The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  “I’m not in the mood,” Frank graveled to Henry, who only inched his way over. “Go away.”

  “But, Frank, you’re bleeding right . . .” Henry pointed to the corner of his own mouth.

  “Go away.” Frank gave a stern look, pulled up a bar stool, then before sitting down, grabbed for a bottle and glass.

  “Please don’t drink, Frank.”

  Slam. With the sound of the bottle’s bottom hitting the bar, Frank pivoted an angry glare to Henry. “I will say this one more time.”

  Henry raised his hands in defeat, “Never mind. I know. Go away. Fine. If I can’t stop you, maybe he can.”

  “Who the fuck are you talking about?” Frank readied to pour from the bottle.

  “Me.” Hal reached out and stopped him.

  “Don’t,” Frank warned.

  “What are you doing, Frank?” Hal questioned.

  “What’s it look like, Hal. I’m having a drink. What the fuck? Do you have radar or something?”

  “Pretty much so, yes.”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Henry. Go away. I need this.” Frank poured some into his glass. “My mind needs to be elsewhere right now.” He raised the glass to his lips.

  “Good,” Hal spoke. “Put it here.” He placed the computer to Frank’s eye level. “Instead of there.” He took the glass from Frank’s hand. “Read the message from Jess.” Hal watched Frank take in the words. “I’d say, big brother, we found a place for your mind to be.”

  ^^^^

  Joe tried to sleep. He really did but he knew slumber would be impossible. Snuggling with his pillow and laying on his side, he was able to ignore the light that was still on from Andrea’s side of the bed but he was unable to ignore her talking.

  “Vixen,” Andrea stated, sitting up with pillows propped behind her.

  “Andrea, I would like to sleep.”

  “And I need to talk. Oh, how typical that you don’t want to listen now that she’s in the picture.”

  “Andrea . . .” Joe rolled onto his back. “What in Christ’s name are you talking about?’

  “The vixen.”

  “Who is the vixen?”

  “Margaret ‘I packed up and left my husband for Joe Slagel’ Hadley.”

  “Christ Almighty. Where is this coming from?”

  “She called you. What was that phone call about?” Andrea asked.

  “She wanted to let me know she was staying in New Bowman with Peter.”

  “Oh, and I’m to believe that,” Andrea sniffed.

  “Why wouldn’t you.”

  “She wants you Joe.”

  “Oh this is silly.”

  “No. She wants you. I know her reputation and yours.”

  “What!”

  “Yes. She had that reputation in the old world of chasing after men in power. And you . . . you had the reputation in the old world of . . .” She sniffed in dramatic hurt. “Chasing after anything in a skirt.”

  “What!” Joe blasted even louder.

  “Oh, don’t deny it. I talked to Frank. He told me.”

  “Frank is a goddamn hard head who not only has a distorted view of his childhood, but right now is running around thinking a meteor is crashing to earth and John Wayne, who happens to be God, is not gonna stop it.”

  “You mock your son.”

  “I tell the truth.”

  “Are you denying your reputation of being a cheat in the old world?” Andrea questioned.

  “Yes.” Joe nodded. “I never cheated. When I didn’t want to be with a woman, I just dropped her.”

  Andrea gasped.

  “Feel better?” Joe asked.

  The opening of Andrea’s mouth didn’t elude any words. The knocking on the front door stopped that.

  “Christ.” Joe flung off the covers. “Am I not supposed to sleep?” He stormed from the bedroom. “Something must be going to happen since I am not allowed to get a single moment of shut eye.” He opened the front door. Standing there was Frank and Hal. A stock ‘what!’ would have normally been in order, but Joe saw on their faces that they were perhaps the reason he was not suppose to sleep.

  Hal handed Joe the computer as he stepped inside. “We have trouble.”

  Joe knew that to be true when he looked down and read the simple message from Jess: ‘Expect the very worst. Get prepared! He knows.’

