“Sarie,” the president said, “would you bring the vice president up-to-date?”
Ben didn’t question why he had chosen his chief of staff to perform a task that anyone in the room could’ve done, including the cabinet members. She had a fine ability to synthesize materials and to deliver the key points in an economical fashion. Even without notes, she was able to summarize their desperate situation succinctly.
“And now, Ben, please fill him in on the legalities as you see them.”
Ben complied, trying to mimic her efficiency. What was there to say, really? The president had taken an action for humanitarian purposes that a sovereign leader was interpreting as an act of war. So he was coming at the United States with everything he had. Which, unfortunately, turned out to be quite a bit.
“You think he’s acting within his rights?” Swinburne asked.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ben answered. “But I think we’ve given him the ammunition he needs to justify his extreme actions to the world, at least for a while.”
“That will change as soon as people start dying. We may be in his waters but we haven’t killed anyone.”
“True,” Ben felt compelled to say. “But if war does break out, there will be casualties on all sides. And all anyone will remember will be who started it. Zuko is determined to make the world think that was us. To paint us as the aggressor.”
“Why do you all keep talking about war?” Secretary Ruiz said. “We don’t want to go to war with these people. Do we?”
“Not at the moment,” the president said. “As long as they control our missiles, we would be at a distinct disadvantage.” He pivoted and turned back to the communications station. “Any progress on getting that maniac out of our computers?”
Zimmer shook his head. “They’re trying every antivirus program we’ve got, but it isn’t working. They tell me that if they could find the satellite or whatever it is, track the virus to its source, they could learn how it works. That could lead to a cure. But so far they haven’t found it.”
“Cloaking device,” the president said grimly.
“What?” the vice president replied.
“Cloaking device.”
Swinburne shrugged. “Beam me up.”
President Kyler smiled faintly. “I wish I could.”
The vice president’s eyes went to the clock on the station ticking down Zuko’s countdown. “Seventeen minutes left?”
Zimmer nodded.
“Is there any chance we’ll break this man’s lock on our missiles in that time?”
Zimmer hesitated before answering. “Not really. But I believe they’ll do it eventually.”
“Any reason to believe he’s bluffing?”
Zimmer hesitated. “This is just my opinion….”
“Well, let’s hear it, man.”
“I actually lived in Kuraq for a time, before I joined the service. I lived with a family near the Benzai Strip. There was a woman… well, you don’t need my life story. The point is, I saw Colonel Zuko on a regular basis during his rise to power. I think I know the kind of man he is. He’s not crazy. He may be desperate, given to desperate means. But that is how he took control and that is how he has maintained it ever since. The truth is, he’s the worst possible adversary we could have.” He paused. “And no, I don’t believe he’s bluffing. Military men don’t bluff. They get the biggest gun and then meet the enemy head-on. That’s what he’s doing now.”
The president covered his face with his hands. “Damn.”
Zimmer cleared his throat, then set another Styrofoam cup before him. “Here’s your coffee, sir.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sounds to me as if we’re in dire straits,” the vice president said. “We need quick and decisive action to protect ourselves. And I don’t know whom we can trust other than the people in this room.”
“If that,” Ben said.
Ben looked up and once again saw the whole room staring at him. He was really going to have to learn to keep his thoughts to himself.
“What the hell are you talking about, shyster?” Cartwright asked.
Ben turned his hands palm side up. “Am I the only one who noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“The colonel knew the president was in the bunker. He called here.”
The president waved the thought away. “We’ve covered that already. Anyone who can launch a U.S. missile by seizing control of our computers can uncover my phone number.”
“Yes, I get that,” Ben said. “But how did he know you were down here? I heard the Secret Service say that the usual protocol would be to whisk you away on Air Force One to a safer location. There just wasn’t time. But how does Zuko know that?”
The people at the table began to look at one another.
“And he specifically mentioned Secretary Rybicki, remember? The history buff.”
The president shrugged. “It’s only logical that I would consult my secretary of defense.”
