The Great and Terrible

by Chris Stewart

  She nodded quickly.

  Brucius gave Sam a quick look then turned back to Sara. “Your other sons, that Iranian girl, they’re doing all right?”

  “They’re fine, Brucius. A little cabin fever, maybe. A

  little . . . I don’t know, nervous, but doing fine.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  Sam kept his eyes on the Secretary as the man interacted with his mom. Brucius was trying to show concern, but Sam could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His mind was far away, the creases on his forehead deep and furrowed. “Let me show you what we have here,” he finally said.

  The Secretary nodded to the control console at the back of the OC. The room grew darker and the large screen on the front wall flickered with a grainy light.

  Every eye turned toward it. A broken image filled the screen. It jumped and halted, then came back in a grainy black-and-white video. As they watched, the army general started to explain. “This is from a micro-drone we were able to get into Raven Rock a few days ago.”

  Sam nodded in amazement. He’d never worked with the micro-drones, never even seen any of their intelligence products, but he’d heard the Black Box guys were close to pushing some of the early models out of testing and into the field.

  The general saw Sara’s puzzled look and gave a brief explanation. “A micro-drone is a tiny, robotic, remotely controlled, fly-like reconnaissance machine. Some of them, like the one we were able to slip inside Raven Rock, are no larger than an insect. Amazingly effective, very difficult to identify or locate, their only drawback is a very short life span. Issues with expanding their battery capabilities are still being worked—”

  “How did you get one into Raven Rock?” Sara interrupted. The look on her face indicated she already knew.

  The general hesitated.

  “James snuck it in for us,” he told her.

  Sara nodded. “All that stuff we heard, then, the statement he made on the television broadcast?”

  “Clearly he was drugged or operating under duress.”

  “Have you heard from him since he got into Raven? Do you know—”

  “Please, Mrs. Brighton,” the general interrupted. “We are really tight on time right now.”

  Sara glared at him, then turned to Brucius. “Is he okay?” she demanded.

  The Secretary looked strained. “We don’t know.”

  She sat back, her face determined.

  Brucius watched her, then offered the only thing he had. “We’re trying to get in touch with him.” He wished he had a better answer. It was important. It would matter a great deal when she found out what he needed her to do.

  “Do you have allies in Raven Rock who can help you?”

  “No, Sara, we don’t.”

  She nodded grimly. “Okay, go on.”

  Brucius waited a second, then continued. “Not only was James able to get the drone into the presidential working area, we actually got it in position to monitor their critical meeting. Because of this, we learned much more than we ever could have hoped for.” He stopped and eyed her carefully. “If you believe in God or heaven, and I know you do, then He must be on our side here. Getting the drone inside the presidential conference room was, to say the least, fortuitous. Getting it there when we did was nothing short of a miracle. If you’re praying or counting sacred beads or whatever you Mormons do, keep doing it, please, for it has been enormously helpful, as you’re about to see.”

  The general stepped forward, motioning toward the image on the screen, which was frozen on pause. “We’re going to show you selected video from inside of Raven Rock; then we’ll answer your questions,” he explained. He nodded and the video started playing. The grainy image showed the inside of a conference room, a dozen men around a large table, more standing at the wall. Fuentes was standing in front of the conference table, an old man at his side. At first there was no sound; then the audio started coming through. Sara watched carefully as the other men around the table came into view. Some of them she recognized. Most she didn’t know.

  When she saw King Abdullah standing by the old man, she sucked a breath and frowned.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Marino summed it up for them. “Okay, so this is what we know.

  “First, they’re going after Israel. We don’t know when or how, but they’re going to destroy it, that much is very clear. That by itself would be reason enough to stop them—but, as you’ve seen, there is much more.

