Black Skies

by Leo J. Maloney

  “There has to be something we can do,” said O’Neal, tears flowing from her eyes.

  “Well, how do we find out about the President?” asked Spartan.

  “The flight plan would have been logged,” said Bloch. “It will take the right person to have access to it, and it’ll be hard with DC—and more important, Langley—in the dark.”

  Karen O’Neal broke down in sobs. Bloch comforted her with a hand on her shoulder.

  Spartan glanced at her computer, and something seemed to catch her eye. “Holy shit,” she said.

  “What?” asked Shepard.

  “The Secretary’s been found,” said Spartan.

  “What?” exclaimed Bloch.

  “The story’s just being relayed among the agencies,” said Spartan. “Here we go. He was found by an army patrol in Paktia Province. He was in bad shape. Beaten and bloody, dehydrated, walking out in the mountains. It was sheer dumb luck that he happened to run into a US patrol vehicle. He’s on his way back to the country now. One piece of goddamn good news in this hell-on-Earth of a day.”

  “How did he get free?” Bloch asked.

  “They haven’t said,” Spartan said. “Maybe it’s still classified.”

  “It is good news that he’s alive,” said Bloch. “Wolfe is a strong figure. Even if the President is alive, he’s MIA. We need someone to bring the country together, to remind people of our shared values, of our responsibilities to one another.”

  “What now?” asked Shepard. “We lost. Weinberg won. What do we do next?”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Bloch, with anger in her voice. “No, Shepard, we haven’t lost. We’ve lost people, and they will be mourned. Weinberg struck at the heart of our country. But Gunther Weinberg cannot destroy us. He can’t, not without killing every last one of us and every idea that we stand for. We haven’t lost, because our work isn’t done.”

  “Bloch . . .” said O’Neal in disbelief.

  “No,” said Bloch. “I won’t accept defeat. Now is when we rally our troops, pool what resources still exist, and bring Weinberg to justice while the wound is still fresh. Who’s staying here and fighting?”

  The others in the room stared at her blankly. Then O’Neal, swallowing her tears, raised her hand.

  “I believe that my sister and my nephew are alive,” she said. “But they were there. They are probably feeling scared and helpless. If I can help, in whatever way I can, I’ll do it for them.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Spartan. “Of course.”

  Bloch looked over at Shepard. “It’s funny,” he said. “Karen’s staying because she has people, but I have no one, really. No family, no friends that I care about that much.” He sat up straighter. “But that’s exactly why I’m staying. I won’t do any good anywhere else.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Bloch. “We stay here and we work through this. Shepard, I want you to reestablish a link with DC. Langley in particular. Spartan, you’re on communications. I’m going to give you a list of people to contact, and you’re going to get in touch with them. O’Neal, get me data. The more we know about this, the better.” Bloch took a deep breath. “We need to be another line of defense when others have failed. A lot depends on what we do. And it’s far from over.”

  Chapter 60

  June 16

  Washington, DC

  Suspended below his parachute, Morgan floated toward the pitch-black ground of the Washington, DC, region. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light of the moon, he was able to make out individual features of the landscape. He had seen two passenger airplanes fall out of the sky when the EMP was deployed, and the flaming wreckage of another one that had been behind him. As he drifted, all he felt—apart from the pains and aches of being tossed like a ragdoll first by the plane and then by Anse Fleischer—was how powerless he was to help anyone.

  The wind carried him to a developed suburb, which posed many dangers for landing, from roofs to trees to pools and even power lines, which though not currently electrified could tangle his chute and leave him hanging.

  Morgan steered into the middle of a street. He landed first on a stalled car, putting a sizable dent on the roof, but was carried upward by a gust of wind. He hit the asphalt a few yards ahead, barreling down on his feet and then stumbling to his knees. He released the parachute, and it flew away like a giant bat, carried by the night’s winds. Having made sure that he was still in one piece, he stood up and looked around.

