by D C Alden
Schultz pointed across the marbled lobby. ‘That’s a private elevator. It’ll take you down to the lobby, the conference floor, and the parking lot below. It also has direct access to the emergency shelter. Would you like to see it, ma’am?’
Coffman shook her head. She’d had enough of underground facilities.
‘There’s another fifty apartments on the levels below us,’ Schultz continued, ‘which means we can accommodate the Cabinet and National Security Council.’ He shook his head. ‘This place really is something else, isn’t it?’
Coffman had to agree. The Eyrie was a remote redoubt built to accommodate The Committee’s most senior members so that they may escape the chaos and death in the wake of the Angola virus, and Coffman was again stung by the decision to exclude her from their ranks. Except now they were all dead or in jail, and Amy Coffman was the one enjoying the fruits of their labour. Every cloud, she mused.
Trailing her around the room, Schultz continued his running commentary. ‘Everything’s in perfect working order; power, climate control, water and sewage systems, communications, everything. As for security, well, it’s certainly on a par with Camp David. We’re talking about a highly-sophisticated surveillance system that covers the whole mountain. Right now we have a company of Marine infantry providing physical security, but we can scale that up to a full battalion if the situation demands it.’
‘And all this now belongs to the federal government?’ Coffman asked.
‘You signed the Executive Order yourself, when you first took office. That gave us the power to seize all of The Committee’s real estate. We’ve also used eminent domain statutes to extend the security envelope into the surrounding valleys and erect additional fencing. Blue Grouse Peak is now a federal facility, codenamed Snowcat.’
Coffman turned to look across the room. Erik was standing at the glass wall, staring into the plateau below. She was starting to worry about Erik. By his own admission he was more than a little disturbed by Bob’s plan. For the first time since she’d known him, Coffman had doubts about her consiglieri.
‘What d’you think, Erik?’
Mulholland stopped chewing his fingernail. ‘This place? Yeah, impressive.’
‘Think we can sit out the end of the world up here?’
His eyes twitched. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m kidding,’ Coffman quipped. She switched her gaze to Schultz. ‘We need to talk. Dinner is at seven. Just the three of us.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Coffman settled in for the evening. With bags unpacked and the pressing business of government dealt with via teleconference, she returned to the privacy of the Presidential Suite where she pounded the treadmill for thirty minutes. Afterwards, she hit the steam room for another thirty. By the time dinner was served, the President of the United States was feeling pretty good.
Beyond the glass wall, night had fallen across the plateau. The blinds were lowered and coffee was served. Throughout the meal, Charlie had gushed about Snowcat while Erik ate in relative silence. After the white-jacketed stewards had retired for the evening, Coffman invited them both to join her on the couches arranged around the glowing granite fireplace. It was decision time. The clock was ticking and the ball was already in play.
‘We’ve all had plenty of opportunity to digest Bob’s plan,’ Coffman opened. ‘The question is, what do we do next?’
‘The concept has merit,’ Schultz replied, ‘at least from a geopolitical standpoint. Theoretically, an immunised America would find itself in a position of unrivalled power and influence in the wake of a global H-1 pandemic. International tensions could go either way in the short term; an increase is probable in unstable regions, while an overall de-escalation is likely as the pandemic spreads and countries topple like dominoes. So Bob’s plan is workable. Theoretically,’ he reiterated.
‘It’s mass murder,’ Mulholland stated bluntly. ‘Baghdad was bad enough, but this is a whole other level.’
Coffman smiled. ‘Correct. This time we’re in control.’
‘How do you figure? At least Angola was clean. H-1 is ugly and murderous. How do we control something like that?’
’With the appropriate munitions,’ Schultz told him. ‘Lighten up, Erik. This won’t be happening on our shores, remember?’
Mulholland ignored him. ‘We’re talking about a lot of deaths, Amy. Millions.’
Coffman put down her coffee cup and sat forward on the couch. ‘Tell me, Erik, how many people die of starvation every year? Ballpark.’
