by Brandt Legg
As soon as he was settled, he began working the DarkNet, which was still up, accessing international servers to get on the regular internet. However, his biggest source of hard data came from the Defense Information Systems Agency, or “DISA”, a collection of secret internets for the military and intelligence agencies.
Unsure if the president was alive or not, the Wizard was determined that, one way or another, he would still launch Cherry Tree. He worked through exhaustion until he could hardly feel his cold, stiff fingers, tracking everything, programming Gypsy to identify every coup conspirator, locate all the REMies, and track them. At the same time he tried to glean information about what was happening at Camp David and the White House. His attempts to reach Rex and Granger failed.
“Don’t be dead, Dawg,” he whispered a hundred times in the dark, cold storage shed as he searched for any way he could help. “Live again, my friend.” But he knew the generals who’d orchestrated the coup would be smart enough not to leave the president alive, especially when they could so easily blame NorthBridge. “Damn, why didn’t we see this coming! Dranick should have picked up some kind of warning.”
The only activity that night were soldiers and armored vehicles patrolling the deserted streets. Any attempts at resistance were met with a swift and overwhelming response. Limits had been placed on ATM withdrawals to no more than one hundred dollars. Gas stations had all been placed under military control.
What information got through, on occasional bursts, did not mention the coup. Instead, the reports were about the crackdown on corruption in the face of a horrific worldwide pandemic. Stories were filled with the gruesome details of the deadly Masama virus and the sufferings of its victims. There were also many official announcements about the threat of NorthBridge, whom the government was blaming for the spread of the virus and the violence in different regions. The public was encouraged to report anyone not complying with the new restrictions as a rebel, a NorthBridger.
The US military brought overwhelming force into regions in what appeared to be a well-planned operation. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, as acting president, had ordered that no resistance would be tolerated. At the first sign of unrest, elite units would level an entire block. “All in the defense of the country,” survivors were told. “Dangerous NorthBridge rebels were taking refuge there,” in the obliterated area.
Most state and local officials had come out quickly in full support of the military. They gave soundbites about the horrors of NorthBridge and how “the good men and women of the American military were protecting the population.” Others decried “the military’s greatest mission to save us from the horrific Masama virus.”
But the Wizard knew that this was not a coup in the traditional sense of military takeovers seeking to remove a leader. This coup would have happened despite whoever was in office. It was a direct result of the CapWars. The military was taking over at the behest of the REMies, making a bold grab for the CapStone.
Key people in the government, the media, the military, and many in business and industry were arrested. The arrests had the effect of sending a message to anyone considering opposing the military. They also removed anyone who could challenge the REMies. It was one sweeping purge.
Above all, the Wizard knew one thing for sure. In order for a coup to be possible, the right conditions must exist, and the most important requisite is some form of major instability. As Vonner once said, ‘At any given time, we are only three days away from the end of the world as we know it.’
Chapter Eighty-Eight
The night in the safe room seemed to drag on in an endless combination of fear, frustration, anger, and sorrow. An oppressive heaviness weighed on them; each felt their own mix of death row inmate and being on the boats ready to hit Normandy Beach on D-Day. Making it worse was the absence of any details about what was happening on the surface and across the country, and the acid burn of Melissa’s betrayal. At times the room was consumed by silence, an absence of sound so intense that it might have weight and dark shades of color.
Hudson wrestled with worry about Florence, his siblings, and all the innocent citizens who had no idea they were caught in the biggest MADE event since World War II, that they were all victims of the final CapWar. He also felt displaced, his life suddenly foreign to himself. Melissa continually distracted his thoughts away from strategizing, even from hope. The burden of it was unbearable.
She tried several times during the long sleepless hours to talk to him. Each time he reacted with different emotions—rage, mourning, disgust, deep sadness. “I can’t,” he said each time. “I’m not strong enough to deal with you and survive this night.” But he had told her “If we somehow miraculously get out of the safe room and regain power after all this, the country won’t be able to handle a divorce between the president and first lady. So, I’m asking, for the good of the country, if we get there—and there are a truckload of ‘ifs’ between now and then—but if we do, then at least agree to that. To play at being the first lady for a little longer so I can try to rebuild the country. But it’s only an act.”
She had not responded, and he really hadn’t wanted her to.
Fitz was holding on, but they were all concerned that if they didn’t get out soon and get him to a surgeon, he wouldn’t make it. Hudson, who’d seen plenty of gunshot wounds during his time in the Army, and more since he’d run for president, confided in Schueller. “Fitz won’t make it another night.”
“Tarka will come,” Schueller said.
“Can she get in? Past the Revolutionary Guard up there?”
“Take Delta Force and throw in a few Navy Seals against Tarka and her VS . . . it’s going to be a death match for sure,” Schueller said. “But my money’s on Tarka.”
