Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (33 page)

“Oh hell, Tom, just say it!
 
The Koreans weaponized it!” burst the Army Chief of Staff.
 
He didn’t stand up like his counterparts but merely leaned forward, one arm on his knee.
 
“Mr. President, this flu is no accident.
 
Those bastards did this to us on purpose, to soften us up for the invasion.
 
My boys found Huntley, and he was being chased by a platoon of North Korean SpecOps.
 
They must know he’s the Source of our H5N1 vaccine and they’re trying to take him out of the equation.”

“How the hell did they figure that out?” asked the Commandant of the Marines, a grim-looking whip of a man.

“We’re working on that.
 
The HD-GPS chip we implanted in his shoulder led us right to him, but somehow they got a hold of the info as well.”

The President’s mind raced.
 
That ‘somehow’ was the information he’d given to Reginald.
 
That simple code had been used like a battering ram to crack open the entire American security mainframe.
 

“HD-GPS chip?” he asked, trying to buy himself time to think.
 
He could see by the irritated expression on the Admiral’s face, the Joint Chiefs thought worrying about Mr. Huntley was a waste of time.

“Yessir,” said the head of Homeland Security.
 
He pushed his glasses up his nose again.
 
“He’s the Source.
 
It was thought at the time in the best interests of national security to keep a close watch on him, but we couldn’t just arrest the man.
 
He was a deep-blue hero in the Press—untouchable.
 
We arranged a job for him with the CDC to keep him available, implanted the GPS locater chip in his shoulder and watched him 24/7 for the past ten years.”
 

Harold ignored the explanation.
 
He had known the flu was going to be loosed on America.
 
He knew Reginald had a hand in that pretty mess.
 
He had not known the North Koreans were going to capitalize on the havoc that Reginald was going to cause.
 
Now it seems they were hellbent on trying to take out the one man that could help turn the tide against the infection.
 
It alternately made no sense and yet scary-perfect sense to him.
 
Either way, he could feel his options beginning to vanish.

“Did they get him out?” he asked, after realizing that the room was quiet.

“Of
course
,” said the General, looking offended. “Rangers do not fail, Mr. President.
 
Even if our comms do,” he shot a withering look at the Air Force General.
 
“We were able to re-task the extraction team to bring Huntley to Spokane, Washington before all communications were lost and NORAD went silent.”

“Why Spokane?” asked Harold, hands on either side of his head, elbows on the desk.

“Because the CDC has an extensive facility there with the right equipment to produce a new vaccine based on Mr. Huntley’s blood antibodies—outside of Atlanta, it’s our best bet.
 
If the Rangers gets him there -” said the head of Homeland Security.

“They will,” growled the General.

“Then we have a better than even chance of beating the flu, at least.
 
It could save millions of lives on the West Coast alone, provided they make it there.”

“And if the Koreans take out Spokane?” asked Harold, seeing another ‘rogue’ submarine in his mind.
 
“They seem to be a step ahead of us on this…”

“They are, predictably, not in communication with us at the moment,” offered the Secretary of State.
 
She smoothed the lines of her business skirt.
 
“Since we lost our satellites, we are in the dark.
 
We have secure landlines to Japan and have spread the word that we will retaliate with the very wrath of God if this goes any further.”
 
She shrugged.
 
“The North Koreans learned to ignore our threats a long time ago.”

“I say we nuke the bastards,” said the Army general with a wolfish smile.
 
“Let them ignore it when Pyongyang is turned into a glass parking lot.”

“I concur, before their fleet gets close enough to launch theater capable missiles,” said the Admiral.
 
He shook his head.
 
“Hell, they could have a few nuclear capable subs off shore right now.”

“We still have 100% combat effectiveness on all land-based ICBMs, sir,” said the Air Force Chief of Staff with no small amount of pride.
 
“We could wipe North Korea off the map twenty times over…But I caution against using nuclear weapons at this point.
 
I agree with Admiral Bennet: they may have subs off the coast already, just waiting to paste us when we launch.
 
Without our comms, we can’t contact our fleets—if they’re still there; we just don’t know without those satellites.”

“Don’t we have a missile-defense system?” asked the President.

“Yes, sir, but it’s visual only thanks to the loss of our satellites.
 
And the visual system is only 25% effective.”

The Admiral
harrumphed
.
 
“Even if there are subs waiting out there, the damn flu will likely cause as many casualties as any hypothetical Korean nuclear weapon.
 
If our cities are hit with tactical nukes, at least the civilians will die quicker and in less pain.”

“
Jesus, Admiral,” said the President.
 
“I am shocked you’d suggest—“

“We have been attacked, Mr. President.
 
The time for pussy-footing around and hand wringing and negotiations is
over
.
 
This is our Pearl Harbor!
 
Our defense systems have been hacked and compromised, one of our largest cities has been obliterated by a nuclear-fucking-weapon, and need I remind you—there are North Korean soldiers in the process of conquering Los Angeles!
 
We have no choice but to declare total war and respond in kind!”
 
The admiral took a breath, his chest heaving, and his face beet-red.

“To that end, I will ask Congress to−” said the President.

“There’s no time for asking Congress to act, sir,” barked the Admiral.
 
“We need to take action now!
 
Now is
not
the time to stand around with our dicks in our hands—”

“And the sub that launched the nuke that destroyed Atlanta?
 
Wasn’t that one of ours?” the President said icily.

The Oval Office went silent, the Admiral’s face drained of blood and went ghostly pale.
 
He nodded stiffly, his body at attention.
 
“It was, sir.”

