by Jason Elam
“Hmm, I can see why she’d come on to you; you seem quite the catch.” Benson motioned for the woman to step forward. “Mr. Crane, I’d like to introduce you to Officer Linette Miller.” Crane audibly groaned when he heard her name. Benson continued. “Officer Miller, did you make advances toward this man, then beat him when he turned a blind eye to your amorous intentions?”
“I seem to remember the events differently,” Miller replied.
“I thought you might. Take him to the hold, write up a quick incident report, and get back into the concourses. Oh, and get your hand checked out.”
Miller smiled. “I’m fine, sir; it’s just a little blood. Mr. Crane here has a bony face.”
“Well, good work, all three of you.”
After they walked away to deliver Crane to the dark cells behind the security office, Smith said, “That’s three your bait gals have picked up. With the others we’ve picked up, we have, what, nineteen, twenty in there?”
“Twenty-two, actually,” Benson said.
“You guys are going to have to determine what to do with them. You’re going to want to make an example of them,” Riley said.
“What are you suggesting? Stocks? Public flogging?” Benson asked sarcastically.
“Stocks actually aren’t that bad an idea. Somehow you’re going to have to communicate that crime or incivility of any kind will not be tolerated.
“You need to keep reminding yourselves that the old rules don’t apply anymore. At some point—the sooner the better—you’re going to have to declare martial law in here, because I can guarantee that it’s already martial law out there. It’s going to be up to you to decide where you draw the line between harshness and civility. You could be here weeks or months, and people need to understand that things from assaults to stealing food will not be tolerated. And if you don’t clearly establish those crimes with their resulting punishments early on, then good luck doing it later.”
A wail cut through the air from the direction of the infirmary. The four men fell silent, knowing what that meant. That brought the death total up to sixty-seven that Riley knew about.
“I’m going to try to get an hour of shut-eye,” Benson said with a deep sigh. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it tomorrow.”
“Good call,” Smith said, stretching his back, then twisting side to side. “We’re gathering at sunrise to formally establish our organizational structure, correct?”
“Yep,” Riley confirmed, knowing that the chances of his being at that meeting were slim. “You guys get some sleep.”
As they walked away, he couldn’t help feeling some guilt. While he tried through the night to guide the team in the right direction, he always deflected their attempts to make him the leader. There was something that he was still holding back from them, a piece of information that had the potential to destroy any chance he had at personally influencing the leadership group.
That mysterious piece of information became a reality about an hour later. Skeeter was the first to hear it. By the time he found Riley, both their eyes were on the sky. Thirty seconds later, lights showed in the distant darkness—muted and shifting because of the smoke. Soon people all around were looking up, trying to find the source of the noise.
The Blackhawk helicopter finally arrived over the stadium three minutes later. By that time, everyone was awake and waving and cheering. As it hovered above, activity could be seen around its payload doors. Then a large pallet slid out and hung just below the helicopter’s wheels. Slowly, it began lowering.
A space in the middle of the playing field quickly cleared out. Meanwhile, Riley went looking for Glen Smith.
When he found him, he said, “Glen, I’m taking this chopper out.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured you would be,” Smith said disappointedly.
“I’m sorry, man, but there were two of those EMPs sent our way. If the other one hasn’t gone off yet, I’ve got to find it.”
Smith put his hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. Just do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
Squeezing Riley’s shoulder tightly, Smith said, “When you find the person responsible for all this, put a bullet in his head.”
Riley nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A cheer went up from the crowd gathered around where the pallet had just landed; it was filled with bottled water.
Cutting through the mass of people, Riley and Skeeter ran up to the pallet just as Mike Benson was directing his people to unhitch the cables. Strapped to one corner of the flat piece of wood was what they were looking for—two vests.
After slipping the vests on, they took hold of two of the cables and connected them to metal rings mounted on their midsections. Then, giving the thumbs-up to the helicopter, they began their ascent. Riley hoped most people would be too focused on the pallet to notice the two men dangling from the chopper, though he did hear several jeers and catcalls as well as voices pleading to be taken along.
Riley couldn’t bring himself to look down at those he was abandoning. He knew this was necessary, but that didn’t make it any easier. He looked at Skeeter and was surprised to see tears in the big man’s eyes too. Skeeter shook his head and turned back to the helicopter.
Lord, please be with these people. Bring help soon. Protect them. And please, help us to stop this from happening again!
Monday, September 14, 3:15 a.m. EDT
New York, New York
As Riley winched his way toward the helicopter, he had a chance to see the city for the first time. The view took his breath away. He saw at least forty fires burning across the city. Some looked small and contained; a few looked like they were consuming whole blocks of buildings.
In stark contrast, in the areas where no fires were burning, the city was black. What must be going on down there? The waiting, the wondering, the fear of the unknown. How many beatings, rapes, and murders are taking place right now? How many parents are holding tightly to their children, afraid of the sounds they hear out in the hallways? How many storeowners are waiting with their shotguns at the ready, determined to protect what they’ve worked so hard to create? How long will they hold out? When will they finally realize that the power is not returning and help is not on its way?