  “They’ve also set up agreements to carve the world into spheres of influence, allocating who and what among themselves. Abdullah will control the Muslim world. Europe will be split among the others. Fuentes and his buddies will keep the Americas, a couple of goons we’ve never heard of having their way in Mexico and South America; Xian Cheng is left with China. I could go on, but I think you know. Bottom line—we’re going to end up with half a dozen men controlling the entire world. They have military agreements between them that say, in essence, ‘Hands off! What I do in my sphere is none of anybody’s business. Stay out of my affairs.’ Through these military noncompete agreements, they’re essentially promising never to intervene militarily outside of their own spheres. Suffice it to say, I don’t think anyone’s going to be filing any human rights violations against any of the others. They’ll reign with blood and money. What else is there in their world?

  “China has promised to provide nuclear expertise, technology, and hardware to Middle Eastern countries, making them impervious to attack. Once that is done, who would dare to go after them when they can destroy the world in retaliation? Give him a year and King Abdullah will have consolidated the entire Muslim world into a caliphate that controls 83 percent of the world’s oil fields.”

  Brucius stopped. They’d seen the video. They’d heard the leaders talking. Everything he had just told them, they already knew.

  He started pacing before the stage, his face intent. Stopping in front of Sara, he looked into her eyes. “I need your help to stop them.” He shifted his eyes to Sam. “I need you both.”

  Sara started to answer but Brucius cut her off. “Before you say anything, I want to be very clear. I have to know you really understand. I’ve been sworn in and impeached. I am not the president. I’m not even Secretary of Defense any longer.” He gestured to the men in the room around him. “Everyone you see here, everyone who is helping me right now, is guilty of treason. All of us could be tried and hung. Do you understand that! Is that clear? As of twenty hours ago, everything I’ve done here is illegal. I can’t call upon military units to support me, not any longer.” He knelt down before Sara and lowered his voice. “All of the power lies within the walls of Raven Rock. A few men, those you have been watching on the video here, control everything right now. To them, we are nothing but a group of power-hungry rebels who have to be crushed. I need to know that you appreciate what is happening, what you are getting yourselves into.”

  Sara shot a look to Sam. He nodded back at her. “We understand,” she said.

  Brucius’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Let me say it a final time. Neither of you is bound to help me. I don’t have authority to ask anything of you. And you’ll be taking an enormous risk. The painful truth is, in private moments, I realize we’re almost certainly doomed to fail. If that happens, it could mean death or at least prison.”

  He waited, giving them time to think.

  Sara leaned forward. “How long have you known me?” she asked, her voice so determined it sounded almost hard. “How long did you know my husband? Is there anything about us, anything from all those years of experience, that would lead you to believe I wouldn’t do anything you asked me? If not for you, then for my country, which is what you represent right now. Our entire future, the presidency, our government, the Constitution, all of it is hanging by a thread. I’m not so naïve or foolish that I can’t see that. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”

  Brucius watched her carefully.

  “Now quit apologizing and tell me w
hat you need,” Sara concluded.

  Brucius took a deep breath and shook his head in a gesture of appreciation that bordered on disbelief. Shifting his weight, he turned to Sam. “You understand I have no authority to give you any orders. I’m no longer the SecDef. I have no right—”

  “I understand,” Sam shot back. “Come on, sir. Let’s get the party rolling.”

  “But how, Brucius?” Sara demanded. “How can we possibly help you? What can either of us do?”

  He glanced at the floor a moment, steeling himself, then lifted his eyes to look at Sara. “I’m going to send you into Raven Rock.”

  She stared at him dumbfounded and shook her head. “No, Brucius, no. Look what happened to Davies. The same

  thing . . . the same thing is going to happen to me.”

  He leaned into her intently, his hand upon the arm of her chair, his jaw square. “Daniel Jefferson is down there. If you can get to him and bring him out, we can turn this thing around.”

  Sara almost shuddered, the fear growing deeper in her eyes. Daniel Jefferson. The last surviving member of the Supreme Court.

  Brucius looked up at the nearest aide, who gave him a quiet nod. “There may be other options, but we can’t count on them,” he told her. “Until we know for certain, we have to assume that what they told the nation was true. Jefferson is the only living member of the Supreme Court. But he knows you, Sara. He knew your husband. If you can get to him, he’ll listen to you. He had no idea what was going on out here. You’re going to go in and tell him and you’re going to bring him out.”