  ^^^^

  Another crash of an object in her office and Bertha knew she would have a hard time controlling herself. She knew the President was in a crisis, she felt his pain, but, did it need to breed such temper tantrums? She was witnessing first-hand what she had only heard rumors about.

  “Goddamn it, Callahan, are you listening?” George blasted.

  “Sir.” Bertha stood firm. “I could listen a lot better if you would remain calm.”

  “Don’t talk down to me.”

  “I am not . . . . I am not speaking down to you, Sir.”

  George huffed, “I need an answer.”

  “I gave you an answer.”

  “It’s not good enough.”

  “It is the best I can do.”

  “Five days?” George moved to her in a rush. “That is absurd.”

  “Yes, it is,” Bertha agreed. “Because a week would be more rational and allow for less error.”

  “Where in God’s name can error occur? Why is it taking so long?”

  “First.” Berths stayed calm as she explained. “Fuel. The plane will need fueled and fueling stations will need to be set up for the return trip. Second. If a workable deliverance plane is not found, then your plane will have to have adjustments made. Third. A complete weapons check will have to be done by a specialist. We’ve only two that I can trust. You want to make sure the weapon detonates properly, and more importantly, you want to make sure that you are safe in carrying it. A slow leak of radiation in flight will kill you in two weeks unless you want to secure another pilot for the job.”

  “You are discussing this with me as if doing a Hiroshima is the only way.”

  “It is.”

  “Bullshit,” George argued. “We have that silo in Greensburg, Pennsylvania that Frank Slagel didn’t dismantle. It’s functional.”

  “That is uncertain,” Bertha disagreed. “It still would need a weapons check and an equipment check.”

  “What about the Kennedy?” George asked.

  Bertha’s eyes grew wide. “That is a myth.”

  “No.” George shook his head. “It’s far from a myth. I should know. I was the President. It was set up to be fool proof.”

  “Nothing is fool proof when it hasn’t been tested for seven or eight years,” Bertha stated adamantly. “You can’t even begin to think ‘long range’. Not now. The only accurate way is to drop it.”

  “Then that is what will be done, if I have to drop that bomb myself.”

  Surprise and anger was all through Stewart’s voice and he conveyed it as he walked into the office with Jess. “Are you insane?”

  George spun around on their entrance. “It’s about time you got here.”

  “I’ll repeat my last question.” Stewart stepped closer. “Are you insane? Please do not tell me I heard you correctly. You are planning on dropping a nuclear weapon on Beginnings.”

  Bertha’s slight release of breath preluded her ‘too’ calm answer. “Actually, he plans on dropping it center of the three towns.”

  Steward lost all breath. “You are insane.”

  George’s top lipped curled. “And you’re fired.”

  “Good.” Steward gave an upward motion of his head. “Because I want no part of this.”

  “Callahan,” George ordered. “Shoot him.”

  Bertha’s eyes widened. “Sir?”

  “Now.” George ordered stronger. “Pull your weapon, aim it, and shoot him in the head.”

  “Sir. Begging your pardon . . .” Bertha spoke nervously. “But . . .”

  “Screw it.” George looked at Jess. “Boyens, you want Callahan’s position
? Shoot him.” George reached to Bertha, lifted her gun, and laid it on the desk.

  Jess walked to the desk, lifted the gun, and shifted the chamber.

  Steward chuckled. “Go on. Shoot me. It won’t help your cause anymore than dropping the bomb on Beginnings will.” Through the corner of his eye, he caught Jess slowly raising the gun. “You want the trust of your people? You want to have unity? You shoot me, your right hand man, in the head, then drop a nuclear warhead on American soil and you won’t have unity. You’ll have mutiny.”

  “My daughter is dead!” George blasted.

  “I am sorry about that!” Steward barked back. “I am. It is a tragedy! But losing your cool, destroying this land, and making Montana into a wasteland all over your grief is absurd!”

  “It’s not grief,” George argued loudly. “Its revenge.”

