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by Richard Stephenson

  “OK, man, but I swear if this guy does anything I don’t like it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  “You have my word, Randy.” Max was lying to Randy. Roscoe was never on the force. He had worked in the city garage for decades. Randy had already expressed his distaste for taking a police officer hostage. Max hoped that Roscoe would play along and keep his mouth shut. If he did that, Elizabeth would pick up on the plan immediately and make her escape.

  “Alright, man, start talking. Got the radio up and I’m in the hallway.”

  “This is Chief of Police Maxwell Harris. Officer Roscoe Stern, if you can hear me, I want you to listen very carefully. Randy here found your radio on the desk. He has agreed to let you go as long as you move slowly and do not make any sudden moves. Officer Stern, do you hear me?”

  Five seconds passed by, then ten, finally a muffled voice could be heard from the end of the hall. “I hear you, Chief, I’m coming out now. Please don’t shoot me, Mr. Randy. Please.”

  “C’mon dude, hurry up! I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  A door towards the end of the hall slowly opened, and Roscoe Stern stepped out into the hallway. He had his hands up as high as they would go, his elbows locked. He kept his head down and stared at the floor. He was trembling with fear. The closer he got to the man with the gun the slower he moved.

  “Dude, seriously? I told you I wasn’t gonna hurt you. Get your ass out of here man, c’mon!”

  “Th-th-ank you, Mr. Randy.” Roscoe got to the stairs and descended to the first floor. Once he stepped off the stairs he shuffled out the front door and picked up Max in a bear hug.

  “Easy, big guy. C’mon, it’s all right. It’s over. Where’s Elizabeth?”

  “I’m right here, Boss,” Elizabeth said as she rounded the corner. “Took you long enough to figure out what was going on. I like the promotion you gave Roscoe. Good thinking; Randy had no idea I was up there.”

  Max grabbed up Elizabeth in his arms and kissed her on the mouth. She resisted at first, but let out a soft moan and returned the kiss. She ran her fingers up the sides of Max’s face and into his hair. Max let her go and stepped back. His face was red with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry I did that, Sergeant Reed. I’m just really happy that you’re okay. I almost lost it when you didn’t answer the radio; I thought for sure that was you lying in the middle of the yard.”

  “You better not be sorry you kissed me. It’s about damned time, been waiting for you to do that. Not sure how many more signals I could throw your way.”

  “Signals? How long have you felt like this?”

  “Maxwell, you are the smartest person I know, but sometimes you can be so damned clueless. Can we maybe talk about this some other time, like when an armed crazy person isn’t holed up above us?”

  “Yeah. Probably should tend to that.”

  “Good luck, I’m rooting for you.”

  Max keyed up his radio. “Randy, are you ready to come down now? How you doing up there, buddy?”

  “Uh, I don’t want to go to jail, man. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t shoot anyone. You guys killed my brother, man. You’re gonna kill me, too. I just know it.”

  “Randy, no one is going to hurt you, I promise. I want you to walk slowly down to the landing and peek around the corner at us. The only person you will see is me, and I will have my hands up; you can see for yourself.”

  “OK, man.”

  Max put his hands in the air and motioned for Elizabeth to take up position to the left of the staircase. He wanted her there in case things didn’t go as planned. He had no desire to get shot. As long as Randy didn’t have a weapon in his hands, he was going to let the man come downstairs so he could talk with him and sort this whole mess out.

  “OK, Randy? You ready? You can peek around the corner at me and see that I’m not holding a weapon. Once you’ve done that, I want you to toss the pistol down the stairs. As long as I can see both of your hands this is going to work out fine. We got a deal?”

  “OK, man, here I come.”

  Max waited and eventually saw red hair begin to appear along the wall; then he saw a man’s left eye.

  “That’s good, Randy. See? This is going to work. Now, toss the pistol down.”

  Max could see a hand appear as a pistol was tossed down the last three steps, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

  “Good, good. Now let me see both of your hands, and you can slowly walk down the stairs so we can talk.”