  Sara didn’t answer, her shoulders sagging as she closed her eyes.

  Brucius turned to Sam. “And you, soldier. We have to stop King Abdullah. He’ll never rest until Israel is a heap of rubble. And his attacks upon our country cannot go unanswered. The future demands that we do something. But we have only two options: retaliation or justice. Those are the only two paths we have. Retaliation doesn’t help us. Justice is what we seek.

  “Even as we speak, the king of Saudi Arabia is on his way to Iran, into the Zagros mountains, to find and kill the only person in the world who has a claim upon his crown. You’re going to meet him there. You’re going to find him. You’re going to bring him back here, where he’ll stand trial for what he’s done.”

  He paused and stood back, his eyes intent. Much of the power was gone out of his posture now and he looked weaker, less confident, more needing and unsure. “This is the only chance we have,” he almost pleaded.

  Sam stood up and squared his shoulders. “Cool. This is going to be a good one. But I’m going to need some help.”

  “You name it and you’ve got it.”

  “I want to choose my team.” Sam stopped, thinking quickly as he looked off. “And we’re going to need a decoy. Someone who can get us to the king.”

  The Secretary was ahead of him. “We’ve thought of that,” he said.

  Sam almost shuddered, reading the look in the Secretary’s eyes.

  Brucius saw that Sam understood what he was thinking. “She’s here. She’s trustworthy, at least as far as we can tell. And the truth is, we couldn’t find a better candidate if we looked through the entire Department of Defense. We’ve known that since she got here, the answer obvious the first time she followed you through the door. She has knowledge of the area, she knows the language, she is familiar with the local customs. She’s a tactical asset we would be stupid to ignore.”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s just not fair to ask her.”

  “Is anything fair right now?”

  Sara looked up, her eyes now angry. She guessed what they were thinking and it made her furious that they would even consider it. “You can’t do that!” she cried in protective desperation. “Azadeh is innocent. She didn’t ask for this.”

  Sam studied his mother, then turned away.

  No, she hadn’t asked for this. And no, it wasn’t fair. But fairness didn’t seem to be the priority anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Offutt Air Force Base

  Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command

  Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska

  “Miss Pahlavi?” The deep voice emerged from the dark.

  Azadeh stood and nodded slowly, dazed with sleep.

  The colonel had worked his way silently into the room, using a small flashlight with a lens attached to dim the light. He looked her up and down, then nodded to the open door. “Will you please come with me?”

  Azadeh glanced fearfully toward Ammon and Luke, who had stood up beside her.

  “It’s okay, Miss Pahlavi,” the colonel attempted to assure her. But his voice was so brisk, it did little good.

  Azadeh didn’t move, her eyes wide, her hands shaking. She was acting out of instinct now, a lifetime of fear and paranoia kicking in. For eighteen years she’d been trained to be terrified of strangers, to say nothing of men, government officers, the West, Christians, Americans, but most especially soldiers. All of those fears had been rolled into one package that was staring at her right now while commanding her to come with him. Her instincts for survival rose, and she backed against the wall.

  The colonel turned and illuminated the way, shining the light back toward the door. He started walking. “Come quickly,” he commanded.

  Azadeh looked from Luke to Ammon, not knowing what to do. “Why do they want me?” Her voice was pleading.

  Ammon turned toward her. “I don’t know. I think you should go with him, though.”

  “They’re going to send me back. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t have anything to do with—”

  “No, no,” Ammon assured her. “Don’t worry about that, Azadeh. It has nothing to do with any of that. They’re not going to send you back. They’re not going to hurt you. I promise you, they’re not going to do you any harm.”

  “They are. I know it. I have seen it so many times before.”

  “No, Azadeh . . .”

  “Why else would they want me!” Her voice was rising. She sounded weak and terrified. She stared desperately at the brothers. Please! Can’t you help me! her eyes said.

  Ammon moved quickly to her, holding her shoulders in his hands. He looked directly into her eyes, gripping her tightly. “No one’s going to hurt you. I swear to you, it’ll be all right.”

