The Olympus Device: Book Three (29 page)

“Mr. Weathers will be allowed to pass through the law enforcement lines in 30 minutes. Now, ma’am, could we talk a little bit about our new national hero? The president is getting ready to address the nation.”    

The spicy aroma of Chinese take-out filled the hotel room, Mitch and Dusty dipping into the cardboard containers with white plastic forks.

The younger Weathers started to comment on the noodles, only to be hushed by his older brother. “The president’s coming out. Shhhhh… I want to hear this.”

The news cameras switched to an image of a doorway, several serious looking men with sunglasses on both sides of the opening. The bottom of the screen informed the viewers they were looking at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

“We’re expecting the president to emerge from the hospital at any moment. Aides have informed the press corps that the chief executive will be making a few, brief comments regarding the events of the last few days,” the announcer’s voice explained.

There was a bustle of motion around the entrance, and then four more men came hustling out, followed by the president of the United States.

The Commander in Chief waved to the cheering crowd, smiling as if nothing had happened. “He’s trying to reassure the public,” Mitch snapped. “Probably going to take credit for defending the Constitution and saving our democracy.”

After greeting a few of the press corps, the politician stepped closer to the gaggle of microphones being thrust in his direction. Two dozen voices pelted the man with questions, all shouted at once.

Waving down the throng’s inquiries, the president announced, “First of all, the excellent doctors here at Bethesda have pronounced me fit as a fiddle. Secondly, I want to express my condolences to the families of the brave men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of the White House two nights ago. They will not be forgotten.”

The president paused to show remorse, but the press wouldn’t let the moment play. Again, a chorus of questions flew through the air, none of them intelligible.

The president held up his hands, quieting the mob of reporters with a stern look. “And finally, in a few minutes, I’ll be signing a full presidential pardon for Mr. Durham Weathers.”

Everyone, including Mitch and Dusty, was stunned. Before either man could say a word, the chief executive continued, peering directly at the camera. “I know you’re out there, Mr. Weathers. My staff and I are well aware of what you did the other night. Please contact my offices and come out into the light. My family and I owe you our lives. The citizens of this great country owe you a debt of gratitude for preserving the democracy.”

And then without another word, the president pivoted and entered his limousine. The door was closed and the motorcade zooming off in a matter of seconds, leaving the baying voices of the press in their wake.

The news broadcast then returned to the anchor, the stoic looking man staring down at a stack of papers as if he’d never seen them before. The explanation came quickly. “I’ve just been handed an official statement from the Departments of Justice and Defense. We’ll analyze this new information while we take a short break for a message from our sponsors.”

“Well I’ll be horn swaggered and hogtied,” Dusty began, his eyes still fixated on the new car commercial now on the screen. “I… I… What the hell just happened, Mitch?”

The door opened before Mitch could respond, Grace appearing in the entrance. “Hi guys,” she greeted.

“Grace, you’re not going to believe what the president just said on TV,” Dusty stammered, still not believing his eyes.

Grinning with a twinkle in her eye, she put her hands on hips and said, “Oh let me guess… you’ve been granted a full presidential pardon and are invited to Camp David to meet the man in person. Right?”

“How’d… how’d you know?” the Texan managed.

“Because I’ve been on the phone with the White House’s chief of staff, that’s why. They know exactly what happened that night. It seems the U.S. Air Force can trace the rail gun’s shots with pinpoint accuracy. The president is well aware that you saved his bacon.”

“And were the guys trying to overthrow the government who we thought? Were they the missing members of the Blue Ribbon Panel?”

“Yes, they believe the admiral was killed that night at the White House, although there’s been no positive identification. Senator Hughes is still missing, but now that they’re not looking for you, I’m sure they’ll have the manpower to track him down. The rebels they found alive at the White House are singing like birds.”

Dusty shook his head, “I don’t care about any of this shit. What did you find out about Andy’s situation?”

“The FBI, at the president’s behest, is going to let you through,” she said sadly. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Dusty?”

The Texan didn’t answer with words. Setting down his food, Dusty moved with purpose toward the rail gun. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dusk was settling on the lakeshore as Dusty exited the SUV. Monroe and Shultz were there, the senior agent apparently unhappy about his orders.

When the two FBI agents spied the rail gun in Dusty’s hands, both men had trouble taking their eyes from the weapon. “So that’s what it looks like,” Monroe said quietly. “After all these weeks… after all we’ve been through, it’s so close, and I can’t do shit about it.”