A foot tapped lightly on his hip. He looked over to see Skeeter swinging back and pointing over his head. Riley looked up to see the helicopter rapidly approaching.
Soon hands were grabbing his harness, pulling him on board. He was surprised at how good the sharp edge of the helicopter’s payload floor felt as it rubbed across his rash. When he finally stood, he saw that the hands that had pulled him up belonged to Scott Ross and Kim Li. Gilly Posada and Carlos Guitiérrez had assisted Skeeter.
“Welcome aboard,” Scott said, clapping him on the back.
Riley, overwhelmed at seeing his friends for the first time since the nightmare began, couldn’t speak but just shuffled past Scott to Khadi, who was waiting for him. Khadi wrapped her arms around him and held him until Scott tapped him on the shoulder and twirled his finger to show that they were heading out.
Riley and Khadi sat down and strapped in. Scott and Skeeter sat opposite. The rest of the guys stood by the open door, solemnly watching as the devastation passed by below.
“Was it bad?” Khadi asked after adjusting a pair of headphones to fit her.
“It’s bad,” Riley replied. “And probably much worse outside. I mean, honestly, inside the stadium is so much better than what I’m sure is going on out in the city. But no matter how much I tried to explain things, those people have no idea what they should be expecting. I think we’re all so used to the government watching over us and providing for us that the whole idea of the authorities being impotent and unable to help just doesn’t compute.”
Silence filled the helicopter as Riley built up the courage to voice the question that he was dying to ask but dreading hearing the answer to. Finally, taking a deep breath,
he said, “So how bad is it?”
Scott nodded as if he had been expecting the question, but he still paused for a moment before answering. “Sort of a best of times, worst of times. You know—it could have been so much worse, but it’s still unimaginably bad.”
“What’s the geographic extent?”
“Mr. Ross,” the pilot’s voice interrupted, “I have the president on the line.”
“Thanks; patch him through.” A click sounded; then Scott said, “Sir, I’m here with Riley Covington and Skeeter Dawkins, along with my recovery team, Khadi Faroughi, Kim Li, Gilly Posada, and Carlos Guitiérrez.”
“Good morning to you all,” came President Lloyd’s voice through the headphones. “Riley, I’m glad we were able to get you and Mr. Dawkins out.”
“Thank you, sir,” Riley replied, trying to keep his voice calm and businesslike. He looked at Khadi with his eyebrows raised. She gave him an encouraging nod, so he said, “It’s good to be out, but it was hard to leave. There are a lot of really good people down there who are in for a rough go.”
The president’s voice sounded quite different from the last time Riley had talked to him—more somber, more weary. “I know it. We’re doing everything we can to help them out. What can you tell me about being on the ground?”
Deciding not to pull any punches, Riley said, “It’s bad, sir. We had sixty-seven dead in the stadium alone, and I lost count of the injured hours ago. People are scared and confused. But as bad as it was in the stadium, from what I could see, it looked a whole lot worse in the city. Fires are shredding whole city blocks. And I would guess all but a small handful have absolutely no clue what’s going on.”
“I understand. With information, people can have hope. No information, no hope. We’re working on that already—trying to get the facts out.”
“That’s good to know, sir,” Riley said.
“So here’s how it’s going to go,” the president went on. “You and Agent Ross and the rest of your team have full access to whatever information you want and whatever resources you need. Even though there are thousands of others pursuing this, your little band there seems to have a way of always showing up where the bullets are flying. Also, I have given Agent Ross my private line. You and he have 24-7 access to me.
“You and Ross were right, Riley. I won’t forget that. Now good luck to you, and Godspeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Riley said, not knowing if the president was still on the line to hear him. He sat there for a moment looking at the floor. Finally he lifted his head and coughed. Now that he was out of the stadium, the smell of smoke on his clothes was so strong it was starting to constrict his throat. Scott handed him a water bottle, which he drank in one pass.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now, you were about to tell me how big the affected area is.”
“There was just the one detonation over NYC. Remember we were wondering about the DPRK having the technology for a nonnuclear EMP? Well, now you have your answer. That is the one piece of good news in this whole thing—it was a lower-altitude blast from a lower-yield bomb. The affected zone is approximately seventy miles from Manhattan in all directions. Southern New York, most of Long Island, half of New Jersey and Connecticut, and eastern Pennsylvania up to the suburbs of Philadelphia.”
“All the way to Philly? So you’re talking, what, 15, 20 million affected?”
Scott shook his head. “Try 25 million. It’s an absolute nightmare. If you figure on the fires from the air crashes, plus the medical issues—which are only going to get worse as time progresses—plus the impending disease from unhealthy food, tainted water, and exposure to dead bodies, plus crime . . . let’s say conservatively there’s just a one percent casualty rate. Well, even with that lowball figure, you’re still talking about 250,000 dead.”
Riley couldn’t speak for a time. He looked out the window. The landscape below was so dark, he had to remind himself that they weren’t flying over water. How can a quarter million dead be a conservative number? How could this have happened?
“What’s President Lloyd doing about it?”