  Max saw Randy’s left arm and left leg appear from behind the wall. Then his entire face appeared.

  “Good, Randy, good! See? Everything is just fine. Now, let me see your other hand.”

  “How do I know you’re alone? How do I know I’m not gonna get shot as soon as I come down the stairs?”

  “Randy, c’mon, think about it. If I wanted to shoot you, don’t you think I would have done it by now? I just want you to come out of this alive and for no one else to get hurt.”

  Max saw a look of anger and fear cross Randy’s face as the veins in his forehead began to bulge.

  “Randy! Randy! What’s wrong? Take it easy!” Max could tell that Randy was no longer listening to him. Randy was staring intently at something at the bottom of the stairs. What was he looking at? What’s got him so scared?

  Oh god. He sees Elizabeth’s reflection in a computer monitor.

  “I knew it! Mother fuckers ain’t killin’ me!”

  Randy’s right arm came out from behind the wall. He was holding a shotgun. He leapt the three steps to the floor and took aim at Elizabeth.

  “NO! WAIT! RANDY! YOU DON’T UND…”

  Randy pulled the trigger and fired at Elizabeth. She was knocked off her feet and flew backwards. Before she hit the ground, Max had drawn his sidearm and shot Randy in the ear, blowing his brains onto the stairs. Max screamed and fell to the ground next to Elizabeth. A pool of blood was slowly growing beneath her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The president’s Chief of Staff, Stacy Reid, was in shock. She had a confused smile on her face and was laughing nervously. Surely this woman was telling a cruel joke. She had to be exaggerating.

  Florida Governor Lori Prince had just lied to the president of the United States. She had the nerve to blame the president for a million deaths in Florida. She must be using the term loosely — ‘I haven’t seen you in a million years’ or ‘There must have been a million people at that concert’. That had to be it. Stacy knew that her president and friend would not stand by and do nothing while a million people died. As his chief of staff, she was also his closest and most trusted advisor. He would not keep something like that from her.

  Stacy knew that Hurricane Luther had carried a toxic chemical spill up the coast. In response, the Commander-in-Chief had sent an aircraft carrier along with its support vessels to render aid to the Florida coastline.

  Everyone in the Clinton Room was silent. No one dared intervene. Governor Prince was staring at President Powers, waiting for his reply. The president shifted in his chair and broke the staring match with the governor. He addressed the room.

  “What I am about to say will come as a shock to some of you. I had hoped to breach the subject on my own terms but the governor,” he shot a sharp glare at Governor Prince, “has done that for me. To put it bluntly, there is no chemical spill in Florida. We had to fabricate a cover story to hide the truth from the media. Luther will go down in history as the must destructive force of nature in the history of mankind. He was essentially not one, but four, powerful category five hurricanes. Each time he came ashore he destroyed everything in his path. The hurricane caught us completely off guard. The National Weather Service was certain that Luther would come ashore one time and that would be it. Instead, we are left with the horrible truth that Governor Prince has just revealed. The death toll is closing in on a million.”

  Stacy Reid was in complete and utter shock. It was a good thing she was sitting down because if she were standing,
she would have collapsed. All of the color drained from her face. Why had Malcolm not told me any of this? He has never kept secrets from me. He asks for my input on everything. He doesn’t always heed my advice but he always considers it. What the hell is going on?

  It was clear to everyone in the room exactly who was hearing this information for the first time. Of course Governor Prince knew. Director Jimenez, Admiral Mack, and Secretary Lafferiere were not surprised in the slightest. Shock and betrayal dawned on the faces of those who had been kept in the dark for so long. Those just let in on the secret looked to at least one person in the room as if to say, “You knew? How could you not tell me?”

  Stacy Reid was so hurt and angry that hot tears slowly streamed down her face. She was already writing her resignation letter in her head. She was the first to speak. “Since we’re putting all the cards on the table, Mr. President, can you tell us about the recovery efforts? Is the USS Nimitz able to do anything to help the survivors? Is she making progress with the cleanup?”

