The Myriad Resistance (13 page)

My heart sank as I watched him try to regain composure. I'm sure Andrews will be pleased to see the president in this state. It broke my heart. I felt like I deserved some amount of the blame for this because, after all, this was my father's, my flesh-and-blood's fault. As the pounding ceased and the muffled voices faded away, I sat my gun on the seat beside me and buried my head in my hands … I was ashamed.

“What am I going to do?” the president asked, trying to sound more like a world leader asking for strategic advice than a scared, lost child. He succeeded, although not completely. How could anyone totally compose themselves in a situation like this?

“When Danny and the others get back, you'll come with us, Mr. President,” I said, glancing at Dr. Winder. The scientific adviser was still a statue of fear.

“I-I can't,” he stammered. “I have my duties … I can still perform them.”

“Mr. President,” I said. “Do you think General Garrison is going to treat you different from any other Impal? He will declare you an abomination that has infiltrated the highest level of government. He will then ship you off to the nearest Shredder.”

“My wife, my children,” the president said in the saddest voice I have ever heard.

I shook my head. “We can try to get them to you,” I said. “It won't be easy.”

He paused, his face twitching as if considering something unpleasant. When he spoke, he sounded as if he were about to wretch. “And … my body?”

I had no idea. I would discuss that subject with Danny when they returned and it was a decision that needed careful consideration.

“We'll work it out Mr. President. We'll do the best thing.”

The next several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. I listened for the return of our friends, the return of our attackers or worse … the approach of police cars. If the police arrived on the scene, we were screwed. Inside the car, there were two dead bodies. One was the President of the United States and the other a Secret Service agent. Add a wanted rogue major, a catatonic science adviser, and an Impal. An Impal my father would claim is impersonating the President of the United States. Yep, there was no way we weren't going to jail.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard the familiar rumble of the tour bus as it pulled up beside us. I picked up my gun, aiming it at the door, and then slowly opened it. Bus exhaust fumes wafted inside and I coughed and squinted my eyes. My two companions seemed unaffected for very different reasons.

“Cecil! Are you in there?” Danny shouted from the far side of the bus.

“Yes, I'm okay … I think they left!” I called.

My heart leapt as a shriek ripped through the heavy, humid air. Charlotte had seen one or both of the bodies.

“Shut up!” Andrews hissed from somewhere to my right. “Do you want every cop within ten miles on top of us?”

I eased out of the back seat then turned and gave the president a reassuring salute before closing the door. Danny and Andrews eased into sight around opposite ends of the bus, their guns at the ready. We all crept towards the front seat of the limo.

“Dear God,” Danny muttered as he peered in the driver's side window, which was rolled about halfway down.

A large, bald black man wearing a dark suit slumped over the steering wheel. His well-groomed and professional appearance suggested he was a Secret Service agent. A dime sized hole trickling blood above his left temple offered little doubt about the cause of death.

I eased to the other side and opened the passenger door to find the president's body lying sideways across the seat. One foot was in the floorboard while the other hung out the open door, which he opened for ‘fresh air'. The tassels on his brown calfskin loafers blew in the breeze like a macabre wind chime. I shuddered and backed away when I saw blood dripping from the seat and pooling in the floorboard beneath him.

“I think we saw a group of men taking him into the metro station,” Andrews said, pointing at Kingston.

“Where?” I said, not comprehending.

Andrews turned and pointed. In the distance, I could just make out the black pole brandishing an ‘M' for metro. It marked the entrance to the Arlington Cemetery Metro train station.

“Why the hell would they take him there?” I asked.

“Convenience,” Charlotte muttered, stepping into sight from the other side of the bus. “The Federal Triangle Metro station is under the Reagan Building. That's where they are holding Impals until they can be shipped off to bases with Shredders.”

