Franny stepped back from his embrace and drew in several miniature gasps as if inhaling molecules of composure. “I’ll break the news and get them settled at the medical center.”
A fiery determination reignited in her eyes. Ryan could see her fear mutating into anger, motherly love hardening into the courage of a warrior.
“And then,” Franny told him, “We’re gonna take down these fuckers, just like Rodriguez planned!”
“Hell yeah!” He opened the door for her, certain he would never respect or admire any woman more than Frances Marion.
As they waited to pass through the mess hall security checkpoint, a time-delayed recording of Burr’s speech played over the public address system.
“... The capsule would then unleash smallpox into its host. This highly contagious disease would spread quickly, and without sufficient hospital beds, medications, and trained personnel, the majority of our population would perish.
“As acting President, I must protect the American people from this eventuality. Therefore, it is with great sadness that I tender our unconditional surrender to the People’s Republic of China.”
143
Washington, D.C.
GENERAL JONATHAN QUENTEN was last to join the emergency meeting. He had not anticipated Burr’s unconditional surrender, and neither had the others in attendance: his brother, William, the President; Doctor Clive Immendorf; Rear Admiral Murray, commander of Cyber Command; and Nolan Stevens, director of Secret Service.
Resentment was gleaming in the President’s stony-gray eyes. “Doctor Immendorf, what are your recommendations regarding smallpox?”
“Given that only citizens within the districts have been inoculated, containment is feasible. That is, if you have the intestinal fortitude to ... uh ... quarantine those districts.”
William remained silent for a beat, disgust visible in his clenched brow. “Are you suggesting those American citizens should be sacrificed?”
Doctor Immendorf removed his glasses, tossed them onto the conference table, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Containment is essential. As horrible as that sounds, Mr. President, sometimes it is necessary to amputate a limb so that the patient may survive.”
“Surrender is preferable to the cold-blooded murder of hundreds of thousands of civilians—”
“Millions are going to die anyway,” Jonathan interrupted. “The only variable is the manner of death. Smallpox? Or a communist purge? And I assure you, anyone who served militarily or politically will be considered a threat and will be promptly executed.”
The President’s complexion became ashen; the creases around his eyes, more prominent. He seemed to age years in mere seconds. “I have difficulty believing the Chinese would unleash smallpox, knowing damn well it could escalate into a worldwide pandemic.”
Stevens entwined his fingers as if in prayer, and said, “If the Chinese population has been properly vaccinated, they might find that outcome advantageous.”
Surmising that he held the minority opinion, the President’s features darkened. “What about mutually assured destruction? We assert that if one case of smallpox appears on our soil, our entire nuclear arsenal will rain down on China.”
“The CCP has been expecting this confrontation,” Jonathan told him. “And they’re well prepared for a nuclear retaliatory strike. They’ve installed bombproof doors on their subway tubes, bored miles of tunnels beneath their major cities, and stocked them with provisions. They refer to it as the Underground Great Wall of China.”
“What about Cyber?” the President demanded, eyes shifting toward Grace. “Can you contain it somehow? Prevent the Chinese from rupturing the capsules?”
“Possibly ...” She squinted critically behind a pair of dark rimmed glasses, seemingly deep in thought, her lightning-fast mind already sifting through strategies. Grace was in her early sixties, of slight build, with a mane of grandmotherly, silver hair, an unexpected portrait for a pioneer in computer programming and a mastermind at unauthorized digital penetrations. “... It will require time.”
“We are out of time.” The President’s palm crashed against the table. “This is insanity. We are talking about the end of the United States ... How could it have come to this?”
Outrage was seething inside Jonathan. Hell, he was a dead man serving a dying country; what did he have to lose? “You let it come to this, William! You accepted the Chong Sheng Plan because—as always—you were more worried about politics than national security. Those four traitors were among your top campaign bundlers, and you rewarded them all with high-level appointments—”
“Jonathan, I don’t need your criticism!”
“General,” Grace interrupted, “I need you to stow your anger and find a way to buy me some time.”
As much as he relished seeing his brother receive his comeuppance, Jonathan knew Grace was right. He couldn’t save his country without rescuing his brother.
“The black operation will need to be modified. Drastically ... Mr. President, put all forces on stand-down. Create the illusion of surrender until all four traitors have been rendered harmless. That will give Grace time to try to contain the smallpox threat—”
“And if she can’t manage that in twenty-four hours?”
“Then you’ll have no choice but to quarantine the districts as Doctor Immendorf suggested.”
144
TEradS West Headquarters
Langden Air Force Base, Texas
BRADLEY WEBBER STOWED the braided strand of Abby’s blonde hair in his pocket. His mother’s gold wedding band sat atop the desk. Its layer of black paint had chipped and eroded over the past fourteen months, ravaged by time and circumstance, just like his relationship with Abby.
Although she had forgiven his transgression with Mia, a vague barrier still loomed between them. It was evident in the way she looked at him; the way she seemed to shrink from his touch. He believed wholeheartedly that if he remained patient, she would come back to him. The problem was, Bradley had just run out of time.
