' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song) (65 page)

BOOK: ' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song)

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In those green orbs the eye candy façade was lowered for a fleeting heartbeat, and he felt a chill.

“Yet another of her lovers running for the border, but this time with all the blood money? Well that is a short lived fiction indeed, and one that Elena will see through before very long so I had better make use of the advantage whilst I still have it.”

She stood.

“There are some envelopes in the centre of the newspaper, and I would be grateful if you could ensure their delivery?”

He
stood, and quite formerly he gave a little bow.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” She leaned across as if to peck him on the cheek but instead kissed him fleetingly on the lips.

“This is probably goodbye.”

“I know, so you take good care of yourself, Miss.”

He
watched her depart before flicking through the pages of the newspaper until he found seven envelopes; three were addressed to the wives of the Pell, Stokes and Scott Tafler, whilst three had postal addresses for Constantine’s mother, Caroline’s and Patricia’s parents, and the elderly occupants of a farm outside Moscow.

He gathered up the envelopes and placed them into the inside pocket of his jacket
but paused as an article in The Times caught his eye on the very page where the envelopes had rested. The first summit of world leaders since the war was due to be held at an exclusive ski resort in the Swiss Alps. A byline added that Russia’s glamorous Premier would be taking advantage of the slopes during the breaks, having tirelessly worked towards peace and rebuilding ties with the worlds community etc etc.

Sir Richard looked thoughtfully in the direction Svetlana had taken before
checking his watch. He had enough time before his flight back to London to enjoy the warmth and blue skies a while longer, so with a happy sigh Sir Richard Tennant, senior policeman for the Metropolis of London, relaxed and finished his drink.

Annapolis, Maryland, USA: 0
845hrs, 9th February.

The term ‘chapel’ hardly did justice in describing the beautiful structure that served the spiritual needs of those he lived and worked at the United States Naval Academy, thought the President. He had spent long minutes in silent prayer, alone inside the building having used his position to ensure that for a short time he would be the only worshiper there.

A muffled cough reminded him that he was not entirely alone, and never could be whilst in office and he stood slowly, reluctant to leave the peace and wished for solitude that this place held.

His posse of Secret Service agents had at least given him space, positioning themselves at intervals along the walls at ground level and in the gallery. He nodded to Mike and saw the man’s lips move, murmuring into a discrete radio microphone to inform the rest of the detail that ‘Knight’ was moving.

An agent opened the door for him and he emerged into the sunlight of a pleasant
February morning, and decided to walk to Farragut Field, ignoring the cars waiting outside Buchanan House, the one-time home of the Superintendent of the Academy, and now temporary residence of the President of the United States of America.

The President glanced up at the room the First Lady occupied but she was not stood at the window watching her husband go, and he doubted that she would ever again play the dutiful wife, no matter how public the occasion.

He felt the loneliness keenly, the need for companionship, and had to force himself not to walk stoop shouldered as he strolled along Chapel Walk towards the Severn River.

The academy was quiet, it lacked the hubbub of a training facility in full flow and there were fewer than fifty Midshipmen here. Those who had been in training at the start of the war had largely been siphoned off, depending on their level of
training into vacant berths as the casualties had mounted.

He paused when he drew level with the bronze statue of an Indian brave…
Native American
, he corrected himself. The statue appeared to have been defaced, painted somewhat less than artistically from the shoulders down and he read the name of whom it represented.
Tecumseh
, the kindly man who had befriended the pilgrims, and saved them from starvation.

He did not know what the daubing with paint was all about, but Henry would have done. Henry knew the history behind countless military traditions whereas the president had held the military in contempt for many years, and had no interest in such things, at least until relatively recently.

He missed Henry and he deeply regretted the harsh words spoken.

The last time he had seen Henry had been
aboard the USS
John C Stennis
, staring into the night, his back turned as Marine One departed.

Henry had disappeared after arriving back
from Australia. Using up his outstanding leave he had dropped out of sight by losing himself amongst the displaced masses and neither the CIA nor any other intelligence services had been able to track him down.

A few young faces watched from the windows of Bancroft Hall as their commander-in-chief passed by, his circle of agents on the alert despite the location watched those faces, ready to call out targets to the riflemen on every rooftop.

The President turned right and his walk took him past Santee Basin and along the top of Farragut Field to stand and look along to Chesapeake Bay.

