The man spilled everything. He wasn’t a soldier. He didn’t have a tough side. He was a prison guard because his brother was an officer in the Qi Jia military and volunteered him for the job. He accepted the post to satisfy his brother and contribute to the cause. That was it. It was all he could do to keep from crying. Eddie didn’t even need the gun, so eventually he put it away. His huge stature was more than intimidating enough. The man begged them not to share with anyone what he told them. Neither Eddie nor Lazzo had any intention of doing so.
The man told them the Russian commander had been eager to get information from the vice president. As soon as Eddie flew down to the Stanley Hotel, the Russian was in the room with the VP, telling him they were going after his daughter. When the first radio call came up about the gunfight, he burst into the room and told the VP they had trapped her in the lower level of the Stanley Hotel. The prison guard watched as the vice president began weeping. The Russian kept pushing him to talk, and finally the American man nodded and began moving his hand as if to indicate he needed a pen. Ah, the pen and paper.
Standard prisoner protocol in Russia—particularly for VIPs—mandated they wear neck braces and bulletproof vests so they couldn’t slit their throat or stab themselves in the heart. It was 99 percent foolproof. If they slit their wrists, the bleeding could be stopped. If they stabbed themselves in the eye or anywhere else, it would hurt, but it likely wouldn’t kill them. There was only one exposed area of the body that would work for a “way out.” The vice president somehow knew this before he was even moved up to the alpine base.
The Russian handed him a pen and piece of paper, demanding he write some sort of code on it. The vice president nodded, but never spoke. He took the pen and tried to write, but it was a struggle with both his hands chained. The guard was asked to unlock the vice president’s right hand, which he did, and as soon as the Russian commander backed away, the vice president stabbed himself just inside his left armpit with the pen. He quickly removed something from his mouth and inserted it into the pen hole. They fought to lift the vice president’s arm to access the wound and were finally able to remove a pointed capsule from the hole, but it was too late. Other than the metal tip, the capsule had mostly dissolved. Whatever poison it had contained immediately spread to his heart. He died a few minutes later.
The vice president hadn’t given them a single bit of useful intel. The Russian commander went crazy. A doctor had searched every inch of the vice president’s body when he was brought to the Endovalley camp, and again hours later just to be safe. No one knew where the capsule had come from. Somehow the vice president was given that capsule after both searches and he successfully concealed it until he was able to use it. It didn’t seem possible. The vice president had been guarded every minute in that tent by three guards. But somehow it had happened. And now, without him, they didn’t need the daughters…either one.
When they returned to Denver, the Russian commander had told the prison guard not to go anywhere because he would be summoned before the full panel of commanders this afternoon. The guard asked Eddie if that was a bad sign. “No,” Eddie said. It was a terrible one. The man had been quite relieved, and as he turned to walk away Eddie grabbed him. “One more thing.” The man nodded. “President write anything on the paper?”
“I love you, girls,” the guard replied.
Eddie let the man go and looked away. There was a lump in his throat. He really missed his own girls. He coughed and turned back to his brother. “Let’s go, Laz.”
Eddie and Lazzo returned to Eddie’s office in the Intelligence Center where there was a message waiting for Eddie. He was to meet The Seven commanders in the Command Room at 2 p.m. sharp. Lazzo asked if Eddie wanted him, Cabo, and Omar to go along. Eddie didn’t. It wasn’t safe for them. Might not even be safe for him. “Pack your things,” Eddie said. “Be ready to go.” He would do all he could to spare them and buy them time to flee, if it came to that.
Eddie dressed in full uniform before his meeting with the panel. He was searched prior to entering the Command Room, which they hadn’t done last time. Not good. He could actually be facing the same fate as the prison guard.
He entered the room to a solemn atmosphere, also entirely the opposite of his last visit. He was told to remain standing at the far end of the table. He listened for the next ten minutes as he was blamed for the vice president’s death. He had been responsible for security and transportation between the Endovalley base camp and the alpine base and had failed to secure the most valuable asset in this war. War? This was missiles against rubber bands. This wasn’t war.
