by C. A. James
The picture switched to another aerial view, this one of the upper stretches of Lake Sakakawea. A vast river of foaming, muddy water, laden with trees, planks, dead animals, and even whole houses, churned into the west end of the lake, sending the floodwaters up into bays and inlets, far past the normal shoreline.
Christine continued. “Authorities fear that the water from Fort Peck Lake will be too much for the Garrison Dam to hold. If the dam breaks, it will be the biggest catastrophe in American history—far worse than hurricanes Katrina, Andrew, and Camille combined. Evacuations have already started in every city on the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers from Montana all the way to New Orleans.”
The TV scene changed to one of a traffic jam on a freeway.
“Authorities are asking everyone to stay calm, but if you’re in the path of this flood, you should get to high ground as soon as possible. Dana?”
Poindexter’s image came back on the screen. “Christine, I know I speak for the whole nation when I say it’s a huge relief to see you alive and well after being kidnapped by the terrorist on live television. Can you tell us what happened? How did you escape?”
“Agent Bashir made a heroic attempt to stop Zarrabian by jumping into the helicopter as it took off, but Zarrabian forced him to give up his weapon. He then ordered McCaig to fly at top speed to Garrison Dam, where Zarrabian released me and Agent Bashir.”
“So he just let you go?”
“That’s right, Dana. But his actions since then have been even more mysterious. Right after he freed me and Agent Bashir, Zarrabian flew across to the dam and landed near the power-generating station, which is also the control system for the whole dam.”
Amber’s camera moved away from Christine, and the lens twisted as Amber zoomed in on the helicopter parked in the distance on top of the dam. Christine continued.
“A few minutes after he landed, someone opened all of the floodgates of the dam, releasing huge quantities of water from the lake. This was apparently unauthorized, and is already causing major flooding downstream.”
“Are you saying Zarrabian did this? That he opened the gates to cause more flooding?”
“Dana, that’s the mystery. If anything, it looks like Zarrabian is trying to save the dam, not destroy it. He’s letting the water out to make room for the Fort Peck flood that’s arriving now. Nobody knows if Garrison Dam can hold this much water. The computer simulations are too close to call, and letting water out through the floodgates can only help.”
“Is it going to work?” asked Poindexter. “Will that save the dam?”
“Dana, Lake Sakakawea is huge—over one hundred seventy miles long. Even with the floodgates fully open for several hours, the lake’s level only dropped a few inches before these floodwaters arrived. Will that make the difference? We’ll know soon. The floodgates are still open, but the water has risen so much it’s pouring over the tops of the gates. Even with this, the lake will keep rising for several more hours. As the lake rises, it spreads out, in some places for miles. The experts tell us that the computer simulations are very difficult. Garrison Dam may hold five trillion extra gallons of water, but it’s too close to call. And even if the water doesn’t top the dam, the spillway could wash out. It’s already carrying far more water than it was designed to. The next few hours are going—“
She was interrupted by Dana’s voice in her earpiece. “Christine, it looks like the helicopter is taking off!”
Christine turned away from the camera to look. The Black Hawk’s blades were spinning full speed as it lifted off, raising a cloud of dust over the dam. It quickly banked and headed straight toward them. She turned back to the camera.
“Dana, I have breaking news. I can now announce that Colonel Ahmad Zarrabian of the Republic of Iran Army, known to most Americans as Zarrabian the Terrorist, has agreed to be interviewed on live television, right now. He will be landing here in about thirty seconds.”
Sven’s voice interrupted in her earpiece. “We have company! Coming across the dam!”
Amber’s camera swung to the left as Christine took in the new information. A line of police cars, followed by National Guard Humvees and trucks, were racing across the dam on the east end, lights flashing. A distant chorus of sirens came across the lake. Christine grimaced, then turned back to the camera.
“Dana, it looks like the police and National Guard have arrived from Bismarck! They’re about three miles away right now. It’s almost certain that the FBI heard our announcement of my interview with Zarrabian just now.”