Captain Andrews had recalled the Snipers, explained that the black operation was canceled due to the unconditional surrender, and ordered everyone back to their respective teams. Two hours later, Bradley learned the truth. The op had been green-lighted, and he was the chosen Sniper.
He shoved the ring into his pocket, grateful that Ryan had declined to send Abby on this mission, despite her first-place rank during training—a favor for which Bradley would be forever indebted.
A sudden realization chilled his spine. This was his purpose, the reason why God had spared his life—at the Virginia junkyard and outside that Colorado mine. Bradley was meant to take Abby’s place, to protect her from this dangerous mission.
As he ascended the stairs to the women’s floor of the barracks, questions and doubts multiplied. Will the distance between us make this good-bye easier for Abby? If I don’t make it back, will my “farewell letter” make it harder on her? Will she be saddled with regret over things left unsaid?
Bradley knocked on Abby’s door, mentally rehearsing his cover story.
A lie, he thought. I can’t let my last words to her be a lie.
Hearing a thud, he glanced over his shoulder. Abby had emerged from the hall bathroom, wrapped in a dingy white towel. Her blonde hair looked almost yellow as it dripped against her bare shoulders. Bradley’s eyes swept over each perfectly proportioned curve to her shapely legs, mottled with bruises of various shapes and shades. The gash on her right shin had healed into a bright pink line, another reminder of the brush with infidelity that had scarred their relationship.
“I thought we were meeting in the chow hall at 1800?” Abby asked as she unlocked her door.
“Yeah, I, uh, need to talk to you about that.”
She welcomed him into the room with a wave, and Bradley hurried inside, surprised she hadn’t asked him to wait outside while she dressed.
“I have to cancel our dinner date,” he told her. “New orders. I’m shippin
g out at 1900 hours tonight.”
Her adorable button nose wrinkled. “You’re leaving in three hours? Why? Where are they sending you?”
“TEradS East. District Five in Illinois. I just found out.”
She blinked as though confused. “I thought we were in a stand-down because of the surrender?”
Heat radiated from Bradley’s cheeks as he fumbled for a credible response. He couldn’t tell her the stand-down was a ruse designed to buy time.
“There’s a nasty cell up there. Probably IRGC,” Bradley told her. “The Chinese want them eradicated.”
Abby’s lips flattened, then she sprung into a full-contact hug. His arms closed around her; and knowing he might never get to hold her again, he committed every detail to memory, the scent of her wet hair, the feel of her heart beating against his chest.
“I am so stupid,” Abby mumbled. “I wasted all our time together being angry.” She pulled back, her pretty blue eyes glistening more than usual; and Bradley swore she was reading his thoughts, decoding his lies.
“I love you, Bradley.”
Her pained expression led him to say, “But?”
“No buts. I love you and nothing can change that. You matter more to me than anything or anybody. I just need you to know that.”
The things she said—it was as if Abby sensed this might be their last good-bye. Did she debunk his cover story and jump to the correct conclusion about the black op?
A hand diving into his pocket, he said, “Do you think ... maybe ... you could hold onto this ring for me?”
She extended her palm. Bradley rotated it toward the floor and slid the wedding band onto her finger. “I love you. And I always will.”
He cupped the sides of her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks, then guided her chin upward for a tentative kiss. She responded with an unexpected passion that ignited inside him and thrummed through his veins. The distance between them, the detachment, the barrier—it all evaporated.
The towel slipped to the floor, and whispering against her unrelenting kiss, he said, “Was that ... intent ... tional?”
Abby replied unbuckling his belt.
His fingertips trailed seductively along her neck, over her collarbone, exploring every sensual curve; and as Bradley made love to her, he promised himself this wouldn’t be the last time. No matter what, he would fight his way back to her.
Tidbit # 9: Read Between the Lines
During the Revolutionary War, General George Washington used invisible ink to disseminate orders and acquire intelligence. This classified information was often scrawled between the lines of ordinary correspondence in order to hide it from the British. Once the document reached the proper hands, a reagent chemical was applied, revealing the message. Thus, inspiring a familiar American phrase: You have to read between the lines.
General Quenten’s use of the draft folder and manipulation of point size and type color is the author’s modern-day twist on a centuries-old tactic.
Tidbit # 10: Abraham Woodhull
Abraham Woodhull, better known as Samuel Culper, was part of Washington’s famous “Culper Ring,” a network of spies credited with turning the tide of the Revolution. Woodhull swore an oath to the Crown to gain credibility, which allowed him to spy on British soldiers and report their movements to General Washington through a ring of ordinary citizens.
Woody’s denunciation of Kyle is intended to mimic Woodhull’s oath to the Crown. His desire to spy on the enemy for the cause of freedom is meant to highlight the courage and sacrifice of Abraham Woodhull. All other sentiments expressed and actions taken by this character are purely fictional.
Chapter 14
—— DAY 454 ——
Saturday, May 14th
145
West of District Three, Virginia
HUNCHED OVER INSIDE the claustrophobic cabin, Abby Webber watched the clamshell door of the jet slowly open like a mouth preparing to spit her into the darkness. Her parachute, harness, and gear doubled her body weight, a physical manifestation of the burden she had been asked to bear for her country.
