Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism

by DeCosmo, Anthony

  However, these particular visitors overstayed their welcome. Worse, the trio refused to see that they faced a brick wall. Evan would not break the treaty that brought peace to the United States, regardless of how impassioned the pleas. He sympathized with the Pakistani fellow, the Spanish woman, and the skinny Italian guy, all of whom had been stuck in the U.S. on business when the invasion began ten years ago.

  The Pakistani explained for the sixth time that Trevor had assured that the world—not merely North American—would one day be free. The Spanish woman told for the ninth time that the trio represented hundreds of foreign nationals with family and interests beyond America's borders. The skinny Italian guy just glanced around, obviously impressed with the Red Room.

  Evan understood the Italian’s feelings. The room had been furnished by the Kennedy Administration back in '62 in a style known as "American Empire," a style closely related to "French Empire." Evan appreciated the European connection and hence it served as the logical place for the doomed meeting with the three foreigners.

  The furniture featured designs of dolphins, acanthus leaves, lion's heads, and sphinxes, all velvety red and atop a carpet of beige, gold and more red.

  While the Italian and the Spaniard sat on a couch, Evan and the Pakistani squared off over a small table with Sharon—the first lady—in another seat. An elegant tea service sat on a nearby server. Evan watched traces of steam from the pot slip into the air and evaporate. He also saw the Doberman Pincher with the sliver collar inside the door. That spoiled his mood.

  "So is there anything you can do about this, Mr. President?"

  Evan painted on a sad face. "At this time, I am greatly limited by the new treaty. However, it is my intention to strike a dialogue with the extraterrestrial powers with the aim of expanding the treaty's scope to the other nations of the world. I hope that—"

  The President's attention was diverted again, this time not by boredom but by the intrusion of Dante Jones. Evan—always the quick thinker—took advantage of the new arrival.

  "Ah, the Secretary of Defense is here. I must end our meeting at this time," he stood. "I will discuss the matter with Secretary Jones. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me…"

  The red-headed assistant with the scar on her face came from a corner of the Red Room and pointed the visitors toward the exit. The Pakistani huffed in disappointment, the Spanish lady appeared ready to say more but a stern look from Evan dissuaded her, the Italian gazed around at the paintings and furniture one last time. Regardless, all three finally left.

  Evan collapsed into his chair once again.

  "Well handled, my dear," Sharon spoke but Evan could not tell if she spoke sincerely or sarcastically.

  Jones heaved a deep breath and boomed, "What the Hell did you do? What is going on?"

  Evan did not need specifics to know Dante referred to the taking of Jorge Stone from his family beach house, a move Evan personally approved based on the promise Gannon made on behalf of The Order.

  Godfrey sighed, stood, and lifted his cup from the tea tray. As he raised it to his lips, he noticed Dante's expression change—slightly—from pure anger to puzzlement.

  Evan realized that the hand with which he held the tea cup shook…a little. He concentrated, stopped the shaking, and then quickly replaced the cup on the tray.

  A little shake in the hand. No big deal.

  Jones' anger returned. Sharon smartly closed the Red Room door leaving the three of them and the dog alone in the chamber.

  Dante pressed in rapid-fire words, "I just heard through Roos that you let them have JB. Is that true? What do they want with Trevor's kid? This is bull shit!"

  "Relax, Dante," Evan tried to appear calm but he found himself agitated at Roos having told Jones about the boy, no doubt because Roos wanted to force a confrontation such as this.

  "I will not relax!"

  "It's a sacrifice, Dante."

  "What? That's bull! It's wrong, Evan! I didn't sign on for this type of shit."

  "It's no different than things Trevor did," Godfrey rationalized, drawing a wide-eyed expression of disbelief from Jones. Godfrey continued, "What? You don't think so? Trevor murdered hundreds at New Winnbow, he assassinated political leaders, and for the longest time he took no prisoners on the battlefield. He built an underground complex at Red Rock to take apart sentient alien beings piece by piece."