As she spoke, the sound of the approaching helicopter drowned out her voice, and the downwash from its blades started whipping her hair and clothing. It was landing directly behind her in the camera’s view. Amber struggled to keep her camera steady against the wind.
“It’s almost certain that they’ll arrest Zarrabian,” she shouted over the noise, “We’re going to move fast to get a few minutes with Zarrabian before they arrive!”
McCaig landed fast and hard, making the helicopter bounce once before it settled. As the scream of the turbines started to fade, McCaig and Zarrabian jumped out and ran toward her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bashir leap from the RV at a run with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and jog away across the grassy field.
She lined Zarrabian up in front of Amber’s camera, brushed the wind-blown hair from her face, and looked toward Sven in the RV.
“Keep going!” he said in her earpiece. “You’re still live!”
She looked into the camera. “I’m here with Colonel Ahmad Zarrabian of the Islamic Republic of Iran Army. As many of our audience knows, I broadcast an interview with Colonel Zarrabian earlier today in which he claimed advance knowledge of the terrorist attack on the Fort Peck dam. Colonel Zarrabian also asserted that someone in the United States government knew of that attack well in advance, yet let it go forward for political reasons. Colonel, we only have a minute or two before the police arrive. Can you tell us why you were at the Garrison Dam just now?”
“Captain McCaig and I hoped to release enough water to—”
Sven yelled from the RV, interrupting. “We lost our connection! Hang on a minute!” He fiddled with his controls and was frantically dialing his cell phone.
“I can’t get through!”
“McCaig! Here, use my cell phone, like we did before!” She tossed it to him.
“It’s got no signal. I think we’re being jammed!”
Sven called out from the RV, “Me too, everything’s jammed!”
“Crap,” said McCaig. “The National Guard are are jamming everything. We need to get inside, right now.”
As he spoke, the line of police and National Guard vehicles came into view, racing toward them with flashing lights.
He strode to the RV’s door. “You, sorry, but I need your RV. Out.”
“But—”
“Out! Now! I don’t have time to argue!”
Sven looked momentarily like he might argue further, but the look in McCaig’s eyes changed his mind. He jumped down. McCaig, Christine, and Zarrabian climbed in just as the police arrived and started forming a circle around them.
“You’d better get out of here,” said McCaig to Sven, then slammed the door and locked it.
“There it is, sir,” said the sheriff, pointing ahead.
Patterson looked out the small helicopter’s window. An RV was parked at the middle of the churning lake’s overlook parking lot. A fifty-yard space separated the RV from a circle of National Guard Humvees, trucks, and a few Jeeps. The sun was just setting, casting a low, red glow over the scene and reflecting dully off the muddy lake’s surface.
Patterson spotted his Black Hawk helicopter. It warmed his heart.
“Circle around! I want to scope out the whole scene!”
“Yes, sir,” said the sheriff. He banked the helicopter and did a slow circuit around the vehicles below. “Again, sir?”
“No. Put us down. What was your name aga
in?”
“Edmunds, sir. Sheriff Bill Edmunds.”
“Right. Edmunds. Put us down to the east there in that clearing behind the trucks. What’s the status on the ground, Edmunds?”
“Oh, good news, sir. They think the dam’s going to hold. It’s close, but we just passed the peak surge and the dam is still holding.”
“Fuck the dam! What’s the status on the ground? Down there where we’re going?”
“I don’t know, sir. This is a different state, we’re in North Dakota now, and my chopper’s radio is on a different frequency. I could call on the cell phone if you like.”
“Just fucking land, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, the chopper hit the ground hard, jarring Patterson. He could swear Sheriff Edmunds smirked. Fuck him, just a pissant county sheriff. He was done with this chopper. Without a word, he jumped out and strode over to the group that was obviously in command of the situation.
“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded.
A National Guardsman stepped forward. “Major Ali, sir.”
