America's Trust (23 page)

“I’ll pass you to your father, it was him that was calling,”

“Hi, honey,” her dad said when he picked up.

“Hi, Dad, what’s up?”

“I want you to come home, honey,” said her father firmly.

Even at the age of twenty-four, Lauren had never once disobeyed her father, a strict Christian man who wasn’t one to tolerate anything but total obedience from his family. What he said in his house was the law.

“But, Daddy, why?” asked Lauren, as her world began to crash around her. If her father said she had to go, she would obey.

“Honey, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this nonsense in Europe with the Russkies. I want you home where I can protect you.”

Lauren turned on the TV set and selected a twenty-four hour news channel showing wall-to-wall talk of war with Russia. Footage of boats and planes being loaded with men and equipment was playing on a loop. She knew it was exactly what her dad would be watching.

“Daddy, it’s just talk. I’m fine, the president is going to be here tomorrow,” she pleaded.

“President King is going to be there?” he asked, suddenly very impressed.

“Yes, and I’ve been selected to ask him a question, Daddy,” she added in her sweetest voice possible.

Her father was an American patriot, a Republican and a God-fearing man who worshiped the ground President Jack King walked on. A man who had fought for his country and had stood tall when he was needed. President King was her dad’s kind of man. The fact that she had left out he was going to be there on the video screen and not in person was the only untruth. She had, as stated, been selected to ask a question. The fact that this had been secured by allowing Roger Young to grope her was her only other white lie.

The line went quiet as this new information was digested. Lauren watched the images she knew her father was watching back in Nebraska. Queues were forming at stores and gas stations. The public was beginning to panic buy. News stations were feeding the fear of shortage, despite no shortages actually existing. Although they were now inevitable, as a nation that lived on weekly shopping was about to try and purchase several months’ worth of supplies in a day.

The longer he thought about it, the less he was likely to allow Lauren to stay. This was hers and Mike’s chance for greatness.

“Daddy, I’m going to meet the president, shake his hand, and get to ask him anything I want!”

“I’ll call you back,” he said after some thought.

Lauren watched as the news channel continued to play scenes of panic buying across the nation. It was nearly midnight and cars were queued for miles at gas stations. All night supermarket car parks were overflowing and queues were already forming for those that opened in the morning. She looked out of her fifth floor window to the absolute tranquility of Camp Trust’s main concourse below. Mini skyscrapers lined the concourse and you really did feel like you were in the heart of a large city but without the hustle and bustle.

She was about to call Mike when her cell rang and interrupted her thoughts.
Dad.

“Hello?” she answered tentatively, dreading her father’s decision.

“I’ve spoken to your Uncle Bill. He was going to head out here to be with us,” he began.

Lauren held her breath waiting to see where her father was going with this. On hearing her uncle’s name, her hopes rose. Uncle Bill was her mother’s brother and was nothing like her father. He was fun.

“He’s going to take a detour and head on up to Emmetsburg. He’ll be there to bring you straight home should you need him.”

“Thanks, Daddy, I love you!!” she screamed with delight and relief.

“Yes, yes but you tell President King not to take any nonsense from those Russkies. We’re ready to kick their asses,” he said before hanging up.

A low knock on the door brought the image of Roger Young to mind.
Oh no, surely not
, she thought, edging towards the door.

“Lauren?” a whispered voice came from the other side.

It was Mike. She threw open the door and pulled him in, wrapping her arms around him and marching him to the bed. She had some tension to relieve that only Mike could take care of.

With Lauren ripping at his pants, Mike backed off. “Whoa! Whoa! What’s got into you?”

“You don’t want to?” she asked desperately pulling at his zipper.

“Of course I do but I know you well enough. What’s happened to get you this worked up?”

Lauren quickly explained the call with her father. Mike watched the footage on the news channel as she filled him in. He had been watching the sports channel and missed it all. When Lauren mentioned her Uncle Bill was going to drive up from Georgia and wait for them in Emmetsburg to take them to Nebraska if needed, he smiled. He loved Uncle Bill too.

“Shooter’s coming! Fantastic!” he said.

Lauren smiled. ‘Shooter’ was Mike’s nickname for her uncle. If Uncle Bill wasn’t shooting guns, he was at a photo shoot or shooting golf balls around a golf course, or at least that’s how Mike described his golfing. As far as Mike was concerned, Uncle Bill did nothing but shoot things.

“So is that all?” asked Mike.

Receiving a cheeky nod from Lauren, he grabbed her and threw her on to the bed. As he dived on top, she rolled away, avoiding his body and sat bolt upright. All sexual thoughts had evaporated in an instant, her face dropping as the latest breaking news flashed on the TV screen across the room.

Russian president survives US attempt to assassinate him.

“Butler!!!”

Butler winced at the sound of Chan’s irate shout echoing around the natural bowl. Swanson was halfway under the netting and struggling through the gap that they had managed to create between two of the spikes. Whoever had secured the netting had made sure it wasn’t going to come loose. The spikes were immovable and the netting was taut enough that barely inches of give was available to them no matter how hard they tried. He looked desperately for any sign of Chan or a pursuer but none were in view. He pulled harder on the netting to try and help Swanson under.

“Come out now and you’ll save the girl!” shouted Chan.

Butler relaxed when he realized the shout was from the other side of the hill. They must have assumed they had run for the tree line and were hiding in the woods to the South, hence the reference to come out. However, his relaxation was short-lived. The sound of frenzied dog barks joined Chan’s shouts.

