Fight Like Hell [America Falls Series | Books 1-6]

by Medbury, Scott

  There were twenty minutes of his last lesson for the year left when a woman ran past their room crying. She was followed quickly by more men and women who were clearly upset. He and his tutor looked at each other with wide eyes.

  “Looks like something is up,” Mr. Babineau said, stating the obvious.

  He really liked the middle-aged teacher. He reminded Aidan of Gustavo Fring, the drug lord from Breaking Bad. It was a show that his dad had only allowed him to watch after weeks of whining and, even then, on the strict proviso that he didn’t tell his mother.

  Mr. Babineau wore glasses and was neat and softly spoken like Fring. Aidan didn’t find it hard to imagine that he had the same core of hardness as his TV lookalike. Not a bad hardness like Fring, but a hardness nonetheless.

  “Yeah, wonder what it is?”

  Babineau didn’t have a chance to speculate before the evacuation siren sounded and, almost simultaneously, Brett Denny, Aidan’s primary Secret Serviceman burst into the room without knocking. He looked extremely serious.

  “Aidan, you need to come with me now.”

  Aidan could see he was not in the mood for horsing around and began to pack up his books.

  “Forget the books; you won’t need them. Come… Mr. Babineau, all non-essential personnel are being escorted from the building. I suggest you pack up and make your way to the security desk ASAP.”

  If Babineau was upset at being dismissed, he didn’t let on. He took Aidan’s hand and shook it warmly.

  “You have a merry Christmas now Aidan.”

  “You to sir, see you after the break.”

  2

  “What’s going on?” he asked Brett, as he jogged to keep up with the Secret Serviceman.

  “You haven’t seen any TV?”

  “No, I’ve been in class all day.”

  “The Pyongyang Flu?”

  “I thought no one was supposed to know about that?”

  He looked over his shoulder at Aidan, his eyes unreadable.

  “The cover story is blown. Disease Control couldn’t stop the Flu. It’s spreading…fast. We have to get you and your mother to Camp David ASAP. Your father has extended his stay there until this blows over.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad.”

  ***

  Five minutes later Aidan was in his bedroom in the East wing. The suitcase was open in front of him. He had packed it with everything he thought he might need, not only clothes but also his I-pad and Xbox. He hadn’t been to Camp David before and wasn’t going to risk being without entertainment.

  There was a soft knock at his door.

  “Come in.”

  It was his Mom, the first lady, Evelyn Riley.

  “All set?” she asked. “Agent Denny is about ready to throw a fit.”

  Her bantering tone didn’t match the look in her eyes.

  “How bad is it, Mom? Denny wouldn’t tell me.”

  She looked conflicted, but took a deep breath and sat down on his bed, patting the spot beside her.

  Aidan closed his suitcase and put it near the door before sitting on the bed next to her. The auburn-haired forty-two-year-old looked at her son and wondered where the time had gone. It seemed he’d grown from a chubby kid into a gangly but confident teenager in the space of a few days. She decided to tell him what she knew.

  “You know it’s about the Pyongyang flu right?” He nodded. “Well, it’s getting worse. The Whitehouse and Pentagon have been locked down, and all flights into the country have been grounded for forty-eight hours. They’ve also closed the borders and ordered a 6 pm a curfew in all major cities. It's spreading as quickly as it did in North Korea. I’ve spoken to your father…he…he…” She began to sob.

  She was a strong woman, and Aidan could count the number of times he had seen her cry on one hand.

  “What Mom?”

  She pulled herself together and looked him in the eyes.

  “They’re all dying Aidan. It’s just like North Korea… almost a hundred percent fatality rate. Your father doesn’t think they can stop it- it’s spreading too fast and not only from person to person but also by air. When we get to Camp David, we’re leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  “We’re boarding Air force one and leaving the country.”

  Leaving. The. Country.

  Those three words told Aidan all he needed to know. There was no way his father would leave in a time of emergency unless the situation were catastrophic. He was silent for a long time before his mother asked if he was okay.