Fuck, thought Patterson. A Muslim raghead. How the hell did a Muslim get to be a soldier in North Dakota of all places? The rank of major, no less. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the status here, Major?”
“Sorry sir, but who are you?”
Patterson rolled his eyes. A lieutenant leaned over and whispered in Ali’s ear. Ali stood up straight at attention. “Sir!”
“What’s the status here, or do I have to ask a third time?”
“Sir! We believe the terrorist Zarrabian is in the RV with FBI Special Agent TJ McCaig. We also have reason to believe Christine Garrett, the TV news reporter, is in there too.”
“And why are we sitting here? Why aren’t they under arrest, Major?”
“Sir, we believe Zarrabian is holding McCaig and Garrett hostage. If we storm the vehicle, he could kill them.”
“No more fucking around, Major. I’m taking charge here. I’ll take responsibility. I’m ordering you to storm that RV. If Zarrabian resists, shoot him. We have reason to believe TJ McCaig is in cahoots with Zarrabian, so don’t hesitate to shoot if he presents any threat.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”
“That’s an order, Major.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you are not the commander in chief, and you’re not the governor of the state of North Dakota. And with all due respect, you’re retired from the army. You have no authority here. Sir.”
“Fuck! The goddamned sun is setting! A terrorist is sitting there! What’s it going to take for you fucking pussies to take up your weapons and fucking do something?”
There was a commotion: a ripple of murmurs from the soldiers and police. A hundred guns were aimed at the RV. A corporal ran up.
“Major, the RV’s door is opening!”
Patterson strode over to the barricades, trailed by Major Ali and his staff. Fifty yards away, the door of the RV opened a few inches. A hand appeared, held high, followed by another. Then the door opened fully, revealing Christine Garrett.
“Lower your weapons!” yelled the Major. There was another rustling through the Guardsmen as they lowered their rifles and handguns.
Ali signaled a police negotiator. A bullhorn barked.
“Put your hands on top of your head, step down, and walk backwards away from the vehicle!”
The woman’s voice came across the clearing. Patterson couldn’t make it out. “What did she say?”
The man with the bullhorn replied, “I’m not positive, sir, but I think she said no.”
“Everybody quiet!” ordered the Major.
Christine yelled from the RV. “Can you hear me?”
Major Ali grabbed the bullhorn. “We hear you.”
“Do you know who this lake is named after?”
“What the fuck?” said Patterson. “Who cares?”
“Sir,” said the Major. “It’s lake Sakakawea. Named after the Indian woman who guided Lewis and Clark across the country. She was a Shoshone woman who—“
“All right, enough. So what?” said Patterson.
Christine spoke again. Patterson strained to hear. “Lewis and Clark made it all the way across the country without getting killed. You know why? Because even the so-called savage Indians knew that war parties didn’t travel with women.”
“Any idea what that means?” asked Major Ali to Patterson.
“She’s just jerking you around,” said Patterson.
“Sounds to me like she’s trying to say Zarrabian won’t shoot.”
Christine shouted again. “Zarrabian says he’ll surrender. He has one condition, and it’s not negotiable.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” barked Ali through the megaphone.
She turned her head to listen to someone inside the RV, then turned back. “He says it’s not a negotiation. It’s just a fact. Take it or leave it.”
“What does he want?” asked the Major.
“Zarrabian will surrender, but only to John Patterson, the White House Chief of Staff. Nobody else. He wants two minutes alone, then he comes out. Nobody will get hurt, and he’ll send me and TJ McCaig out unharmed.”
“What the fuck?” asked Patterson.
Major Ali turned to him. “It’s out of the question, sir. I can’t let you go in there anyway.”
“Quiet, he’s telling her something else.”
She turned her head again to listen to Zarrabian, then turned back. “He says that if he wanted to kill General Patterson, he’d be dead already. Look at his face.”
The Major turned to look at Patterson. A bright laser dot was centered on Patterson’s forehead. “Get down! Get down!” He dived onto Patterson and pushed him down behind the barricade.
