Raghav said, “Less than four thousand.”
Sachs blinked. She could feel her throat catch. “That's how many died?”
“So far,” Raghav said matter-of-factly. “The National Weather Service hasn't given us any updates on wind shifts. And fires are still burning. Should have been more than a million dead. But snow kept hundreds of thousands of federal workers home. And the nuke was small and exploded underground. Very clean. Minimal damage to civilians, maximum destruction to the federal government. Total decapitation.”
“Decapitation,” Sachs repeated, unsure what the jargon meant, although she had an idea. She suddenly felt lightheaded, her heart thumping beyond control. “Terrorists?”
“Nobody's claimed responsibility,” Raghav said. “We think it's connected to what's happening in the Far East.”
“Where's the president?”
“Dead.”
Sachs took a deep breath. “And the vice president?”
“She’s dead too.”
“And the Speaker of the House?”
“Nobody survived,” Raghav informed her. “All designated presidential successors are being taken to secure facilities.”
Sachs leaned back in her seat and stared out the window. America was at war, its leadership attacked. And Jennifer, her baby, was on the run. Sachs wanted to go back for her. But the hardened faces of the agents and Green Berets told her there was no turning back now.
Sachs asked, “So how many designated successors are there?”
Raghav was evasive. “I can't say for sure, ma'am.”
“Something like fifteen or sixteen?”
Sachs suddenly felt something cold touch her temple. The barrel of an M4 came into view. Pointing it at her was a grim Colonel Kyle with hate-filled eyes.
"One too many," Kyle said.
19
1225 Hours
Nightwatch
Colonel Kozlowski looked around the conference table. The empty chairs were for the president and his staff. The secretary of defense. The national security adviser. Anybody else who survived, of which there was none.
What's wrong with this picture?
Koz sat alone at the head of the table and stared at a wall of display screens. The displays showed that American bombers were en route to their positive control points outside the Far East, where they would circle until they received further orders from the president-designate. Other displays showed that American submarine and missile crews were also awaiting executive authorization.
The only problem was that there was no president-designate to issue the launch authorizations. For that, Koz needed Deborah Sachs, of all people.
Northern Command’s confirmation that Washington was gone—and with it Sherry--was devastating enough. Upon learning the news, Koz proceeded to spend several private minutes in the presidential bathroom throwing up the cold breakfast Sherry left for him.
Now the FEMA Central Locator confirmed that the SecDef was not at Edwards AFB in California after all but in Washington. Which meant he was dead and the presidential mantle had fallen to nearly last-in-line Deborah Sachs.
So Koz had ordered a change in course. Nightwatch was now en route to its rendezvous with the president-designate at an as-yet-undamaged airfield, in this case the local airport in White Plains, which had one runway barely long enough to handle an emergency 747 landing.
President Sachs. It just didn't sound right. “Madame President” would be the protocol. Unless she preferred Ms. President. Koz cringed at the thought.
Whatever his private opinions of the woman, Koz knew he had sworn an oath to protect and defend the United States Constitution, and right now that meant Deborah Sachs.
The red phone next to his seat rang. He picked up. It was Captain Li. “We're cleared for approach,” she said.
“Fine.”
“And we've got footage from ground zero.”
“I'll be right there.”
He hung up, left the empty conference room and walked into the battle staff compartment where fifteen of his officers huddled around their monitors.
A traffic chopper from a Baltimore TV station was offering the world its first look at what had really happened in Washington, D.C.
Koz took a deep breath and looked over his crew. All eyes were glued to their monitors as the chopper was fast approaching a ridge of black trees.
“This is Chopper Dave,” the traffic reporter pilot radioed from the cockpit. “Approaching ground zero.”
Koz shook his head. Unless Chopper Dave's ride was shielded for radiation like Nightwatch, the traffic reporter was filing the last story of his life.
Chopper Dave was soaring over the ridge when suddenly there was...
Nothing.
A flat wasteland rolling on beneath gray skies.
