Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  Layfield smiled inwardly. Her people had gotten to the President, explained the realities to the man. It was play ball or be impeached. He’d maintain his dignity, of course, but that would hardly matter, as long as he bent in the right places.

  Mason finally sighed and then answered. “A squadron of B-2 bombers has been relocated to Holloman Air Force Base in New Mexico. They should be able to deliver whatever package the President directs.”

  “I’m only concerned with one type of package,” said Layfield.

  “Yes,” Mason said, his mouth tight. “A full complement of tactical nuclear warheads have accompanied the bombers, which can be fitted to the latest ground attack missiles. However, these represent most of the tac nukes in inventory. They’ve been severely limited by treaty for some time.”

  “Don’t worry about that. This is the only place we’re likely to need them in the near future.”

  The President finally seemed to come out of his funk. “More nukes on American soil won’t be good. Look what happened last time.”

  Layfield turned to the man and walked to stand close beside him. “Mister President, we have to be prepared for any eventuality. It is exceedingly unlikely that we shall ever have to resort to such extreme measures, but we want to be prepared if they are needed. Besides, we will only have to use them if the rebels force us into such a position.”

  “I don’t like it either,” said Milligan moving up beside the President as well.

  “Like?” snapped Layfield. “Do you think Abraham Lincoln liked precipitating the deaths of millions? Do you think President Roosevelt liked firebombing German cities? Do you think that President Truman liked dropping two nuclear weapons on Japan? We’re dealing with the survival of our nation here, and in case anyone thinks otherwise, we might lose this fight if we’re not prepared to go the extra mile.”

  Milligan frowned. “That’s an extreme opinion. Texas is just one state. There’s still plenty of room for discussion with them before we commit to war. There are at least two cases before the Supreme Court regarding the legality of their actions.”

  “Yes,” answered Layfield. “I’ve seen all the television shows and read up on the cases going before the Supreme Court. People debating endlessly on the legality of preventing a state from seceding, especially one like Texas that has an old treaty to cite. President Lincoln heard the same things in his time of crisis, but he didn’t sit back and wait for a consensus or for someone to tell him what he was allowed to do. Some said the Emancipation Proclamation was illegal, but he acted. We have to act now.”

  “Except the Emancipation Proclamation was for a high moral reason. What’s our justification here?” asked Milligan.

  “Why not just wait them out?” Hood interrupted. “We’ll have the blockade in place soon. How long can they really hold on, surrounded and with no trade?”

  Layfield looked around the room. “Good question, George. How long can they hold out? Anyone take a look at this?”

  The Secretary of the Interior cleared his throat. “They had a good harvest this year and abundant, rainfall. Food-wise they’ll be fine through the winter, longer if supplies get smuggled across the Mexico border. And they will.”

  “But experts are predicting droughts next year,” said Milligan quickly. “They’ll have to see reason with their cattle dying and food prices going through the roof.”

  Layfield looked at the chief of staff in shock. “Next year? Are you serious? You’re going to let a rebellion fester and grow for a year before you check to see if they’re willing to reason?”

  Milligan pulled his glasses off and began to polish them with a smile. “Ms. Layfield, you may hold the title of National Security Adviser, but you’ve only been in that position for a few days, and what real security experience do you have, after all? A few Senate committees on defense procurement?”

  She ignored the challenge. “Don’t you realize that the rest of the world is watching right now? Alaska has already followed their lead and I’m hearing reports that Wyoming, Montana, Idaho and Utah could follow. The Mormon church has already made pro-Eden noises, and they have ten million members in those four states. They could lead the Mountain West right into rebellion, and the rest of the West might soon follow. We can’t wait. We have to crush them now. They’ll gain more confidence and legitimacy by the day.”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked the President.

  “We hit them hard,” she answered. “Now. Before they’re ready.”

  Milligan laughed. “And how do you propose we do that? We’re not ready for a full military operation, and if things don’t go well, we’ll end up worse off than before.”

  Silence hung in the room. Layfield realized she might have miscalculated by not having at least a few other options in her pocket. She hadn’t expected the atmosphere of the Cabinet to be so caustic and cowardly, and had thought at least some in the room would swing over to her side. These career politicians cared more about getting reelected than doing the right thing by dealing with the danger in their midst.

  They’re afraid. I shouldn’t be surprised. I was once just like them...before what happened to Toby made me see the truth.

  “Fuel,” said a strong voice from the back of the room.

  “Excuse me?” said Milligan.

  An attractive blond woman stood from a chair along the wall. Although she was obviously someone’s intern or aide, she showed no signs of trepidation. “Fuel is the key to Texas’ survival, not food. Texas produces 75 million barrels of oil per month and nearly 750 million cubic feet of natural gas, and most of it gets exported. That’s where the majority of their cash comes from.”

  “They’re blockaded,” said Mason. “Exports don’t mean anything now.”

  The young woman didn’t back down. “If the full efforts of this country can’t keep illegal immigrants or drugs out, how can we keep oil and gas in? Especially when they will likely be willing to sell at well below market price. The entire free world couldn’t keep Iraq or Iran from smuggling oil. We ain’t gonna stop Texas.”

