by Brian Parker
“What the hell is happening?” Grayson muttered.
“…And they say that the man who murdered the president was a Secret Service agent. Were they acting together? Are there more attacks coming?”
“I don’t know, babe. The only thing we know out here is what’s being reported on the news.”
“Hold on Gray,” she said as she covered the mouthpiece. He could hear mumbled words being spoken rapidly. “Hey, I’ve got to go, we’re being evacuated. I love you.”
“I love you too. Be safe and call me when you get to a safe spot.”
FOUR
15 April, 1601 hrs local
The Pentagon
Arlington, Virginia
The alarm sounded loudly, drowning out the master of ceremonies speaking in front of the crowd from the podium. The guests at the retirement ceremony for the United States’ highest ranking naval officer looked around and murmured amongst themselves as to what it could be. The public announcement system crackled to life and a muffled voice came out of the speakers saying, “This is the Pentagon Police. There has been an incident at the front entrance and everyone must don their emergency escape masks immediately. This is not a drill. A chemical agent has been released outside of the building. As a precaution, everyone must don their escape masks now. I repeat…”
The guests began to panic. The emergency escape masks were bulky and the carrying satchel was unattractive, so no one had their masks with them. They were tucked away safely in desks and lockers so they could be turned in when the employee left the building. People began to rush towards the single exit of the auditorium towards their offices where the life-saving masks were. Lieutenant Colonel Bryce Colton stood up and started shouting, trying to get people to calm down. He was an F-16 fighter pilot and was able to fly during his entire career until he got orders to report to the Pentagon last year. He’d hoped to get back in the air as soon as he finished his two years of staff time but he was increasingly drawn into the political side of the job so he would probably end up being moved to a Congressional liaison assignment after this one.
He worked his way out to the aisle and tried to calm the flow of panicky people, but it wasn’t working. Then, a woman screamed in terror from the hallway outside the auditorium. What the hell? he thought. More people began to scream and several men wearing white catering outfits burst into the room. They were holding large kitchen knives and were systematically stabbing and slashing their way into the crush of people trying to escape.
The men were shouting at the retirement ceremony guests in Arabic. Even from across the room with hundreds of people between them, Bryce could see their eyes sparkling with hatred. A few people stood up to the attackers and several were stabbed as a result. He didn’t realize he was pushing his way through the crowd rushing away from the knife-wielding men until he broke free of the mass and there was a short, dark-skinned man in front of him slashing at anything in reach. He didn’t even have time to think about how stupid he was being. His Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training from almost two decades previous kicked in. He’d attended that hellish course a few months after he qualified as a fighter pilot and when the shit hit the fan in the auditorium his reactions were automatic, as if he’d been fighting for his life every day.
He focused on the knife and followed every deadly movement. Bryce’s opponent seemed to know how to handle a blade. He held it in his right hand with the end of the handle near his thumb and the backside of the blade resting on his forearm for control. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. The attacker crossed with his fist and the blade slashed from left to right across Bryce’s chest. He was vaguely aware of a pain across his torso but in his heightened state of awareness the pain didn’t register in his brain like it normally would have. He moved to his left away from the knife edge as the attacker reversed the blade’s course and began to come back from his right with a backhanded thrust meant to stab him in the neck. Bryce kicked out and the heel of his boot crashed into the man’s knee. All his weight had been on that leg as he was bringing the knife back around so when the boot hit, the ligaments holding the knee were torn apart and he fell sideways. Bryce didn’t hesitate, he stepped forward, trapping the hand holding the knife under his boot, and began kicking the attacker in the ribs, the head, neck, or anywhere he could land a blow.
The knife finally rolled from the limp hand of the caterer and the scene around Bryce began to expand from his personal battle to the others happening around him. He picked up the knife and went over to assist an Army officer who was fighting off another attacker. The two men were locked in a struggle for control of the knife. The soldier’s hand slipped and the blade cut into his palm. Out of instinct he jerked his hand away. That momentary distraction was enough for the caterer to plunge the knife all the way up to the grip into the officer’s chest.
The attacker saw Bryce coming and started shifting his knife back and forth rapidly trying to dislodge it from the dying man’s body. Bryce shifted the grip of the knife he was holding and ducked under the arm that was thrown out to block him. He drove his knife upwards. The blade entered the man’s abdomen through the chef’s jacket and Bryce kept pulling upwards as hard as he could, carrying the knife up until it got stuck, either on the breastbone or because of all the clothing that was wrapped around the blade as it made its way through the soft tissue of the stomach.
Bryce pulled the knife out and for a moment the man stood there, wide-eyed, as gore spilled from his stomach. Finally, he toppled over on top of the officer he’d just killed. Gunshots rang out as the Pentagon Police finally arrived and shot the remaining attackers who were still fighting with people. Bryce dropped the knife and held up his hands as a police officer pointed his weapon at him. “Get down motherfucker!” the officer yelled.
