State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2

by Steve P Vincent

  The security guards looked at each other and then one of them scrutinized the pass. “You’ve got no business inside.”

  Jack sighed. “Bill McGhinnist, Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation, would have something to say about that. Should we give him a call?”

  “I don’t care if you’ve got the King of England on speed dial, pal.” The guard didn’t seem impressed as he tapped the clipboard. “No name, no entry.”

  Jack was about to point out there was no male monarch currently straddling the British throne, but he saved his breath. Another man approached them, dressed in chinos and a polo shirt that bore the logo of the US Bureau of Reclamation. He had the look of someone deeply troubled, a guy pushed into the deep end and struggling not to drown – Jack knew a source when he saw one. He stepped forward.

  “Good morning, sir. I’m Jack Emery.” He flashed his pass. “I’ve been given permission to cover the story of the dam attack. This is Josefa Tokaloka, my… assistant.”

  “Eric Waterford.” The other man smiled weakly and jerked a thumb toward the guards. “Don’t mind these gentlemen. You’re not on their list, but you are now.”

  “Thanks.” Jack smiled at the guards. One of them glowered, as if resenting the challenge to his unassailable authority.

  Jack snorted and followed Waterford and Jo inside. Though there were signs of conflict outside, there was no apparent damage to the inside of the facility. They walked in silence down a short corridor and into a cavernous room dominated by a few rows of computer terminals and wall-mounted screens. It was pretty clear that this room had been the focus of the attack. The scene of a mass murder.

  “We’re here.” Waterford turned and held his arm out, showcasing the computer terminals. “This is what lives were lost for. This is where your story is, Mr Emery.”

  Jack took a few more steps into the room. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “They hacked in and compromised the spill gates.” Waterford looked close to tears as he pointed at a terminal. “A lot of water rushed out of the dam very quickly.”

  Jack paused, then joined Waterford and put a hand on his back. It was time to change tack. “Why are you talking to us, Mr Waterford? Why give me the story?”

  “I know who you are and what you did for this country. You’ll call it fair.” Waterford shrugged. “Plus, I owe it to the people who died here. I’m lucky to be alive myself.”

  “You saw the attacks? As in, eyeballs on what they were doing?” Jack was excited by the thought of an eyewitness account.

  “No.” Waterford cast his eyes downward. “But I heard it. There’s a supply cupboard in the hallway. I hid in there once I heard the gunfire.”

  Jack nodded. Waterford’s mess of emotions was clearer now. “There’s no story here. You’re not giving me anything CNN doesn’t have. I need something exclusive.”

  Waterford gave a sad-looking smile. “I can do you one better. They cut our security camera feeds, but we’ve got a hard-wired network. We caught it on tape.”

  Jo whistled. “Can we see it?”

  Waterford nodded and walked over to a cabinet against one of the walls. He chose a key on his oversized key ring and unlocked it. Inside the cabinet there was a small monitor. Jack watched with fierce curiosity as Waterford’s hands danced across the keys and the wall-mounted monitors came to life with some dark but decent footage. He could barely contain his excitement at the size of this scoop.

  “You got it. The whole thing.” Jack couldn’t believe such an elite team could be so careless.

  The video showed six figures wearing balaclavas, weapons raised and alert as they led a seventh man – Daneshgahi – across the causeway. Before long, they’d paused and were exchanging fire with the security team. Jack watched in awe as they met the attack with cool professionalism.

  Waterford pressed a key. The vision switched to above the external door, where three bodies were sprawled like dolls discarded by a raging toddler. Jack winced. The attackers were at the door and managed to unlock it easily. Five of them moved inside with Daneshgahi while a single figure remained outside.

  “Wait a minute.” Jack’s eyes widened and he looked at Waterford in confusion. “How the hell did they get in so easily?”

  “An inside man.” Waterford shrugged. “I don’t know who, or why, but it’s the only way they could get through that door so quickly.”

