Wear Something Red
Page 54
Chapter 54
The vest was gone. He’d taken it off after letting the three women go and tossed it onto the ones they’d left behind. He had then spent the time since he’d talked to McGowan just looking at either Mattie or Leo.
McGowan was quite inconsequential. Letting her think he was a madman would make her end a bit easier to take. These valiant Americans would die thinking they had just stumbled into a nest of insane vipers, not the first wave of a tide his people were sending across a country that sorely needed to regain its confidence and reassert itself on the world stage. The United States of America was more than just a bully police force that other nations hated, including many who counted themselves as allies, but still turned to when someone needed a beat down.
They’d think his men were apostles to his messianic, lunatic fringe militia movement, but he was the only apostle here. Only he and the other apostles knew who the real messiah was. Only Proteus knew how the fortunes of America and its people were going to play out because only Proteus controlled what happened next. Decades of patient planning was coming to fruition.
With so many operations planned in the coming years to keep the momentum going, they would soon learn of the others. This operation would appear to have been nipped in the bud, but it had been a suicide mission from the beginning. He would go down a believer knowing the work would continue until it solidified America’s spine once again.
He went over to Mattie, picked her up and placed her on the hard, bare cot he slept on. He folded her arms across her chest.
“It’s a shame, really.” He checked his watch before peeking out the front window to confirm the aerial surveillance was gone and the snipers were returning to their command center.
Leo groaned and clutched his leg.
He said to Jones, “In her own way, she still had so much more to offer.”
Leo nodded vigorously, as if he believed his emphatic agreement would somehow lead to his release. That was Leo Jones; the consummate ass-kissing politician to the very end.
He kissed Mattie’s forehead before wiping his eyes.
His phone rang. “Hello, Harry. What’s the progress report?”
The phone crackled with every word Madsen said, “The helicopters and planes are gone. The snipers are coming in.” The phone went silent for a moment. “Sorry, Mort, the battery’s dying. The bomb . . .” He waited through more crackling and another moment of silence. “. . . call you right back.”
The connection broke.
Madsen was probably about to tell him the bomb squad, ATF and the National Guard were on their way back. The round up was on schedule. The monitors displayed no unexpected activity. McGowan was gathering the kids and the civilians together at the first-aid station to await their end.
He said to Leo, “Get out.”
Jones wasted no time crawling through the doorway. He didn’t even ask to get the vest removed. At the top of the stairs, he checked to see if his captor had changed his mind.
Colter’s smartphone rang. “Why are you calling me on this phone?”
“Hello, Mort,” McGowan said, “how’s it hangin’?”
Jones had pulled himself up using the railing.
He drew his Colt and fired twice at him.
Jones grunted, collapsed and tumbled down the stairs.
McGowan said, “What was that?”
“Just the end of a very disappointing relationship.”
Rush and Gotlieb came running into the room. Gotlieb ducked out to check on Jones. He held a thumb up when he returned.
“Sorry for the delay, Mort. You won’t believe this, but in all the excitement no one thought to make sure their phones were fully charged. We had to look everywhere before we found just the right one.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe there is anything left for us to talk about.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. I just wanted to thank you for your input that helped get me this job.” She paused. “Oh yes, and to let you know we’ve sent out emails to all major news services giving them the details of what’s happening and identifying you and your men as the perpetrators. How’s that sound to you?”
He scowled at his phone. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You shouldn’t have come after my daughter, you sadistic, vicious prick.”
His phone beeped three times before McGowan hung up.
He looked out the window to see both SWAT teams and the snipers in position and aiming their weapons at the house. It wasn’t surprising. He had left them no options. These were honorable men and women. They were going down fighting. They were people to be proud of; perfect martyrs for the cause.
“Find McGowan and take her out.”
Rush crouched down and went to the window. He peeked out to acquire his target, but that’s as far as he got. What sounded like every rifle there was outside fired at once. The window glass shattered, bullets penetrated through the front wall and hit the ceiling. Rush fell back dead; struck at least eight times.
He called up the black button on his phone and pressed it. Nothing happened. He pushed it again. Still, nothing happened.
He barked at Gotlieb, “The laptop.”
Gotlieb flipped open the laptop and stood back.
He called up Necrosis and Vigilante and typed in the password. The INITIATE button appeared on the screen. He clicked on the image and stood back.
An image of the American flag flapping over the White House appeared, followed by a video of a ballistic missile being launched. The video vanished before the missile could clear the bunker, leaving the screen blank.
All the monitors in the room switched off.
The laptop beeped three times and returned to its desktop display. He stepped up to try again, but a fractal rash spread over the screen in red, white and blue. Once the screen was completely infected, three white capital letters materialized: POX. That was followed by: I’m the HBIC BAC. U GTH.
A text message scrolled along the bottom of the screen: YOU’RE BUSTED, SHITHEAD. POX: 2 NECROSIS: 0 VIGILANTE: 0.
He tossed the laptop against the wall. “How? It was all set. How?”
His phone beeped. He looked down at the black button, pressed it again as hard as he could.
The monitors came back on with a cell phone video feed of Joan McGowan, the teenagers and his former hostages on all of them. They all gave him the one-finger salute before vanishing.
The button on his phone vanished. The QR code replaced it.
“What is that?”
“It’s the code for the fair, sir.”
“What the fuck do I do with that?” He shook the phone. “What is this shit?” He pushed buttons to remove the QR code.
A beep sounded at the bottom of the stairs and in the corner of the room.
“Jesus, what have you done?” Gotlieb pointed to the discarded vests.
A red light blinked on each of them. The timers began counting down: 10, 9, 8, 7. . . .