Minus America Box Set | Books 1-5

by Isherwood, E. E.

  “You sure you want to divide our forces?” Ted asked.

  “No, but you saw that machine out there. Someone is going to come for us. We have to cover maximum ground and then get out of here.” ER slung off his backpack and pulled out a black canvas roll, which he unfurled to reveal a big duffel bag.

  “Meet back here in ten mikes?” the soldier suggested.

  After seeing the tourists in the lobby, he was willing to bet the whole place was empty of people. There was probably little danger in splitting up, while there was a lot of risk in delaying their stay. To that end, he finally agreed.

  “Let’s make it eight,” he countered.

  “Done!” ER sprinted up the nearby stairs.

  Ted ran the opposite direction, through the usher closet and down a narrow staircase. When he got to the lower level, he ran around one corner to check on the Secret Service offices, but the piles of black suits gave him all the intel he needed.

  He wondered if John Jeffries had been working with any of the security officers inside this office. If so, they would have found excuses to be anywhere else today, like Outer Mongolia. Logically, the dead people left inside the room were the good guys.

  Any bad guys would be…elsewhere.

  He backtracked to the stairwell, then passed by to go to another part of the level. It took him a second to get his bearings, but then he went into a wide, well-lit hallway.

  Despite being the fancy White House, it was definitely the basement. Long electrical conduits and wire bundles hung from the ceiling, running for fifty yards down the passageway. The floor was cement, except for a metal plate right in the middle of the hallway, which probably held pipes and other plumbing features.

  His destination was halfway down the hall, and the nondescript white door was marked by a gold plate with black lettering.

  ‘Truman Bowling Alley.’

  “Please be in there,” he whispered.

  The door was unlocked, as was probably normal for being far behind Secret Service security lines. After passing through a small front room filled with cubbies of bowling shoes and a big fake plant, he jogged into the two-lane alley.

  In better times, he would put on some shoes and throw a turkey or two, but now he strode across the puke-green carpet along the length of the lanes until he was at another white door.

  This one was locked.

  The sign on the outside said ‘Restricted: Alley operator only.’ However, the veep had told him this was where he would find the president, if he were alive.

  “Is anyone there?” he called through the door. “I’m with Vice President Emily Williams.”

  After receiving no reply, he tried kicking the door, but it held firm. Though it looked like any another door, it was likely reinforced.

  There was no time to pick locks or look for keys. The Secret Service probably had the means to get in, if he had the time to search the clothes piles. Instead, he brought the M4 to bear. After taking a few steps back, he put two shots on the door lock.

  The narrow chamber amplified the crack. “Ow.”

  Ted kicked the door again and it flung open.

  Amarillo, TX

  Brent clicked on a small portable radio and found the lone station with music. He turned it up about halfway, then leaned back in his chair to consider his options.

  Outside, the inmates yelled at him from time-to-time, but he kept his eyes and mind focused on the camera view showing the front parking lot.

  Someone would come back, right? He eventually did. So would the others.

  Time passed as he got lost in thought. For some minutes, he watched the camera as if it was any other day on the job. The parking lot looked as it always did: a lonely patch of pavement on the wide-open frontier grassland that was north Texas.

  However, his eyes always drifted to the companion views of the recreation field and upper level hallway. The lost clothing of a thousand strippers…

  If only it were that stupid.

  Where did they go? Who was responsible?

  “Why were we left alive?” he said aloud.

  Brent was a God-fearing man, but he determined this wasn’t the work of any god as soon as he figured out who had been taken. Tom Donbavand was as close to a saint as he’d ever met. The correctional officer did things few others in his profession ever thought to do; he taught some of the residents how to read, he loaned books to them, and he helped them write physical letters to loved ones. And yet he was taken, because he worked on the upper level.

  By contrast, some of the men behind bars up there were downright nasty. Drugs. Petty thievery. A few even scored big with internet scams. Brent didn’t think of them as evil men, but compared to Tom, they were night to his day. They were taken, too.

  Plus, more good guys and bad guys were left in the basement.

  He looked at the one camera window showing live people. His cell block of misfits. At the far end of the view, he saw the security booth, with his own head moving on the screen.

  “Dammit all to hell. They aren’t coming back.”

  His reflection time went on for so long the block residents had lost interest in yelling at him. They’d gone back to lying in bed or talking to their neighbors.

  He came out of the security booth knowing what he had to do.

  Brent fast-walked to the stairs and started up.

  CHAPTER 21

  Washington, D.C.

  Ted pushed into the small room but was disappointed to see it filled with the bowling return machinery. No president. No secret bunker. Nothing.

  “This blows big time.”

  He checked the walls, sure he was missing something, but there wasn’t much to investigate in a twenty-foot square chamber. After the third walkaround, he was certain the room was just a room. More to the point of his mission, there was no presidential clothes pile in there.

  “Where are you?” he said dryly.

  He ran through the bowling alley again and out into the hallway. He intended to retrace his steps and go back to the main floor, but a voice caught his ear. The sound was muffled, suggesting it came from inside a wall.