Mulholland shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Then let me educate you. The figure is at least forty million, and it’s rising. You think that’s acceptable in the twenty-first century?’
’I didn’t realise you gave a damn.’
Coffman’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m making a point. Take our southern border for example. It’s practically under siege by people who’ve been driven to our doorstep by food insecurity, political instability and economic opportunity. I promised to do something about it during my campaign, remember? I’m being pressured to open that border. If I do, we’ll never be able to close it again. In a decade, maybe less, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California will all fold, leading to further instability.’
Her Chief of Staff frowned. ‘What has any of that got to do with Bob’s plan?’
Coffman didn’t answer straight away. Instead she finished her coffee and put her cup down. When she spoke again, the flames of the fire danced in her eyes.
‘It’s about control, Erik, and we’re losing it. Rich and poor, black and white, red and blue, we’re all at each others’ throats, and those divisions are slowly tearing the fabric of this country apart. And when the public learns the truth about The Committee, any faith in government and its institutions will disappear overnight. Legislative business in DC will grind to a halt. Rumours, suspicion and accusations will tear both Houses apart. On the streets there’ll be outrage, anger and fear. Violence will swiftly follow. Society will fracture and people will be forced to pick a side. At that point, we’ll be staring down the barrel of another civil war.’
The fire spat and crackled. In her mind’s eye, Coffman saw the flames of rebellion engulfing the White House.
‘It’ll happen faster than we anticipate,’ Schultz said, underpinning the President’s bleak vision. ‘The financial scandal cover story is taking on water, and Moody’s widow is still pissed that her husband got the blame for Baghdad. She’s started making noises about his role in stopping, quote, a global disaster. My guess is, she knows about the Angola virus.’
Coffman snorted. ‘Of course she does, and the Delta guy Chase is still out there in the wind. Christ knows who else he’s talking to, but you can bet your ass he’s talking. Either way, one of them is going to light a match under this whole goddamn powder keg, and when it blows, well…’
Coffman left the statement hanging in the air as she stared into the flames. ‘The old order is dying, and not just here in the United States; Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Korea, they’re all political pressure cookers. Bob’s right, factor in increased WMD proliferation, a deepening climate crisis and rising starvation, and you’ve got a cocktail for global disaster. Whichever way you cut it, people are going to die in huge numbers.’
Coffman got to her feet. She dimmed the lights and pushed the button to raise the blinds. Beyond the glass wall, the plateau glowed white beneath a new moon and a light dusting of winter snow. Stars glittered in the clear night sky. She heard footsteps as the men crossed the room to join her.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Coffman waited for some time before she spoke again. ‘Bob has handed us a blueprint for global control. I say we run with it.’
Mulholland turned away from the glass. ‘And inherit what, Amy? Deserted cities, billions of rotting corpses, disease, failing infrastructure, environmental damage — ’
‘All of that,�
� Coffman shot back. ‘You’re right, Erik. It won’t be easy. The clean up may take decades, but the United States will be insulated from it all. We decide which countries are saved and which ones get rebooted. We’ll control it all.’
Mulholland bit his lip. ‘I don’t know — ’
‘It’s the right thing to do. And the moment the virus breaks, our first priority will be to protect this country, keep us all safe. Tell him, Charlie.’
Schultz turned to face Mulholland. ‘We’re going to close the southern border and seal it tight. And I mean seal it, with a real wall. Then we’ll offer Canada our protection. Eventually we’ll take over, annexe the country, increase our land mass and create a huge, natural buffer zone.’
‘In other words, we will prevail, Erik.’ Coffman stared out at the frozen wilderness. ‘And somewhere in that future, Bob has to go.’
Schultz shared a look with Mulholland. ‘Ma’am?’
Coffman turned away from the glass. ‘He developed a bioweapon, then threatened us with it. He had us fly all the way to Seattle so we could gasp at the size of his balls. Good intentions aside, I can’t accept that. Matt will be dead in six months, tops. Bob’s a loose cannon. He needs to go too.’