  “Who are you exactly and how do you know all of this?” Layfield asked.

  “Alana Cantrell, ma’am. Deputy Under Secretary for Energy. I’m covering for the energy secretary while she’s out of town. As far as how I know all of this, it’s public knowledge, but I have an advantage. I grew up in Texas and I’m an expert on domestic energy and fuels.”

  An awkward silence descended, all of them acutely aware of the conversation and what this young woman from Texas must be going through.

  “Your nation appreciates your loyalty,” Layfield finally said. “I know it can’t be easy.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Okay, so what?” asked Mason. “They have oil and natural gas and they need it, but they also have lots of air defense and how are we supposed to take out all those oil wells? They’re spread out all over the state.”

  “True,” answered Alana, “but over half comes from the Periman Basin in west Texas. You only need to take out the major refineries and storage units there, not the fields. Between hitting Periman and the Strategic Petroleum Reserve Facilities at Freeport and Winnie along the gulf coast, that should effectively cripple their fuel production and reserves for some time.”

  “But those are our strategic oil reserves,” said the Secretary of Commerce. “We need that in case we have another Middle East oil embargo like we did in the seventies. We can’t just destroy it.”

  “It could also create an ecological disaster,” said the Secretary of the Interior.

  The Treasury Secretary leaned forward, looking at the President. “It’s also going to cause prices to go through the roof. Not just gasoline, but everything, as transportation costs skyrocket. Between the loss of Texas and Alaskan oil, we’re in a tight spot right now.” He looked around cautiously and took a deep breath before speaking. “Perhaps we need to look at the bigger picture here. If we handle this right, Texas could be a staunch ally of ours instead of m
aking them an enemy during a long and costly war. Do we really have the right to hold them against their will? More importantly, is it a smart move to try?”

  The Secretary of the Interior cleared his throat. “It would be convenient if we could ship all the Edens we have in camps to Texas. Dump the problem in their lap. We’re stretched too thin as it is, and seeing Americans behind barbed wire is very unpopular.”

  Layfield swept her burning eyes around the room. She’d tried to keep her iron fist in its velvet glove, but it appeared some of these people just didn’t get it. “The Unionist Party – my party – swept the elections for two reasons. First, because of the growing Eden problem, and second, ironically, because of your failure to preserve the national union. You let Texas rebel, and now some among you are suggesting we shirk our responsibility to suppress this evil plague?” She pounded her fist on the nearest table. “I – will – not – stand – for – it! The American people won’t stand for it. The Unionist Party won’t stand for it. These suggestions are treasonous, and will be dealt with accordingly.”

  There came nervous shifting in the stunned silence that followed. Everyone understood that the Unionists had come to power for exactly the reasons she’d stated.

  “No one’s talking treason, Ms. Layfield,” the President said. “These are merely discussions of options.”

  “Options we refuse to consider.” Layfield smiled thinly at the Secretaries of the Treasury and Interior. “It appears you two are in the minority in your views. Perhaps you should consider changing them, or at least keep them to yourself. I would hate to think of the public backlash that could come your way should those views become public knowledge.”

  The Secretary of the Treasury turned white, then red with anger. It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but instead looked at the President.

  The President shook his head ever so slightly.

  Layfield shifted her aim, pointing at the Secretary of Defense. “Can your people come up with some options for taking out their petroleum reserves? We need to work fast.”

  Mason nodded. “We already have the B-2s at Holloman. Those should be able to get in and strike without losses. The facilities on the coast are in old underground salt mines. We’ll likely need bunker-busters for those.”

  “No nukes,” said the President firmly.

  “Agreed. It’s not the right time for that option.” Layfield turned to Mason, suddenly affable. “Why don’t I swing by tomorrow to see what your people have come up with, and then brief the President?”

  Mason nodded, wary.

  Layfield then tilted her head toward the uncomfortable man behind the big desk. “Good day, Mister President.” As she walked out of the Oval Office, she pointed at Alana Cantrell. “Young lady, you work for me now.”

  Chapter 8

  Persistent trade winds blew from east to west across the Dutch Caribbean island of Curaçao, just a few miles north of Venezuela. The warm sun and cool ocean breeze made for what most locals considered paradise on earth.

  Skull walked along the centuries-old stone harbor and gazed at the multicolored houses around him. He’d learned that an eighteenth century governor got headaches from the sun reflecting off all the whitewashed walls and decreed that homes must be painted in non-white colors. The result was a cacophony of reds, oranges, yellows, lights blues, and pale greens from paints that could be produced locally. Little Amsterdam had a charm that surprised him, and he’d grown fond of the Caribbean lifestyle, the history and culture of its people.

  His tanned skin and Spanish-language ability allowed him to blend in among the polyglot populace, a mix of people of Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, African and South American ethnicity. He’d taken full advantage in order to explore this place over the last months, one of the few large islands in the world he’d not visited.

  Getting away from the touristy beaches and into the interior, he’d been surprised to find an arid, near-desert landscape with giant agave plants, mesquite trees, and barrel cactuses. If someone had surrounded southern Arizona with ocean, the result would have been Curaçao. Skull found he loved it.

