“I don’t care. We have to do something, and fast. They are to retrieve the vice-president, while we figure out what to do next.” Max sat down hard and wrung his hands.
u
CHAPTER 65
I
don’t know, I just don’t know,” said the woman as they emerged onto the street. Brown boots. They don’t go with my Chinchilla.” Scarlett had managed to find a full-length mink with a hood, and the same brown boots in her size, but the
rescued woman was having a fashion meltdown. She desperately clung to the arm of one agent, who, despite desperate efforts at shaking her off, had resigned himself to the idea that she would be along for the desperate journey.
“Are we going to find my husband? He had a dinner meeting with some clients at the Russian Tea Room. He told me to make myself look pretty and to wait…he said he wouldn’t be long…” She broke into tears. They didn’t respond.
There was no moon, and clouds covered the stars. They were in total blackout. The streets of downtown Manhattan were abandoned, but they could see the twinkling of fires far off in the distance. Although the temperature was below freezing, people were gathering in the streets in the residential section miles away, and they made their way in the direction of the lights.
Scarlett, her Secret Service Detail, and the bereft socialite made their way in the direction of Central Park. The going was slow, and by the time they had traveled ten blocks, they were cold, wind-blown, and craving shelter. “We need to get inside. And soon,” announced Scarlett. “What I wouldn’t give for a roaring fireplace right now.”
“Why didn’t you ask? My friend Mitzi has a huge fireplace. She lives near the park, right over there.” Scarlett and all of the agents looked at the woman with amazement. “Do you know the address?” they inquired in unison. “Well, we don’t just sit in our hotel and order room service,” she said defensively. “Whenever we visit, oh, about three, no, four times a year, we get together with our Palm Beach friends who have properties in the city, and we compare tans and complain about the weather, and Mitzi just separated from her husband, you probably know him, he’s a big…”
“Can you introduce us to Mitzi right now?
“Well, I usually call first…Oh, I guess I can’t…She might have already gone back to Palm Beach. She told me how much she missed us and couldn’t wait to lounge by the pool. It would be gauche to drop in unannounced. It just isn’t done.”
“Miss, what is your name?”
“Britney. Britney Shalowan. From the Palm Beach Shalowans,” she replied, suddenly becoming sheepish.
“Britney, do you know who I am?”
“No, I’m thinking that you’re somebody famous, because you look familiar, and I would never forget hair as gorgeous as yours.”
“Hon, I’m Scarlett Conroy, the Vice-President of the United States.”
“Oh, Hi, I was going to vote for you, but Biff, that’s my husband, Biff said that I had to register before I voted, and I had a manicure that day, and you know how hard it is to get in. My manicurist schedules them four months in advance…Can you believe that? Four months!”
Scarlett smiled for the first time that day. “Britney, darlin’, would you be so kind as to take us to where Mitzi lives? Now, you don’t think she would mind if you brought the vice-president over for a little visit, do you?”
“I guess it would be OK, but what about them?” Britney looked at the four burly agents, who silently monitored the perimeter for signs of danger.
“Oh, I’ll vouch for them. They are perfect gentlemen,” replied Scarlett, recalling her moment of high exposure the previous evening.
They knocked on the ornate wooden door to the upscale Manhattan flat of Mitzi, but there was no response. Without seeking permission, one agent kneeled before the door and produced a tool kit the size of a credit card from an internal pocket and inserted a thin metal device into the keyhole. In less than ten seconds, they were inside the room as two frightened models, bundled in the warmest clothes they could find, looked on from the end of the hallway.
It was their second day without shopping for eyeliner and lingering over a Grande Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks. They looked and felt miserable. Scarlett had the fleeting thought that they would need to cope or die, and they were as suited for survival as a butterfly in a hurricane. From her briefings and research on EMP incidents, she knew it would be months or years before New York would again become habitable for people with their sensitive fragility.
She stared at the shivering women and tried to imagine how ill-suited their lifestyles were for survival, starving and drugging themselves to stay thin enough to provide bony support for the latest designer clothes. They would cling to the familiar and perish, she surmised. She silently wondered whether they would want to survive in a world as harsh as the one that awaited them outside their front door. Attending to the task at hand, she made a mental note to leave the door unlocked when they left.
The Secret Service agents immediately checked the spacious residence for the presence of Mitzi or anyone else, and once they were satisfied that they were alone, they began the task of making a fire. Mitzi had left enough wood in the bin to look “rustic” even though her tastes bordered on Art Nouveau. She bought the brownstone built in the 1920’s for a steal during the real estate crash in 2012. The large fireplace was a centerpiece for entertaining, with a mantelpiece made of granite and matching stone panels that rose two stories. She had dabbled with the idea of converting it to gas or electric, but the thought mortified her frequent guests, who enjoyed milling around the warmth that it provided during her infrequent visits in the Winter months.