Koz felt a pain in his stomach, like a knife had gone clean through, in and out.
“Oh, God.”
He thought of Sherry, and realized she may have earned that Purple Heart after all. At the moment of impact she was probably sitting in her chair in Senator Vanderhall's office in the Hart Building, scripting some stupid sound bites for the self-important ass to parrot in reaction to the president's State of the Union address. Little did any of them know that a new president was going to have to address the fact that the state of the Union was cloudy with a chance of acid rain.
The monitors in the battle staff compartment displayed what Chopper Dave saw: devastation beyond recognition. Heaps of rubble, once buildings, lay scattered across the parched earth. A dark, snakelike fork was all that was left of the Potomac River. Radioactive fallout had already settled along its banks. Sporadic fires and black smoke completed a portrait straight out of Dante's Inferno.
“I'm circling the capitol.” Chopper Dave's voice crackled over the intercom. Koz wasn't sure if it was the traffic reporter's voice or the reception breaking up. “No survivors in the impact area. Repeat. No survivors. At least none that we can see.”
The battle staffers were watching the images, offering guesses as to the landmarks. “That stump is the Washington monument!” gasped one, pointing. “There!”
Koz wasn't sure. But the location looked right. His trance was broken when Captain Li came into the compartment to apologize for the bumpy landing.
“I didn't even know we touched down,” Koz said.
The Nightwatch plane taxied to a stop along the runway. Hydraulic steps unfurled from the belly of the plane, and Koz descended to the tarmac where federal agents and vehicles were waiting.
“Where's the president-designate?” Koz demanded.
The special agent in charge, clearly a greenhorn from the bench, threw up his hands. “God knows, Colonel. Our boys called in to say she was picked up by two Black Hawks fifteen minutes ago.”
“Should have been here by now,” said Koz as he searched the dark skies in vain. He felt like some schmuck waiting for his blind date, fearing she was standing him up.
Captain Li, who had been standing at attention beside Koz, tugged his elbow. “Sir,” she whispered. “We're vulnerable on the ground. I suggest we take off and continue to circle, or we're going to look like those images we just saw on TV after the next strike.”
She was right, Koz realized, although he didn't want to leave. Finally, he said, “Tell De Carlo to keep the engines hot and prepare for take-off.”
“Yes, sir,” Li said.
“Tell him we'll circle for ten minutes,” Koz said. “Then we follow the predesignated flight path out of the United States and proceed to the territory of an unattacked ally in the Southern Hemisphere.”
“We're going south?”
Koz nodded. “Fallout free.”
20
1230 Hours
Black Hawk One
“What are you doing?!” Sachs stared at Colonel Kyle's M4.
Special Agent Raghav, meanwhile, put up his empty hands even as the young Secret Service agent next to him reached for his P90.
“I wouldn'
t do that,” Kyle warned, and struck the agent’s head with the butt of his M4. There was a sickening crack, and the agent collapsed to the floor.
“You crushed his skull!” Raghav yelled as another Green Beret expertly relieved him of his weapon.
Sachs looked down at the boy’s body. The sight of hair matted in blood sickened her. “Why?”
“Ours is not to reason why, Ms. Sachs,” Kyle replied, sliding open the Black Hawk's door. A blast of freezing air whooshed in, and Sachs found herself staring at the treetops below. “It's a tragic thing when accidents happen on military craft.”
Sachs turned to Raghav and said, “Tell me you only look like a Secret Service agent. You're really an ex-SEAL or martial arts expert or something.”
“I'm an ex-law student with a G-4 salary grade at the Treasury Department, ma'am,” Raghav replied.
“Shut up!” Kyle kicked Raghav in the groin. Raghav dropped to his knees in agony and moaned. Sachs saw Kyle swing the butt of his M4 across Raghav's face, knocking him to the floor, unconscious. Then he trained his machine gun on her. “On your knees.”
“No,” Sachs said. “I will not submit to your animal brutality and disregard for life, whatever the damn national security.”
