1:15:59—“Oh Jesus Christ,” the man said as he hung his head.
1:16 CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
HART COMPLEX
The Suburban passed them and led the way to the main building of the complex. It was within twenty yards of the main building when a fireball billowed from every side of the building. Flames shot out far enough to engulf the big SUV and it left the road and overturned in a fiery heap. The explosion’s shock wave hit the windshield of the car Jana was in head on, shattering it into a thousand shards of safety glass. Jana ducked just in time for the glass bullets to go over her head but the driver’s reflexes weren’t quick enough. His hands left the wheel and grabbed his face as dozens of the projectiles hit. The car careened off the narrow asphalt road and came to a stop when Jana yanked the emergency brake handle between the seats.
She left the car and assessed the situation. No one made it out of the Suburban, which was by then fully involved in orange flames. The driver of the car was shrieking in pain, blinded by glass in his eyes. The closest intact building was the storage shed she had hidden in earlier, fifty yards away. She sprinted to it and climbed up into the driver’s seat of the John Deere tractor inside. The key was in the ignition and moments later she was on the road with the tractor throttled wide open. She thanked her lucky stars for having been raised on a farm. The tractor was fitted with a front-end loader that was blocking her view. She stopped long enough to figure out how to lower its bucket and was again underway at full speed. She was off the grounds and back on the main road within two minutes.
With the benefit of daylight she could see that a narrow paved road intersected with the main road and paralleled the stretch of woods she had escaped through last night, or was it night before last? She turned onto the paved road, figuring that it would lead her to Hank Harrington’s house at the end of the woods. Fifteen minutes later, his house came into view. Without slowing she wheeled right and rumbled through the yard on the side of Hank’s house, pulling the lever to lower the bucket on the front of the tractor as she approached. The tractor didn’t have a speedometer, but she guessed her speed at about twenty miles per hour and braced herself for the impact as she plowed right through the wall and into his master bedroom.
Hank was still in bed when the John Deere hit, and she figured he peed the bed just like he peed his pants. He scrambled off the bed in boxer shorts, eyes the size of full moons as she shut the tractor down and made her way down and toward him. He backed up against the wall and Jana caught him square in the jaw with a roundhouse. She smelled ammonia and knew she’d been right. Hank slid down the wall and cowered his head with his hands.
“Hank, I don’t like you anymore,” Jana said. “And if you ever cross me again in any way whatsoever, I will kill you with my bare hands. Are you with me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Hank whimpered. “I’m afraid I can’t help you this time, though.”
“And just why is that?”
“Because my car is out of gas about a mile up the road. It made it that far back and I walked the rest of the way.”
“Hank, you’re just about worthless, you know that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Thunder was still tied to the tree in the edge of the woods, waiting patiently. Jana unhitched him and walked him up to Hank’s house and right inside. “Hank, meet Thunder. He’s hungry. He can have cereal. Make sure he gets it.”
“I’m scared of large animals like that. Terrified!”
“Be more scared of me. When I come back, if Thunder ain’t happy, I ain’t happy. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She backed her tractor out of the wreckage of Hank’s bedroom and rumbled off, bound for Omaha once more.
“Thank goodness I reached you,” Hank said to the 911 operator. “Listen, you won’t believe who’s headed back to Omaha.”
50
3:05 PM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
“No.” President Stanson held his hand up for silence. “I don’t want to hear any more of it, Keen. This nation is crippled. Our economy is in total collapse and the damage may be irrecoverable. Your people have had free reign in this whole affair and the job is not getting done. Nearly every single thing in this case that has been solved has happened as a direct result of the work of those ‘unqualified personnel’ in Mississippi. You told me this nutcase had to be in New York or Los Angeles. Decker claimed you were wrong, and shortly thereafter we start getting reports of some kind of command center having blown up in the middle of a Nebraska cornfield. I know you and your people are working with tied hands because of the communications problems we’re having, but we’re past the point of desperation here.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Admiral Stockton,” the President said to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “here’s how we’re going to play it.”
A White House aid handed out navy blue folders embossed with the presidential seal to everyone seated around the big conference table that had been the centerpiece for so many monumental decisions in the history of the country.
Stockton took his copy and paced the room as he read it. “I understand, Mr. President. Our forces are ready.” His colleagues from the Army, Air Force, and Marine Corps all voiced confirmation.
“How are things going out there with martial law?” National Security Advisor Rich Henning said.
“As expected. The citizens as a whole are cooperating, with the exception of a few groups we’re keeping close tabs on. Order has been restored,” Stockton said.
“Very well,” the president said. “So there’s no misunderstanding, let’s recap. From this point forward, NSA Henning has full coordinating control of the entire operation. He will answer directly to me. The Bureau continues to head the investigation, but Decker and whoever’s helping him will be given full cooperation and deference. We still have the capability to set up the full-time live videoconferencing link with Mississippi, right?”
