No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) (19 page)

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CHAPTER 49

P
lease, Mr. President, please.”

Armstrong stood in Max’s path, his six-foot-four height and broad shoulders providing a barrier between Max and the Corvette. He towered over Max, but his face showed a fear that

made the muscular Secret Service agent seem vulnerable. “What is it, Armstrong? You have your orders, and we need to
get back,” Max said.
“Sir, from the time I became a SEAL, I took an oath. I take it
very seriously, and I have pledged my life on it.”
“This had better be important.”
“If you value your life, you will walk over to that bathroom, and
you will put this fucking thing on, and you won’t give me a hard
time about it.” He stood over Max and intruded into his personal
space, square jaw set, and his attitude was necessary.
Max stood face to face with his protector, absorbed in thought
and oblivious to the reason for the confrontation.
“Sir, I can’t let you go out bare-naked.” He held out a body
protector, molded to fit Max, with a few enhancements to make him
look more like a Spartan warrior than the President of the United
States. It would stop a bullet. No politician would be protected from
an attack to the head, but it was something.
“Armstrong, if they want to kill me, they’ll just blow my head off.” “Humor me.”
He stood immobile, and Max realized that if he was going to make any progress, this was a battle that he would never win. “OK,
OK, I’ll do it for you, Armstrong, but we will talk about this later.” “I want there to be a later, sir.”
Max slipped the vest over his head and smoothed the Velcro straps
around his torso. He changed back into his inaugural clothes inside
the expansive garage as the security team scrambled to prepare for
their departure. They brought a tool kit and extra points for each
car, in the event that more EMP bombs were to follow. By their
pre-electronic status, the only part of the cars that could disable
their progress was the points, which transferred a spark between
the distributor and the spark plugs. They would fuse together in
the massive gamma radiation emitted by the nefarious devices, but
it was a quick fix that any amateur mechanic could perform in a
few minutes. It involved popping the distributor cap off, turning
a screw, taking out the fused points, and installing the new points
with a screwdriver.
Each was carefully wrapped in a metal screen and placed inside
of a tool box lined with yet another Faraday cage.
He marveled at the metal mesh that covered the walls and
windows of the huge garage, protecting the car collection from
outside radiation. In the senator’s estimation, it had been just a
matter of time before a massive solar flare or EMP attack would
occur, and in his certainty, preparation was the only remedy for
his concerns. Before Max was born, at least before the senator had
adopted him, Fairlane had been hardened from EMP radiation by
the construction of Faraday shields around the sensitive electronics
of the house and out-buildings. The senator had prepared his home
for the almost certain eventuality of an attack on the nation’s infrastructure, and Max saw his familiar surroundings with new eyes. All power to the house was supplied by a photovoltaic array in the garden, together with a small hydroelectric dam in the stream that flowed through the woods on its way to the Potomac. He had never realized or appreciated the efforts of his father to make Fairlane independent from the utility company until that moment in time. All of the aspects of society that he took for granted were turned upside down, and without the senator’s foresight, he would have been powerless to do anything about it. But not this day, and
not this time.
“Let’s roll!” announced Max as he slid behind the wheel of the
Corvette.
Rachel put her flight helmet on her head and strapped in. Before
she took flight, she tested the communication system. “Okay, boys!
Let’s make an entrance they’ll never forget!” Her voice provoked
smiles from even the most stoic of her protectors as the mini helicopter rose and propelled toward the nation’s capitol.

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CHAPTER 50

S

carlett and the White House staff assessed their situation from the oval office. They assumed that they wouldn’t be there for long; security protocol is to get the president and his family to safety, and to maintain order, and the next step is to relocate

the vice-president to a secure location. But this day, the security protocol was scrapped in favor of the president’s unorthodox inaugural plans. All communications had been knocked out, and any unshielded electronics inside a 12 mile radius of the detonation were useless. The head had been figuratively severed from the body. Max was temporarily unable to communicate with the nation, and the vultures were undoubtedly circling.

“I am going to need a few minutes to freshen up before I go back out there,” Scarlett announced. “I want the public address system back up and running before I take that podium, and someone will need to find a car that is still running, because I will not be getting on the back of a horse ever again… do you understand me?” She barked out the commands to the assemblage of staffers that clustered around her, waving off their futile efforts at returning her appearance to her high standards. “Somebody find me my shoes!” She looked at her tattered hosiery with dismay. “Never mind! I need an entire outfit, and it better be spotless,” she exclaimed, as several young assistants scattered in opposite directions. “Don’t just stand there, do something! Now!”

Roger Sinclair stood impassively, waiting for an opportunity to speak with the vice-president alone. As the last of the staffers vacated the room in a hurry, he stepped forward until he was in the mirror’s reflection. He waited until Scarlett acknowledged his presence. She paused from applying her lipstick long enough to address him.

“Hello, Darlin’, it is so gallant for you to assist a lady in her time of dire need,” she chimed in her best Charleston accent, ‘but I thought you were in Philadelphia”.

“I was, but I rushed back late last night to attend to some unfinished business. Besides, I’m beginning to think that you are getting used to having me around,” he replied.

“Right now, I need a handyman, and you’re handy,” she responded. “I don’t know a thing about how to get the power back on, and there are just too many tasks to perform.”

“We need to unpack the Tesla generators and get them out there to the Mall,” said Sinclair, still smiling from the greeting from his clandestine lover.

“You are going to get us caught, and I don’t trust the staff to keep a secret just for me. News of my assignation with a man of your character would surely bring enough money to one of my poor ladies to pay for a bodacious townhouse, walking distance from here,” Scarlett responded, ignoring his words for the moment. He held her tenderly in his arms, the first brief opportunity for them to be together in weeks. She craved his touch, nestling deeper. Suddenly, she pushed him away with a start and the look of pleasure transformed to a serious scowl.

