Fifteen minutes later, fifty governors and one mayor were holding for the president. Some had been raised from a deep slumber, others roused from mistresses’ beds with great embarrassment, but all were holding for the president.
“Ladies and gentlemen, law and order,” Jack began. “Law and order. That’s what holds our country together. I don’t care what you have to do but I want the panic-buying to stop. Today. Now! Get your states under control. Use your National Guard, use your police, sheriff departments, state troopers, hell, the Women’s Institutes for all I care, just get those pictures of people emptying shelves off the TV.”
The panic-buying, Jack knew, was just the start. Most Americans bought food when they needed it, they didn’t store food. Supermarkets restocked food daily. They, like most Americans, had enough food on their shelves until their next delivery. If all of a sudden, everybody stopped buying enough to last two days and instead began buying enough for two months, the stores emptied immediately. The distribution network could only cope with daily deliveries. Even if the supermarkets wanted to increase their stocks, they couldn’t get it to their stores. That, in turn, would require the suppliers to source more product, and they themselves operated on a minimum stock holding basis. Overnight, America’s stores were emptied and the stark truth was that they would take some time to refill. In the meantime, those who had stocked up would have plenty but those unlucky to have missed the panic or who had been at the back of the queue would have nothing. In the space of a few days, a large portion of America would be starving and that was a situation that Jack wanted to avoid at all costs. Rioting, looting and disorder would lead to a massive breakdown in law and order and ultimately society itself.
“This stops now,” he commanded with his full authority. “Rationing of food and gas is to be enforced with immediate effect.”
Once he finished talking, a silence ensued that made him wonder if he had gone too far and they had all hung up. “Any questions?” he asked.
He was relieved when a flurry of ‘noes’ came back to him. He had obviously made his point loud and clear.
“Thank you. I’m going to address the nation now. Get your states in order!”
Kenneth led the television crew into the Oval Office just as Jack ended the call. Within minutes, he was addressing the nation and allaying their fears. Misunderstandings were being resolved and, despite the tenuous relations with Russia, the country would be fine. They had come through worse and no doubt would again. He then turned to the panic-buying and explained how that posed a greater threat to the country than any foreign power. As a result, strict rationing would be in force immediately. The National Guard would assist the police force for as long as required but nobody did themselves, their neighbors, or their friends any favors by emptying shelves when all of America needed access to food and supplies.
It was a short but powerful message from their president. He was in charge and he was concerned for every single American. He was looking out for each and every one of them. Even the staunchest anti-government types would have trouble arguing against the use of the National Guard despite it being against every ounce of their political being.
Kenneth led the claps of the small body of onlookers as the cameras stopped.
“Next?” asked Jack with a bounce in his step. He was in his comfort zone. Dealing with issues. For once, he was a president that was needed and not an appendage of the state.
“We’ve got the National Security briefing and then you’re addressing the Future Leaders’ Program by videoconference,” replied Kenneth quickly.
“I thought everything barring crisis meetings was cancelled?”
“Well, yes, but I thought you’d still want to--”
“My only concern for the foreseeable future is averting a war,” replied Jack with some finality, marching with purpose towards the Situation Room and the National Security briefing.
Kenneth’s heart began to race. If the president did not make the videoconference, he would be responsible. Certainly as far as Roger Young was concerned, he would be to blame. Upsetting the president was one thing, but upsetting Roger Young was an entirely different story. Roger had been very clear. If Kenneth, in his position, couldn’t make things happen for the Trust, the Trust would have to find somebody who could. Kenneth was under no illusion that if the videoconference didn’t happen, he wouldn’t be around to witness what they had been working on for the last ten years.
Chapter 36
Camp Trust
America’s Trust offices
The early morning sun blazed across the top floor office with stunning 360 degree views of the surrounding Maryland countryside. The circular all-glass structure towered above every other structure in the complex and sat precisely, to the inch, in the center of the camp. Although not literally able to view every inch of the vast landscape the Camp stretched across, the psychological impact of the CEO watching over you, wherever you were, was reinforced constantly. Only those with firsthand knowledge of the man realized this was not necessarily a positive sentiment.
“Explain it to me again?” he prompted, his voice menacing.
“Which part?” asked Chan nervously.
“All of it!” he screamed, spittle exploding from his mouth.
Starting with Butler’s capture, Chan relayed the events of the previous day, emphasizing the positives and glossing over the negatives as much as possible. However, when it came to their searching of the storage area, there was little positivity to dwell on. For two hours, they had searched the area. Every tank and vehicle had been searched systematically from front to back. Unfortunately for Chan, Butler and Swanson were already gone and thanks to his ineptitude, had a two-hour head start.
Barely able to contain his rage, Roger Young listened with total and utter bewilderment.
“Two hours? Two hours!”
Chan nodded.
“Do you realize the damage this man could do to us?”
Chan nodded again, less forcefully, trying desperately to lessen the anger that was building in his boss.
