“Take this exit,” he commanded.
“Why, what’s there?” asked Swanson.
“An airport, according to the map.” Butler directed her to the next exit and the road to the airport.
“We’ve got no papers and very little money,” she said as the airport came into view.
“I’m thinking,” he said. “Just drive around the perimeter.”
Another news bulletin was announced on the radio. The destruction of the FBI building had already been announced. What now, thought Butler, turning up the volume.
He wished he hadn’t. The news that he and Swanson were wanted in connection with the bombing and the murder of numerous FBI agents was not helpful to their plight.
The airport was useless in any event; it was a joint private military airfield. Small corporate jets shared the facility with Hercules transport planes and AC-10 tank busters. What he wouldn’t have given for one of those. Effectively built around a massive rotary cannon, it was a devastating weapon with two wings. He could fly it up to the Trust and blast the shit out of them. However, he had one slight problem. He couldn’t fly.
“So what now, genius?”
Butler’s mind raced. Their images would be broadcast on every type of media known to man. Police and FBI would have a shoot first, ask questions later attitude. They were, as Swanson so succinctly would put it, fucked.
A sign caught his attention. “Well I can’t drive any of those,” he pointed to the airport. “But I can certainly drive one of those.” He pointed to the marina to their right.
“How the hell are we going to get a boat with a few hundred bucks?” she asked, never mind what they’d do with it anyway.
“Steal it,” replied Butler, analyzing the map on his lap.
“And do what?”
“I’m thinking Cuba,” he replied. “So one of the bigger ones with a cabin.”
“How the fuck is Cuba going to help the situation?”
“The situation is royally fucked. We’re done, we tried. Now turn over there, we’re going to have to lie low until dark.”
Swanson was speechless. She hadn’t gone through everything she had gone through to quit now.
“Those fuckers,” she pointed West towards Camp Trust, “have killed a lot of agents and friends of mine. We ain’t bailing out now!”
“Wake up, Jane,” replied Butler, uncharacteristically using her first name. “It’s over. Every trigger-happy cop and law enforcement officer in this country will shoot us on sight. That’s not even taking into account the forces the Trust have looking for us. We tried our best. I even took the risk of meeting your FBI friend. Look how that went down. There is not a soul on this planet left that we can trust, other than ourselves.”
“But we…” she began but stopped herself. He was right. She turned onto the dirt track as instructed and drove a few hundred yards down the track. The wooded area would give them perfect cover until nightfall.
She stopped the car while Butler tried to work out the distances on the rental map from there to Cuba. The small map of America was only meant as a reference to show where Baltimore was in relation to the Continental United States, not as a navigation chart.
“How far?” she smirked.
“Twelve hundred and fifty, give or take twenty five miles.”
Swanson looked to see if he was bullshitting with such a precise range, but apparently not. She grabbed the map and noted no scale.
“How the hell did you get it to that?” she asked, looking at the map again for a clue.
“Easy. I know Florida is about 400 miles top to toe and that’s my scale. Using that, I reckon on around twelve hundred and fifty miles,” he concluded before winding his seat back and closing his eyes.
“What you doing?”
“We’re not going to sleep tonight, so we may as well do it now.”
“After what happened today, there’s no chance I’ll sleep,” replied Swanson. She didn’t get a response. Butler’s breathing rhythm already told her she was wasting her breath. He was sound asleep.
The silence gave her some time to think, something she hadn’t had much chance to do since arresting Butler. So much had happened since their paths had crossed. So much of what she thought to be true was a lie. The Trust, could it really be what he said it was? Although, given the camp and the FBI Baltimore office, she had little to doubt. Their intentions were a danger to the United States of America. He was right, their lives were in danger. Doing something now would more likely than not get them killed. It was a suicide mission. But she had taken an oath, an oath of office that she would die to uphold.
I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.
It just left her with one small problem. How to get Butler on board with her and if not, how she was going to do it alone? First things first, he was right, they needed some sleep. With a resolution to do whatever it took to help her country, her conscience was clear and sleep came easy.
***
Butler shook her awake. It was dark and the console clock showed 11:30 p.m. She couldn’t believe she had slept so well, for so long, in such a hideous position. Every muscle in her body ached.
They drove the car alongside the fencing that secured the boatyard. Butler went first, jumping onto the hood and then climbing onto the roof of the car. Swanson handed him the two rifles still wrapped in their protective jacket. Butler unwrapped them and used the jacket to create a cover for the barbed wire that topped the fencing. With a rifle over each shoulder he hoisted himself up and over the fence, dropping soundlessly to the other side.
“Okay, come on,” he whispered.
Swanson followed shortly after and was grateful he had hung around to help break her fall. How he had done it soundlessly on his own she would never know. Butler headed straight towards the furthest extremities of the boatyard, which unfortunately housed the less salubrious offerings of vessel. After trying a few, he selected a rather tired looking old cruiser, about twenty-four feet long which had seen better days but Swanson had to concede did sit straighter in the water than most of the others around it.
