"Capitol Betrayal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bernhardt William)

5

The president and Agent Zimmer continued to exchange words while moving, but the whole evacuation procedure became so frenzied Ben could no longer hear what was being said. He felt as if he were a cow in a slaughterhouse. The Secret Service agents didn’t quite use a prod on him, but almost. If he delayed or hesitated, his personal shepherd pushed up against him, nudging him along.

They quickly passed through Cross Hall, which connected the State Dining Hall and the East Room. A few seconds later they were in the East Wing, where the First Lady and the White House social secretary kept their offices. Where were they going?

As they entered the corridor, they encountered another squadron of agents with two political heavy hitters of their own: Michael Ruiz, the nation’s first Hispanic to fill the office of secretary of state, and secretary of defense, Albert Rybicki. Just before they turned the corner, Ben thought he caught a glimpse of another platoon of agents whisking someone in the opposite direction-someone who looked like the vice president of the United States. Could that be? Why wasn’t he coming with them?

But once he thought for a moment, he realized that made perfect sense. Even if there wasn’t time to transport everyone else, they would take the VP to another location. They didn’t want the president and his immediate replacement in the same place. Just in case those missiles made contact.

After they had traveled about halfway into the East Wing, the Secret Service agents herded them into a large elevator. It had the spacious, no-frills appearance of a freight or cargo elevator, but given how many of them there were, Ben was grateful for the extra space. Agent Zimmer pressed a button and the elevator descended. In the small and relatively quiet space, Ben was able to pick up more of their conversation.

“I’m confused,” the president said. “I thought that in the event of an imminent air strike, the plan was to put me on Air Force One and get me the hell out of Dodge.”

“Based on our current intel,” Zimmer explained, “we’re not sure there’s time.” Zimmer was dark-skinned and the black suit and tie made him seem even darker. His clipped manner of speaking and emotionless delivery might make him seem cold to some, but Ben had learned to appreciate his rare ability to remain totally cool in a crisis. “At any rate, we’re not taking the risk. We’re taking you to the PEOC. We’re sending the vice president off in the plane.”

“But if there’s not enough time for me…” The president didn’t finish his question. He figured it out for himself. “Oh.”

If someone had to be at risk, it wasn’t going to be the president. It would be the man chosen as his running mate.

“Thank heaven the First Lady is in California. How can we be under attack from one of our own missiles?” the president asked.

“We’re not sure yet, sir. But a missile has been fired.”

“How close?”

“The missile has already entered P-fifty-six airspace.” Ben had been around long enough to know that was a reference to the zone of restricted air traffic surrounding the White House.

“Can’t we bring it back?”

“We cannot, sir.”

“Divert it?”

“No.”

“I specifically recall being advised that our computer guidance systems had the capability to-”

“Sir, we’ve lost control of the guidance systems.” Zimmer probably didn’t intend to raise his voice, but he did, and it had the effect of silencing everyone in the elevator.

The agent took a deep breath, then slowly continued. “We’ll give you a full briefing as soon as we have you safely in the bunker.”

The elevator doors opened and they all streamed outward. Zimmer and two other agents steered the president toward a door on the far left. Dr. Albertson went with him, presumably still eager to complete his examination. Everyone else was herded toward a set of double doors directly before them. Cartwright, predictably, tried to break loose from the pack and follow the president, but one of the agents gently but firmly kept him moving toward the double doors.

Ben was escorted into what at first glance appeared to be a fairly standard White House briefing or conference room. There was a long table in the center surrounded with chairs, a three-seat communications terminal, a video monitor like the one in the Oval Office, a programmable illuminated map of the world, a writing easel, telephones, the ubiquitous coffee station, and on the north wall the seal of the president of the United States. When he looked more closely, though, and more important, looked up, he realized that the room was far from conventional. It had a rounded, almost tubular shape. The ceilings curved at the corners and, above the faux-wood paneling, the walls were gray. There was also something odd about the air, although it took him a moment to identify what he was subconsciously sensing. There was nothing natural or fresh about the air. It was all being pumped in from somewhere else.

Agent Zimmer entered from a side door not far from the presidential seal. “Please take your seats.”

Everyone complied. Sarie took the seat nearest the coffee and poured herself a tall one. Ben knew she was a coffee junkie. He drank the stuff on occasion to make a good show, but in the privacy of his office, he always preferred a cup of chocolate milk. Cartwright was still grumpy, so Ben stayed out of his way.

“Welcome to the PEOC,” Zimmer continued.

“The what?” Ben said, apparently too loudly.