Kyle grabbed her by the hair. She struggled as he forced her down, choking back her urge to scream. “Think about what you're doing!”
“I'm thinking how I didn't serve my country to see it fall into the hands of a woman who was supposed to be fired today.”
As Kyle put his M4 to her head, Raghav stirred to life and lunged at Kyle's jumpboots. Kyle lowered his M4 to fire, but Raghav pulled him off his feet.
Kyle's M4 spat out its automatic rounds. The bullets caught two Green Berets in the throat and drilled holes through the ceiling, making a sweeping arc of destruction over Kyle's falling body until they finally popped the pilot behind him.
The Black Hawk started to pitch and roll. The rest of Kyle's Green Berets were thrown back. Raghav grabbed Kyle's M4, turned and unloaded a round into the rear compartment before the Green Berets could recover. Fire shot out of the muzzle as Raghav jerked the trigger, raining dozens of smoking shells around Sachs, who was sprawled on the floor, hands clapped over her ears.
Suddenly, the shooting stopped. Sachs could hear only the rotor of the Black Hawk's blades and the howling wind. Or was that ringing in her ears?
“Are you OK?” asked Raghav, helping her up.
Sachs looked across the floor at the bodies and blood. Raghav impressed, after all. But she felt something awful rising up inside her, grabbed her stomach and started to heave.
Raghav gave her a helpful pat on the back and looked around. “Guess they took you for a liberal.”
The Black Hawk banked sharply. Sachs turned to see the pilot slumped over in his seat.
“Oh, God.”
Raghav climbed over the seat, pushing the pilot's body aside. He then took the controls and tried to level off.
Sachs climbed into the seat next to Raghav. “I suppose you can't fly, either?”
"No, ma’am.”
“Then let me.”
“You can’t fly,” Raghav said incredulously.
“No, but I watched my husband fly his planes, and I probably have more hours in the air than you do.”
Raghav hesitated, and then the radio headset crackled. It was the pilot from Black Hawk Two. “Black Hawk One, you’re trailing smoke.”
Sachs watched Raghav struggle with the stick. It was a miracle they were still airborne. “If you or I respond, he’s going to know Kyle’s out,” she said. “What’s he going to do then?”
“Shoot us down if he’s in with Kyle, or help us land if he’s not. But we can’t take a chance.”
Sachs watched Raghav flick a switch to arm the sidewinder missiles and stopped him. “You can’t even pilot this thing, and you’re going to try and down that chopper with your own men on board?”
“You are the priority, ma’am, and they know it.”
The radio crackled again. “Black Hawk One, please copy.”
“They’re locking missiles on us,” Raghav said, looking at the dashboard.
Sachs said, “Radio your men, Raghav, and tell them to take over that chopper. Now.”
Raghav nodded and spoke into his lapel microphone. “Do not reply. Repeat. Do not reply. This is a Code 33. You have to take over that bird. Repeat. Code 33.”
Sachs looked out at the Black Hawk behind them and to the left. It suddenly dipped as she saw a flurry of shadows inside. Then its cannons exploded. Sachs and Raghav jumped in their seats as 18 rounds of fire per second chewed holes around them.
“They've opened fire!” Raghav shouted.
“I can see that!”
Raghav said nothing, and Sachs felt a shiver up her spine. She glanced over at Raghav next to her and with a shock realized the handle of a knife was protruding from his neck. Her eyes widened as a bloody, monstrous Colonel Kyle reared his ugly head from behind and removed the red-stained blade.
“You’ll never get sworn in,” Kyle said, as he thrust the blade at her.
Sachs leaned away, escaping the first thrust. But she collided with Raghav’s body and it fell on the stick, letting loose a burst of cannon fire. The chopper banked sharply, throwing Kyle off balance and sending her head into the windshield.
Dazed, she dragged herself forward and looked up to see Black Hawk Two smoking and spiraling out of control. For a moment, she saw what looked like a fight for control inside the cockpit before it went down and exploded in a ball of fire.