  “Yeah...”

  “Good,” she said, patting his leg. “Put on the ski jacket I bought you for your birthday then come out to the living room.”

  Strangely enough, he was okay. In fact, he was excited. He knew he shouldn’t be, not when all those people were dying. But for now it seemed so remote, almost like he was playing a part in a movie.

  Agent Denny escorted them out of their quarters two minutes later. The trip down to the car was a blur. Denny and Pete Miller, his mother’s primary agent, hurried them along. Carlton Flagg brought up the rear.

  Aidan didn’t know too much about the mysterious Flagg or his place in the chain of command. What he did know was that Flagg only seemed to show up when there was trouble, and he was never dressed like the other agents. That day he was wearing a black tactical vest, a black beret, and he carried a submachine gun.

  They took the stairs down to the parking garage and didn’t see anybody else on their way. Aidan could see that there were three cars lined up, all presidential limos that had their flags removed. All had the engines running.

  “Into the car at the rear please,” Flagg said.

  Agent Denny took the luggage from both Aidan and his mother and went to the trunk of the car followed by Pete Miller.

  “What the hell’s going on, Pete. Why all the cars? Why aren’t we going out to the chopper?” Evelyn asked while Denny stowed the luggage.

  Pete escorted her to the door and pulled it open.

  “There’s been another development. Naval Command has lost contact with its fleet in the Pacific, and there are unconfirmed reports of air engagement off the coast of Florida. The unmarked, multi-car ruse is just in case it’s all part of a coordinated attack. Marine One will be taking off from the landing pad when we leave here as well,” he said, referring to the call sign of the presidential helicopter.

  “Coordinated attack? But it’s just a disease isn’t it? I know there have been suspicions about the Chinese but surely…”

  “We’ll get you a secure line to the President as soon as we are on the way, Madam First Lady,” Pete interrupted, hustling her into the back seat. “It’s above my pay grade.”

  “Way above,” Flagg remarked joining them as Aidan climbed in beside his mother. “Denny, you’re in back with them. Miller, you’re driving. I’ll ride shotgun. We roll in two minutes.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any more MP5s?” Brett said to Flagg as he closed the trunk and came around to the side of the Limo.

  “Sorry, you two are stuck with your Sig Sauers,” Flagg replied, referring to the handguns they had under their jackets. “We don’t have time for a run to the armory.”

  Brett didn’t look happy as he climbed into the back and sat opposite them. Flagg slammed the door and a second a later they heard the front passenger door close with a dull thud.

  Unlike the limos that he’d ridden in before his father’s election, this presidential limo did not have a glass window, retractable or otherwise, between the passengers and driver’s compartment. It was a solid padded wall that he assumed was bulletproof, and communication with the driver came by way of an intercom.

  While it was spacious and comfortable, with the darkened windows and inability to see the road ahead, Aidan found it claustrophobic. He felt the car roll forward

  “We’re on the move,” Flagg’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Mrs. Riley, we’ll will get you a secure sat-phone link to Camp Dav
id as soon as we are out of the city. For now, I am going to leave the intercom open so that we can talk freely.”

  As the car went up a ramp Aidan leaned back into his seat. He had his tablet, but playing it was the last thing on his mind. Could the Pyongyang Flu really be part of some attack?

  ‘Coordinated attack’ - that’s what Pete had said. He’d heard that phrase used a lot, usually in relation to terrorist acts. His mother had mentioned China, and from the look on Pete’s face, she was on the money.

  That was something a whole lot worse than an act of terror. That meant war. War with another superpower.

  He looked around the dim interior of the limo, his eyes landing first on Brett, and then coming to rest on his mother. She was looking back at him.

  “Don’t worry, Aidan,” Evelyn said, her voice soft. “We’ll be safe with your dad in no time.”

  He was aware of Denny’s eyes on him.

  “I’m not worried,” he shrugged. “We’ll kick their ass if they want a war.”

