Nation of Enemies (32 page)

 

Election Day

 

Chapter 71

“I
T
FEEL
S
ESPECIALLY
important to exercise one's civic duty today, don't you agree?” Charles asks Jonathan. The boy shrugs, tosses his head to shake the long bangs from his eyes. It's a quick five-­minute drive to the library where they will cast their votes in this historic election. Of course, no one knows just how historic it will be.

“Paper ballots are so ancient,” Jonathan says as he stares out the window.

“Don't be daft. You of all ­people can understand the threat of hacking into the election process.”

No response. He's so young, and sadly integral to their mission. A shame he won't perform voluntarily. It will be good to be rid of him. After today he'll let the boy go with God.

National Guardsmen are posted at every corner of the ramshackle library, their loaded weapons strapped into holsters for all to see. It's early enough that ­people are trickling in and there's no wait to vote. Charles leads Jonathan, Henry, and two militants. Each checks in at the front desk and receives a ballot. With customary foresight, he had each of them change their residence to his address so they could vote together in the same district. One by one they move into the booths and close the curtains behind them.

Charles smoothes his hand over the long sheet and closes his eyes for a moment in silent prayer.
God bless America.
He prays for his ­people, the thousands around the country who are unified in this movement, in this moment. The thought sends a shiver to his core. In a matter of hours, perhaps a ­couple days, the theological state he's dreamed of will be a reality. With his strategically placed soldiers of God, he and the board members of BASIA will take their rightful place as leaders of this country. The United States is weak. With God's help, they will make it strong once again.

Charles guides his pen down the line of circles, filling in the empty spaces that will ensure the future he has worked so hard to build. He waits, savors the one that matters most. And then, as he instructed all of his flock, he casts his vote for Richard Hensley.

D
RESSE
D
IN
A
standard-­issue black uniform, Sebastian approaches the security checkpoint allowing access to the event space. One guard ushers him through the body scanner that immediately detects his ankle and side-­holstered firearms. Another guard greets him with a retinal scanner. Sebastian stands straight, confidently. His BASIA contact lenses are his gateway. The guard types something on the keypad and nods.

“Sergeant Smith,” the guard says. “Apologies, sir, I'm sure you know it's just a formality. It's an honor to have you on-­site, sir.”

“Thank you.” He scans the man's name tag. “Corporal Connor.”

“If you need anything, let us know. We're at your disposal.”

“I appreciate that.”

Breathing easier, he passes the checkpoint and enters the cavernous space in the Walter E. Washington Convention Center. Security and Liberty Party volunteers swarm the floor. It's easy to blend in.

Scanning the area, he assesses the exits and points of vulnerability. A stairway that leads to the grid above catches his eye. He takes the stairs in twos. On the narrow walkway, he edges past camera teams and strides the length of the room, stopping above the platform on which Richard Hensley will stand in victory. Here the light is dim, good for cover. He works methodically. From hidden compartments in his uniform, he pulls out button-­sized explosive devices that he attaches to the railing. At the end of the walkway, in fire extinguisher housing, he hides several rounds of EXACTO bullets. He's tested them a few times; the remote optical guidance system helps him adjust—­mid-­flight—­for moving targets. He'll need the extra help in the chaos. His smartwatch vibrates. It's Renner's CI.

“Diaz,” he says.

“It's all set.” Hannah whispers, making it difficult to hear with the crowd noise echoing off the convention center walls. “We'll get Steven Hudson out tonight.”

“Good.” It's a relief that Cole won't be working alone. “Do you have any questions? Need anything?”

A long silence.

“Hello?” he says.

“If I want to leave, can I go with them?”

“That's what you want?”

“I want the option.”

“Tell Dr. Fitzgerald if you want to go with him. He's a good man. He can help you.”

“Okay.”

“You all right, Hannah?”

“Nervous.”

“That's going around.”

“Good luck tonight.”

“You, too. 'Bye.”

