by Tony Butler
Adam knew she was right. It was obvious that the President would allow no one to stand in his way. Matheson wanted the weapon and was obsessed with obtaining it. There was only one thing to do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roger Thompson, feeling pale and shaken after Matheson’s broadcast, walked into the Cabinet Office, and was acutely aware that everyone in the room was staring at him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he looked around the room before speaking.
“In order to avoid a National Panic caused by Vice-President Matheson’s speech, I have just returned from a meeting with Her Majesty, the Queen, and offered her my resignation. She has accepted it.
“It is my intention, therefore, to fly to America immediately and face these wild accusations and prove my innocence. I have already informed President Matheson of my intentions and he has rescinded his declaration of war. I will be making a broadcast to the Nation in five minutes time. I’d like to thank all of you who’ve offered me your support, but I have to leave now.”
“Prime Minister!”
Roger turned and saw the concerned look on the leader of the opposition’s face.
“Leonard?”
“Everyone in this room knows that the allegations against you are a blatant fabrication and, while you were at the Palace, we had a meeting of our own. It has been decided that we will not accept your resignation and have informed Her Majesty of our decision. However, publicly we will pretend that we have accepted it and allow your deputy to take over. Teams of engineers are already on their way to The Devil’s Footprint. They will drain the quicksand, section by section, seeking evidence of Matheson’s involvement in the experimentation programme. We have also arranged for you to fly to America in an escorted Royal Air Force jet.” He stood and walked to Roger and held out his hand.
Roger, deeply moved, shook it warmly as the room erupted in cheers.
* * * *
The sergeant was already reaching for the door handle on the driver’s door when Russell saw the thin wire.
“No!” he cried and flung himself down onto the ground.
Other soldiers also threw themselves down and covered their ears against the blast of the explosion. But it never came. Russell looked up and saw the sergeant grinning in relief at the little white flag made out of a handkerchief that had been rigged to spring up when the car door was opened. The word BANG! had been written on it with a black marker pen. Feeling foolish, Russell climbed to his feet and then whirled to face the direction of the HQ from where the clatter of rotor blades came. As the noise from the chopper faded into the distance, he knew then that he’d been out-manoeuvred by the freak. They’d lured him and his men away from the only transport capable of carrying them to freedom. But he’d find them, no matter where or how long it took. He would find them.
It took three hours to rig up a new radio transmitter. Mobile telephones were useless up here in the mountains. Russell’s mobile HQ had been almost obliterated by the new weapon. Another seventeen vehicles had been destroyed along with weapons, ammunition, and communication equipment. The entire ferrous metal content at the base had been reduced to dust. The summons back to Washington came as he was heading East back along the Highway towards New Hudson and he listened to reports of Henry’s broadcast declaring war on Britain in shocked disbelief. He’d flipped. Henry had lost it! Even though the Declaration of war had been nullified and Roger Thompson had arrived in Washington, how did Henry hope to stop things from blowing apart? The President’s plane crash, was Henry behind that too? If so, then who had he used?
Had Henry finally decided to get rid of him, too? Was he walking into a trap?
Leaning forward, he spoke to the driver. “Drop me at the airport. I’ll take a plane to Washington from there.” He’d take a plane alright but it wouldn’t be to Washington. He was in the airport bar drinking a beer when he became aware of a murmur running through the bar and everyone staring at the TV screen. His beer remained half an inch from his lips as Russell froze, staring in shock at Adam, whose face filled the TV screen.
“My name is Adam,” the freak said, his eyes seeming to bore into Russell’s own. “I am the next generation. Not an alien, just a man altered through illegal genetic experimentation performed on me from the moment I was born. The project was funded by Matheson Chemicals, and Henry Matheson, your Vice President was the instigator of these experiments…”
“That’s enough of that bullshit!” the barman said and used the remote to switch to another channel.
“When Matheson became aware that the…” Adam continued as the barman flicked from one channel to another, but Adam remained constant. “He sent his assistant, Russell Downey, to England to close the project down…”
“That’s it!” the barman said and switched off the power. Russell, who was half-expecting Adam’s face to still remain on screen, sighed with relief as the screen went dark.
“Hey, Mac, I was watching that!” one of the customers said angrily.
“Well, go and watch it somewhere else,” the barman growled, and then his mouth dropped open as everyone in the bar, except Russell, started to walk towards the door.
“Hey, what’s the matter? Can’t you take a joke or something?” The barman hastily turned the power back on. “Here, watch it. Be my guest!”
“…I will run no longer and call upon the American Congress to let us live in peace and freedom as guaranteed under the constitution. Henry Matheson accuses us of murder, but offers no proof. Eyewitnesses have confirmed that the FBI launched a phosphorous grenade through the window of a cabin at Deer Lodge, killing an innocent young woman, Mary Slymond. It was a woman who had rescued young Mary from Russell Downey’s hunting lodge in Montana who killed the agents. Ask him why she was there. Why had he strapped her to the table to be raped before she was murdered and then fed to dogs?
“Leave me and mine alone or I’ll retaliate and bring you and your corrupt assistant to your knees, Matheson. You’re not worthy of the title of President!”