It occurred to him that he was stood between two worlds, behind him stood the foremast of the battleship USS
Maine
, sometimes called the longest ship in the US Navy because the mainmast stood in the grounds of Arlington cemetery, on the far side of Washington DC to where he was now standing.

Washington DC, the irradiated city was abandoned now and the state capitol of Maryland was to be the site of the new White House, while the city of Baltimore had become the new capital city of the United States of America.

It lacked the ring to it that Washington DC had but the President, along with a sizeable portion of the population of Maryland, was opposed to the renaming of Baltimore to that of New Washington.

Work was already underway to build the new residence at the edge of the Naval Academy on the corner of College Avenue and King George Street. It would be a virtual replica of the White House and the
President felt that that should be a statement that it was business as usual.

M
uch of the world resembled the post war Europe of sixty years before but this time there was no Marshal Plan to aid the rebuilding. America demanded a return to the old way of doing things.

Today he would begin to address the problem of Great Britain and the other European military governments. His administration was under pressure from those who held the big purse strings, who had tried and failed to resume business
, to their satisfaction, with those countries because the military men who were in charge now would not bend the rules or take bribes to grease the way for them either.

The beating blades announced the approach of Marine One, an aircraft less pleasing to the eye than its predecessor, but the rugged looking CH-53E Sea Stallion and its back-up aircraft projected a no nonsense aspect of the presidential office.

The President gestured to an aide who handed across an attaché case before standing back, watching the large helicopters settle onto the grass of Farragut Field

The
President Theodore Kirkland did not hurry aboard; he rehearsed in his head the speech he would make in a few minutes time from the saluting dais in Baltimore. The world would see the might of America displayed at the victory parade to salute the fighting men who had now all returned from foreign shores. The world would hear his words and the underlying threat aimed at those who had overthrown their democratically elected governments. America was the land of the free and her military did the bidding of her government, not the other way around.

There would be no copycat military coups in the USA
because the people were satisfied with the way their civilian government worked, and his administration was determined that like governments should also stand in Europe.

The parade was not the big event of the day though, a meeting with the
oil companies and industrialists was scheduled for an hour later, and there the fall of the European military governments would be planned.

The side door of Marine One opened and two crewmen placed steps for their commander-in-chief to mount, he walked confidently forward and boarded, seating himself alone in the belly of the Sea Stallion.

The aircraft differed from the troop carrying version, sound proofing would allow the VIPs who may be aboard to hold a normal conversation and a bank of TV monitors showed the president six different channels, five of which were now displaying news programs whilst the sixth was set to the stock market. He lifted a telephone style receiver from its mounting beside his head and wished the pilot a good morning before turning down the volume on the monitors.

He opened the attaché case and removed a file from within, but there were no neatly typed pages
inside, and the file bore the printed title
‘
Operation Armageddon’s Song
’
, a name he vaguely recalled from somewhere. Some small objects tumbled out into his lap. He stared for a moment, muttering to himself how his aide was about to find himself in the unpleasant position of being on the job market during a recession.

He picked the flimsy items up with the intention of tossing them away
, but instead took a second to look at the cheap pieces of coloured cardboard. They were stained, aged, and the dyes had long begun to fade. On one side was borne an advertisement for a bar in Borneo whilst the reverse carried the logo of a well-known Far Eastern brewery, but there could also be discerned some handwriting in the margins.

Too many of the words had faded away with time to be read with the naked eye but it appeared to be some kind of declaration and the president was now more curious than he was annoyed
. He extracted his spectacles to better read the spidery writing in the light of a sun that streamed through the left side window.

“Well I’ll be damned…….!”
he breathed, as he deciphered the signatures at the end of the beer mat constitution.

Movement on the TV monitors caught his eye because all six stations were now showing exactly the same image, depicting a live feed of the crowd’s rapturous applause in downtown Baltimore. This was not supposed to be happening
. He had been briefed that only CNN would broadcast the event live, the others channels would show the edited highlights at normal news times.

His eyes dropped from the monitors to the beer mats in his hands
, and then to a sun shining through the wrong window if they were supposedly flying north, before returning to the screens showing the Joint Chiefs of Staff had taken the dais without him, and standing at their fore was Henry Shaw, General, USMC.

ENDEX