This year, Mitzi came for Christmas and was gone before Valentine’s Day, longer than her usual stays. She had been anxious to return to Palm Beach shortly after she had arrived, but problems with her trust fund had delayed her return while dealing with lawyers and other “annoyances”. The management of her wealth was her only business activity. The rest of her time was spent immersed in the elite society that remained separate and insulated from the rest of the world. The longer stay in New York had compelled Mitzi to stock up on more wood for the party fire, but most of it was gone by the time it was needed for their survival. A few hours at most, and then they would be scrounging for wood if they wanted to stay warm.
Britney was clearly unhinged by the unannounced and unintended intrusion into Mitzi’s home. She walked around aimlessly, bundled against the cold that seemed to seep inside of her clothes, muttering.
“This won’t do. It just won’t do. What will I tell her? I’ll certainly be vilified for this when I get back…Will I get back? Oh my…” She crumpled onto the plush couch and began to sob. Her world had fallen apart in a momentary flash.
“I figure we have about a half-day of wood there, and then, we’ll have to start using the furniture,” surmised one agent. Let’s see what she left behind for us to eat.” They scrounged in the massive kitchen, unused mostly, with a double-doored refrigerator that shined with stainless steel that matched the massive electric stove and cupboard doors. It contrasted starkly with the black granite countertops that lined the walls. The refrigerator held bottles of Perrier, but no food. The freezer was the better provider. A dozen thick steaks in butcher wrap sat partially thawed, along with two large cartons of mint chocolate chip Hagen Das ice cream. The cupboards provided caviar and smoked oysters in large cans, along with crackers, olives, and midget kosher gherkins in jars. “We’re gonna eat like high society for awhile,” surmised one agent. “I love those little pickles.”
“Take one of those cartons of ice cream to the hummingbirds down the hall,” commanded Scarlett. “If they want to show their gratitude, don’t hurry back. They looked like they needed a little warming up.” “Yes Ma’am,” said the youngest. He grabbed the carton and three spoons and eagerly departed. Two minutes later, he burst back into the room. “That just made them colder. I’m wondering whether the Lady of the House left behind any fur
s that they could borrow.” He bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom and emerged with two full length blonde mink coats. “When a man gives a woman a mink, he’s about to get lucky,” They shook their heads and watched with amusement.
“This won’t do. This just won’t do,” protested Britney.
On the street, the usual hangers-out were restless. Most were drunk or stoned. Awake, they sat leering at the families, watching. They were like a pack of wolves, snarling and circling, waiting to attack. They wouldn’t go after the families, who tried to stay in the center of the street, fearing that they would get plucked off the sidewalk and dragged into the shadows, where an uncertain fate hid. It was the fear that propelled them in a half-run toward the park, looking down alleys with sideway glances, shuffling, maneuvering through the acrid smoke.
The buildings were beginning to burn. Some may have been started intentionally and others the result of fires built in places that were the wrong place, but there would be no investigation, no news reports or onlookers in the street. There was no way to put them out, and nobody cared. In survival mode, you protect what you can save, and delaying the inevitable was a waste of time.
CHAPTER 66
M
ax watched on the monitor as the Helos flew low over the treetops of Eastern New Jersey, and as they approached their destination the growth of green gave way to the densely populated areas near New York. The pilot explained that they
would first enter the hotel from the roof, where a helicopter pad was available, but that they didn’t expect that anyone remained in the building. With no power to heat and light, it would be uninhabitable once the temperature inside the building dropped below freezing.
The pilot and rescue team were going to rely upon the survival training of Scarlett’s Secret Service agents, and they would be leaving signals wherever they traveled. The remote camera revealed a darkened city in the distance, still disabled and silent. The Statue of Liberty could be seen as they approached from the New Jersey side of the Hudson, and as they flew closer, the details of the magnificent statue became more visible. Then, there was a brilliant flash, and the cameras went blank.
“They blew it up, those rat bastards!” Max turned to see his trusted security advisor, Roger Sinclair, standing behind him, watching the monitor with an intense gaze. “They took out our eyes, and destroyed Lady Liberty. Evil.” Sinclair shook his head.
“If anyone could find these cowards, it’s you.” Max stood and faced his security advisor, his eyes drilling into his mind, seeking meaning. Sinclair was un-nerved by the sudden intrusion, but recovered quickly.
“I know who did it, and I know why. I just don’t know where.” His words resonated with every person in the room. They no longer stared at a blank screen. The focus shifted to him alone. He explained quickly and concisely. “The people who did this are Americans.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “When they detonated the first EMP device at your inauguration, it was a warning. They wanted to embarrass you, to cut off your strongest ally, your ability to communicate. They had no interest in destruction. They only sought to control you and the threat that you pose to them. If they can’t control you, they will lose the dynasty that they have created.”
Max stood and stretched. He was weary from the long hours of monitoring the events in New York. They had been down in the Situation Room for most of the night, and they wouldn’t rest until there was a plan and a solution, he realized that. They were problem solvers, and there was no political solution that could resolve this situation. They had to determine the reality, seek out the source of the problem, eliminate it, and deal with the damage. There was an awkward , silence, but none of the room’s occupants dared to speak. Suddenly, Max spun and faced Sinclair.
“You told us that they are Americans. I want to know who.” He walked across the room and gave Sinclair a piercing glare.