He lay down on his stomach and put his hands over his head in a spread-eagle position. “I’m an Air Force officer, I was defending myself against these guys,” he said.
“We’ll see about that. For now, I’m putting you in handcuffs and you can wait until we get the details sorted out.”
“Ok, I’m down,” he said. “That guy over there is still alive, I only knocked him out.”
The police officers rushed over to the attacker he’d indicated and put handcuffs on him. Then they checked the bodies of the other caterers before they went to Bryce. After a perfunctory check of his Pentagon ID badge and ID card they unlocked the handcuffs and apologized for the rough treatment he’d received. The police ordered him to put on an escape mask that they brought and a medic came over to assess his injuries. The cut on his chest was quickly bandaged up. He’d been lucky, his uniform had stopped most of the knife cut, so he had little more than a severe scratch that he could display as he told his friends the story of how he’d stood up to two armed men who attacked the Pentagon.
He had to talk to a police detective and give him as much information as possible. It was standard police work, but because this attack was in conjunction with the chemical attack that may or may not have happened, they needed all the details he could remember. The detective got very little useful information for his investigation since all Bryce knew was that he’d been in the audience for a retirement ceremony then was fighting for his life against men with knives who came from somewhere outside the auditorium.
Almost two hours passed while he waited in the hallway for the detective’s questioning, which was made harder by the emergency escape mask, and then he was free to return to his work area. The Pentagon was still on lockdown so he really didn’t have many options anyways. As he made his way through the hallways from the basement level he saw hundreds of people wandering around trying to get instructions on what to do. The PA system hadn’t said anything since those few initial messages.
He swiped his access badge to get into his office and sat heavily in the chair at his desk. It had been a busy day at work, made absolutely crazy by the events of the last couple hours. He reached into his pocket for his ID card
and stretched his hand out to put it into the card reader. Then he noticed the dark brown stain on his hand. He dropped his card and tried to wipe the dried blood on his pants. In all the excitement and questioning, he’d forgotten about the blood and gore all over him.
He made his way to the restroom and stripped his uniform top off. He gave himself a bath as best he could in the sink without getting his bandages wet or breaking the seal of his protective mask. He looked himself in the mirror and realized that he looked old. The difference now though was that he felt old. His joints ached from the fight and there was a slight wheezing sound as he drew in a breath. Maybe when this is over, I’ll go to the clinic and get checked out, he thought to himself as he dried off with a paper towel.
The light indicating a new message was blinking on his phone when he got back. He picked it up and dialed his pass code. “Hey, dad, it’s me, just calling to see if you are alright. The news keeps showing the Pentagon and they say there’s been an attack of some kind. Call me back, please.” He hung up the phone. His daughter Eva lived with his ex-wife in Colorado. She was supposed to graduate from high school this year, but too much partying and snowboarding last year caused her to be held back. That had been a great conversation with his Ex, mostly him yelling at her about her lack of responsibility as a parent and her counter-accusing him of not being involved enough in his child’s life. It was the same argument they’d always had even though they were no longer married. His ex-wife was too immature and he was always absent from their lives because of the military.
They’d met when he was at the academy and she was only seventeen. She never grew up and he grew up too fast flying combat missions over Iraq during the first Gulf War. They drifted apart and one day he came back from an extended training mission to find their house on base mostly empty, a pink post-it note stuck to the bedroom wall saying she was done with all this military crap and she was going back home to Colorado with Eva. The court gave her custody based on their belief that it wasn’t a good idea to give a military parent with no spouse custody because they might have to deploy at any moment. He’d gotten himself stationed close to his daughter for two tours in Wyoming and one at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado, but all the other years he’d had to be content with seeing her during the summer and every other Christmas.
He picked up the phone again and dialed his ex-wife’s number. “Hello. Daddy, is that you?” his daughter asked nervously.
“Yeah, baby girl, it’s me. I’m ok. There’s been a scare here, but no big deal. You know how the news agencies make a big story out of small stuff. ”
“But the news said that there was a chemical weapon attack and that everyone was sealed inside. Are the chemicals inside with you?”
“They’re not, honey, don’t worry. Everyone is fine here. This whole thing is just a classic overreaction to a little problem and the media ran away with a story.”
“Don’t tell me that, Dad. Your work got attacked, the president is dead...”
He choked on some spit in his mouth, “What?” he exclaimed.
“Haven’t you heard? A Secret Service agent shot him earlier today and a whole bunch of other presidents from all these foreign countries. They’re all dead and no one knows where the Vice-President is. The news says that he’s being sheltered for his protection until things get sorted out, but it’s been hours and he hasn’t been on TV yet.”
“Oh my God. Honey, are you sure about this? We don’t have a television here in my office so I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Yeah, Dad. I wouldn’t make this up. There was some big meeting that they all were at and there was a protest, but they were shot by some guy on the inside. And a few minutes ago they started reporting about attacks in Europe and Asia too. Pretty much everywhere, Dad, I’m scared.”
