Overlord

by David L. Golemon

  The ornate study was starting to fill with assistants and interns from the Speaker’s offices, and many were in shock at what was happening here and around the world.

  “Okay, we need a little damage control here, ladies and gentlemen; after all, it was me who has been decrying this military spending of the president’s and now it seems because of well-kept secrets from our nation’s past it very well seems justified. You need to come up with a quick course change to minimize the damage.”

  “Don’t you think the president should have brought you in on this, to make spending these billions upon billions of dollars more acceptable to the nation, and yourself?” Peachtree offered, not really caring to air his opinion inside a room full of Camden’s people.

  Camden sniffed loudly and then held his empty glass out to be refilled, which an aide promptly did.

  “Not when one considers how much that man hates my guts. Hates my state, hates my budget crunching—when it’s not my party in power, of course. But hate nonetheless.”

  On the television screen the view of the Iranian situation went from split screen to full as it showed the downed saucer that had completely obliterated the large building on which it rested. It was smoking and had finally been smashed by the remaining tanks of the Iranian army. Camden watched as Russian soldiers rushed from spot to spot, trying to dispatch areas of resistance. Gray bodies lay everywhere and Camden grimaced when a news camera came close to one and he saw in detail what they were fighting. The dead yellow-ringed eyes stared off into nothingness, and the sickly gray skin that was exposed underneath the strange-looking suit they wore gave the Speaker a small, cold chill.

  “It seems the Russians and the Iranians dispatched the attackers soundly.” Lyle Morgan, the Speaker’s chief of staff, accepted a drink as he watched the screen. “They seemed to have destroyed the large saucer quite quickly and efficiently, if you ask me.”

  “They’re saying it wouldn’t have been so easy if those four smaller saucers had stayed on station, but they left in a hurry for some reason. Now we hear that the large saucer was nothing more than a transport of some sort not designed for sustained attack. It had thick armor, but no electronic shielding. It just housed attacking troops. So, we may not know as much as our new Russian allies think,” Camden said.

  The sliding doors opened and the Speaker’s housekeeper came in and whispered to Daniel Peachtree. The CIA assistant director handed her his glass of whiskey and then nodded his thanks.

  “I have to leave, something big is coming down and—”

  Peachtree was cut off as five Maryland state troopers burst into the study, at least ten Secret Service agents along with them. The staff was pushed aside and one of the dark-clothed agents went straight to Camden. With the assistance of two of the troopers he lifted the Speaker of the House from his large chair.

  “What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” Camden insisted.

  Lyle Morgan tried to stop the men from handling his boss in such a rough manner. He was pushed to the carpeted floor and two agents placed their nine millimeters close to his head. Morgan froze.

  “Do not interfere, sir,” one of the agents said.

  Peachtree was in shock as he first thought that the authorities had caught up to Hiram Vickers and the little weasel had spilled his guts.

  “Gentlemen, I’m Assistant Director Peachtree, CIA. May ask what is happening?” he ventured, terrified he would be placed into handcuffs soon.

  One of the agents holstered his weapon and then nodded to the state troopers that they could ease up on the Speaker’s staff of frightened men and women. His chief of staff was lifted from the carpet as the security detail calmed a bit.

  “Apologies, Mr. Speaker, POTUS is down and the vice president was just killed in San Francisco. For the time being we are here to transport you to Fort Meyer, where we can properly secure you. Your staff will be sent for.”

  “The president is dead?” Camden asked as he was moved to the doors. “The vice president also?”

  “We don’t know the details, sir, but we do know that under the Constitution we are obliged to get you to safety.”

  Camden was in shock at the change in luck. He realized after a moment’s hesitation that he was in a direct line of succession to the most powerful position in the world—the presidency of the United States.

  CAMP DAVID

  FREDERICK, MARYLAND

  It had been three hours since the president had been flown out to Walter Reed hospital. Jack, Carl, Will, and Henri Farbeaux were covered in dirt, sweat, and gore as they watched the last of the world Security Council being airlifted out. Jack took a deep breath and walked toward the last remaining ambulance. He saw paramedics still working on slowing the bleeding of his friend and mentor, Dr. Niles Compton. Will Mendenhall placed a hand on Collins’s shoulder. Will finally turned away as Carl and General Caulfield approached. They watched as Niles tried to sit up on the gurney. Two medics yelled at him that he could not move. Niles struggled for a few more moments and then settled. Jack’s eyes never left the director.

  “General,” Caulfield said, trying to get Jack to look away from the scene. “We have some updates.”

  Collins swallowed as he feared the worst from Caulfield’s tone. He hated the title of his new rank because it made him feel that much more powerless in light of what was happening. He turned to face the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The man had his nose bandaged and his cuts tended to. He looked tired and haggard in his ripped uniform. Collins nodded his head that he should start with the bad news he knew was coming.

  “To start, from what we know in Iran, your people are safe. The power plant made it out just as the attack began. Russian forces took heavy losses and the Iranian armor division has just about ceased to exist. We have more people on the ground now, but they were hit hard.”