  A few people had emerged on the streets and were offering to help others. Some were trying to profit from the situation, as in the case of a man who had set up a portable gas stove and was offering to rent it out to people who had electric stoves at home. Just down the street, another man seemed to be offering the same thing for free. Many who were out in the streets looked scared and aggrieved, but more seemed to be helping.

  He passed one young man who offered assistance—Morgan certainly did look in need of first aid, he realized, but he declined. He heard the same young man offer help to the next person he crossed. Another was holding a clipboard and trying to figure out if there were any dead, and whether people needed anything. This is America, Morgan thought with a warm glow. Neighbors helping each other out. An old man approached him on the sidewalk.

  “It’s all blacked out,” he said. “People are saying it might be World War Three. Like we’re being invaded. But I don’t see any enemy bombers.”

  “It’s not World War Three,” said Morgan. “You’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine.”

  Morgan ran down the street, looking for the thing he needed most: transportation. Modern cars depended on electronics to start and run, and all of those would be as good as gigantic paperweights. He’d have to find a car from the eighties or earlier. He dashed, block by block, looking for a car that might be functional.

  It took him about ten blocks, but he knew it was the one as soon as he had seen it. It was a 1969 Camaro, vivid red. He looked up and down the street, seeing no one. He had to work fast. The owner might be watching from a window.

  Morgan took off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around his elbow. “Sorry,” he said, and shattered the glass of the back driver’s-side window. He reached into the car and unlocked the driver’s side door.

  Once behind the wheel, he reached toward the backseat and found an ice scraper, which he used to pry open the cover under the steering wheel. He stripped the wires with his teeth and touched them together. The car came to life.

  Morgan laughed out loud when he shifted into gear. He set out. It was slow going in that area, as he had to maneuver around countless vehicles that had stopped dead in the middle of the street. He apologized under his breath for every yard he ran over, every lawn ornament and bush he crushed.

  He found his way to the highway north. Police were already shutting down the way into DC, but nobody thought of closing off the way out of it. Morgan had the highway to himself for several miles northward before he found working electricity again. He stopped at a gas station and used the pay phone to call Alex, who had Conley’s phone.

  “Did you make it there?” he asked. “Are you with McKay?”

  “Jesus, Dad, are you okay? I heard that the EMP was detonated, and Washington’s in the dark. Is that true?”

  “It’s true,” said Morgan. “A lot of people were hurt. But I’m okay. I’m coming for you, okay honey? But I need you to do something for me now.”

  “Shoot, Dad.”

  “I want you to send out a message to Zeta,” said Morgan. “Lily can help you with that. Tell them what happened, and that I’m alive. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  Chapter 61

  June 16

  Boston

  The TV was on in the makeshift Zeta headquarters at the Mandarin Oriental, and everyone was glued to the screen. The Secretary of State, newly returned from captivity, was preparing to go before the cameras. A news anchor was offering regular updates on information out of DC. No one had yet found the Pres
ident or the Vice President. The Speaker of the House had been killed at Liberty Island, and president pro tempore of the Senate Lana McKay was missing.

  “McKay’s alive,” said Bloch, coming in from the hallway. “So are Morgan and Lily Randall. Lily has McKay and Morgan’s daughter somewhere safe and secret, and Morgan was in DC when the EMP hit. He’s on his way north now.”

  “Wait, hold on,” said O’Neal. “Shh. Listen.” She pointed at the TV.

  “The line of succession in case of the death of the president,” said the blond news anchor, “goes vice president, speaker of the House, president pro tempore of the Senate, and secretary of state. If those missing government officials have indeed been killed, then Secretary of State Lee Irwin Wolfe will be our president.”

  “It’s a good thing Wolfe’s alive,” said Shepard. “The next in line was Secretary of the Treasury. Not exactly inspiring.”

  “But even if the President and the Vice President are dead, McKay’s still alive,” said Spartan. “It’s a moot point.”

