Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "I never said I wanted to get myself killed—" began Denny.

  John smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that'll be the result if you try this. But, I can't stand by and let you do it on your own."

  "So you'll help?"

  John shot another look at Ruth. After a moment, she slowly nodded and turned back to her work, shoulders tense. "We'll help," John said. "We will. But I need to make one thing clear right now—I will not sacrifice the safety of my wife or my family for anything or anyone. Even you."

  Denny nodded somberly. "I would never expect or want you to, John. You're the closest thing I have to family and I would never put you at risk. I can see you're uncomfortable with this idea, so let's just forget about it—"

  "Let's not get hasty. I said I would do it, but I have to tell you, in all honesty I'm not happy to get involved in this at all. However, that doesn't mean I want you to go off half cocked and alone." He rubbed his chin in thought. "I can at least put you in touch with some of the louder dissenters. And there's a large network of HAMs that are…" he glanced at Ruth, "survivalist-minded, if you know what I mean…"

  "What do you mean?" asked Denny.

  "I don't know where your friend Anse is, or most of his friends…but I can point you toward a couple deputies that managed to lie low during all the recent hullabaloo."

  "I thought Sheriff Bridger had most of his force down south?"

  "Oh he did, but one of his deputies is a friend of my eldest son. Griswold. His wife took sick when the first cases of the flu hit town. Sheriff Bridger gave him permission to stay behind and look after her."

  "And he hasn't moved against Townsen?"

  "No," said John. "Frankly, I was surprised to find out he's still alive. He must not have caught it or he'd be sick or dead by now. He lives in the section of town destroyed by the Russians. I didn't think anybody had survived over there…"

  Denny stared at the table, reliving the night of the final air strike that sealed the Russians' fate and broke the occupation of Salmon Falls. He remembered glass and wood and bits of houses in the air. He remembered the fire, the noise—the roar of the jets as they flew overhead. Most of all, he remembered the looks on the faces of the people who flooded the streets and tore the Russian survivors to pieces.

  Denny looked up and blinked. "I think I'd like to talk to this deputy."

  CHAPTER 22

  Velten, Germany.

  Kommando Spezialkräfte operations center.

  COOPER BRAATEN STARED IN disbelief at the screen in front of him—a replay loop of a rogue transmission out of Washington. He'd been asleep, getting much-needed rest after their trans-Atlantic flight, when the transmission had originally aired. A call from Admiral Bennet over a secured line was enough to get him out of the sack in a hurry. Cooper held the phone to his ear.

  "Is this legit, sir?" He stared at the screen and watched the death of Vice President Barron one more time. "I mean, the spray pattern from those shots look real. Could this have been faked?"

  The somber voice on the phone echoed Cooper's skepticism. "I've had half the Pentagon up all night working on this, Lieutenant. Trust me when I say that this is real. We haven't gotten actual confirmation, but there's nothing that leads me to believe Vice President Barron is alive."

  "What do we do now, sir?" asked Cooper.

  "This just threw a wrench in all our plans. I just got out of a meeting with President Harris—the western offensive is on hold. The Council is top priority now."

  Cooper glanced at Charlie, absorbed in the video, ignorant of the Admiral's news. Another delay. He's going to lose it when he finds out they're abandoning California.

  "Where do you need us, sir?"

  "I've never seen the President so angry before. This won't end well for anyone—especially that little harlot at the White House."

  The breath caught in Cooper's throat. On reflex, his body tried to cough. He held it in, fighting the urge and telling himself for the thousandth time the vaccine was in his body and he was immune. There was no need to cough anymore. The long rest crossing the ocean had done wonders to restore his health. "What time frame are we looking at?" he asked.

  Bennet sighed. "I want you and your men to prepare for immediate transport. The Germans are loaning us one of their birds. This gets top priority."

