Butler’s gaze focused entirely on Swanson. Despite the darkness, the whiteness of his eyes burned into her.
“What?” she asked, dropping her gaze.
“You need to kill me,” he said loudly.
Swanson laughed nervously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“They can’t know what I know,” he replied frankly. “You have to kill me before they come back.”
Lauren punched rather than nudged Mike as the small jet began its descent. “Oh my God, Mike, look at that!”
Mike peered around his girlfriend and looked through the aircraft window to what looked like a small city below. “Holy shit! That’s not like any camp I’ve ever seen before!”
“
We’ve made it, Mike. The next few days will see us launch our future and prove that all our sacrifices have been worthwhile,” Lauren whispered in his ear as he leaned over her, gawping at the magnificent sight below.
Mike and Lauren were the poster couple for the Future Leaders of America program. The All American Dream, they had it all - keen intelligence, athletic ability, looks to die for, and a strong Christian upbringing. There was little doubt amongst anyone who met them that they were destined for greatness. For them, there was just one goal. The White House. One of them would be president, if not both.
The plane touched down and they found themselves amongst a swarm of other program members. Flights were touching down one after another as America’s Trust brought America’s future leaders together. The signs welcomed all 250 members to Camp Trust – the world’s premier training facility.
“I hear it covers over 25,000 acres,” said Mike to Lauren as they were herded towards a small driverless train. “They have different sectors within the grounds to train in anything from corporate strategy to security services, and even covert special ops.”
“I think we’ll stick to the corporate stuff this trip,” suggested Lauren, as they boarded the small train. Once the train started moving, all talking stopped. The complex was like a small city. Restaurants and coffee shops bustled with activity with some 10,000 employees currently visiting Camp Trust, enjoying their evening before another hard day’s work. The accommodation towers were just like hotels, minus the branding. It was a mini city but without the cars and hassle.
“It’s amazing!” beamed Lauren as they walked into the lobby of their accommodation block. They each received a key for their rooms and a note inviting them for dinner at 9:00 sharp. With only thirty minutes until dinner, both rushed to get ready. First impressions were important and the next two days were going to be about making the greatest impression they could. Mike and Lauren had to stand out against another 248 program members who were just as bright and equally as driven. The third day was the day they were looking forward to most - a private behind the scenes tour of one of many highly secure government locations.
There were various locations to choose from but for Mike and Lauren, there was only one that interested them, their future home: The White House. Competition was going to be fierce because the previous year, members who had managed to secure the White House tour had spent an hour with the president in his private residence. Raven Rock, the Pentagon, Mount Weather, the Capitol, Camp David and Cheyenne Mountain were amazing second choices but to Mike and Lauren, second choice was what other people had to deal with.
Mike and Lauren were dressed to impress, and as they entered the magnificent ballroom no heads failed to turn, including that of Mr. Roger Young, CEO of America’s Trust. Lauren walked through the door, making it a point to catch his eye. She had never met him before but knew more about him than he probably cared to remember himself.
“Welcome, Miss…?” said Roger, walking past a number of other program members to greet her, taking her hand.
“Lauren, Lauren Kincaid,” she replied, her sweetest smile in accompaniment.
“A pleasure, Miss Kincaid. I am Roger Young, CEO, America’s Trust,” he replied, not taking his eyes off of her. She really was a beautiful sight to behold. Lauren had always known she had a special power over men. From an early age, her every whim had been met.
“There’s a spare seat at my table, and I’d be delighted if you would join us.”
Lauren smiled at Mike as she was swept away to dine with the Trust’s Executive Team. Mike winked back and made his way towards their assigned table. From there, he could just about make out Lauren and how she had the executives captivated. He smiled. It was a sacrifice that she and Mike would make, one of the many in their quest. They had boundaries, but as the level of power grew, they had discovered that their boundaries had to be pushed. Sex, up until then, had not been a sacrifice they were willing to make, but Roger Young could give them the White House and for that, they would sacrifice whatever was required.
Lauren felt the hand resting on her thigh beneath the table. She made no attempt to remove it. When it began slide up her leg, her every instinct was to snap her legs closed but she smiled and parted them slightly. The hand moved easily up and began to trace her panty line. She felt sick but outwardly smiled and squirmed playfully at Roger Young’s touch. She had one goal that evening, to ensure they were on the White House tour. Her ground rules were clear, whatever it took, nothing was off limits. Mike would stomach whatever she had to sacrifice to make it happen.
As the first of Roger’s fingers began to fight with the elastic band of her panties, she knew she was going to let Mike down. She couldn’t do it. The man physically repulsed her. Their dream was about to come to an end. There was a limit to what she could do, which surprised her. She removed her hand from the table and slowly moved it down to remove Roger Young’s hand without anyone noticing.
“Mr. Young?” a man rushed to the table, his voice urgent and desperate.
Young removed his hand before Lauren reached it.
“What is it?” His voice and facial expression changed instantly. The warmness was replaced with a hardness that came with great power.
Lauren couldn’t hear everything the man whispered in Roger Young’s ear, but it sounded like a butler was dead, which seemed a very strange reason to interrupt a major dinner.
Jack wanted to get to the Situation Room. “Let’s walk and talk,” he said, pointing down the corridor. “Details?”