  “Yeah,” said O’Neal. “But you don’t think—”

  “Are there any leads on Weinberg’s location?” asked Bloch.

  “Not a thing,” said Shepard. “But we do have a silver lining in terms of communications. They’re flooding working satellite broadband devices into DC. They’ll allow people at least to send messages to their loved ones, and to get government agencies up and running again, even if at severely limited capacity. Meanwhile, we have helicopters scouring the area for the President and the VP.”

  “Good,” said Bloch. “Meanwhile, the search for—”

  “Listen!” cried out O’Neal. “It’s all starting to make sense. It’s coming together, just be quiet for a second.”

  Everyone sat in stunned silence as Karen O’Neal scrunched up her face deep in thought. “Weinberg’s plot,” she said. “It’s an attack on the presidential line of succession. The President, Vice President, Speaker of the House, President pro tempore of the Senate, and the Secretary of State.”

  “So Weinberg wants the US President to be the Secretary of the Treasury?” asked Shepard.

  “Sounds like a plan to weaken the US by elevating to the presidency a person who has none of the relevant experience,” said Bloch.

  “No! No! Listen,” O’Neal said. “Secretary of State Lee Irwin Wolfe. He was the first. Why was he the first? And why was he kidnapped? Why does he return a hero at the exact moment when the nation most needs one?”

  “The Secretary . . .” Bloch didn’t finish the thought.

  “Exactly,” said O’Neal. “The thought had occurred to me before, but all suspicion had been deflected by the fact that he had been abducted. But it was all orchestrated perfectly, to give him the perfect opportunity to seize the presidency.”

  “It makes sense,” said Bloch, her eyes wide with the realization. “How does Weinberg fit in?”

  “He wants a US President in his pocket,” she said. “Someone he could blackmail and control.”

  “Well, terrible as it is,” said Spartan, “It’s not quite so bad, is it? I mean, we know Senator McKay is alive, and for all we know the President and Vice President are, too. Let Wolfe have his speech. It’s only a matter of time before evidence of this gets out.”

  “Yeah,” said Shepard. “Except . . . Weinberg’s not out of the picture yet, McKay’s in hiding, and the whereabouts of the President and VP are unknown.”

  “You’re saying—” began Bloch.

  “He may try to kill them yet,” said Shepard.

  “We need to warn Cougar,” said Spartan. “McKay needs more protection. She needs to be brought in, she needs to be on TV. Everyone needs to know that she’s alive!”

  “You’re right,” said Bloch. “This needs to happen as soon as possible. I’m going to get Cougar on the phone. Finding Weinberg is back to being our number-one priority.”

  Chapter 62

  June 16

  North Carolina

  Peter Conley was driving right behind Walker and the rest of the Lambda team in a metallic Nissan Versa along a forested stretch of road in North Carolina on their way to Washington, DC, when he got the call from Bloch. She explained Karen O’Neal’s theory about Wolfe’s complicity and Weinberg’s ultimate plan.

  “It’s time for McKay to come out of hiding,” said Bloch. “We think you should go get her.”

  Conley flashed his high beams for Walker to pull over, and then pulled in behind him on the shoulder. A car tore down the highway, bobbing Conley’s car in its wake as it passed. “I’m going to need her location,” said Conley.

  “Sending it now,” said Bloch.

  Conley pulled the hand brake and got out of the car. He breathed in the invigorating cool night air, made fresh by the dark, dense forest that bordered the highway. Walker, out of his own car, strode over to him.

  “I’ve just spoken to Bloch,” said Conley. “She thinks I should collect McKay and escort her to a major city.”

  “No problem,” said Walker. He squinted as a car approached with its high beams on. It passed them with a whoosh. “Why don’t I send one of the cars with you? We can spare a couple of guys to make sure she gets there safely.”

  Clutch, who had been in the car with Walker, also emerged out onto the shoulder. Conley’s instincts made him uncomfortable. There was something shifty about him. “It’s fine,” he said. “There’s no need for either of you to come along. We have Lily Randall. And it’s best not to attract too much attention to myself.”

