State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2

by Steve P Vincent

  “Let her approach!” Callum radioed to his squad. “Repeat, let her through.”

  Confirmation came in from his other soldiers. None of them sounded convinced, or particularly happy, but there wasn’t any protest. Nobody fancied the prospect of going toe to toe with what was in front of them. Though Callum and his squad were entrenched enough that they’d cause some damage, it would be futile. There was nothing inside the building worth dying over.

  Celeste Adams reached the top of the stairs and waited a few feet from Callum’s position. He put his carbine down and stood, confident that his men would keep him covered. When no shots were unleashed from the Marine column, he started to hope that maybe there was a resolution to this mess. He moved slowly, walked over to her and shook her hand.

  “You’re mad, you know that?” Callum sighed and shook his head. “You were half a chance to get your head blown off just there.”

  “I know.” She smiled wider. “But once I heard your voice, I had to try. I’d heard it enough times over the camp intercom.”

  He smiled, despite the tension. “What can I do for you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m trying to save the lives of you and your men. I owe you that much. It’s up to you what happens next.”

  Callum reached up and scratched his chin, shocked that it had come to this. He thought back to when he’d been hunting in the forest with Todd and Mike. They’d been naive then. It was hard to believe he’d allowed himself to be so corrupted by the State Guard. He’d signed up originally for some nice cash once he left the army, not to be the hammer that smashed the American people against the FEMA anvil. He didn’t want to do this anymore.

  He stood taller and lifted his carbine high over his head. He hoped that there wasn’t a trigger-happy kid among the Marines, because that’s all it would take to start a fire fight. But a shot never came. Slowly, as Callum looked around, he could see the others in the unit adopt a similar posture. The message was clear: Come and get it, but leave us alone while you do. He looked back down the stairs. The Marines were already bounding up them.

  As the Marines reached the top, one unarmed man raced up to Celeste and kissed her deeply. When they broke their embrace, he laughed. “You’re crazy, do you know that?”

  Callum laughed hard. In front of him was the most wanted man in America. His eyes flicked between Celeste Adams and the new arrival. “Just my luck you’d end up here.”

  Celeste stepped between them. “Jack Emery, this man saved my life, whose name I don’t actually know.”

  “Callum Watkins.”

  Emery’s eyes narrowed and he said nothing for a few moments. He seemed to be considering what she’d told him against the other misdeeds he no doubt assumed Callum had committed in the State Guard uniform. Eventually, Emery nodded and held out his hand. Callum shook it. Emery seemed to be in charge of the assault and Callum could nearly feel the collective sigh of relief from his men when peace appeared to be made.

  “Celeste has told me the story about you freeing her from Effingham.” Emery’s voice had a sharpness to it. “I don’t condone anything your side has done, but thanks.”

  Callum nodded. “I can’t expect anything else. So what now?”

  “What now?” Emery laughed. “We start to end this thing.”

  “Here? There’s nothing in here.” Callum paused. “Is there?”

  Emery just laughed again and shook his head. He turned and gestured to one of his companions, a Marine captain who appeared to be in command. As the troops moved forward to detain him, Callum looked to the bottom of the stairs, where vehicles sat like giant sentinels, warning that the game was up. Marines poured over the State Guard defensive positions and took his men captive.

  He nearly jumped into the air when the radio in his headset chirped. “Post 457, this is command. If it proves impossible to hold your facility, you’re to destroy it.”

  Callum laughed. He laughed hard, and couldn’t stop.

  His war was over.

  ***

  “Jack?” Ortiz stuck his head into the office. “We’re out of time. We need to go. Now.”

  Jack looked up from the computer. “But I’m—”

  Ortiz held up a hand. “Aircraft incoming. We haven’t got the gear to defend this position.”

  Jack knew better than to argue with Ortiz over issues such as these. The vehicles had bugged out an hour ago, moving on to the next target and hoping to sow confusion in FEMA Command about what they were dealing with. He was glad they’d been able to take the broadcast center without any bloodshed, but it was folly to think that luck could last. Two dozen feint attacks by the Marines across Chicago had opened the door for Jack and the others to do what was needed. The military force had been the can opener and Jack had found what he’d needed inside.

  But even now, reports were coming in of 24th Marine Regiment forces being harassed by drones and of State Guard forces closing in on Chicago. The entire operation had hinged on this moment. Jack had hoped he’d get a bit more time, but it would have to do. He nodded, removed the headset and held his finger over the transmit button for a moment. A million things could have gone wrong, but it had worked flawlessly until now. With a smile, he pressed the button. There were no fireworks, just a light on a console that changed from red to green.

  The Emergency Alert System had been switched on in 1997 and upgraded continuously since. It was designed to allow the President to speak to the entire nation for ten minutes, or to disseminate information about more localized events such as disasters and extreme weather. Following the FEMA takeover, it had been further upgraded still, with one primary transmission center commissioned in each state capital and many other major cities. Jack was thankful that Chicago made the cut. He’d received a crash course in the system from Hickens over the telephone, prior to the assault on the station. He hoped he’d done everything right. The green light flashing on the console gave him hope he had, that the information he’d prepped for broadcast had been successfully beamed out. Out of the masses of information that Mariposa Esposito had gathered, he’d broadcast the best of it. It was enough to crucify FEMA.