Hudson thought back on everything she had done, all the times she’d saved him. He couldn’t bet against her either, but this time the odds were far worse than ever before. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am.” Schueller leaned in close to his father and whispered, “I’m gutted by Melissa, so I’m amazed you’re still standing. You never stop impressing me, Dad.”
“It’s shock that’s keeping me going, and being numb,” he whispered back. “Plus, I’m trapped, so there really isn’t anything impressive about it. I simply have no choice.”
Melissa, on the other side of the room, pulled another blanket around a shivering Fitz. “Dranick betrayed him,” she whispered to Fitz, who couldn’t hear her. “I didn’t. He may not agree with my methods, but I’ve done nothing but try to help him since the day we met.” She mopped Fitz’s feverish brow with a cold, wet washcloth. “He never would have made it this far without you and me, Fitz.”
She realized he hadn’t heard a thing she’d said.
“Hang in there, Fitz. There’s still hope. Rex and Tarka aren’t going to let us die in here.”
And she believed that. Melissa always thought there was hope. However, she was a practical woman, and knew that Dranick would have told his superiors about Rex, Tarka, the Wizard, and Granger, which meant the ones they were counting on to save them could all already be dead.
Chapter Eighty-Nine
The next morning, the president and Schueller stumbled around the safe room, exhausted after little sleep. Schueller served canned fruit and granola bars for breakfast.
“How is he?” Hudson asked Melissa, who’d spent the night next to Fitz.
She shook her head. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“We may have to surrender then,” Hudson said.
“No,” Fitz moaned.
“Glad to see you’re still among the living,” Hudson said, kneeling next to his chief of staff.
“Coke,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Melissa said. “How about some water?”
Fitz made a face, but took a sip.
“You need a doctor,” Hudson said. “I’m not going to watch you die.”
“Surrender,” Fitz said weakly, �
��and you’ll be the one dying. That’s no fun either.”
“Trust me, I know,” Hudson said.
The SAT phone rang. They all looked at each other for an instant before Hudson answered.
“Mr. President.”
“Rex?”
“Would you mind opening the door and letting Tarka in?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Does that sound like a joke I would tell?” he asked.
“Open the door,” Hudson said.
Melissa pushed the button.
Tarka, dirty, sweaty, and bloody, stood on the other side holding an assault rifle, with another one strapped to her back. Twenty or thirty VS agents crowded the corridor behind her.
“Amazing,” the president said, hugging Tarka.
Tarka looked down at Fitz and called for a stretcher. “Sorry it took so long to get here,” she said to Hudson. “It seems we hadn’t been invited.”
“What’s it look like up there?” Schueller asked.
“Unrecognizable,” she said. “We need to go.”
“Where are we going?” Hudson asked.
“Home,” Tarka said.
“Ohio?”
A quick smile formed. “The White House.”
“Is that wise?” Melissa asked.
“Booker’s BLAXers have secured it. Safe as anywhere right now.”
During the helicopter ride back to Washington, the president thought about all the bodies he’d seen at Camp David. Servicemen who had just been following orders, told lies, and given commands to do the wrong thing, lay dead or injured for the same old reasons: greed and fear. Dozens of Secret Service and VS agents had also died, none more upsetting to him than 007.
Tarka informed him that Florence had been taken to a safe place by VS agents. He’d have to tell his daughter about Agent Bond, but that could wait. There was already plenty to mourn.
The White House, with its cratered and partially destroyed West Wing, along with more than a thousand armed military loyalists, BLAXers, Secret Service, and VS agents, resembled a front-line Army base more than the executive mansion. Hudson had been told that the vice president was alive and, as a safety precaution, remained under heavy guard at her official residence located on the northeast grounds of the US Naval Observatory a few miles away. He looked forward to speaking with her later.
A surprise guest was waiting for him in the White House Library, which had hastily been converted to the president’s office after the Oval Office and President’s Study had sustained damage.
“Colonel Dranick,” the president said. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” He gave his friend a hard look. “Enapay, you betrayed me.”
“It was never my intent.”
“Nevertheless, even if I can forgive you—and after spending nine minutes in the stars and a night in a tomb, I’m sure I will eventually be able to—the families of all those who died as a result of this coup . . . I doubt they will.”
Dranick nodded, handing the president a folder. “It’s a complete list of all the people involved, at every level.”
“Thank you. This will help us end this disaster a little faster.” Hudson picked up a phone and muttered a few words into it. Two soldiers came in and arrested Dranick. He went quietly.
A few minutes later, Tarka came in.
“I see you’ve gotten cleaned up. Are you okay?” the president asked.
“Never better.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “If you’re up to it, I’d appreciate your overseeing this.” He handed her the folder Dranick had just given him. She opened it and scanned the pages. “They all need to be arrested immediately.”
“Big job,” she said. “I thought we were going after REMies.”
“They’re next.”
“Then I’ll make sure this gets done by the end of the day.”
The president smiled. “I bet you will.”
She turned to leave.
“Tarka,” the president called when she was at the door. “Thank you.”