  After a short search, he found the source behind a wall near the stairwell.

  “The Secret Service room,” he whispered.

  He trotted by the stairwell a third time and went back to the front door of the Secret Service office. Ted went inside, careful to avoid stepping on the suits, and walked to a space at the back that might have once been a closet. It had only enough room for a small table, a lone chair, and a shortwave radio.

  The voices came from the speakers.

  He crept up on the device, certain someone was around to bust his intrusion.

  …clean copy, over.

  A second station replied: Roger that. Be advised FAST platoons are operating on the JFK and Iwo Jima. Over.

  The first station replied: Confirmed. Over.

  Ted recalled the JFK was the only point of East Coast contact they’d while in the air. It was in Newport News, where his niece lived and worked. He was tempted to join the conversation, if only to ask the status of Kyla’s ship, but he didn’t know who was talking and couldn’t risk giving himself away.

  The second operator came back on. Viking Three-Five, wait one. Over.

  There was a long pause, reminding Ted he had little time to sit and listen. He found a pencil and a small notepad and noted the frequency.

  The modern digital radio was on frequency scan mode, meaning it locked on the strongest signal. Did that mean the operators were close?

  Finally, the second station came back. Viking Three-Five, we have a confirmed breach at location AF. Interrogative, what is your response time? Over.

  Five mikes, over, the first guy replied.

  Affirmative. Intel also reports a sighting of Boomerang Two at Dulles International. Live forces will be available for its return visit at 16:30. How copy, over.

  Ted didn’t wait for the reply. He ran out of the broom closet but stopped a little short o
f the main door. It bothered him to think it, and even more to do it, but he picked through the leftover clothes and grabbed a pair of P229s from the deceased agents.

  “This pistol is the same model Jeffries used to try to kill Emily. And me,” he mused. He stuffed one in each of his front trouser pockets. “Can never have too much firepower,” he said to bolster his willpower.

  He charged up the staircase back to the main level of the White House.

  “Ramirez!” he said as loud as he dared. The marbled entryway made his voice echo. He’d been looking toward the staircase going to the upper floors, but the soldier came from behind him.

  “I’m here,” ER said in a winded voice.

  “What the— You were supposed to be upstairs.”

  The soldier carried his black duffel, though the contents stretched it, so he looked like a sailor with a full rucksack.

  “I found the commander-in-chief,” he deadpanned. “He was in the situation room with a couple of advisors. I guess it was all he could muster in the few minutes he knew the attack was in progress.”

  “Just enough time to get us to DEFCON 2,” Ted reasoned. “Wait. How do you know it was him?”

  “Navy ring. Cigar in his pocket. A wallet with nothing in it except a keycard with the president’s name and face on it. I shoved it all in this bag.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “Oh yeah, and this.”

  Ramirez threw a heavy coin at Ted. When he caught it, he knew what it was.

  “The president’s challenge coin,” he said sadly.

  “Yep. He won’t be needing that anymore.”

  “Damn,” Ted whispered. The president really was dead.

  He almost told ER about his discovery, but there wasn’t time. They’d used up every second of their eight-minute limit.

  Ted waved him to the front doors where they’d come in, but the lieutenant lagged with his heavy bag.

  “What else did you shove in the bag? The presidential china set?” Ted had the intel he came for and needed to get it back to the vice president, so he didn’t press the man on what he’d been doing.

  He wanted to move; it was even worse than what Rebecca shrieked on the phone. The destruction didn’t only affect people going about their daily lives. Everyone was gone, including the heavily-defended leader of the free world.

  “So, how are we going to do this?” Ramirez asked as soon as they left the foyer full of tourists. “Truck or car?”

  Ted considered getting back in the dump truck and driving it over to the car still parked a block away, but the huge truck would immediately draw attention to whatever force was on its way.

  “We run,” he laughed. “I hope you don’t break your treasure.”

  “I won’t.”

  Ted jogged down the driveway toward the gate they’d come through. He could have run a lot faster, but he wanted to stay close to ER and his heavy load.

  When they made it to the broken gate, he looked back, satisfied he’d made the right call. Not only did they make smaller targets, but anyone arriving would see the blinding red, white, and blue paint job on the dumper and assume they were still inside.

  “This way,” he said as ER got outside the gate.

  Together they ran along the sidewalk in front of the White House grounds. Ted grabbed the black duffel with one hand to lighten the other man’s burden so they could move faster. The black SUV was up ahead.

  The heavy challenge coin clanged against the pistol in his right front pocket, making him wonder if he should move it. He also thought about the message it would convey to Emily. When he handed it over to her, she would know she’d been promoted to the big chair.

  Would she be able to handle it?

  Bonne Terre, MO

  Tabby pointed to the glow of light ahead. She desperately wanted to tell Peter he was looking at the literal light at the end of the tunnel, but the ribbing would have to wait.

  “We’re going to make it,” she thought.

  Each of the three kids had to see the light too, because they were all swimming side by side down the railway tunnel like Dorothy and her friends approaching the wizard. However, despite being less than fifty yards from what she was sure was the exit, the kids had slowed down.