‘It’s a prudent move,’ Schultz agreed.
Coffman turned to Mulholland. ‘Erik?’
‘We’ve discussed this before, Amy. A guy like Bob will have the goods on you. Remember that first meeting with Aswad? Bob set it all up. Probably recorded it too. Then there’s the slush funds, the donations — ’
’I don’t mean now, Erik. I mean sometime in the future, after we’ve consolidated our power. Bob will want a seat at that table. In fact, he’s probably got his eye on the throne itself. Men like Bob Blake are never satisfied.’
‘He’s vile,’ Mulholland said. ‘The world will be better off without him.’
‘So, we’re agreed then.’ Coffman stared out of the window, at the untamed beauty below her. ‘I get goosebumps just thinking about what lies ahead.’
Mulholland stepped closer, a warning note in his voice. ‘This is Pandora’s box, Amy. Once we open it we might never get the lid back on.’
Coffman laid a hand on Mulholland’s cheek. ‘I’m worried about you, Erik. You’ve not been yourself since Baghdad.’
The Chief of Staff swallowed. ‘It shook me up, I won’t deny it, but the scale of what we’re contemplating frightens me, Amy.’
‘We don’t have much choice,’ Schultz told him. ‘The way things are going, this may be the last chance we have before the country starts coming apart.’
Mulholland shrugged. ‘Then maybe we should let it. Maybe the whole system needs to come down so we can build it up again — ’
‘No,’ Coffman snapped. ‘I can’t allow that. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed to get here.’ She stood in front of Mulholland, her arms folded across her chest. ‘I need to know, Erik. Are you in or out? It’s your choice.’
Mulholland held her expectant gaze. ‘I’m scared, Amy, sure I am, but you know what really scares me?’ He tapped a finger on the glass. ‘Being out there, just another citizen, a nobody, cowering in the dark, not knowing what’s coming. This is where I need to be, right here, on the inside. The alternative is something I can’t contemplate.’
Coffman smiled then turned to Schultz. ‘Are you ready for this, Charlie?’
‘We had the grandkids over last weekend,’ he told her. ‘Watching them gave me pause, forced me to think about the world they’d grow up in. Everything you’ve said tonight is true, ma’am. The way I see it, what we’re about to do is painful but necessary.’
‘Your descendants will thank you for it.’
’What about Karen?’ Mulholland asked. ‘She’s your National Security Advisor. And she knows all about Baghdad.’
Coffman smiled. ‘Karen’s already on board. So, we’re decided then?’
The men shared a look, then nodded. Coffman crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured each of them a couple of fingers of scotch. She handed out the glasses and raised her own.
’To us. And to the future.’
‘The future.’
Cut crystal echoed off the granite walls. Coffman emptied her glass and set it down.
’So, let’s get to work.’
The C-17 Globemaster idled at the end of runway Zero-Nine at Ramstein AFB, its grey fuselage slick with rain, its anti-collision lights pulsing.
Mike Savage and Stan Lando were stood a short distance away as they watched Mike’s guys board the aircraft, hefting their black gear bags up the loading ramp. They wore civilian clothing, as did the four other men who clambered out of an air force minivan and followed them up into the aircraft. Stan had to shout to make himself heard above the engine noise.
’I got you four guys from Red Squadron, Seal Team Six. Guy in charge is Senior Chief Billy Finch. They’ll provide security and tactical support, should you need it.’
‘Roger that.’
‘If and when you liberate Nunez, the CBRN team will oversee his evac to the Regional Medical Center at Landstuhl.’ He pointed to the Transport Isolation System mounted inside the aircraft. Specialists from the US Army’s 1st Area Medical Lab fussed over its clear Trexlar flanks, connecting hoses and data lines. ‘They’ll stay onboard until you call them up. Embassy transport will meet your team in Vienna and get you to the location. You’ll liaise with their counter-terror guy, name of Unger. And Mike…’ Lando stepped closer, leaned into Mike’s ear. ‘This is their turf. They’re running point on this one, so let the locals do all the heavy lifting. Your job is to ID Nunez then evac his ass, nothing more. Debrief will be at the embassy. I’ll fly in later tonight.’