  Making his way up worn coral stone stairs, Skull took a seat at a local coffee shop with a vantage point above his designated meeting location. The instructions had been very specific; he was supposed to go to the restaurant first and then wait for the contact.

  Screw that, thought Skull. I’m still in control here and I’m not going to go sit and wait for people to come to me. This could still all be a setup.

  A young, dark waitress surprised him with a guttural utterance that sounded as if she were trying to cough up a fishhook caught in her throat. Realizing she was trying to speak to him in Dutch, Skull answered in Spanish, but the girl was way ahead of him.

  “Canadian, right?” she asked in English.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  The girl smiled. “If you’re not Dutch then you’re North American, and all the American visitors these days are Canadian.”

  Skull smiled. “Right. Do you have coffee?”

  “But of course.”

  “Excellent. Also, better bring me the bill with it. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  She frowned at him disapprovingly. “We have a saying here that we have used with our Dutch government for centuries. Not being Dutch, you may not understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “We tell them, ‘you Dutch have the clocks, but we have the time.’ It is best to take things slow here, relax and enjoy life.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Just the same, please bring me the bill with the coffee.”

  The girl moved away, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

  Taking off his sunglasses, Skull looked across the old courtyard. A bronze statue stood in the middle, a man on a horse raising a sword. On the other side was a restaurant called the Governor’s House, which had actually been the island governor’s residence a hundred years ago. He could see diners enjoying delicious meals and wine on the wide open balcony, while simultaneously trying to keep their napkins from blowing away in the stiff breezes.

  He wondered for a moment if one of these diners was his contact. Skull knew little of the man’s identity, but was confident he would spot him by demeanor. All he had to do was watch for who didn’t fit in, or who was trying too hard to fit in. Besides, Skull was an hour early, and should see the contact approach the restaurant.

  Unless he’s a real pro like me, Skull thought, looking around the harbor casually. In that case, he’s doing exactly what I’m doing; the only difference is he likely has the advantage of knowing what I look like. Could even be watching me now.

  It didn’t matter, he decided. If he was being watched, the contact would have to approach him at a location of Skull’s choosing in order not to reveal himself by going into the Governor’s House. Either way, Skull had exerted some degree of control over the situation.

  The girl brought him the coffee and grudgingly slipped the bill under the saucer to keep it from flying away. “Let me know if you want anything else. We’ll have to reprint the bill, of course, since you simply had to have it before you were finished.”

  “Thank you, dear,” said Skull sweetly.

  The girl moved away, shaking her head.

  He sipped slowly at the coffee and enjoyed the warm sun and cool wind. Skull could almost forget why he was here...almost. His fists tightened and eyes narrowed at the thought of Miles Vergone, and he forced himself to relax. That man’s time would come.

  Within a few minutes of the designated meeting time, Skull saw a large man with a crew cut and Hawaiian shirt walking toward the restaurant. He glanced around nervously and walked haltingly, as if having to force his body to proceed when it so obviously wanted to be somewhere else.

  Skull shook his head and chuckled. Everything about the man seemed out of place, especially his neat crew cut. If Skull were his handler, he would have at least told the guy to wear a hat.

  Sliding several local b
ills under the now-empty coffee cup, Skull proceeded across the courtyard toward the restaurant. It was possible that he was under surveillance or the contact was under duress, but at this point it hardly mattered. He’d discovered what he’d sought: that he wasn’t walking into an ambush.

  Following the man inside, Skull saw him bouncing around the many rooms of the restaurant with a concerned hostess following along behind him. When he spotted Skull he froze and became slightly pale.

  I’d better take control, he thought. This guy looks like he’s going to pass out on me. Skull moved forward with a smile, his hand extended. “Good to see you, old friend; how you been?”

  The man took Skull’s hand automatically, and a cautious smile lit his face.

  The hostess relaxed and smiled as well. “Can I get you two a table?”

  “By all means. Someplace inside, away from the wind. I’m craving a big bowl of banana soup, and I don’t want it blowing all over the front of my shirt.”

  The hostess laughed. “Certainly. Follow me.” She led them to a small round table in the corner of an interior courtyard. The sky was open above them, but the breeze hardly reached them, and the garden’s small trees and high walls kept the sun’s heat at bay. “Your waiter will be with you in a moment,” she said before departing.

  The man opened his mouth to speak, but Skull cut him off. “You’re obviously in over your head here, so pay attention. If we get separated or interrupted, we’ll meet tomorrow, same time, at the Ascension House on the south side of the island.” Skull pointed at the man’s head. “You’re obviously military. Too obviously. Wear a hat next time, or grow your hair. Air Force?”

  “Army,” the man answered after a brief hesitation.

  Skull nodded. “I was in the Corps. Combat tours?”

  “Not really,” the man answered. “I was in the Green Zone for a while, but other than rockets and mortars, it wasn’t…”

  Skull tried to keep the disgust out of his voice at the man’s lack of nerve. “Wasn’t really combat. Still, that’s where we’ll know each other from. We met in Iraq as advisers to the Iraqis and decided to catch up here where I’m on vacation. Got it?”