“Lauren?” a whispered voice came from the other side.
It was Mike. She threw open the door and pulled him in, wrapping her arms around him and marching him to the bed. She had some tension to relieve that only Mike could take care of.
With Lauren ripping at his pants, Mike backed off. “Whoa! Whoa! What’s got into you?”
“You don’t want to?” she asked desperately pulling at his zipper.
“Of course I do but I know you well enough. What’s happened to get you this worked up?”
Lauren quickly explained the call with her father. Mike watched the footage on the news channel as she filled him in. He had been watching the sports channel and missed it all. When Lauren mentioned her Uncle Bill was going to drive up from Georgia and wait for them in Emmetsburg to take them to Nebraska if needed, he smiled. He loved Uncle Bill too.
“Shooter’s coming! Fantastic!” he said.
Lauren smiled. ‘Shooter’ was Mike’s nickname for her uncle. If Uncle Bill wasn’t shooting guns, he was at a photo shoot or shooting golf balls around a golf course, or at least that’s how Mike described his golfing. As far as Mike was concerned, Uncle Bill did nothing but shoot things.
“So is that all?” asked Mike.
Receiving a cheeky nod from Lauren, he grabbed her and threw her on to the bed. As he dived on top, she rolled away, avoiding his body and sat bolt upright. All sexual thoughts had evaporated in an instant, her face dropping as the latest breaking news flashed on the TV screen across the room.
Russian president survives US attempt to assassinate him.
Chapter 32
“Butler!!!”
Butler winced at the sound of Chan’s irate shout echoing around the natural bowl. Swanson was halfway under the netting and struggling through the gap that they had managed to create between two of the spikes. Whoever had secured the netting had made sure it wasn’t going to come loose. The spikes were immovable and the netting was taut enough that barely inches of give was available to them no matter how hard they tried. He looked desperately for any sign of Chan or a pursuer but none were in view. He pulled harder on the netting to try and help Swanson under.
“Come out now and you’ll save the girl!” shouted Chan.
Butler relaxed when he realized the shout was from the other side of the hill. They must have assumed they had run for the tree line and were hiding in the woods to the South, hence the reference to come out. However, his relaxation was short-lived. The sound of frenzied dog barks joined Chan’s shouts.
Swanson turned over onto her stomach and pushed herself up into a crouch. Her back lifted the netting and created a space below her.
“Hurry, I’m not sure I can take this weight very long,” she said, her voice straining.
Butler took one last look at the hilltop before lying down and sliding as best he could under Swanson. As he cleared the net he turned and pushed as hard as he could, taking as much weight from Swanson as possible. She pulled herself out and they collapsed gasping for air on the hillside beneath the net.
“We need to get moving and somehow lose the tail,” he said after only ten seconds of rest.
“Right behind you,” she managed through gulps of air.
The sound of dogs barking grew louder as did the sound of men’s voices. The dogs had picked up their scent and had led the pursuers up the hill. They had just made it under the net in time.
Butler grabbed Swanson’s hand and they ran the final thirty feet to the base of the hill and the floor of the vast storage area.
“They’re all brand new,” he remarked as they ran down a long aisle of tanks flanking them on both sides. Butler counted as he went. There were at least two hundred tanks and probably the same number of armored personnel carriers.
“Any idea whose they are?” asked Swanson, following Butler’s assertion that they weren’t American.
“Not a clue, but whatever they are, they’re a new model. I know most by sight but don’t recognize these. I know the Russians were developing a new tank but so were the North Koreans, the Chinese and the Japanese. Hell, everyone’s probably developing new ones.”
The dogs went wild above them. They’d found their escape route.
Butler looked around. There was nowhere to hide apart from the blatantly obvious. He pushed Swanson up onto the nearest tank. A six-foot gap separated each tank.
“Okay, we just need to try and lose the dogs somehow, stay very close,” he ordered as he leapt across to the adjacent tank.
He leapt from one tank to another and kept leaping until he was across the aisle and to the next row of tanks and eventually looped back around to where he had started. He jumped over another two tanks and opened the hatch and, after ushering Swanson in, joined her.
“Keep very still and very quiet,” he said in a low whisper. The darkness inside the tank was as oppressive as the heat.
It took another five minutes before the sound of the dogs and men rushing around them began. The dogs’ barking grew louder and quieter as the dogs chased around the loop that they had laid down.
“Stop!” shouted Chan. “You’re going round in circles. They’ve laid down a track to lose the dogs. Every minute we waste, they’re getting further away.”
The barking and voices trailed off into the distance.
Butler placed a hand on Swanson, keeping her where she was, wordlessly telling her that they were staying there for some time yet. Swanson was no fool. She had also guessed that there was every chance the men outside were bluffing. Even if they weren’t, it was unlikely the area would be unguarded any more.
It was going to be a long, hot and very uncomfortable night.
Chapter 33
Everyone in the Situation Room stood still as the news flash hit the screen.
Russian president survives US attempt to assassinate him.