I visited this building several times. Not because I had business there, it was because it was the closest Metro station to the Smithsonian's American History Museum. The entrance to this station is in the dead center of an enormous courtyard, which the Reagan building encompasses. There are three or four narrow passageways leading out of the courtyard to the surrounding streets. They are narrow enough to be easily blocked and guarded by a minimal amount of soldiers. It was the perfect Impal-holding center with the convenience of rail transportation beneath it.

“We can worry about Impal detention centers later!” Danny snapped. “We have a bigger issue to deal with at the moment!” He pointed at the bodies in the limo and put his hands on his hips as he shook his head. “How the shit did you let this happen, Cecil?”

I didn't appreciate the accusatory tone in his voice.

“I was getting briefed in the back seat like you told me to!” I snapped. “The president stepped up front to make a call and get some fresh air! What in the devil was I supposed to do? Say, no Mr. President, sit your ass down?”

Danny glared at me for several long moments until finally Andrews spoke up. He said exactly what I expected him to.

“Son of a bitch got what he deserved,” he muttered.

“In the bus, NOW!” Danny growled, turning on him. Andrews started to protest before Danny cut him short. “Both of you get back on the bus and reassure our guests!”

Charlotte complied, but Andrews stood fast. He and Danny eyed each other like two dogs about to fight over territory. The stalemate was finally broken when Danny brought his gun forward. He still aimed at the ground, grasped tight with both hands. There was no doubt that he could bring it up and fire in a split second.

“Now … unless you want to be an Impal too, you need to fall in line. We don't have time for this hot-headed bullshit, understand?”

Andrews glanced at the gun and then stared in Danny's eyes as if he wanted to gouge them out with a dull knife. Keeping his gaze planted on Danny, unblinking, he joined Charlotte on the bus.

“Where are Winder and the other half of the president?” Danny asked, relief washing over his face as he slid his gun back in his waistband. It dawned on me that this was more than a temperamental dispute. I think Danny believed he might have to shoot Andrews. This troubled me on many different levels.

“In the back,” I said, motioning with my head.

He followed me around to the rear passenger door and I opened it. Dr. Winder was still unmoving. He could have been a terrified mannequin as he sat there, staring into space. The president seemed to have composed himself. “I didn't feel comfortable in my own skin,” he said with a laugh.

Danny began to chuckle in spite of himself. As it turned out, laughter was contagious as we all shared a laugh. Dr. Winder did not. I was starting to worry about him. It felt good to break the tension for a moment, even though we still faced a long and dangerous night.

“Mr. President, I need you to take these,” Danny said, reaching into his pocket and producing a couple of D cell batteries.

The president reached out and took the batteries. The instant they touched his hand, his luminescent glow faded and he appeared to be flesh and blood. For the first time I realized he was not in his typical suit and tie. The President was wearing blue jeans and a button down Oxford shirt; just one of the guys.

“Mr. President, you and Dr. Winder will ride back to camp in the SUV's with Andrews, Charlotte and our Impal refugees,” Danny said.

“What about this car and …” he stopped, glancing toward the front of the car.

“Cecil and I will take care of it, don't worry.”

“They can track the car,” the president said. “There is a GPS transponder under the dash.”

“I know,” Danny said. “We'll take care of it.”

I wasn't sure if he knew or not or even how to take care of it. I hoped to God he did.

In a few minutes, the group of fifteen Impals, which now included the President of the United States, packed into the two SUV's. They each received their own pair of batteries so they could blend in. Charlotte drove one while Andrews drove the other. We carried Dr. Winder like a rag doll and strapped him into the seat next to Charlotte. He was going to be a challenge for Dr. Acosta when we got back to camp.

As soon as the vehicles were out of sight, Danny and I went about our unpleasant task. First, we moved the bodies from the front seat to the back. Miraculously, we were able to move both men with only getting a minimum amount of blood on us. Kingston was a large man and required a considerable amount of effort to move. We laid out both men with great respect, shoulder to shoulder in the back floorboard. I would like to say they appeared to be sleeping. I cannot. Their gaping bullet wounds and bloodstains suggested otherwise.

