He looked at the autocue, which hung suspended from the ceiling just above the main camera. It remained blank, except for a scrolling message which read:
Broadcasting in session ...
‘Fellow Americans,’ he said, ‘I stand before you today a changed man. Taken against my will by those that would see our nation burn, I return more determined than ever to rid this country of the GMRC and those who support it. As you can see, I’m safe and well, but those who gave their lives for mine will never be able to see their families and loved ones again. And it’s to those that are grieving that I speak now. I promise you,’ – John took a breath to calm his emotions as the camera zoomed in on his face – ‘I promise to hunt down the people responsible for the murder of your brave warriors, men and women who lived and died in service to their country. A job to some is a means to an end, but those who put themselves in harm’s way for the protection of others do so out of a sense of duty and pride that will always humble those they serve to protect.
‘We will not forget those that fell. I will not forget what I owe them: my life, and the lives of those I hold dear.’ He noticed Ashley and Paul take their place at the side of the room. ‘These are the greatest gifts another can bestow and we are forever and always in their debt.’
He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. ‘It is by now common knowledge that the attack on my motorcade was instigated by a man who sees himself as the purveyor of truth, a man who believes he’s a god amongst mortals. Those who think he represents freedom, or that he stands against tyranny and the corporate world, could not be more wrong. Da Muss Ich, the notorious Because I Can, is nothing more than an opportunist, a bottom-feeding criminal who terrorises and murders those who stand in his way.’ John stared into the camera, his brows furrowing in fury. ‘But I say this man’s reign of terror ends now. No more will people have to suffer at his hand. If you’re listening, computer hacker, Bic, your days are numbered. I will not rest until you’re behind bars and I will bring the full might of the United States government, security and law enforcement agencies to bear on bringing you to justice. And if you resist capture, so be it; we’ll take you dead or alive. Enjoy your next few days of freedom, as I guarantee ... they will be your last.’
John stood back from the lectern to signal the end to his speech and Paul came on stage and spoke into the microphone. ‘President Henry will now open the floor to questions; please wait your turn and state your name and affiliation when you’re acknowledged.’
John accepted a bottle of water from an assistant and returned to the podium. He searched the crowd and the many journalists with raised hands. He pointed to a woman in the front row, and a microphone on an overhead cable zoomed across the ceiling before descending down to her location.
‘Maria Lafferty, CNN. Mr President, do you intend to step down in light of your failure to deliver your election promises? And if so, when?’
John shook his head in disbelief. ‘No, I do not intend to step down, and I will fulfil my election pledge. The water shortage will be resolved, along with food rationing and other problems created by the Global Meteor Response Council’s sanctions. I will also continue to press for the GMRC’s expulsion, despite opposition from Congress.’
‘How do you expect to do that,’ Maria Lafferty said in response, ‘when some senators are calling for you to be impeached? Are you living in a fantasy world, Mr President? Do you even know what’s going on in the real world?’
‘My executive order still stands,’ John said, ignoring her provocation and pointing to another journalist, ‘and I will see it through to completion. Next question.’
The microphone slid along its wire to stop above a grizzled man with a beard. ‘David Killian, Fox News. Mr President, how are you planning on solving the water shortage? You’ve been in office for months and rationing has increased, making things worse, not better. You also tell us the GMRC is to blame for the current rioting that’s spreading across the country, the spike in ER admissions, and many premature deaths. I suggest it’s the other way round, that you’re to blame. How do you respond to this damning indictment of your presidency?’
‘They’re good questions, David,’ John said, furiously thinking of a response and wondering why he’d thought not preparing for the press conference was a good idea. ‘Firstly, as you mentioned, water rationing is on the increase, as it has been for some time and since well before I even decided to run for president. Despite these facts, some quarters will always blame the man in charge for the shortcomings of previous administrations—’
‘Are you passing the buck, Mr President?’ Killian said. ‘Isn’t that something you said you’d never do?’
John held up his hand. ‘If you’d let me finish. I was about to say, that rationing would no longer exist if the GMRC were no longer allowed to micromanage our resources. No GMRC equals no water rationing. That’s all we need to know. As for the spate of rioting, the GMRC’s decision to withdraw their military support has been catastrophic, which is just as they intended, in order to deflect the blame onto my government. The same goes for the increase in premature deaths and hospitalisations, due to dehydration and lack of nutrition, all of which lie firmly at the door of the GMRC.’
John selected a UK reporter in the hope an external perspective would be less confrontational.
‘Keira Jones, BBC News. It’s said, Mr President, that the GMRC are actually helping find your attackers. Will you continue to work with them to this end? And does this double standard reflect on your inability to secure the welfare of those you swore an oath to protect?’
So much for less confrontational, John thought, as he sought to centre himself against the verbal onslaught. He glanced at Paul. His Chief of Staff looked worried, as did Ashley, who remained at his side.
