An Armageddon Duology (55 page)

“
W
e’re barely halfway
through Kansas and the engine’s overheating?”

York stood near the front of the RV, gazing down on the gauges. The engine light flashed while the thermometer danced in the red.

“We shouldn’t have pushed it after we saw the helicopter,” said Cohen, the RV’s speed now dropped to fifty-five.

“It was definitely checking us out,” said Savas. “I’m glad there’s a little more traffic out here than Barric predicted.”

“At least he got
something
right,” said York. “I think his opinion of his mechanical skill is a little inflated. This thing’s held together with wire and string!” Her lips pursed. “We’re going to have to pull over, check the engine coolant, radiator. We can’t have the damn thing blow on us. We’ll be stuck.”

“Pull over?” said Cohen.

“I think so. Do we want to risk losing the RV?”

Cohen looked at Savas. “What was it I said about plans?”

He ignored her. “Last sign said there’s a stop a few miles down the road. We do it like a pit stop. Off road to a garage, have someone look at it, assuming anyone’s there. Otherwise we do our best. Anyone a grease monkey? No? Wonderful.”

“We don’t have a choice, I’m afraid,” said York. “We’ll risk exposure, but nothing like the exposure we’d get broken down on the side of the road.”

Several miles later, the dilapidated RV exited on a curved ramp and spiraled to a red light, gas stations and restaurants surrounding them. Savas pointed to a large station with a visible garage, and Cohen steered the camper to the lot on the light change. To their great surprise, they saw a crowd of people there.

“I don’t get it,” said Savas as Cohen stopped the vehicle in front of the empty garage. “No cars. The pumps are out. Look—a sign says
No Gas
. What’s going on?”

“Phone!” said York. “Inside, through the window. A woman is talking on the phone.”

“The line is for the phone?” asked Savas.

Cohen nodded. “Of course. The Bosworths said everything was down. Cells, landlines. Looks like this place has one of the few working lines around. And everybody knows about it.”

A rap on the window startled Cohen. She spun the handle and rolled down the glass to stare at an older man in a greased jumpsuit.

“Overheating?”

Cohen smile. “Yes, how’d—”

“These old campers are awful. Hundred dollars says it’s a coolant hose.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Well, I’ll have to take a look. But likely, ma’am. We got a lot of rubber that will patch you for a while until you can get it looked at properly.”

York leaned over and whispered to Cohen. “Get her fixed. I’m going to that phone.”

Savas turned to her. “What?”

“A working phone, John. I can reach NORAD. If I can, I
have
to. Tell them I’m alive. Where we are. That we’re coming. To send
help
.”

“You’ll be recognized.”

“Possibly. I don’t have my TV crew to doll me up, and I’ve lost some weight from this adventure. But maybe. I’ll have to risk it.”

“Jesus.” He looked at Cohen. “We’re way off plan. All right then, Ms. President. You’re the Commander in Chief. But I’m going with you.”

The pair left Cohen with the mechanic, the hood already up and his torso obscured within the engine. The line stretched outside the convenience store and around the station, stragglers converging from random directions to extend the line on a regular basis. Ignoring hostile looks, Savas pushed his way through the store doors and walked past the line to the register. York held up her hand and he let her approach the counter.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, her voice ringing with an authority and grasping the clerk’s attention.

A young man with several days’ worth of stubble walked over. “Sorry, ma’am,” he began, “no service. We’re out of everything.”

“I need your phone. It’s an emergency.”

The clerk’s face darkened. Grumblings came from the line. “Well, ma’am, lots of folk got need of that phone. It’s the only one east of Colby that’s workin’. We got a line.”

“It’s a matter of national security,” said Savas.

The grumbling became much louder.

“Yeah, right!” laughed one.

“Back of the line, grandma!” someone shouted.

“My son’s sick!” came a woman’s voice.

“It’s York! It’s President York!”

The room fell silent. All eyes centered on her, the clerk squinting and leaning forward.

“I’ll be damned,” he said.

Whispers ran like a wind hitting a wall of trees. York turned to face them, the oversized coat from the Bosworth attic swallowing her like a steal from a thrift shop. Savas instinctively backed away, giving her the spotlight.

“I
am
President Elaine York.”

Savas let out a soft whistle and turned away from the crowd. He angled his body to York and whispered. “Might as well throw up a sign that says ‘Bomb here.’”

York ignored him. “I am your elected leader. I’m here right now because there’s been a military coup, one you’ve likely heard something about. I fled Washington, chased by the same people who bombed Kansas City.” People murmured. “I’m going to Cheyenne Mountain, to the NORAD bunker to lead a resistance. But I’m not there yet. I need your help. I need that phone to reach them. They need to know I’m alive, that I’m on my way. I need them to send help.” She walked up to the landline, a brunette holding the receiver staring at her open-mouthed. “The fate of the country might just depend on me making that phone call.”

“I’m sorry, Chief Kruger, but I’ll call you back.” The woman hung up the phone and stepped back.

“Thank you,” said York. She removed the receiver and dialed.

T
he mechanic slammed
the hood down and wiped his hands on a towel.

“And that, pretty lady, is how you do it. It’s a patch, jerry-rigged, but anything’s better than the leaky hose you had. You’d lost most of your coolant oil. You were lucky you got this far.”

“She’s good to go?” asked Cohen, a growing wind tossing her brown hair across her face.

“Yep. I topped it off. You got more gas than you ought’a be carryin’, so don’t think you need anything else.” The mechanic turned his head to look behind Cohen, distracted. “What the hell?”

York and Savas walked toward them, a giant crowd following behind. Cohen stared back and squinted into the wind.

“Oh, lovely.”

