7
9:23 A.M.
Seamus McKay climbed into the driver’s seat of the beat-up Dodge the Company had loaned him for in-city work, grousing once more about how screwed up the whole system really was. The terrorists had better weapons than they did, better intel than they had, and perhaps most gratingly, better cars than they got. And yet they were supposed to track these people down and apprehend them-while of course being scrupulous about not violating their civil rights.
Good luck.
Come to think of it, he might have violated eight or ten civil rights during that brawl at the Washington Monument, but he had prevented the ugly obelisk from being blown to pieces, so he hoped that would be the primary focus of the debrief. Well, he could hope, anyway.
His whole midsection ached. He must’ve sprained something when he pulled his entire body weight up to the second level where the sniper was perched. He needed to get to the gym more often than he did, keep those abs in shape. But as his chronological age crept ever closer to fifty, the urgency of befriending the Nautilus machines seemed to subside. Wasn’t he getting too old for this life? Coming stateside had been a step in the right direction. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life chasing after the kind of scum who would rob a nuclear armory?
Speaking of which, he’d better phone in an early report. The security cops at the monument must’ve contacted his office by now. He’d better make sure his superiors got his side of the story, as quickly as possible. As he pulled onto the parkway, he dialed his cell with his left hand.
“Zira?”
“I’m here, Seamus. What the hell is going on?”
As succinctly as possible, Seamus tried to bring her up-to-date, explaining how he had followed the trail from the Arlington armory, using a tip from a trusted informant, caught up to the thieves just as they left their hideout, and followed them all the way to the Washington Monument. He left out most of the details of the fight, just mentioning in passing that he had taken out several men single-handedly.
“But one got away? With the suitcase?”
Count on Zira to accentuate the negative. “Unfortunately. I couldn’t be in four places at once.”
“So you took down three men of no importance and let the one with the nuke escape?”
“I took the fourth down, too. Unfortunately, he got back up again.”
He could hear a tsking sound on the other end of the connection. “I think this is another example of incredibly poor judgment, Seamus. Just the latest of many such instances.”
How had he ever ended up with a female operations chief, anyway? With her high heels and her perfectly tailored suits, she wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in Afghanistan. Did someone in Washington think this was politically correct?
“I saved the monument,” Seamus said curtly. “And there were no casualties.”
“Yet,” she rejoined without waiting a breath. “But since there’s a maniac out there with a nuclear device, how long will that remain true?”
Seamus stifled the instinct to swear. “Look, I’ve still got some leads. I saw a couple of things out there that might indicate where this guy will go next. I’ll follow up.”
“No, Seamus. You won’t.”
He swerved his car onto M Street and pulled into the far lane. “Are you kidding? I’m the one who found these clowns. No one knows more about them than me.”
“Nonetheless, you-”
“I’ll come in and do a full debrief and report later. Promise. But I’ve got to cover the field while the trail is still hot.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Are you listening to me?” Seamus practically shouted into the receiver. “These guys stole a nuke and they’re planning to use it.”
“Yes,” Zira replied, “and sadly enough, that is not the most urgent threat facing our nation today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How much do you know about Kuraq and its current leader, Colonel Zuko?”
Seamus resisted the temptation to say, “A hell of a lot more than you.” “Plenty. Kuraq isn’t that far from Afghanistan or Iran. I’ve seen Zuko in action, back before he took control.”
“Good. How would you describe him?”
“Smart. Western-educated. Insecure about his military position, which is likely to make him dangerous.”
“You’re certainly right about the last part. Zuko has somehow infiltrated our military defense computers and seized control of some of our ballistic missiles.”
Seamus’s eyes bulged. “More nukes?”
“No, conventional explosives, at least at this time. But very powerful. Capable of making a very big hole in the ground.”
Seamus ground his teeth together. “How did he do it?”
“Our computer guys are still investigating. The most popular theory is that he’s launched a spy satellite that has a powerful computer-hacking ability.”
“His computer geeks came up with something before our geeks did?”
“It’s looking that way.”
Seamus took a deep breath. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“You’ll be putting in overtime.”
“More than that. Think about it. Someone robs a highly secret and heavily guarded nuclear armory. Someone hacks into our computers and seizes control of our missiles. Both on the same day? You got to think it’s the same people, executing some well-planned and highly coordinated attack against the United States. And there’s only one way that would be possible.”
“Do enlighten me, Seamus.”
He hesitated several beats before he could make himself say it. “We’ve got a mole.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. It’s the only possible explanation. Zuko shouldn’t even know about the Arlington facility. Most people don’t. And I don’t care how good his hacking program is-I don’t believe he could get into the military defense system without inside help. Someone passed him some back doors to ease his entry.”
He was gratified to hear that, for once, Zira didn’t immediately snap back with a response. “That is a singularly disturbing possibility.”
