“Have you seen the transcripts of the phone call I received yesterday?”
Joe wagged his head. “Not yet. I only review them once a week.”
“Grab some coffee and sit down,” Otis said, pointing to the urn in the corner of the office. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
Joe Winter listened to Otis’s rendition of his conversation with Ben Raines without commenting, but he couldn’t hide the expression of disgust on his face when he learned that Claire had gone ahead with the bombing, knowing her citizens weren’t protected by the vaccine they’d all taken.
When Otis finished and leaned back in his chair, Joe asked, “What do you intend to do about what you’ve learned?”
“I have no choice, Joe. Somehow, I’ve got to stop Claire before she destroys the entire country. Raines assured me he’d provide us with the correct vaccine if we removed Claire from office and sued for peace.”
Joe nodded, thinking. “There’s something else you ought to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Ben Raines’s son, Buddy, was captured the other night while attempting an assault on our compound. He’s being held in an underground prison cell over at the airbase.”
“Is he . . . is he all right?”
Joe shrugged. “Other than some minor injuries, some broken fingers and ribs, he’s in pretty good shape. But Claire has turned him over to the FPPS for interrogation, which means he won’t be healthy for long.”
“What does she plan to do with him then?”
“She wants to get some military information concerning placement of SUSA installations and defenses. Then she said something about trading him to Raines for something she wanted.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t know Ben Raines very well,” Joe added. “From all the intel I’ve seen, the man is a straight arrow. He’d never betray his country’s interests for anything, not even to save the life of his son.”
“I agree.” Otis stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee, his brow furrowed in thought.
He leaned back against his desk as he talked. “Do you have any ideas on how we might . . . get rid of Claire?”
“Well, to be successful, we’re also going to have to remove General Wilford Hall. He’s a hard-liner just like her, and it won’t do any good to eliminate Claire if we leave him in charge of the army.”
“Agreed. Go on.”
“We might have a chance in the next couple of days. Hall and Osterman are planning a trip to several of the nearby bases, a sort of good will appearance by the president to do an inspection of the troops, for morale purposes. They’re planning to fly to the bases in an executive jet, a five-seater. I’ve been asked to provide security for the trip.”
“Excellent,” Otis said.
“One of the mechanics in aircraft maintenance is a friend of mine. He’s Jewish, and has been passed over for his last two promotions, even though I’ve managed to call in some favors and keep him on duty.”
“Does he know of your background?”
“No. He thinks I’m doing it out of fairness, because he’s the best mechanic over there.”
“Do you think he could arrange for the plane to have . . . mechanical problems on the trip?”
Joe smiled. “If he agrees to do it, he can make the plane do anything he wants. He’s a mechanical genius.”
“Good. Talk to him immediately. Explain all you need to about the vaccine. Maybe that’ll convince him of the necessity of what we propose to do.”
“I’m sure it will. He has a large family, so he’ll want to protect them from the plague.”
“Now, I need you to get me in to see Buddy Raines, before the FPPS can do too much damage. Can you arrange that?”
“It’ll be tricky, but I’ll see what I can do. The problem will be doing it without Osterman finding out about it.”
Joe Winter and Otis Warner approached the cell holding Buddy Raines. Winter walked up to the pair of guards in front of the cell door. “Take a break, fellows. Go get some coffee. Mr. Warner wants to talk to the prisoner.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the guards said, saluting.
After they’d left the room, Otis put his hands on the bars and spoke to the man lying on a bunk across the cell.
“Mr. Raines, I’m Otis Warner, senior adviser to President Osterman.”
Buddy opened one eye, the other swollen shut from the beatings he’d taken.
“Hello, Mr. Warner. I’d offer you some coffee, but . . .”—he spread his arms—”. . . as you can see, my room is rather short on amenities.”
Otis smiled. He was glad to see they hadn’t been able to break the young man’s spirit.
“How are you doing, Buddy?”
Buddy held up his right hand, swollen almost twice its normal size and covered with dirty bandages. His left cheekbone was cut, and dried blood covered his face. “I’m peachy, Mr. Warner. The hospitality your guards have shown me is remarkable.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
Buddy’s torn lips curved in an ironic smile. “I have so far. Why do you ask?”
“What I’m about to tell you could get us all killed. I need to know if you can hold out for another twenty-four hours.”
“I think so, as long as they keep using fists and clubs instead of drugs. Why?”
“I’m working on getting you out of here, returning you to your father. I intend to try to end the war, and I want you to know, so you won’t lose hope and talk to the FPPS.”
Buddy got painfully to his feet and shuffled over to the bars. “Don’t tell me any more, Mr. Warner. Do whatever it is you’re planning, but don’t let me know the details. I’ll hold out as long as I can.”
Otis reached through the bars and patted Buddy on the shoulder, causing him to wince with pain.
“Good man. Keep the faith, Buddy. With luck, all this will be over in the next few days.”
Buddy nodded, tried to smile, and walked back to his cot, his back a little straighter with the news.