“Pryor. He stole these devices and deployed them. I’m still trying to determine how many and where they have been deployed, but my source has disappeared on me and I haven’t been able to determine where Pryor may be at the moment. In fact, we have been looking for him since the day before the election.”
CHAPTER 67
M
ax retreated to the Oval Office for a reprieve from the tension. He needed the time alone to sit for ideas and to plan. The revelation that his father’s nemesis was the common thread of evil in the recent incidents was mind chilling,
and the overwhelming wave of revenge had begun to wash into his thoughts along with the weariness. This is not going to be easy. He has had years to consider his plan. If he can create despair, if he creates fear, and then uncontrolled terror . . . after that, the desperate will do anything to make it end. He settled into the plush leather executive chair and cherished the brief opportunity for solitude. Without conscious effort, he reached into the concealed drawer and withdrew the presidential diary and placed it onto the expansive walnut desk. He paused to collect his thoughts, and for the first time in his short time in office, he worried.
Running his hands along the ornate book cover, he pondered the challenge before him and the country. His consternation was compounded by the very personal vendetta that was unfolding. Pryor had years to plan, and Max had days to react, or appear impotent as a leader . . . I need to react, and to win this battle, or he will eventually own the minds of America. If they lose faith in my ability to lead, to protect, then I will be reviled for the rest of history. Gradually, the book glowed, and he opened it at the halfway point, where the pages glowed brightest.
“I was governor of the Empire State before I sat in this esteemed place, born and raised in the city which your enemies have plunged into darkness,” said Teddy Roosevelt, sitting in the chair in front of him. He was dressed in his famous Rough Rider uniform, his sabre at his side, hanging from a wide belt. As Max watched in amazement, the uniform morphed into khaki hiking clothes, and the sabre shortened into a cell phone that hung from a much thinner belt. The hat remained, but the knee-high riding boots had become hiking boots.
Max chose not to respond, knowing that his time with the departed president was short and it was time to listen. He was getting used to this welcome intrusion, and he needed wisdom and guidance.
“You are faced with a challenge that requires decisive action. Your own countrymen have attacked your family, and have harmed our fair nation in nefarious ways, all to get to you.” Roosevelt shook his head in disgust. “Much has changed since my day, my boy. In my time, we knew what it meant to be American. We knew the privilege and honor that attached to our birthright and it was us against them. We would no sooner harm our countrymen than harm ourselves, and traitors were dealt with harshly.”
Max spoke with his mind, and his voice broke with the tension. “Mr. Roosevelt,” he began.
“Call me Theodore, Son. They all called me Teddy, but I dislike that reference intensely. Theodore will do.”
“Theodore, I am torn between thoughts. Personally, I want to find this cowardly bastard and snuff the life out of him with my bare hands, and then there’s the part that wants to rid the world of the evil that he represents. He, or they, killed my mother, attacked my father, and made me an orphan for the second time in my life. I’m seething.”
“My boy, when confronted with a dilemma, you must always take the high road first. Do what is best for the nation. The personal aspect you must leave in the hands of your maker. Take care that you do not appear weak to the people, or they will turn on you . . .” He paused for effect. “. . . And never seek shelter when you should lead the charge.”
There was a knock at the door, and the image disappeared. Andrew Fox popped his head into the room and gazed at Max with a concerned look. “Are you OK?” he inquired.
“Oh yeah. Just sitting for ideas. We need to move quickly in a very visual way,” replied Max. Andrew looked puzzled, but dismissed it.
“I just wanted you to know that we got some of the satellites at the p
eriphery of the blast zone back online, and they can’t give us much detail from that distance, but I thought you would like to see this.” He shoved a night photo of the eastern seaboard across the desk with a flourish. It clearly showed the hole of darkness that extended up and down the Atlantic coast for hundreds of miles, but there was one exception: A bright pinprick of light shone brightly on the edge of the darkness. “What’s this, how can someone in a massive blackout have electrical service?” Max inquired.
“We don’t know for sure, but that dude has power when his neighbors don’t, and from the looks of it, he has a lot of it,” Andrew replied.
u
CHAPTER 68
M
ax returned to the situation room from the Oval Office with handwritten notes and a determined look. His inner circle of trusted advisors included Roger Sinclair and Andrew Fox. They waited for direction. Sinclair spoke first. “Max,
we have created a no-fly zone around the city. There is nothing moving right now, anyway. The communication satellites have been dead since the blast, so nothing has been coming in or out of the area for the past few days; but they are leaving on foot, bicycle, or anything that can move. Some people commandeered a sailboat and sailed until they could see lights on in homes on the coast, and then they docked. There are reportsof widespread lootings and killings, mainly for food, and when they heard that plague was spreading, they got out of there.”
This was news that they hadn’t considered. Plague, the scourge of Europe in the Middle Ages, was a disease that spread from victim to victim like wildfire. Fleas carried the disease, and the rats carried the fleas. It was capable of killing millions in a short time, in a pandemic that could be easily be prevented by maintaining hygiene and staying out of contact with the carriers of the disease.
No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) Page 21