  "Sir, we're on the Council's doorstep–"

  "President Harris is concerned about that, yes. We've drawn up plans to take care of this pandemic. The Europeans are putting the screws to the Council. President Harris pushed this to the top of the list. We will take back the White House and bring these murderers to justice."

  Cooper stared at the silent image of the Vice President-turned dictator in his final moments. He ran through the scenarios in his mind, playing out alternate outcomes with the why's and how's of President Harris's actions. He had to admit it made sense.

  President Harris was holding onto power by the slimmest of threads. He hadn't been elected, the country was reeling from the bio-weapon attack—all this on top of the invasion of the West Coast. With Vice President Barron running around calling himself the President and trying to start a civil war, the country had desperately needed stability. Regaining control of the government infrastructure had to be Harris's number one task. If America looked weak too long, North Korea would be only the first of the sharks to nibble.

  There's a lot bigger fish out there to worry about than the NKors.

  Going after Barron's killers seemed at first glance to be a mistake. But the more he thought about it, the more Cooper realized it was the only course of action Harris could take. Allowing someone to get away with executing the duly-elected Vice President of the United States—even if that man went rogue and pissed on the Constitution—would set a dangerous precedent that no politician would want to create.

  "If somebody could knock off Barron—"

  "Someone could take out Harris, or the next President, or the next. Before long, the United States would have a rotating door of dictators, presidents, and civil wars. If we allow this to stand," replied Bennet.

  Cooper tensed. "Sir, jumping out west, going up against North Koreans is one thing…you're telling me we're going to D.C.–"

  "That's right, Lieutenant. You will be fighting Americans. There are no foreign nationals involved in this shit show, at least none we've been able to discover. This is all homegrown. It's disgusting and shameful, but there's no way to avoid it."

  Cooper watched President Barron collapse on stage in silence one more time. He glanced left, his feelings mirrored on the grim faces of his men as they stared at the monitor. To his right, the German safe house station commander stood with arms crossed across a massive chest and stared at the screen. He shook his head slowly and muttered something to one of his men.

  "We're ready to go, sir. Just get me transport."

  "I shoved this one past the red tape. Wheels up in fifteen. Get your men prepped and ready to jump. You will rendezvous with a detachment from General Rykker's Marines outside the city and work your way to the White House. Rykker has assumed personal command in the field. He'll give you the final briefing and fill you in on any updates when you land. I'm sending a secured briefing packet. The Germans should have it in the next few moments."

  "Sir, I gotta ask—what kind of ROE are we looking at? I mean, we'll be inside Washington. Lot of civvies, sir."

  "Civilians are strictly off limits, unless they fire on you. We expect little resistance from the local population, however. Most of them were fairly tolerant if not outright supporters of Barron and his policies. He spread the wealth. Seeing as how he was so popular, I don't think the people will mind very much if you go in there to root out the people who killed him." Bennet sighed. "The big unknown is the Secret Service. We haven't been able contact anyone since this whole mess began. We have a list of individuals who we know to be loyal to Barron. We've also got a list of known individuals in the Service who would likely be sympathizers but weren't open about it."
r />   Cooper cursed under his breath. "There anybody in Washington that's on our side?"

  Bennet snorted. "Well, you have General Rykker and the Marines with you. I'd say that's a good start."

  Cooper shared a look with Charlie. "Just to be perfectly clear, sir—am I to assume every individual we encounter on this op to be hostile?"

  There was a long silence from the other in the line. Finally Bennet returned: "Affirmative, Lieutenant. I hate to say it, but that's the cold, hard truth. There's no way around it. You'll be dropping in to hostile territory. The Marines are already on their way to set up a perimeter and keep reinforcements from arriving."

  "Reinforcements? Barron's dead—how can there be any reinforcements?"

  "When he took over the Federal security agencies, Barron planted a large group of them throughout DC to maintain control. They're scattered, but we have to assume they will be coalescing under the Deputy Director of Barron's Homeland Security. He was last seen in D.C., and we're thinking he's next in line to continue Barron's policies."

