“I was just getting ready to call you,” he spoke into the mouthpiece.
“Get back here immediately,” his boss, Kevin Jennings, ordered.
“Yeah, about that,” Keene said, “I think I need to stay here awhile. I need to check something out.”
“No, you need to get back here immediately. Turn on the TV.”
“What’s happened?”
“Just do it!” came the reply.
Keene pushed past the group of men and pushed the button on the television sitting on a makeshift stand. It only took a few moments for him and the others to see what was happening.
Every channel had interrupted programming, now covering the breaking news. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky from devastated buildings. Bridges and highways melted into a pile of searing red metal. Ash and debris covered the entire landscape. Cars were turned over and blown to bits. Then the camera changed. A new city. Same result. Then another. Then another. Finally the images ended. The cameras returned to the news station. A disheveled-looking man in blue jeans and a sweater sat in front of the camera. He opened his mouth and said the words that would change the course of history.
“Ladies and gentlemen, less than ten minutes ago, the entire West Coast of the United States of America was attacked. It appears to be a nuclear strike. Every major city from San Diego to Seattle. The death toll has to be in the millions….”
PART 1: THE PROPHET
CHAPTER 1
Two Weeks Earlier
The man sat in front of the small camera, rehearsing what he was about to say. Behind him, the wall was dotted with computer monitors, all displaying different news websites, with the screens zoomed in showing today’s date. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his cheek as he bit into his lower lip, trying to calm himself. He was moments away from doing something that couldn’t be undone.
He’d wrestled with himself the last three days, knowing what would happen if he didn’t do as he was instructed. He’d cried out in desperation, begging that he wouldn’t have to be the one. He’d even tried to bargain his way out of it. But it was no use. This would be done. If not him then someone else. But no. It was his charge. Given to him with explicit instructions. He would be obedient and do as he was instructed.
The clock on the wall ticked down the seconds as he stared into the camera. This was it. In a matter of minutes, his life would change.
Everyone’s life would change.
He rehearsed his lines, though he knew them by heart. There would be no teleprompter. There would be no script. There would only be him. And the camera, of course. And the person who would receive this message.
A small television sat off to the side, monitoring the feed. He could see his image staring back at him. He watched as the second hand ticked off the final seconds. Tick. Tick. And then it was time.
The red light above the lens flicked on. With the remote in his hand, he zoomed in and watched the monitor. This was it. No turning back.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out again. His heart was pounding through his chest. He opened his eyes and set his jaw firm. And then he began.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been commanded to give you a message.”
CHAPTER 2
The sun had begun to set over Washington, DC, as the streets bustled with the commuters going home from work. Slivering rays of light pierced their way through the buildings, making way for the cool early summer breeze that wound its way off the Potomac and into the city streets. Soon the breeze would give way to the hot midsummer. Soon you would be able to see, as well as feel, the heat wafting up from the pavement, making DC inhabitants wistful for the pleasantries of June.
The president was just a few minutes away from giving his highly anticipated speech on health-care reform. Rarely did a president call together both chambers of Congress for the purpose of an address to the nation outside of the State of the Union address. But since President Calvin Grant had taken office, it had been one of his major priorities to put an end to all of the infighting with the health-care industry once and for all. This speech was to be the exclamation point at the end of a three-year, grueling bipartisan reform effort. Though it was no secret that the president had been working on the new policy, details of it were. The only thing that had been leaked so far had been the fact that President Grant had successfully achieved what none of his three predecessors could, a comprehensive bill with regulation that all parties agreed upon. Outside of that, not even a hint of what was to come had been available, which had every news anchor and pundit both frustrated and in anticipation.
The news anchors outside the Capitol seemed to be in deep conversation with their cameras, floating their ideas and predictions of what was to come. And then, as if being led by a conductor, they all nodded in unison, each to his respective camera, signifying the president’s speech was about to begin.
Inside the chamber of the House of Representatives, significant leaders, from both parties, lined the aisleway, hoping to get a photo opportunity with President Grant as he passed by. The room, as was typical for this sort of event, was a cacophony of noise as everyone continued conversations and settled in. Finally the outer doors to the House chamber swung open, and the sergeant at arms entered. Immediately the room quieted, as if someone flipped a switch. Then came the announcement.
“Mr. Speaker, the president of the United States!”
As was traditional, the room was again flooded with noise as the members of the Senate and House, along with everyone else in attendance, stood and applauded as the president slowly made his way to the floor of the chamber, shaking hands, signing autographs, and posing for pictures along the way. Finally, with the business of being sociable behind him, President Grant held his hands up to quiet the almost eight-minute opening ovation.