Gripping the handrail, he peers below at the Liberty Party minions. It's hard to know how this will go down. But he won't assassinate the next President, nor will he allow anyone else to. In a matter of hours the platform will be filled with Hensley and his entourage, bright lights illuminating them. And in the shadows, nine of his team members will be watching Will Anderson. Waiting for him to succeed. Or not.

 

Chapter 72

C
OLE
ISN
'
T
SEN
TIMENTAL
as he walks through their sterile, Safe District house for the last time. Their next house, wherever it is, they will make a home. He finds Ian is in his room, reading. Cole sits beside him on the bed. “I'll see you in a ­couple hours.”

“Where are you going?”

“A few last minute errands.”

Concern fills Ian's eyes. “What if you get back late?”

“I won't. Listen to your mom and do whatever she asks.”

He wraps an arm around Ian, kisses him on the top of his head. Lily appears in the doorway and as he goes to her, walking away from Ian, a twinge of terror seizes him. The thought he may never see his son again.

“I'll see you at ten?” she asks.

“Yes. If you don't, go to the airport. I'll meet you there.”

“Be careful.” She blinks back tears. “I love you. We love you.”

“I'll see you later.” He kisses her, then leans his cheek against hers and whispers in her ear, “I love you, Lil. This is not goodbye.”

At the door, he adds his own bag to the other four, all straining at the seams. Medical kit in hand, he steps out into the frosty air and walks to the car. The rub of his ballistics skin makes him hyperaware he needs protection tonight. And though he's far from religious, he says a prayer under his breath.

A
S
THE
NUMBE
RS
trickle in across the country, Richard Hensley savors each state victory. The concrete evidence that the ­people want him in office gives him an overwhelming high. Beside him, Taylor stares out a window. At his feet, Sienna amuses herself with a doll. He feels quite alone in the moment.

“Sir.” Carter appears at his side and hands him a tablet. “A call from the Oval Office.”

The room is too loud. Richard escapes into a quiet nook in the hallway and holds the device up to his face. He hasn't spoken to the President since their conversation about Carter. On screen, the presidential seal disappears, replaced by Clark's face.

“Good evening, Mr. President.”

“It is indeed. And it's fortunate that the stunt with your daughter resonated with families. It was quite the gamble.”

He can't help himself. A satisfied grin lights up his face. “Yes, well. It's hard to believe this night has finally come.”

“It's a proud moment for the party.” President Clark's face falls, the creases in his skin deepening. “But the challenges don't end here, I'm afraid.”

“I'm not naive, Mr. President.” Richard's grin falls, his body tenses. “I'm well aware of the state of the union. And my place within it. I understand the danger.”

“It's crucial that you stay the course. Despite any unforeseen issues or threats to our soil.”

“Do you have any doubt that I will?”

The slightest pause provides the answer. “We've placed all our chips on you, Richard. There's no room for doubt.”

“So you're just calling to prematurely congratulate me?”

“I received a call from Director Hardy. They don't have concrete proof, but there's chatter coming through that indicates a potential attack tonight.”

The FBI is hardly reliable. For all he knows, they could have worked with the President to assassinate James Gardiner. “Chatter and threats are a constant.”

“This one seems different. Wear your skins.”

He pats his chest, feels the snug fit of the bulletproof material. “Always.”

“Your men have been made aware of the threat. Be cautious. But enjoy this night, Richard. There's nothing like it.”

“I will, sir. On all counts.”

The screen goes black. Mere chatter won't ruin his night. It's
his
night. He can already see it in his mind. In just two hours he'll be on stage, addressing thousands in person and millions throughout the country and the world. Taylor will be at his side. But a memory flashes, of him on the State House steps next to James Gardiner. The manic dancers. Sarin. He shakes his head, shakes off the unease. Carter pokes his head in.

“New York, Pennsylvania, and Georgia announced. We swept them all!”

