by Brandt Legg
Hudson gave Covington a “start talking” nod.
Covington handed the president a folder and began summarizing the report. “The NSA picked up some disturbing communications, and the CIA was able to corroborate it with several sources, including a mole we have inside the MSS.”
Hudson knew MSS was the Ministry of State Security of the People’s Republic of China, one of the most dangerous intelligence services in the world. With more than 100,000 intelligence personnel and agents worldwide, the MSS had replaced the KGB as the CIA’s most formidable foe.
“What did we learn?” the president asked, wanting Covington to get to the point.
“The Chinese were going to invade Taiwan the day you were attacked boarding Air Force One,” Covington said.
The bombshell hit Hudson as the ramifications of that statement swirled in his already overburdened mind.
“The Chinese see the vice president as a peacenik,” Covington continued as the president rose and began pacing in front of the windows. “They believed she wouldn’t retaliate.”
“But then why didn’t they take Taiwan anyway?” Hudson asked, momentarily pausing to lean on the Resolute Desk. “I was as good as dead for weeks.”
“We kept the extreme direness of your condition a closely guarded secret,” Covington said, remaining unmoved, like a soldier. “They believed you would recover quickly, and, fulfilling our obligations under the Taiwan Relations Act, intervene against them. A safe assumption based on your record and your rhetoric.”
Hudson nodded, thinking about how before those nine minutes, he’d been ready to go to war with China for a variety of reasons. Had the PRC invaded Taiwan, it would have been an easy decision for him based on treaties and strategic interests alone. But the timing was extremely troubling.
“You understand what this means?” Covington asked. “That the most likely sponsors of the Air Force One attack were the MSS?”
Hudson stared at him. Although his thoughts had gotten that far, he hadn’t quite allowed the conclusion to form completely.
“The Chinese government tried to assassinate the president of the United States,” Covington reiterated the shocking news.
“An explosive accusation,” Hudson said, trying to digest it. If true, war would be impossible to avoid. “What’s our proof?”
“As I said, we have the communications intercepts, and several sources,” Covington explained, pointing to the folder still on the president’s desk. “It’s all detailed in the report.”
Hudson glanced at the folder, and then back to Covington. “I’m sure it is, but if I’m going to start World War Three, I’ll need a little more.”
“Should I convene the Council in the Situation Room?” Covington asked while surreptitiously rubbing the powder off an orange Necco wafer between his thumb and forefinger.
“We’re not there yet,” the president said as Fitz returned to the room. “Do the satellites show any PLA movements toward Taiwan?”
The PLA, or People’s Liberation Army, was the largest military force in the world. With more than two million personnel, and with the second largest defense budget, it was also the world’s fastest growing military.
“Not yet,” Covington said tensely. “But that could change at any time.”
“And so can my response,” the president said. “Get me more intel on this. I want a clear, visible line from Beijing to that runway in Portland.”
“The leaders are waiting,” Fitz said, pointing to the door. “We need to do the conference.”
“I’ll see what else we can get,” Covington said. “But when you read the report, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s already fairly conclusive.”
“Fairly isn’t good enough,” the president said. “If I had died, that would have been one person. If we do this, we’re talking about tens of thousands, perhaps even millions, dead.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vonner listened calmly while Hudson ranted about not being informed about their locating Rochelle. When he finally paused to take a breath, the billionaire cut in.
“I’d like to know your source,” Vonner said dryly. “I’ve only just been informed myself. I instructed one of our top agents to find her at any costs. She has, and now she will lead a rescue.”
Once again, Hudson couldn’t decide whether or not to believe him, but that question ultimately held far more consequences than he could contemplate at the moment. “Bastendorff isn’t going to let her go easily,” he said.
“No, but he won’t be expecting us.”
“Assuming they get her out, where will they take her?”
“I’m not going to return her to the Bureau of Prisons, if that’s what you mean.” Vonner smiled, taking a slow sip of his single malt scotch. He stood on the edge of a bluff overlooking the Potomac River. There were many places he wished he could send Rochelle Rogers, one of them being the bottom of that raging water, but that would be too much of a strain on his relationship with the president. It would also be too obvious if she died during the extraction. He’d given the matter a great deal of thought, but still hadn’t resolved anything concrete. Vonner let the silence linger another few moments before asking Hudson, “Where would you suggest we send her?”
The question caught Hudson unprepared. “You, uh, you once mentioned a little hideaway somewhere. Can we keep her safe there? Can we keep her safe anywhere? I was originally thinking about something like the witness protection program. I’m sure she just wants some peace. But that was before Bastendorff . . . I still can’t—”
“Are you going to pardon her?” Vonner interrupted.
“I’m not sure it’s wise at the moment,” the president said, surprising both himself and Vonner. “It seems best for everyone if we can just keep her safe and out of sight.”
“We can do that,” Vonner said, trying to dampen the pleasure from his voice and resisting the urge to say, “Good boy.”