Only a few moments later and the speech was in full swing, and the president had wasted no time in commanding the attention of the entire nation. So far, the speech had lived up to its expectations. With the news of his wife being diagnosed with cancer only a few weeks earlier, he was expected to deliver a stunning blow to the health-care reformers. And with the content of the speech being perhaps the closest-kept secret in all of Washington, the entire room, as well as the rest of the country waited on bated breath to hear what the president had to say. That and the fact that President Grant was thought of as perhaps one of the most beloved presidents in recent history, it was a sure bet that this address would go on record as being one of the most viewed events in all of television history, not just presidential history.
Homes all across the country were tuning in to hear what the president would say. Ratings were already pouring in from all over the country. Indeed, this was already a record-setting event. Within the first ten minutes, the reports were already surpassing the collective quarterly ratings. President Calvin Grant had the nation waiting on bated breath for his next thought.
The speech was just over forty-five minutes when, just as promised, President Grant landed his final blow. The news was simple. He had already been working with members of Congress and had the support needed to change the health-care system. His plan would strip away the potential for many of the frivolous lawsuits that plagued the industry. New law was being introduced to allow Americans unprecedented access to good health insurance. And there were major stipulations being put on the insurance companies, regulating how they underwrote policies and collected revenue. No longer would there be massive abuses, deterioration of services, and rising costs. The message was simple. There was about to be a complete overhaul of the American medical system. An overhaul that would eliminate the government-run policies of previous administrations and give the medical field back to the private sector, but with some “seat belts,” as President Grant liked to call it.
The speech ended in thunderous applause. And though there had been some lines drawn previously in the speech between parties, the final five minute
s brought both sides of the chamber to their feet in rousing cheers.
After the speech, President Grant made his way through the chamber, once again pausing for photos and signing autographs. He tried to be as pleasant as he could, but there were bigger things on his mind right now. Tess, his wife, was at home, lying in bed. He wanted nothing more than to get home and see how she felt.
After another fifteen minutes of meet-and-greet obligations, he finally excused himself, reminding everyone where he really needed to be right now. He asked the Secret Service agent in charge of his detail to make ready the motorcade. He wanted to leave in the next few minutes.
The drive back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was quiet. He waved to the guard as the car passed through the security entrance. Once inside, he headed straight upstairs to the private residence.
Tess was lying in bed and greeted him with a huge smile.
“You were amazing, Calvin. I’m so proud of you.”
“Nah,” he brushed it off. “Just a bunch of no-good politicians trying to make things worse is all we are!”
“I wish I could’ve been there.”
“Me, too, Tess,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He took her hand in his and kissed it gently. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said, standing back up. “Besides, I’m going to go surf the net and see all the good stuff they’re saying about me!” He winked.
Tess smiled back at him and said, “Don’t stay up too late. You need your rest.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He left her to sleep and stepped into his private office. He sat down and turned on the monitor to wake up the computer. In just a few moments, the desktop came alive. He opened a browser window and typed in his search. Already, there were over twenty-five thousand results for his speech. He was looking down the list when he heard a ding. His private e-mail.
He assumed it was one of his staff, congratulating him on a successful speech. He decided to check it because, well, he thought at least one positive response would be nice before he started sifting through all the negative ones.
Opening the mail server he saw the new message. There was no subject. There was no return address. He didn’t think much of it, so he double-clicked the icon and watched it open. It was a video. And it definitely wasn’t from one of his staff. But he was afraid that he knew who this was. And what this was about. He had heard from this man before. Just not like this. How did you get into my private e-mail? he thought. He stared at the still image of the man on the screen. Should he call for Agent Green? Should he just step away from the computer and not touch anything? No, he decided. He wanted to see it. He pushed PLAY.
The man sat still on a stool and stared into the camera. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and clung to the top of the bandana that covered every inch of his face below the eyes. He wore a plain, long-sleeved, white T-shirt and blue jeans. His shoes were everyday work boots. All in all, a very nondescript, average-looking man—with the exception of the face, of course. Behind him stood a white wall with what appeared to be computer monitors with websites showing today’s date.
A few seconds, which might as well have been hours, passed as the strange man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes again, he began to speak.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been commanded to give you a message.”
The man swallowed hard and then continued, “I am a servant of the Lord Most High. And I have been instructed to warn you. Since the days of our forefathers, the United States has become a prosperous nation, strong in her defenses. She has done great moral things in the name of peace and freedom. She has been an open door for those who are in search of something greater. And she has brought stability to the world.”
The man blinked hard and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“But,” he continued, “‘I have this against you,’ says the Lord. ‘That you have abandoned the love you had at first.’
“Therefore, thus says the Lord, ‘Behold, the day of the Lord comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it. For the stars of the heavens and their constellations will not give their light; the sun will be dark at its rising, and the moon will not shed its light. I will punish the world for its evil, and the wicked for their iniquity; I will put an end to the pomp of the arrogant, and lay low the pompous pride of the ruthless. I will make people more rare than fine gold, and mankind than the gold of Ophir. Therefore I will make the heavens tremble, and the earth will be shaken out of its place, at the wrath of the Lord of hosts in the day of his fierce anger. Behold, my anger and my wrath will be poured out on this place, upon man and beast, upon the trees of the field and the fruit of the ground; it will burn and not be quenched.’