The transmission ended and normal programmes appeared on the screen, but the people in the bar were talking animatedly amongst themselves, asking each other if the broadcast was a hoax. Russell knew better, though. He’d go back to Washington after all. It was time to take extreme measures against the freaks.
* * * *
Adam switched off the camera, ending the transmission and smiling at the open-mouthed television engineer. “Thanks for the loan of the equipment. I’ll remove my modifications now so you can carry on as normal.”
The engineer and the rest of the mobile TV crew nodded and Adam sensed that the attractive female presenter was trying to gather up enough courage to say something. They had spotted the mobile broadcasting units van travelling towards New Hudson and Adam had simply blocked the road with the helicopter and taken over the van.
“What?” he asked, smiling at the woman.
She moistened her lips and then her professionalism took over. “I need to do an interview with you – with all of you,” she said. “If what you’re saying’s true, then you need to record your side of the story so that the whole country, the world even, hears what you all have to say.”
“We haven’t time,” Jay said. “They’ll be trying to pinpoint the transmission, but I promise you that everything Adam said was the truth.”
“I’m not coming with you,” Rebecca said. “I have to get to Washington to testify on Roger Thompson’s behalf.”
“It’s too risky. They’ll kill you,” Scott said. “Murder you, like they did Mary.”
“Not if you surrender yourself live, on national television,” the presenter said. “They wouldn’t dare let anything happen to you then, especially if your attorney was present.”
“Why are you offering to help me?” Rebecca asked.
“Well, besides having the story of the year, I could interview you on the way. What do you say?
At least my way you’re guaranteed to get to give yourself up alive!”
“Right then, that’s what we’ll do. I’m Rebecca, that’s Scott, Adam and Jay.”
“I’m Sara, that’s Doug my cameraman and driver.” They all shook hands and Rebecca and Jay embraced. Scott turned and shook Adam’s hand.
“I’m going with Rebecca,” he said. “You two have more of a chance on your own.”
Adam nodded. Scott was right, and at least he’d be safe with Sara and Doug. “You take care, Scott. I’ll be seeing you and that’s a promise.” He walked away while Scott and Jay said their goodbyes, climbing instead into the pilot’s seat.
There were tears in Jay’s eyes as she returned and climbed into the seat beside him. He started the rotors and with a final wave towards the van, they took off, flying towards the setting sun.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In shocked silence, the members of the Senate viewed the film showing the demolition of the convoy that had surrounded the Williams’ Ranch. Sitting amongst them was a rather bemused Roger Thompson. He’d been driven from the airport straight to the White House to be warmly greeted by the new acting Vice President, Frederick Dawes.
“Mister Prime Minister, it’s good to see you, and please disregard the President’s wild accusations. Everyone here knows that they’re untrue, but we needed to get you over here urgently. We’re under the greatest threat to democracy that we’ve ever had to face. We think the President is mentally unstable.”
“I fail to see how—”
“Please, bear with me. We’re going straight to the House of Representatives. Congressmen from all over the country are waiting for us there.”
Roger told him about Rebecca Carlyle’s telephone call. “If she is right and, although I’ve only met her once, I trust her judgment. Henry Matheson’s not mentally unstable – he’s become insane!”
“That, Senators and Prime Minister, is what we’re up against, a weapon that could destroy the very fabric of our country!” Holding up his hand, the Vice President silenced the urgent babble of conversation that had broken out. “Now, you’ve all heard the rumours. The allegations that have been made against the President. It’s my duty to inform you that not only are the allegations true, but Henry Matheson has suspended Congress and ordered a State of Emergency. He’s sealed himself in the War Room of the Pentagon with the Chiefs of Staff and issued orders for our arrest – all of us!”
Pandemonium broke out and Roger thought that the Vice President had lost control. Roger was about to try and make himself heard above the noise when the sound of shots broke out as the doors of the building burst open. Silence fell as they all turned towards the armed troops who swarmed into the room, their weapons aimed in their direction.
“You men will remove yourselves from this chamber immediately!” Frederick Dawes’ voice cut through the silence like a knife, and the Marines hesitated. “Congress has suspended the President pending—”
“Forget it, Dawes, our orders come direct from the President himself.” A man wearing the uniform of a three star General strode towards them. “My orders are to place you all under arrest and I will shoot the first man who refuses to obey me!”
“You’re insane! You can’t arrest the whole of Congress!”
“I can and I have. You will be kept here under armed guard until the current crisis is resolved. You may use the facilities within the building but anyone trying to leave will be shot. Gentlemen, I have a jammer in place to prevent you calling out on your mobile phones, and the land lines have already been disconnected.”
“This is an outrage, General!” A large Southern Congressman sprang to his feet, but sat down again when one of the marines stepped forward and pointed his rifle at him.
“I’m Roger Thompson, the British Prime Minister, and I wish to return to the British Embassy.”
The General smiled, showing white, even teeth. “Now ain’t that just tough titty?” he said. “Now listen up, if you gentlemen behave I will have food sent in to you. If not, well then I guess you’re all going to lose a little weight.” He turned on his heel and walked out. The marines backed up, their weapons held at the ready as they followed him.