“At 4:37 a.m. Moscow local time, a massive explosion destroyed the majority of the Senate building within the Kremlin. The Senate building houses the Russian president’s private apartment,” explained Rick Holland.
Jack remained calm. There was little point doing anything else - it had already happened. “And exactly how could we have been involved?”
“We lost contact with a B2 stealth bomber earlier this evening. It was presumed down over the Indian Ocean after it failed to return to its home base on Diego Garcia,” Rick continued. “As you know, we have no way of tracking them in flight, because if we can, so can others. However, what few people know is that we can track every piece of ordnance. At 4:35 a.m. a GBU-28 bunker buster bomb allocated to the missing B2 suddenly appeared over Moscow. It quite literally appeared from nowhere and began transmitting its location. The last transmission was the exact coordinates of the Senate building in the Kremlin.”
“Who knows?” Jack asked calmly.
“Outside of the four of us, nobody but the tracking team and they’re in lockdown until further notice from us.”
“The B2 and the pilots?”
“Nothing as yet. The pilots are career veterans. Unblemished, highly regarded professionals.”
The chairman took over. “We’re looking into everything we can to find out why.”
Jack shook his head in wonder at how bad a day could possibly get. He thought back to a predecessor who, like Jack, was having a relatively quiet and easy presidency until one day’s events. Then it was the realization that a second plane striking a building was not an accident. For him, he knew from the moment that President Chernov was uncontactable that something was seriously amiss. Everything since then had been an orchestrated plan to bring the US and Russia to blows. He had to hand it to whoever was pulling the strings. The B2 bombing the Kremlin was a master stroke. War was going to be inevitable. The Russians would soon discover American technology in the bomb and blame him for assassinating their leader.
“Gentlemen, take us to DEFCON 2 and evacuate the government. I’m staying here, so get the vice president to Raven Rock.”
Kenneth didn’t need to be told twice. He punched a code into his Blackberry that had cell phones ringing across D.C and beyond. Senior cabinet members would be picked up within minutes and ferried to various locations across the US. Congress would follow, as would many senior armed forces personnel.
They reached the Situation Room to find half of the room emptying. The Secretary of Defense grabbed a brief word with the president before his entourage swept him away. Being one of the four most important cabinet officials, Defense along with State, Treasury and the attorney general would be spread across four different locations. Neither would see each other again in person until the president deemed the crisis to be over.
With the Situation Room half emptied, Jack sat and received the less than satisfactory update that they had nothing new to tell him.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” he added quickly when he spotted a female officer, “I can’t emphasize enough the perilous situation we find ourselves in and I need answers now, this minute. Not ‘soon’, not ‘it’s coming’, not tomorrow. Now!”
Almost on queue his cell rang.
Unknown number
displayed on the screen, something he had never seen before. There wasn’t a number in the US that his cell phone would not display.
“Hello?” answered Jack tentatively, causing a few heads to turn in his direction.
“Don’t say my name and act very natural. Please go somewhere where you can talk privately,” instructed the caller.
Jack covered the mouthpiece and addressed the room as he stood. “I’ll just be a minute, carry on,” he said, before exiting the room and entering the small adjacent briefing room. A number of aides jumped to attention as he entered.
“Out!” ordered Jack, desperate to get back to his call.
“Ilya! Thank God you’re alive!” said Jack, once the door closed behind the last to leave.
“Only just, Jack! Had I taken my car and not switched to a helicopter to get me home, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“I thought it
was
your home that was attacked?” asked Jack, confused.
“We live in the suburbs of Moscow. The apartment is seldom used anymore. It was a cold miserable place. I avoided staying there unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” said Jack sincerely.
“I’m surprised, Jack, I thought you would have been pissed off.”
“Why on earth would I be annoyed to hear from you?”
“Because it means you missed!” replied Ilya Chernov with venom.
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Jack, knowing full well what he was talking about. However, there was no way the Russians could know of the B2’s involvement so quickly.
“I’ve just sent a photo to your cell, have a look,” instructed Ilya.
Jack took the cell tentatively from his ear and held it in front of him. The screen showed one message was waiting. He clicked the message and it opened to reveal a photo of a downed and crippled but obvious B2 bomber. Its pilot, dressed in a US uniform, stood with his hands raised in the air, flanked by Russian soldiers. Jack brought the phone back to his ear.
“It crash-landed fifty miles west of Moscow just after the Senate building exploded,” explained Ilya.
Fuck!
thought Jack.
“That’s it, kill me!” shouted Butler, muffling his voice with his hand while winking at Swanson.
The moment the cell door began to open, Butler rushed it, catching their captors unawares. He drove his foot into the groin of the first man through the door, driving him up and into the man behind.
Swanson finally understood it was all a ploy to get the door open. Butler had obviously realized they would be listening to everything they said. With his imminent death, they’d have no option but to attempt to enter the cell, whether they were a full complement of men or not. The fact that only two were there suggested they had been caught entirely off-guard. She had heard at least four different voices when they had arrived.
With the second man losing his balance and falling towards her, Swanson did not need an invitation to join the fight. She brought her knee up to meet his falling head and caught him on the side of the temple. His eyes closed and a sickly thud followed as his unconscious body flopped to the concrete floor.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, as the second man hit the floor.