“Yet fourteen days, and the United States shall be overthrown!”
CHAPTER 3
Jon Keene started every day the same. Up at five fifteen, dressed by five twenty-five, and out the door by five thirty. He usually tried to keep at least a seven-minute mile pace, but lately he was beginning to feel the effects of his thirty-seven-year-old body. A couple minor football injuries in his teens, several combat tours in his midtwenties, and a sore back from a recent golf outing were all barking at him right now as he pushed himself through the last quarter mile of his daily run.
He saw the black SUV parked in his driveway from two hundred yards out. Not a big deal. He was used to it. Jennings sent people to fetch him all the time. But not this early. No matter, he wasn’t going anywhere without a shower and a quick bite to eat. Whoever it was, probably some errand runner, would just have to wait.
The back window of the Tahoe slid down as he slowed his pace to a walk and made his way alongside the drive.
“Good morning, Jon,” the man said.
“Yeah … it was.” Keene folded his arms and stood stiff.
The door opened and Kevin Jennings, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, stepped out.
“We need to go. I’ll give you ten minutes to shower and change.”
Keene feigned a smile at his boss. “I’m touched that you came yourself. What? Couldn’t find a staffer to come pick me up?”
Jennings dismissed Keene’s mock humor. “Ten minutes. And make them good. We’re going to see the Man.”
Keene noted Jennings’s seriousness and turned toward the house without another word. He unlocked the door and went inside.
He took the stairs two at a time, shedding clothes along the way. He had been to the White House a couple times. But never at six o’clock in the morning. Never to meet the president—usually just to pick up a dignitary of some sort. And never escorted personally by the director of the CIA. Surely this couldn’t have anything to do with that quack who hacked the Black-Ops list last week from the CIA, he thought. “Nah,” he said aloud to no one, “probably sending me to bring in some high-level asset from Iran or something.”
He turned the lever on the shower and didn’t even wait for the water to warm before jumping in. This, too, was part of his ritual. The initial shock to the body of the cold water got his blood pumping and woke him up mentally.
Nine minutes later, Jon Keene stepped out of his house, shirt untucked, tie draped over his shoulder, and a blueberry muffin dangling from his mouth, as he held his coffee in one hand and his keys in the other.
“You could’ve finished getting dressed,” Jennings said.
“You said ten minutes,” Keene answered opening the door on the other side.
CHAPTER 4
President Grant checked himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. He had already been up for an hour and a half, not that he’d slept any last night. The video from the man calling himself the Prophet had left a foul taste in his mouth. And not because this Prophet was giving him orders, or trying to. Calvin Grant was not a man given to ego. Yes, he took himself serious
ly, but only in the sense that he was charged with the most powerful office in the world. In actuality, the office served to humble him.
Calvin Grant, born Calvin Lincoln Grant, was the cliché American dream. He’d spent his youth living in the projects of Nashville, Tennessee, fighting just to stay out of trouble long enough to get the education his mother had begged him to understand was vital to change his life and his economic situation. He had listened to her. And along the way, he quickly learned two important lessons: Those who sought to achieve great things, more often than not achieved great things. But those who sought to serve their fellow man achieved something that no title or amount of money could buy.
He had been in his third year at Middle Tennessee State University when he met his wife. Tess, short for Tessania, had wrecked his world from the moment he laid eyes on her. He had been walking across campus with his head down when he ran into her. Literally. After he knocked her and her books to the ground, he bent down to help her pick up the mess, stringing together a line of apologies. That is, until he looked up and saw her for the first time. Her smile, her eyes, her hair, all captivated him and held his tongue ransom for words.
She had finally broken the silence by introducing herself. He took her hand to shake it and noticed the book she had been holding. A Bible. Before he could turn and leave, she took the initiative and asked if he went to church. He told her that he had, sometimes. On Christmas and Easter, for sure. The look she had given him was one of pity. Then she invited him to a Bible study at a friend’s house that night. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Twenty-eight years of marriage, a masters in public policy from Georgetown University and then a law degree from Pepperdine, three kids and a grandchild on the way, and two terms as governor of the great state of Tennessee later, Calvin Grant occupied the highest office of the land. And having just finished his morning quiet time in the scriptures, he was about to walk into a meeting that scared him for sure. One that he had asked for, but nevertheless the subject of this meeting shook him to his core. It would not be fun. For anyone present. For what he was about to suggest would immediately call into question his sanity, and quite possibly his ability to run the country.
The 13: Fall Page 2