  Cooper shook his head. "Sir, this is insane, this can't be happening."

  "Believe it, sailor. The beer-battered shit has hit the fan, and it's your job to clean up the mess. You and your men need to be prepped and ready to jump yesterday. Your bird is on-site and refueling now."

  The line went dead. Cooper stared at the phone before handing it back to the German station chief.

  "I don't know what you talked about, but after watching that video, it cannot be good," said Hans Keilsing. The mountain of a man slipped the phone into the holster on his belt and crossed his arms again. "What do you need?" he asked in a clipped, heavily accented voice.

  Cooper looked around at the ops room. Screens on every wall depicted various stages of the global campaign against the Council. Maps of Germany and other European countries displayed hotspots, conflicts, raids, and outright battles taking place in real time. It was the largest single coordinated effort in Europe since World War II.

  And it all got kick started with the raid on Reginald's chalet and the data mine they retrieved.

  Cooper watched the faces of the people manning communication stations as they relayed messages back and forth between field agents and headquarters. In the corner sat the international delegation. Two Spaniards, an SAS officer, a Russian, and a French GIGN commando all stood in front of screens with headsets to their ears, relaying instructions and information to their respective agencies. Every face in the room looked strained and tired.

  The Council had ensnared the entire continent and wormed its way through every level of government. Cooper marveled at their resources. It must've taken generations to amass that amount of power and influence. He was confident the remaining governments of Europe could extricate the cancer that had grown in their backyard, but it would be a long, hard fight.

  The small team of German special forces Cooper and his men had linked up with was already pressed to their limits. He'd seen dozens of German soldiers leave and not come back.

  Cooper took in the concern etched on his comrade's face. He put a hand on Hans' shoulder. "Just letting us stay here, giving us some chow and rest—that's been more than enough, my friend."

  The big German shook his head. The blond crew cut on the top of his skull looked sharp enough to cut glass. "Nein, this is not so. We have a C-160 on the runway. It will take ten minutes to get to the airfield. I have a truck waiting topside. Go."

  Cooper shook hands with his counterpart. "Please give my sincere thanks to your team."

  The German commando nodded crisply. "Moeller will get you to your transport vehicle," he said motioning with a beefy arm toward the young man dressed in all black fatigues. He stepped forward and stood like a coiled spring behind his commanding officer.

  "Gute Jagd."

  Good hunting, indeed, thought Cooper. "Auf Wiedersehen." Cooper turned to follow the young commando up through the warren of passages that led out of German safe house. His men filed in behind, carrying gear and weapons.

  "So, what's the sit-rep, Coop?" whispered Charlie as they passed through another communications room. Cooper waited while Jax and Swede passed, following the German officer. He stared at Charlie. "We're going to Washington."

  "Washington?" whispered Charlie. "Jesus," he hissed. "That video was legit?"

  Cooper fell in behind Swede. "Bennet seems to think so. President Harris is out for blood—that's where we come in."

  "What about the west?" asked Charlie.

  Cooper paused. "They've put that on hold." He watched his XO's face darken. After a moment, the muscles in his jaw stopped twitching and Charlie brushed past, heading up a final staircase without a word.

  God, this has got to be killing him. Allie's still out there with Charlie and we haven't heard anything yet…

  They emerged through the door into a parking garage. Idling at the mouth of the double wide reinforced garage doors waited a battered army truck.

  Jax whistled. "Well, she ain't much to look at…"

  "All right, everybody in!" barked Cooper. Swede clambered aboard first, and Jax tossed bags of equipment and weapons to him. Charlie, Juice, Sparky, were next, followed by the others. Cooper turned to face their German escort.

  "Getting rough out there, huh?" he asked in flawless German.

  The commando nodded. "Ja. Some trouble in larger cities. This one just returned to us from another cell in Berlin." The young soldier frowned. "The riots are out of control. Things are bad—people are scared…and with this damned Council…"

  Cooper clapped Moeller man on the shoulder. "Just make sure you leave some of them for us, yeah? We'll take care of business back home, but I want a piece of this Council."