  "Yeah, but he hated doing all of that."

  "Yes! He did, didn't he? He sacrificed because he thought it the best thing to do. Why is this any different? It's better, I tell you. It's better because these sacrifices are for something more than war. They are for peace, and security."

  Dante shook his head and pleaded, "No more, no more. Man, I can't take this anymore."

  Evan rested a hand on the Secretary's shoulder.

  "Don't you give it a second thought. It's not your responsibility; it's on my shoulders. You have more important things to do."

  "Yeah, yeah, I, a, yeah…"

  "I have something I want you to look into."

  Jones said, "I can't find anything that makes me think the military is going to move against the government. I don't know where these rumors are coming from. But Jon Brewer is talking to the leaders in the army. He says they're all anxious, but on board."

  "Yes, that's great, but that's not what I mean. I've heard rumors that some of the troops we are de-mobilizing are signing up with mercenary groups to go fight overseas. It seems they did not get enough violence to satisfy their appetites fighting here. We can't have this."

  "Huh? How can I stop people from leaving? They're private citizens they, well, like they have rights."

  "They do not have the right to jeopardize all of us. Put a stop to it, Dante. That's your number one priority right now."

  "I thought this whole conspiracy thing was my number one priority."

  Evan smiled and assured, "Leave that to me, I've got it covered."

  During the course of their conversation, Evan successfully maneuvered them to the door. He opened it, offering Dante the exit.

  "Yeah, okay, whatever."

  The Secretary of Defense—either frustrated or de-toothed—left the Red Room with no hint of the anger that had accompanied him inside.

  Sharon made to leave but stopped to say, "He could be a problem, my dear."

  "Perhaps. But not right now. He's easy enough to manipulate."

  "You do have a knack for that, don't you," she kissed his cheek. "But as for Trevor's wife, it seems to me that she may be so distraught over her husband's death that she might just take her own life. Why, some might even think that the noble thing to do."

  "Yes," Evan agreed but thought of the boy's disappearance when he said, "that is possible. But there are other things to address before that."

  "I suppose I'll leave that to you, my champion," her words slithered and she left the room.

  Evan—in need of a few minutes of alone time—closed the door to the Red Room. His hand shook as he pulled it away from the knob. Just a little. Merely a tremble. Nonetheless, he clamped his free hand over the other as if to silence an annoyance.

  Evan gave his attention to the art work and regal furniture in the room.

  "It's all mine," he said to no one.

  No, wait, a pair of ears still listened.

  Evan swirled around and eyed the Doberman Pinscher sentry sitting perfectly still and perfectly straight inside the closed door. The dog's dark brown eyes stared straight ahead as if it might be a statue.

  The President tilted his head in curiosity for the beast and—slightly hunched over—stepped toward the canine, speaking as he moved.

  "This is all mine now, you know. Not Trevor. Mine. I worked hard to get here, got it? I won't let anyone take it away from me, not this time. I belong here."

  Evan leaned over and nearly touched his face to the snout of the sturdy animal. For its part, the K9 blinked, sniffed the air, but otherwise did not react.

  Evan gazed into those brown
eyes. The voice of Gordon Knox haunted, " Can you see him, Evan? Can you see Trevor Stone looking back at you? Watching you?"

  "I don't see anything in there," Evan insisted. "Nothing but a mindless animal. Nothing but a product of training. Just a dumb dog!"

  Evan turned fast, frustrated and scared at the same time then…then stopped and faced the K9 again. He took a deep breath, calmed, and stepped close again.

  "Do you understand what I'm thinking? I am the leader now. You must obey me."

  The dog blinked. Evan waited. Nothing happened.

  The President laughed out loud; a chuckle.

  Oh how silly of me. How ridiculous. It's only a dog. Nothing more.

  He stood straight, adjusted his sport jacket, and left the room.