“Baby, there’s nothing for you to worry about, you guys live in a very small town where nothing is going to happen, ok? Thank you for checking up on me. I’m fine, we’re all fine here, but I’ve got to go and find a TV somewhere. I love you. Don’t worry, that chemical attack was outside of the building. Ok?”
“Alright, daddy. Call me back as soon as you can. School is cancelled tomorrow so call me whenever you can get back to your phone.”
He ended the conversation with the same kissing noise he always made at the end of their conversations. When he hung up, his hands flew over the keyboard of his computer bringing up an internet news site. Sure enough, there was the headline, Five Heads of State Murdered in One Afternoon. He read the article quickly and found that six Heads of State had actually been shot by a member of the Secret Service, but the Prime Minister from the United Kingdom survived the shooting and was listed in stable condition in an undisclosed location.
The president was dead. His running mate, now Vice-President, had been selected more for his ability to capture the youth vote than for his demonstrated leadership skills. The French had already sworn in their Prime Minister as their new president. The man was known to have very aggressive mood swings and showed most of the indicators of someone attempting to hide schizophrenia. The new President of Russia was a former member of the Communist Party from the USSR days of that country and it was rumored that he’d been in the KGB. He was an advocate for returning Russia to the glory days of the past, including a reconsolidation of the former USSR satellite nations. The political climate of the world had skewed drastically in the last several hours.
He clicked on a link that listed several attacks occurring elsewhere in the world. There were bombings at several large hotels in Europe. A train had been derailed by a truck parked on the tracks in India and it spilled chemical waste into a residential area. Riots were happening in Kenya after their president was murdered today in an apparent military coup. Every time he refreshed the page to go back to the site that listed the attacks there were more and more events occurring.
He stood up quickly to go next door and talk to Bob Lewis, a contractor that sat in the cubicle next to him, but he got extremely light-headed and had to sit down. The wheezing got worse and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Fuck this, he thought as he ripped off the protective mask, that chemical attack was outside and all this security did its job. It became slightly easier for him to breathe but his lungs were still rattling noticeably. “Hey Bob,” he croaked over the cubicle walls. No answer. “Bob!” Still no answer.
He struggled to his feet and shuffled to the corner of his cubicle. Bob wasn’t sitting at his desk. He turned towards the door into the hallway and attempted to walk but his feet wouldn’t move and his legs felt like they were made of lead. His head was pounding and he couldn’t get a good, solid breath of air. His vision went black at the edges and he began to feel as if he were looking down a long tunnel.
“What the hell?” he said as he began to sway back and forth. The world went black and he fell sideways onto the floor. He felt the rough carpeting on his cheek but he couldn’t make his body respond enough to lift him up. Bryce’s last thoughts were of Eva and the trip they were supposed to take to the Caribbean this summer, and then he passed out.
***
16 April, 0610 hrs local
Best Western Hotel
Lawton, Oklahoma
The phone beside his bed rang. Grayson jerked awake, startled from a bizarre dream. He picked up the receiver. “Donnelly here.”
“Grayson!” Emory’s voice sounded relieved.
“Hey Em, how you holding up?”
“Everything is messed up here. The federal government is closed today and there have been police cars and emergency vehicles speeding by the apartment all night long. The news said that there hasn’t been any communication from inside the Pentagon in several hours and they’re preparing to send in an emergency chemical response team to determine what’s going on inside.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m sorry babe,” he corrected himself. “What’s going on, I thought everything was fine and they were working to disengage the automatic l
ocks on the doors.”
“That’s what they thought, but all communications stopped sometime in the middle of the night. At first they attributed it to the watch officers falling asleep, but the news said they’ve been trying every number in the book and at this point, someone should have answered.”
“I wonder what the hell happened in there,” he said as he sat up and reached for the remote. “When I went to sleep it seemed like there was an electrical malfunction in the safety locks.”
“They also released some additional information this morning that they’d been withholding. There was apparently some kind of attack by armed men inside the Pentagon while it was locked down. The Vice-President is supposed to hold a news conference at ten o’clock Eastern time. Apparently he made it through alright and there weren’t any attempts on his life.”
“This is all so bizarre. The president, the Pentagon, all these attacks and disasters everywhere. This is all related, there’s no way this stuff happened without some terrorist group behind it.” It was an obvious statement, but he simply spoke what he was thinking. They talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. He showered and checked the time. He was hungry and there was still about two hours until the Vice-President’s press conference was set to begin so he decided to go get some breakfast. He grabbed the Cobalt’s keys and went out to the parking lot.
The small diner he picked was crowded to the point of being a fire hazard. Luckily for Grayson, the patrons waiting to be seated were in groups of two or more, so he was able to sit at the counter and order a plate of biscuits with sausage gravy, a favorite of his that he ordered every time he made a trip to the Midwest. The conversation across the room was kept to a low buzz as the thirteen-inch television in the corner was tuned to a national news channel and turned up as loud as it could go.
