“Everything copacetic, Commander?” Graves asked. “Do we have contact with Juliet? It’s pretty deep down here.”
“Yes, sir. The relay we set up at the top is working, and Juliet has received and transmitted the message. They’ll report in when they have an answer.”
“Good.” He looked at the large bay door and the rest of the vehicle level stretching beyond it. “Let’s hope the rest is this easy.”
Level Forty-Four
Presidential Command Center
Bunker Five
Like the rest of the bunker, the hallway leading to the presidential command center had seen better days. Graves and his men had been lucky so far and encountered almost no resistance, but that was due to simply bypassing most of the levels. They’d found a few wandering technicians and some others who were out and about. They’d all been captured and secured as the teams moved through the facility.
Like most of the other bunkers, vehicles were stored on the bottom levels here. It had only taken them a few minutes to hack into the computer systems and discover that the presidential command center was just one floor up from the vehicle bay, at the same end of the facility but set off from everything else by a corridor that led straight there.
But you never knew when someone could pop out and get you in the back, especially when they were approaching the bunker-within-a-bunker. He didn’t understand why there had been such a lack of people, but he’d take his blessings where he could get them. So far, there had been no casualties, but several bunker personnel were going to wake up with headaches.
“What do you think, Jack?” he asked his XO.
“I think now would be an excellent time for me to head up to Ops, sir. I’ll take Juliet and leave you with Hotel and Indigo.”
“That’s gonna be a long climb. You think the resistance will be heavier here?”
“Yes, sir. It’s where I’d put my men, sir. They have to have seen us on the monitors by now, and we should be expecting shots at any moment.”
Graves grunted. “Agreed. Make it happen, Commander.”
O’Reilly spoke into his mic. “Hotel and Indigo teams, form up on the admiral. Juliet, you’re with me. Move out.”
Six of the soldiers split off with the commander as he moved back down the hall toward the emergency stairwell. They’d come up that way from the vehicle bay to avoid making a racket and to reduce interaction with bunker personnel. Of course, that was after the acetylene torch they’d brought—just in case—cut through the rusted-shut stairwell access door. If there’d been an actual emergency… it didn’t bear thinking about.
“Move forward in twos. Standard close-quarters drill, gentlemen. Go!”
His disciplined soldiers hustled down the hallway, taking it in turns to cover each other. The doors on either side of the hallway remained closed, but pairs of soldiers settled in to watch those, regardless. Graves strode down the hallway after it was secure and joined the four men left at the end, outside the command center door. When he tried the door handle, he wasn’t surprised to find it locked. He motioned to his resident code cracker, and the man moved up to the lock with his equipment. A few moments later, he looked up at Graves with a shake of his head.
“Sorry, sir, no can do. This thing has some seriously high-level encryption. Nothing I’ve got is gonna crack it… or at least, not quickly.”
“What about blowing it?”
The soldier shook his head. “I doubt it, sir. The door’s thicker than most, from what I can tell, probably because it’s the president’s, sir. Although…” The soldier tilted his head, looking at the door as he thought.
“Although?”
“Well, sir, we didn’t bring any with us, or at least not to the bunker, but if we could find some det-cord, we could get it done. Chain some Semtex, which we do have.”
“Can’t we just use the Semtex?”
“Well, sure, but it’s much less controlled—”
“Son, do I look like I care about control at this point?”
The soldier shook his head. “No. No, sir, you do not. But it could kill anyone inside.”
“Then they’d better get the hell back. Get it done.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said. He looked at the others. “Clear out.”
Graves and the others moved back down the hallway to safety. As the soldier turned to take cover with them, Graves had an idea.
“Wait one,” Graves said. He walked back down the hall to the door. Careful to avoid the Semtex attached to the door, he knocked. He took out his sidearm, waited a few seconds, then knocked again with the gun pointed at head height.
Surprising even Graves, there was a creak from the other side of the door, and it opened a few inches. There was a sultry voice from inside. “Yes, what is—Eek!”
Graves had never heard anyone actually say “Eek!” before, and it took him aback for a moment, but he rallied. “Open the door, right now… or I will shoot you in the head, right now.”
The girl trembled but stepped back and opened the door the rest of the way. Graves motioned to his men without looking behind him, and as they moved up, he stepped into the command center. He glanced over at the woman who’d opened the door, who wore skimpy lingerie that was ill fitting. Tall with long, dark hair and a nice figure, she had seen better days too.
The room was well appointed, or had been once. Wood paneling, plush furniture, chrome and brass and crystal. Yeah, this was a president’s command center. There were several doors leading off the room, and cursory investigation revealed a bathroom, a kitchen, and a briefing room filled with monitors and chairs, all dark and empty.
“Cherie, who is it? Peltmeyer? Tell him to come back later.”
The voice was thin and reedy and one that Graves recognized immediately. He motioned to his men to spread out and turned to look at Cherie, only to find she’d vanished. Either she’d ducked into one of the side rooms or she’d fled the command center altogether. Either way, it made no difference to him… unless she was running to tell someone else, someone who could bring the whole bunker down on their heads. He looked at the man nearest the door and whispered, “Find her!”