“We do,” Brandon said.
Stanson nodded and continued, “The military will continue at DEFCON four. Admiral Stockton and his designates have the authority to act as needed at any given moment, without prior clearance from me if the situation is such that it is not feasible to contact me before taking action. This is a ‘by any necessary means’ operational authority, including the use of weapons of mass destruction. I do not want the person responsible for these attacks put on trial. I want this person dead. If anyone here has a problem with that position, you are free to resign your post immediately, but that is the position of this administration.”
He looked around the room for any negative reaction. Chief of Staff Arnessy said, “Sir, do you realize the political fallout if just that statement were to ever leave this room?”
“Dick, the next person to use the p-word is fired, including you. Do you realize that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are there any more comments?” There were none. “Good. That is all.”
Only Arnessy stayed behind as the others filed out. When the room was empty, he said, “Good show, Mr. President. Everyone in here saw you put the country ahead of politics. Just remember that politics is reality, even now.”
“I just want what’s best for the country, Dick.”
“Of course, so do I. And what’s best for the country is a strong leader in the White House, someone who can lead us back. But there’s something else to consider. The last thing the people will want is a year of finger-pointing between agencies.”
“Your point?”
“Right now Decker has the hot hand, but as soon as the time is right, we can drop the blame for this thing right in his lap. You’ll come out stronger than you were going into this thing and we’ll have a nice clean finish.”
“I don’t like screwing people, Dick, but you’re right, the country will have enough to deal with.”
“My point exactly, sir.”
&nbs
p; 51
2:20 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
YELLOW CREEK
“How’s Peggy?” I said when Tark walked back into the control room.
“Pretty good, thanks for asking. Some kind of bad female cramps.”
“You missed quite a bit while you were gone.”
“Very true,” Abdul said. He was in high gear on the steg file. The more I watched this guy the more impressed I became. It’s one thing to type plain text at a hundred-forty words per minute. It’s a different world to write code at that speed, but he did. There was no way to break the strong encryption, but if he was right about this layer’s existence, just getting to the password prompt itself could prove to be a clinic in hacking. Decker Digital could use that kind of talent.
I was bringing Tark up to speed when mail arrived on the notebook. It was from Larry Bond and it was worth routing to the big screen for all to see.
Dear Matt,
It would appear you were on target with your Nebraska thoughts. There’s a lot going on and this will be a long mail, but first let me summarize the Jana Fulton situation.
She was arrested yesterday in Omaha on SOM (suspicion of murder) and kidnapping charges. She had abducted an older man at gunpoint and made him drive her to Omaha, where she entered a woman’s home to make a phone call. This was apparently the phone call to your people at Yellow Creek. While there, a security guard of some sort showed up, a scuffle ensued, and she shot and killed him. The police were able to take her into custody and she was subdued and jailed. Earlier today the sheriff released her to a contingent of heavily armed “FBI agents.” Our Omaha field office knows nothing of this. The agents were imposters and we have no idea where she is.
Now we have received reports of a large explosion at a farm, apparently near the man who was abducted. We have agents on the scene but no further information at this time.
Finally, there has been a meeting concerning you at what was described to me as “highest level.” I have been instructed to facilitate the following:
1. A live videoconferencing feed is to be established between our office and your location. A satellite is being tasked to handle the relay and I should have setup details to you within a half-hour.
2. Until now, I was required to get clearance before passing on any information to you. You will now be fully “in the loop.” In fact, my orders are to essentially take orders from you and the director himself expects to consult with you on all matters pertaining to the investigation.
3. A team of U.S. Marshals from Memphis is being dispatched to YC to assist you.
I am honored to be working with you and I am at your service. As you can tell from these developments, your investigative work has not gone unnoticed. I am officially at your service and will be back in touch soon.
Larry Bond
I was dumbfounded. My relationship with the FBI had certainly progressed to a different level since my first encounter with Bob Rowe a few days earlier. That was the first time I had thought of him in a full day and the fact that he was still unaccounted for stirred the acid in my stomach.
“Wow, Matt Decker, maybe when marshals arrive you can be like Matt Dillon,” Abdul said.
“Only if Tark agrees to be my Festus.” That brought the first round of laughter I’d heard in five days. When it faded, I said, “Guys, what do you think about bringing the grids back up?”
“I say throw the switch. He’s going to do what he’s going to do,” Tark said.
“I cannot say,” Abdul said. “I want power but still I am worried about my people.”
“Guess I’m the tiebreaker,” I said.
“Not really, Matthew,” Tark said. “This isn’t a democracy; you’re calling the shots. What you say, we’ll do.”