  “Fair enough,” said Walker with a shrug. “Are those the coordinates on your phone?”

  “Yes,” said Conley in a drawn-out syllable, holding his phone closer to his chest.

  “Can we take a look?” asked Walker.

  “I think I’d better just go,” said Conley.

  Clutch drew a handgun from the back waistband of his pants and pointed it at Conley.

  “How about now?” asked Walker.

  “Hey, guys,” said Conley, bringing his hands up to his chest. “I don’t know what this is about, but I’m not your enemy here.”

  “Give him the phone,” said Clutch.

  “What’s your angle here?” asked Conley. “Do you want to be the big hero? ’Cause I can give you credit if you want.”

  “I think the guy with the gun makes the rules,” said Clutch. “Now, are you going to hand it over?”

  Both of them squinted at a coming headlight, and a deep bass horn told Conley that it was a semi truck.

  “Shoot him,” said Walker, with eyes half-closed.

  “With plea—”

  Conley reared up and kicked Clutch hard in the chest exactly two seconds before the truck that had been barreling toward them passed. Clutch was thrust backward onto the highway, firing a wild shot upward, and was bashed by the truck’s grille. The driver slammed the brakes, and the acrid smell of burning tires wafted through the air.

  Conley took advantage of Walker’s astonishment to throw a left hook, but Walker dodged and returned with a punch to the gut. He kicked Conley so that he fell over, and stepped on his hand until he relinquished the phone.

  “You’re gonna pay for that,” said Walker.

  “Hey!” someone shouted. It was the truck driver. Two shots rang out, and he was hit twice in the chest by one of Walker’s teammates.

  The poor guy. But a distraction was a distraction. Conley kicked Walker’s leg hard once, then twice. Walker toppled backward, and the phone tumbled toward Walker’s Hyundai.

  The entire Lambda team was emerging from their two vehicles. Conley stared at the phone for a single beat, but it was lost. He had no hope of getting to it now.

  He turned and dashed into the dark woods, hearing gunshots behind him. He ran as fast as he could without risking breaking his legs until he could no longer see the road. He felt confident that they wouldn’t come after him. They were in a hurry to get to McKay, and that stretch of road now resembled a butcher shop.

  No, they wo
uld be going. But not before they had sabotaged his car and left him without a phone. Conley tried to remember where the last gas station was, but couldn’t. It must have been far away. He was stranded, with no transportation, no means of communication. And he was the only one who knew that a team of murderous bastards was on its way to kill Lily, Alex, and Senator McKay.

  Chapter 63

  June 16

  Washington, DC

  Buck Chapman was awoken, partially clothed and with his arms embracing Cynthia Gillespie, by a sudden bustle in the outer work area. Cynthia opened her eyes as well, and pulled her clothes on without a word to him. Once she was dressed, but still turned away and with downcast eyes, she asked, “What the—?”

  Chapman walked out of his office to find that two young people carrying heavy shopping bags had come into the outer office.

  “What’s this?” Chapman asked the young man.

  “Satellite-enabled smart phones,” he said. “We’re here to bring you out of the dark ages. We’re also leaving instructions here for you to log on to a secure network with the specific purpose of sharing information in the DC area. Congratulations. You’re all connected again.”

  Chapman turned his on and followed the setup instructions. The network was a simple and clever system where anyone could share, though certain special subnetworks were only accessible to those with security clearance. As he looked it over, it seemed that the damage had not been quite as bad as he had imagined. He logged on to the secure network, and saw the top item on the list.

  “Oh my God,” he said.

  Chapter 64

  June 16

  Boston

  “It’s the President,” Shepard announced, raising a fist in victory. “And the Vice President. They’ve been found. They were on Marine One, the presidential helicopter, when they got the warning.”

  The room in the Mandarin Oriental came alive with a burst of enthusiasm.