Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series (5 page)

She could think of only one place to go, one friend to trust: Julia.

Julia and Martha had been best friends since their freshman year of college. When Julia went through her divorce, Martha stayed with her for a month, talking, making meals, and helping in any way she could.

Thankfully, Julia welcomed them without question. Martha was also thankful that Julia’s daughter, Amber, was a nurse.

Amber worked at Vanderbilt Hospital before the collapse. She left the city after the power went and the hospital was overrun. She was an angel of mercy to Martha and her husband.

“Missus Washington, it’s time to change his bandage,” a voice said from over Martha’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Amber.”

The congresswoman stepped back to let the nurse do her work.

Amber turned down the covers to reveal a large, blood-stained compress on the man’s stomach. She had gotten used to seeing such wounds in the weeks since the troubles started. She removed the soiled bandages and sniffed the wound. “It’s starting to putrefy,” she said gravely, “He needs more than I can do for him.”

A small group of concerned staffers in torn business suits watched from across the room. All wore the look of desperation and fear that came with being hunted.

Medhavin spoke up. “I can ask around the other houses for a doctor.”

Julia replied as she walked down the stairs from the main level, “I already checked with all my neighbors. Homeland Security picked up the only doctor in the neighborhood a week ago. Nobody has seen him since.”

Medhavin said, “I’ll go anyway. There has to be somebody who can help.”

“No,” Julia said, “You’ll be seen. You have to stay here in the basement.”

“The hell I do.” He pushed past the woman.

“No!” Martha ordered her subordinate. “This is Julia’s house and she is my friend—the only friend willing to take us in. She didn’t have to, but she did. She shared all she has with us and put her family at risk. We will not endanger her more than we already have. You will stay right here.”

Medhavin pointed to Martha’s husband. “He’ll die if we don’t do anything.”

“He would rather die than get you all killed to save himself. Enough people died to get us this far.”

“Then at least…”

“Shhhh!” Amber hushed the room and pointed upward.

The sound of heavy vehicles rumbled from the street outside.

“Another patrol,” Martha whispered.

The rumbling grew louder as the vehicles approached.

Medhavin extinguished the lantern.

The patrol approached the house. Amber closed her eyes, waiting for the droning beasts to pass as they always did, but it was different this time. They halted in the street just outside, their engines idling.

Harsh voices were followed by the sound of boots running to the front and back doors.

Doors crashed. Heavy steps tramped across the home’s upper floors.

The basement’s inhabitants froze, their eyes filled with terror.

“Jefferson!” A shout came from somewhere upstairs. “We know you’re here!”

Julia’s dog, Daisy, barked at the intruders from an upper room.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The barking stopped.

“Daisy!” Julia screamed. She ran to the stairs.

Medhavin grabbed her arm and urged in a hushed tone, “No. They’ll kill us all.”

Julia broke his grip and sprinted up the stairs. “Daisy! Mommy’s coming!”

A black-clad agent tackled her as soon as she topped the stairs. The basement door slammed shut.

There was a scream, then more struggling.

The door opened. Julia sat on her knees in the entryway. Blood streamed from her broken nose. Her lip was busted and a battered eye was already starting to swell shut. A man in a ski mask stood over her, his rifle to her head.

“I know you’re down there, Martha,” called the unseen agent-in-charge. “You have three seconds….One!”

Martha started to step toward the steps.

“No!” Julia yelled.

“Two!”

Martha paused.

“Kill her,” said the agent-in-charge.

“STOP! STOP IT!” Martha yelled as she ran up the stairs to the main floor. “I’m right here!”

“Hold your fire,” the lead agent ordered.

Black-clad agents seized Martha and shoved her face-down to the carpet. One pinned her face to the floor with a knee across her neck while another secured her hands behind her back.

“Get her up,” ordered the agent in charge.

Martha looked upon her captor. The nametape across his right breast read, “Piven.”

Piven smiled. “It’s an honor to meet you, Congresswoman. You’re under arrest.”

“Go to Hell,” Martha spat.

Amber stood by her patient as Piven’s team entered the darkened basement. The others backed against the wall, squinting against harsh glare of gun-mounted flashlights.