The man nodded and began to search, and Graves spoke into his mic.
“XO, we are inside. Say again, we are inside. Marnes is present.” Two clicks answered him, indicating O’Reilly had heard the message but couldn’t respond at the moment. That was good enough for Graves.
“Cherie? What’s taking so long?” Marnes’s voice came again from the bedroom, and the admiral moved toward the door. He readied his pistol once more, then kicked open the door and rolled through, like an old action movie. His entrance had the desired effect when Frederick Marnes shrieked and dove under the covers as though the hounds of hell were after him, which, given the circumstances, was somewhat accurate.
Graves glanced around the room. A fine layer of dust coated everything. Although there was opulence aplenty, there were no threats visible. “Clear! Secure the package!” he ordered. Several of his men entered the room, dragging the still-screaming Marnes from the bed.
Graves felt gratitude that the man was wearing pajamas, and he stepped up to the president as the soldiers held him. He still screamed, and Graves had had enough, so he silenced the man with a heavy slap across the cheek. Marnes’s head rocked back on his shoulders, and he was too surprised to keep screaming.
He wasn’t too scared to talk, though. “How dare you! Do you know who I am? Who the hell—”
“I dare because you’re an ass. And yes, I do know who you are, Mr. Marnes. As for me, my name is Admiral Jeremiah Graves.”
“You can’t ju—”
“All right,” Graves said, “that’s about enough of that. Gag him.”
The men holding him chuckled, and one took off his do-rag and stuffed it into Marnes’s mouth.
“XO, Marnes is secure. Say again, Marnes is secure.”
“Roger that, sir. We’re about to move on Ops on your go.”
�
�One second, Jack.” Graves turned to Marnes. “Well, ‘Mr. President,’ I’m happy to say that you’re under arrest.” Scorn and derision dripped from his words. Marnes continued shouting through his gag, but Graves ignored it. “You’re under arrest for treason against the United States of America, corruption, being a dick, and a whole host of other things. I don’t know what we’re going to do with you, because that decision is well above my pay grade. That said, I will have some influence, so if you’re nice and respectful—something I know is hard for you—then I’ll put in a good word. Until then, I just need to ask you one question and one question only. If you don’t give me a straight answer, my recommendation will be… unpleasant.”
Graves took a step forward and looked Marnes in the eye, and for a wonder, the weasel shut up. “Do we understand each other, Frederick? Nod once if you agree.”
Marnes nodded one time and shuddered.
Graves sniffed the air as the sharp scent of urine hit his nose, and he glanced down. “I suppose we do understand each other, Frederick.” He stepped back. “The one question I need to know the answer to is this: where is the nuclear football?”
The soldier pulled the rag out of Marnes’s mouth, and the former president breathed in deep breaths. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not the answer I was hoping for,” Graves said. He shook his head and motioned to the soldier.
“Wait! Wait! Just wait. I don’t know where it is because they took it away from me.”
Graves raised an eyebrow. “They took it away from you? Who’s they?”
“That ass Peltmeyer and his goons. They’ve kept me locked up here for more than a year. They only let in Cherie, and then only for a day out of every month.” Marnes looked around, and his head snapped from one side to the other. “Where is she? You haven’t hurt her, have you? Oh, Cherie! Where are you?”
Graves nodded to the soldier, who shoved the gag back into Marnes’s mouth. The man glowered daggers at the admiral.
“No, I haven’t hurt her, Frederick,” Graves said. “Why would I?”
The soldier Graves had tasked to find the woman stepped into the room, his prisoner in tow. Graves noticed that she, too, had a gag. “In fact, here she is, right here. Safe and sound.”
Marnes’s shoulders sagged.
“Put her over there with him on that couch. Then search the room for anything useful. If he moves, shoot him.” Graves walked back out into the main command center area and spoke into his mic. “We’re all set down here, Jack. Keep an eye out for the football. Marnes says Peltmeyer—the Ops chief—took it from him. No telling what you’re walking into.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“I’m sending Indigo up to you now just in case. We’ll follow behind, but we’ll be dragging Marnes with us, so we’ll most likely see you when it’s over.”
“Yes, sir. XO out.”
Graves turned to the Indigo team leader. “Double-time it to Ops. Take the stairs and stay quiet.”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, and his team disappeared out the door.
Graves turned back to the remaining soldiers. “Find anything?”
Hotel team’s leader shook her head. “We ain’t found shit, sir. Uh, beggin’ your pardon.”
Graves snorted. “No worries, Lieutenant. Secure the prisoners and prepare to move out.” He looked upward, as though he could see through several hundred feet of steel, earth, and concrete. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
Level Two
Operations
Bunker Five
“Well, ain’t this fuckin’ grand?” O’Reilly said as he took a glance down the hallway toward Ops. Another shot from some rifle winged its way toward him and ricocheted before embedding itself in a stack of supply boxes. He jerked back as a reflex, though none of the shots they’d yet taken had come close to hitting him or any of the men.
“We could just throw a grenade down there, sir,” one of his men said.
O’Reilly shook his head. “Negative. One grenade and someone loses an arm, a leg, or whatever, and it’s really us or them at that point. Besides, the admiral ordered no casualties.”