“And that was before you let him see the storage facility?!” Roger’s anger was swelling, not lessening.
“I will get him,” promised Chan confidently.
Roger laughed manically. “You’ve had your chance. You’ve had months to deal with what was a small issue. It has since become a mission-critical problem.”
Roger turned to one of the men that had chaperoned Chan into the room. He didn’t need to say anything, the look said it all. Chan was surplus to requirements. With Chan being dragged from the room kicking and screaming, Roger watched him closely. It always fascinated him how men like Chan reacted when facing a certain death. Men that were only too happy to kill others seldom reacted well to facing the same fate. He had liked Chan and thought he was an excellent fixer but Butler had got the better of him and Chan knew far too much to risk being demoted. Men like Chan were either at the top of the tree or a liability. Liabilities, if not dealt with correctly, had a very annoying habit of coming back to bite you, just like Butler.
They had a rough idea of what Butler knew. They just didn’t know what he had managed to piece together. The fact that he appeared hell-bent on getting to the president was the single most concerning factor. That alone suggested he knew enough to realize the danger to the country. Seeing the storage facility and the weaponry at the Trust’s disposal, on the doorstep of Washington, was only going to make Butler all the more desperate.
The moment they had discovered that Butler and Swanson had evaded them, Roger had taken charge. There wasn’t a hotel, hospital or police station in Washington D.C. or a block within a mile of the White House that they were not surveilling. Hundreds of men and women that should have been otherwise engaged were involved. Every security agent, consultant and trainer employed by the Trust was scouring the streets. Mobile hit squads were waiting for the slightest lead to reinforce any of the Trust’s operatives to ensure Butler did not reach the pr
esident. Beyond all of that, the police, FBI and every sworn law enforcement officer in the area was hunting the potential presidential assassin.
He knew everything that could be done was being done. However, that didn’t ease the concern. He had a job to do and Butler was risking that. Years of hard work had achieved everything and more that had been asked of him. In fact, they were in a far better position than they had ever thought possible in the timescale. The way in which the Americans had embraced the Trust was beyond all expectation. The scale of what they were about to achieve had seemed totally implausible, inconceivable, when he had first been recruited.
He still wondered whether it could really work. He’d know better if he knew exactly how it was going to be done. Very few people alive did. The secrecy involved in the plan was such that even Roger was not fully aware of everything that was to come.
When his phone rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he listened to the information relayed, his first thought had been why the hell had nobody thought of it earlier. He quickly realized he could worry about that later. The more important point was that they had found Butler and Swanson.
Chapter 37
They had driven as fast as the jeep would take them cross-country before joining the MD-194, just north of Taneytown. Swanson had argued that they should turn themselves in to the police station when they got into town. Butler had overridden her simply by not stopping. The crossroads in the town had offered them two options: Washington or Baltimore.
He had turned to Swanson but she had already fallen into a deep sleep. One hour later, Swanson woke up to a radio news bulletin detailing the day’s events. She half opened her eyes and listened intently, not wanting to miss any of the details being relayed about the downing of two US fighters, the US retaliation and finally the bombing of the Kremlin. The news of mass panic breaking out and stores being overrun had her staring at the radio in disbelief. The country had gone to shit in a day. One day. She looked at Butler, who sat stony faced, no emotion showing on his face. His head was shaking, she assumed like her, in disbelief as to what was coming from the radio.
She caught sight of a road sign, Pennsylvania Avenue. Holy shit, he was driving straight to the White House! Fully aware of her surroundings, she looked around frantically. 1610 was Simpson’s Loans; its shutters had seen better days, at least twenty years earlier. The street was two lanes wide, not the six she was used to. Litter and garbage lined the curbside, not something you’d ever see next to the White House.
“Where are we?” She was desperately trying to get her bearings in a city she had spent her whole life.
Butler laughed. He had noticed they had driven onto Pennsylvania Avenue. He hadn’t even known Baltimore had a Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Baltimore.”
“What the fuck are we doing in Baltimore?”
“You know, you really do overuse that word,” replied Butler, tutting.
“What word?”
“Fuck.”
“Whatever, why the hell are we in Baltimore?”
“Can’t help yourself, can you?”
“What now?” she asked, her patience breaking.
Butler smiled. She was a very attractive woman with a very unattractive vocabulary. He had made the point and moved on.
“Simple. I reckon, had we gone straight to Washington, they’d have us by now. Don’t underestimate their resources and influence. Every police car in the Washington area will be looking for this jeep.” Swanson nodded in understanding. “Baltimore was closer and I reckoned a better bet before they found out we were missing and beyond that, they’d focus their efforts on DC,” he added.
