Something bad was happening to Agent Prestin—something utterly beyond Archer’s experience—and it scared the crap out of him. Along the wall, the other agents turned on one another. Some shot each other, while others grappled then fell over the side, into the waiting mob below. As their limbs were ripped from their bodies, the torn joints snapped and popped, sounding like a dog worrying a bone.
Archer turned and ran for the house as chaos erupted behind him. Something terrible was going on, and he knew time was short, if it had not already run out. He had to get the president and the secretary off the ground to safety.
0918 – Parking Garage
Jossart pulled into the underground garage at the back of the house. The turn was tight, and as the SUV slid around the corner, the front fender and side kissed the concrete bollards on the left side. Melendez cursed as he struggled to maintain his balance in his seat.
The kid was a driver—that much was obvious. President Wendell turned to Melendez. “Put that kid on the driving squad when all this was over. He doesn’t know it, but he’d just passed the ultimate driver’s test.”
Melendez chuckled and nodded.
Then Melendez glanced over and fixed the president with a puzzled look. From the phone plastered against Wendell’s ear, a voice wavered in and out.
“Say that again,” Wendell ordered, concentrating on what the man on the other end of the secure line had just told him. He’d heard him wrong, because what the man just said made absolutely no sense. A land mass had appeared in the middle of the Pacific, out of nowhere?
The general took a breath and repeated his statement.
“Who else is aware of this?” Wendell asked. He nodded a few times, grunted, and then sighed. “OK, is Secretary of Defense there? Right…when he arrives…apprise him of the situation. He has my full approval to do whatever it takes to secure the nation, General Greenland.”
Wendell glanced over at Major Woodrow. “We may be needing that soon.”
Woodrow tapped a nervous finger against one of the buckles on the briefcase. President Wendell saw the stress on the major’s face. Of course he was trained for this moment. They all were, but the president never dreamed they’d be called upon to do it while he was in office.
Woodrow opened the leather case and pulled out the specially modified Zero-Halliburton case within, then showed it to the president. Inside were a few items only a select number of people had ever laid eyes on: a secure SATCOM radio and handset, the nuclear launch codes, (called the ‘Gold Codes’), and the president’s decision book. Commonly known as the ‘Football,’ it was referred to as something less than comforting by those in the know, who called it the ‘Doomsday Yankee.’
The president wasn’t ready to make these decisions. How could he choose the fate of the entire world—of everyone he loved, of everyone that depended on him to make the right choice? No one really knew what this burden was like. There was no one else in the country that had to make this decision. He was one man. He had faults, flaws. Who was he to call upon the destruction of mankind? Kill thousands to save millions? Did that even ring true in this situation? What the hell were they dealing with here?
He looked at Woodrow solemnly, who adjusted the black cable around his wrist, playing with it as he would a rosary, if he had one. Both men wore the longest faces of their careers.
Jossart brought the SUV to a halt. The tires squeaked in the deep confines of the sub-basement garage. Next to the president, Secretary Carling’s head rolled slightly. Spittle escaped the corner of her mouth. Her eyes popped open briefly, and she stared, almost as if in deep thought, then closed them again.
The president put a gentle hand on her shoulder then glanced around at the terrified faces staring back at him for leadership. The SUV was still in drive,
Melendez reached forward and squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “Good driving, Jossart.”
“Sir, we need to sweep the garage before Raven can disembark,” Augustson said. Without waiting for a response, the agent exited the vehicle and began sweeping the area. Jossart glanced at Melendez, and then exited the vehicle as well.
A few moments later, Augustson tapped on the window and signaled the all clear.
“Mr. President, we need to get you to the chopper,” Melendez said as he slid from the vehicle.
He tried his COM, but all he got was static. There was no telling the status of the rest of his men. They were blind down here. The president knew that bothered Melendez to no end. He was a good man who followed the rulebook to the letter. He hated to lose anyone, but there were no guarantees right now.
