The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II

by Craig A. McDonough

  “Ah, tovarish … I’m just talking of my position here,” Anteleski joked.

  “But of course, Yuri.” Of course you are. “Allow me to bring you some good news. The president’s executive powers have been restored, and I had nothing to do with it. The good old American legal system came to the rescue once again,” Etheridge informed him with no hint of anger. “And the potential problem has also been eliminated … permanently. And—you’ll love this—it seems we may have a new colleague in the president himself. You see, it was he who gave the order for Hadlee’s execution!”

  Yuri was far more excited by the news that the missile launch had been abandoned and the madman in charge had been disposed of. As for the leader of the free world collaborating with the Chamber, he couldn’t have cared less.

  “Good news, Mr. President!” Yuri stormed back to tell the Russian president everything he knew … without revealing his connection to the Chamber.

  Twenty-Two

  “First light, Mr. President, we’ll begin at first light,” General Stodge informed everyone in the Situation Room.

  Stodge, the new and humble version, was joined by members of the joint chiefs from the other branches. The secretaries of defense, state, and treasury were also present, as were the directors of the NSA, CIA, and FBI. The secretary for homeland security was again conspicuous by his absence.

  This late-night meeting had been called to finalize Stodge’s plan of action. The plan was code named “Turn and Burn,” and the name alone gave the president a lift. “Why do these boneheads have to give everything a code name?” he’d said to Tom Transky when he’d heard of it.

  After an aide to General Stodge explained the finer details, the general informed the president of when it would commence.

  “And, err, sir, one of our few remaining satellites has picked up an image of a fire that’s broken out in Missoula. Quite a large one too, sir.” Stodge passed the folder up the table to the president. Without Hadlee to pull his chain, he sounded far less like a street-corner bully. The president didn’t need any more bullies in the White House.

  “Gentlemen, there is a matter I’d like to address.” Tom stood up. “By some of the whispered comments I’ve heard, many of you seem preoccupied with the whereabouts of the secretary of homeland security. Most of us, if not all, were alarmed by his proposal to use nuclear weapons on our own soil. To coin an old phrase, ‘only a madman would do such a thing,’ and that’s what appears to have been the problem.”

  Tom leaned forward for a pitcher of water and filled his glass. Not considered a fine orator by any stretch, he nonetheless had the timing of a B.B. King solo, and like the master of blues guitar, he knew when and where to pause for the best effect.

  “It’s come to our attention that Mr. Hadlee, in fact, suffered from a brain tumor that affected his mental capacity.”

  The president sat back and listened. He was impressed—so much so that he almost believed the story.

  “And his current whereabouts, Tom?” asked Nigel Pikney, director of the FBI.

  “Unknown. He was last seen leaving his house with a suitcase.”

  “As distressing as this news is, it’s not even on the same page as the crisis in Idaho, which, gentlemen, now appears to have spread to Montana.” The president held up a satellite image for all to see. “Tell me, general , what significance does this fire present?”

  “Sir, with the forests outside Missoula, Spokane to the north, Seattle and Portland to the west, and Reno and Salt Lake City to the south, we have a natural barrier. If we strike now, we may contain it within this geographical framework.”

  “What caused this fire, General, do we know?”

  Stodge looked uncomfortable with the question from the secretary of state. He knew the reaction the answer would elicit from the president and Transky.

  “Sir, it would appear there are some small groups of resistance fighters out there …”

  “Resistance fighters?! How long has this information been available to us?”

  The president had been under the impression no action would be taken until the area had been cleared of civilians. That was the plan, after all.

  The reaction was as the general feared. “Mr. President, it’s only an assumption. It could well be a natural fire that we need to augment with our napalm missiles, and, sir … if there are any survivors, their number would be fewer than a thousand.”

  “What makes you so sure, General?” Transky challenged.

  CIA Director Conner jumped into the mix and answered this one, much to Stodge’s relief.

  “If there were more than the general’s estimation, they would have shown in the images we’ve received from the drones and satellites. Also, if there were more, one would have expected some sort of a message left on the ground by now. Or even smoke signals.”

  Conner made sense, as did the general. If there were enough survivors, their presence would have become known by now. As bad as the taste was in one’s mouth, having concern for a thousand or so people was no longer the right thing to do.

  Twenty-Three

  “Mr. Etheridge, I’ve spoken with the president. He knows it’s done,” Holmes said into the satellite phone.

  “Good. Have you broached the idea of his evacuation?”

  “No, sir. He had an urgent defense meeting late last night, and I didn’t want to cloud his mind.”

  “That was good thinking on your part, Holmes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Etheridge.”

  “You must make it clear to him that no cure will be found, and that if you haven’t succumbed by now, then you have a natural immunity. Impress the need to protect his wife and children. That usually works.”

  Etheridge paused to see if there would be any reaction from Holmes, but when there was none, he pressed on.

  “The president can have a few of his aides with him if he wishes, but not Stodge. We don’t need a flag-waving saber-rattler in the shelters with us.”

  Holmes realized Etheridge knew as much of these men as he did. Just who was the spymaster here?