“And a very real one. You need to start running the A-Alpha Shadow protocols. Find the mole. Look for someone on the inside who has been making unexplained phone calls to unlisted numbers. Especially foreign numbers. Find out if anyone has recently had a significant unexplained cash infusion to their bank account.”
“I know how to find a mole, Mr. McKay, thank you very much.”
Seamus smiled. It gave him pleasure to think he had gotten that officious bureaucrat’s goat.
“And what will you be doing, if I may ask?”
“I’m not sure,” Seamus replied. “I guess I’ll consult my computer expert. Find out how this might have been done. Who could have engineered it. If you really think this takes priority over the nuclear suitcase.”
“It does. We have no direct evidence-other than your unsubstantiated suggestion that they were going to detonate it in the monument-that the suitcase will be used anytime soon. But we have a direct threat from Zuko that a missile will be launched shortly. If you can figure out how to get him out of our computers, we need that intel immediately.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Good. Get to it.” She paused. “Don’t bother calling in to the president. He’s in the bunker. You can’t get through. I can contact him via his Secret Service detail. I’ll pass along what you’ve learned.”
“Okay.” Seamus swerved his car around into the opposite lane and headed back the way he came. This new assignment called for a course correction.
“Call me the moment you learn anything.”
“I will.”
“And Seamus.” The edge fell out of her voice, but it was replaced by something darker and more urgent. “Understand that this is not just another assignment. You may have done decent reconnaissance work in the Middle East, but this isn’t contingent or theoretical. Those missiles are point
ed right down our throats. This threat could bring down the presidency. This threat could take hundreds of thousands of lives and revert the East Coast to the Stone Age.” Her voice dropped another notch. “This could be the end of the United States as you and I know it.”
8
9:33 A.M.
Agent Zimmer rose to his feet, one hand pressed against his left earpiece. “We’ve lost the connection, sir.”
“Get Zuko back!” the president snapped.
“We didn’t lose him.” After a moment Zimmer added quietly, “He hung up.”
A brief silence ensued as Ben and everyone else in the bunker contemplated the confidence of a man who felt sufficiently secure to hang up on the president of the United States.
“I want him back on the line as soon as possible,” the president said firmly.
“Yes, sir. But Mr. President…” Zimmer pointed toward a screen at the top of the communications station.
They were marking the colonel’s countdown. Time was slipping away, all too fast.
“I know I can make the man see reason,” the president said. “Just get him back on the line.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.” Zimmer sat and returned his attention to the screen.
All at once, the lights and power began to flicker again. The lights shuddered on and off for several seconds, then actually went out altogether.
“What the hell?”
“What’s going on?”
“Who’s in charge here? Is anyone in charge?”
Ben recognized the last voice as Admiral Cartwright’s, but the panic and tumult were becoming so frenzied that after that it was hard to hear anything.
Then the lights came back on. A few moments later, power returned to the communications station and the screens. Ben heard the familiar whirring sound that told him computers were rebooting.
“What just happened?” the president said evenly.
“I don’t know,” Agent Zimmer said, motioning to another agent. “I’m sending people topside to find out.” Two of the agents streamed out the door.
“Aren’t all these power lines secure?”
“They should be, sir. The bunker has its own power conduits, and like the bunker itself, they’re designed to withstand a nuclear blast. Even the EMP from a nearby missile detonation shouldn’t cause more than temporary interference.”
“Find out what’s happening!”
“Already on it.”
“Good.” The president leaned forward, one hand squeezing the bridge of his nose.
Cartwright saw his opening. “Mr. President-”
President Kyler held up his hand, silencing him. “Just give me one damn moment.” He breathed in deeply, then released it, then did it again, then again, each time digging more desperately for air. He began to wheeze. “Doctor?”
Dr. Albertson walked to his side and presented what appeared to be an asthma inhaler. Ben had had no idea the president suffered from asthma. That had never been mentioned during the campaign or, to his knowledge, afterward. How had they kept it a secret? Or was this a symptom that had developed more recently, perhaps another sign of the great strain of the presidency?
President Kyler took two gigantic whiffs from the inhaler. A few moments later his breathing began to normalize.
“Mr. President,” Cartwright launched again, but Kyler waved him away.
“Zimmer,” he said, his voice subdued and remarkably calm, given the circumstances, “I want all the monuments on the National Mall closed. No, on second thought, make that all the monuments in Washington. Close them down and tell the folks to go home.”
“But Mr. President,” Secretary Ruiz objected, “if you do that, it could cause a panic.”
“I’d rather have panic than casualties. Colonel Zuko will be looking for symbolic targets. Dramatic demonstrations of his protest against our way of life. I think there are many in D.C. that would serve his purpose all too well. Close them down.”
Zimmer nodded. “Will do, sir.”
“Send a memo through military channels to other high-profile potential targets on the East Coast. Wall Street. The Statue of Liberty. Disney World. They need to know that today might be a good day to close up shop.”
