Capitol Betrayal

by William Bernhardt

  “The oath of office is in the football, with a Bible,” the president said helpfully. His voice sounded as if it was on the verge of breaking, but didn’t quite.

  Did he mean the nuclear football? Ben wondered. The silver attaché case with all the codes for nuclear launch plus, apparently, a few other essential emergency items?

  “Since I’m the judge, sort of,” Cartwright said, “I guess I can be in charge of that. Mr. Swinburne, let’s do it in the next room.”

  “We can do it later,” Swinburne replied. “Have you noticed the clock?”

  In fact, in the midst of all the excitement, Ben had actually forgotten about the ticking countdown. As he turned his head, the display changed to show only one minute remaining until Colonel Zuko’s grace period ran out.

  In less than sixty seconds, another missile could be headed toward a nearby residential neighborhood. For the first time, Ben found himself almost grateful he had lost the trial.

  “Get out of my way,” Swinburne growled, pushing away everyone who was between him and the communications station. “Let me talk to Zuko!”

  Agent Zimmer glanced up at him calmly. “As you say, sir. We have a continuing connection. I’ll see if he will pick up the line again.” A few seconds later, he said, “I have the colonel for you, Mr. Vice President.”

  “That’s Mr. President now,” Swinburne said, snatching the headset away from him.

  “Colonel? This is Conrad Swinburne. I don’t have time to explain all the details, but I’m the commander in chief now, and I am immediately giving the order to-”

  And then, without warning, all the lights in the bunker went out, including the lights on the communications station. Ben listened with horror to the slow, eerie dying whine of the electronic equipment powering down.

  “What the hell just happened?” Swinburne bellowed in the darkness.

  “I don’t know,” Zimmer said. Rustling noises told Ben he was trying a dozen things at once, trying to discern what was going on. “We seem to have lost power.”

  “I thought the bunker had its own generator!”

  “It does,” Zimmer said succinctly.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “If you could just give me a minute to investigate-”

  “We don’t have a minute! That madman will launch the missiles! Get him back!”

  Ben heard Zimmer frantically pushing buttons, trying to raise a ghost in the machine. “I… can’t.”

  “Then get me the Joint Chiefs. So I can give the order to have our troops withdraw!”

  “At the moment I can’t do that, either.”

  “Then let me the hell out of this bunker!”

  “No.” Ben didn’t know how, but he got the distinct impression that Zimmer was restraining Swinburne.

  “Get your hands off me, man. I’m the president now!”

  “Which is exactly why you have to remain in the bunker. I’ll send someone else to check out the power problem.”

  “Does anyone know the time?” Cartwright was asking the question.

  Across the table, Ben detected a small green glow.

  Secretary Rybicki had a glow-in-the-dark watch.

  “The time… is up,” he said in quick, clipped tones. “It’s too late.”

  Ben felt his heart pounding in his chest. Sarie reached for his hand. He took it and squeezed tightly.

  He could feel Swinburne crumbling to the table. “After all that. After all that. We’re still too late.”

  The bunker fell eerily quiet. When Swinburne spoke again, he spoke for them all.

  “Oh, my God,” he said, and his words seemed to contain all the pain of tens of thousands of innocent civilian lives. “Oh, my dear God.”

  Part Four. The Final Betrayal

  *

  44

  12:01 P.M.

  N o one moved. No one spoke. They had known that missiles were on their way for two hours now, and yet, with the knowledge that they must have actually been fired, the horror of the situation struck home with an impact they had not yet experienced.

  To Ben’s surprise, the former president was the first to break the silence. “Is there any way to get confirmation about what has happened?” Kyler asked.

  “Not until we get power, or a report from someone who’s gone above,” Zimmer said into the darkness. “I’ve sent agents topside to investigate. I assume they’ll come down with information about any recent developments.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Hard to say, sir. My guess would be around ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes of not knowing,” Kyler said softly. “My God, how will we survive?”

  “Is there any doubt about it?” Swinburne asked. “Zuko told us what he would do. He’s a violent dictator, not a poker player.”

  “And how many people did he say would die?” Sarie asked, her heartbreak evident in her voice. “Thousands?”

  “Tens of thousands,” Rybicki reminded them all.

  The room fell silent again.

  “I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait for information.”

  “For the moment,” Zimmer said.

  “And we can pray,” Cartwright added. “We can still pray.”

  Ben felt certain that, at least for that one brief moment in time, everyone in the bunker, whatever their race, creed, or color, lowered their head and said a little prayer to anyone they believed might be listening.

  45

  11:54 A.M.

  (S EVEN MINUTES BEFORE)

  Seamus gritted his teeth and raised his eyes to the ceiling. He was bleeding in so many places he couldn’t keep track of them. It had all merged into one gigantic hurt. He had tried to hold in the pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from bleeding, or screaming, or crying. He hated that. Not because it was a sign of weakness. Because it gave Scarface so much pleasure.