Before the others left, Danny retrieved a couple of blankets from the back of one of the SUV's. These we draped over the bloodstained seats while flipping the floor mats to conceal and cover the pooled blood in the floorboard. It reminded me of a scene from the movie
Pulp Fiction.
The two main characters tried to camouflage the inside of a blood soaked car.

Danny produced a large pocketknife and then leaned up underneath the dashboard. After a couple of minutes of poking and prying, he produced a small black box and sat it in the seat.

“We'll dispose of this when the time is right,” he said.

Danny got behind the wheel and I carefully sat down on the passenger side. I hoped the wool blankets and inverted floor mats would be enough to contain the gruesome fluid.

A few moments later, we pulled out, headed for home; hoping God and dumb luck would be on our side. We faced a long drive, in a very noticeable automobile. Not to mention, the corpse of the President of the United States was in the back seat.

CHAPTER 12

THE SILENT SALUTE

“Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er.”

~Sir Walter Scott

During his first presidential campaign, the president took a lot of heat from health nuts for his contradictory lifestyle. He was an avid runner and swimmer and kept in good physical condition, especially for a man in his late fifties. Nevertheless, he also held an affinity for fast food, more specifically, Martian Burgers fast food.

It was not a national chain. Most of its restaurants existed east of the Mississippi river with a few springing up in Europe. It was known from coast to coast because of the president's paparazzi shots. He could be seen on a newscast or in a newspaper almost every week enjoying an Out of this World Saucer Burger with a side of Martian Finger Fries. Always washed down with a Take Me to Your ‘Liter' sized soft drink.

We left the tour bus behind. Danny said it would be morning before it is discovered. When we left the lot and turned onto the parkway, Danny spoke in a mischievous voice. “Where is the nearest Martian Burgers?” he asked.

I could not believe that he could be hungry. Then as his sly grin registered, I understood.

“You want to leave the GPS tracker there?”

“I know we are in a damned morbid situation right now, and I can't think of a better reason to enjoy a little laugh. It keeps the arteries clear and the blood pressure low.”

“Won't we be spotted?” I asked. “It's not like the presidential limo can pull into the Martian Burgers' parking lot without being noticed.”

I realized Danny was trying to soften the mood. God knows driving a blood soaked makeshift hearse requires a lot of mood softening. It was a risk. Most of these restaurants are located in high population areas. I am sure the great majority, if not all; of them have surveillance cameras inside and in the parking lot. I wasn't sure how we would be able to pull a limo through there unnoticed. However, Danny wanted to be noticed.

“After they discover where the tracker is, they will review the footage of the parking lot. When they see the limo pull through and then leave, they will know the president has been kidnapped. They'll have an APB out on the car, but they'll never find it.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“The lake at our base, it used to be an old soapstone quarry, it's pretty damned deep.”

“So you're gonna dump the car in there? It still doesn't change the fact that every cop and all the military personnel in five states will be searching. Won't it increase our risk of being discovered?”

Danny shook his head. “It would if we were staying put. After we make the delivery to the Chesapeake, we are going to break camp and relocate.”

“Where?” I asked.

“You'll know when you are there,” Danny said.

I knew he wasn't going to tell me, so I didn't push it. It was probably better I didn't know.

Ten minutes later we spotted the distant flying saucer shaped sign of Martian Burgers. We approached with caution, watching for police cars. We didn't think anyone would be aware of the president missing yet. The one thing in our favor is, strangely enough, the car. Limousines were almost as common as taxicabs around the Washington D.C. area.

Washington Police officers have a tendency to look the other way if one of these behemoths is speeding or running a red light. The reason being, one never knows who the important, powerful individual is behind the tinted glass. Writing a ticket was not nearly as important to them as their job. A limo with government plates, like this one, gave us an extra layer of immunity to the police. At least, until the president is reported missing. Then all bets are off.