Swanson turned over onto her stomach and pushed herself up into a crouch. Her back lifted the netting and created a space below her.

“Hurry, I’m not sure I can take this weight very long,” she said, her voice straining.

Butler took one last look at the hilltop before lying down and sliding as best he could under Swanson. As he cleared the net he turned and pushed as hard as he could, taking as much weight from Swanson as possible. She pulled herself out and they collapsed gasping for air on the hillside beneath the net.

“We need to get moving and somehow lose the tail,” he said after only ten seconds of rest.

“Right behind you,” she managed through gulps of air.

The sound of dogs barking grew louder as did the sound of men’s voices. The dogs had picked up their scent and had led the pursuers up the hill. They had just made it under the net in time.

Butler grabbed Swanson’s hand and they ran the final thirty feet to the base of the hill and the floor of the vast storage area.

“They’re all brand new,” he remarked as they ran down a long aisle of tanks flanking them on both sides. Butler counted as he went. There were at least two hundred tanks and probably the same number of armored personnel carriers.

“Any idea whose they are?” asked Swanson, following Butler’s assertion that they weren’t American.

“Not a clue, but whatever they are, they’re a new model. I know most by sight but don’t recognize these. I know the Russians were developing a new tank but so were the North Koreans, the Chinese and the Japanese. Hell, everyone’s probably developing new ones.”

The dogs went wild above them. They’d found their escape route.

Butler looked around. There was nowhere to hide apart from the blatantly obvious. He pushed Swanson up onto the nearest tank. A six-foot gap separated each tank.

“Okay, we just need to try and lose the dogs somehow, stay very close,” he ordered as he leapt across to the adjacent tank.

He leapt from one tank to another and kept leaping until he was across the aisle and to the next row of tanks and eventually looped back around to where he had started. He jumped over another two tanks and opened the hatch and, after ushering Swanson in, joined her.

“Keep very still and very quiet,” he said in a low whisper. The darkness inside the tank was as oppressive as the heat.

It took another five minutes before the sound of the dogs and men rushing around them began. The dogs’ barking grew louder and quieter as the dogs chased around the loop that they had laid down.

“Stop!” shouted Chan. “You’re going round in circles. They’ve laid down a track to lose the dogs. Every minute we waste, they’re getting further away.”

The barking and voices trailed off into the distance.

Butler placed a hand on Swanson, keeping her where she was, wordlessly telling her that they were staying there for some time yet. Swanson was no fool. She had also guessed that there was every chance the men outside were bluffing. Even if they weren’t, it was unlikely the area would be unguarded any more.

It was going to be a long, hot and very uncomfortable night.

Everyone in the Situation Room stood still as the news flash hit the screen.

Russian president survives US attempt to assassinate him.

“What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” gasped Jack.

Kenneth grabbed a remote and hit the volume. They needed to hear the words being spoken and not just read the sensationalist headline.

“…
and unconfirmed reports have suggested that the bombing of the Kremlin was a further retaliation by the US for the attacks earlier today. Our sources have confirmed that the crash of Flight 187 was not an accident but was in fact a deliberate attack by Russian forces. Flight 187 was carrying the new US ambassador to China, and James Marshall, a close personal friend of President King. The subsequent downing of two US F16s on the Polish border resulted in a retaliatory strike against a Russian weapons manufacturer by the US. US forces have continued to mobilize in what seems likely to be the most tense relations with Russia since the Cuban Missile Crisis
...”

“Get me whatever fucking idiot is in charge of that news broadcast!” shouted Jack, unable to control his anger.

Before Kenneth could make the call, the newscaster stopped talking and listened to his earpiece. His demeanor changed to one of even greater concern.

What now?
, thought Jack. Had they not done enough to panic the nation?

“I believe we are going to the Kremlin where an emergency press conference has been called,”
announced the newscaster with great apprehension. It was clear he did not believe it was going to be good news.

The screen changed to an empty podium. The Russian presidential seal was prominently displayed on the front of it, while two Russian flags hung on the wall behind.

President Chernov strode purposefully towards the podium. The world was watching, and whatever he was about to say could affect every single person on the planet.

“Good morning,” he began in English, surprising everybody, none more so than the translator, who repeated what he had just said.

“I come to you to personally guarantee that the explosion this morning at the Kremlin was nothing more sinister than a gas leak. I have spoken with President King…”

Jack relaxed, his whole body having tightened at what could have been a declaration of war. Ilya, however, had kept to his word. There was still a chance they might manage to avoid war.

“I thought you said, you hadn’t spoken with him,” spat Kenneth.

Jack was about to apologize when he realized he had absolutely no reason to. He leaned forward. “I’m not liking your tone, Kenneth,” whispered Jack menacingly.

“But you said you hadn’t spoken--”

“I am under no obligation to inform anyone as to whom I speak with,” interrupted Jack, in no mood for debate. Jack’s gaze burned into Kenneth’s until eventually Kenneth looked away.

Jack continued to stare at his Chief of Staff. The anger and the vitriol with which he had spoken had surprised Jack. Jack was used to putting four-star generals with front line combat experience down with one look. He checked his watch, almost midnight. He turned to Kenneth but his focus, following his outburst, was on the papers in front of him. Jack shook his head slightly in wonder, before rising and announcing he was calling it a night.