  Raising his eyes upward was not simply an expression of his desperation. It was an old spy trick. You look away from whatever you don’t want your assailant to see.

  He had managed to pull one of his legs free from the cords that tied him to the cot. If he could loosen the other one, he just might be able to improve his situation.

  Or die trying.

  “You seem not so bothered anymore,” Scarface said with unmitigated glee. “I miss the lovely sound of your screaming.” Perhaps we need to try somewhere else.” He removed Seamus’s belt and jerked down his slacks. “I think the American testicles might be a good place to try next. Do you think you will feel my pliers on your American testicles?”

  Seamus didn’t withhold his contempt. It wasn’t going to make any difference anyway. “I think you’re going to do whatever pleases you. If you didn’t have a strong sadistic streak, you wouldn’t be doing this. You tell yourself you’re doing it for some noble cause, but the truth is you’re only doing it to gratify your own desire to inflict pain.”

  Scarface jabbed him in the stomach with the pliers. Seamus lurched forward. He felt his gorge rising. If he had eaten anything lately, he surely would have lost it. He thought it was possible he had broken another rib, but he had so much pain radiating from that region it was impossible to know with any certainty.

  Scarface thrust the pliers between his legs. “Prepare to feel the pain of your own manhood slipping away from you. And then to lose life itself.”

  Seamus squinted his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

  Then he heard the crash.

  He opened his eyes. Through the window, back in the main room with all the computer equipment-a car had just crashed through the north garage door opening. The car had been battered mightily by the crash, but it had made it through and it was still moving. It was traveling at a tremendous speed, which probably helped it get through. It-

  Wait a minute.

  It was Seamus’s car.

  Scarface whipped his head around. “What in the name-”

  As soon as he looked in the other direction, Seamus made his move. Both
legs free now, he pulled them upward. Using his ab muscles hurt like hell, but he ignored that and kicked back ferociously under Scarface’s chin. The terrorist went reeling backward, stunned.

  Guard One, obviously caught by surprise, raced forward. Seamus hoisted his legs up again and wrapped them on each side of the man’s head. He hadn’t been doing those thigh workouts for nothing. He held the guard’s head in a lock and twisted it harshly around much further than necks were designed to move. Seamus heard a sickening crunching sound that told him this guard wouldn’t be getting up again.

  Scarface staggered to his feet, took one look at the situation, and ran.

  Good. That would simplify matters. In the next room, Seamus could see his car was still speeding around the large open room, sending the personnel fleeing and crashing into the obscenely expensive machinery, from which sparks flew every which way. Good. This station wouldn’t be controlling anything for some time.

  He twisted around and, using his now free feet to push against the cot, pulled his arms free of the cords. They burned and tore his skin, but all that mattered was that he got himself unpinned from the cot. He fell to the floor in a heap, shrugged off his torn shirt, and ran.

  The guards appeared to have fled-except for a handful who were lying on the ground after being smashed by a rampaging Dodge. The three computer operators, including the woman in the white shirt, were huddled beside the main computer, trying to stay out of the path of the car.

  The Dodge squealed to a stop, and a moment later Arlo rolled down the driver’s-side window.

  “Seamus! Are you okay?”

  Why would he ask that? Perhaps because he was limping and bleeding from a dozen places? “I’m fine, kid. Nothing the medics can’t fix. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Um, trying to get you out before they kill you?”

  “I told you to stay put!”

  “No, you told me not to leave the car.” He smiled. “I didn’t.”

  Seamus bit down on his lower lip. Couldn’t argue with the kid’s logic. He flipped open his phone. “Zira? Send in the troops.”

  “Are you kidding? I did that a long time ago.”

  “I thought you needed confirmation.”

  “You sent me a photo of the base, remember? That was good enough for me. Especially after you stopped responding.”

  What do you know? Maybe Zira wasn’t as totally useless as he thought. “When they get here, have them come in through the north side. I don’t think they can miss it. There’s a big hole in the wall.”

  He snapped the phone closed. He did a quick perimeter search but didn’t find anyone. The toughs must’ve realized the jig was up and exercised the better part of valor. Smart on their part-treason was still punishable by execution, according to the U.S. Constitution.

  “Nice work with the car, kid,” he told Arlo. “That took some guts.”

  “Well,” he said, “you can’t spend your whole life playing computer games.”

  “True enough.”

  “Comes a time when a man has to stop simulating and try the real thing.”

  “And you picked exactly the right time to do it, too.” Seamus grinned. “You can get out of the car now.”

  “Oh. Right. Thanks.” Arlo opened the car door and slid out. “I think we should get you to a hospital.”

  “My people are on their way. They’ll have a medic.” He walked back into the debris that once had been a high-powered satellite control station and found the three computer operators still huddled together, hands over their heads, as if they were ducking and covering for a fifties nuclear bomb drill. “All right, you clowns. Stand up.”