  "For Atlanta," the grim-faced young commando said as he saluted.

  Cooper returned the salute. "For Berlin."

  CHAPTER 23

  Skye, Scotland.

  Dunkeith Castle.

  AS YOU WISH, MAJESTY," said Reginald. He bowed and shut off the camera with an angry flick of his wrist. He stared at the blank screen for a few moments before slamming a fist on his desk. "You damned fool!"

  The door to the communication room opened and Stefan appeared with a tray of food. "Trouble, my lord?"

  Reginald wrapped a cloak of calm around himself before standing to face his steward. "Nothing out of the ordinary, Stefan. The King, in his infinite wisdom, has launched Phase 3 ahead of schedule. He's demanding that I provide vaccines for the entire Council within 24 hours."

  Stefan put the tray on the table and stared at Reginald for a moment. "But that's not possible, sir."

  Reginald sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Of course not—and he knows it. The additional money required to restart the operation has only just now been transferred into the Section accounts." Reginald pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the desk, staring at the silver platter. "The King suspects foul play—that can be the only reason for his behavior."

  "That's preposterous! You've devoted your entire life to Council business–"

  Reginald smiled and waved off his most loyal retainer. "Very kind of you, Stefan, but it's the only obvious conclusion. The King has allowed someone on the Council to question my loyalty."

  "Murata," Stefan said immediately.

  Reginald nodded. "He allowed it, Stefan—he encouraged Murata to whisper in his ear. That old man has always had it in for me. This time last year, Murata would never dare utter such nonsense."

  Reginald paced the communications room like a caged animal and peered out the arrow slit over the loch. The comms room occupied the fourth floor of his castle's south turret. It provided extraordinary views over Skye's western countryside. Reginald turned. "Luncheon shall have to wait, Stefan. I require fresh air to clear my head."

  "Very good, my lord," said Stefan at once, bowing to swoop up the platter of food. "Will you be going up top?"

  Reginald thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe that will do nicely. Thank you, Stefan."


  Stefan inclined his head graciously and backed out of the room. "Think nothing of it, my lord." Reginald waited for the door to quietly shut behind his steward before he exhaled. The other news the King had relayed from Europe was equally discouraging. The Korean flu had mutated quicker than anyone could have imagined.

  Nearly three out of five people in Berlin were not only infected, but so sick as to be incapacitated. The city was all but shut down. Germany had quarantined itself and walled off its borders, forcing France, Spain, and Austria to follow suit. Cases had been reported in Poland, Italy, Switzerland, and Austria, as well…but now Lord Stirling had been forced to admit there were infections identified in England.

  Reginald picked up the scrap of of paper he had scribbled on. The Royals have at last been infected. The Princess of Wales had apparently gone to one too many community events and picked up the flu at a library christening.

  The operative is the delivery device. Stirling's words flashed through his mind again. It had been reasonable to gloss over such reports when they were merely words on paper. To think those words meant a living, breathing man had walked up to the Princess of Wales and sacrificed himself by coughing on her…

  The thought was both humbling and frightening. That kind of dedication was hard to find. He knew the Princess—he'd been to numerous galas and events at Buckingham Palace over the past decade. He'd watched their entire courtship blossom into a marriage. Her death was a necessary evil, but it still left a sour taste in Reginald's mouth and a tremulous feeling of guilt—something he was not used to dealing with—weighed heavy on his stomach. His appetite was gone.

  Reginald donned his jacket and opened the wooden door at the rear of the communications room. He took the narrow stairway of carved stone steps three at a time. Reaching the roof, he threw open the reinforced hatch and climbed out into the blustery afternoon.

  He let his hands soak in the texture of the rough, worn crenelations. How many wars, how much bloodshed had this castle seen in the centuries of its existence? He drank deep of the salt-tinged air and let the winds ruffle his hair.