  Her eyes shot wildly around the room, as if looking for a way to escape.

  “Go with him, Azadeh. He’s an American officer. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise, it will be okay.”

  Azadeh looked at him, then nodded slowly, her eyes still racing.

  Then, because she didn’t have any choice, she trusted him enough to take a breath and follow the colonel out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Offutt Air Force Base

  Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command

  Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska

  The H-60 Blackhawk army helicopter was large, black, lean, and low. Everything about it screamed serious combat aircraft. The two GE T700 turboshaft engines, each putting out more than 1600 horses, and four composite titanium rotors could lift a fully equipped infantry squad and transport it at almost 200 mph. Its protective armor was able to withstand hits from 23mm shells, and with its two door-mounted M60D 7.62mm machine guns and M144 armament subsystem designed to disperse chaff and infrared jamming, it could give as well as it could take.

  Standing on the tarmac near the helicopter’s rear cabin, Sam could see that both the door guns were mounted and manned, their metal ammo containers full and ready. He looked forward, nodded to the crew, then slid the combat gear off his back and dropped it on the metal floor. “Ready when you are, sir,” the pilot called from the left seat. The chopper’s engines weren’t running yet, but it was cocked and ready,

  only waiting for his word. Sam nodded to the chief warrant officer and pulled his leather gloves on. Someone behind him called his name and he turned. Secretary Brucius Marino was walking toward him. He hadn’t heard the sta
ff cars pull up. His face and body grew tense and he stood ramrod straight. “Sir.” He saluted briskly.

  “A word with you, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir.”

  Brucius took Sam’s arm, leading him away from the chopper. As they walked, Sam looked around. The army chopper was sitting on the hammerhead at the end of the runway at Offutt Air Force Base. The main runway stretched northwest for almost two miles. Lines of military aircraft, parked in rows of four, and a string of enormous hangars lined the runway, the largest of the hangars sitting midfield. Two black SUVs had pulled up beside the chopper. Half a dozen civilian guards stood their posts. Behind them, another dozen military security police moved around. Halfway down the taxiway, two camouflaged HUMVEEs with .50 caliber machine guns and automatic grenade launchers waited. Glancing up and down the runway, Sam knew there had to be snipers watching. One of them, he guessed, had a bead on him right now, keeping his high-powered military sight on Sam’s heart while others kept watch over the long expanse of runway as well as the cavernous hangars and long, brown grass on the other side of the runway. It frightened him, seeing the impenetrable wall of security that surrounded the Secretary now. These were more than just precautions. These were guys who expected a fight. Turning from the runway, he looked at the Secretary. He wore a dark suit and, looking closely, Sam could see the narrow outline of a holstered weapon tucked at his left side.

  The soldier in him smiled. If it came to an open battle, the men in Raven Rock were going to get a fight. Good for Brucius. He liked a man who wasn’t afraid to go down shooting.

  The Secretary kept his arm across Sam’s shoulder as they walked. When he started to talk, he spoke with urgency. He didn’t have much time. “Do you understand your mission?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brucius stopped and turned to him. “I’m not sure you do.”

  Sam waited.

  “No offense, Lieutenant Brighton, but I’m just not sure you do. Not yet. Not completely. And I’ve thought about this, wondering how much I should tell you, wondering if it helps or hurts to put the pressure on, but I think it’s only fair for you to know. Hard to feel any more pressure than you already feel, I suppose, and I just think it’s important for a man to know what he’s up against before he walks into a fight.” A military aircraft suddenly flew overhead and they both glanced up as the F-22 fighter circled to land after providing CAP (Combat Air Patrol). They didn’t speak for a moment as the gray fighter flew parallel to the runway, opposite the direction from which the pilot intended to land, then broke hard to the left, dropped its gear, descended while turning sharply, and lined up for the runway, its nose high now, its speed brake extending for half a second to slow it down, its dark canopy muting any light flashes from the sun. One of the HUMVEES turned to face it, its gunner keeping the fighter in sight.