“Could we not take one of those newer ones?” she pointed back towards the main building.
Butler shook his head. “They’ll notice them missing straightaway. They’ll probably not notice this has gone for weeks.”
After breaking the lock into the cabins below, as expected, a quick hunt found a spare key for the engine. He cast off the lines and pushed the boat out into the empty waterway. He let it drift as far as he could before starting the engines. With only pleasure craft using the area, it was devoid of any other traffic. The main Chesapeake Bay would be very different even at that time of night.
The engines rumbled to life and within a few minutes were running smoothly. He checked the fuel level, just less than three quarters.
“Twelve hundred and fifty miles and we’re home free,” said Butler, pushing the throttle forward and taking the boat to a blistering ten knots. He checked the speed and quickly realized it was going to take over five days, at that speed, travelling twenty-four hours a day. His enthusiasm waned.
Below, Swanson was checking the navigational charts and concocting her own plan. She just had to work out how to get Butler on board. That, in itself, was probably going to be harder than the two most wanted criminals in the US getting an audience with the president.
Chapter 48
Waking up to his alarm clock for a second morning in a row was another very welcome surprise. Another night without incident. Jack stretched his arms and got out of bed. Twenty minutes in the gym and a hearty breakfast had him ready to face whatever was going to be slung at him for the rest of the day.
The pr
evious afternoon and evening had been spent whipping the intelligence community into action to try to uncover some idea of what was behind the events that had ravaged the world and its peace over the last few days. All had pled total ignorance to any idea of what or who was involved. As far as they were concerned, nothing had changed. No increase in chatter from any suspect group or country appeared to have taken place. Iran, Syria and North Korea were all behaving as normal, pains in the ass but nothing more than that. The only conclusion they could come up with that made any sense was that it was, in fact, Russia. Unfortunately, Russia had concluded the only thing that made sense was that America was behind it. They were at a stalemate, and a very dangerous one at that.
Jack made his way to the Situation Room. A military update to which he had been invited was underway with the Secretary of Defense, the Joint Chiefs and the Combatant Commanders. Jack had the technician dial him secretly into the meeting and sat back and listened to the briefing from the Pentagon and Raven Rock. It was sobering stuff. The detail of troop movements on both sides was staggering. The call up of Russian reservists had changed the picture dramatically and not for the better. What the Russians lacked in technology had been made up for in numbers. Vast quantities of old and obsolete equipment were being brushed off, patched together and sent to the front. Very soon, the numbers would be overwhelming. As advanced as the NATO forces were, they would have to contend with a four-to-one ratio in armored vehicles.
The only saving grace was that with no flare ups or incidents in over thirty-six hours, perhaps the worst was over.
Jack unmuted his side and joined the discussion. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Sobering stuff,” Jack commented.
“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Admiral Keeler from Stuttgart. “Even with two fronts, the volume of their equipment is staggering. I thought most of it would have been useless by now. We even have reports of T34s in vast numbers being transported to the front lines. They were World War Two tanks!”
“It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?” Jack questioned. “Yesterday morning I’d have said they were innocent of starting this whole thing. Today with the levels of men and equipment they have that we didn’t suspect, I’m not so sure.”
Jack’s head was buzzing. Every time the Russians looked as though they were off the hook, something else seemed to damn them. T-34s. They were over 70 years old, and it was ludicrous that they were fielding them. It was probably a classic Russian ruse. Jack remembered the inflatable tanks and planes trick from years back. The Russians had created inflatable balloons, exact replicas of the real thing, to fool satellites into thinking they had more equipment than they really had.
“And it is all legitimate? Remember the balloons?”
“Yes, Mr. President. The reports are that the tanks are definitely of the metal variety. Whether they’ll actually move is another thing but best case, it’s a thousand more artillery pieces to contend with.”
“Camp Darby?” asked Jack. He was referring to the US military’s main storage facility in Europe that housed over a thousand armored vehicles and enough munitions for years of conflict. The one major problem that was that, although the upgrading had been completed on nearly all of the US military, a few storage facilities had fallen afoul of a slight delay. Camp Darby was the biggest loser in the delay.
“We’re being advised that using the Darby equipment could impact the operational efficiency of the upgraded forces,” responded the Secretary of Defense.
“Who is?” asked Jack angrily. He had a fair idea of who would advise against their use, the Defense Strategy Group (DSG). Beware the Trust had once again popped into his conscious thought.
The secretary cleared his throat nervously. “You’re right, Mr. President, we’ll get them prepped and on their way,” he replied, avoiding answering the actual question.
“We have a thousand tanks and armored personnel carriers stored and ready for just this eventuality and they are being held back because of some bullshit upgrade that they’ve not yet received? Who said they would impact the effectiveness?”