  The special agent smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned to the window. Instead of rebuking him for cursing, his mother patted his hand.

  Aidan began to wonder what would happen when they got to Camp David. If things were as bad as they appeared to be, he knew they would be put aboard Airforce One straight away. That thing could fly for days. But where would they go? Europe? Australia? If the flu kept spreading they wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

  “So, Aidan, how did your lesson…” She was interrupted by a dull boom from behind them.

  “Jesus…” Pete’s voice crackled through the intercom.

  Aidan heard the radio in the driver’s compartment squawk to life. He couldn’t make out what was being said at the other end, but the profanities coming from Flagg’s mouth were registering quite clearly. He glanced over at his mother. She seemed calm, even though her fingers were digging into the plush seat.

  The intercom went dead.

  “Don’t worry,” said Denny. “They’re communicating with the command center, Flagg will update us shortly.”

  A few seconds later it came to life again.

  “We have confirmation of enemy action,” Flagg said through the intercom. “Marine One is down, NSA says it was probably a portable surface to air missile. Whoever’s behind this, they have boots on the ground here in Washington.”

  “Oh my God. The intel was right… it’s China isn’t it?” asked the first lady.

  “Almost certainly, Ma’am,” Flagg replied.

  “It couldn’t be terrorists?” Aidan asked.

  “No,” Flagg said. “After what happened in North Korea we had our suspicions. What’s happened in the last 24 hours has only confirmed them.”

  “How long until we’re out of Washington?” Evelyn asked.

  “We should be out of the city in three minutes,” Pete responded. “We’re going to take Interstate 395 past Arlington, then turn north onto 495, before hitting I-270. It’s longer and less direct, but that’s the point.”

  “We’re really under attack,” Aidan said, a statement not a question.

  No one responded. They didn’t need to. The intercom clicked off. Silent minutes went by. That was the other thing about the presidential limo’s; you could barely hear anything from outside. He was surprised they’d even heard the chopper blow up.

  The silence didn’t last. Perhaps it would have been better if it had.

  “We’ve lost contact with car two,” Flagg reported via the intercom. “If they’ve been made, you can bet your ass we’ll be second or third in line. We’ll need to ditch the Limo and find another ride that won’t stand out so much.”

  “Are you nuts?” Brett said. “This thing’s bulletproof…”

  “Shit!” screamed Pete through the intercom, his voice punctuated by the muted sounds of squealing tires. Aidan and his mother were thrown forward then back in their seats as the car skidded to a halt. Agent Denny unlatched his seatbelt and threw himself over them, his gun in hand. The boy felt his testicles trying to shrink into his belly.

  Oh shit! We’re gonna die…

  “Jerk! Learn to drive!” yelled Pete, and suddenly the car was moving again.

  “Everyone okay back there, Agent Denny?” Flagg asked.

  “Yeah,” said a pale Denny.

  He allowed them both to sit up but didn’t holster his weapon. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to ditch the limo though, we won’t find anything as safe.”

  Flagg’s voice was even harder than normal when he replied.

  “If they have SAMs they could well have anti-tank weapons. This thing might protect from small arms fire, but an anti-tank will open it up like a taco. If we can commandeer some regular vehicles, hopefully, there won’t be any shooting at all.”

  Denny looked like he was going to argue, but the first lady cut him off.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, her face as pale as the agent facing them.

  “Get off in Arlington and look for a car dealership.” They heard Flagg say to Pete. “Mrs. Riley, we should probably wait a while longer for you to make that call.”

  Aidan was glad Flagg was with them and thought back to the first time they had met.

  “Have you ever shot a firearm before, son?”

  “No, Sir,” said fourteen-year-old Aidan, eyes wide.

  He was standing in a room he never knew existed. A shooting range in one of the White House sub-basements. He took a good look at the man Brett had introduced as Carlton Flag and who would be showing Aidan how to handle a firearm.

  If asked to pick one word to describe Flagg, Aidan would have chosen intense.

