And they made sense.
The floor vibrated and everyone jumped to their feet. Someone rushed into the room along with several Secret Service agents. The agents surrounded Starling, grabbing him by the arms when Secretary Wainwright held up his hand. “Wait.” He pointed to the window and they all turned to see a fireball and large plume of smoke in the distance. “They just hit the Jefferson Memorial.”
Starling turned to Speaker of the House Carney. “Draw up the paperwork and I’ll sign it.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“Let’s see if we can figure out who he’s looking at.”
“He was looking at someone near me, on the stairs.”
It was Director Morrison who made the comment as he entered the secure Operations Center. Everyone rose and he waved them off. “Tell me what we’ve got.”
Leroux rose from his desk, approaching the main screen. “Replay the shooting.”
The shooting played out, Morrison seemingly disturbed by the sight of what he had already seen. He shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable.”
“Now replay it, tagging the hand, reverse angle.” Leroux pointed at the screen. “Now watch this, sir.”
Morrison crossed his arms, jabbing at the screen. “The agent pulled the trigger.”
“All six times. I think the shooter was just another victim, coerced into this by the same people that have been attacking the country for the past two weeks.”
“Show me the nod.”
Leroux motioned for it to be brought up. “We were just starting our analysis to see if we could determine who he looked at.”
“Then don’t let me interrupt you. If they’re this deep into the White House, then we’ve got big problems. The President is about to declare martial law and I don’t think he has all the facts he needs before making that decision.”
“Can he be stopped?”
Morrison shook his head. “Congress has already agreed, they’re voting on it now.”
Leroux’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Few people had his number. His parents, Sherrie, Kane and work. They were the only people who had it besides companies telling him he had won a free cruise.
He glanced at the call display and his heart leapt. He leaned in toward Morrison and whispered. “It’s Kane, sir.”
“Put it on speaker.”
Leroux answered the phone. “Just a second, Dylan. I’ve got Director Morrison here in Op Center Three. I’m going to put you on speaker.” He tossed the phone to Dillard who jacked the call in.
Morrison cocked his head up. “Go ahead, Special Agent.”
There was a burst of static, the connection bad. “Sir, I may only have moments. Did you get the message on the assassination attempt from the USS Columbia’s Captain?”
Morrison frowned. “Yes, but too late. The President is dead.”
“Shit!” There was a moment of silence. “Okay, here’s what you need to know. General Yee and the others I previously mentioned were also aware of the F-35 delivery. These same men are the ones who mentioned the assassination attempt on the President. That means that the theft of the F-35 and the assassination are connected. As well, China has plans to take Taiwan, Mongolia and the South China Sea, with no expected opposition from us. Something big is happening, sir, something really big.”
Leroux could tell Morrison’s mind had already caught up with his own, for it was obvious what was happening to those with most of the information.
Morrison sat in a nearby chair. “Dylan, the President is about to declare martial law.”
“Sir, he has to be stopped. I have reason to believe that elements within our own military are behind these attacks. The F-35 I saw was intact, expertly dismantled. Only military personnel could have done that. And with a dead Army Captain delivering it, I’d say our Armed Forces have been compromised.”
Leroux’s head was bobbing. “And we know where they’re headquartered.”
“Where?”
Leroux looked at Morrison who nodded, giving him the green light. “Fort Myer. They’ve kidnapped Sherrie and have been—” Leroux broke off, choking up, unable to say the words.
“I’m sorry, you were cut off. What’s happened to Sherrie.”
“She’s being tortured for information,” replied Morrison gently, rising and placing a hand on Leroux’s shoulder.
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Kane. “And you’re doing nothing about it?”
Morrison frowned. “There’s nothing we can do. We don’t know who to trust at this point. It seems Raven Defense Services is involved, along with a Colonel Booker, the former commanding officer of our walking dead Captain Lewis. As far as we can tell they have some sort of command post in a building at the Fort Myer site.”
“Chris, can you hear me?”
Leroux raised his head, wiping his eyes dry. “Y-yes, Dylan.”
“Get their photos and ID them. I’m going to kill every damned last one of them.”
Leroux smiled. “You’ll have them.”
The connection was cut off, but Leroux didn’t care. He knew that no matter what happened, his friend was going to avenge Sherrie, and knowing Kane, they’d die horrible deaths.
Never mess with a CIA agent’s friends or family.
“Sir, I’ve found a link!”
Both Leroux and Morrison looked over at Dillard.
“What is it?” asked Morrison.
“It’s the shooter, sir. I mean the real shooter, the Special Agent. His name is Maxwell Logan. He’s been Secret Service for six years, Treasury for six before that. No military service whatsoever, not even National Guard.”
“Then what’s the connection?” asked Morrison.
“His brother, sir. His brother served with the deceased Captain Lewis in Iraq and now is fairly high up in Raven Defense Services.”