‘Mr President?’ Keira Jones said, her English accent imperious. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’
‘It was the GMRC’s incompetence that allowed the cyberterrorist to hijack their drones,’ John said. ‘It’s only right they should help clear up the ensuing mess. So, in answer to your question, yes – whether the Response Council remain operating within our borders, or without, their co-operation in securing the world’s most wanted criminal will not just be expected, but demanded.’
Paul stepped onto the stage and John covered the microphone with his hand.
‘Do you want to continue?’ his Chief of Staff whispered into his ear. ‘People will understand if you don’t, you’ve been through a traumatic experience.’
‘Yes, I can’t stop now. And no, they wouldn’t understand. The nation needs me.’ John grasped his friend’s arm. ‘You can manage the selections, though; it’ll give me time to catch my breath.’
Paul gave him a nod, then moved back down to the foot of the stage and positioned himself in front of the first row of those gathered. He perused the forest of raised hands and chose one at random.
‘Stefan Chavez, New York Times. Mr President, you failed to answer Mr Killian’s question, so I’ll ask it again. How are you planning on solving this country’s current water shortage?’
‘Prior to the GMRC’s withdrawal?’ John said.
‘Let me rephrase the question. How are you planning on solving this country’s current water shortage if the GMRC remain in place?’
‘I will tell people to do what they must, if they’re not doing so already. Collect rainwater, visit streams and freshwater lakes, if need be. Help those who can’t help themselves. I am also pleased to announce the nationwide distribution of portable water purification straws, which will be delivered to every household within the month. These straws will ensure clean drinking water is available to all, in even the most polluted of environments.’ John looked into the camera. ‘If you’re in doubt as to the purity of your water, boil it beforehand and follow the guidance provided online, or in the relevant literature.’
‘You mean the literature provided by the GMRC, Mr President?’ Stefan Chavez said.
‘Whatever resource you can find, use it,’ John said. ‘Who’s next?’
‘Mr President,’ someone shouted, ‘do you know the whereabouts of Poppy Malone?!’
Paul pointed to the distant speaker. ‘Wait your turn, please.’
‘It’s fine,’ John told him, and shielded his eyes against the glare of the TV lights, trying to see further back into the crowd. ‘Can you repeat the question, please?’
The microphone whizzed back beyond the television cameras and stopped near the very back of the room.
‘Do you know the whereabouts of Poppy Malone?’ the woman said, her English accent reminiscent of the BBC reporter who’d already asked her question. ‘You were there to meet her parents on the night of your kidnapping. All three of them are now missing. Don’t you think that strange, Mr President?’
John frowned. He’d forgotten about being stood up prior to the attack at the music hall. ‘Ms Malone is an international superstar; I imagine she goes where she pleases, as do her parents.’
‘Mr Malone was the Chairman of the Federal Reserve, Mr President,’ said the unnamed English journalist, ‘and a one-time serving member of the GMRC Directorate. Surely someone should know where he is? And yet, like his daughter and his wife, he has vanished without a trace. Perhaps it is something you should look into; it could be a sign of things to come.’
John’s brows furrowed deeper. He recognised that voice. He’d heard her speak during his abduction, or least a recording of her. ‘Jessica Klein?’ he said.
Movement from the back of the hall sent a ripple of confusion through the crowd. People turned their heads to see what was happening, and Keira Jones, the BBC newsreader and Jessica Klein’s one-time colleague, stood up and craned her neck to search the crowd, her expression one of shock.
John saw two GMRC soldiers converging on where the woman was, but he was unable to see what was happening due to the glare of the lights. He stepped down from the stage to get a better look.
‘John, what’s happening?’ Paul said, looking alarmed.
John didn’t answer. He saw the GMRC soldiers looking around in confusion. Whoever had spoken was no longer there and John wondered if he’d imagined what he’d heard. He called over the head of his security detail. ‘Go and see what’s happening,’ he said, ‘and get those GMRC soldiers out of here.’
The Secret Service agent nodded, gestured to two of his men and spoke into his radio mic, issuing instructions, as he walked away.
John got back up on stage. ‘Any more questions?’ he said.
Paul selected a man right at the front. ‘Good afternoon, Mr President. Randall Davies. NBC News. I have a source that says you know more about your abductors than you’re letting on. Is that true? And if so, why are you protecting mass murderers?’
‘Of course it’s not true,’ John said, praying his lie couldn’t be seen by those that heard it. ‘As I said previously, the cyberterrorist was behind the attack. Next question.’
‘Giles Buchannan, Newsweek. Some say the water shortage is much worse than we’ve been led to believe; can you verify this?’
John glanced at Ashley, who was busy talking to one of his political analysts. His thoughts returned to the GMRC woman Ashley had claimed was an old acquaintance and he wondered if she’d revealed to her more than she was letting on. ‘The water shortage is down to GMRC sanctions and will be rectified, as I previously stated.’ John looked at the main TV camera and happened to glance at the autocue, which continued to scroll its default message.
Broadcasting in session ...