“A nice place,” Hudson added. “Some luxury.”
“Of course,” Vonner said.
“I’ll be waiting for updates.”
“Sure. Now, can we discuss your plan to remake the world into some kind of Utopia you evidently dreamed up while you were recovering?”
“You sound irritated,” Hudson said, thinking he was the only one in the conversation with a right to be annoyed with anything. “You knew we were going to go after the REMies. You promised help, said it was your plan to do it. That’s why you chose me.”
“Yes, yes, but this isn’t the way to go about it.”
“The REMies rule by utilizing the system, which includes politicians spending decades in congress, the complex and oppressive tax system, having the might of the US military at their disposal, and a corrupt banking system anchored by the Federal Reserve Board.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Of course not, it’s intentionally insanely complicated,” Hudson said. “That’s why we need radical tax reform, term limits, a major overhaul to campaign finance laws, significant defense spending cutbacks, and most of all, a complete reorganization of our banking system.”
“You really are trying to get yourself killed.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hudson, how many times do I need to tell you that I’m not the enemy?”
“Ask me at the end of my second term.”
“Look,” Vonner said, “I’ll support your opposition to the war with China, even though I believe it’s a wasted stand, but—”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the REMies don’t really want war with China, they want the buildup to a war with China.”
“They’re playing a dangerous game.”
“That’s nothing new for them,” Vonner said, trying to sound as if he wasn’t one of them. “The China confrontation is all part of a strategy to shift manufacturing and economic activity to a group of other Asian countries—Indonesia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, the Philippines, Vietnam, Thailand, and Myanmar.”
“The elites who control the world are constantly struggling with each other for supremacy.”
“CapWars.”
“Exactly. Nothing is ever simple. There’s no money in simple. The more complicated a thing is, the better the opportunity is for bigger profits.”
“It also means less chance they’ll get caught.”
“The REMies are so far beyond getting caught. They’re the only ones who really do the catching.”
“That’s why we have to go after them.”
“We will,” Vonner said. He noticed Rex leaving the house and starting toward him. “But you have this all backward. You think, ‘Hit them fast with everything at once!’ That will not work. We go slow, and get one victory at a time, until the momentum builds. So, please, start with the war, save that other stuff until we win that one.”
“Okay,” Hudson said. “I’ll think about it.” But he had no intention of slowing down. He couldn’t, because he absolutely believed he wasn’t going to live long enough to wait for the victories to pile up.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Other than Camp David, it was the president’s first trip away from the White House since the Air Force One attack. The Florida beach house had become an armed camp, with choppers patrolling the air and gunboats offshore. Normally Tarka would be there, lurking just outside “the protection bubble,” the Secret Service name for the secure space around the president. She’d shadowed him for more than a year, working to keep him alive, neutralizing any threat—and there’d been many—by any means necessary. But now, she had to keep him safe in another way, and Vonner had sent another Vonner Security agent to Florida.
Even before the attack, being president could often seem like being a prisoner—always in that bubble of protection, never really alone. But now, with his movements limited to the White House, Camp David, and the Florida beach house, known as the “southern White House,” he felt especially trapped and smothered; not just from the NorthBridge threat, but also knowing the REMies were out there, watching, listening, and manipulating everything. Hudson was a puppet, and he never stopped wondering who was really pulling the strings.
Hudson and Schueller walked barefoot up and down the beach, discussing ways to avoid a military conflict with China. Based on the latest reports from Crane, no matter from what angle they viewed it, it seemed war was inevitable.
“I can't help but wonder,” Schueller said, as a flock of seagulls landed nearby, “the attack on Air Force One, war with China, the recent NorthBridge strikes, all these things, all these distractions . . . ” He raised his eyebrows at his dad. “What are they doing?”
“What do you mean?” Hudson asked, watching the seagulls take off as they got closer.
“Is it really the war? I don't think so. I don't think that's their endgame. They’re doing something else.”
Hudson raised his eyebrows back at his son. “Ever since I got into this, people have been telling me—Fonda, the Wizard, Linh from the Inner Movement, you—that they are distracting us—the elites, the REMies, whoever— and I've come to believe that it’s true. My question is, why haven't the American people, or, for that matter, why haven't the citizens of the world, figured this out? Why can't they see they’re being manipulated, controlled, used?”
“A lot of us do see it,” Schueller said angrily. “Thorne talks about it every day on his radio show.”
Hudson stopped and faced Schueller, a comical look of disgust on his face. “You listen to Thorne’s show?”
“Occasionally,” Schueller said, laughing at his dad’s expression. “He may be a jerk, but he sees what we see.”
Hudson nodded. “Maybe, but he’s no fan of mine.”
“He’s no fan of Vonner’s.”
“Vonner owns the company Thorne works for!”
“That’s gotta just make him hate Vonner more.”
“Probably, but Thorne didn’t like losing to me in the primaries.”