  ‘Exactly! And everyone will know that.” Steward’s neck grew red and he spun to Jess only to see the close range of the steadily held revolver, “If you follow his orders and shoot me then you are condemning the whole cause! I’m sorry you don’t live amongst people, spy or no spy, and not have one person, one single person you care about!” he raged at Jess. “Pull the trigger. Be the big man and the bombs will drop on anyone you cared about in Beginnings. They’ll die. I am the only one who can stop this?”

  George interjected. “Why are you so sure?”

  Steward turned to George. “Because I have never steered you wrong and I will not steer you wrong now!”

  Looking at Jess, George nodded once toward Bertha. “Give her the weapon back.”

  Bertha hid well the outward sign of relief when Jess handed over the weapon.

  Steward twitched his head and shucked off the tension and nervousness that had consumed his gut. “Now, can we talk about this?”

  “I killed my own daughter.” George pulled a chair forward and dropped to it. “I sent her over there.”

  “No.” Steward shook his head. “You did not kill her. She went on her own. They took her life.”

  “That is why I want revenge.”

  “You cannot seek revenge,” Steward told him, “not when you are building such a strong cause. It will fall apart. No one wants a leader who cannot remain in control, child or no child. We all lost family.”

  “Stew,” Heavily George said his name then stood up. “I have to retaliate. I have to. This cannot go unnoticed.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Steward told him, “but take a religious look at it all. When Jesus was crucified, did God destroy the world? No.”

  Not looking up, George responded, “He destroyed those who were right there.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will destroy Beginnings because I want the person that did this and Beginnings is where that person is.”

  “No,” Jess entered the conversation calmly. “No, that is wrong. If you want the person who did this, then you can’t find them in Beginnings. Ellen is out of the walls serving her sentence.”

  Slowly, with revelation, George glanced up.

  ^^^^

  The coffee was plenty. The first pot never saw the burner. It was finished off that quickly in the pre-motions of the strategy meeting in the Communications Room. Joe was there. The last one, Frank and Hal had already taken control and obviously had been talking while they convened with not only Council, but Sgt. Doyle and other designated military controllers in the province.

  Along with the gurgling of the last drop of brewing coffee, Joe listened to the strong talk, knowing he would only interject if needed. The conversation and decisions were basically logical. No one flew off the handle and everyone had the same best interest in mind, the provinces of Beginnings.

  Jason basically had listened to the catalog of what they had as far as weapons and men, strengths and weakness, and strategic location of front line Society camps. He knew it all had to be leading somewhere but, to Jason, it was pretty obvious what the point of the emergency night meeting was and really he was tired of waiting for it. With an empty coffee cup in hand, Jason stood as if he were going to refill but he spoke up, drawing a cease talk to the voices. “Gentlemen, I must say am impressed at your back and forth of what each of you have.” He spoke to Frank, Hal, Doyle, and Elliott. “However, we are here to discuss worst case scenario. What exactly is worst case scenario?”

  “That is our main argument,” Frank stated.

  Hal spoke up, “I think we all know what that is, but none of us want to say it. It would be the use of a nuclear weapon. Would he go that far? I say absolutely. Let’s face it. We are a pain in his ass. How easily it would be to just get rid of us all.”

  “But why didn’t he do it before?” Elliott asked.

  “I can answer that,” Tim Doyle responded. “There’s too much to do on the side of the Society. Preoccupation with destroying Beginnings is minimum. Besides, he wants this communications center. He doesn’t want to destroy or he didn’t previously. I always felt Hadley was looking for one good reason to say ‘Screw it. Get rid of them’.”

  Elliott titled his head in thought. “This could be the reason. Frank? What about Dean? Has he anything that we can get over there ahead of anything George can send our way?’

  “I have thought about that,” Frank said. “We have what we call Dean-ami’s. Carbon tipped missiles. One, maybe two, would wipe out Quantico in about two minutes.” He shrugged. “We could kill George and throw the entire society into disarray. However . . . Doyle? Wanna tell them why that won’t work?”

