Bono held his daughter while feeling Caelyn’s weight as she leaned against his shoulder, her tears wet against his cheek. He stared at Sam, who took off his dark glasses to look at him.
“What are you doing here?” Bono cried.
Sam nodded to the chopper. “Something’s come up.”
“What something? We had two weeks.”
“Not anymore.”
Bono nodded to the farmhouse behind him. “I can’t go now,” he cried.
Sam shook his head. “Sure you can.”
“No, I can’t go. Not yet.”
All of them knew he had to. And all of them knew he would.
Sam turned to Bono’s wife. “You must be Caelyn?” he shouted above the roar of the rotors.
Caelyn pulled away from Bono and glared at Sam. She wiped her tears away angrily and accused, “You’ve come to take my husband.”
Sam shot a look at Bono, then extended his hand. “My name is Samuel Brighton.”
“I know who you are.”
Caelyn turned to Bono. “Please,” was all she cried.
Bono glanced at the house again, looked at the ground, then leaned toward Sam. “I’m not going to leave them here alone,” he shouted to him.
“Of course you’re not going to leave them, buddy. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.”
Sam turned back to Caelyn. “How long will it take you to get some things together?” he cried.
She looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“You and your daughter are coming with us, Caelyn.” Sam turned and motioned to the pilots, spinning his fingers slower around his head. The engines decelerated, making it easier for them to talk. Sam turned back to Bono and his family. “Let me help you grab some clothes and things. But please, we’ve got to hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Blade 65
Over Southern Kentucky
The military helicopter was incredibly noisy and uncomfortable. It vibrated with force and energy and noise and wind, all the combined energy of the turbine engines, the four main rotors, and the smaller tail rotor at the back. The seats were nothing more than thin nylon cushions stretched over aluminum framing, and the floor was dirty steel.
Bono sat in the right corner, looking out the large Plexiglas window. Caelyn sat beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. She stared straight ahead at the cockpit where the two pilots were working, but she didn’t really watch them, her mind racing. She was thinking of her parents. The army had promised to send someone to help them, and all she could do now was hope that they would. Ellie was asleep beside her, her head upon her lap, the adventure of the helicopter ride having quickly worn off. Azadeh was sitting on one of the seats facing the rear of the helicopter, her back to the pilots. Sam and a couple of other soldiers, one of them the Blackhawk crew chief, sat on the other side of the cabin. The center of the floor was taken up with the soldiers’ packs and weapons, all of the gear strapped down.
The chopper was flying at 145 knots, 300 feet above the ground. The air was clear of clouds but hazy, the ground beneath them having turned brown and dead from the coming winter. Bono watched the passing terrain in wonder. Every road they crossed was lined with dead cars and semis—all of them already looted—and rows of walking people. He looked across the open fields. Miles and miles of makeshift camps. Fires, smoking white, dotted the landscape in every direction. He frowned as he looked. The fires were too big. Completely inefficient. Fools! Why didn’t they save their fuel for the winter? A small fire to cook with would have been enough. Soon they were going to need that wood for heat.
The chopper crested a low, tree-covered ridge, the ground orange and yellow from the fallen leaves, then crossed a small lake. His eyes opened wide as they flew over the brackish water. At least a hundred boats of all shapes and sizes were sitting on the water, fishing lines stretched from all sides. He tried to count them all but quickly lost track. He didn’t know how many fish were in the lake, but it was pretty clear there were a lot fewer today than yesterday, and there’d be even fewer tomorrow.
The refugees were hungry. But it was going to get much worse.
He leaned forward, looking behind the helicopter as it passed the lake, amazed at the absurd number of boats he had seen. He could have walked across the lake without getting his feet wet by jumping from boat to boat.
They passed over a major highway, Interstate 30 or 40 or something, he didn’t know, but the helicopter followed it until it turned slightly south to bend around a low hill. He looked down intently as they flew. There were bodies there. Some had obviously been carefully placed along the side of the highway; others had been left where they had fallen, their legs and arms and heads stretched at awkward angles. He cringed as he watched. Men. More women. A few children. It made him sick to see it. It was depressing and discouraging and it made him miserable. Watching the despair, he wanted to cry.
They had to get help. They had to turn it around. And they had to do it soon or it might actually be too late. There was a tipping point, a point where things would crumble and decay beyond their ability to put them back together. How many Americans were down there starving? Had they come to the point where they were killing each other now? How many had already killed themselves? He swore as he looked down. Where was the government? Where were their allies? Wasn’t there any help!
He turned and looked across the helicopter toward Sam. As if he knew, the other soldier turned away from his window and looked at him. They both had on military headsets that plugged into the helicopter’s intercom, allowing them to communicate by pressing a button on the microphone cord that extended from the communications panel overhead. Bono pressed the button. “It’s as depressing as anything I’ve ever seen.”
Sam nodded grimly. “Did you see that family along the lake?” he asked.
Bono shook his head.