“Yes, of course. But Zuko knew more than that. He knew Rybicki was here in the bunker. Even though that is not standard emergency evacuation protocol. So how did he know? How could he possibly know?”
Ben looked down one side of the table, then the other. He heard no response.
“There’s only one possible explanation,” Ben said, speaking the words no one wanted to hear. “Zuko is getting information from someone.”
Secretary Ruiz spoke with dry lips. “You mean… from someone inside the administration?”
Ben looked him directly in the eyes. “I mean from someone inside this room.”
Seamus knew what it was as soon as he smelled it. Some sort of lachrymatory agent—what the rest of the world called tear gas. It was highly concentrated and potent. He could already feel his eyes watering. Probably phenacyl bromide, given how fast it was taking effect. By his estimate, they had about five seconds to do something. But the only thing they could do was run outside—where the sniper would be waiting for them. Either way, they were dead in the water.
“What are we gonna do?” Arlo screamed. Tears were streaming down his face.
Seamus didn’t really know, didn’t have a plan. But he couldn’t just sit there and choke. He grabbed the kid by the arm. “Come on.”
“Out the door?” Arlo said, coughing.
“That would be much too obvious.” He could feel the mucous membranes in his ears, nose, lungs, and throat swelling up. If he didn’t get away from that canister soon, he’d be gone. It was tempting to grab it and throw it, but he knew that if he came that close, he’d never have time to make the pitch.
On the opposite side of the apartment, he spotted another small window. He dragged Arlo along with him. The kid was coughing so badly he could barely see straight.
Fire escape. And just a few feet beyond that, his parked Dodge.
Of course, if the sniper had any sense—or had a partner—they’d surely be watching that. His only chance was to move fast.
“Ever been parachuting, kid?”
“Are you crazy? No!”
“That’s okay. Just follow my lead.” He fired a few rounds out the front, just to throw them off guard. Then he wrapped himself around Arlo and hurled the both of them out the window.
They crashed down onto the fire escape amid a clatter of iron and shattered glass. The gunfire paused for a moment as the sniper tried to figure out what was happening. Seamus didn’t wait. Still holding on to the kid, he rolled sideways, right off the fire escape. By the time the bullets reached the fire escape, they were gone.
They free-fell for five feet, then slammed down onto the hood of his Dodge. He rolled so that the impact hit him on the back, the place he was best able to absorb it, protecting the boy. All the air was sucked out of Seamus’s lungs and he wasn’t entirely sure the weight of the kid hadn’t broken one of his ribs. Didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to think about it.
He rolled off the hood of the car and tumbled to the side—the side facing away from the shooter. Gunfire soon followed, but just as before, it was a nanosecond too late.
“What the hell was that?” Arlo screeched.
“I was saving your punk-ass life,” Seamus grunted. He pulled out his gun and fired a few shots over the car, then ducked back down for cover.
“You saved my life? How? All we’ve done is move from dead behind my desk to dead behind your car!”
“Yeah. But my car moves. Come on.”
Seamus opened the driver’s-side door and, careful to keep down, pushed Arlo across the seats. Seamus scrambled in behind him. Bullets pounded against the side of the car, but nothing came through. These Company cars might not be flashy, but they were well reinforced. Not exactly Cadillac One, but close.
Seamus kept his head well below seat level and shoved the key into the ignition. The car started immediately.
“Thank God,” Arlo wheezed. “Get us out of here!”
“That’s what he’ll expect us to do,” Seamus muttered. He shoved the car into reverse, then yanked the wheel and floored it.
The car practically exploded backward and rolled onto the yard. A second later, he spotted the shooter.
“Stay down, kid.”
He threw the car into drive and plowed across the grass. The man with the gun—who actually did look kind of preppy, or perhaps like an aging preppy who hadn’t gotten the memo that the eighties were over—panicked as he saw the Dodge’s grille bearing down on him. A moment later he recovered and brought his submachine gun around. It was a moment too late.
The car hit him square on. He was flipped up and flung sideways. He hit the lowest branch of a dogwood tree, then fell to the ground with a thump.
“Ow.” Arlo winced. “That’s got to hurt.”