“Should the chopper be compromised,” Melendez told the president, “we may have to drive back through that mob above.
The president shuddered at the thought. Through the static of Melendez’s COM, he heard a weak voice waver.
“Say again?” Melendez said.
“This is Papa Hotel 36,” the voice answered.
Relief washed across Melendez’s face. “Papa Hotel, good to hear a friendly voice out there. We are en route with Raven plus six. What’s your status, over?”
“Pretty hairy and deteriorating rapidly. Let’s get the heck out of here. How’s that sound, over?”
“Roger that. We’re in the parking structure. ETA to your location is three mike, acknowledge?”
“Acknowledged. Will keep the rotors hot for you, out.”
Melendez swung his pistol to the left as something boomed at the far side of the garage.
“Hold your fire!”
“Identify yourself!” Melendez countered, as the slamming door echoed through the garage.
“Park Police! Thaddeus Archer.”
Boss!” Jossart called out the turned to the others. “He’s good. He’s my boss.”
* * *
Archer came out of the darkness and shook the proffered hand. “Agent Melendez, Secret Service.”
“Good to see a friendly face.” Archer glanced over Melendez’s shoulder. “That my Secretary in there? Oh, Mr. President.” Thaddeus’ voice faltered then trailed off.
His hand went to the cell on his belt. When he realized he’d done so, Archer abruptly snatched his hand away.
“Archer.” Wendell nodded. If he noticed the phone, he chose to ignore it. Both men knew what the phone symbolized. He dusted off his suit and stretched. “This goes no further than here, understood?” After everyone nodded their understanding, the President of the United States took a breath and fixed the agents with a grim look. “Whatever is happening outside…it’s not confined to just here.”
Archer leaned in the vehicle, nodded at the stoic air force guy, and gently leaned Carling back. She moaned softly, but didn’t open her eyes.
Despite the nasty goose egg popping up on her forehead, the secretary looked no worse for wear, considering the circumstances. She mumbled something Archer didn’t quite catch. He leaned in close, grimacing as he smelled something sickly sweet coming from Carling’s mouth. Definite head injury.
“Ma’am?”
“It has begun.” She grinned, eyes still closed. “Oh my god, it has finally begun.”
“She’s delirious,” Archer said. He made sure she was comfortable, and turned to face the president, trying to shake a feeling of déjà vu.
“What?” Melendez blurted.
“Now,” Wendell continued as he held up a hand to stop Melendez. “It seems there is an island that has mysteriously appeared in the middle of the Pacific. It’s got everyone in an uproar. China is on High Alert, as well as Iran and North Korea. We all know they’ve been looking for an excuse to start something for some time now—this may be it. Whatever it is, when the land mass came up out of the water, it created a massive tsunami, and from the early reports I got from Defense on the exciting ride over here, this wave is due to hit California, Alaska, and Mexico within the next hour.”
“How big of a mass are we talking?” Jossart spoke up.
“Why? What does it matter?” Augustson scoffe
d.
“It’s approximately sixty percent the mass of Africa,” President Wendell replied.
“Sweet Mary,” Jossart muttered and began pacing.
“What’s his problem?” Augustson said.
“Quiet,” Melendez ordered. To Jossart, “What’s the matter?”
“It’s nothing. A silly idea, really.” Jossart wore a bemused look.
“I think anything will help, including silly,” Archer encouraged.
“I’m a gamer,” Jossart said, slight embarrassment coloring his voice, as if he’d just admitted he liked diddling youngsters. “And, well, there’s this idea I’ve heard is being used for a new game coming out later next year…about an island coming up out of the Atlantic, and there’s some pretty bad things that live on the thing…”
“Yeah, I know what you’re talking about,” Melissa spoke up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Augustson exploded and stalked off.
“Agent, get back here,” Melendez shouted, then to the president, “I apologize for my agent.”
“You’re honestly going to listen to this?” Augustson asked.