  Or so he hoped. He’d done all he could. It was time to go. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Ortiz nodded and walked toward the door. Jack looked back for a second, satisfied that the green light was still flashing on the broadcast panel. Over the next few minutes, the information he’d uploaded would beam its way to every radio, television, computer and tablet in the country. The information would damn FEMA using the very system they’d used to spew their lies. It would continue to operate until someone reached the broadcast room and turned it off, but by then it would be too late.

  He followed behind Ortiz and they descended to the basement, where a dozen or so marines were waiting. They were the last of the 24th Marines still here. “What now?”

  Ortiz placed his carbine on the ground then pulled out his pistol and stepped closer. “Now? You’re going to learn how to use this. If we get into trouble, it might save your life.”

  “But—”

  “Turn the safety off.” Ortiz ignored Jack’s protests as he held the weapon out and flicked the safety off.

  “Okay.” Jack nodded.

  “Cock it.” Ortiz pulled back the slide on the handgun and let it spring back, loading a round with a satisfying click.

  Jack felt like he was being taught how to drive for the first time. “Okay.”

  “Hold it like this.” Ortiz held the weapon out in front of him with two hands. “And none of that sideways, one-handed gangsta shit, either. If I see that, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “Okay.”

  “Squeeze the trigger.” Ortiz tapped the trigger with his index finger, then reset the safety and then he held the weapon out to Jack. “Take it.”

  Jack looked down at the weapon in horror. “I don’t want it. If you’re relying on me to take out bad guys, then chances are you’re all dead.”

  “That’s why you need this.” O
rtiz thrust the weapon forward into his chest. “I’d rather you know how to use it before the rest of us are down.”

  Every synapse in his brain was telling him to refuse. He didn’t want to hold the weapon, fire the weapon or be responsible for the weapon. But he didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. As he looked around, there were a dozen Marines with eyes on him, apparently waiting to see if he’d stand alongside them in the conflict to come. He couldn’t ask them to take up arms for the final battle if he wasn’t willing to. He took the gun from Ortiz.

  Jack had been in the shit plenty of times, but he’d never been in the sewers before. Ortiz had dreamed it up. Heading down there was a way to escape the airstrikes and ground forces that would be bearing down upon the city, just like they had in Indianapolis. But Jack had learnt something else in that unfortunate city. He’d learnt that Richard Hall liked to handle things personally.

  The first job was done, and Ortiz had given the bug out order to all 24th Marine Regiment forces. Jack just had to hope that the first attack would open up the second.

  For that, they needed far fewer men.

  CHAPTER 21

  In a teleconference with reporters, Administrator Hall expressed his confidence in the ability of authorities to apprehend wanted fugitive Jack Emery, but stressed that he was a dangerous and potentially violent man, with a significant support network. FEMA would like to advise all residents of Chicago to remain in their homes, as the State Guard pursues Mr Emery and the small number of rebel United States Marines currently aiding him.

  Federal Emergency Management Agency

  News Release

  As soon as the helicopter touched down, Richard unbuckled and climbed out. As he did, he reflected on how much things had changed in only a handful of hours. He’d thought he was flying in to deal with the attack on Chicago by the marines. But instead he faced a different issue: the hijacking of the Emergency Broadcast System by Jack Emery. Though his forces had retaken the facility, the damage had been done. Half of America had now seen some of the evidence against FEMA. It would take a huge effort to deal with the blowback. If he could.

  Outside the helicopter he was met by a five-strong armed security detail. It was excessive, but the local FEMA office had insisted. The commander of the security forces nodded. “Good morning, Administrator, we’ve secured the building and the Area V Command Center is ready to welcome you.”

  Richard nodded and as walked across the roof to the waiting elevator, he wanted to kick himself. He’d underestimated Jack Emery so much. Though Richard had whipped Emery and the resistance furiously, the man had clearly learned from each setback and each lump Richard took from his hide. He’d figured out that it wasn’t the people you controlled, or the information you held, or the distribution method you had at your fingertips. Those were irrelevant.

  No, real power came from those with the drive, the sense of moment – of gravitas – and the ruthlessness to do what needed to be done. Once Richard had decided he needed to seize power, to be the leader he’d waited decades to serve, he’d taken over America and imposed the order he considered so vital. It was also how he’d deliver the final mailed fist right to the teeth of Emery’s supporters. He hoped it would be how he’d finally finish Emery, if he could find him.

  They reached the main work area and Richard waited as the staff of the FEMA Area V Command Center were summoned. When they had gathered, he grasped the edge of the table with both hands. “Are we certain that all elements of the 24th Marines have now been eliminated or driven from the city?”

  The State Guard attaché to the office, whose name Richard hadn’t learned, nodded. “The last troops were eliminated thirty minutes ago. Airstrikes took care of the last of them. Our forces have regained control of the city, though unfortunately there was some collateral damage—”

  “There always is.” Richard tapped his hand on the table. “Have we found Jack Emery?”

  The local supervisor coughed softly. “That’s our next highest priority, Administrator.”