  “I will do that, sir.”

  “And when he agrees, make arrangements for us to meet so I can spell out his place among us. He won’t like it, but he’ll be alive.”

  Holmes agreed to inform his mentor the moment he received confirmation, then asked what he should do if the president refused.

  “Fuck him … he can die with all the others.”

  It was the first time he’d ever heard Etheridge swear. Holmes took special note that Etheridge was as cold and calculating as they came. The faces of other monsters—real monsters—flashed through his mind. Hitler, Stalin, Amin, Pol Pot … Was Etheridge worse than all of them? And, what did that make him?

  Twenty-Four

  An assortment of light, medium, and dark blues gathered on the eastern horizon. With a patch of bright yellow underneath, it weaved through the gray colors of the night. It would soon claim victory against its adversary, the night, and reign supreme, but less than eleven hours later the night would regroup to retake what it had lost. The long summer days were gone and the dark was on the offensive.

  David and Roger were in the lead, driving the Hummer. David had insisted he do his part. He wasn’t just some middle-aged hippie growing organic food, and he had told the Tall Man as much while they had readied the vehicles to escape the fire and make the dash across the Canadian border.

  David pumped the brakes three times, the cue to let the others behind know he was about to stop and get out. He had been told to hold up when they arrived about ten miles from the Canadian border. The Tall Man had issued the order without elaborating, and David didn’t question him.

  “That must be one hell of a fire, you can make out the smoke from here,” David said when he got out of the Hummer.

  The Tall Man walked from the van, Elliot beside him. With no point in everyone coming out, he signaled back to Cindy in the motor home to hold it there.

  Mulhaven stood to one
side of the van, AR-15 in hand and the engine running. The smaller towns on the 93 leading up to the border presented no problems—then again, they hadn’t stayed around long enough for problems to happen, they simply raced through as fast as they could. The mayhem was visible, however. The looters had done their job during the day, and at night, the foamers did the rest. The group needed to stock up, but they doubted there was anything left in these towns. Better to try their luck in Canada.

  “Keep an eye to the front, Roger,” the Tall Man called. “We don’t know how much news has made it through to the Canadian authorities. Their systems might be down like ours.” He paused. “Or have no one to operate them. However, we have to proceed as if the Canadians are aware that something is not right, and their first response would be to seal the border.”

  “Do you think they would open fire on people trying to escape?”

  The Tall Man sized David up. He liked him. He was a good man, with good principles. His tendency to believe in the good nature of others would be his downfall.

  “After what we’ve seen, David, would you if it might prevent further transmission?”

  David dropped his head. He understood. Yes … he’d do it, too.

  “Look, look! Up there!” Roger yelled.

  David and the Tall Man turned to see Roger pointing above the horizon. Their eyes followed the direction. Two white trails, one just behind the other, were visible in the sky. Planes. Jet planes moving fast.

  Twenty-Five

  “F-16s headed to … what the …?” The Tall Man was stunned when four streaks burst from the jets. “Missiles. They’ve fired missiles.”

  Mulhaven joined them, and the others came out of the vehicles. It was the first time since the tragic helicopter accident in Twin Falls that they’d seen any aircraft, and they had let their guard down.

  A rumble was heard in the distance, or perhaps felt, as the planes began a long turn. It was a few seconds before the orange-red ball of flame was seen above the tree line.

  “Napalm. Has to be,” Mulhaven commented.

  “Well, at least we know we haven’t been forgotten!” David said cheerfully.

  The younger members of the group, except for Elliot, raised a cheer. It was something to feel good about. The military was coming to save them! When they noticed the senior members of the group weren’t so quick to join them, their celebrations ceased.

  “What’s wrong? Why the concerned looks?” Cindy’s eyes darted from Elliot to the Tall Man.

  David also questioned their lack of excitement. “Do you know something we don’t?”

  “Well, it appears the situation hasn’t gone unnoticed by Washington. However.” His tone was full of caution and his words carefully chosen. “We’re at the Canadian border, and right away that tells me how far this disease has spread. These warplanes are ahead of us, so I have to question who or what they are firing on.”

  “Well, who else would it be, Chuck? Foamers, they’re shooting at foamers.” Cindy sounded a little frustrated.

  The Tall Man pulled his wool beanie over his ears further. He felt a chill in the air. He had to be honest, sure, but he didn’t want to break anyone’s spirit, either—well, no more than they already were.

  “Destroying the foamers with fire makes sense in more ways than one, but as we all know, apart from when disturbed, foamers only appear at night. It’s been the looters who have been active during daylight.”

  “Okay … so it’s the looters then.”

  Elliot walked over to Cindy and put his arm around her and held her close. Her hopes for a rescue had been dashed.

  “Look over there!” Roger’s keen eye spotted a plume of thick black smoke, this time to the east of their position.

  “More napalm, perhaps. There has to be more than a couple of jets.” Mulhaven remarked on the sheer size of the dark cloud.