The doors slammed shut and silence filled the hall. Roger wondered if they were all thinking the same thing. America, the most heavily armed nuclear power in the world, was in the grip of a mad man.
* * * *
“There she is,” Russell said triumphantly, as a red dot appeared briefly on the screen. “Butler’s Landing! I knew they’d come down somewhere around there!”
“You’re sure it’s her?” The Major from the Special Services asked.
“Yes, the bug in her shoe transmits for just one two second burst an hour. They’re holed up in an old tin mine down by the river here.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “Is your plane ready?”
“Yes, sir, and the men are just waiting for you to give the orders.”
“Alright, but remember I want the male alive. Use the dart guns and nets.”
“Understood, sir. My men know their jobs. They’re two hundred of the best combat troops in the army. We’ll be all over them before they know what’s hit them.”
“Don’t underestimate them, Major. They’re as fast and as strong as mountain lions. They will destroy any metal you go in with so the weapons you have been given are all metal free. Remember your best defence from being attacked is to grab the woman as a hostage and remember, keep the nets between you and him.”
Russell hoped the Major and his men were as good as they were supposed to be, but it didn’t really matter anymore. He and Henry had already decided, along with the Generals, to ensure that they got hold of the weapon intact they were going to drop a nuke on the freaks. Not on them exactly, it would be an airburst, which, even if it didn’t kill them, would blind them almost instantly. An airburst minimised radioactive contamination. There were a few hundred Indians on the nearby reservation who would also be wiped out, but so what? The weapon would not be damaged. Immediately afterwards, troops wearing protective clothing would go in and recover it. Yes, in twenty-four hours it would all be over.
* * * *
They heard about the State of Emergency and saw the troop-laden wagons long before they reached Washington.
Doug, a taciturn, rugged man, in his early forties, she thought, pulled into the parking lot of a diner. “I think that we’d best get something to eat and then decide what we’re going to do.” he said. Rebecca had been wondering about that herself. If Congress was suspended and the rumours that its members had all been arrested were true, then it was pointless giving herself up. The diner was crowded but they managed to find a table and gave their order to a harassed looking waitress. By the counter some men dressed in hunting gear were arguing loudly.
“I still say that it’s something to do with that alien attack at Greensburgh!” A thin man of about sixty and wearing a baseball cap said, punctuating his speech by jabbing the air with his finger.
“Aw heck, Marvin, don’t start in on that crap again!” A younger man, with salt and pepper hair, complained. “There ain’t no aliens, I reckon some fool terrorists have got themselves hold of a bomb.”
“Terrorists always have bombs!” A huge fat man said. “We know that!”
“No, not an ordinary bomb, Mike!” The younger man said. “A nuke! I reckon that some terrorists have got themselves hold of a nuke!”
“Excuse me, but didn’t you see the TV broadcast? Adam’s TV Broadcast?” Sara asked, and the men turned to stare at her.
“We ain’t got us no TV,” the waitress said, putting down the plates of food onto the table.
“Some low-down drunk threw a beer bottle through the screen last night and we ain’t got it repaired yet.”
“Who’s Adam and what’s he got to do with what’s going on?” Marvin asked belligerently.
“Hey is that your TV truck outside? Are you a TV star or something?” the man with the greying hair asked excitedly.
“I’m Sara Collins, from Bitterfoot News. Lo
ok, we’ve got a tape of the broadcast on the van and a couple of monitors. I’m sure that if a couple of you will give Doug here a hand, he’ll rig it up so you can see it for yourselves.”
“Thank you, ma’am, we’d surely appreciate that,” Mike the fat man said. “Tom and I will give him a hand. I’d sure as hell like to know just what’s going on!”
Rebecca helped Sara and the waitress remove the broken television from its shelf to make room for the monitor and video recorder that Doug and the men were removing from the truck. It took about fifteen minutes to set the equipment up before Doug pressed the button on the recorder and started the tape.
Rebecca counted forty-three people, excluding their own group, who stood open-mouthed watching Adam’s broadcast and as it ended, the silence remained unbroken for several seconds.
“I always thought that Henry Matheson looked a sneaky son of a bitch!” Mike said, slamming a meaty fist down on the counter hard enough to make the cups rattle. “Experimenting on kids, Jesus! I mean how low can you get?”
“You don’t believe this horse shit, Mike?” Marvin asked incredulously. “Anyone can see that it’s a put on! He turned to Sara, grinning. “You’ve been having us on, haven’t you?”
“No.” Sara spoke quietly and to Rebecca it was the simple sincerity in her voice that stopped all further argument. “Rebecca is a British Police officer sent by her Prime Minister to take care of Adam, who came over here to look for another survivor from the experiments, Jay. She was raised in England by her grandparents, and it was Scott’s parents, and Jay’s best friend, Mary, who Russell Downey and his men murdered. Everything that Adam said in that broadcast is the truth!”
Rebecca looked at the clock on the diner wall. “It’s coming up to one. Can we put the aerial in that monitor to hear the news?”
The newscaster sounded grim as he announced that the House of Representatives was surrounded by armed troops and the Congressmen were being held prisoners, along with the British Prime Minister.