The clerk raced up and grabbed the mechanic’s thick arm.

“It’s
York
,” he said, giddy. “
President
York!”

The mechanic nodded as the crowd came to a stop in front of him. He extended his hand.

“Mighty honored to meet you, sir. Uh, ma’am.”

“You get us straightened out?”

Momentarily star-struck, he tried to recover. “Um, yes ma’am. Busted hose like I thought. You’re all set.”

York turned to the crowd. “All of you, I’m going to repeat what I said. Don’t follow us. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen us. I mean it. We have killers chasing us. The same killers who murdered half a million people in Kansas City. People some of you knew. If they find us, they will kill us. If you follow or speak about us, it will make it that much easier for them to track us down.” The crowd remained silent, stunned. “Whether you like it or not, you’ve just been drafted into a war. In wars, loose lips sink ships. Help me get to NORAD. Pretend you never saw me. Go back to the line, call your loved ones. Take care of your emergencies. I promise you, I will fight to get this country back, and to bring justice to those monsters who have violated every decency.”

The crowd applauded. Savas turned away and sighed.

“Great. Let’s just send up a flare to attract more attention.”

York waved quickly and stepped into the RV. Savas and Cohen followed. The crowd inched forward, unconsciously attracted to the vehicle.

“Try not to run them over, okay Rebecca?” said York.

“You reached NORAD?”

“Yes,” York replied as she buckled in behind the booth. Savas lingered at the rear window, gazing outside. “They know the key details—what happened, where we are, where we’re headed and how. I didn’t dare stay on longer than to get a promise they’d pull out all the stops to help us.”

Cohen nodded and started the engine. “Readings look good. Let’s try to meet them halfway.” She pulled out and turned onto the road, heading for the on-ramp to I-70. “I have to say, that was something.
Uplifting
. To find so many people behind you, supporting you.”

“Not everyone,” said Savas, his brows furrowed as he returned to the front.

“Trouble?” asked York.

“Several characters left soon after you were revealed to the crowd. They slunk out the back. Didn’t look like their roots were in Kansas. When you were in the middle of that nice speech, an SUV with tinted windows pulled up across the street.”

Cohen checked the rearview. “It’s behind us!”

Savas grasped the handle of the shotgun by his side. “We’ve got company.”

T
he Director
of the Bilderberg Group lay back in a plush chair, his head indenting the black leather, eyes closed. His heavy jowls hung slack, his mottled skin resembling some snake’s hide in the dim light. Flashes of light splashed across his dark features as an alert tone sounded on the computer in front of him. Slowly, struggling to summon the energies of motion, his eyes opened, the gray eyebrows twitching, and for several seconds he simply stared at the blinking light. Then he leaned forward and pressed a key.

“Director,” he rasped.

Static hissed over the speakers, and a snowy image of a man with a chiseled jaw appeared on the screen.

“Fox team beta, sir. We’ve found her.”

The Director raised a pair of eyeglasses to the bridge of his nose with a shaking hand. “What?
York?
She
survived?
Are you sure?”

“We have two confirmed sightings by assets on the ground and we pulled the surveillance video from a gas station near Colby, Kansas. That’s about an hour from the Colorado border. There’s no doubt.”

“My God.”

“It’s worse, sir.” The snowy reception garbled the man’s words and face. “There was a working landline, one of the first restored to service. We intercepted transmissions over the local network from your monitoring stations. She’s contacted NORAD. They know she’s coming.”

“Dammit!” The Director pounded his armrest, falling back into his seat and closing his eyes.

“We have a vehicle in pursuit and several more en route. It’s four hours to Cheyenne Mountain. That’s a lot of time to handle the problem, sir.”

His eyes remained closed. “Call in all available assets. Pull aircraft off anything else. If we have a fighter plane left I want her blown off the highway.”

“Ahead of you, sir. The front is decimated. NORAD controls most of the airspace and we can’t launch anything without them knowing.”

“There must be something. We need something in the air.”

“We’re working on it. We might can commandeer local craft. It’s our only option.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Do whatever you have to do. Run her off the road. Firebomb her car.
Anything
. She can’t be allowed to reach the mountain. Terminate with extreme prejudice.”

“Understood, sir. Will keep you informed.”

The image clicked off and the Director sighed. He initiated another video call, and the Middle Eastern woman appeared on the screen.

“Director,” she said, her hair full and uncombed behind her, a silk evening gown on her shoulders.

“Maryam, the news is bad, it seems—”

“A moment.” She stood up, carrying the camera with her, the figure of a powerfully built man naked in the bed. A door closed behind her, cutting off the bedroom. “Good morning.”

“Morning for you. It hasn’t quite arrived here. And there isn’t much good to be had.” She remained expressionless. “They’ve found York. She’s alive and making a run for Colorado.”

Her dark face turned to the side and she cursed in a language he couldn’t understand. “Is there no way to kill that bitch?”

“We have assets in pursuit. She’s exposed.”

“Yet nothing is certain.”

He nodded. “The real danger is her reaching NORAD, sealing herself in the bunker, and surviving what’s coming. Unless we find a way to kill her now, or cut off NORAD completely, she could wage a war of ideas against us.”

“What good will it do? There will be nothing left of the nation. She can summon an army of rocks and the radiation-poisoned.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the danger. It’s Europe and Asia. If she can reach them, she could disrupt the world with that megaphone.”

“If the assets fail, can we accelerate the program? Initiate it before she reaches the bunker?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Zero must be out. It takes time.”

“Then we’d better hope your men finish the job on the ground today, Director. I will brief the others.”

She smiled coldly as the connection closed. The old man exhaled and once again crashed backward into his chair.

Damn these women.