The Russian commander “supposedly” had defended him and pleaded for his life, stating under those circumstances the same mistake could have been made by anyone. Yeah. Right!
Eddie knew he had made no such mistake. The vice president had the capsule before Eddie even reached the Endovalley camp. He was certain of that. He thought about divulging what he’d found in the tent at the Endovalley camp, but figured that would only make it worse now. They’d want to know why he’d kept such potentially valuable information to himself. Then they might actually kill him. Instead he listened as he was told the Russian’s “compassion” was the only reason his life would be spared. He was additionally being stripped of his post in the Intelligence Division and demoted to the lowest level of soldier. The same went for his brother.
Eddie stood still as the Libyan commander ripped the rank patches off his shirt and removed all his pins. He looked Eddie right in the eye and called him an impotent coward—probably meant incompetent—and an embarrassment to the Libyan nation. Eddie never said a word. He wondered how many of the people at this table disagreed with what was going on. He wondered how many of them knew the Russian commander had been up at the alpine base or knew any of what took place up there. Eddie doubted it. The Russian commander wouldn’t look at him. Not once. That was another sign Eddie was right.
Eddie knew anything he said here would be either construed as a lie or ignored altogether. It didn’t matter how much dirt he had on the Russian commander. There was no fight here he could win. Eddie was given his choice of post “anywhere more than one hundred miles from Denver.” After looking at the map of bases on the wall he selected Buena Vista, Colorado—125 miles southwest of Denver—the closest city still on the assumed American route. He “accepted” a transfer there.
He was to remain at that post unless otherwise ordered by The Seven commanders themselves. Even if the soldiers there were sent on assignment elsewhere, he was to stay at that base. Period. Lazzo was being transferred with him, but Cabo and Omar were being reassigned to another division. Eddie would not be told anything more. His career in Qi Jia intelligence was done. He should be thankful he still had his life. This was his last chance…blah, blah, blah.
Eddie had tuned them out well before he left the room. If he ever came face to face with that Russian commander again he was a dead man, even if it meant Eddie’s own death. He found it hard to believe the other commanders could so gullibly accept Eddie’s “sole responsibility” in all of this, but those seven men seemed intent on at least pretending to have a unified front. If they only knew.
Eddie was met at his office by a smiling Lazzo. The prison commander had called an hour ago to inform them the guard they’d spoken with had “fallen down a flight of stairs and tragically died.” Shocker. The Russian commander was never going to let him get in front of that panel and even begin to point a finger elsewhere. Thus the sarcastic smile on Lazzo’s face.
Eddie, in turn, told his younger brother they had each lost their ranks and were being assigned to a troop down in Buena Vista. He and Lazzo also had to say their farewells to their good friends, Omar and Cabo, who were to go to the nearest airbase that night to be flown out in the morning. Eddie told them both before they left, “Stay alive, men. We’ll meet again someday. Insha’Allah (God willing).” Though he was pretty sure even God couldn’t keep them alive.
H
e and Lazzo were leaving early the next morning for their new post. They used their last night in the Intelligence Division to collect maps, as much strategic Qi Jia information as they could find—including the NORAD bunker info and a map of all Qi Jia bases—and lastly to check in one more time on Estes Park. Eddie had Lazzo pack his officer badges and medals instead of leaving them on his desk. One never knew when they might come in handy.
Eddie and Lazzo took the two men from the Endovalley base to their new post in Colorado Springs and introduced them to their new commanding officer, Captain Kubar. He hadn’t been informed of Eddie’s demotion, and Eddie neither told him nor allowed him to see the lack of stripes on his uniform, keeping his jacket on the entire time. Eddie’s office radio had been shut down, but Captain Kubar saw no problem in letting him check in with Estes Park from his office. Captain Kubar took his two new men to meet the other soldiers, and Eddie got on the radio to the Alpine Visitor Center.
As expected, Eddie was told all the troops were being pulled out of Estes Park first thing tomorrow morning. There was no reason left to contain that site, as there was no way in, no way out, and no signs of life at this point. If anyone were still there they’d surely be dead by spring.