Leroux grinned. “Which means he’s a co-conspirator. He’s not being coerced.” Leroux pointed at the central screen showing a paused view of the staircase. “He’s looking at someone on that staircase.”
Morrison approached the display. “And he made eye contact. He nodded as if he made eye contact. He wouldn’t have nodded if they were looking away.”
“Show us the time-synched moment he nodded, this angle.”
The frame moved forward slightly, little changing as most people had been frozen in place, in shock. Including Morrison.
Leroux stepped toward the screen, pointing at several of the people. “Remove anyone whose back is turned.”
A magic wand tool appeared on the screen, bodies being circled and removed leaving black outlines where they once were, reducing the number by more than half.
“Now eliminate the Director.”
“No, don’t assume I’m innocent.”
Leroux looked at him. “If we can’t trust you, sir, then there’s no point in continuing. Let’s remove you from the frame, you’re just a distraction.”
Morrison nodded, reluctantly.
His image disappeared.
Leroux pointed at three more people. “They’re all looking in the wrong direction.”
Three more disappeared. The staircase was quickly thinning, only three people remaining.
Morrison pointed at Susan Lawrence. “She’s too shocked to be involved. She was screaming hysterically for at least several minutes.”
She disappeared.
Both Leroux and Morrison exchanged worried glances, for only two people remained.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Thorne, and his aide.
Both of whom were looking directly forward, not a hint of shock on their faces.
The Oval Office, The White House, Washington, DC
President Jacob Starling screwed the top of the pen until it clicked, then placed the pen in his pocket, a memento he planned to turn over to his Presidential Library someday, should the orders he just signed not blow up in his face.
For he had just
signed over the country to its military, something he had never dreamed might happen. Technically he and Congress could overturn the decision, but it still made him incredibly uncomfortable. He could already see two different versions of the history texts future students would read about him. One in which he saved the country by temporarily suspending the Constitution, and another where he saved the country by permanently handing it over to the military. Either way the text books would portray him as a hero, one for the right reasons, the other for the wrong.
For the Military States of America, or whatever the hell they might be called, would never say anything bad about the man that had handed them power.
Trust in them. They are, after all, Americans too.
And that was what had at least part of him thinking this wasn’t a terrible idea. This was the American military. The freest of all militaries, with a volunteer army of average citizens who wanted to serve their country. How they could support any type of permanent change of power was unimaginable.
The good people of our Armed Forces will preserve our Union.
He rose, looking at General Thorne.
“General Thorne, I hereby temporarily declare martial law, and the suspension of habeas corpus and the Constitution of these United States. This order, signed by me in cooperation with both Houses and Parties, is temporary, and can be suspended at any time by order of Congress, which will sit in thirty days to review this order.”
Thorne saluted and Starling returned the salute. “Mr. President, you honor me as well as the men and women who serve under me with the confidence you have placed in us. I give you my word that we will do whatever it takes to restore order, and when the perpetrators of these heinous crimes have been captured, restore the Constitution and return power to the people.”
Starling, hands clasped behind his back looked up at the slightly taller Thorne, his figure even more imposing now that he controlled the entire country with no rule of law to hamper him. It was frightening. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, but he pushed the feeling of impending doom aside. “General Thorne, I trust you to do your duty and save our country from the destruction our enemies are so intent on bringing. I look forward to the day, very soon, when I once again sit in this office as President of these United States. God bless you, and God bless America!”
As those in the room as witnesses applauded, shouting “God bless America!”, he felt his pulse pound in his ears as he went through the motions, soon leaving the Oval Office behind him and returning to the residence. He closed the door to his bedroom behind him, his wife of thirty-four years waiting, her arms outstretched. He collapsed into her arms, and wept openly for the first time in his life.
What have I done?
Command Center, Fort Myer, Arlington, Virginia
“Colonel, we have a problem.”
Colonel Booker was watching a live feed from the Oval Office being broadcast on every channel in the country, and probably every channel in the free and not-so-free world. It was a moment he had never dreamed possible, yet here it was, unfolding before his eyes—military rule of the United States.
And it would change things forever. Peace and security without having to worry about the courts protecting the guilty by assuming their innocence. By imposing martial law, America would be secure once again, the terrorist threat eliminated. They would rid the country of the Islamic problem, and reign in the unchecked ambitions of traditional foes like China and an ever-out of control Russia.
They had a deal with China that was one of convenience until the day came when it was no longer needed.
Then we’ll deal with them as well.
But first was Russia. Tens of thousands of troops would be inside the Ukraine and Baltic States within two weeks, mobilization to begin tomorrow under the guise of an already announced exercise. Russian aggression would be stopped cold. A safe supply of oil would be secured until energy independence was achieved within two years, and negotiations with Iran would be over the moment it was achieved.