  22. Trigger

  Waves curled into white caps, crashing in on themselves and rolling to the quiet beach where they faded one after another under a cloud-filled night. Those clouds added a new sound to the steady onslaught of breakers: the pitter-patter of a light rain on the grassy dunes as well as the patio pavers outside the Stones' beach house.

  The drizzle dripped on the roof, rolled along gutters, and filled the darkness with a constant dribble that helped mask Nina and Gordon's footsteps as they crept toward the sliding glass door separating the rear patio from the kitchen.

  The pair moved silently, speaking with gestures and intuition, but they moved with urgency: the lone exterior guard walked a loop around the beach house and—if his timing held true—he would return to the patio within three minutes.

  Nina held a silenced nine millimeter pistol, knelt alongside an Adirondack chair, and covered Gordon as he used a screw driver to bypass the rudimentary latch securing the door.

  Knox succeeded in undoing the lock and the two slipped inside. Nina softly slid the glass door closed behind them then followed Knox across the kitchen.

  The kitchen opened to the living room where a television screen flickered a frozen image reading "end of broadcast day". An armed man snored on the couch.

  The square-shaped living room not only linked to the kitchen, but also linked to two short halls on opposite sides.

  Nina held her gun with both hands and pointed the barrel at the sleeping guard's head, prepared to pull the trigger if he stirred. She nodded to Gordon who took advantage of her cover and traversed the living room toward the hall leading off to the southwest. When he arrived there, he leveled his Desert Eagle at the slumbering sentry's noggin' and motioned Nina to join him, which she did.

  Knox peered around the corner. He saw an empty chair outside of a closed bedroom door. With Nina watching his back (and watching the sleeping guard), Gordon turned the unlocked knob. He opened the door slowly and stepped into the pitch black master bedroom.

  He first noticed bars on the windows that had not been there last summer when he had been Trevor's guest for a Fourth of July celebration. Gordon realized those bars kept Ashley and her family inside.

  Before he stepped toward the bed, his survival instincts kicked in and he pivoted about. Someone lunged at him from behind the door brandishing a vase or something.

  Gordon grabbed the weapon before it could strike. Despite the darkness, he saw that it was Ashley who attacked him but her frazzled hair and seemingly crazed disposition caused him to second guess his eyes. This was not the sophisticated, classy woman he left behind at the estate before disappearing.

  "Ashley, it's me," he whispered.

  "Gordon?"

  Nina peeked inside the room and said, "We got to move."

  "We're taking you and JB out of here," Gordon explained. "No time for your things."

  Before Gordon finished his explanation he realized something to be terrible wrong.

  "What?"

  "They took him. My son…they took him away."

  This served as yet another twist on Gordon's perspective of the situation. Who would take her son? Why? What purpose would it serve? Yet he had no time to find those answers.

  "Okay, let's go then," he simplified.

  "My father…he's in the other room, get him, too."

  Ashley grabbed a pile of clothes from a cedar trunk. Gordon led the trio along the hall to the sleeping guard in the living room. He next hustled Ashley to the kitchen area. Nina waited until they were clear and then crossed behind the quiet guard on the couch toward the far hall.

  Before she turned the corner there, a hard chop from strong hands came down on her wrist, knocking free her pistol. The short, gray-haired man named Tucker stepped out from his ambush position and reached for the pistol tucked in his shoulder harness.

  In a flash, she twisted his wrist and sent the automatic to the carpet.

  The guard on the couch stirred.

  Tucker did not hesitate. He smacked Nina in the cheek with a left jab then used a front snap kick to send her backwards stumbling over an easy chair near the sofa. As she leapt to her feet, she saw Tucker retrieving his gun and the stunned-but-now-awake guard on the sofa coming to his senses.

  She abandoned the mission and bolted for the kitchen. A pistol round whizzed by her shoulder and exploded plaster from a wall above an oil painting of a lighthouse. More rounds pursued as she joined Gordon and Ashley as they scrambled across the patio toward the beach.