Some of the Estes Park troops would join the eighty men currently up at the alpine base, while the rest would be sent to the other end of Trail Ridge Road in Granby or Grand Lake until spring. That was all Eddie needed to know.
He thanked Captain Kubar for his help and told him he and his men were being reassigned to Buena Vista. If anyone asked the captain what he knew of Eddie’s whereabouts, Captain Kubar would tell them what the commanders already knew. There would be no surprises on any end, and Kubar would never be the wiser about being used. Perhaps he would even remain someone who Eddie could count on, if needed, in the future.
Cabo and Omar were never reassigned. They were killed in their sleep that same night.
SIXTY-FIVE: (Ryan) “Bitter Cold”
Tuesday, December 1, 2020.
Estes Park, Colorado.
The troops were gone by noon. Dozens of helicopters flew in, and all the base camps were abandoned. A couple of helicopters flew up to the Alpine Visitor Center, but most of them headed in the general direction of Denver. It didn’t matter to us anymore. We were safe where we were and could hold out here for the duration of winter, no problem. We had plenty of food, plenty of water, plenty of shelter, and enough distance between us and the soldiers who had been down here that, paired with the freezing conditions outdoors, we never had to worry about anyone walking up to our cave and knocking on the door.
We held a service for Cameron and for Vice President (or President) Moore later that same afternoon. They were both military men and were honored accordingly. We didn’t have sufficient silencers for the appropriate gun salute, but we improvised and allowed Danny to run the service as he wanted.
His conversation with Reagan had gone easier than expected. I guess the daughter of a politician, especially one in higher office, must have to prepare herself differently than the rest of us. Sure, she hurt. Sure, she cried. But she seemed to accept what had happened as a gift her father had given to keep the rest of us alive. She had devoted herself from that point on to getting her little sister through it. That had been the difficult conversation. Abbey had so many questions. Danny and Reagan were careful to word their answers so she wouldn’t feel the least bit responsible for her father’s death—or for Cameron’s.
Danny recognized the vice president at the service as an honorable man, though I couldn’t help but notice Reagan didn’t seem to share those sentiments. Danny remained haunted by some of the vice president’s final words to him. When Danny had praised him in the tent, the VP had told him not to, suggesting there was a great deal Danny didn’t know. It seemed Reagan was aware of what her father had been referencing.
Danny didn’t say much about Cameron. He dug the grave himself, and he had written some words on a piece of paper. He buried those thoughts with his best friend, but held onto the American flag he had originally intended to cover his body with. It was our last American flag, and clearly Danny had some other purpose for it.
After the ceremony, we gathered inside and shared memories of our time with our friends and family who had passed. I even shared some memories of Sophie. It seemed so much easier to talk about her now, especially with Tara at my side. Emily and Abbey had become fast friends, and Hayley had more time now to hang out with the rest of us.
At one point I noticed Danny excuse himself and walk up the tunnel to the ledge, with Hayley right behind him. Unsure whether I’d be wanted, I held back until Tara nudged me. “You need to go up there too,” she said.
I didn’t argue. I met them out on the ledge. It was still light out but rapidly darkening. Danny was sitting on the ledge when I stepped out, his arm around his little sister. Hayley patted the ground beside her, and I sat down next to them.
“This sucks,” Danny said, and Hayley laughed. Danny even smiled. Then he looked at us. “We’ve gotta make it there. All the way. We need to do it for Mom. And now we’ve got to do it for Cameron.” Exactly the resolve I was hoping for in my son.
“We will, Dan,” Hayley replied, patting his knee and then turning to look at me. “Right Dad?”
I nodded. “Yeppers.” What else could I say?
Hayley laughed again. “Idiot.” She smiled.
Yeppers, indeed.
After most of us had gone to bed, I watched Danny get up and put his heavy black jacket on. He walked over to the table by the tunnel and grabbed a ski pole and the American flag. He put the flag in his backpack, walked up the tunnel, and stepped out onto the ledge.