  The new outbreak was in the Glacier National Park area. The national park was bigger than 1,500 square miles and stretched from Canada through Montana, to where it joined up with the Lolo National Forest and then the Boise National Forest—all told, tens of thousands of square miles. If an uncontained fire raged through these parks, the resulting damage would be horrendous. It wouldn’t take long to spread through the states of Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Oregon, and Washington, and into Canada, especially when helped along with the aid of some napalm. Every living creature within its path would be engulfed.

  * * *

  That was General Stodge’s plan.

  The buildings, farmland, and infrastructure would be almost as damaged as if the nuclear strike had gone ahead. But, under Stodge’s plan, they could be rid of the foamer menace and they could rebuild without the threat of nuclear contamination. Now that he’d come to the president’s rescue, Stodge thought it only right for his brother’s construction company—of which he was a major and secret shareholder—to receive the rebuilding contracts.

  * * *

  “Seal it off and burn everything inside.”

  “What? Elliot … what did you say?” The Tall Man turned to question his younger companion’s apparent foreknowledge, then he shifted his gaze to one side of Elliot’s. The vision up ahead in the distance sent more alarm bells through him than anything he or the group had encountered in the last week.

  Elliot saw the look of sheer dread on the Tall Man’s face and it cast a cold shiver down his back. Elliot turned and faced the horror that had haunted his mother in her remaining days—the mutant children.

  Twenty-Six

  The president ended the last of his calls then said into the intercom, “Hold all calls, I’m stepping out for a moment.” “Stepping out” was the president’s euphemism for a bathroom break. Hell, even presidents had to take a shit now and then. This time, the euphemism was for something far more important.

  The president buttoned his coat then walked as calmly as he could to the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing, escorted by two Secret Service agents. There was no emergency meeting scheduled—he was being kept up to date on Stodge’s plan to rid the United States and the world of the foamer menace. But the secret encounter he was about to partake in would be as important—if not more so—as it would determine his own future.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” The president dismissed the two agents after he entered the room.

  At the head of the polished table sat just one man, dressed in a silk suit with a woolen scarf around his neck, exuding confidence as if he owned the place. Perhaps he did. There was but one man in the whole of the United States who would show such arrogance.

  Milton Etheridge.

  Etheridge was the biggest unknown name there was—at least in North America. There wasn’t a pie he didn’t have his manicured thumb in. While there were many other wealthy individuals known to the public, Etheridge went about his business unnoticed. He was no longer concerned with the mere acquisition of money. That meant little. It was about control, total control. Through a multitude of shell companies that owned shell companies, all run by an army of highly paid and trusted accountants and lawyers, Etheridge had accumulated more money than any of the above. That he was practically unknown, except by other wealthy people and political leaders, permitted him to move about relatively unnoticed. Etheridge had once boasted there wasn’t a major political or financial decision made in the United States on which he wasn’t consulted.

  “Mr. President, how good of you to see me … and on such short notice.” After Holmes had dealt with the troublesome Hadlee, and he’d reassured the Russians, Etheridge thought it time to speak with the president himself.

  The president could have answered in any number of ways, and wanted to, but now was not the time for moral judgments. He doubted if it ever would be again.

  “Holmes not with you?”

  It had been rumored that Holmes had aligned himself with such behind-the-scenes players. The president could now confirm the fact after Holmes had proposed the meeting with Milton Etheridge.

  “N
o, Mr. President, he has some urgent business to attend to. The relocation, of which you already know, has begun. The logistics of such an undertaking require his utmost attention.”

  The president pulled up a chair at the middle of the brown boardroom table. There was no point in getting pissed about who sat in which chair. It was no longer a time to care about privilege.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. You know who and what I am, and that I practically control both major parties. We don’t have time to dance around. I’m here to offer you, your family, and two of your staff with their families a chance to live. Take it or leave it.”

  The president was aware of the rumors about the Chamber, like everyone else. He didn’t live under a rock. However, being president didn’t grant one all-powerful knowledge. Sometimes information that’s hidden from the public is just as hidden from the president. Especially when the president has a strong policy on social reform and accountability.

  “Join you and your cohorts and abandon the American people, you mean?”

  “If you wish to put it in such a manner, Mr. President. Richard Holmes informed you of the evacuation. We wanted to see where you stood and …”

  The president smiled as he interrupted. “You only wanted me to lend legitimacy to your plans, but you went ahead without me anyway. Then, when I sank to your immoral levels, you thought you’d try once more. Is that it?”

  “Mr. President!”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Etheridge. You might be the biggest rat in the cheese factory, but in case you’ve forgotten …” The president was on his feet, nostrils flared, brow creased, and eyes wild as he leaned over the table toward Etheridge. “This, you son of a bitch, is my playground. I’ve already ordered the assassination of one man, which I’m sure pleased you no end, and I don’t have to stop at one!”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” The inference wasn’t lost on Etheridge, and the reality of the threat hit like a ton of bricks. Here he was, underground, in a secret meeting with a man who had just ordered the execution of another, and was angry enough to kill again. Etheridge’s estimated wealth of around five hundred billion, and the power that gave him a say in every political decision that mattered, wouldn’t help him now. Never before had such a high-level member of the Chamber put himself in such jeopardy.