Khadi jumped in to answer this question. “He immediately grounded all air traffic. As far as addressing the disaster, he’s had FEMA activate the National Incident Management System, so you’ve got both public and private groups involved. Unfortunately, quite a few of the major law enforcement agencies are being distracted by the other incidents.”
“Other incidents?”
“Oh—sorry, I forgot; you don’t know about them,” Khadi said, turning more fully toward Riley. “In the past few hours, thirteen major cities have had suicide bombings—mostly singles, but Los Angeles, Chicago, and Philadelphia have had two each. Also, there are forty-seven state and federal prisons that are experiencing major rioting. It all seems to be a coordinated effort. Obviously, all these incidents are drawing resources that would otherwise have been allocated toward New York and Newark.”
Smart; very smart, Riley thought. We’re not just dealing with some Afghani cave rat. “What’s Lloyd doing about North Korea?”
Scott took this one. “Well, until we can get positive proof that the weapons are theirs, he’s doing nothing. However, he is putting out word that the United States will not tolerate nations taking advantage of the situation to pursue any long-simmering imperialistic notions.”
“I.e., Russia and China.”
“And India and Venezuela and any number of African nations,” Khadi added.
“We are getting offers of help from around the globe, particularly Western and Central Europe,” Scott said. “This is the time you really learn who your friends are.”
A thought occurred to Riley. “Speaking of our friends, what’s happening with Israel?”
Scott shrugged. “That’s obviously a big concern right now. If we’re too hurt to help them, then they’re truly on their own—David against the giants. Not that it’s much different from the way things have been lately anyway. Lloyd’s policies have already been pulling us further and further away from Israel, so they’ve been preparing to go it alone for a while now.”
“According to my sources,” Khadi jumped in, “Israel has a three-strike plan lined up to take out Iran’s nuclear capabilities. One Jericho ballistic nuke to Esfaha-n to take out their nuclear research center and uranium conversion facility, another to Natanz to take out their uranium enrichment facility, and the third to Ara-k to destroy their heavy water reactor. Three Israeli nukes and Iran’s nuclear program goes almost back to square one.”
Scott waved a hand as if he didn’t even want to consider that possibility at the moment. “Thankfully, right now they are only posturing. They’ve let it be known that if anyone, particularly Iran, tries anything, they reserve the right to bomb them to hell and back.”
Riley raised his eyebrows. “Well, that must have made them even more popular among our Middle Eastern friends.”
“No doubt. The Iranian president is already declaring the words to be statements of war.”
Riley side-armed his fist into the helicopter’s shell. “I’ll give you ten to one he’s got a finger in this somehow.”
Khadi shook her head and said, “I don’t think so. This is too . . . I don’t know . . . too creative for him—too out of the box. He’s such a one-track Twelver that all he can think about is getting nukes so that he can drop them on Israel and America and in the ensuing destruction usher in the Mahdi.”
“Okay, so if it’s not Iran, then who is it—the Saudis?”
Khadi put up her hand. “I didn’t say it wasn’t Iran. I just don’t think it’s state-sponsored Iranian. It could still be a Persian terrorist organization or a Saudi group. There’s got to be some oil money involved somewhere; that’s the only way they could afford to buy these weapons.”
“You mean someone like bin Laden?”
“Someone like him, but not him. He doesn’t have the infrastructure anymore to pull something like this off. I think
we’re looking at a new group that is well respected and well connected. That’s why we’re seeing the bombings and the Wahhabist riots—and I’ll guarantee you that it is the prison Wahhabis who are behind the riots.”
“What about the other EMP?” Skeeter asked.
Scott looked at the floor, frustration evident in his voice. “The president has got every intelligence agency working on this—CIA, FBI, CTD, everyone—but still we haven’t been able to track down the second warhead, and we have no clue as to the location of the replacement delivery device. We haven’t even figured out the planned location of detonation. So, basically, we have—”
“Squat,” Riley said. “Swell.”
Turning back to look out the window, Riley could see the ragged edges of the affected area down below. Relief flooded through him as the Blackhawk passed from darkness into light.
“Touchdown in twenty,” Scott said. “Oh, and, Riley, I got this for you.”
He tossed something to Riley. When Riley looked at it, he saw it was a new cell phone.
“Got it programmed with your number. Figured you’ll probably want to make some calls to your family after we land.”
“Thanks,” Riley said, slipping the phone into his jeans pocket. Suddenly something sparked in his mind. He grabbed hold of Khadi’s arm and said, “Have you heard anything about the Mustangs? They played earlier in the evening. I’ve been praying they weren’t in the air yet.”
Khadi placed her hand on Riley’s and said, “No, I figured you’d be asking about them. I checked on it, and they hadn’t arrived at the airport yet. I don’t know where they are, but they weren’t in the air.”
“Praise the Lord for that,” Riley said, taking his hand back and leaning against the Blackhawk’s frame. Being stuck in the city is bad, but at least it’s better than dropping from the sky.
Somberness spread through the helicopter, and everyone was quiet for the rest of the flight. After landing, the seven agents piled into a government Suburban. Riley slept all the way to the RoU.