Seamus didn’t doubt it, but his attention was focused in front of him, as always, securing the playing field. There was a second shooter, as he had suspected. And he had an equally nasty-looking Uzi.
He floored it toward the second shooter. The creep managed to get off a few rounds, shattering the windshield. Seamus closed his eyes. Arlo ducked into the footwell beneath the glove compartment. Seamus couldn’t see anymore, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He targeted where he knew the man had to be and kept barreling across the lawn.
A few seconds later he felt the impact, perhaps the most satisfying thud he had experienced in a good long time. Two seconds after that, the flying body thumped onto the trunk of the car.
“I hope these thugs carry insurance,” Seamus grunted as he stopped the car and crawled out.
He started with the first shooter he had downed. The one who hit the tree. His neck was snapped cleanly. Seamus didn’t even bother checking for a pulse. He was dead and gone.
He moved quickly to the other felled assassin. His leg was twisted behind him at a bizarre angle. Seamus didn’t need a surgeon to tell him that leg would never function again. The guy probably died when—
Wait a minute. He wasn’t dead. He was spitting blood, coughing. His face was racked with pain.
Seamus got right down in his face. “No promises, you son of a bitch. But I think it’s just possible you might live. If I call an ambulance immediately.”
The man teared up. His eyes were pleading. “P-p-please—”
“I know you and your friends used this kid to hack into the defense computers. I know you came here to kill him to cover your tracks. What I don’t know is: Where’s your base of operations? The one you’re using to control the satellite.”
The wounded man’s head was shaking. His whole body began to tremble.
“You’d better tell me, if you want any chance whatsoever to live. ‘Cause if you’re thinking you’re headed to some afterlife with wine and honey and virgins, all I can say is, you’ve got a hell of a lot of misery between you and that.” He paused. “I can make that misery last a good long time. Longer than you can endure without going stark raving mad. And just FYI, there’s no heaven for filthy terrorists who try to shoot college kids when they’re not looking.”
Truth was, the man was fading and would probably be gone in thirty seconds or so. But he didn’t know that. “So talk! Where’s the base?”
“D-don’t… I—I d-don’t know….”
Seamus leaned forward, pressing his knee down on the broken, twisted leg. The man screamed.
“Last chance, chump. Where’s the base?”
“I don’t… know….” He was crying, spitting out blood between syllables. He wasn’t lying. Seamus was sure of it. He didn’t have the capacity to bear this kind of pain without trying to end it. Probably no one did. Damn.
“What about the missile?” Seamus pressed. “What’s Zuko’s target for the missile?”
The man looked up at him pleadingly, not answering.
“Answer me or my thumb goes into that gaping gash in your leg! I’ll pull the bone out with my bare hands!”
“Nooo! Please, no!”
“Spit it out! Or I’ll start putting bullets in your appendages one at a time!”
“It—it—it—”
“Tell me!”
His eyes and mouth opened. He was giving up the ghost, almost literally letting all the fight seep out of him.
“J-J-Jeffffff…”
“Jeff? Who the hell is Jeff?”
“The J-J-Jefffff…”
“The Jeff? What in the hell?”
Behind him, Seamus heard the rustling of grass and then Arlo’s voice. “Don’t you get it, man? He’s not saying Jeff. He’s trying to say Jefferson. As in the Jefferson Memorial.”
Seamus grabbed the man’s collar and hauled him upward. “Is that right? Is that what you’re saying?”
The man’s lids were heavy and he was beyond speaking, but his head trembled up and down in a manner that approximated a nod.
“Jesus God.” Seamus threw him down, then stared up at the sky. “I should’ve known. First Washington, now Jefferson.”
“Why would they want to do that?” Arlo asked. “It’s just a big hunk of marble.”
“It’s a symbol, kid. A very important symbol. And more to the point, it’s a symbol visited by thousands of people every day. Thousands of people who will be slaughtered as soon as that missile hits.”
The room was silenced by Ben’s disturbing but inescapable conclusion.
“If there’s a mole in here, who can I trust?” President Kyler asked.