As he looked, a second message appeared in its wake:
TRUST NO ONE
John blinked and rubbed at his eyes, but the message remained until it scrolled off the screen, along with the default text.
‘... ABC News. How do you propose to capture the terrorist Da Muss Ich, when the GMRC and those before you have always failed?’
‘I will divert resources from GMRC integration into the hunt,’ John said. ‘No stone will be left unturned. I will also address this issue at my meeting with the Chinese and EU leaders, when I host them at Camp David in a fortnight’s time.’
A murmur of surprise swept through the journalists at the announcement, and John’s eyes strayed back to the autocue as another message appeared. A message none seemed to notice but him, most likely because the device was shielded from those outside his eyeline.
You will never find me, Mr President
John’s eyes darted around the room, his gaze met by a host of cameras and recording devices of every description. The eyes of millions watched him, as did the eyes of the hundreds of journalists he now surveyed with growing unease.
Is the hacker inside the building? he wondered. Is he inside this room? What if he sets off a device? What should I do? He glanced down at Paul, and then to Ashley. Everyone was looking at him, their expressions expectant.
He looked back at the autocue and the message continued as before:
Broadcasting in session ...
Until a cursor ran across the screen, followed by a line of text:
How well do you know your wife,
Mr President? _
‘John,’ Paul said, looking up at him, ‘did you hear the question?’
John wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and shook his head.
‘Can you repeat the question, please,’ Paul said to a reporter.
‘Is it wise to concentrate on the capture of one man,’ someone said, ‘when this country is in turmoil?’
‘The country comes first,’ John said, looking into the TV camera, ‘but I will not let someone get away with murder.’
Another message appeared on the autocue:
Did you know she was hired by the GMRC Directorate to watch over you? _
John felt his stomach twist into a knot. He glanced at his wife, his beautiful wife. He clutched at the lectern as his legs went weak. He refused to believe it, the words of a killer, but his body didn’t seem to agree.
‘Is it true your wife used to be a stripper, Mr President?’
A murmur of outrage dropped to a hush as John turned his gaze on the person who’d spoken.
‘What did you just say?’
‘I’ve received footage of your wife, Ashley Harper, performing on stage,’ said a journalist. ‘Were you aware of her previous work before, or after, you were married?’
John felt the world spinning around him, as his eyes inevitably returned to the autocue.
It’s true, Mr President, I supplied the tape. There’s also an adult movie, do you want to see? _
The image on the autocue changed to a scene of a man lying naked on a bed.
The large wallscreen behind John powered up to show the same footage, and the crowd of journalists pointed and gawked.
John turned and watched in horror as his wife walked into shot, her naked body younger than it was now, but no less familiar. As the scene unfolded, gasps of shock came from those watching and John turned to Ashley, who stood transfixed in horror as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes met his and she ran from the room, pushing past people to escape as flashing cameras lit up the room in flickering light.
‘Turn that screen off!’ Paul shouted. He grabbed John’s arm and guided him backstage; the wallscreen blinked out as someone pulled the plug.
Voices chattered all around him, cameras continued to flash, and John Henry, President of the United States, stumbled down the corridor in a state of shock, his world in ruins and his wife nowhere to be seen.
TERMINOLOGY
USSB – United States Subterranean Base
GMRC – Global Meteor Response Council, aka the Council
The Committee – Secret organisation / society
Darklight – World’s largest private security contractor
Terra Force – Special Forces Subterranean Detachment (SFSD)
S.I.L.V.E.R. – Elite military unit available to the highest bidder
Deep Reach – Spe
cial survey team working within the SED
SED – Sanctuary Exploration Division
Sanctuary – Ancient underground structure
USSB Sanctuary – A man-made base built within the Anakim creation, from which the U.S. Subterranean Base took its name
Anakim – an extinct species of Hominid, Homo giganthropsis
—————
Swiss Guard – Catholic military unit based in Vatican City
Holy See – Government of the Roman Catholic Church
Vatican City – Independent city state located in Rome, Italy
The Vatican – Informal term for the Holy See, or Vatican City
Knights of the Apocalypse – Catholic fundamentalists
Chapter One Hundred Twelve
Rome, Italy.
Sarah Morgan ran from the two men behind her, her long legs eating up the ground as she fled towards the nearest building inside the grounds of Vatican City.
A shout from behind alerted two Swiss guards to her presence, the soldiers emerging from behind a monument, rifles in hand.
Sarah angled away from them and glanced back at Avery Cantrell, who remained where she’d left him a hundred yards back. There was no sign of the green-eyed stranger who’d been revealed as a Catholic monk.
Sarah ducked beneath an arch and burst through a door and into an enormous hallway, lined with row upon row of empty bookshelves. Rushing down a central avenue, she saw two more guards at the far end. Cutting left, she dashed up a staircase and entered another huge hallway, its arched ceiling brimming with gold leaf, and lavish walls painted with endless topographical maps of Italy. Running flat out along the Gallery of Maps, Sarah skidded around a corner and pushed past a barrier.
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