  The woman was the first to speak. “We didn’t want to do it. He made us!”

  “Uh-huh. What’d he do? Threaten to withhold your tax-free treason stipend?”

  “My mother is sick. We need money to-”

  Seamus held up his hands. “Save it for the prosecutors. I just want to make sure this computer crap is totally disabled.”

  “It’s history,” the man who used to sit beside her said. “Smashed to smithereens.”

  “No more chance of interfering with defense computers?”

  “None. I think they were maybe fifteen minutes away from booting us out anyway.”

  “So there’s no way this stuff can launch a missile?”

  “No, not-” He stopped, froze.

  “What?” Seamus said. “What is it?”

  The man swallowed. “This equipment is toast. But the satellite is still up there.”

  “And the satellite can still launch missiles?”

  “Yes, but only if it gets a signal to-” His eyes widened. “They can launch everything at once. There’s a fail-safe.”

  “What? Where?”

  “It’s on the dish. The satellite-” He thrust his arm out and pointed. “Stop him!”

  Seamus whirled around.

  Somehow Scarface had crept up behind him. He was making a beeline for the satellite dish.

  The red button on the base of the dish.

  Seamus instinctively realized he could not let that sadistic madman get to the button, so he dove across the twelve feet that separated him from his torturer. Scarface kept moving.

  Seamus fell a little short but managed to grab Scarface’s right leg on the way down. He thudded down to the concrete slab floor with an impact that sent his whole body into spasms. His battered chest and ribs screamed out in protest. But he clung to the man’s leg. Scarface had his arm stretched out as far as it would go. He was only inches short of the button.

  Seamus’s fingers slipped. Scarface edged forward a bit. Seamus dug in with his fingers and held him back with all his remaining strength.

  “Arlo! Help!”

  He heard the kid running up behind him, but in the meantime, Scarface kicked back. His boot caught Seamus hard on the nose.

  The intense agony of compressed sinuses and bent cartilage radiated through his face. His eyes watered, but he gripped the leg as tightly as he could.

  Scarface managed to gain another inch. He reached out-

  He pushed down the red button.

  “Oh, no,” Seamus murmured. His head fell to the floor. “Oh, my God, they actually did it. They actually launched the goddamn missiles!”

  46

  12:07 P.M

  “This should help a little,” Zimmer said, and a moment later the bunker was filled with a bright illumination. “Glow sticks,” he explained. “Which someone had the foresight to put down here with the first-aid kit.”

  Ben was amazed at how much a little light did to alleviate the pervasive gloom. Not that the circumstances hadn’t left him massively depressed. If anyone could confront this tragedy with anything less, they must be missing the empathy gene. But being able to see a few feet around him, however indistinctly, left him feeling somewhat less vulnerable.

  “Thank God,” Ruiz said, standing cautiously. “I couldn’t stand one more moment of that. I could’ve sworn something was crawling up my leg.”

  “The bunker is hermetically sealed,” Zimmer explained. “It’s actually not even possible for insects to get in here.”

  “Tell it to my leg,” Ruiz groused.

  “Any word yet?” Swinburne asked impatiently, if not desperately.

  Zimmer shook his head. “I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  “You can see how we might be anxious!”

  “Yes, but I’m sure you can see that my first priority is restoring power to the bunker.”

  “Damn it, man, do you understand that you are talking to the acting president of the United States? I want to know if the missiles have been launched.”

  “Whether they have or haven’t,” Zimmer said firmly, “there’s not a thing you or I can do about it-unless I get power back to this communications station. So that takes top priority.”

  Swinburne folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

  Ben was amazed at how stil
l everyone else in the bunker was, as if somehow the thought of the great tragedy had frozen them all in place. It was enough to immobilize anyone. And yet…

  Something caught his eye on the other side of the bunker. The door to the adjoining room was cracked open a little bit. Ben was certain it had not been that way before the blackout.

  Had someone slipped over there after the lights went out?

  Or for that matter, someone probably could have done it during the tumult of the verdict and Swinburne’s frenzied attempt to call the colonel. Who would’ve noticed? Ben knew his attention had been focused elsewhere.

  Ben remembered seeing a circuit breaker box in there during his previous huddle with the president. It was readily visible on the wall. It did not appear to be locked.

  Could someone have slipped over there and sabotaged it?

  And then Ben recalled another item of note he had observed in the other room. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

  Ben scanned the room, making an inventory of all the parties.

  He hated relying on his own memory, particularly when he had been so busy and so much was happening at once. But he was almost certain one person down here was not sitting where that person had been sitting before.

  That would have to be the person who had taken a trip next door. But why?

  It seemed incredible, unbelievable. But all the evidence, everything Ben had seen and heard, all pointed in one direction.

  “Agent Zimmer,” Ben said, “there’s a breaker box in the next room.”

  “I know, but-” His head jerked up suddenly. “Hasn’t everyone been in here?”

  “Better check it out. It may have been… damaged.”