“There were four or five of them. It looked like—”
Bono cut him off. “Does this story have a happy ending?”
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I don’t want to hear it, then.”
“I wish I hadn’t seen it. It looked like—”
Bono lifted an angry hand. “Really, I don’t want to hear about it. I’ve seen enough myself.”
Sam turned, looking forward now. They flew along in silence until Bono asked, “How long till we get to D.C.?”
One of the pilots turned and talked to him over his shoulder, speaking through the intercom. “We’ll have to stop for fuel at a little field outside of Charleston. Shouldn’t take much time. We’ll be there sometime after dark.”
“Got it. Have you been able to talk to anyone at the command post at Langley?”
Langley Air Force Base was their destination, the same place from which, ten days before, he and Sam had caught separate flights. At the time, he hadn’t expected that they’d both be back so soon.
“The HF is still down,” the pilot told him.
Used for long-distance communications, the high frequency radio had a reputation for being spotty. Even on the best of days, a user was as likely to get in touch with an HF command post in Tuli, Greenland, or one of the outskirt radar sites along the Bering Sea as to get a hold of a command post within the States.
“HF radios been almost worthless since the nuclear and EMP attack,” the pilot continued. “No one can explain it. Too many crazy ions racing around the atmosphere, I guess.”
Bono nodded and sat back and Caelyn rested her head against his shoulder again. The chopper bobbed lightly in the turbulence. The afternoon sun poured through his window. He didn’t try to fight the weariness. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Offutt Air Force Base
Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command
Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska
The civilian aide paused at the glass door and knocked but didn’t wait for Brucius Marino to answer befo
re he pushed it back and slipped into the room.
The sun was just rising outside, the day coming alive, but deep in the basement compound, no one would have known that unless they were looking at the clock. In the sterile, carpet-and-cement rooms, there was no sense of day or time, no sense of light or darkness, weather, rain, heat, or cold. It had been a week since Marino had been out of the command post for more than a few minutes, and his normally tanned skin was turning pale from lack of sun and air. He was sitting at his desk, slumped back in his leather chair, his fingers interlaced together under his chin, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy and strong. The military lawyer from the Pentagon waited a long time, knowing Brucius was asleep. Listening to the Secretary’s breathing, the aide hated to wake him, but he finally cleared his throat.
Marino sat up, instantly awake, his eyes moving as if he were trying to figure out where he was.
“Sir,” the lawyer said.
Brucius focused on him. The first thing he noted was the satisfied smile.
“We got them, sir,” the lawyer told him.
Brucius shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t!”
The lawyer’s smile widened. “Yes, sir, we did.”
“Both of them? They’re alive!”
“We got them both. It was easier than we thought it would be. Our guys found them holed up like a couple of scared Chihuahuas out at Sanner’s country estate.”
Brucius sat back. He had to think. “No kidding?” he muttered, his mind racing, almost unwilling to accept their good fate. It was the first bit of good news they’d received since the nuclear warheads had been exploded over the four quadrants of the United States—certainly the first bit of good news he’d received since arriving here at Offutt—and he was almost gun-shy, thinking there must be some mistake.
The aide watched him carefully, reading the look on his face. “It’s true, sir. They’re on their way here.”
“How did Raven Rock miss them?”
The bald man shrugged his shoulders. “Like everyone else, they thought that they were dead.”
Brucius humphed. “It’s not like them to make such a big mistake. It’s not like them to make any mistake at all.”
“Perhaps not. But I suppose they’re mortal, like the rest of us, and they’re going to screw it up from time to time.”
Brucius was suspicious but didn’t say anything. “They’re on their way here?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. It will take a little doing. We’ve had to walk a fine line, you understand, using their position to get our hands on government transportation but at the same time trying not to draw too much attention to the fact that we have—”
“If you commandeered government assets to transport them, then Raven’s going to know.”
The lawyer hesitated. “Probably, sir.”
“They’ll follow them here to Offutt.”
“Maybe, sir. But we’ve been careful.”
Brucius shook his head. “Careful or not, they’ll find them. They know how important this could be. If they’re out there, the word will spread, especially if you used government assets to bring them in.”
“It was either that or have them hike across the country,” the lawyer answered.
A moment of silence followed as both men thought. Brucius put his hands together and vigorously rubbed his face. “I don’t think you did the wrong thing, I just want us all to understand and be prepared. They’re going to know. They’re going to try to stop us. They can’t let this stand. They know those two individuals could turn their entire plan up on its head.”
“Even with them, we still need Jefferson . . .”
Brucius immediately thought of Sara Brighton, his heart sinking in his chest. “Is that true? Does the Constitution even say?”
“Are you kidding, sir?” the man scoffed, not so much at his boss as at the absurdity of it all. “No, sir, it doesn’t say. I don’t think our Founding Fathers were sufficiently premonitory, even in their greatness, to see this day. The Constitution is mute on the number of Supreme Court justices that even constitute a court, let alone any direction in such a situation as we face today. But this much we do know: A majority is the key.”