“Fantastic.” He checks his watch. “We should get ready. I need you to double-­check that everyone's wearing skins. Including Taylor and Sienna.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter rushes off.

Returning to the living room, Richard settles back into his chair. Taylor doesn't acknowledge him. Sienna plays on her tablet while she sings softly. Her voice eases the tension, distracts him from the overpowering information coming at him from all sides. He closes his eyes and for at least a minute forgets all of it, drifting with Sienna to a sweeter place.

 

Chapter 73

F
IVE
GUARDS
BARR
ICADE
the BASIA Command Center door, while Reverend Mitchell observes with Huan Chao from the back of the room. Jonathan works at the control console, with multiple screens displaying maps, grids, and corresponding codes. Every keystroke he makes is filled with a heavy dose of guilt over helping this lunatic with his plan.

“Systems ready?” Huan Chao asks.

“Phone systems are a go,” one tech announces.

“All soldiers are on the ground and in place,” the second one says.

“Power grids ready,” Jonathan says.

“Check again,” the Reverend orders. “There's no room for error.”

One by one he runs through all fifty states. The power grids are compromised by his codes, ready to be taken over at the Reverend's command. Simultaneously tonight, when the voting booths have closed, a power outage of historical proportions will occur. Under cover of darkness, every elected official will be assassinated. Rendered blind, motivated by fear, citizens will scatter like mice, find their way home, and wait. When power is finally restored, they will learn there's been a movement, swift and absolute.

Unless Jonathan doesn't press these buttons. But if he refuses, Steven will be killed. Tucked into his waistband, the maps Hannah left him press against his skin. He can only hope he has a chance to use them.

A
BALLISTICS
SUI
T
stretches from Sebastian's neck to his knees. The tightly woven shield will be tested tonight. On top of that is his black guard uniform. He wears the BASIA contact lenses and carries the fingerprinted gloves in a pants pocket. For the last time, he enters the Walter E. Washington Convention Center under the identity of a high-­ranking security official.

It's early evening as he and the security officers perform an official walk-­through. The cavernous room has been transformed from a bland empty space to a festive red, white, and blue party venue. Over the main stage, enormous screens will display Richard Hensley during his acceptance speech. Food and drink stations line the walls. And in another corner there's a stage on which a band is doing a sound check. The chaos is perfect cover.

Several Liberty Party volunteers gather in a corner to watch live election results as they stream in. For the first time in his life Sebastian didn't vote. He didn't sleep all night, his imagination running with every possible outcome of tonight. Will Mitchell himself take over in the White House? Or maybe one of his board members? Mitchell can't possibly think he can commandeer the country and force his religion on the entire U.S. population. This country would never stand for a dictatorship. Unless it didn't have a choice.

Within the crowd, someone brushes against him. It's a volunteer, a young woman, attractive, wearing a dress and heels. She's looking intently at him, unblinking. Cold. Ever so slightly she nods at him, then continues her task of hanging streamers. Yes, he recognizes her. She's changed her hair color from black to blond. He knows that under her dress is a ballistics skin, and God knows what else. It's the first time he's recognized someone here from BASIA.

They must all be here now. Acting casual but moving at a good pace, he goes on a mission to find the others. They'll all be disguised in some way. With his hair cut and clean-­shaven face, he's probably hard to spot as well. But the woman knew him.

If he can get rid of his BASIA team, he can at least put a dent in Mitchell's plan, derail Hensley's assassination. Sebastian finds the woman again. This time he catches her eye, nods toward an access door nearby. He nonchalantly walks to the door, which leads to a stairway, and waits on the other side. In a matter of seconds she pushes the door open. Before she can say a word, he grabs her by the shoulder and spins her into his arms, holding one hand over her mouth. She struggles, kicks at him. He drags her to a space under the stairs, dark and filled with boxes. In one swift move he twists her neck. Her body goes slack, her eyes stay open in a blank stare. He buries her under the empty boxes, soon to be refilled with paraphernalia from the party.

One down.