  “One thing I’ve learned as well as you, General, is the fact that you always deliver the good news first.” Jack waited for the other shoe to fall.

  “The military way, huh?” Caulfield looked from Collins to Carl, then the Frenchman as he joined them.

  Will Mendenhall had eased closer to the ambulance to try and let the director of the Event Group know that he was near. He swiped at his face, angry at himself for being so emotional.

  “The vice president is dead. His helicopter was shot out of the sky over San Francisco Bay this evening, moments after the attack here.”

  “Any word on the president’s condition?” Everett asked as he used a towel to wipe his face.

  “It doesn’t look good at this point. As of right now they placed him in a medically induced coma, whatever the hell that means. His injuries are extensive, I’m afraid. The Chinese president died in the air. A heart attack, of all things.”

  “What a fucking mess,” Everett said as he angrily tossed away the filthy towel.

  “That, my friend, is the understatement of the year,” Caulfield said. Jack knew immediately that the other shoe would now come down as assuredly as Henri’s foot on the alien’s neck had.

  “What is it?” Collins ventured.

  “The line of ascension for the presidency goes to the Speaker of the House.”

  Collins felt his stomach roll as he angrily turned away. Henri tried to follow what was being said beneath the actual words. He stepped closer to the men.

  “Besides the insanity that comes with all politicos, may I ask the significance of this action?”

  “Henri, you study history, and I assume you’re well versed in the classics. What does the name Cardinal Richelieu mean to you as a Frenchman?” Carl walked past and joined Jack.

  Henri looked taken back. The cardinal was a scoundrel of the first order in Dumas’s The Three Musketeers. “This man, this speaker of the house is a—”

  “He’s no friend to the president, or to us,” Everett finished.

  “What he’s saying, Colonel, is that this man Camden will most assuredly cause problems for Operation Overlord—our only ch
ance at winning this thing,” Caulfield said.

  Jack shook his head, angry that his role in Overlord was being kept from him because of the dangers he and the others faced in being captured by an enemy that, as of that moment, looked unstoppable.

  Will Mendenhall ran toward them.

  “Colonel—I mean, General, Doc Compton wants to see us.” He looked at Henri. “All of us.”

  Collins and the four others rushed to the ambulance, where the two medics were angrily holding the rear doors open.

  “Look, make it fast, this man has serious blood loss and he’s lost his right eye. His left arm is going to follow and then his life, if we don’t get him—”

  The EMT was pushed aside so the four men could gather around the back of the ambulance. Jack had to push Niles back down when he tried to sit up.

  “Easy there, we can hear you, Niles.”

  Compton seemed to relax and then patted Jack’s restraining hand as he settled.

  Will momentarily turned away when he saw the white blood-soaked gauze covering Compton’s face. The damaged arm was placed inside a clear plastic cast and the director’s white shirt had been ripped open to expose several large gashes to his chest.

  “Get to … your … new stations … imperative … imperative.” He was running low on steam. “Overlord … must…” Niles coughed up blood.

  “Goddamn it, we have to get this man to the front gate, we have air transport standing by there,” the medic insisted. Jack gave the man a withering look until he lowered his eyes, and then turned back to his director.

  “Jack … Jack?”

  “I’m here, Niles.”

  “Get word … to Virginia … get out … here … and … take my … place … on the … council.”

  “I will before I leave for Hawaii, I promise.” Jack watched Niles trying to find his glasses on his head. Jack knew the man’s glasses were long gone and felt so bad that he choked back his anger and sorrow.

  “Jack … you … don’t understand … this isn’t right…” Niles’s voice became a whisper. “General Caulfield?”

  Maxwell Caulfield stepped closer so he could hear. “I’m here, Doctor.”

  “You two … tell Virginia … something is wrong.”

  “What do you mean, Niles?” Collins glanced at Caulfield, who shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t understand the comment either.

  “Matchstick … Matchstick … is not telling us something. It may not … matter in the end … but he knows something that … he’s kept from us.”

  Jack felt the blood rush from his face. But … “I’m not following.”

  “He … knows … he … knows … why. He … lied to us … The Grays aren’t here … for the planet, or resources … they…”

  Niles passed out. Jack and the others were roughly pushed aside by the attendants and the doors closed.

  “Sorry, he’s got to go,” the man said as he rushed to the front of the ambulance. It screamed off toward the distant front gates of Camp David.

  “What in the hell did that mean?” Everett asked.

  Collins waited until a Black Hawk went by overhead as he turned to Caulfield. “I have a call to make, General. Can I get to a secure phone somewhere?”

  “Use my car, there’s a secure phone there with a scrambler.” Caulfield removed his coat and took another from his aide. “Someday you people have to tell me just what in the hell you do for the government. The president told me never to ask, but I would really like to know.”

  Everett watched Jack run toward the parking area with the general’s aide close at his heels, then turned to Caulfield.

  “No you don’t, sir, you really don’t.”