  Audrey was the slowest; Peter practically pulled her along.

  Donovan was slow, too, but he kept moving, eventually getting ahead of the other two.

  “We’re so close,” she thought.

  Eventually, she resorted to guessing the number of meters to the beam of light.

  10. 5. 0.

  She looked up. Happy to see sunshine but dismayed to see they had one more chimney to go up.

  When the others arrived, she figured the light would jazz them up, but they moped in like the pressure of the water was crushing them to death.

  Audrey was barely able to swim.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Tabby checked the girl’s tank and found the pressure was dangerously low. She checked Audrey’s eyes with the girl’s chem light, to avoid shining the bright flashlight at her, and immediately recognized the confusion and fright of someone not getting enough oxygen.

  “Poop,” she thought. Back at the boat, she didn’t have the time to explain how to switch over to a pony tank. In the past, Dad always made sure each diver had a full main tank, but he always attached a smaller bottle to the straps, in case of emergencies. It was a simple matter of switching the fittings between the tanks, so the same regulator could be used on either, but the young girl wouldn’t have a clue without the simple lesson.

  Tabby dragged the girl down to her level so they both stood on the train track. The sunlight in the tube above provided a little light for her to work, so she didn’t depend on the wrist light.

  Peter and Donovan hovered nearby, as if unsure what was happening.

  She grabbed Audrey’s tubing and popped off the quick release. The girl came alive as soon as the link was cut. And she would, because her air was gone.

  Tabby lost her grip on the loose hose, which only caused more chaos. The girl flopped her arms and fell over as if the metal cylinder on her back weighed a ton.

  “Stay with me, girlfriend,” she said as calm as possible in the regulator. Fear pulled at her stomach like a hand from the grave, but she stayed true to her tour guide persona because she couldn’t let the girl get away from her.

  Tabby pushed off and caught Audrey on the strap of her SCUBA gear. She used her other hand to snatch the floppy tubing.

  Peter arrived in time to grab the girl’s other arm, and together, they steadied her.

  Tabby used that moment to hook the regulator to the smaller air tank.

  “Got it!” she shouted to herself.

  She stepped back and let the air take hold.

  For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure it worked. Or, worse, Audrey had been without air for too long. But out of nowhere, the girl held up an OK sign.

  Tabby tried to clap, but it came across in super slow motion because of the water pressure.

  She pointed up.

  Despite being the leader, this was a case where she wanted to let them go first. There was no doubt where they were going, or how they would get there. Her only task was to ensure they all stuck together until they reached the surface.

  Once the kids were on the way up, she followed.

  At first, she waited for some tragedy to strike, but then she let go of some of her worry and turned inward. It gave her plenty of time to think of how Dad kept saving her life. The tanks were filled. The boat was gassed up. He’d thought to keep those spare tanks.

  By the time she’d made it halfway up the fifty-foot tunnel, all she wanted to do was get back to him and give him a big hug for being prepared and teaching her how to survive.

  She considered stopping the kids for a safety stop before they got too close to the surface, but she didn’t think any of the three would tolerate being told to halt when they could see the sky. If they got sick from decompression, that would be
on her.

  In the end, she used a burst of energy to swim by the teens and rouse them on, her three long braids floated freely behind her. It was one last hurrah of energy before they were all safe.

  “We did it!”

  Tabby broke the surface first, blinking furiously to clear the water from her eyes. As soon as she could focus, she instantly recognized the brightly-colored playground equipment of Bonne Terre’s only public park. They were in the lake owned by the town. That’s probably why Dad didn’t want them to know.

  Donovan came up next. He flailed around a bit, but she swam close and waved him to the shore. “That way!”

  Audrey and Peter came up together. Rather than wave them on, she grabbed Audrey’s arm and motioned her over. If she was suffering from oxygen deprivation, she’d need help until her brain restored its balance of air.

  “I’ve got you,” Tabby said in a I’m-in-charge tone.

  The lake was more of a large pond than a true lake. Three sides were filled with trees and leafy undergrowth, but the other bank was grassy and clear, so residents could fish from the shore.

  She touched land about a minute later.

  They all flung off their gear and fell to the muddy grass at the water’s edge. She panted from the exertion, but shivered, too. They all did.

  “Just…relax…for…minute,” she got out between heaving breaths. That last burst on the climb took a lot out of her.

  They’d spent about five minutes recovering before Tabby put on her tour guide name tag again.

  “Audrey, are you doing okay?” she asked.

  “I think so,” she said quietly. “I almost drowned until you fixed my air. Thank you.”

  Peter got onto his knees. “You are the most bad-ass chick I’ve ever met. You saved all our lives by taking us through those tunnels. They’re going to give you a freaking medal at my school.” He paused. “And you saved my girlfriend.”

  The heavy-set kid wrapped Audrey in his arms.

  Tabby was proud for a moment, but the brush with real, actual death kept her from being happy or excited about any achievement. Her duty now was to get the kids back to their peers, then get herself to Mom and Dad. Celebration would come last.