Skyrocketing oil prices on the world market were no concern when the military had a secure supply at home, which it could impose price controls on if desired.
He smiled.
Everything is going according to plan.
“Sir?”
Booker looked at his subordinate. “What?”
“Sir, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“We’ve been hacked.”
Booker’s red alert alarm sounded. “Explain.”
“I’ve found a tap on our network feeding data out over secure lines.”
“The hard lines?”
“Yes, sir. It looks like they’ve been pulling security video.”
Booker frowned. Not good.
“Have you traced it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And?”
“It’s Langley, sir. CIA Headquarters.”
Kunsan Airbase, South Korea
It hadn’t made any sense until now. The Chinese ships had never reengaged, his mini-sub and the sailboat continuing unfettered for several more hours before the USS Columbia resurfaced, scaring the shit out of the Canadians. The mini-sub had been retrieved by the time they were able to rendezvous with a helicopter over international waters and the shocking news had been received.
The United States was under martial law.
And he had failed to warn the President in time.
As he and Lee Fang jumped down from the helicopter, three black SUV’s pulled up, doors from all three vehicles thrown open as men in black suits stepped out almost in unison.
This isn’t good.
“Special Agent Dylan Kane?” asked one of the men.
Kane frowned. “Thanks for blowing my cover, asshole.”
“Major Lee Fang of the People’s Liberation Army?”
Lee Fang snapped to attention, her face forward but her eyes looking over at Kane, confusion and fear on her face.
“Special Agent Kane, by order of the Military Stewardship Council of the United States, I am placing you under arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Treason.”
He cocked an eyebrow as the stiff warm wind blew open his shirt, revealing his Glock. Guns were immediately pointed at him. He laughed, pulling the gun out with his thumb and forefinger, tossing it to the nearest agent. He liberated Fang’s weapon from her belt, tossing it over as well.
No point dying here.
“And just how am I supposed to have betrayed my country?”
The man shook his head. “Above my pay grade, sir. I just have orders to take you both into custody.”
Kane motioned with his chin toward Fang. “And what’s to become of her?”
“She’s to be returned to China to face charges of murder and treason.”
“Interesting.” Kane took Fang by the hand. “Let’s go, my dear, we don’t want to keep our new military overlords waiting, now do we?”
They were both patted down, their wrists ziptied behind their backs, then placed in the rear of the second SUV. Within moments they were underway. Kane watched as they turned onto Route 21. He leaned forward, lifting off the seat, poking his head between the two headrests. “Where are you taking us?”
“Sit down!” yelled the passenger, shoving him with a face palm backward. Kane lowered his wrists and felt the ziptie snap with the force of his bodyweight falling on them. It went unnoticed up front, but not to Fang who exchanged a knowing glance with him.
She leaned forward slightly, revealing her own freed wrists.
I wonder when she did that.
He could only think of one opportunity, and that was when she had first sat in the vehicle, which meant she had entered planning to escape, or die trying.
My kind of girl.
He looked out the window, the lead vehicle about a hundred yards ahead, the trailing the same distance behind. They were doing maybe forty. It wasn’t a speed you wanted to jump out of a vehicle at,
but it had been done on many occasions by him and had yet to result in any permanent damage.
But today he couldn’t afford any damage. He glanced at Fang then motioned slightly to the front. She nodded almost imperceptibly. He leapt forward, grabbing the driver by the head, spinning it to the right then sharply back to the left, the bone crunching nicely as the neck snapped. He looked over at the passenger, Fang strangling him with the crook of her elbow against his windpipe, her arm locked in place around the headrest.
The vehicle was beginning to fishtail and Kane reached forward, putting the vehicle in neutral to take any power from the tires but before he could grab the wheel, the vehicle suddenly swerved to the right, striking the meridian. They hit with a jar that sent them both sailing forward. Kane heard Fang’s head smack the dash, the passenger suddenly gasping for air as the vehicle flipped, rolling onto the roof and skidding into oncoming traffic.
Horns blared and tires squealed, somebody reacting too slowly, the SUV hit hard on the front end sending them into a dizzying spin on the roof. Kane braced himself by shoving his arms and legs out like spokes, finally stabilizing himself just as the vehicle came to a stop.
His hand darted out, crushing the windpipe of the passenger. He grabbed the man’s gun and spare mags as Fang moaned.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he liberated the driver’s weapon, all the while glancing through the shattered front and rear windows for the escort vehicles. Another moan. “Answer me!”
“I-I’m okay, just groggy.”
“Can you shoot straight?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet.”
Kane stole a glance at Fang and saw a deep gash on her forehead, blood flowing a little too freely for his liking. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and put it in her left hand, pressing both against her forehead. “Maintain pressure, I’ll look at it later.” He stuffed the Glock in her right hand. “Shoot anything that isn’t handsome like me.”
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 15