  “Radar,” Tim answered. “The only way to get one of those carbon bombs over there, or even a virus, would be to deliver by plane. The Society has functioning radar. They’ll see the plane coming and take it down. You could send a squad of planes over with hopes that one will make it through and chances are, one probably would. But . . .”

  Hal completed the sentence. “We only have one pilot that can fly a jet. My brother.”

  Elliott looked at Tim. “Would they consider a ground attack?”

  “Not now,” Tim replied. “They know how strong this side is. No way. Hadley will only go into a battle that he knows he will win.”

  Jason spoke in his route to the coffee pot. “A sure fire win is a nuclear weapon. Who can beat that?”

  “We can,” Tim said with certainty. “We have time. As I was telling Frank, I believe we have a minimal of four days to get ready for it.”

  “Four days?” Hal asked. “How do you figure that much?”

  “Maybe even longer.” Tim shrugged. “The long range missile capabilities are nil. I was told Frank pretty much did that one on his own.”

  Frank shook his head. “But I didn’t hit them all, just the big ones.”

  “You got enough of them,” Tim said. “Enough to cripple that threat.”

  Almost pleased, Hal looked at Frank. “You did that?”

  Frank nodded. “A man named Carl who was with us early on, him and I went about whenever the chance occurred. We were thinking ahead but we didn’t get the stockpiles. We always wanted to but how do you dispose of that many warheads?”

  “You don’t,” Tim added. “But thinking if it was me in charge of getting this thing together for the Society, they have two specialists. There is no way they will even send a bomb over in a plane without checking it. Then you have to set up a fuel and refuel arrangement for the jet. Not to mention you have to find a special jet, get it together, or make adjustments to the one Quantico has running. All this would take at least four days.”

  “Four days,” Frank said, “is enough time to clear out. It’ll be tough, but we can do it . . .” He looked around the room to the listening faces. “Women, children, and crucial people like Dean, Danny Hoi, and anyone else who would be vital in rebuilding, we pull them out at dawn tomorrow. Hal, I know you have designated towns with possibility that you have scouted. Tonight, you work on a moving locations, somewhere at least two hundred miles away.”

  Hal nodded. “Got it.”

  Frank continued, “Th
ey will take minimal survival gear with them and a skeleton protection crew. The rest of the men, and we have a lot, will be divided. One third will be preparing all armory, while the rest will work together to get everything we can packed up. Greenhouses first, medical, then work down a priority list. We can have the towns packed up, but we cap a time limit. After two days, what’s packed is packed, what’s not, stays. Then after sending down an agriculture crew and security crew to the new place, we get together our battalions and form our front lines. At the first indication of an attack on Beginnings, we forge ahead.” Frank shifted his eyes to Tim and Hal. “You two have the majority of men. I’ve watched their training but I need a vote of confidence right now that your men can do this.”

  “Absolutely,” Hal said with certainty. “We’ll initiate and settle everything tonight, based on a four day projection.”

  Elliott was somewhat concerned. “Are we certain we have four days? Is there any way possible they can pull a strike sooner?”

  Before anyone could answer, Joe did, “Yes.” His first word of the meeting rang out hard despite the fact that he said it calmly. Sipping his coffee, he walked to the front of the room. “Yes, they can.”

  Slightly shaking his head, Frank lifted his hand. “How? That’s absurd. You heard Doyle. I have to agree. Really, how much faster could they pull a strike?”

  “How about his.” Joe set down his cup. “An hour. Maybe more. Maybe less. A flick of a power switch, a entering of coordinates, a press of a button and boom. Beginnings, Jordan, and New Bowman all gone in fifteen minutes.”

  Tim chuckled, “Long range capabilities are impossible.”

  “Oh, no.” Joe shook his head, speaking very certain. He paused and looked at Frank and Hal. “The Kennedy.”

  Both of their reactions were the same. Frank and Hal closed their eyes in revelation.