The soldier pretended to mutter under his breath, and O’Reilly pretended not to hear him. That’s just how things worked. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see the same admiral he had just referenced standing next to him. He stood to give his report.
“Sir, it appears they’ve noticed us,” O’Reilly said as another shot zinged down the hall. “Recommend we use a flashbang, sir, then clear ‘em out.”
“I may have another way, Commander. The Ops chief here is a guy named Peltmeyer. I think he’s the one calling the shots. He took the football from Marnes too. I’m betting he did it to keep it out of the hands of that moron.”
“Huh. Could be, sir. Could be. But how does that help us?”
“I have an idea…” Graves popped his head up and glanced down the hall. When no shot came his way, he stepped all the way out into the view of those down the hall in their fortified positions. “Ahoy, Ops! This is Admiral Jeremiah Graves. Request parlay with your CO.”
There was a furious cascade of whispers from down the hall. Graves heard a door open and close, and then a voice yelled down the hall.
“What do you want?”
“Identify yourself, please,” Graves replied.
“Ops Chief Joshua Peltmeyer, Bunker Five. And you would be?”
“Admiral Jeremiah Graves, Commander, New Atlantic Fleet.”
“I see. What can we do for you, Admiral?”
“I’m here under the orders of the Bunker Council to arrest and detain Frederick Marnes on charges of treason.”
“The Bunker Council? Never heard of it.”
“But you have heard of former governor Angela Gates, Colonel Kimberly Blake, and her husband David Blake, current Governor of Bunker One, yes?”
There was a pause from the other end of the hall, then a man as imposing as the admiral stepped out into view. “I have. Are they this ‘Bunker Council’ then?”
“Those, and some others.”
“You’ve got Marnes already. We watched it happen. What do you need us for?”
“Are you the ones who cleared the way for us? We thought it was a little easy to get to him.”
“Marnes being gone is a good thing for everyone in this bunker. It seemed like an appropriate time to run an emergency drill.”
“For what it’s worth, thanks.”
“So, like I said, you’ve got what you came for. Why are you still here?”
“It’s not that easy. Marnes wasn’t the actual target, though he was necessary. What we need is the football. Marnes said you took it from him.”
Another silence from the end of the hall. A long silence, one that had Graves worried. What was going on?
“Why do you need it?”
“That’s classified, but if you and I could speak privately…”
“Classified?” Peltmeyer laughed hard. “What does that even mean anymore? But whatever. Stand down, everyone.”
The bunker’s soldiers came out of hiding, and Graves wasn’t surprised to see there were only a few of them. The bunker designers had made Ops one of the easiest places to defend, for good reason. They’d likely had no idea AEGIS soldiers would be fighting each other, though.
“Step into my office, Admiral,” Peltmeyer said and walked into Ops.
Graves started to follow, then felt a hand on his shoulder. O’Reilly looked at him.
“I’m going with you, sir. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander.”
O’Reilly turned to one of his men and issued orders to stand down, then joined Graves as he walked down the hall. They entered Ops together and found only Peltmeyer standing there in front of a bank of monitors, servers, and other tech. An alcove on one side must have functioned as the chief’s office. O’Reilly shut the door behind them.
“Now, what th
e hell is going on?” Peltmeyer asked. “Why do you need the football?”
“The short version? Bunker Nine is full of super-zombies, created by a former AEGIS member. We think he’s taken over Bunker Four and is this close to killing off the last few humans on the planet. We want the codes to launch a non-nuclear ICBM to destroy the bunker and end the threat. And the football has the only copy of those codes that is at all accessible.”
Peltmeyer’s face fell, and he went pale. “Oh, I see.”
“Yeah.”
Peltmeyer walked over to the alcove and brought out a big briefcase.
“You’ll need Marnes to access it. Probably alive, but hey, whatever works.” He handed the briefcase over. “I’m glad not to have it anymore, to tell you the truth.” Some of the tension in his stance had eased, and Graves could well believe it.
“Why did you take it from him in the first place? I mean, I’m glad you did, but it seems like an unusual thing.”
“Have you met the man? Do you really want the launch codes to all the nukes and whatever else in his hands? I did my best to offset his craziness by locking him up for a year, but even then, he’s got supporters that I couldn’t control. You’ll still have a few of those to deal with here too, by the way.”
“How do you mean?”
“Aren’t you taking over?”
If he’d been less controlled, Graves would’ve gaped at the man. “No! Of course not! That’s not our mission here. We’re just here for the football. You’ll probably need to elect a governor or something. I don’t know, that’s above my pay grade, remember? The important thing right now is we need you to lock down communications from here. We can’t have anyone coordinating with Bunker Four. Got it?”
“But if you’re not taking over… we’re fucked. We’ve got no one to lead, half the bunker’s systems don’t work, and the others only part of the time. We’re on our last legs here, Admiral. When we saw you get out of the trucks, we hoped that you might be here to take over. That’s why we made it as easy as possible for you. But if you can’t help us…” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “No, I get it. That’s not your problem. You’re going to take what you need and leave us to deal with the mess.”
The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Page 29
