Capitol Betrayal (8 page)

Agent Zimmer rose to his feet, one hand pressed against his left earpiece. “We’ve lost the connection, sir.”

“Get Zuko back!” the president snapped.

“We didn’t lose him.” After a moment Zimmer added quietly, “He hung up.”

A brief silence ensued as Ben and everyone else in the bunker contemplated the confidence of a man who felt sufficiently secure to hang up on the president of the United States.

“I want him back on the line as soon as possible,” the president said firmly.

“Yes, sir. But Mr. President…” Zimmer pointed toward a screen at the top of the communications station.

They were marking the colonel’s countdown. Time was slipping away, all too fast.

“I know I can make the man see reason,” the president said. “Just get him back on the line.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Zimmer sat and returned his attention to the screen.

All at once, the lights and power began to flicker again. The lights shuddered on and off for several seconds, then actually went out altogether.

“What the hell?”

“What’s going on?”

“Who’s in charge here? Is anyone in charge?”

Ben recognized the last voice as Admiral Cartwright’s, but the panic and tumult were becoming so frenzied that after that it was hard to hear anything.

Then the lights came back on. A few moments later, power returned to the communications station and the screens. Ben heard the familiar whirring sound that told him computers were rebooting.

“What just happened?” the president said evenly.

“I don’t know,” Agent Zimmer said, motioning to another agent. “I’m sending people topside to find out.” Two of the agents streamed out the door.

“Aren’t all these power lines secure?”

“They should be, sir. The bunker has its own power conduits, and like the bunker itself, they’re designed to withstand a nuclear blast. Even the EMP from a nearby missile detonation shouldn’t cause more than temporary interference.”

“Find out what’s happening!”

“Already on it.”

“Good.” The president leaned forward, one hand squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Cartwright saw his opening. “Mr. President—”

President Kyler held up his hand, silencing him. “Just give me one damn moment.” He breathed in deeply, then released it, then did it again, then again, each time digging more desperately for air. He began to wheeze. “Doctor?”

Dr. Albertson walked to his side and presented what appeared to be an asthma inhaler. Ben had had no idea the president suffered from asthma. That had never been mentioned during the campaign or, to his knowledge, afterward. How had they kept it a secret? Or was this a symptom that had developed more recently, perhaps another sign of the great strain of the presidency?

President Kyler took two gigantic whiffs from the inhaler. A few moments later his breathing began to normalize.

“Mr. President,” Cartwright launched again, but Kyler waved him away.

“Zimmer,” he said, his voice subdued and remarkably calm, given the circumstances, “I want all the monuments on the National Mall closed. No, on second thought, make that all the monuments in Washington. Close them down and tell the folks to go home.”

“But Mr. President,” Secretary Ruiz objected, “if you do that, it could cause a panic.”

“I’d rather have panic than casualties. Colonel Zuko will be looking for symbolic targets. Dramatic demonstrations of his protest against our way of life. I think there are many in D.C. that would serve his purpose all too well. Close them down.”

Zimmer nodded. “Will do, sir.”

“Send a memo through military channels to other high-profile potential targets on the East Coast. Wall Street. The Statue of Liberty. Disney World. They need to know that today might be a good day to close up shop.”

“If Wall Street shuts down early—”

“They can come up with some explanation that doesn’t involve a terrorist threat. They’ve done it before.” The president turned toward the communications station, where Zimmer was already hard at work. “Can you get me an update on the people who went down in that helicopter behind the Kuraqi border? I’d like to know if they’ve already been captured. If they’re POWs.”

“And if they are?” Secretary Rybicki asked.

“Then we have an even better excuse to bring our troops across his border.”

“Did you not listen to the man? He’s launching a missile in only a few minutes. If you invade, he’s likely to fire them all.”

“I assure you, Mr. Secretary, that I heard every word Zuko said. And I don’t have time for a review. Ben?”

Ben looked up abruptly. He had become so absorbed in the ongoing drama that he had almost forgotten that he was technically a member of the president’s staff, too.

“Yes, sir?”