Archer discreetly pulled his pistol and rested it against his thigh. He carefully maneuvered the door to provide a barrier between Augustson and himself. Thaddeus didn’t like the wild look in the agent’s eyes just then. The guy was close to cracking. He had the look of someone who had just peered into his own personal hell. Augustson’s face twitched.
Melendez glanced over at Archer and moved closer to the president, placing a hand on his elbow. “Sir, I believe you’d be more comfortable in the SUV until we figure out our POA.”
Archer knew Melendez was starting to get it too. Smart man.
Wendell peered at Melendez in confusion and opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment Augustson lunged at Jossart. With a cry of surprise, Jossart went down to the concrete. He bit his lip, as if to silence a scream, as his ribs cracked beneath the weight of the man straddling him.
Wells stepped forward and trained his pistol on Augustson.
Archer noticed the raging agent’s fingers twitching now. He couldn’t have been the only one seeing this. They contracted in spurts until they formed a clutching vise around Jossart’s throat. Jossart remained calm until Auguston’s face started to morph into a hideous, twitching gray mass. Archer aimed his gun alongside Wells. This was nuts.
“Let him go, Augustson,” Wells ordered. “Let him go, NOW!”
His commands had no effect on the agent. Wells glanced up at Melendez, and Archer knew the agent looked to the man for guidance.
Melendez stepped forward and hit Augustson across the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, but the blow failed to faze the man. Archer stepped forward and aimed at the black, ill-formed mass attached to Augustson, manipulating the man’s every move. Just as it took on a humanoid shape, he fired.
Augustson slumped forward and smacked his head soundly against the concrete, next to Jossart’s head. Jossart sucked in precious oxygen and started hacking, free of Auguston’s grip. He rolled over to his side and clutched his battered throat, groaning in agony.
“What was that?” Melendez muttered as the mass disintegrated into a fine black mist and drifted to the concrete.
Testing a theory, Archer knelt down and traced a finger over the concrete. Not a nick. The bullet left no indication it’d struck the concrete. He stood up, a troubled look on his face.
“Where’d the bullet go?” Wendell asked.
“Exactly.” Thaddeus toed the black residue with the point of his shoe.
“Mr. President,” Melissa said. The SAT phone in her hand was flashing. She held it out, and Wendell took it from her.
He glanced at the black powder on the ground, then turned and walked a few feet away as he brought the receiver to his ear. “Go.Travis, good to hear your voice. What are we dealing with? I’m ordering COGCON 1 and spool up JEEP, just in case. Yes…we’re headed to the airport here shortly. Just taking stock of the situation. Hold on, I want everyone to hear it from you.” Wendell smiled and laughed at something SecDef Travis Wayteck said. “I’m the president. They’re cleared as of now.”
With that, Wendell activated the speaker function and motioned for everyone to gather in closer. “You’re on speaker, Travis. Go ahead.”
“Hello everyone,” the deep baritone rumbled. The first time Archer met Wayteck, he’d thought the man’s voice greatly resembled that of James Earl Jones. “From what our experts can tell, this outbreak of riots is happening simultaneously across the globe… without rhyme or reason.”
“Could it be terror related?” Wendell interjected.
“Nothing is certain at this point, so I can’t rule it out, but we don’t know of anything that would affect so many people in so short of a time, much less at the exact same time in so many different areas. There are early reports of massive riots in Bangladesh, but communication is difficult at the moment, as I’m sure you’re aware. After discussing our Nation status, I directed the military to go to DEFCON 1, and the Guard is already being recalled. NORAD is monitoring the situations in China, North Korea, and Iran. There’s something else. Really weird, but…”
“Go ahead,” the president urged. He glanced at all of them gathered around the phone. What the Secretary of Defense might possibly mention next all passed through their minds like a psychic fire.
“There’s been reports of shadows,” Wayteck said, hesitation evident in his tone. “Um, not sure what is going on with that, but some, um, people are on that.”
