The Olympus Device: Book Three (6 page)

“Then we’re in agreement, Senator,” Armstrong nodded, extending his hand to the politician.

Hughes smiled and accepted the handshake. “For too long has the government failed the American people. I’m in full agreement that now is the time for us to step in and cut away the rot that is Washington.”

Armstrong nodded with approval. He sauntered over to the well-stocked bar and overturned two glasses. “A drink then, to seal a pact of revolution.”

“A toast then, to new beginnings and a prosperous new world – guided by us,” Hughes responded, raising his glass.

After finishing the bourbon, Hughes again became reflective. “You know some people are going to believe we’re traitors.”

“Only if we lose, Senator,” Armstrong responded. “If we succeed, then we’ll be called whatever the hell we want to be called. I, personally, prefer the term ‘patriot.’”

It had been a simple matter, convincing the other members of the president’s panel to recommend the government initiate negotiations with Weathers. The senator from Pennsylvania knew that was the easy part.

Less than a week after the plot was hatched at the island, Hughes and Armstrong found themselves in what was a very crowded Oval Office.

The Commander in Chief sat behind his desk, apparently disgusted by the report in his hands. Occasionally glancing up at the panel’s chairman, the president’s icy expressions had a dampening effect on the entire room.

“This is it?” the president finally asserted. “This is what I get from some of our nation’s most brilliant minds? A recommendation that our government negotiate with terrorists? I think you gentlemen have missed the mark, and you have missed it by a long shot.”

Already a rather sheepish man, the MIT department head assigned to chair the panel looked as if he wanted to dig a hole through the White House floor and melt away. “Sir, umm, well, we feel that would be the most prudent course of action - given current circumstances. Are you really so opposed to just talking with the inventor?”

Armstrong took note that the president appeared exhausted and beaten. The sight sickened him. Here was a man that was supposed to be their leader, a man the people looked to for guidance and assurance, but now he looked weak, tired, and indecisive.

For a brief moment, the admiral was tempted to end the president’s life right then and there. It would be a very quick kill, requiring only a few seconds to meander over and snap the coward’s neck like a twig. He was sure he could accomplish the task well before the Secret Service could react.

He’s pathetic
, the admiral judged.
He makes the United States look frail to the rest of the world. It’s no wonder all the despots and egotistical maniacs on the planet thumb their noses at us. Killing him now would be about as close to an honorable death as this quitter will ever get.

Armstrong dismissed his thoughts, pushing them aside so as to concentrate on what was being said. Now wasn’t the time for action. At this stage of their campaign, diplomacy was a necessity.

As if on cue, Hughes stepped forward to defuse the president’s building tempest. “Sir, if I may, I think you should give our recommendation serious thought. There is a vast difference between negotiating with Mr. Weathers versus giving into his demands. As far as our long-time policy of not negotiating with terrorists, I think the former judges on our panel would like to point out that Mr. Weathers is a U.S. citizen, and thus it wouldn’t be difficult to back away from classifying him as a terrorist.”

The chief executive studied Senator Hughes with a degree of puzzlement behind his eyes. “You agree with this, Richard? Of all the people on this panel, I thought your voice would be the loudest… demanding Weathers be executed on sight. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because it’s what’s right for the people, Mr. President. As per your orders, we examined all aspects of the current situation. Striking an acceptable deal with our creative Texan would be the best solution for all. But even if both sides can’t come to terms, the mere fact that you’re willing to sit and talk with him is a positive step forward. Showing progress at this time would go far in soothing a worried public, sir.”

Armstrong stepped up, ready to add his support to Hughes. “Mr. President, as you are very well aware, the country is in a turmoil over Weathers and his invention. There is public outcry regarding how the situation was handled, and people doubt the government's ability to lead them. But what is even more troubling is the reaction from within the military. There is a growing wave of misgiving and insecurity about the country’s future. Soldiers are people, too. Just like the average citizen, they want to see this conflict resolved for the sake of all. Stability and hope are the keywords, sir.”

The president’s gaze bounced from member to member of the panel, each glance telling the chief executive that everyone else was on board with the concept. “Okay, gentlemen. What possible solution can come from talking with Mr. Weathers?” demanded the president.

“His demands are rather simple, sir, and they have remained consistent. Other than being pardoned, he wants assurances that his device will be used for peaceful purposes only.”

The president glanced around the room with uncertainty. “Everyone already knows that. What I asked you people to do was come up with ideas on how we could guarantee such a thing.”

Before anyone could answer, Hughes grabbed the floor. “It doesn’t matter, sir. The important thing right now is to have Mr. Weathers at the table talking, not running around firing off his device every time he gets spooked. The negotiations could drag out for years, sir. And all along, you’re seen as the cool head in the room. I’m sure the Texan will agree not to discharge the Olympus Device in exchange for your public promise that he won’t be arrested during the process. That single step would go a long way in calming the public’s anxieties.”