  “Okay.” Jack nodded. “I need these tapes and I need to get back to Chicago. This is going to explode.”

  ***

  Callum Watkins crouched low as he moved through the foliage, careful not to step on any dried twigs or knock his rifle against a tree or sapling. He held up a gloved hand, his fingers balled into a fist, to stop his companions from advancing any further. He listened, alert for any sound or sign of their target, but heard nothing. With a smile, he lowered his fist and edged forward slowly. He lived for this.

  He winced when he heard a small crack from behind him, and turned his head to see one of the others holding up a hand in apology. Callum glowered, but moved on without further rebuke. They weren’t in Fallujah this time and mistakes didn’t mean death, but it still annoyed him when others screwed up. He brushed aside some shrubbery as quietly as he could, then inhaled deeply.

  There he was. Callum crouched as low as he could and lifted his rifle. Square in front of him was the mother lode – the largest male stag he’d ever seen. It was an amazing beast. When its haunches were locked squarely in his iron gun sight, Callum breathed. In and out. In and out. He aimed, concentrated on his breathing then squeezed down on the trigger slightly.

  The sound of a steam train whistle broke the serenity. Callum flinched involuntarily, just as the rifle boomed in response to his caress. He’d missed and the deer was spooked by the barrage of sound. It broke into a run, crushing twigs underfoot as it disappeared deep into the forest. Callum stared at where the stag had been, his mouth agape, then lowered his weapon and looked around.

  “What the hell?” Callum locked his eyes on one of his companions. Though Todd Bowles was a friend, right now Callum wanted to shove a branch down his throat until leaves sprouted from his ass. When the other man didn’t look up from his iPhone, Callum placed his rifle against a tree and marched over to him.

  Todd looked up from his phone. He gave no sign that he understood the enormity of his screw up. “What? It’s important.”

  “So is the biggest deer this side of the Rocky Mountains. I had it lined up!” Callum pushed Todd off his feet and onto his back. “Who brings a phone hunting?”

  “Hey, calm down!” Todd took a half-hearted swing at Callum as a few of their friends dragged him away. “I had the phone set to ring only for an emergency. It rang.”

  Callum fought off the hands of his friends and sat on the ground. “What do you mean? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s from my buddy in the Secret Service. We were together in Kandahar. Word is that all the state defense forces are being mobilized.”

  Callum paused. It was no small deal if true. The Illinois State Guard had been reconstituted after the war between the United States and China, along with those from other states that had long ago abolished them. A rung below the National Guard, they were a small force under the command of the state governor. Every state in America now had one, armed with surplus military equipment.

  Like many in the guard, Callum was ex-army and attracted to the pay and conditions that they offered for part-time work. It seemed a good way to keep in touch with the life and career he’d known for his whole adult life. He could keep his pension and work for them tax-free, which sure beat packing groceries at Wal-Mart or cleaning windows in the Illinois winter. He’d signed on and kept his sergeant rank.

  “That’s a big deal.” Callum started to stand. “Must be because of the attack on the Hoover Dam yesterday.”

  While the attacks across the country had been severe and showed no sign of slowing, Callum hadn’t expected them to lead to the mobiliza
tion of any arm of the military. Even the activation of the state defense forces showed that a large number of people in the highest levels of command were taking things pretty seriously. He wondered if there was more to it.

  “Wait a minute.” Mark Pettine looked up from the ground, deep in thought. “Who’s doing the activating? We’re under the governor’s authority.”

  Callum and Todd looked at each other and shrugged, before Callum started to walk back to his rifle. “Doesn’t matter. We better pull up camp. We’ll get the call soon.”

  ***

  Mariposa Esposito paused briefly and then clicked confirm, sending thousands of pounds of relief supplies from warehouses across Illinois to towns devastated by the Hoover Dam flood. She stood, walked to a whiteboard near her cubicle and drew a line through a name on the board. She smiled, proud that she’d now helped all of the towns she’d been assigned to assist. It was a good thing, because while FEMA Area V had deep resources to call upon, most relief supplies in Illinois had now been trucked off. Mariposa walked back to her desk and sat heavily in her chair.