She nodded, smiled, and left.
Chapter Ninety
The president used the BLAXers, Vonner Security, Secret Service, and military loyalists to retake the Pentagon. It helped that Booker’s companies had supplied many of the computer components and chips that went into the security and defense systems. Once the enlisted men and women realized the president was alive and had been the victim of an overthrow plot rather than a successful assassination, they were quick to fall into line, and the proper chain of command was rapidly reestablished, ending with Hudson as commander in chief. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was taken into custody and would never know freedom again. Tarka and other elite teams moved swiftly to arrest all of the coup participants as opposition collapsed breathtakingly fast.
A few hours later, the president ordered the internet turned back on, reestablished the full cellular networks, and, temporarily, nationalized all radio and television broadcasts. Then he gave a simple speech that would change the world.
“This was no simple coup d’état by rogue forces,” Hudson began as his speech was broadcast to the world. “Elements in the US Military were part of a deep state that has been protecting the interests of the corrupt elites, specifically a cartel known as the REMies.”
He went on to explain exactly who they were and how for more than a century, this cartel had been ruling the world and controlling the population through MADE events.
“In the past, Democrats and Republicans blustered whenever their team wasn’t in control, but it was never more than a distraction. The Wall Street bankers were still in charge of the fiscal policy, the defense contractors still ran the Pentagon, the pharmaceutical and agrichemical companies ran their respective government departments, and the Federal Reserve Board bent the economy to the will of its owners. Every election we are promised alternating doses of hope and change. It never comes. We only thought there was a difference . . .
“Today, we are launching Cherry Tree, a program which will prove the hellacious crimes of the REMies to such an extent that they attempted the coup to suppress these findings. Cherry Tree was named for America’s Founding Father and the story of how, as a boy, he admitted to chopping down a cherry tree with the famous words, ‘I cannot tell a lie.’ Cherry Tree, then, is a metaphor for truth, and that is exactly what this initiative does. It presents the facts about the REMies and recasts the past century in a new light based upon those facts. The truth must finally be made real, for only the truth can bring the promised change.”
Cherry Tree’s deep trove of verified information was instantly available on every linked device on the planet. The Kennedy papers were quickly confirmed by historians and scholars. The public was predictably outraged. They may not have known the exact participants and the precise steps taken that led to the Dallas ambush against JFK, but finally the conspiracy was no longer a theory.
Arrest warrants were issued not just for the REMies themselves, but for everyone who had knowingly participated in MADE events. Thousands were arrested, and trillions of dollars in assets were seized. Between the coup and the REMie purge, the economy was no longer functioning. Right on cue, Fair and Free was introduced with a host of other radical reforms. So many members of Congress had been arrested that the president had to act on executive authority until the new elections could be held—now with term limits.
Hudson had moved into the Lincoln Bedroom for the time being, but went to the first lady’s suite to get an update on Fitz. Melissa had just been to the hospital to see him.
“The doctors say he’s doing well. He’ll have a limp, probably worse than yours, but otherwise they expect a full recovery,” Melissa said. “He told me to tell you it was a great speech . . . I thought so, too.”
“Thanks,” Hudson said. “The REMies are running and scattering like scared rats, but the Wizard has been tracking them, and every single country has agreed to extradition.”
“Because you’ve been seizing assets.”
“A lot of work ahead, but congratulations. It looks like you’ve done it.” She smiled, a sad, Mona Lisa kind of smile. “I may not have thought you could beat them, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t believe in you.”
He nodded, not sure what to say.
“I’m sorry, Hudson. I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded. “I guess, there isn’t a chance that—”
“No,” he said, a lump in his throat. “We can’t go back to good. Consider us one of the last casualties of the CapWar.”
Chapter Ninety-One
Standing on the broad wraparound porch of the vice president’s official residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory, Hudson stared at Celia Brown with a look that was a combination of awe and disgust.
“In a thousand years,” Hudson began, “I never would have guessed that you were AKA Adams.”
“I am so sorry to have deceived you,” the vice president said. “I did my best to never undermine your efforts.”
“Celia, you’re one of the leaders of NorthBridge, an organization that undermined me at every turn. Assassination attempts, threatening the security and stability of the entire nation—hell, they’ve been trying to overthrow the very government that you and I lead. You’ve been doing nothing but undermining me.”
“We shared a common enemy, Mr. President.”
“Now you sound like Booker. The REMies may have been NorthBridge’s ultimate target, but in order to get to them, you and your band of terrorists had to trample over my administration, jeopardizing the stability of the entire world. And not giving my reforms any hope of gaining traction in the face of the chaos and violence you generated . . . ” He stopped and looked at her with an expression of total exasperation on his face, still unbelieving. “And violence. How do you explain that? You’ve been antiwar your entire career, and yet your alter ego has been waging war, a bloody revolution, inciting civil war. I’d call you a hypocrite, but that just seems like a compliment considering your crimes.”