Brucius stepped toward him. Their entire future rested in the answer to the question he was about to ask. Inside, his gut crunched, and though he didn’t know it, his breathing stopped. “And how do we stand? What do these two have to say?”
“Sanner will rule for us. Gainsborough is unwilling to say for now.”
Brucius slammed his fist into his palm. “In order for what we want to do to be constitutional—which is, after all, the entire freaking point—we need at least two of three. Far better to be unanimous. Think of how powerful that would be. No split decision. No muddled middle ground. A clear decision. A clear direction. It could set this whole thing right again.”
The lawyer pressed his lips together thoughtfully. His scalp was greasy and he smelled. They’d been rationing their water, their food, their electricity, pretty much everything, and he’d lost track of the last time he had showered. He thought a moment, then said, “If Sara Brighton can get to Jefferson, we could really turn this thing around. As it stands, we need him, for we can’t count on Gainsborough’s vote. If we have two, good enough. If we get all three, so much the better, but again, it’s not required.”
Brucius chewed his lip, his hands shaking with fatigue. He turned to the large map they had pinned up on the wall, reached up, and gently tapped the red pin that depicted Raven Rock in Pennsylvania. “We’ll know soon enough. One way or the other, by the end of this day, we ought to know.”
The lawyer nodded toward Brucius, then turned for the door. Before he could leave the room, Brucius called him back. “Any word from Stalker?”
Stalker. The code word they had assigned to the mission to Iran. The aide considered for a moment. “General Foot will be in to brief you soon, but from what I understand, the aircraft is crossing the Persian Gulf about now.”
Brucius’s face was tense again. So much going on. Too much going on. And none of it was within his control. He hated the helpless feeling and turned back to the map again. “The world will change today,” he whispered slowly.
The aide couldn’t hear him. “Sir?” he asked.
Brucius moved his eyes across the map. “It’s been a couple of thousand years since we’ve seen such a pivot point in human history. I can almost feel it, the weight, the pressure cooking down. I feel its heat. I sense its power. The world is going to change today. And I pray for the result.”
The aide hesitated, then tried to smile. “I didn’t think you were a praying man.”
Brucius didn’t answer or turn around.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Offutt Air Force Base
Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command
Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska
Brucius Marino waited by the door of the executive office in the back of the command center. The room was built on a small platform that was eighteen inches higher than the downward sloping floor below it, and a wide, tinted window looked out on the operations center, which was a beehive of activity now. Men and women manned almost every workstation, intent, focused, and frankly a little scared, the tension hanging like extra oxygen in the air. They had a plan. They had a mission. No more waiting. No more wondering. They all knew what they had to do. There weren’t as many people as they needed to get the job done, and everyone had multiple tasks to perform, but they were focused and intent and relieved to be doing something.
The entire future of the country came down to what they did right now. There was no time for indecision or hesitation, and certainly no time for fatigue. In a few hours it would be over.
Sara walked toward him, and he put his arm around her as he led her into the conference room and shut the door behind them. They stood together by the tinted window. He was frazzled, being pulled in every direction. She was in a hurry as well. They would have to make it quick.
<
br /> “Are you ready?” the Secretary asked her.
Sara nodded hesitantly.
“Do you have any final questions?”
She thought for a while, looking off. “I have a thousand questions, Brucius.” He waited. She looked back at him. No time for all my questions, her expression said.
“Okay. Okay,” he said. “We’ve been monitoring the access protocols. They only open the personnel tunnel into Raven Rock once each day. You’ve got the proper code words and authentication. No one’s going to question you, Sara. There’s not going to be any problem getting you in, of that I’m pretty sure. People are coming and going every day. They’re preparing to bring all their operations topside, at least for a while, and a couple of hundred personnel go in and out of Raven Rock every day. Getting you in will be easy. You’re going to be okay.”
She looked at him, her face expressionless. She knew it wouldn’t be that easy but there was no use arguing the point right now.
“Once you’re in, you’ve got to find him. Don’t delay for any reason. As you’ve no doubt been told, there is a designated area within Raven Rock for members of the Supreme Court, but the truth is, he might not be there. If he’s not, I’d expect to find him on the executive level, somewhere near Fuentes and his staff.”
Sara listened carefully. All of this she knew.
“Get in. Talk to him. Tell him what’s going on. Tell him I’m out here. Tell him that most of what James Davies testified isn’t true. Convince him to come with you. He knows you. He’ll trust you—”
“He’ll think it’s a trap.”
“No. He’ll realize there will be danger, but he’ll know you wouldn’t set him up.”
Brucius hesitated. He walked away from her, then turned back and leaned against his desk. He looked at her intently. “Sara, we’ve found two other surviving members of the Supreme Court. They are the last ones left alive. All the others have been confirmed dead. We’re bringing them out here. They’re on their way to Offutt even as we speak.”
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