“What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” gasped Jack.
Kenneth grabbed a remote and hit the volume. They needed to hear the words being spoken and not just read the sensationalist headline.
“…and unconfirmed reports have suggested that the bombing of the Kremlin was a further retaliation by the US for the attacks earlier today. Our sources have confirmed that the crash of Flight 187 was not an accident but was in fact a deliberate attack by Russian forces. Flight 187 was carrying the new US ambassador to China, and James Marshall, a close personal friend of President King. The subsequent downing of two US F16s on the Polish border resulted in a retaliatory strike against a Russian weapons manufacturer by the US. US forces have continued to mobilize in what seems likely to be the most tense relations with Russia since the Cuban Missile Crisis...”
“Get me whatever fucking idiot is in charge of that news broadcast!” shouted Jack, unable to control his anger.
Before Kenneth could make the call, the newscaster stopped talking and listened to his earpiece. His demeanor changed to one of even greater concern.
What now?, thought Jack. Had they not done enough to panic the nation?
“I believe we are going to the Kremlin where an emergency press conference has been called,” announced the newscaster with great apprehension. It was clear he did not believe it was going to be good news.
The screen changed to an empty podium. The Russian presidential seal was prominently displayed on the front of it, while two Russian flags hung on the wall behind.
President Chernov strode purposefully towards the podium. The world was watching, and whatever he was about to say could affect every single person on the planet.
“Good morning,” he began in English, surprising everybody, none more so than the translator, who repeated what he had just said.
“I come to you to personally guarantee that the explosion this morning at the Kremlin was nothing more sinister than a gas leak. I have spoken with President King…”
Jack relaxed, his whole body having tightened at what could have been a declaration of war. Ilya, however, had kept to his word. There was still a chan
ce they might manage to avoid war.
“I thought you said, you hadn’t spoken with him,” spat Kenneth.
Jack was about to apologize when he realized he had absolutely no reason to. He leaned forward. “I’m not liking your tone, Kenneth,” whispered Jack menacingly.
“But you said you hadn’t spoken--”
“I am under no obligation to inform anyone as to whom I speak with,” interrupted Jack, in no mood for debate. Jack’s gaze burned into Kenneth’s until eventually Kenneth looked away.
Jack continued to stare at his Chief of Staff. The anger and the vitriol with which he had spoken had surprised Jack. Jack was used to putting four-star generals with front line combat experience down with one look. He checked his watch, almost midnight. He turned to Kenneth but his focus, following his outburst, was on the papers in front of him. Jack shook his head slightly in wonder, before rising and announcing he was calling it a night.
Frank, his Secret Service bodyguard, awaited his exit from the Situation Room. Another six agents armed with MP-5 sub machine guns and wearing body armor were by his side. Jack raised his eyes to the ceiling. The emergency protocol had been invoked and security had been increased accordingly.
“Where are we going, Frank?” asked Jack as they walked through the residence towards the East Wing.
“The bunker,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
Jack stopped walking. His entourage responded accordingly.
“On whose instructions?”
“Protocol, sir. You’ll be sleeping in the bunker while the emergency--”
“Frank,” he interrupted. “I think we both know that ain’t happening. Gentlemen, my residence please.”
The six heavily armed agents looked at Frank for guidance. Ultimately, the safety of the president fell upon the Secret Service and their decision was final.
Frank relented. He knew Jack was never going to agree, and if he did, it was going to be under duress. President Jack King was a man that led from the front. He was never going to be sidelined in a bunker while the rest of America was in the firing line.
With the sleeping arrangements agreed upon, Jack retired to his bedroom. A quick detour into his private study confirmed his fears. He had lost his escape route to normality. The column remained stoically in place, even though he tried desperately to activate the unlocking mechanism that had worked earlier. Finally, he conceded it was a lost cause and retired to bed. After the day he had had, the least he could do was get some sleep in preparation for whatever was in store for the next day. He kissed the photo of his wife goodnight and prayed she would help him through whatever lay ahead. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be more of the same. His prayers would not fall on deaf ears, at least for the next day. It was shame he hadn’t prayed beyond then.
Chapter 34
The darkness was all encompassing. Eyes open or closed, it made absolutely no difference. Butler raised his wrist but failed to see the face of his watch despite its advertised glow in the dark capabilities. It was only when he felt for the watch that he realized it was in fact missing, another issue to resolve with Chan. His father had given him the watch many years earlier and it was one of the only mementoes he had of him.
“Any idea how long we’ve been here?” he asked the blackness in front of him.
“Not a fucking clue, can’t see a fucking thing in here,” came the wonderfully succinct response from Swanson, agitation clear in her voice.
“Can you hear anyone?”
“No, should we go?” she asked hopefully, the sweat pouring from every part of her body as the heat and humidity began to take its toll.
“I’d feel better if we had some firepower,” Butler replied.
We’re in a fucking tank, that’s one thing we’ve got plenty of!” joked Swanson, knowing Butler had meant something slightly less cumbersome.