“Give me a very quick brief on our international rights with regard to Kuraq. What’s the law? Does he have the right to defend himself in this way? What difference does the presence of our troops make? After all, we’re there with the express permission of a Middle Eastern nation.”

Ben took a deep breath. “As you probably know, sir, what we call international law isn’t really law at all. It is simply a hodgepodge of various conventions and agreements that have arisen over time, starting in the Middle Ages in, ironically, the Middle East. These have established values and procedures over time—but they are hard to enforce with a nonparticipating nation. You can get a judgment in the World Court, but how do you enforce it? You can get a proclamation from the United Nations, but what impact will that have on a nation such as Kuraq, which has refused entry to UN weapons inspectors for the past five years?”

President Kyler nodded grimly. “And I think now we can see why. They’ve been working on something big. Something they didn’t want anyone else to know about.”

“Last I heard, our ships were still waiting outside the twelve-mile limit, in international waters. If they come within twelve miles of the Kuraqi coast, however, we will be violating their territory as defined by the relevant UN charter agreement.”

“But we have the invitation of the Saudi Arabian government.”

“I know. But since when did one nation have the ability to waive the rights of another? Never, I hope. Does Canada have the ability to authorize Kuraq to invade U.S. airspace? I hope not.”

“I see your point. But this is different. Our intelligence data suggest that they plan—may have already begun—the systematic slaughter of the people on the Benzai Strip.”

“Then the appropriate course of action would be to obtain UN authorization. That’s what George Bush did—the first one. The UN Security Council authorized an invasion after Iraq invaded Kuwait. Over three dozen member nations participated, although of course the United States played the primary role.”

“His son didn’t have UN authorization to invade Iraq.”

“No, he didn’t, and partly as a result, his coalition was much feebler and the action never gained worldwide support. Most foreign nations viewed it as a war of aggression, not of liberation.”

“I’ve had my men working on the UN for weeks. So far we haven’t been able to get anything.”

“You’re suffering the negative fallout of previous U.S. actions in the Middle East. Just when it looked as if we might finally be getting out of the Middle East, here we come again, wanting to invade someone else.”

“I know, I know.” The president’s fingers began to bounce on the tabletop. Maybe it was just Ben, but the pattern looked all too much like the same little dance he had seen the man’s feet performing under the table. “But we can’t stand by and watch this barbarian slaughter an entire region!”

“But we do not have authority to invade.”

“Clinton sent our troops into Bosnia.”

“Yes, but Clinton was acting under the direct authority of NATO, and there was clear evidence of the planned genocide against Bosnian Muslims and had been for years. After those broken and emaciated faces played on television, he had the support he needed—at least for a while. Our evidence about what’s going on in Benzai is—forgive me, Mr. President—considerably more sketchy. And we don’t have the authority of NATO or the UN or anyone else.”

“At this rate, Ben, if I wait for that, those people will be dead. Tens of thousands of them.”

“I understand your position, Mr. President. But my job is to advise you on the law. And that’s what it is.”

“Pardon me for butting in,” Cartwright said.

Ben’s eyebrows knitted together. Had Cartwright ever shown the remotest reluctance to butt in before?

“I thought you were working on some energy lawsuit, Mr. Kincaid. Since when did you become an expert on international law?”

“I’m like a well-tuned PC,” Ben replied. “I can multitask. I’ve been around awhile, and I’ve held many different positions. And with respect, Admiral, all I did was answer the president’s questions. I never suggested I was any kind of expert.”

The president waved the strife away. “I know this much, Admiral. He’s the leading expert on international law currently in this bunker.”

Cartwright grudgingly acknowledged the point.

Kyler turned back to Ben. “What about his claim that he has the right to fire our missiles?”

“I can’t imagine that there’s anything anywhere in international law that would support that claim, regardless of what we’ve got next door to him in Saudi Arabia. So long as we remain in international waters—”

“But that’s the problem.”

The president’s interruption caught Ben—and everyone else in the bunker—by surprise. The short hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood on end. He had the distinct feeling this case was about to get a good deal more complicated.

“I gave the commanders the order to start moving in this morning. Slowly! But still, they’ve crossed into Kuraqi waters.”