“DSG,” replied the secretary tentatively.
“I will say this once and very clearly for you all to hear,” said Jack, slowly and precisely. “Get those fucking civilians out of your bases now, not today, not tomorrow, not after the event. I mean now! With immediate effect, that is an order. War is not a time for bean counters and statisticians. This is what we do, gentlemen. We fight wars, not computer models by men who have never so much as touched a weapon, never mind stared down the barrel of an enemy one.” He paused, before barking. “Are we clear?!”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
A shuffle of chairs through the speakers from people out of sight of the cameras suggested that the DSG were in fact getting their marching orders.
“Were they in on this meeting?” asked Jack, flabbergasted at just how pervasive DSG had become. He supposed they were like all consultants once they got a foothold. They were like a cancer, growing and finding other areas to attack and exploit.
A few embarrassed nods on the screen told him they were.
“Gentlemen, it’s time to man up, take control and lead as officers of the US military, not as a computer gamer tells you.” He hoped the slap down made its point. “Now tell me, how outdated is the Darby equipment?”
“The main issue is the fire control and communications systems no longer talk to the new systems. They will be unable to interact with the new equipment, nor will they be able to call in air strikes, etc.”
“They can talk to each other?”
“Well, yes.”
“Get them up there. I’m sure you’ll work something out in the next day or so to get them talking to everyone else.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Admiral Keeler, delighted at the president’s intervention. He had been begging to release the Darby equipment.
“Anything else?”
Shakes of the head all around ended the meeting. Jack checked his diary. The rest of the day was to be spent calling the heads of the allied governments. He was beginning to think that, despite the build-up of forces, the situation may just be settling down. The Russians, or whoever had pulled the atrocities, would not have expected such an overwhelming move by NATO. July 4th celebrations were on hold pending his decision.
He flicked to a news channel. The panic buying had abated, mainly due to the fact that rationing was in place. No American would be going hungry. The channels were now focusing on the ever-increasing build-up of forces. Stats for both sides were being surmised as well as estimates of losses should the two armies go head-to-head. The more Jack considered the possibility of the two sides clashing, he ruled it out. There may be a little skirmish here and there but nobody wanted a war.
It was going to be a long holiday weekend. Many members of the government would not be spending it with their families, probably for the first time ever. Celebrations were on hold, the normal fireworks display cancelled, but life had to go on. They couldn’t stop being Americans just because there was a temporary crisis that would blow over soon enough. He couldn’t lift the emergency protocols just yet, but he sure as hell could do something about the celebrations. The fireworks would go ahead. He called Kenneth and told him the fireworks were on but thought it best the parade was still off.
Kenneth thanked the president for letting him know, replaced the handset and got on with what he was doing. There was no need to call anyone. There would be no party, no fireworks. There would be no United States of America after today, certainly not one that would be celebrating the 4th of July.
Chapter 49
There was just something about the water that made life better. Maybe it was the sun glistening off the gentle waves, the water lapping against the hull. Swanson didn’t know exactly what, but a smile was etched on her face as she walked out of the small cabin and handed Butler a coffee. He had been at the helm all night
. She had offered to take over but he had refused. Nighttime navigation was far harder than daytime and with little or no experience, Swanson was relegated to the bed. Once they reached the mouth of the bay, he was happy for her to take over. The sea was calm and all she had to do was avoid the coastline a half mile to their right and steer clear of any other boats.
“My turn,” she said excitedly.
“Just make sure you--”
“Yeah, yeah I won’t hit anything.”
“I was going to say make sure you stay far enough from any other boats that they don’t recognize you.”
“I’ve got a plan for that,” she smiled, pulling her hair back tightly and tying it in a ponytail.
“Oh my God, who are you?” he scoffed.
“Not finished yet.” She undid her blouse and slipped it off to reveal a very small bikini top struggling to hold her ample and very impressive breasts in place.
“I found this in the bedroom. I’ve got the bottoms to match.” She began to remove her pants.
Butler, slightly flushed, turned and walked into the cabin. “That’ll work,” he conceded. There wouldn’t be many people looking at her face; her cleavage would make sure of that. She was a fine figure of a woman, a very fine figure.
“Also means I can get some sun before we get to Cuba,” she called after him, laughing at his reaction.
“You know, we might even be able to refuel with you like that. As you say, nobody will recognize you,” he replied in all seriousness. The effects of her bikini-clad body wore off as he lost sight of it, allowing him once again to focus on the job at hand.
“I’ll see how it looks if we pass anywhere. Now drink your coffee and get some sleep,” she called down to the cabin.
The bikini had been part of her ploy. She knew it would drive him down into the cabin. In all honesty, she had been mortified at just how tight the bikini was, it was positively indecent. Thankfully, he hadn’t waited for the pants to come off. The bottoms were just as small and perhaps even more indecent. They certainly left nothing to the imagination.
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