  She struggled to stifle a yawn and looked to the left of her monitor. She’d pinned a photo of her seven-year-old son, Juan, on the cubicle wall. His close-cropped hair was ruffled from play and his smile was so wide that it plumped up his cheeks. Best of all were his chocolate brown eyes that made her heart melt. She looked back at the screen, but before she had the chance to do any work, one of her colleagues walked over and parked his rear on the edge of her desk. She looked up with a smile still on her face. Murray Devereaux looked as tired as she felt.

  “You’re cheery.” He took a sip of his coffee and looked up to the board. “Nothing left to dispatch?”

  “Just pressed go on the last lot.” She patted his leg. “How’re you holding up, Murray? How’s Di?”

  “One step closer to a divorce.” He gave a tired shrug. “Things were going better until we had to start working these double shifts. Back to where we started now.”

  Mariposa gave a sympathetic nod. FEMA officers had been working hard since the beginning of the attacks a month ago. All leave had been canceled and many of the staff had been spending more time at the office than at home. She’d had to hire a sitter. But the attack on the Hoover Dam had nearly broken their backs, with the work stepping into overdrive in the past twenty-four hours.

  “I don’t know what to say, Murray.” Mariposa grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Except that we’re helping a lot of people.”

  His expression darkened. “Fat lot of good it’s doing. As soon as we react to one attack they cause chaos elsewhere. Each time, our supplies run a little lower.”

  She nodded. “And it doesn’t feel right that we’re leeching all of our supplies, given Chicago hasn’t been hit yet? I get it.”

  He exhaled for a long few seconds. “There’s no point thinking about it – it’s all on the back of trucks now. We better just hope the hammer doesn’t fall here.”

  “Amen to that.”

  He raised his coffee cup in salute and then lowered it to consider its contents. “Running on empty, you want one?”

  She glanced at her cup but didn’t get the chance to answer as her computer made a sound that drew her attention. Only emails from a select few people made that sound, Murray among them. She leaned forward, clicked on the new arrival and scanned the contents of the email quickly. Murray read over her shoulder and let out a soft whistle.

  “Big wigs incoming.” He scoffed. “Arriving just in time to congratulate themselves.”

  Mariposa let out a short laugh then reached up to cover her mouth. “You’re terrible.”

  “Not wrong though. Catch you later.” He smiled and walked back toward his desk.

  Mariposa put her headphones in and started answering the emails that had built up while she had been coordinating relief supplies. As she worked in rhythm with the music, the distractions of the rest of the office vanished. Most of the emails were routine and many were complete junk, but all had to be dealt with. She liked to go home with an empty inbox.

  Something hit her in the head and she jumped with a start. She looked down at the eraser which had settled on her desk, then looked up to see Murray beaming a smile in her direction from his desk. She frowned, until he jerked his head toward the break area, where a bunch of men in suits were waiting and the rest of the staff had started to gather.

  She checked the time and was shocked that a full hour had passed. She stood and stretched again, unsure about what could be so important that it required a full gathering of the staff. It was late, everyone was tired and the work was mostly done. People deserved the chance to finish up and go home for a while before it all started again tomorrow.

  As she approached the break area, she sized up the two men from management: one of them was very slick but also very young, while the other had a few more laps on his tires. Yet the aura of power radiated off them both in a way that surprised her. These were very important people. She crossed her arms and waited for them to begin.

  “Thanks, everyone.” The older of the two, a completely bald man, smiled and held his hands together. “I’m Frank McCaskey, here on behalf of Administrator Hall.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Richard Hall was a god to the men and women who worked for FEMA. He’d taken over the organization after Hurricane Katrina, when it had been smashed by criticism about the effectiveness of its response. Since then he’d quietly gone about fixing the problems, building morale among the staff and making FEMA more influential than ever.