Piven looked down at the Martha’s husband and said to another agent, “You were right. You did hit him. I owe you a beer.” He looked Amber up and down. “You’re a nurse?”

Amber nodded.

“Take her,” he ordered.

An agent grabbed Amber and prodded her up the stairs.

Piven said to Martha, “We need you alive. Can’t have you playing the martyr.” He looked at the basement’s occupants. “But the rest of you…” He pulled a pistol and shot Martha’s husband in the head.

The wounded man choked and gagged. His hand raised, grasping at the air for help.

Piven pulled the trigger once more.

The hand dropped. The gagging stopped.

Martha screamed. A gloved hand slapped her into silence.

Piven nodded to his team. They opened fire.

“No!” Martha wailed as she watched her friends die in the strobing cacophony of death.

The smell of cordite and blood assaulted her nostrils when the shooting finally stopped. She looked in shock upon the grisly piles of tattered flesh that had been her companions seconds before. She could not scream. She could not weep. She could not breath. Her stomach lurched. Her legs buckled. She fell to the blood-soaked concrete. She tried to get back up, but slipped in the gore and vomited all over herself.

The agents bound Martha’s hands, dragged her out of the house, and stuffed her in an armored truck.

Tears soaked her face. “You killed my husband!”

Piven smirked. “Only a little.”

“Where are you taking me?” She choked on the words.

Agent Piven answered, “Firstly, I will finally get reassigned off this shit detail as my reward for bringing you in. You will be put on trial for treason. Then, when the whole country hates you, you will be executed as a traitor.”

“God help us all,” Martha wept.

“Haven’t you heard? We got rid of God.”

5

EDUARDO

40,000 Feet Above Sea Level

Somewhere Over the Midwest

“Another one of those, please.” Eduardo handed the empty crystal tumbler to the uniformed flight attendant.

“Certainly, sir,” the immaculately dressed man responded, then strode toward the galley to retrieve another Jack & Coke.

Eduardo reclined in the padded leather chair as he stared through the small oval window at the landscape below. Everything looked fine from up here. Towns, rivers, roads, bare trees, snow-covered fields. It all looked so normal, so peaceful.

A week ago, he was reduced to being just another filthy, pathetic refugee. Now he was wearing a custom made suit and sipping cocktails while hurtling through the clouds in a private cabin of the biggest jet he’d ever seen.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Your drink, sir.” The attendant entered and handed Eduardo a fresh cocktail.

“Thank you.” He looked back to the vista laid out before him. Angie was down there somewhere. She was once his news director. More importantly, she was his friend, perhaps the only real one he ever had.

She was near death the last time he saw her, bedridden, fevering, suffocating from pneumonia. That was their last day in that godforsaken refugee camp. It was also the day he met Valerie Alinsky, President Tophet’s director of communications. She sent Angie to an Advanced Care Center for the lifesaving treatment she desperately needed. She also gave Eduardo the chance of a lifetime.

His life’s goal was to be a network news anchor, but that dream evaporated when the country fell apart his first day on the job. Valerie offered new hope, the chance to be the voice of the Second Founding, America’s voice, the only voice.

There was another knock.

“I’m fine, thanks. No more drinks.”

The door opened. A striking blonde woman with piercing blue eyes stood before him. It was Valerie Alinsky. She entered Eduardo’s compartment and took a seat across from him.

“Comfy?” she asked smoothly.

“Downright cozy. Thanks for asking.” Eduardo did his best not to notice the perfect cleavage peaking out from her blouse.

Valerie laughed. “I know. This makes first class look like taking the bus.”

“Sure does.” Eduardo glanced out the window then back at Valerie. “Any news about Angie’s condition?”

Valerie shook her head. “No, sorry. I haven’t heard anything since she arrived at the ACC.”

An awkward silence settled on them. A musical tone sounded through the plane’s intercom.

Valerie used the opportunity to break the tension. “The pilot is beginning his descent. We’ll be in Denver in a few minutes.”

It was the first time she’d told Eduardo where they were going.

“What’s in Denver?” he asked.

“Everything.”