Sachs tried to crawl into the pilot’s seat of her own chopper to avoid a similar fate. She had just about pushed Raghav’s body out of the way when she felt a tug at her legs and looked back to see the bloody face of Colonel Kyle come to drag her back to hell.
“Get off me!” she screamed and kicked him in the face, her high heel spiking his eye.
Kyle loosened his grip and slid back limply as the chopper started to dive.
Sachs gripped the back of Raghav’s bloody head, hoisted herself up on top of him and grabbed the stick. She saw the runway of the White Plains airport dead ahead.
She wiped her wet eyes and took a deep breath. The ground was coming up fast in the windshield, and the chopper began to spin with its own cloud of black smoke, going wobbly as it approached the small airport.
Sachs peered through the cracked windshield, straining to see. Then the curtain of smoke parted for a moment and she could see a team of federal agents and their vehicles waiting on the icy tarmac. A gigantic white jumbo jet dominated the runway.
She strapped herself into the pilot’s chair, so tight she could barely steer. Everything seemed to be whooshing around her, and she felt her stomach drop with the chopper. She could see several Air Force personnel rushing toward her as she plunked the chopper down with a heavy thud. Then something seemed to give way as the chopper tipped over on its side and everything went black.
21
1315 Hours
Nightwatch
Colonel Kozlowski studied Sachs as she lay on the fold-out surgical table in the Nightwatch plane's medical center. Her eyes were closed beneath the high-intensity lights, an IV attached to her arm. Her black hair was brushed back from her face, her shoes removed and the belt around her skirt loosened.
The young medic had finished stitching a gash on her shoulder and was studying her with awe. Her bloody blouse was gone, and he gazed at the size C cups of her bra rising and falling as she breathed. He let out a low whistle. "Hail to the Chief.”
"It's president-designate, Lieutenant Nordquist," said Koz, feigning indifference. "Nothing official until I know she's fit for office. Is she fit?"
"She's in better shape than those Green Berets on that Black Hawk, that's for sure." Nordquist started tapping up a chart for her on his tablet computer. "What the hell was that all about, anyway?"
That's what Koz wanted to know. What kind of remarkable woman could survive that kind of batt
le? Or cause it?
"You tell me," said Sachs, opening her eyes.
They were soft and brown, Koz noticed, but her voice was dry and cracked. It was probably the cabin air. He wondered how much she had heard. "Dehydration, ma’am.”
"There's got to be a better explanation for their behavior than a lack of electrolytes."
A dry wit too, thought Koz.
"No, ma'am. You're the one dehydrated. We’ll give the IV another 20 minutes and take you off when we’re at cruising altitude.”
She started. “You mean we’re in the air?”
"Thirty thousand feet," said Koz. "Welcome aboard the presidential Advanced Airborne Command Post.”
"Then I want to see the president," she demanded, and Koz didn’t know if she seriously didn’t understand the situation or was testing him.
He paused. “Why?”
“Because those soldiers sent to pick me up tried to kill me," she said.
Koz blinked. "The Army Green Berets?"
She nodded. "Who sent them?"
"Uh, I did.” He saw her eyes widen. "But I can assure you that I did not give Colonel Kyle orders to harm you or anyone else. He must have gone rogue."
She looked at him with a glint of paranoia. "Don't insult me with a lone gunman theory. Because he had a dozen others with him, all wearing the uniform of this country."
Koz exchanged a glance with Nordquist. "Physically, she checks outs," the medic said with a shrug. "Mentally, who knows? She's pretty shaken up."
“I’m fine,” she said flatly. “Where’s Special Agent Raghav?”
“Didn’t make it, ma’am.”
Her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head. “He was brave.” Then her head snapped up again. “Jennifer,” she said with a start, and swung her badly bruised and cut legs over the side of the table. “I want to talk to my daughter right now.”
She tried to stand up, but a wave of dizziness seemed to pass over her and she started to sway.
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