“James McNeely was the skipper.
 
A captain I respected, one I would have trusted with my life…He was a lifer…he
never
would have done this willingly. It had to have been…I mean…if…”

“Where is this Captain McNeely?” asked the President.
 
“I want the full weight of the JAG corps dropped on his ass,” he said, furious.
 
A little voice in the back of his mind chided him quietly:
How brave of you
…
you’re going to go after a traitor?
 
What will you do to yourself?
 
Hmmm?

“
He has already judged himself, Mr. President.”

“What the hell does
that
mean?” the President snapped.
 
Frustrated, he ripped at the tie around his throat.
 
His aide had put the damn thing on too tight.

“Sir, he committed suicide this afternoon.
 
His XO is in command of the sub and she’s bringing it home to Norfolk,” said the Admiral.

The President cleared his throat in the awkward silence and tried to think of something to say.
 
Is that what I will do one day when all the guilt gets to be too much?
 

“Gentlemen,” the President said.
 
He sighed.
 
“What are your recommendations?”

“We’re in quite the pickle, Mr. President.
 
Our home guard units are stretched beyond thin.
 
Losing contact with NORAD leaves us completely blind.
 
The bulk of our armed forces are overseas and we’re out of contact with 90% of them.
 
What we have left are mostly training units, reserves and the Guard.
 
Not a whole hell of a lot of firepower to repel what’s coming.”

“We have three SEAL Teams at home, one is already fighting in L.A., trying to get to President Denton—” offered the Admiral in a considerably more calm voice.

“Admiral,” said Harold patiently, holding up a hand to stop the SecDef from talking.
 
“Why are we wasting a SEAL Team on finding the President’s body?”

The Admiral looked at his fellow Chiefs and said, “Sir, I wasn’t aware President Denton was dead.”

“He contracted the weaponized flu, did he not?”

“Well, yes, that’s what his personal physician reported four days ago,” said the head of the NSA.
 
“But—”

“Then if he’s still alive, he’s on death’s door.
 
Tom, didn’t you tell me the mortality rate on this thing is something on the order of 80 percent?”

“Well…” said the Secretary of Homeland Security.
 
“Technically yes, but people infected with the Blue Flu seem to have a greater chance of survival, at least based on our preliminary findings.
 
And President Denton
was
a survivor of The Pandemic.
 
So,” he said, rubbing his chin.
 
“I suppose, if we can get a vaccine to him—”

The President shook his head.
 
Reginald had promised Denton would be dead by Monday.
 
He wasn’t about to waste precious fighting units on hunting down a corpse.
 
He had been sworn-in as President because Denton was incapacitated.
 
That was final.
 

“No.
 
Gentlemen, this entire situation is looking pretty grim and I will
not
have us sending our finest warfighters on wild goose chases. They need to be killing the enemy…”

“Oh, they are,” said the Admiral with a sly grin.
 
“You can be damned sure of that, sir.
 
I don’t need a radio link to know my boys are doing some serious damage.”

“Good.
 
Gentlemen, we need to shore up defenses and get a counterattack organized, ASAP!
 
I don’t care
how
—use Morse Code if necessary,” the President said, forestalling any complaints.
 
“Just fight back.”

“Apache Dawn has been put into effect,” said the Army Chief of Staff.
 
At the President’s questioning look, he continued, “Every unit that has heard the message now knows we’re being invaded.
 
They will move mountains to get to their respective headquarters, link up with their commanding officers, seek out the enemy wherever they are and counterattack.
 
We put the word out about the West Coast.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“I never thought we’d use this protocol in my lifetime.”

The other heads of the military nodded and mumbled agreement as the door on the far side of the room opened quietly and a nervous looking aide stepped in and whispered something to the Chief of Staff.
 
He nodded and stood, arranging his stylish suit just-so. The President fought mightily to repress a smile—the Joint Chiefs must be positively fuming that he had appointed someone so openly fashion-conscious to be his Chief of Staff.

“Sir, it’s time,” he said in a soft voice, his hands folded primly together in front of his chest, as if he were praying.

“Very good, Ricky,” said the President.
 
He rose from behind the desk with as much dignity as he could muster. The cabinet members jumped to their collective feet with confused looks on their faces.
 

“I’m going to implement COG, people.
 
In the face of this invasion and the nascent epidemic, I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
 
He nodded to himself in congratulations at actually doing something Presidential.
 
“Now get to your secure locations and report in.
 
Stonemyer,” he said pointing at the Secretary of State.
 

“Sir?”

“I want you to reach out to The Hague—I think we could use some W.H.O. backup on this flu thing.”

“The gesture will go a long way toward re-establishing our presence in the international community, Mr. President,” purred the Chief of Staff.
 
He nodded his perfectly coiffured slightly.
 
“That will show the world we’re not too proud to ask for help.”
 

“I don’t like that idea at all, sir,” said the Army General.
 
He shot a wary glance sideways at the effeminate Chief of Staff.
 
“We’ve got enough to worry about with the North Koreans—assuming China doesn’t have any dog in this fight.
 
I don’t like the idea of having Europeans meddling—”

“General, ten years ago Europe was hit even harder than we were by The Pandemic.
 
We could use any medical and containment supplies they’ve got to help us keep this thing bottled up.
 
At least until we get a handle on the Koreans.”

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Admiral Bennett.

The President ignored the outburst and made a mental note to clean house and replace the Joint Chiefs with people loyal to him.
 
He was ready to flex his muscles and stack the deck with loyal yes-men.
 
Reginald had all but promised he would be an American Emperor.