  President Malcolm Powers was caught off guard. He had hoped that the answer to that question would be implied. He exchanged glances with the men in the room who knew the answer.

  “Wait. The Nimitz isn’t there, is she?” The president’s Chief of Staff didn’t say anything else. She needed to collect herself and try to make sense of it all. She wanted to give the president the benefit of the doubt. He deserved the opportunity to explain himself before she said something she might regret.

  The president took a deep breath and continued. “I’m afraid Stacy is right. The devastation in Florida is like nothing we’ve ever seen. We were simply not prepared. Citizens didn’t have the means to evacuate. The assumption was that when Luther came ashore the second time, people would take things seriously and get out of the way. I’m sure everyone in this room in the same situation would drain their bank accounts to get their families to safety. That was the assumption we made. Sadly, it wasn’t true. People just sat around waiting to be saved. No one had any sense of self-preservation. No one took responsibility for their own lives. They just sat back and waited for a rescue…,” the president looked down at the floor and lowered his voice “…that never came.”

  The president continued to stare at the floor. His face reflected torment and suffering. Regret. Anguish. Shame. Malcolm Powers considered himself to be a learned armchair presidential historian. He garnered strength and wisdom from his predecessors. Many of the decisions he had made in the previous seven years were based at least in part on the successes and failures of the men who came before him.

  One of the earliest lessons he learned was that a president cannot make decisions based upon the approval of the people. Every decision made is met with opposition. Sometimes the right decision, the one that is clearly for the good of the people, can be met with overwhelming opposition. Some of the most beloved presidents in history were at some point hated by the people and had abysmal approval ratings. Malcolm knew that history would be his unbiased judge. Time would either lift him up with the giants or crush him down with the failures.

  The people in the room looked at each other, waiting to see if someone would say something to fill the very awkward silence. The president looked up and spoke.

  “We are at a turning point in the war. The Empire of Iran must be stopped at any cost. If we are not successful in our efforts, Iran will either continue to conquer the globe or destroy it in the process. When Luther finally completed his carnage, we were already committed to taking the Port of Gibraltar. We could not spare a single ship in the Atlantic; we just barely managed to gain control of Gibraltar. On the other hand, we could not give the American people the appearance that we were doing nothing; they needed to be able to believe that their government could help and protect them. That’s why the cover story was given to the media. I now face the decision on whether or not to make good on the promise to help the people of Florida and still maintain control of Gibraltar. That is why all of you are here; I need to know if I can accomplish this task. We must also take into account that Hurricane Maxine is headed for Texas and is just as powerful as Luther. The floor is open people, speak freely.”

  FBI Director Gill spoke first. “Mr. President, I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking. What are your options?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gill. Yes, I suppose I should elaborate. The Enterprise and the George Washington are on station awaiting orders. They were en route to the Port of Gibraltar. The plan was for them to enter the Mediterranean and head to Tel-Aviv. The Fifth Fleet is in the Indian Ocean ready to move to the Persian Gulf. Once they’re both in place, the invasion of Iran will begin. We project that in six months time the Empire will be fractured enough that we can take back the Middle East.”

  President Powers stood up and walked over to the window. Much to everyone’s surprise, he lit a cigarette. Malcolm had smoked like a chimney when he was in the Navy. When he retired, he quit the habit and had not smoked in seven years. Stacy Reid wondered when he had resumed the old habit.

  “Before the day is out, I must decide whether or not to send the Enterprise and the George Washington to Tel-Aviv or order them to turn around and head for Florida and Texas. As long as we hold Gibraltar we have time for them to come back to our shores and help put our broken country back together. Florida is quickly becoming a post-apocalyptic war zone. Hurricane Maxine is headed for Texas and I fear the devastation will be the same.” The president walked back over to his chair and sat down. “I want you all to speak freely. Don’t try to placate me, please. I need honest input.”