  Flagg stood a bit over six feet tall and looked strong without being overburdened by muscle. He wasn’t dressed like other agents. In fact, Aidan wasn’t even sure that Flagg was part of the Secret Service. He was wearing a light blue tracksuit, with a darker blue stripe down the pant legs. The only insignia was a small American flag sewn over the left breast. His black kinky hair was trimmed very tight on the top and faded on the sides of his head. With his intense brown eyes and thin mustache, Flagg reminded Aidan of Wesley Snipes, the old action movie star.

  “No? Well, you’ll be able to answer yes to that question after today.”

  “Yes sir,” Aidan said, nervous but excited.

  “Alright, any questions before we get started?”

  Aidan looked around the room some more.

  “I didn’t even know this place was here.”

  “Yeah, it was put in back in the thirties, along with the main armory down the hall, don’t be too surprised though, hell, Roosevelt, that’s Teddy, not FD, used to practice his shooting out on the White House lawn, but you can’t do that kind of thing anymore. Most presidents steer clear of the place these days, so it’s used by the secret service detail to blow off steam and keep up with their marksmanship.”

  “Cool.”

  “Today I’ll be teaching you how to handle the Sig Sauer P229, chambered in 40 calibers. It’s the standard issue sidearm of the secret service.”

  “Are you sure my dad okayed this? He doesn’t like guns.”

  “We wouldn’t be here if he didn’t, son,” Flagg leaned down a bit so that he could look the doubtful teenager in the eyes. “One thing you can count on is that I’ll always tell you the truth. I won’t spin you bullshit. Ever since those Iranians brought down Delta 344, things have gotten pretty tense. Your dad wants to make sure you can protect yourself if something bad goes down. Okay?”

  “You’re not like Brett and the others,” Aidan said. “None of them talk straight. They always try to hide what’s going on from me.”

  “No, I’m not like the others,” Flagg replied. He didn’t elaborate any further.

  Aidan had quickly learned the first names of all the agents on the secret service details that protected his family. He always called them by their first names too. Somehow, he understood that the man standing in front of his would never be Carl or Carlton to him. T
his man would always be Flagg.

  “Okay, I guess I am ready to learn to shoot.”

  “Good,” Flagg said, straightening. “But you’re going to learn much more than how to shoot. By the time we’re done here today, you’ll know everything there is to know about this fine weapon.” He indicated the table where a pair of pistols lay beside each other. “Come on over here and take a seat, there are some things you need to know before we get to shooting.”

  Twenty minutes later Aidan knew how to check the safety, load the bullets into the magazine, load the magazine into the pistol, and chamber a round. The pistol was heavier than he expected, much heavier. Flagg stood and had him go through everything again. Aidan wasn’t sure whether or not the man wanted to help reinforce what he had just learned or test him. Either way, Flagg seemed satisfied.

  “All right,” Flagg said, rising to his feet. “Let’s head over there to the end of the range and see about teaching you to actually use the thing.”

  Two paper targets shaped like the silhouettes of men with circles on different parts of the body had been set up some fifteen or so yards from the shooting position. Each target hung in a separate lane.

  “Here, put these on,” Flagg handed him a pair of black earmuffs, then slipped his own on before stepping up to the position. “Remember what I told you,” he said, before working the slide on his pistol to chamber a round. He dropped into an easy Weaver stance, his right hand on the pistol’s grip, his left hand underneath for support, and fired three quick shots.

  Even wearing earmuffs, the report was loud in the enclosed place, and Aidan flinched when one of the ejected shells bounced off the concrete barrier between the lanes and glanced off his shoulder.

  Flagg ejected the magazine of the Sig and worked the slide again to eject the unspent round. He set the pistol down on the counter and pressed a button. The target traveled up to where they were standing.

  “And that’s how you do it,” Flagg said. “Ready for your try?”

  “There’s only one hole in the target,” Aidan said. The hole was in the center of the circle where, if it had been a man, his face would have been. “Did your other two shots miss?”