“Get off of me, you moron!” Patterson pushed Major Ali off and stood up, brushing grass and dirt from his suit. “Christ, if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead! You got some binoculars?”
A guardsman handed a pair to Patterson. He scrutinized the RV. “What the fuck is he up to?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Fuck this noise,” said Patterson. “Give me that.” He grabbed the bullhorn from the major.
“This is Patterson. Why does he want me in there?”
Christine listened at the door again, then turned back. “He says he wants to show you a photograph. He wants you to see it, to see what you’ve done. Then he’ll surrender.”
“Christ,” said Patterson to the Major Ali. “All this because one fucking Arab’s kid gets killed?”
“Sir, you know what the photo is?” asked Ali.
“I have a pretty good idea,” he replied. “I’m going in.”
“Sir, you can’t—“
“You, Major, don’t give me orders. Understood?”
“But sir . . .”
“I may not be your commander in chief, but I’m his chief of staff. Got it? If you don’t want to end up demoted to buck private some time in the next twenty-four hours, you’re going follow my orders. Have you got jammers?”
“Yes, it’s part of our normal equipment in situations like these.”
“Wi-Fi, cell phones, radios, you can block all that?”
“We’re already blocking it, sir. As soon as we arrived. Nothing within five hundred yards of here is getting out.”
“No news choppers circling overhead?”
“No, sir. We put out a two-mile no-fly zone.”
“So there’s no way Zarrabian can communicate with anyone? My meeting with him will be private?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Excellent.”
“Let me get you a bullet-proof vest, sir.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, are you a moron? How many times do I have to say it? If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”
Zarrabian sat at the dining table in the RV and aimed his nine-millimeter Glock at McCaig, who was sitting on the couch. An M-4 assault rifle lay on the table.
The doorway was
partially blocked by Christine’s figure, but Zarrabian could see Patterson in the distance, gesticulating at a major who seemed to be in charge outside. After a few moments, Patterson broke away, pushed through the Guardsmen, and walked across the clear space toward the RV. He walked with a nonchalant air, like someone sauntering through a park on a sunny day. Zarrabian could see him savoring his impending victory, the coup de grace of his geopolitical masterpiece.
Christine stepped back into the RV as Patterson approached. He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“You. Get the fuck out. Now.”
She looked back at Zarrabian, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Christine climbed down the steps to the ground. “Your time is coming, Patterson,” she said.
“In your dreams, Garrett. Don’t think for a minute that stupid story you broadcast earlier is going to fool anyone. Out.”
Christine walked away. A group of Guardsmen rushed out and surrounded her.
Patterson climbed into the vehicle. Zarrabian had closed all of the curtains and blocked the view through the windshield. Patterson squinted, trying to see in the dim light as his eyes adjusted. He spotted Zarrabian at the table and McCaig on the couch.
“You too, McCaig. Out. Your terrorist buddy is safe.”
“I’m just curious, General,” said McCaig. “Is this your operation, or are you merely Uncle Platte’s errand boy?”
Patterson’s eyes narrowed and the muscles in his neck grew tense momentarily.
“Oh, hit a sensitive spot, did I?” asked McCaig.
Patterson laughed, and his nonchalance returned.
“Out, asshole. I’ll deal with you later.”
“Agent McCaig, you are free to go,” said Zarrabian. He lowered the Glock and laid it on the table. McCaig rose and pushed past Patterson to the door.
“Goodbye, Colonel,” said McCaig.
“Out!” said Patterson.
McCaig raised his hand into the air and descended the stairs. Zarrabian watched as the soldiers outside rushed forward and surrounded McCaig. Patterson quickly slammed the door. They were alone.
Zarrabian held out a hand indicating the seat opposite him at the table. Patterson sat.
“OK, Zarrabian. The only reason I’m here is because I want to relish this moment before I take you down. I promised two minutes. The clock’s ticking.”