“No doubt. Still, he’s using his platform to wake people up to the way the elites are screwing everyone.”
“We need many, many more to realize what’s happening.”
“They will, but that’s not the big problem,” Schueller said, scooting out of the way of a surprisingly aggressive wave. “Most of the people who do see it aren't in a position to do anything about it.”
“We are.”
“Are we? You may be the president, but can you really stop a war?”
“I thought we decided this wasn’t really about a war with China. Even Vonner insists the REMies don't really want the war. They want the threat of it, the buildup to it.”
“That's a risky game,” Schueller said, scanning the dozen Secret Service agents behind them.
“Exactly what I said. They’re risking World War Three.”
“Unless they control the Chinese government as well.”
“They might.”
“Follow the money,” Schueller said. “It's always about the money.”
“A greedy race, we are,” Hudson said, repeating something Linh had said during their last conversation. “Crane’s working on tracking all the financial schemes of the REMies, but the program can only do so much. We’d need thousands of people, working fulltime for years, to sort it all out.”
“True,” Schueller agreed. “I’m talking to Crane later today.”
“It's time to call the Wizard,” Hudson said, pulling out his secured tablet and inserting the SonicBlock. He scanned the area, knelt down, and asked Schueller to help shield the screen from both the sun and any distant probing eyes. His regular Secret Service agents had almost grown accustom to this kind of strange behavior from the president. Their expressions did not change.
The Wizard appeared shortly after the scrambled matrix finished its patterning. “Daaawg!” he said, turning into the camera as if he'd been in the middle of something. “It's getting hot. It's not just the new NorthBridge attacks. There's a lot of stuff heating up on the DarkNet.”
After an initial lull following the Air Force One attack, NorthBridge had become more active. They employed smaller attacks on government facilities across the nation. Even with all the heightened security, it was looking more and more like a guerrilla war, with NorthBridge seeming to have the advantage against the giant military industrial complex of the United States. The US was not used to fighting wars on its home turf, nor going against such a well-funded, organized and invisible foe who seemed to be able to do anything and get in anywhere. They’d locked down a number of power plants from inside the computer systems that ran them. Many secure networks on military bases had been infiltrated, the terrorists using the access to discharge troops, cancel requisitions, and generally wreak havoc.
“Fear or beauty, it’s always a hard choice . . . every day we face it over and over again,” the Wizard said. “I think another major attack is coming.”
Hudson instinctively looked over his shoulder, having been the target of so many of the attacks. Although he was as determined as ever, he wasn't sure he could physically take another one. He didn't trust the Secret Service, the FBI, and certainly not the CIA or the NSA, but he sure hoped on that day they were protecting him.
The president looked out to sea. Other than two Secret Service gunboats and a tanker in the distance, everything seemed clear. Then he imagined that instead of oil, the tanker was filled with terrorists ready to strike, just minutes away.
They could overwhelm the gunboats and wipe out the whole beach. Kill Schueller and me in an instant . . . Everything has gotten so dangerous. What if . . .
“Dad,” Schueller said, touching his father's shoulder, “are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He took one last quick glance at the tanker, then focused back on the screen. The Wizard was in the process of braiding his long ponytail and putting on some sort of ornamental silver band to hold it in place.
“All the chatter and trends on th
e DarkNet point to Washington, DC,” the Wizard said. “Crane has Gypsy following it, but they may surprise us.”
Hudson immediately thought of the White House, the last remaining place he felt remotely safe.
What if NorthBridge attacks the White House!?
“We know where she is,” the president said, changing the subject, knowing the Wizard would know just whom he meant.
The Wizard looked at him, speechless and stunned. “Is . . . is she . . . ” he finally stammered.
“We believe she’s still alive,” Hudson answered. “Vonner is sending someone to get her. I'll let you know.”
“Vonner?”
“I can't very well send the Marines, can I?”
The conversation shifted back to NorthBridge and how to find out who they were, debating if NorthBridge really had orchestrated the Air Force One attack, or if it was someone else. And if so, who? They also discussed the REMies and how to stop them. Schueller was less interested in Air Force One and NorthBridge, making it clear he'd like to know those answers, but he believed, and his father agreed, that the REMies were the real issue. Stopping the REMies was what they had to do. Ultimately, they were the greatest threat, because NorthBridge was fighting against the status quo that the REMies held and wanted. NorthBridge was, therefore, the enemy of the REMies in some ways. Although Hudson did not agree with him on this point, NorthBridge was an ally to the president’s efforts to take back world control from the REMies.
“NorthBridge will never be my ally,” Hudson said bitterly.
The Wizard, who agreed with Schueller, looked unblinking into the camera. “The end of the world makes for strange bedfellows.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
While getting dressed, Hudson caught a clip on one of the morning news shows. Thorne was giving yet another interview about the “true populist movement” that was happening in America. The show’s host asked him if he was leading it.
“This revolution doesn’t have a single leader. It has millions of them.”