Secretary Ruiz leaned forward. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“You would’ve been told in due time.”

“In due time? I’m the secretary of state!”

“I think we all know that, Mike.”

“You have an obligation to consult with me on major foreign policy matters.”

“I did consult with you, Mike,” the president said wearily. “I just didn’t do what you wanted. I’m pretty sure I have that power. I think it comes with the presidential seal.”

Ruiz folded his arms across his chest and glared.

“I’m afraid this does change everything,” Ben said, filling in the dead air.

The president did not respond immediately. Ben assumed that was because he already knew what the answer would be.

“How do you mean, Ben?” Sarie asked.

He decided to answer, if not for the president, for the sake of everyone else in the room. “If we have crossed Kuraq’s borders, the colonel could easily call that an act of war. Come to think of it, he was talking about war during that phone conversation, wasn’t he?”

“I can’t stand by and let him butcher those people!” the president said. His lips trembled as he spoke. His eyes watered. Ben hoped to God he didn’t cry.

“I understand the consequences. But we have invaded his territory.”

“And his claim to the Benzai Strip is feeble at best.”

“But we haven’t invaded Benzai, right? We’ve invaded Kuraq. And if Colonel Zuko deems that an invasion, he can make a retaliatory declaration of war. And at that point—well, let’s face it. He can do anything he wants. Anything he can get away with.”

“Even explode bombs on our land?”

“Is there some rule that wars must always be fought on other people’s soil? I don’t think so. In World War II, we firebombed Dresden. We nuked Japan. I think in Colonel Zuko’s mind, he’s in exactly the same position we were then, and has the same right to take action. To destroy his enemy. To win the war.”

President Kyler brushed his eyes clear, then rose. “Agent Zimmer, have you done as I asked?”

“Yes, sir. All federal institutions in D.C. are closed or closing.”

“Good.”

“Haven’t gotten an update on the men who went down in the helicopter. But we’re working on it.”

“Please do. I’d feel better about this if I knew that those people were safe.”

Ruiz made a harrumphing sound. “How can anyone be safe while that madman is controlling our missiles?”

“Zimmer,” the president continued, “I want you to find the vice president and patch him into this conversation. He needs to know what’s going on. Just in case… you know.”

Zimmer cleared his throat. “That’s going to be a lot easier than you might imagine, sir.”

The president tilted his head, obviously puzzled. “And why?”

At that moment the main doors opened and the question was answered without a word.

The new addition to the ranks of those locked down in the bunker, flanked by four Secret Service agents, was Vice President Conrad Swinburne.

Seamus pulled his Dodge up the driveway beside an apartment at the south end of the Georgetown Flats, residential housing for graduate students at Georgetown University. He wondered if he should have called ahead. On one hand, there was always value in surprise, particularly if you were planning to ask for a big favor and didn’t want the target to have much time to consider all the sound reasons to say no. On the other hand, a little warning might give his informant time to conduct research or, at the very least, be home when Seamus arrived.

It was a difficult decision, but as usual, Seamus came down on the side of surprise. Perhaps it was the result of too much time in the Middle East, where his targets had a tendency not only to not be at home but to be in another country if they knew he was dropping by. Maybe it just better suited his personal style.

He got out of the car and glanced up at the second-story apartment. No lights visible in the window, but that didn’t mean much. It was morning, and besides people like this target didn’t have much need for overhead lighting. They could survive by the dim blue glow of the computer screen.

Seamus had first encountered RossumRulz not quite a year earlier, while doing research on a new algorithm that was being used to break into scientific facilities, including some covertly operated by the U.S. government. They had suspected terrorists at first—that was everyone’s first-blush instinct in the post-9/11 world. Turned out to be industrial espionage, corporate spooks hoping to discover the next big thing before their competitors did. But in the course of doing research on the Internet—where else?—he came across someone who worked under the name of RossumRulz, a tribute presumably to the inventor of the Python operating language. Not only was he more knowledgeable about these decryption algorithms than anyone else Seamus had encountered, he was able to deduce that there were only three people capable of devising such a program.