Abdul nodded but his face was creased in angst. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, he threatened my father, too.” His mouth moved but he pulled up short of saying it, that my father was all but dead already. He hung his head as if to apologize for thinking it. I remembered my Dad bowing his head to give thanks for one of the million meals he and I shared alone at a table always set for three. My eyes burned.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
As promised, the satellite coordinates, encryption passwords, and other details for the videoconferencing link arrived within a half-hour. Fourteen minutes to be exact. Ten minutes later, we were live and I got my first look at Larry Bond.
I envisioned a prep office assistant in his late twenties. The real Larry Bond was balding, fortyish, and anything but prep. One glance told me he worked in the bowels of the Hoover building, the secretive basement that housed a labyrinth of computers and the computeresque people who ran them. It was the only place in the building where Bureau people wore anything other than business suits and got away with it.
Larry sported a casual pullover shirt painted onto a muscular frame underneath a square jaw and several days of dark stubble. He sipped coffee while he talked and I could see a nicotine patch on the outer side of a large left bicep. He was a high strung smoker and quite possibly a geek. Surprises abound.
He looked square into the lens. “Matt, Larry Bond here.” The audio and video quality was excellent. I had it on the big screen and a workstation, and could drop the big display and go private with one click.
“Nice to see you, Larry. Are you alone?”
“Pretty much. Why?”
“Just wondering how I managed to move this far up the chain of command.”
“Hang on a sec.” He turned off camera and said, “Red Bull, please,” waited a few seconds, then turned back into the camera and lowered his voice. I clicked down to workstation display only. “I heard the director talking to one of the deppy-dudes—”
“Deppy—?”
“Sorry, slang for deputy director. Anyhow, word is he took a reaming straight from POTUS. Got chewed not getting the job done and was told to bring you in on everything since you guys look to be a step ahead.”
“I see. Larry, I think we need to consider a move.”
“Tell me more, Mr. Decker.”
“It’s Matt. You’re a tech guy, right?”
“Yeah, I’m head rat down here in the maze.”
“Good. Listen, we’ve got the fix for the CEPOCS code. We can have Central’s power back on in two minutes flat. Within an hour I can have it on everywhere.”
“The whole freaking country?”
“Right.”
“Man oh man, that’d be sweet. We’re in a world of big hurt chasing this puppy without a spark.”
“Shoot me straight, Larry. How much clout do I really have up there?”
“Plenty.” He reached out and took a Red Bull from someone’s hand, then leaned closer to the camera and spoke quietly. “I’m telling you, Matt, whatever you want, you can get. The top is sold on you. If you want to go for it, I’ll go get the director and you tell him you have a recommendation. Then lay it out for him. If he bucks you, tell him you’d like to speak directly to the president. He won’t want that. He’s a good guy but he’s in over his head. Throw him a rope and he’ll grab it.”
“How long will it take you to get the director down there?”
“Twelve minutes. They’re making us use the stairs now to save the backup power.”
“Go get him.”
“Director, I’ve talked it over with the other people here who are consulting with me, including a specialist in the apocalyptic mindset that we believe the suspect is in.” Tark rolled his eyes. “He concurs that nothing we do is likely to have any causal effect with this guy. He’s on his own timetable and is just playing games with us. He’s counting on us crippling ourselves out of fear of retaliation.”
“Look, Decker, I want the power back on myself, desperately. But can we be sure it won’t trigger another catastrophe like Los Angeles?”
“We’re dealing with a maniac and what we can be sure of is that he will attempt to act out the rest of these seven seals. Our position, however, i
s that he’ll do it no matter what, and we can put up a much better fight with the power on.”
Brandon leaned his chin on his fist and drummed the table with the fingers of his free hand. “All right Decker. You may proceed.”
“Do we need presidential authority?”
“No. He’s issued a written mandate of power. You’re authorized.”
“Very well. We’ll bring Central back up first. We’ll get the sanitized CEPOCS program out to the others, and with a bit of luck this nation will have the lights on well before sundown.”
“Good luck, Decker.”
“Thank you. I need to speak to Larry for a moment before we proceed.”
“Be my guest,” he said and stepped out of the picture.
“Larry, your people made any progress on this earthquake issue?”
Larry’s face went blank. “I’m afraid you lost me.”
“Is the director still there?”
He looked around. “No, he’s gone. You need me to get him back?”
“No, we’ll talk about it later.” I put our feed on standby, the equivalent of hitting the MUTE button on a telephone. They couldn’t hear or see us, though they could signal us to go active in the event they needed us back online.
“Strange they wouldn’t keep Bond in the loop on that,” Tark said.
“Let’s turn the air conditioning back on, and then I’ll find out what’s going on.”
52
3:15 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)
YELLOW CREEK
Abdul held his finger above the ENTER key, waiting for me to give him a GO. I gave it. We had the display back monitoring the systems with its big map and it was a cool thing to watch those fifteen states fade back up to the beauty of glowing green. The air that almost immediately started pouring from the air conditioning vents was even cooler. Celebration and back-slapping broke out, but it didn’t last long.
Seven Unholy Days Page 23