaining a perimeter around the White House, and we will continue to do so,” explained Staffman.

  “Communicators are being re-issued to the agents in the field, and we should have full restoration of our electronics inside of fifteen minutes. Those unlucky souls outside won’t be able to call home anytime soon, though, and all audio-visual equipment on scene has been rendered useless. The press is going to have a conniption, not being able to report the excitement,” piped in Andrew, Max’s young chief of staff. He knew his last comment would provoke a smile from Max, and he was not disappointed.

  “I didn’t really think about it, but for the next few hours, we control the media, don’t we?”

  If brain activity created smoke, the Diplomatic Reception Room where they stood would have activated the fire alarms.

  “Yeah, sorta,” replied Andrew. “The Press Room is sheltered from EMP radiation just like the rest of the building. They had a Faraday cage built into the walls many years ago.”

  “Faraday cage? What’s that?”

  “I thought you knew. There’s one in your garage at Fairlane. I noticed it the moment I walked in the door,” replied Andrew.

  “I remember my dad talking about this possibility when I was just a kid,” Max recalled. “He would go on these tirades against his enemies in government and tell me how Congress had compromised our security by failing to use foresight. I was immersed in it so much that I didn’t think about how he had taken his own precautions. You would have liked him, Andrew. Dead ten years and he’s still taking care of me.”

  NO CORNER TO HIDE

  Andrew stayed on task. “A Faraday cage or Faraday shield is an enclosure formed by a mesh of conducting material. It blocks out the external electric fields that took out our electronics when the EMP device was detonated. We tracked the source to the Arlington House over near Arlington National Cemetery. Our security measures weren’t good enough, I guess. We scanned every object in the Capitol, but nothing on the other side of the Potomac. Robert E. Lee’s house has been closed for repairs for the past month, and nobody thought to go over there,” Andrew explained.