He gave Mike a good luck slap on the arm and hurried through the rain to a waiting Ford Explorer. Mike jogged up into the belly of the Globemaster and the ramp doors closed behind him with a loud, hydraulic whine. A big guy with short dark hair and a few days’ growth on his face was waiting to greet him. He held out his hand.
‘Billy Finch.’
‘Mike Savage. Good to have you aboard. Take a seat and we’ll talk once we’re in the air.’
Mike shook hands with the other SEAL operators and headed up to the cockpit. It was lit only by its instrumentation as the pilots went through their pre-flight checklist.
‘We’re good to go,’ he told them.
The captain nodded. ‘Three minutes to departure.’
Mike took a seat in the rear cabin, belted up, then started flipping through the intel package. A couple of minutes later he felt the engines wind up and the fuselage shudder. The brakes were released and then they were moving, thundering down the runway and lifting up into the skies of southern Germany.
Stand To
Philip was packing clothes into a small wheeled suitcase when Marion entered the room and closed the door behind her. She beckoned him to follow her into the bathroom. She pulled him close and whispered in his ear.
‘Did you see the text?’
‘What text?’
‘From Arizona. We have thirty minutes to get clear.’
Philip marched out of the bathroom and picked up his phone. He read the message, swore under his breath. ‘Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.’
Marion hurried from the room as Philip threw the rest of his things into the case and snapped it shut. The text was expected, but Philip assumed it would come later. It reminded him of the other message he’d received, back in the Northridge ops room in Baghdad. That one had also been brief, a sudden and explicit warning. He’d led his best men down into the basement, cringing as the blast swept away the building above their heads. They’d survived — just — and then they’d dug Lance Corporal Nunez out of the rubble. As Philip lifted his case off the camp bed and wheeled it across the room, he felt a fleeting stab of sympathy for the sad, limbless creature they’d buried alive beneath that distant German forest.
He checked his documentation; two passports, several credit cards and eight thousand dollars in cas
h. He placed the items into various pockets, pulled on a thick North Face parka and left the room.
Marion was waiting downstairs. The lobby was in darkness, the reception desk empty, the building long since abandoned by its previous tenants. Steel shutters covered the doors and windows. Men and women passed to and fro, hard-core anarchists and environmentalists who’d been recruited along the way. Like their British counterparts they were committed to the cause, fanatical to the point of extreme violence, violence that was necessary in order to save the planet. Unlike their British counterparts, they were still alive, but that wouldn’t last long.
‘Ready?’ he asked Marion.
She nodded.
A voice barked. ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’
Philip turned and saw Gunter Warburg walking towards them. Warburg was the money man, a Bavarian businessman and former politician whom Philip had duped into leasing the Schloss outside of Berlin, a man possessed of a streak as cold as any Nazi death camp guard. Warburg had also leased their current accommodations, and he’d personally overseen preparations for the coming storm; food, water, power generators, fuel, weapons, ammunition, medical supplies. Warburg and his people had it all. Except the full picture.
His deep, booming voice drew others out of the surrounding rooms, all keen to break the monotony of waiting for Armageddon.
Philip forced a smile as Warburg blocked their path to the main door. Physically he wasn’t a big man; below average height, with a bald head and a rotund belly that strained at his shirt buttons, but like all leaders he had presence. When Gunter Warburg spoke, people listened. It was why he’d run as a Green candidate in the Euro elections, but the cut and thrust of political life had exposed Warburg as a man short on patience, a bully with a quick temper and a penchant for trouble. And those were his good points, Philip knew, recalling the man’s wild enthusiasm for the lethal testing they’d carried out on Berlin’s unfortunates.