The plane touched down at Denver International Airport. An armed DHS security detail was waiting to escort Eduardo and Valerie through the deserted facility after they disembarked. The whir of electric carts echoed through abandoned, immaculate terminals as the group sped along shining mosaic floors.

Eduardo found the eerie loneliness imparted by the airport’s echoing solitude more unnerving than the riotous squaller of the FEMA camp. At least there was company in the misery of that place, no matter how wretched it was. This space, on the other hand, turned his stomach. The complete lack of humanity in what was normally such a bustling place gave the scene a sickeningly post-apocalyptic feel—as if this small band were the only people left on Earth.

Eduardo soon realized that the carts weren’t taking them to the exit. They were, instead, traveling ever deeper into the facility. They passed the security checkpoints, bars, and magazine shops to the parts of the facility off limits to the general public. Murals and mosaics gave way to an austere labyrinth of concrete and harsh fluorescent lights.

Impossible as it seemed, this part of the facility proved even bigger than the massive passenger concourse behind them. They entered a massive cement tunnel which was wide enough to contain a four-lane highway and at least as tall. It appeared to Eduardo that they were constantly moving downward, deeper and deeper into the earth. The descent reminded him of the one he, Angie, and Sam made to escape Angie’s burning apartment building after the lights went out.

Poor Sam.

The memories of their escape from Manhattan made Eduardo wish he had fresh drink in his hand. Better yet, a fresh bottle.

The little convoy finally halted at a massive steel door guarded by more armed DHS agents. Unseen bolts slid free to release the colossus as it came to life, swinging slowly inward to grant them passage to a cavernous world the likes of which Eduardo had never seen.

Beyond this portal, Eduardo found what had been missing in the levels above. People. The place was a beehive of activity with personnel darting dutifully in all directions. Battalions of vehicles of all types sat staged in vast subterranean motor pools that stretched farther than he could see.

Just when Eduardo began to wonder if the rows of vehicles went on forever, the carts finally hummed passed the last motor pool to a logistical depot where supplies of every kind were sealed in giant vaults behind blast-proof doors emblazoned with markings such as ‘Class I: Food,’ and ‘Class VI: Sundry Items.’

Eduardo watched electric-powered mule carts loaded to capacity buzz around corners, disappearing down huge corridors. He tried to guess what lay at the end of each branching tunnel, but even his active imagination was rendered inadequate, awed by the incredible scale of what he witnessed.

They finally stopped in front of a blast door labeled ‘Operations.’ Valerie dismounted her cart. Eduardo followed her lead. The passage was guarded by more DHS agents, who stopped them as they approached.

One of the guards held up a retina scanner. “Identification, please.”

Valerie looked into the scanner. “Valerie Alinsky, Presidential Director of Communications.”

The guard checked the scan result and nodded. The other opened the door. “Welcome back, Director.”

The guards’ attention shifted to Eduardo. One of them raised the scanner. “Identification, please.”

“It’s okay. He’s with me,” Valerie with authority, “We haven’t had a chance to log his biometrics yet.”

The guards waved him through.

Eduardo pointed to the RFID implant in his hand. “What about this?”

“Those are for the masses, not for us.”

They walked through the passageway into a world more akin to what he was accustomed to. Tile floors replaced polished concrete as potted plants and drop ceilings quieted the ever-present echo of the concrete surroundings outside the door.

This space proved to be a vast hive of offices, meeting rooms, and other bureaucratic concerns. Eduardo was pleased to find coffee shops, restaurants, and even a movie theater sprinkled among the mix.

Valerie led Eduardo onto an elevator which took them down even further into the bosom of the earth. After an interminable descent, the doors opened onto an open space that could only be described as luxurious. Gone were the harsh fluorescent bulbs, replaced by the comforting glow of indirect LED lighting. A trickling fountain graced the center of the large room, whose classic decor reminded Eduardo of a five-star hotel lobby. Large picture windows, which were actually ultra hi-def display screens, showed images epic mountain views and open sky. Couches and chairs sat arranged around the place to take in the view, facilitating conversation and relaxation. Between the windows, carpeted hallways trailed off in different directions.