  Governor Prince was the first to speak up. “Why is this even a question? Florida is in ruins; people are dying every day from murder and starvation. I can’t believe anything else is more important!”

  CIA Director Jimenez coughed and hacked to clear his throat. “You gotta look at the bigger picture. I know you’re more concerned with your precious little state and it’s your entire reason for existence. We have to think on a global scale. The president is right, The Great Empire of Iran must be stopped at all costs. We project that within a year they will invade Europe; if they are successful, they will be headed across the Atlantic.”

  Governor Prince was livid. Every time this old bastard opened his mouth, she hated him even more. “Must be stopped at all costs? Are you serious? Neither of you care about American lives, do you? These are civilians, not soldiers. Innocent men, women, and children are suffering right here within our own borders. To hell with your war and your fear tactics! I’m not naive. You’ll say anything to get what you want.”

  Admiral Mack interjected before the Director of the CIA started screaming. “Governor? If I may?”

  “Yes, Admiral, please.”

  “Ma’am, I can assure you that Director Jimenez is telling the truth. He is not exaggerating. In fact, I respectfully disagree with his assessment.” Roberto Jimenez scowled, looking at Admiral Mack with great scorn. “Based on the intelligence I have seen, Governor Prince, the Empire of Iran has the capability to invade Europe within six to nine months.”

  Director Jimenez wiped the scowl off his face and almost smiled. “Thank you, Admiral. I’d love to compare notes with you.” Governor Prince was visibly upset but maintained her composure.

  Silence filled the room for about a minute. Everyone was pensive. The president was deep in thought, his brow furrowed and his gaze distant. He sat up in his chair and looked to the men in uniform.

  “Gentlemen, how long can we hold Gibraltar?”

  The military men in the room looked to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Carl Moody. “Mr. President, without reinforcements from the Enterprise and the George Washington, we can hold the port for ninety days at best, thirty at the worst. The James Russell is a sitting duck. She barely made it back to the port in one piece. Her defensive capabilities are at half strength, and they are working around the clock to get the flight deck operational. To put it bluntly, we’re vulnerable. If the Empire launches a
direct attack in the immediate future, the Port of Gibraltar will fall within days. We are redeploying ground forces to help secure the James Russell while she undergoes repair. We are commandeering anything that floats — yachts, sailboats, canoes, paddleboats, doesn’t matter. If we can put armed soldiers in front of the James Russell, we will do so by any means necessary.”

  The president replied, “What if we send one of the vessels to Gibraltar and send the other one to Florida?”

  “Mr. President, that would help, but it wouldn’t be enough. Allied Forces control everything north of the port; however, the Empire is gaining ground from the south and they will eventually make it to the southern shores of Gibraltar and launch an attack. We need the George Washington out in front to stop the Iranian navy and the Enterprise to defend the ground to the south. Without them both, we lose Gibraltar.”

  “Thank you, Carl.” The president stood up and walked back to the window to smoke another cigarette. He paced back and forth, thinking back to the famous battles from the last thousand years for control of the port. The Romans held the Port of Gibraltar until they fell. The Vandals held the Port for a short time before the Islamic conquest of Iberia in 711 A.D. Muslims controlled the port for seven centuries before the Spanish took it back. The British Empire seized control and with the completion of the Suez Canal, they extended their reach to the Indian Ocean. For most of mankind’s history, the Port of Gibraltar has been one of the most valuable strategic assets that a civilization could possess.

  “Who’s hungry? I’m starving.” President Powers took his seat and looked around the room. Everyone was silent. “People, we are going to be here for a while. It’s time for lunch. Computer.”

  “Yes, Mr. President?” responded the White House A.I..

  “Take lunch orders for the guests in the Clinton Room. We will be eating our meal in here.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” The White House A.I. deployed two service robots that rolled over to the guests. The men and women in the room placed their order on the robots’ touch screens.