She continued to nod. It was a very good call. Not just from a staying alive perspective but she also knew the special agent in charge of the FBI office very well. He had a thing for her and had asked her out on numerous occasions. He was seeing someone else but there was an understanding that he saw Swanson as a better option. Her one goal was to get to a phone or the FBI office and call in the big guns. What she had witnessed between Chan kidnapping them and the Trust’s hidden tanks was more than enough to warrant a massive investigation. However, she also knew Butler trusted no one and was never going to allow her to do it. He was going to have a very hard time stopping her. If you cut her in half, her body would have ‘Property of FBI’ written through it.
As they passed a very different 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Butler slowed down and pulled a u-turn.
“What’s wrong?” She looked behind to see what had spooked him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just noticed the neighborhood was getting a little better.”
“And?”
“How much money do you have?”
“Nothing, they took everything at the jail house,” she answered.
“And what do we have that is worth money and will only get us killed?”
Swanson looked at the two assault rifles, fully automatic Heckler & Koch G36’s, they were worth a lot of money on the streets but she knew Butler was referring to the jeep. A $60,000 Land Rover LR4. Swanson knew her cars. It was an exceptional piece of machinery but inevitably would be the most hunted car in the US over the next few hours.
“We need cash, which means we need someone that won’t have a problem buying a car without the paperwork. There were a few likely candidates a couple of miles back,” he said.
“You mean drug dealers?” she asked with disgust.
The CIA, it seemed, had a far healthier regard for the drug trade. In his past, Butler had employed the assistance of many drug dealers. They were an excellent resource for weapons and hard currency when all other routes failed.
He nodded with a smile at her naivety. The FBI lived in an ideal world where lawmakers and lawbreakers never, ever came together.
Butler pulled to stop and rolled down his window. A young black youth ran over and waited next to the window for Butler to speak.
“Want to buy the car?” asked Butler.
“Huh?” replied the youth.
“Do you want to buy the car?” he repeated more slowly.
The youth responded but Butler had no idea what he said. He turned to Swanson, she shook her head, she also had no idea.
The youth wasted no time and ran back to the doorway he had approached them from. Just as Butler was about to pull away, an older and far wiser looking man exited the doorway and swaggered, slowly and deliberately towards them. The doorway had appeared to be boarded up, like the rest of the street. However this was a cover, the boarding moved just as any door would have.
The older man was obviously the boss and was accompanied by four heavies who would not have looked out of place on a football team.
“My nephew says you’re looking to shift this fine motor?” He eyed the car and its contents warily. His eyes fell on the two rifles, each sitting ready on Butler and Swanson’s laps.
“For cash,” replied Butler firmly, laying the ground rules for the negotiation. “Obviously paperwork may be an issue.”
A few slow nods of the head followed, as the man considered the purchase, followed by a painfully slow walk around the car.
“I’ll give you five hundred,” he offered, a smile breaking out across his face. Two teeth were gold and a large scar stretched across his cheek. It was not a pleasant smile.
“Five hundred! This is a sixty thousand dollar car!” screeched Swanson.
“But it ain’t your sixty thousand dollar car,” he winked.
“Two grand?” countered Butler.
“One.”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“Done,” smiled the drug dealer, unpleasantly, adding, “I’ll give you two grand for those two fine rifles.”
Swanson shook her head in disbelief. He’d pay more for the rifles than for a sixty thousand dollar car. What a world they lived in.
Butler patted his rifle as he stepped from the car. “Not today, my friend, maybe another time,” he smiled. Not a chance in hell, he thought to himself.
Swanson stepped out of the vehicle and was immediately very aware of how vulnerable they were. The area was one of the worst she had seen. Barely a house on the street was occupied. The tension was palpable and the violence just waiting to explode. Litter and graffiti added to the urban carnage and deprivation. Black youths lined the street and corners waiting to sell their next fix to whoever was brave enough to venture down the street. From the looks of the brazenness of the dealings, the police certainly weren’t. Butler was acting as though nothing was amiss, totally unfazed by his surroundings.
He exuded a confidence in his ability, without a word or movement he was telling all who looked at him that he knew how to handle himself and the weapon in his hand. Butler spoke a language drug dealers respected and the $1500 was handed over without any fuss.
“Any ideas where the nearest motel is?” asked Butler, checking the cash.
“There’s a few about a half mile that way,” pointed the boss. “Although, all the nice ones are that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction towards the city center.
“Thanks.” Butler walked over to Swanson and much to her disappointment, set off in the boss’ original direction.
“You might want to change the color,” said Butler as an afterthought.
The boss laughed. “If you come back in an hour, it’ll be a new color, have new plates, papers and twenty-two inch rims!”
Butler knew, even though it was 2 a.m., the man was not exaggerating. With their assault rifles wrapped tightly in a jacket found in the rear of the Land Rover, they set off at a fast walking pace. Running would have been a little too ‘look at us’.
“So what now?” asked Swanson, keen to keep up with Butler’s thought process.
“Catch some shut eye before heading into DC with the morning rush hour on the train,” he replied as though she should have thought of it herself.
ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS Page 18