Two hours after Bradley departed, Abby and Franny had taken off from Langden Air Force Base in the Learjet 35 that had caused so much commotion five days earlier. General Quenten had ordered the functioning jet, a coveted asset since the EMP, to be flown to Ansley Air Force Base just outside Washington, D.C., and no one had dared to question his directive.
Despite FAA regulations requiring two pilots, Franny had no difficulty flying the aircraft solo. She paralleled the contour of the land, maintaining an altitude below two thousand feet to minimize the chance of being picked up by radar, and she circumvented populated districts and military bases.
Thus far, the trip had been uneventful, just miles and miles of blackness. No ribbons of taillights or headlights snaking into glowing cities, no flashing beacons on bridges or towers. It was like looking down on a vast ocean of nothing, a view that reflected the emptiness inside her.
Hands balling into fists, she felt the wedding band beneath her black tactical gloves, and Abby tried again to rationalize away the incessant echo of guilt.
Would Bradley understand why she had kept this from him?
Would he resent it?
She had chosen her words carefully, striving for a meaningful good-bye that didn’t telegraph her involvement in the black operation. Fortunately, she didn’t have to lie since Captain Andrews had sent him to District Five, wisely putting a thousand miles between himself and Bradley’s inevitable wrath.
Franny was moving toward her, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the low ceiling. “Autopilot has us at one thousand feet and cruising just above stall speed,” she said, her voice fuzzy and crackling over the headset. “That’ll decrease the time needed to decelerate our horizontal motion.” She paused to check her watch then added, “One minute until jump.”
Abby sat in the doorway, scrutinizing the landscape via night-vision goggles, mentally preparing for the challenges ahead.
When Franny shouted, “Go, go, go,” Abby thrust her legs onto the bouncing built-in stairs and launched herself into the darkness.
146
North of District Three, Virginia
MASTER SERGEANT TOMPKINS, leader of TEradS Team 3B, had a smooth milk-chocolate complexion, a sharp mind, observant brown eyes, and a keen sense of intuition which had kept him alive since the EMP. He had led dozens of missions like this one. So why was he so tense?
News of Rodriguez’s death had been a blow to morale; and in Tompkins’ mind, there was only one way to infiltrate Langden Air Force Base and shoot a Major: yet another traitor cloaked in a U.S. uniform.
His thoughts shifted to Bradley Webber. Although the man was highly regarded within the TEradS community, his sudden transfer to Team 3B added to Tompkins’ uneasiness.
And what’s the point of this mission? he thought. If we’ve already surrendered—unconditionally?
That asinine decision continued to stoke Tompkins’ temper. He felt betrayed by Burr and the Joint Chiefs; and he swore that his blood vessels were melting, scorching him from the inside out.
A stiff breeze rustled tree branches above him, and the night air washed over his face, cooling his skin, inspiring an optimistic question. Are Captains Defina and Andrews disregarding the surrender? Is that why we’re out here?
He contemplated a military coup, one that would seize control from political leadership, declare war on China, and defend the Constitution. If the United States was destined to fail, Tompkins would prefer to see his nation die the same way it had been born—fighting for freedom. Why save hundreds of thousands from smallpox only to deliver them into the hands of communists?
Stalin’s Soviet Union had deliberately induced a famine to starve ten million Ukrainians. China’s Great Leap Forward had led to Chairman Mao killing at least forty million of his own people. How could Burr possibly expect it to end differently this time?
Tompkins eyed their target, a single-story co
ttage overgrown with ivy and crowned with the drooping branches of a half-dead buttonwood tree. There had been no activity for an hour, and he was eager to get the raid underway.
A peal of thunder rumbled as he activated his tactical headset and addressed his team. Kuster, Sperling, and Rivera replied immediately. There was no response from Webber. Was it a communications glitch? Or did the damn guy fall asleep?
Tompkins picked his way slowly toward Webber’s position, stopping, listening, searching. Sneaking up on a Sniper was an unnerving task, and startling one from an unauthorized nap could have lethal consequences.
With each step, his senses grew more alert.
Goosebumps blanketed his sweat-soaked skin.
Tompkins located the suppressor of a rifle poking from beneath a low-hanging pine branch. He edged closer, relieved—and disheartened—that the barrel was not shadowing his movements.
Tompkins peeled away the branch, and lying on a carpet of pine needles, he saw the Sniper’s tactical headset amidst a puddle of blood.
How the hell could terrorists abduct Bradley Webber right under my nose?
147
West of District Three, Virginia
ABBY WEBBER AND FRANNY Marion steered their parachutes toward the defunct Manassas Regional Airport. The Learjet’s autopilot would guide the aircraft over the Atlantic Ocean where it would run out of fuel, crash, and sink into the depths, unlikely to be noticed or investigated in post-EMP America.
Both women landed safely, two hundred yards apart, and stuffed their canopies inside a nylon bag along with their reserve chutes, harnesses, boots, and helmets. Abby stripped off her jumpsuit, unveiling the civilian clothing beneath: black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. If shot or captured, the TEradS would claim she had gone AWOL and manufacture a personal history that would paint her as mentally unstable, thereby insulating military and political leadership from repercussions.
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