Zimmer smiled slightly. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know, Ben. I guarantee it. Dick Cheney said he didn’t even know this place existed until we brought him here on September eleventh. PEOC stands for the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. It’s an underground bunker buried deep in the basement beneath the East Wing of the White House. It’s designed to withstand a nuclear attack.”

Ben swallowed. “Then you believe-”

“We do not at this time believe there is a nuclear threat, no. But with an extremely powerful conventional missile in the air and a nuclear suitcase gone missing, this seemed the most prudent response.”

“How long are we going to be here?” Ben asked.

“I have no way of knowing the answer to that question.”

“Can I call my wife?”

“Not at this time, no. This bunker is shielded so intensely that ordinary cell signals cannot get out. The only way to make contact with the outside world is through this communications station. I’ll let you know as soon as that situation changes.”

“Enough of this blather,” Admiral Cartwright said. “Tell us what’s going on. What’s this about one of our own missiles heading toward the White House?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

“Do you know who I am, mister? I’m the head of the-”

“Yes, sir, I know very well who you are,” Zimmer said without blinking. “And that information still can only be disclosed on the president’s direct order.”

“What about me?” Ruiz asked. “I’m the secretary of state. Can you tell me?”

“Not at this time.”

“If you can’t tell me, whom can you tell?”

“The president is being briefed. After that’s completed, he can make a determination about what information he wants released and to whom.”

“Are you listening to me? I’m the secretary of state!”

“Yes,” Agent Zimmer said, absolutely stone-faced. “I knew that already. I also know that your wife’s name is Marjorie, that you have two daughters named Olivia and Danette, you keep a bull pup named Tiger, you graduated eighty-sixth in your class at West Point, and your favorite book is Pride and Prejudice.” He paused. “I really don’t need a briefing on who you are. But thank you anyway.”

Ruiz sat back in his chair, apparently chastised.

“Does anyone else require identification, or may I proceed?” Zimmer was looking directly at Cartwright as he said it.

Cartwright mumbled, “Proceed,” then he turned toward Ruiz, eyebrows knitted. “Pride and Prejudice?” he whispered. “That’s not a man’s book.”

“Have you read it?” Ruiz shot back.

“Well…”

“So shut up.”

Secretary Rybicki leaned forward. “Can you at least tell us if this is about Kuraq?”

“No,” Zimmer said, “I can’t even tell you-”

All at once, the lights in the room shimmered on and off. Someone shrieked, startled. Ben noticed that the power to the monitor and communications panel flickered off as well.

“What was that?” Cartwright demanded.

Zimmer’s face barely changed, but it was enough for Ben to be concerned. “I don’t know. I’ll investigate.”

“Damn it all, man, are we safe or not?” Cartwright said, rising to his feet. What he lacked in height he made up for in bluster. “Can they get to us?”

“Nothing can get to you in this bunker.”

“Apparently something is shorting out the electrics!”

“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. Power blips happen, even in the White House.”

“Don’t give me your flippant speculation. I want facts.”

“Then give me a chance to investigate,” Zimmer said, with just enough edge to get his point across. Cartwright sat down.

Ben found himself admiring Zimmer even more than he had before.

Zimmer moved to the communications station and talked to someone on the other end. Ben tried to eavesdrop but the chatter was too soft and too fast.

Sarie’s brassy southern drawl interrupted his reverie. “Somehow this wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided to go into politics.”

Ben nodded. “Wasn’t exactly what I was thinking when I went to law school.”

“I’ll bet you went to law school with grandiose notions of saving the world and helping those less fortunate than yourself.”

Ben shrugged. “Mostly I just wanted to irritate my father.”

Sarie laughed a little, which did a good deal to elevate his spirits. “Come to think of it, I think that was why I married my first husband.”

Zimmer returned to the table. “I have news,” he said. His eyes seemed to focus on the center of the table. “The missile just went down into the Potomac.”

Several jaws dropped. The silence spoke volumes. Ben knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. It really happened. It really happened.

“It exploded underwater. We don’t know of any casualties. At least not at this time. But as I’m sure you’re all aware… the Potomac is not far away.”

“How could this happen?” Sarie said quietly. “It’s impossible. Impossible.”

“Apparently not,” Ben replied quietly.

“We believe it was a theater ballistic missile-a short-range missile, basically. Range between three hundred and about thirty-five hundred kilometers. So called because it’s designed to be used against nearby targets-within the theater, so to speak. Although the warhead is capable of carrying a nuclear or even biological payload, this one, happily, did not.”

“But the next one might,” Cartwright spat out.

Zimmer ignored him. “That power blip was likely an EMP-electromagnetic pulse-from the explosion. It’s an electrical disruption that often follows a major detonation, even one non-nuclear in origin.”