The Texan ignored their stares, strolling straightaway toward the two men who would’ve shot him on sight just a few hours prior. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Dusty greeted.

For a moment, the Texan studied Shultz. “We’ve met.”

“Yes,” the agent answered uncomfortably. “Outside Laredo.”

Dusty only nodded, seeing no reason to review historical events. “What can you tell me about the setup?” he continued, nodding in the general direction of the lake.

Despite being disgusted at having to do so, Monroe provided Dusty with a professional briefing.

“I see,” the Texan replied after absorbing it all. “Can you call them and tell them I am coming in?”

“Yes,” replied Monroe. “What else?”

“Tell them I want… oh hell… just let me talk to them if that’s possible.”

“It’s your son, sir,” Monroe replied with a nasty tone.

Millard answered the phone on the third ring. “You’d better be calling me to say you have the Olympus Device and are ready to make a trade,” he spat.

“That’s exactly why I’m calling you,” came the strange voice. “This is Dusty Weathers, the father of the young man you’re holding. I’m here. Let’s parlay.”

For a moment, the sergeant thought it was some stupid trick being attempted by a desperate Fed. “And why should I believe you, Mr. Weathers… if it is indeed you on the other end of the line.”

“Put my son on the line, he’ll vouch that I’m his father.”

“I’m not inclined to do that,” Millard responded. “For all I know, you’re trying to distract us while the HRT goons sneak up on us.”

“I’m not going to make the trade unless you verify Andy’s alive anyway, son,” Dusty said calmly. “Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

The logic was difficult to argue, especially with the ex-operator’s mind rushing 1,000 miles per hour. “Okay, Weathers. I’ll do just what you suggested. Hold on.”

“I’m not going anyplace,” Dusty replied.

It was a full three minutes before Andy’s voice sounded on the line. “Hello?”

“Andy, it’s your dad. Are you okay, son?”

“Dad! Where are you? These guys are keeping me in….” And then Andy’s voice was gone.

“Okay, I’ll buy that you’re the kid’s father, at least for the moment. Do you have the device?”

“Yes. I’m going to walk up to the house. I’ll come alone. I’ll have the rail gun with me. Meet me in the street out front with Andy, and we’ll make the trade. It’s that simple.”

“Bullshit,” laughed Millard. “The minute I show my ass outside this house, one of those FBI snipers will pop me with about 180 grams of high-velocity lead. Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“Oh come on now, Sergeant. Do you really think they’d do that with your other men covering us from the house? They would have to know your guys would chop Andy and me to pieces if they tried any skullduggery. Besides, I’m taking one hell of a chance myself. How do I know the minute I show up with the rail gun, you won’t just shoot me down and take the weapon? If you want to make a trade, there’s got to be some trust or neither one of us will get what we want.”

For a second, Dusty thought he’d gone too far, an extended period of silence obvious across the connection.

“Okay, come on up. Alone. And with the device in plain sight. Your son will be wired with explosives, and if the feds try anything, my men will detonate us all into a cloud of red vapor. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The line went dead. Dusty turned to look at the two FBI agents who had been listening to the call. It was Shultz who spoke first. “What are you going to do, Mr. Weathers?”

“Can I borrow a handgun?”

“No!” shouted Monroe without thinking.

But Shultz wasn’t so quick to condemn, raising his hand to silence his partner, tilting his head as if trying to follow Dusty’s thinking.

The Texan sensed the agent’s curiosity, a nervous smile forming on his lips. “Agent Shultz, do you remember how you felt when I first got out of that SUV and was holding the rail gun?”

“Yes, but….”

“I see a lot of that. People can’t seem to take their eyes off of my little invention. I now know how a gorgeous woman in a low cut dress feels. I guess it’s a normal, human reaction. I’m assuming that guy holding my son will do the same. As a matter of fact, I’m counting on it.”

A smile crossed the junior agent’s face, and without regard for his superior’s wrath, he unholstered his sidearm and handed it to the Texan.

Dusty examined the weapon, a knowing grin crossing the gunsmith’s lips. “Springfield Armory, 1911. Custom made. I’d read where they were issuing these to the FBI. It’s a fine weapon, Agent Shultz.”

“Do you need a spare magazine?” Shultz asked.

“No. This will all be over before I can use up eight rounds.”

“Good luck, then,” Shultz said, offering his hand.

Dusty hesitated a moment, and then accepted the offering. “Thanks. I’ll need it,” he replied, tucking the .45 caliber pistol inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Dusty stepped over where Grace and Mitch stood nearby. After hugging his brother, the tall Texan bent and kissed his lady friend on the forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too. Please come back to me… and bring Andy with you.”