  “Wrong.” Richard stood up straight. “It’s your only priority. I don’t want this office doing anything else until Emery is found.”

  The supervisor swallowed hard as he nodded. “You’ll understand that amid so much carnage, it can be easy to lose one man. We’ll inform you once we have him.”

  Richard smiled thinly. “I don’t plan on departing until he’s been located.”

  Richard turned and walked away from the table. He’d given them a fright, now it was time to let them work. Though his power in the organization was absolute and his word was god, there were downsides. If he was hovering where his staff worked, very little would get done. He’d made his point. He went to the staff lounge and poured a coffee from the communal pot, took a sip, grimaced at the quality and then sat.

  He used the time to make some calls to his subordinates. Though Emery was the only thing on his mind, some other business wouldn’t wait for a resolution to that particular headache. He was thankful that none of the individuals he called, nor anyone in the Command Center, had mentioned the information dump that Emery was responsible for leaking. He was certain they knew about it, but they’d kept quiet.

  The calls were the standard time killers he dealt with every day: the President, to re-assure him that everything was under control and that the executive orders would be needed for just a little while longer. Various lobbyists and influential Americans, protesting this or that or FEMA control in general. The State Guard general staff, begging for more manpower and resources. It was all a distraction.

  “Administrator?” A woman spoke from across the room.

  He looked up at the distraction. “Yes?”

  “We’ve found Jack Emery, sir. We’ve alerted the State Guard in the building.”

  “Alerted them about what?”

  “Emery, sir.” The woman paused. “Radio triangulation confirms he’s here.”

  ***

  Jack never thought the darkness would be worse than the smell. Even though it was a line-ball decision, he could overcome the stink of shit. But hours of moving underground with only the powerful shafts of light provided by the Marines’ flashlights had made him anxious. The blackness was suffocating, akin to the cell he’d very briefly called home in China. He was tired and wet. Most of all, he missed Celeste and was worried about her.

  They’d moved for blocks through the sewers underneath Chicago. As they did, the elements of 24th Marines still in the city should have started to pull back or, if they were cut off, dug in for a protracted defense. Jack had no idea if that had gone to plan or not, but the broadcast had gone out and the little band of sewer rats had gone off the radar. As far as FEMA and the State Guard were concerned, they were phantoms.

  In the wake of the 24th’s departure, they’d left spotters in civilian clothes to monitor dozens of locations around Chicago, possible areas where Richard Hall would arrive to coordinate the defense of the city and the search for Jack. Less than twenty minutes ago, one of those scouts had sent word: Hall was at the Clark Street building that FEMA used as its area command in the city. Hall had gone to the most obvious location. Now they just had to reach him.

  Jack sighed with relief as he watched a man at the top of the ladder give the cover a firm push. He was clearly doing his best to be quiet, but it was hard to shift the heavy steel manhole cover with any sort of stealth. The man stuck his head above ground, and Jack found it odd to see nothing above the man’s waist for several moments. Eventually, the Marine ducked down and gave the all clear.

  Jack exhaled heavily. Ortiz had said that this would be the hardest part. If there’d been guards outside the building, it would have been nearly impossible for the Marines to force their way inside. As it was, even as they climbed the ladder one after another and he waited his turn, Jack kept his hand on his weapon. He felt stupid for doubting its necessity when Ortiz had tried to hand it to him earlier. Jack was the last to climb to the top of the ladder and pull himself
up to the street.

  Once he was above ground, he saw the defensive perimeter that Ortiz and his men had formed, their weapons pointed outward. He stayed in the middle of the group and followed as Ortiz’s men fanned out and covered all possible directions, moving as one toward the building. They reached it with no incident, then waited as two of the soldiers scouted the lobby and returned with a report that it was all clear. Jack looked at Ortiz. He seemed disturbed by the lack of civilians, but said nothing. They moved inside.

  Jack looked around the lobby. As the scouts had reported, it was dark and deserted. He frowned and felt for the gun again. A large government building such as this should have been bustling, especially given it was home to the FEMA Area Command. It should also have been guarded. All he could hope was that, with Marines assaulting the city, all non-essential workers had been sent home and the building locked down. It seemed a forlorn hope, but it had to be true. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

  Jack was directed to wait near the door as the team started to move more quickly, waved forward by Ortiz. They had to reach the fire stairs on the other side of the lobby. He watched as the marines scanned their surrounds, including the mezzanine balcony above. When they were halfway across the lobby, every light in the area flared white hot. Jack raised his forearm to shield his eyes, even as he heard shouts and the tapping sound of boots on tiles all around. He backed away.

  “Put down your weapons!” The shout echoed around the lobby. “Weapons down, now!”

  Jack backed further against the wall as Ortiz’s soldiers kept their weapons trained on the State Guard soldiers above them on the mezzanine level. They were outnumbered and outpositioned, but their assailants were obviously waiting on something before opening fire. Given what he knew of Richard Hall, that seemed strange. Maybe the information he’d broadcast had soothed some of the itchy trigger fingers.

  “I won’t tell you again.” Jack couldn’t see the man who was shouting. “We want your weapons and the location of Jack Emery.”