***
With only ten men at his disposal, Chan had to make some choices. Whatever choice he made, Butler could not get to the authorities. The only risk for such a situation was that they had escaped the storage area and somehow fooled the dogs. Fooling the dogs was possible. They certainly had managed to create a confusing trail that had achieved exactly that. He looked over the vast expanse of machinery. There was every chance they were still there but the risk wasn’t if they were, the risk was that they weren’t. The storage facility offered no outlet to the outside world. If they were there, they could find them later. In the meantime, he needed to make sure they hadn’t gotten out.
“You two,” he pointed to two of his men, “up there,” he ordered motioning onto the hill. “And shoot anything that moves,” he said, leading the rest of the team out of the storage area.
Chan grabbed his cell as they marched out. He would have two hundred men there within the hour. They could then systematically sweep the storage area. Meanwhile, he needed to check they hadn’t got out.
***
Butler switched on the flashlight and lit up the cabin space. The light offered a welcome relief to the total blackness but didn’t really help him understand what they were up against. They were in a sealed unit with no view of the outside world without popping the hatch. The extent of his knowledge of tanks was limited to World War Two or Vietnam-era movies and therefore the complex array of screens, joysticks and buttons before him meant little. He looked down at Swanson seated just in front and below him, a far less complex joystick and screen sat before her.
Swanson looked as confused by the controls as he did.
Ideally, they would have fired up the engine and driven the tank out, but without a can opener big enough to move another hundred or so tanks between them and the exit, that wasn’t an option.
Butler looked more closely at the controls and realized some made sense to him. He hit one button and the cabin lit up on its power. Another had the screens bursting to life. A green image of the world outside clearly showing the view ahead. A bank of buttons changed the view from one camera to another, a 360 degree view. A small joystick allowed him to move each camera even more, zooming in and out wherever he wanted. Two men came into view standing on the hillside, their attention focused on the storage area, looking for a hint of any movement.
Swanson watched Butler play with the buttons and joysticks and decided to try her own screen and joystick.
“No!” Butler tried to stop her as she moved towards her joystick but it was too late, the turret of the tank turned clockwise when she pressed her joystick to the left. The image on her screen changed the cross hairs now aiming at the tank to their right rather than the one in front.
With the two men already moving, Butler had little time to think. He grabbed the main joystick and turned the crosshairs on his screen towards the two men rushing forward. He depressed the trigger and a torrent of bullets ripped through the peace and quiet of the night, ending the two men’s lives and any chance of Butler and Swanson escaping quietly, or probably at all.
“Shit! Sorry!” pleaded Swanson.
Butler wasn’t interested in apologies. He already had the hatch open and was half way out. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
Before Swanson could argue, Butler was already out and running towards the bodies. Swanson followed as quickly as she could.
“What the hell are you doing?” huffed Swanson, grabbing the assault rifle that Butler had thrown her but Butler was already running towards the netting where they had entered earlier and was struggling to hold it aloft to let Swanson through.
Swanson had little option but to follow his lead. She hit the ground and began crawling once again under the heavy netting. As before, she offered Butler some help and the two collapsed once again on the hill, only on the outside this time.
“Care to explain?” asked Swanson, gulping lungs full of oxygen.
“Not yet,” he replied, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet, racing up the hill back towards their jailhouse where their evening had begun.
***
The sound of the .
50 caliber machine-gun echoed across the landscape. Its lack of subtlety told Chan what he had known deep down all along. Butler had hidden in the storage area. He radioed the two men he had left in situ and it was no surprise that there was no response. With only eight men and light weapons versus the heavy weaponry at Butler’s disposal, Chan had some decisions to make. Head straight back into the storage area or wait for the two hundred men that were en route. Whatever the case, he had to get back to the storage area and ensure Butler didn’t get away. He whistled, circling his finger above his head. His men responded instantly and ran back to the vast storage facility.
The massive bowl that held the hidden storage area funneled out into a valley that stretched off into the surrounding wooded hillside of Maryland. The natural valley had been reengineered with a solid concrete floor. A natural green coloring had ensured that from above it looked as it always had. Chan was secretly relieved at the machine-gun incident. The surrounding hillsides and woods would have offered Butler and his sidekick innumerable opportunities to evade them. At least now he knew where they were.
They approached the entrance, and the low rumble of a convoy of trucks joined the silence of the moonlit night. His backup was about to arrive.
***
As the noise of the trucks reached them, Butler was pulling Swanson to the summit of the small hill. The squeal of brakes biting and hundreds of men’s boots hitting the ground echoed across the hillside. Butler’s worst fears had been realized. He couldn’t see them as the angle they had was too narrow to see over the netting but it sounded like a hell of a lot of men. But then, he had seen the amount of equipment in the area below. None of that moved without a few thousand troops to assist.
He threw Swanson to the ground and they both crawled once again on their stomachs to the summit. Their one saving grace was that if they couldn’t see their pursuers, their pursuers couldn’t see them.
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