I waited a minute before sliding out from under Tara’s arm, grabbing my own jacket, and following him. When I reached the ledge, he was already on the other side of it, scaling the far wall. With the soldiers gone, Blake had left the rope up. Danny climbed it with ease and continued up the mountain’s face behind us. I stepped back inside and grabbed my gloves and a rifle, then returned to the ledge. I cautiously sidestepped my way across to the far wall. I was trying not to look down or slip. A fall meant probable death, but I had to know what Danny was doing.
I slung the rifle over my shoulder and was halfway up the far wall when one of the stakes came loose. The rope swung outward and I lost my footing. I frantically grabbed onto the only rock near me and tried to find a foothold somewhere but without luck. I looked up, desperately seeking another handhold for a better grip as a hand suddenly reached down.
I grabbed the hand, and Danny helped me up. Talk about strength. “You could’ve just asked to come along, you know. It’s not like you’re all that quiet,” he chided, as I tried to regain my composure and catch my breath. “Man, you can be stupid sometimes.”
I deserved that.
“Listen…Dad,” he said softly. I listened. “This isn’t the time to talk about this, but I’ve been really hard on you for a long time. And you deserved a lot of it, but you were better to Mom in the end than I ever gave you credit for. I should have believed you a long time ago. It just took a while.”
I understood. He looked like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. “Look. I’m proud of you,” Danny continued. “Mom would be too. Tara is great for you. I like her a lot. But now…I don’t mind if you sit here and watch me, but I need to do this on my own.” He pointed up the mountain, indicating he was going to climb to the top.
I nodded. I understood again. “Got it. Thanks, Danny.”
He thumped me in the chest with a gloved hand. “Don’t fall off the cliff, okay?” he said with a trace of a smile, and then he turned his back on me and began climbing up Bighorn Mountain.
I followed him as far as I needed in order to see the top clearly, and then watched Danny through the scope as he finished the climb. When he reached the summit, he took the American flag from his backpack and tied it to the ski pole. He embedded the makeshift flagpole in the ground and looke
d down at the valley below him.
We had a full moon that night, a huge white snowball hanging over Horseshoe Park, turning the snowfields into shimmering crystal blankets. I could only imagine what it looked like from where Danny stood, but to be honest, he probably didn’t notice. He had one thing on his mind.
“Wish you were still here, Cam,” Danny whispered hoarsely. “I miss you, man.” He looked up at the stars, blinking back tears—shaking his head—as the flag began waving gently in the breeze.
“I’m really gonna miss you.”
PART III
SIXTY-SIX: (Ryan) “Spring Forward”
Tuesday, May 18, 2021.
Estes Park, Colorado.
Trail Ridge Road typically opens the last week or so of May. It usually takes the plows almost an entire month to clear the road all the way out. I always used to think that was crazy. Now I wished it took longer. The road opened the first week of May this year. That complicated things for us—greatly. On May 5, there were already troops in the valley, and they were everywhere. We had been trying to pool our “wishful thinking” into hoping they permanently went away.
It didn’t work. There was no magical rebirth of America. We were still only halfway to our goal, and we knew we’d be facing an army of energized soldiers who hadn’t had many, if any, Americans to kill in months. They’d be starving for action. It was going to get that much harder to move, that much harder to hide…that much harder to survive.
We hadn’t put Christmas lights up for Christmas. There was no Mannheim Steamroller, no Carrie Underwood, no synchronized “Carol of the Bells.” But we did have a makeshift tree, plenty of snow, and a sky full of stars. The presence of children made it mandatory for the rest of us to follow through with a few traditions, and honestly, it did bring a little joy to our world. As we sat around on Christmas Eve listening to Dad read the Christmas story from the Bible, I couldn’t help but feel like we could all somehow relate better to it now. Ours wasn’t quite as primitive as the original Christmas—car travel sure beat camels—and no angel had appeared to any of us in a dream with a safe way out. Yet. But I could imagine how frightened Mary and Joseph must have been, and how hard it had to have been to have faith.
2020: Emergency Exit Page 30