FORTY
Claire Osterman and General Wilford Hall entered Otis Warner’s office without knocking.
He looked up from his desk. “Oh, hello, Claire. General Hall,” he said, trying to look unconcerned even though his heart began beating a staccato rhythm and his mouth became dry. He wondered if they’d somehow found out about his plot.
“What can I do for you?”
“I understand you paid a visit to our prisoner, Buddy Raines, yesterday,” Claire said, her face serious.
“Why, yes. When I learned of his capture, I thought I’d try to reason with him. Get him to tell us what he knows without the necessity of beating him half to death,” Otis said, trying his best to appear nonchalant.
“And did you succeed?” she asked, scornfully.
He shook his head. “No. It appears the boy is as stubborn and obstinate as his father. I even tried to appeal to his patriotism, telling him he would save thousands of lives by ending the war sooner if he told us what we needed to know.”
“I don’t appreciate your meddling in matters that don’t concern you, Otis.”
Otis stood up, his face beginning to flush. “I don’t really care whether you appreciate it or not, Claire. As a member of the government and one of your advisers, I felt it was my duty to try to help out as best I could,” he said heatedly. “As far as I know, the USA is not a dictatorship yet. The rest of us in your cabinet also have a duty to help end the war if at all possible, and we still, no matter what you seem to think, have a say in the running of the country.”
Claire smirked, her face turning nasty. “Well, we’ll see about that, Otis. I have to leave on a tour of our bases, but when I get back we’ll have a meeting of the cabinet and talk over what you’ve just said.”
“I welcome the opportunity to discuss the course of the war with you, Madam President.”
“Oh, we’ll discuss much more than that, Otis. We might even discuss your future in the government, and whether you have one.”
“As you wish, Madam President.”
“Come on, Willie,” she said to the general. “Our plane is waiting.”
Otis followed them outside and watched as the small jet took off. As soon as they were out of sight, he rushed back to his office and had his secretary arrange for a meeting of his advisory committee for after lunch.
When he hung up the phone, Joe Whiter came into his office.
“Well, it’s done,” he said.
“Your friend agreed to sabotage the plane?”
Joe smiled. “When I told him about the vaccine and what was going to happen to the country because of Claire’s actions, he was angry enough to agree to anything. I told him to make sure the plane didn’t go down until it was over rough country. That way there’s no chance of a rescue attempt.”
“I’m having a meeting of the senior advisers after lunch. I want you to be there. And wear your dress uniform.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out. Just don’t be surprised at anything you hear.”
“OK.”
The five-seater jet carrying General Wilford Hall and President Osterman was proceeding along its flight path without any signs of trouble when the engine gave a giant cough, sputtered, and ceased operating as it belched a cloud of smoke.
The plane shuddered and shook like a dog having a seizure, and the nose dropped into a screaming dive.
“Goddamn! What’s happening?” Osterman yelled, terrified, flinching as the oxygen mask above her head dropped to dangle before her face.
“We’re going down,” General Hall hollered. Wasting no time, he released his seatbelt and ran to the rear of the aircraft. He jerked open a cargo door and pulled out a pair of parachutes.
Hurrying as fast as he could, he pulled Claire to her feet and strapped her into the chute. He pushed her to the rear door of the plane and yelled in her ear. “Pull the cord as soon as you’re clear of the tail.”
“What cord?” she asked, frantically searching the straps on the chute’s harness.
Hall put her fingers around the D ring of the harness, tugged the door open, and shouted, “Good luck, Madam President,” before shoving her out the door into the howling wind shear.
As he turned to pull on his chute, the plane exploded in a giant fireball, lighting up the sky for miles around.
The men were gathered in Otis’s office—Harlan Millard, Andy Schumberger, William Carroll, and Bobby Fisher. Carroll and Fisher were very junior, and Otis knew the men he had to convince were Millard and Schumberger, both of whom were spineless yes men who’d agreed to anything Claire said in the past.
Harlan cleared his throat and looked around nervously. “Why are we here, Otis? I’m a little nervous about meeting without Claire being present.”
Otis smiled his most reassuring smile. “Why, Harlan? Are you afraid we might be charged with treason for carrying out our sworn duties?”
Harlan blushed a bright red. “Uh . . . no, it’s just that Claire always likes to be present at our cabinet meetings.”
“What about you, Andy? You scared, too?”
Schumberger shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing, even though everyone present knew he was frightened to death of Claire Osterman. “Not really, Otis. I am a little confused as to what you hope to accomplish by this meeting, though. No matter what we decide, the president has to agree to it or it won’t mean a hill of beans.”
Just as he finished speaking, the door opened and Colonel Joe Winter walked in, his face grave.
Otis glanced up, his eyebrows raised. “Yes, Colonel. What can we do for you?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news, Mr. Warner,” Joe said.
“What is it?” Otis asked, although he knew. He’d told Joe not to come in until he’d heard the news about the president’s plane.
“President Osterman’s plane is down, and reported missing.”
“What?” several of the men present all said at the same time.