After pausing for a moment to give the president a chance to respond, Hughes decided it was time to press his position further. “It's clear that violence isn't the way to go, sir. I’d like to remind everyone of a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, ‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.’ We must be the light. The American people want to believe their government is taking the high road. If they do, they’ll energetically support you, sir.”

The POTUS scratched his chin in thought, not quite ready to commit to a specific action. “Okay, gentlemen, thank you for your time and service. I’ll take your recommendations under serious consideration and inform you of my decision within 24 hours.”

After the panel members had shuffled from the room, the president turned to his chief of staff. “Do you really think talking with Weathers will raise my approval rating?”

“Yes, sir, I do. And like the senator said, these things can drag out for a long time… even past the next election.”

“Okay, Noah, make it happen, but on one condition; I want the members of our illustrious panel doing the talking with Weathers. They’re all so eager to put my neck in the noose, let’s see how they do when the rope is around their throats.”

“Very good, sir.”

Grace turned to Mitch and said, “I’m impressed, professor. I had no idea such equipment existed. Thank you so much for the tour.”

“You can speak candidly here, Grace. There’s no way the FBI has any listening devices in this lab. The department heads strictly forbade it, out of a fear that it would interfere with our instruments. That’s one of the reasons I was trying to get you down here.”

Still suspicious, the attorney looked right and left and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I haven’t heard a word out of your brother since the tornado incident in Kansas. I’m worried about him.”

“He’s not been on the gardening forum since then?”

“No, not a peep. While I’m sure we would know if the government captured him, dead or alive, obviously there are non-federal entities that would love to put their hands on that damned invention of his. Laredo and the Russians in Houston proved that. If one of those groups found him first, we probably wouldn’t have even known about it until they used the device.”

Mitch nodded his understanding, having had the exact same concerns since the ordeal had begun. “The press is raising a huge stink after Kansas. A lot more people are asking if Dusty is really as sinister as the government is playing him up to be. Yet, those hard-headed bastards in Washington don’t seem to be willing to give an inch.”

“Something’s got to give soon, and I’m afraid it’s going to be Dusty. He can’t last forever on the run.”

Mitch could see the pain and worry in her eyes. Worse yet, he could understand the emotion, having done little but fret over his older brother’s dilemma since day one.

“Come on; let me buy you a cup of coffee. I need some fresh air,” the professor suggested.

It was a bright, crisp day outside, a striking contrast between the central Texas sky and the dark, subterranean research facility. For Grace, it was a welcome relief.

They strolled casually through the campus, Mitch nodding to small gaggles of students as they passed. “Every time I leave the lab and venture outside, it’s as if I’ve been released from jail.”

“I wonder if Dusty will feel the same thing once this is all over?” she asked, making it clear the change in venue hadn’t altered her thoughts.

They finally managed the Java Hut, the barista behind the counter nodding at the well-known professor as the duo entered. “Having the usual today, Dr. Weathers?”

They were half-way through their concoctions of choice when a man in a black suit approached. First eyeing the briefcase, then noting the clean cut appearance, both Grace and Mitch regarded the man suspiciously. They knew a government official when they saw one.

“Grace Kennedy? Dr. Mitchell Weathers?”

“Who are you and what do you want?” Grace barked, switching from relaxed to aggressive in less than two seconds.

“My name is Charles Sawyer; I'm here at the request of the White House. I've come to talk to you about Durham Weathers and his invention,” replied the newcomer.

“As I keep telling the army of FBI agents you’ve got watching my every move, we’ve not heard anything from him,” Mitch said, clearly annoyed at the constant harassment. “You guys are watching me shave, cut my toenails, and scratch my ass every morning. It’s getting a little old.”

“Even if we did hear something from Dusty, do you really think we’d tell you?” Grace added with a glare, clearly ready for a hostile encounter.

The government man sighed, the expression meant to convey, “I’m just the messenger.”

Reaching into his briefcase, he produced a small stack of papers, placing them on the table in front of Grace.

The attorney picked them up, her eyebrows arching skyward as she studied the first page. So strong was her reaction, Mitch couldn’t help himself, moving so he could read over her shoulder.

“Is this what I think it is?” asked Mitch, his glance turning back to the government representative.

“It is. A temporary, conditional pardon by the president and a formal request for Mr. Durham Weathers to negotiate directly with the president’s Blue Ribbon Panel. The stated mission is to determine how the Olympus technology can be exploited for peaceful purposes only,” replied Sawyer. “Once an agreement has been reached, the pardon will become permanent.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” queried Grace, still eyeing the White House rep with suspicion.

“Ms. Kennedy, as you well know, the country is in an uproar over this entire affair. There have been several modest protests throughout the nation, a few ending with violence. Some radical elements are even going so far as to call for a new revolution. The president feels that the best course of action is to make peace with Weathers and get beyond this issue. The White House believes there are far more significant, short-term opportunities that should be receiving our attention.”

Grace smirked, “Not to mention the risk of the rail gun falling into the hands of an extremist group or hostile foreign country?”