It was almost a half-mile trek to his son’s prison, the street quiet and lonely. Only the sound of his own footfalls reached Dusty’s ears. That and the rush of his own heartbeat.

He continued putting one step in front of the other, fighting hard to push down the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

“What are you afraid of?” he whispered to the night. “Either Andy will be free, or you’ll be dead and won’t care anymore. Suck it up. This is almost over. Finish the job.”

And then he was in front of the house.

Standing in a small pool of illumination provided by the street’s only utility light, Dusty waited. The rail gun was slung over his shoulder, a tube of ball bearings in his shirt pocket.

Through the shadows surrounding the darkened home, Dusty spotted movement. Two figures emerged, one treading in front of the other.

He spied Andy first, his son’s petrified eyes and drawn skin helping the Texan battle his fear by replacing it with a quickly forming rage. And then the second man stepped into the light, pressing an M4 carbine directly into his hostage’s back.

Dusty scanned Andy’s torso and spotted several lumps of what appeared to be bars of soap, but what he knew were actually cakes of C4 explosive. Red and black wires were attached to each deadly hunk.

Millard held his weapon steady, his voice sounding without the slightest hint of fear. “So, let me see the Olympus Device.”

Dusty did as instructed, slowly pulling his invention off his shoulder and holding it up so the sergeant could see.

“Turn it on.”

Again, Dusty did as he was told, making a show of turning on the power button, watching as the green LED glowed.

“How do you load it?”

With a deliberate motion, the Texan reached into his shirt pocket and produced the device’s ammunition. “You simply work the bolt, drop in one of these projectiles, and close the bolt,” he stated honestly, performing each step to coincide with the instructions.

“So now it’s loaded and ready to fire?”

“Yes. You adjust the power setting with this slide. I’ve been advised not to shoot it at more than 30%. A physics professor informed me that the shot might crack the earth’s crust at any higher level.”

Just as he’d anticipated, the man holding his son couldn’t take his eyes off the device.

Almost as if he were hypnotized by the potential power of the rail gun, Millard stood silent, just staring with what could only be described as weapon lust painted all over his face.

“Shoot it,” the hostage taker finally stated. “Turn around and light up that line of police cars down the road. I want to make sure it’s the real deal.”

“No,” Dusty replied firmly. “Not until my son has those explosives removed from his body. I’ve held up my end of the deal so far, now it’s your turn to establish a little faith.”

“I could just shoot you both and take it. Do as I ask. If it’s the real deal, I’ll let you and your son go free.”

Dusty shook his head, “Maybe… maybe not. Regardless, I’m not going to murder a bunch of innocent cops. If you want to fire off a test shot, that’s up to you, but I’m not going to kill needlessly.”

The Texan’s refusal seemed puzzling to Millard. Shrugging his shoulders, the man lowered his M4 and stepped closer to the Texan. Dusty extended the rail run toward the man with one hand, the other going to the pistol in his back pocket.

In that fleeting moment, with his mind fueled with adrenaline-charged clarity, the irony of it all wasn’t lost on Dusty. Here stood one of the world’s most highly trained fighting men, one of the deadliest individuals on the planet. Yet, despite all of his experience, knowledge, and combat tested fortitude, the man was making mistakes.

Greed was to blame. An irresistible lust for power now dictated Millard’s actions, his brain desperately trying to cope with an unbelievable destiny now that the instrument of his dreams was within reach. He could be anything. Ask for anything. Be everything.

Words like king, president, and emperor raged through Millard’s head.
No, fuck that
, he thought.
With this device, I’m a god
.

When the Sergeant reached for the rail gun, Dusty surprised the man by holding on with a steel tight grip. Before the ex-operator could react, the pistol appeared in the Texan’s free hand. In one motion, Dusty flipped down the thumb safety and began firing point blank, directly at the kidnapper’s face.

“Get down!” the Texan screamed at the same moment the first shot rang out, hoping Andy would react and get out of the line of fire.

After spying a fog of red mist exit from the back of Millard’s head, Dusty let loose of the pistol, his hands grasping the rail gun before the discarded sidearm bounced off the pavement.

The now-dead hostage taker had said his men would detonate the explosives on Andy’s body at the first sign of trouble.
Please just hesitate for half a second
, raced through Dusty’s mind as he brought the rail gun to bear.
Oh God, please don’t let them blow up my son
.