  Knox needed no explanation. He hurried Ashley with one hand and leveled his gun toward the open sliding door with the other firing several cannon-like blasts toward the two guards, forcing them away from the kitchen for the moment.

  A small flashing light announced the approach of Eagle One from its holding pattern out over the Atlantic. It zoomed toward the shoreline fast.

  Ashley stumbled on the sand but managed to hold on to the pile of clothes that would replace the shorts and t-shirt she had worn to bed. In response, Gordon reached to steady her pace, dropping his guard for an instant.

  Three I.S. agents raced to the patio with weapons drawn. Before they could fire, Benjamin Trump tackled Tucker from behind, yelling some obscenity or another. The surprise hit bought the escaping trio a crucial two seconds; time enough for the transport to swivel about and hover two feet above the beach blowing sand and concentrating its blinding spotlights on the agents at the house. The side door slid open and there stood Odin the Norwegian Elkhound barking encouragement.

  Nina jumped into the ship and took Ashley's hand to help her onboard.

  Back at the house, Benjamin Trump suffered a solid punch on the chin, sending him unconscious but the former proprietor of the fourth largest fence company in Luzerne County had bought his daughter just enough time: if Tucker had fired his gun a moment sooner he would have hit his intended target, Ashley Trump. Instead, that bullet slammed into the lower back of Gordon Knox as he jumped into the passenger compartment of Eagle One.

  He grunted. Everything below his waist went numb. His upper arm strength managed to clutch the ship.

  "Gordon!" Ashley called as she saw an expression of bewilderment paint over his face.

  She frantically reached for his belt and, with Nina's help, they hauled him inside.

  More bullets ricocheted off the ship but Nina closed the door, eliminating any threat from small arms. As she did, the ship banked and flew away from the beach into the rainy night.

  Ashley lay on the floor of the compartment with Gordon's head on her lap. Nina broke out a first aid kit and examined the wound. Blood gushed from the small of his back.

  Nina understood battlefield first aid and put that knowledge to work in slowing the bleeding with pad after pad of gauze and direct pressure. But she could not discern the seriousness of the injury.

  He did not cry out but the contortions on his face suggested great pain. Nina injected him with morphine from the medical kit. Before Gordon drifted into unconsciousness he told them, "I can't feel my legs."

  Ashley cradled his head and whispered, "I knew you'd come." He once seemed so scary but was now revealed to be, like her, a fragile human being. "Thank you."

  Blood seeped from the
bandages, no amount of field triage would suffice. He would need serious medical treatment soon. No exit wound meant the bullet remained inside.

  Nina raced through a mental checklist of options as she pulled a blanket from a cabinet and helped Ashley wrap it around Gordon to stave off shock. He needed medical attention, but unlike her Dark Wolves companions Nina knew she could not simply drop him off at a hospital and expect nothing worse than internment. No, Internal Security—once they knew his location—would kill him.

  Nina turned her attention to Ashley.

  "You said they took your son. What do you mean?"

  "That bastard Brad Gannon and a Witiko ship took Jorgie away yesterday."

  That explained Ashley's condition. The woman looked a far cry from the dignified first lady of The Empire. She had not slept or probably even ate in the time since her boy vanished.

  A buzz on the intercom grabbed Nina's attention.

  "We got a problem!"

  She responded to Hauser's call by opening the interior bulkhead and joining him in the cockpit, leaving Ashley holding Gordon on the floor between two rows of seats.

  Despite her background as a helicopter pilot, Nina had never learned to fly an Eagle. Nonetheless, the ship fascinated her. The roomy cockpit with redundant controls for pilot and co-pilot, the virtual reality goggles that created the illusion of actually being the ship…everything about the craft intrigued her.

  She sat in the co-pilot's chair and asked, "What's the problem?"

  Hauser, the pilot, told her, "The Chrysaor. She's coming down from the north. We can out run her but…"