“ If Wall Street shuts down early-”
“They can come up with some explanation that doesn’t involve a terrorist threat. They’ve done it before.” The president turned toward the communications station, where Zimmer was already hard at work. “Can you get me an update on the people who went down in that helicopter behind the Kuraqi border? I’d like to know if they’ve already been captured. If they’re POWs.”
“And if they are?” Secretary Rybicki asked.
“Then we have an even better excuse to bring our troops across his border.”
“Did you not listen to the man? He’s launching a missile in only a few minutes. If you invade, he’s likely to fire them all.”
“I assure you, Mr. Secretary, that I heard every word Zuko said. And I don’t have time for a review. Ben?”
Ben looked up abruptly. He had become so absorbed in the ongoing drama that he had almost forgotten that he was technically a member of the president’s staff, too.
“Yes, sir?”
“Give me a very quick brief on our international rights with regard to Kuraq. What’s the law? Does he have the right to defend himself in this way? What difference does the presence of our troops make? After all, we’re there with the express permission of a Middle Eastern nation.”
Ben took a deep breath. “As you probably know, sir, what we call international law isn’t really law at all. It is simply a hodgepodge of various conventions and agreements that have arisen over time, starting in the Middle Ages in, ironically, the Middle East. These have established values and procedures over time-but they are hard to enforce with a nonparticipating nation. You can get a judgment in the World Court, but how do you enforce it? You can get a proclamation from the United Nations, but what impact will that have on a nation such as Kuraq, which has refused entry to UN weapons inspectors for the past five years?”
President Kyler nodded grimly. “And I think now we can see why. They’ve been working on something big. Something they didn’t want anyone else to know about.”
“Last I heard, our ships were still waiting outside the twelve-mile limit, in international waters. If they come within twelve miles of the Kuraqi coast, however, we will be violating their territory as defined by the relevant UN charter agreement.”
“But we have the invitation of the Saudi Arabian government.”
“I know. But since when did one nation have the ability to waive the rights of another? Never, I hope. Does Canada have the ability to authorize Kuraq to invade U.S. airspace? I hope not.”
“I see your point. But this is different. Our intelligence data suggest that they plan-may have already begun-the systematic slaughter of the people on the Benzai Strip.”
“Then the appropriate course of action would be to obtain UN authorization. That’s what George Bush did-the first one. The UN Security Council authorized an invasion after Iraq invaded Kuwait. Over three dozen member nations participated, although of course the United States played the primary role.”
“His son didn’t have UN authorization to invade Iraq.”
“No, he didn’t, and partly as a result, his coalition was much feebler and the action never gained worldwide support. Most foreign nations viewed it as a war of aggression, not of liberation.”
“I’ve had my men working on the UN for weeks. So far we haven’t been able to get anything.”
“You’re suffering the negative fallout of previous U.S. actions in the Middle East. Just when it looked as if we might finally be getting out of the Middle East, here we come again, wanting to invade someone else.”
“I know, I know.” The president’s fingers began to bounce on the tabletop. Maybe it was just Ben, but the pattern looked all too much like the same little dance he had seen the man’s feet per
forming under the table. “But we can’t stand by and watch this barbarian slaughter an entire region!”
“But we do not have authority to invade.”
“ Clinton sent our troops into Bosnia.”
“Yes, but Clinton was acting under the direct authority of NATO, and there was clear evidence of the planned genocide against Bosnian Muslims and had been for years. After those broken and emaciated faces played on television, he had the support he needed-at least for a while. Our evidence about what’s going on in Benzai is-forgive me, Mr. President-considerably more sketchy. And we don’t have the authority of NATO or the UN or anyone else.”
“At this rate, Ben, if I wait for that, those people will be dead. Tens of thousands of them.”
“I understand your position, Mr. President. But my job is to advise you on the law. And that’s what it is.”
“Pardon me for butting in,” Cartwright said.
Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. Had Cartwright ever shown the remotest reluctance to butt in before?
“I thought you were working on some energy lawsuit, Mr. Kincaid. Since when did you become an expert on international law?”
“I’m like a well-tuned PC,” Ben replied. “I can multitask. I’ve been around awhile, and I’ve held many different positions. And with respect, Admiral, all I did was answer the president’s questions. I never suggested I was any kind of expert.”
The president waved the strife away. “I know this much, Admiral. He’s the leading expert on international law currently in this bunker.”
Cartwright grudgingly acknowledged the point.
Kyler turned back to Ben. “What about his claim that he has the right to fire our missiles?”
“I can’t imagine that there’s anything anywhere in international law that would support that claim, regardless of what we’ve got next door to him in Saudi Arabia. So long as we remain in international waters-”
“But that’s the problem.”
The president’s interruption caught Ben-and everyone else in the bunker-by surprise. The short hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood on end. He had the distinct feeling this case was about to get a good deal more complicated.
Capitol Betrayal Page 6