“I still want to know what this is all about!” Cartwright said. “Is it Kuraq? Is that who’s doing this?”

“Sir,” Zimmer said, “I already told you I’m not authorized to-”

“Well, I am.” Behind him, Ben saw the president entering the room. Dr. Albertson followed just behind him.

Everyone began to rise, but he waved them back into their chairs. “Please remain seated. Is everyone comfortable? I mean, within reason, given the circumstances. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You can tell us what the hell is going on,” Cartwright barked. “You’re the president, not a damned flight attendant.”

President Kyler gave him a patient, long-suffering look. “Can someone get me some coffee?”

“I’ll do it,” Zimmer said quickly. Ben was surprised to see a senior Secret Service agent fetching coffee, but he supposed it was a security measure.

The president took a sip of the hot coffee and then answered the admiral’s question. “Unfortunately, Admiral, I don’t know much more about the situation than you do. No one has claimed credit for the attack. We’ve been attempting to contact Colonel Zuko, but as you may be able to discern, he doesn’t always take my calls.”

“How are they doing this?” Secretary Ruiz asked.

“Somehow the enemy has managed to infiltrate our national defense computer systems. We’re not sure how. We believe they may have a high-tech satellite-maybe even something as low-riding as a dirigible-capable of penetrating our networks. But that’s speculation. Truth is, the only reason we suspect this…” He paused before continuing. “Is because we’ve been working on something like it ourselves.”

“Don’t we have antisatellite weaponry? Isn’t that what Sky King does?”

“It has been unable to locate the satellite. Or whatever it is.”

“How is that possible?”

The president’s shoulders rose and fell. “This is speculation, but our techies believe it must be equipped with some sort of cloaking device.”

“Cloaking device? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar, though,” Cartwright mused. “Have I heard about that at a briefing? Maybe related to the hypersonic attack missile project? Or from the papers on the planned orbiting antiballistic missile laser?”

“Star Trek,” Ben said softly.

“What?” Every head in the room turned his way, and Ben wished, not for the first time that day, that he had kept his mouth shut.

“That’s where you’ve heard the term. The Romulans had them on Star Trek. Cloaking devices. Made a ship invisible to another ship’s sensors.”

“But that’s poppycock!” Cartwright sputtered.

“Unfortunately,” President Kyler said, “whatever it is these people have, it’s all too real. And all too effective.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Rybicki asked.

“Believe me, we’re working on it. But so far we’ve been unable to get the invader out of the system. Or to detect the cause of the invasion.”

“How extensive is it?”

“We know they control the Vernon missile silo-the one closest to the White House. They’ve blocked us out of the whole control system.”

“Can we depower the system? Take them offline? Or drain the missiles of their fuel?”

“Unfortunately, the invaders are also capable of igniting that fuel and have sent an email indicating that they will if we attempt to drain or depower the missiles. Those missiles use RP-seven fuel. It burns at about five thousand degrees Fahrenheit. In other words, if it’s exploded, it will do almost as much damage as if they had fired the missiles.”

“How is this possible?”

“Whatever these people have, it appears to be at least two, three years down the technological line from anything we’ve developed.”

“So in effect, someone else is controlling our military weaponry,” Cartwright said.

“To the extent that our weaponry is controlled by computer, yes. But not the entire arsenal. Only a small portion of the missiles located on the East Coast. And none of them is believed to be a nuclear weapon.”

“So what is this small portion of non-nuclear missiles capable of doing?”

“As I understand it,” the president said grimly, “they could take out about half of the population of the East Coast.” He paused. “Some of the most densely inhabited parts of the United States.”

Secretary Rybicki jumped in. “This is unacceptable.”

“I agree,” President Kyler said firmly. Ben admired his steady resolve in the face of a major crisis. He was the absolute antithesis of the man Ben had witnessed only a few minutes before, the one who’d been singing about a hole in a bucket. “We’re exploring all possible options. And our intelligence forces are attempting to find out who’s behind it. In the meantime-”

“Mr. President!”

Kyler jerked his head around, his eyes fierce. It was just possible he had been interrupted one time too often.

“My apologies,” Agent Zimmer said. “But I thought you’d want to know this.”

“Well, what is it, then?”

Zimmer cleared his throat. “We have Colonel Zuko on the phone.”

Kyler’s eyes widened. “Thank God. How did you track him down?”

“To tell you the truth, sir, he called you.”

“What? But how-why-”

“He says he wants to talk to you.” Zimmer paused. His voice deepened. “He also says he wants to know how you enjoyed the gift he sent you. The one he had delivered to the Potomac.”