Otis held up his hand. Now was the time for him to assert his leadership of the group. “Hold on, everyone.” He turned his attention to Joe. “Am I to understand the plane carrying President Osterman and General Wilford Hall has been shot down?”
“No, Mr. Warner,” Joe said, playing his part to perfection. “Evidently there was a midair explosion. There was no sign of enemy activity, and there are no signs of survivors.”
“Has the wreckage been found?”
“Yes. It is in an inaccessible part of the mountains, so no landing has been attempted, but on the flybys there is no sign of life.”
Otis sat up straighter in his chair and looked from one man to another, slowly, his face grave. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid this changes everything.” He glanced over at Joe. “I’m sure all of you gentlemen know Colonel Joe Winter, chief of our intelligence services and second in command to General Hall.”
Though this last wasn’t exactly accurate, Joe being several steps down on the chain of command, Otis was certain none of the advisers present would be aware of that.
“Since we are engaged in a very difficult war, I suggest we waste no time in filling the president and general’s jobs.”
Harlan, his face ashen, stared at Otis. “What do you have in mind?”
“Since President Osterman abolished the position of vice-president, replacing the office with this team of advisers, and since I am senior man present, I will take over the presidency until such time as we can have elections by the voters.”
When Schumberger opened his mouth as if to protest, Otis interrupted him. “I further suggest that we promote Colonel Winter to General, and have him assume command of our armed forces, before SUSA learns of the vacuum at the top.”
Both William Carroll and Bobby Fisher saw which way the wind was blowing, and noticed the sidearm on Winter’s hip.
“Yes, I definitely think that is the prudent thing to do,” Carroll said abruptly, smiling at Otis to show him who his friends were.
“I second the motion,” Fisher chimed in, not to be outdone in currying favor with the new leader.
This left Harlan Millard and Andy Schumberger in most difficult positions. If they disagreed, and Otis ended up being president, they were dead in the water. So, they took the easy way out. Both nodded. “Let’s make it unanimous,” Harlan said.
The others all stood up and rushed to shake Otis’s hand, then the new general’s.
Otis took command of the meeting. “I think the first thing on the agenda should be to notify all of the general staff of the president’s demise and of my new position, along with that of General Winter’s new command.”
The cabinet members nodded as they rose to go and spread the word of the new order of things in the USA.
After the room had cleared, Otis looked at Joe. “Well, General, we’ve done it.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Joe answered with a smile.
“I’d advise you to go immediately to command headquarters and make sure you consolidate your new position. That means getting rid of anyone who might be a threat, or who might think they deserve your new job. Replace any you suspect of not being completely loyal to you with people you can trust.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as I saw the direction your meeting was taking, I began to make a mental list of those who needed to be . . . reassigned, so to speak.”
“Get back to me as soon as you feel secure, and we’ll discuss what has to be done next.”
“Yes, sir,” Joe said, saluting smartly before exiting the office.
FORTY-ONE
Otis Warner sat on the cot next to Buddy Raines. “Mr. Raines, I have already spoken with your father. We have worked out some terms agreeable to both of us concerning the immediate end of the war.”
Buddy looked at Otis, disbelief in his eyes. “You mean it’s finally over?”
“Well, there are some loose ends to be tied up and some tough negotiating to do, but for all intents and purposes the war is over. We have declared a b
ilateral cease-fire as of midnight tonight, and President Jeffreys and I will meet in a neutral place to work out the details.”
“When will I be going home?”
“Right now,” Otis said. “I’m sending you home on a jet, and on its return flight it will be carrying crates of vaccine against bubonic plague and a team of medical specialists to help us treat those already infected.”
“What about President Osterman?”
Otis glanced over his shoulder at General Joseph Winter and smiled. “She is dead, Buddy. Her reign of terror is over at last.”
EPILOGUE
Claire Osterman, her face swollen and misshapen from a broken jaw, her left arm hanging at an unnatural angle, and her left ankle swollen to twice its normal size, limped into a clearing around a small shack in a deep, mountain forest.
A man and woman, thin to the point of emaciation, dressed in clothes that were little more than rags, came running from the door to help her.
“God Awmighty, miss,” the man said in a thick accent, “you look like you lost a fight with a grizzly.”
Claire tried to smile, but a dark pool opened at her feet and she dived into it.
Claire awoke with a nasty taste in her mouth, feeling as if someone were laying a branding iron on her leg and arm.
“Where . . . where am I?”
The woman who’d met her outside was leaning over her, bathing her face with a cool washrag. “You’re in our home, lady. You’ve been asleep for nigh onto three days now.”
“Three days?”
“Yes. We didn’t find no identification on you, so we don’t know what to call you.”
Claire hesitated. She didn’t want to reveal her identity until she found out just who she was with. For all she knew, she might have been rescued by some Freedom Fighters. She figured her best course of action was to fake amnesia until she knew the lay of the land.
“I can’t remember. My . . . my head feels kind of funny.”
“No wonder. You look like you took an awful beating.”
The door opened and the farmer walked in, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “She tell you her name yet?”
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