  * * *

  Will Mendenhall sat on a small outcropping of stone and watched as the FBI and Marines rounded up three of the Gray aliens and bound them hand and foot to each other. The beasts hissed and spat until several of the soldiers placed black hoods over their heads. Even then the Grays fought to free themselves by kicking out with their nylon-bound legs. Will wondered just what was behind this attack, as it hadn’t matched up with anything the Event Group had come to expect from the briefings that Matchstick had given over the past eight years. He shook his head and thought about not only the president but about his boss, Niles Compton. He never knew how close he had become with the surly little man who protected his secret department like a mother bear defending her cubs. He was distant at times and hard to like, but the one thing you could never take away from the director of Department 5656 was the fact that he was serious about the charter of the Group—he knew the answers to everything lay in the shared past.

  Carl Everett sat next to Will and saw what he was looking at. Carl picked up a small stone and lightly tossed it over toward the three Grays. The rock struck the middle one and again it began to hiss and spit under the black hood. The three Marines guarding them turned and looked at Everett. Carl just held up his hands in a What? kind of gesture. The Marines turned back to their charges.

  “The closest I can come to figuring this out is I believe this was a suicide attack. Over a hundred sacrificed themselves to get at our chain of command.”

  Both Carl and Will looked up and saw Henri Farbeaux standing over them. The Frenchman had managed to find water and a rag and cleaned himself up. Everett and Mendenhall looked as if they had come out of a cave-in in some distant coal mine.

  “I have to agree with you, Colonel,” Carl said, standing and keeping his eyes on the three prisoners for a moment. He turned to the Frenchman. “This doesn’t make one hell of a lot of sense. If they just want the planet, why attack the chain of command of any country? Just come down and start cleansing the world would be the order of the day. It makes no difference who goes first.”

  “Confusion, I guess,” Will said as he stood, his eyes still planted on the three prisoners. He finally looked away. “The old take-the-head-of-the-snake-and-the-body-will-die thing.”

  Everett smiled for the first time that day. “Is that the way they put it at Officers Candidate School, Captain?”

  “Yeah—I mean, yes sir, something like that.”

  “Well, maybe he has some answers for us, or at least new orders that make sense.”

  Everett and Mendenhall looked in the direction that Henri had come and saw Jack returning from his call. He was joined by General Caulfield, who gestured that his staff and aides should stay back from the small group of men. The general had just been updated by the Pentagon on what was happening elsewhere in the world. They all noticed that Jack and Caulfield had the same look on their faces—they weren’t happy.

  “Well?” Everett was anxious to hear what both men had to say.

  Collins looked at Caulfield. “General, you may not know what we really do in that desert facility you know about, so I’ll just say this: we are run specifically by the president of the United States, as I know you’re aware. You and just a very few others suspect we are even there, and that’s the way it’s been since President Woodrow Wilson. Only the director of the National Archives and the head of the General Accounting Office know we’re officially there.”

  “Okay, do you have to shoot me or something for knowing?” the general joked.

  Jack finally smiled. “No, but whatever happens, Virginia Pollock, our assistant director, has a special file just in case this exact scenario ever happened.” He looked at Will and Carl. “It seems our esteemed director was smart enough to cover all his bases, and he covered this one particularly well. Under no circumstances is the new president to know about the Group. By law he is to be informed of our existence no later than ten days after taking office and is to be briefed by the director of the National Archives and the General Accounting Office. Now, no sitting president can ever dissolve our department; we are law. We are there to stay. But the president can also hamstring us. I and Ms. Pollock believe, and Niles concurred, that Camden would indeed hamstring us, thus damaging the Overlord plan. This cannot happen. You will be the only one in his cabi
net that knows anything about us and it must stay that way until…” He swallowed. “Until we know the fate of the president and Dr. Compton.”

  “Well, I don’t understand, but if that is what the president wants, who the hell am I to disagree?”

  “Wait, what are you saying, Jack?” Carl asked.

  Collins looked from face to face, then closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He opened them and then kicked at a small piece of rubble that used to be a part of the family residence at Camp David.

  “Giles Camden was just sworn into office five minutes ago at Fort Meyer.”

  “Wait a minute, the goddamn president isn’t even dead yet!” Everett protested.

  General Caulfield turned away, then looked up at the dazzling night sky full of stars.

  “The president is now unable to fulfill his duties as commander-in-chief. Until such a time as he is mentally and physically able to perform his duties, it falls to the vice president.”

  “Who’s dead,” Will Mendenhall said with a sigh.

  “In that case it falls directly to the Speaker of the House.”

  “Senator Giles Camden.” Caulfield turned again to face Jack and the others. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to protect you or your group, General Collins, but one thing I do know for sure is the fact that this Camden will fire me the first chance he gets. Had too many run-ins with the bastard, and he is no friend of the president’s.”

  Jack placed a hand on Caulfield’s shoulder. “Do what you can, while you can. The biggest priority according to Virginia is to keep Operation Overlord alive. They all say without it we cannot win this war.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Caulfield held out his hand. They shook and the general nodded at the others. He took a particularly longer look at the man he had seen in handcuffs not five hours earlier, Henri Farbeaux. “Damn strange outfit,” he said as the strange group of men watched him leave. The general was quickly joined by his aides and they walked out of Camp David.