“I mean it, Roger. I’m vice-president of the United States, and I take my position with all of the solemnity that the oath inspires. Y’all will just have to wait until I am through with this glorious day and can get out of these clothes. Now, what was that yammering about a Texas generator?”

“Tesla, he replied. Tesla generator.”
Scarlet gave him a blank look.
“Are you making that up just to impress me?”
“No, my love, it’s one of those secret inventions that will change

the world, that’s all, and we are going to use one to put the power back on. You want your speech to be heard by all of those people out there, don’t you?” Roger replied.

“You know I do, and I want the world to hear. But the president, Max, conveyed a message to me to wait until he gets back, and he is the president after all,” she said while applying the last adjustments to her makeup. “Right now, I think I’ll be leaving those details to you,” she said, rising to allow Roger to help her with her coat. He paused, debating whether to tell her the bad news, and decided to wait until her speech had been delivered. There would be a live audience, but no live coverage. Washington had been shut off from the rest of the world until satellite broadcasts could be restored, a reality of their situation that would best be delivered later by someone who could take the brunt of her anger.

Sinclair had met her during her first term, at a soiree held for freshman members of Congress. He was younger than her by a few years, but his stories from behind the scenes in the political world held a fascination for Scarlett that surpassed age. He considered her intelligence and exuberance for life to be an aphrodisiac, and he pursued her for over a year before she looked at him in a romantic way.

Throughout Scarlett’s career in Washington, her love life was unknown to the press and the public. Owing mainly to the total lack of public appearances by Scarlett with a man or woman on her arm, the rumors hounded her. She kept her private life concealed from the public by design: First, it got her the sizeable gay and lesbian vote, but also, it kept the press guessing, all to her delight. It was free publicity, the lifeblood of the politician, and a huge fund-raising asset. In her estimation of life as it should be, Roger was the perfect mate; anonymous, interesting, and available, but only when she wanted him around.

“I need to focus. You need to get out there and get things back to normal,” she commanded. “You don’t expect me to go out there and set up the equipment myself in front of a hundred thousand people, do you? There are people who do that sort of thing for a living, and besides, I have already taken care of it. By the time you get your dress back on and head back out the door, I’ll have the lights back on and a helicopter waiting to lift you over the waiting multitude,” he replied. Sinclair was painfully aware that things would not be back to normal, and it was not the time to instruct Scarlett on the effects of an EMP detonation and how gamma rays render unshielded electronics useless. For the time-being, she only needed to be reassured that the power was restored and she would be able to make her pre-empted speech. Changes in the program did not come easily to Scarlett, and he knew that she had memorized the order of events days before the inauguration. She would not tolerate further change without making everyone in shouting distance extremely uncomfortable.

The aide returned with Scarlett’s blue backup dress, which she had passed up in favor of the red only two hours before. They were identical in every respect except for the color, and the appearance of the familiar took the edge off of her agitation. “Oh, thank you for small pleasures,” she cooed. Suddenly, she scowled. “Where are my blue shoes? I can’t wear a blue dress with red shoes! Find them!” The blushing aide, anticipating her wrath, scrambled out of the room without a reply.

The helipad on the White House grounds was occupied by Marine Two, the president’s personal helicopter, summoned hastily from its shielded hangar at Andrews Air Force Base. Communications had been restored for most of the military and Secret Service, but the Park Service Police that were charged with crowd control had been rendered silent due to their lack of shielded communication devices. They steered the crowd from the back of horses and bicycles, reminiscent of cowboys in the old West. For the moment, they were the only visible means of transportation other than by foot. Sinclair watched from the Lincoln bedroom as Scarlett entered the craft, trailed by three aides who still clung to their wireless communicators, a useless appendage for the moment, but a habit not easily broken.

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CHAPTER 51

M

ax and the parade of classic American cars returned to the Inaugural in unexpected style, with Rachel leading the way. Her co-pilot was a Navy Seal who was personally assigned to her protection due to his ability to fly anything that had

been built for that purpose, with the exception of the Space Shuttle, which had been mothballed before he obtained his wings. If it had still been in service, Rick Vance would have been an astronaut, not assigned to the protection of the woman most important in the life of the president of the United States. When he first received his duty assignment, he assumed he was doomed to a life of public appearances and boredom, but his first month on the job was contrary to all of his expectations. Rachel was exotic, exciting, smart and beautiful, and he harbored a secret crush for the woman he was duty-bound to protect. If he hadn’t married his high school girlfriend and had two young kids to whom he was devoted, he may have pursued his feelings, but the nagging thought of being re-assigned to a remote post in the Antarctic lingered in the back of his mind.

Vance would coordinate their re-entry to Washington by a communicator that was shielded and hardened from radiation. He and the security detail on the ground were uncertain whether there would be multiple EMP devices to contend with, and communication during their return was essential to their ability to stay in flight. He admired Rachel as she flew low and in front over the procession, competent and in control. He allowed himself the luxury of a brief fantasy that she might someday be attracted to him, but he was certain that he would never be the apple of her eye. Like all of the Secret Service assigned to protect her and the president, there was a line that could never be crossed by the most base of cads without dire consequences, and he had a keen sense of the obvious.

The procession emerged onto the Beltway and wound around immobilized cars that appeared in their path at sparse intervals. The occupants had moved on, and the vehicles that remained created an obstacle course that they maneuvered in a snake-like fashion. Twice on the way, Rachel and Vance radioed about obstacles ahead, and one time, the procession on the ground stopped to clear the path, heaving a Cadillac Escalade onto the passenger side. It lay in silent repose, its four wheels pointing toward the center lane. There was a death-like quality to it, and the thought was chilling.