Archer caught the tone and glanced meaningfully at the president. The man grimaced and averted his eyes. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Travis, those people—any word?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ve seen the shadows, sir,” Archer spoke up. “This is Thaddeus Archer, sir, Park Police.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Archer. I recall you. You said you’ve seen these shadows?”
Archer glanced at Wendell once more. This time, the man maintained his gaze. With an almost imperceptible nod, something passed between the two men.
“That’s correct, Mr. Wayteck. This is just my best guess, but they—the shadows, I mean—are connected somehow. I don’t know how, but I’ve got this gut feeling.” He realized how lame it sounded. “I shot one of the attackers, and it didn’t affect him at all, but when I shot his shadow, the man collapsed as if his strings were cut.”
Wayteck took a deep breath. His voice lowered conspiratorially. “I understand, Mr. Archer. We’re thinking the same thing, actually. You’re one of the first outside of Black Rock to come to this conclusion.”
“Travis—” Wendell’s tone was clearly a warning.
“Hold on a second…” Wayteck blurted.
Papers rustled and a few voices could be heard, but they were muffled. Finally, Wayteck came back on the line. The difference in his tone was obvious as soon as he began to speak. His voice sounded haunted, hollow, and extremely disturbed. “Mr. President…the DPRK has just launched…”
The garage abruptly filled with howls and groans. The daylight previously apparent at the far entrance was blotted out.
Chapter Fourteen
Eight Hours Ago
0923 – Heliport-Roof
“H, E, double hockey sticks,” Samantha Veleska muttered, as the crowd pushed down the gate and flowed into the compound like water from a broken dam. The wind from the rotating blades of the helicopter buffeted the few attempting to climb the side of the building. She reached over and checked the safety on her pistol, ensuring it was ready to fire. Samantha had never fired her weapon in the course of duty, and she hoped now she wouldn’t have to.
She nervously readjusted her headset and spoke into the mike. “Melendez, you need to speed it up. Perimeter’s just been breached.”
Veleska waited for a response, but none came. She tightened her grip on the collective, and the helicopter jolted slightly as it rose a few inches off the tarmac. She relax
ed her grip and the skids settled back down. “Come on, come on, people.”
She’d seen what’d happened with the agents on the walls, but she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening below. She’d experienced some of the madness firsthand as her co-pilot, Todd Westenhaver, ripped his headset off and pulled his pistol. He’d leveled the gun at her and started babbling in some kind of broken Spanish, which she’d realized was more like Latin (Catholic school hadn’t been a total waste, after all).
In the middle of all the weird words, Todd had kept saying, “The chattering, the chattering. Get it outta my head, please Sweet Mary, GET IT OUT!”
Veleska, paralyzed with fear, watched her friend, one time lover, and partner of five years proceed to rip his ears off and stuff them in his mouth as he blubbered and moaned about the chattering in his head. She reached over and grabbed the gun, prepared to wrestle it from his hands, but he relinquished it readily. As she pulled back to her side of the cockpit, Westenhaver lunged at her and gripped her hands. She abruptly noticed the shadow, because it was so cold. It took her breath away as it came into contact with her hands. A split second later, Todd’s physical hands grasped hers. He rested the barrel against his forehead in mock supplication and said, “Please, Sam, just shoot me. I can’t take it anymore.”
Samantha shook her head and tried to pull her hands from his grip, but it was like iron. She couldn’t move. Amidst the pleading, she felt herself losing her purchase, as her hands became a separate part of her. All feeling ended at her wrist. She could see her hands through the black swirling mist, but it was as if they didn’t belong to her anymore. There was a definite texture to the mist, as if it were syrup. Images filled her mind, and she screamed as they wrecked havoc. It felt like she was being raped, only the attack was occurring in her head and not between her legs.
She saw a city laid to waste by marauding black figures. They flew, crawled, and walked about the city, killing everything in their paths. They were black cutouts, and she could recognize some of the shapes among the chaos.
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