  McCaskey smiled. “The executive team wants to express our thanks for the incredible effort over the past month or so. If this were the private sector, we could give you bonuses, but it’s not, so we can’t. All I’ve got to offer is our thanks and the assurance that you’re making a difference. You’re saving lives and helping people.

  “Unfortunately, we’re going to need to ask more from you all. From tomorrow, FEMA is going to full mobilization. Code Red.” McCaskey paused. “I know this sounds unusual, but it’s in response to the unprecedented challenges that the country is currently facing. We have a huge role to play.”

  Mariposa looked around at her colleagues. They appeared as concerned as she felt. The last time the organization had gone to Code Red had been for Katrina, and that hadn’t gone well. A full response to one geographic location was one thing, but to achieve it across the entire United States felt like an impossible dream. It would mean longer hours, more stress and more work.

  “I’d like to introduce my colleague.” McCaskey pointed to the young man. “This is Alan Benning, he’s going to take charge of Area V for the duration of the emergency.”

  Benning offered a grin and a wave as half-hearted applause greeted the news. “As far as you’ll all notice, not much will change.”

  Mariposa looked at Murray, who’d raised an eyebrow. She knew that look.

  Everything was about to change.

  CHAPTER 3

  All available support has now been dispatched to the areas flooded following the attack on the Hoover Dam. FEMA is pleased to announce that all Critical 1 incidents have been responded to and the agency is working in collaboration with local authorities to respond to Critical 2 and Critical 3 cases. The President will address the media today at the White House and provide a full update on the situation.

  Federal Emergency Management Agency

  News Release

  Richard had never set foot inside the White House Briefing Room before, despite four decades of public service. It was testament to the type of work he did that, on the odd occasion he spoke to the media, it was from the site of some disaster or another. Yet here he was, seated alone and off to the side as he waited for President Morris to arrive. Circumstances had changed – for the very first time he had a place in the center of major conversations taking place in America.

  Camera flashes and the low hum of conversation interrupted his daydreaming as President Morris arrived with her
press secretary and a Secret Service agent. Morris was wearing a blood-red jacket that strongly contrasted her graying hair and pale skin. It had probably been chosen by her political handlers to project strength. The press secretary whispered into her ear and left her alone at the lectern, while the agent stood off to the side. Richard watched her intently.

  “Good morning, everyone.” The President looked straight ahead with as much conviction as Richard had ever seen from her. “Today I’m here to speak to the American people about the most severe threat we’ve faced this century.”

  Richard smiled as some of the journalists looked up. The White House press corps gathered here nearly every day to hear the routine affairs of state, but it was rare that a briefing would begin with such a blunt statement. Given the events during that time period – 9/11, wars with Afghanistan, Iraq and China and attempts by the Foundation for a New America to control the country – it was a bold claim. Yet Morris wasn’t wrong.

  “The terrorist attacks that have swept our nation are unprecedented. We’ve been attacked before on home soil, but we’ve never before seen a chain of coordinated assaults like the one that we’re currently facing. The damage has been immense, from Cowboys Stadium to MIT to Walt Disney World. The attackers are well trained, well equipped and deadly. No group has claimed responsibility and we do not know their motive.

  “It pains me to admit that while the authorities are doing their best, they’ve made little progress. While investigations continue, I’ve had to escalate our response, to provide more security for our critical installations and on our streets. In doing so, I’ve tried to balance security against the impact on the daily lives of Americans. But it’s clear to me that traditional approaches aren’t working to protect us.”

  Richard felt a surge of satisfaction. For Morris to publicly admit that her administration was powerless in the face of such assaults was huge, and he knew better than anyone how far away they were from results. Since she’d authorized the deployment of the State Guard at the NSC meeting, he’d been working overtime to get things moving. Since the meeting, the attack on the Hoover Dam had only escalated things further.