Overrun: Project Hideaway (20 page)

"Who didn't want to disturb
that?"

Baldwin didn't answer.

Ford turned back to face him. He
let out a deep breath and held his glass tightly in his hands.

"Are you involved?"

Baldwin still did not speak.

“Dan, are you part of this?”

"No, Frank. I’m not. I'm
not directly involved. I’m just aware of how it works. Occasionally, I’m
contacted for a report on what is going on in this office. And on occasion, I
advise and make recommendations when I see the need."

"Have you ever advised in
regards to me?"

"At times, I have."

"With everything finally
plays out, this all going to fall on my shoulders,” Ford said tiredly. “People
are going to need someone to blame. Both our citizens and theirs. Your
‘underground powers that be’ will remain there. Secret and safe. While I sit at
the head of the government that has released on its own land the worst atrocity
this world has ever seen. I will be left standing alone to atone for the sins
of this country to the rest of the world. Is that what all this preparation is
for?”

"In a way sir,"
Baldwin said his voice was nearly a whisper.

“Is that why my family had to
die?”

Baldwin didn’t answer him.

"They will come after
me."

"Yes, sir. They will."

"Those on my
administration...," Ford finished. “They will come after them too. None of
you will be safe.”

"Also probably true,"
Baldwin spoke softly again. "It was never expected to run its course in
this fashion. The situation we are in now has come as a surprise to many
involved in this undertaking. Control of the events set in motion has been
lost. Something like this will never be able to happen again."

The President stared out the
large window and sipped at what remained of his drink. The ticking of a large
grandfather clock echoed loudly from the center of the vast room. Its sound was
ominous and foreboding.

"What about Faulken?"
Ford asked with his back still turned.

"He’s been missing for some
time. His absence has extended well beyond what can be expected between normal
administrative check-ins."

Ford sat back in his chair and
nodded contemplatively. The ice in his glass made a soft clink as he took
another drink.

“I have placed all mission
decisions in the hands of the quadrant commanders."

"So you don't expect him to
return?"

“I don't, sir."

Ford lifted his right hand and
pointed his index finger in the air. He set his glass down on his desk and
stared directly into Baldwin’s face.

Baldwin shifted uncomfortably in
his seat.

"I want him dead,"
Ford said through clenched teeth. "Assign a team to search him out. Trace
him to those ‘powers that be’. I want him standing next to me when I'm held
accountable. I will end his life for this treason. And for the treachery that
took the lives of my family."

"Sir, dispatching a team is
not possible at this point,” Baldwin spoke nervously. “Most wounded are being
sent back into combat, our troop levels have fallen so low. There's barely a
skeleton crew operating here at the Administration Dome as it stands. There's
literally no one left to send after him."

A dark menacing cloud settled in
front of the President's eyes.

"Daniel, this plan is
failing. This genocide we've created is not going to make our country stronger.
It’s hemorrhaging it apart. All we've done is make this nation more weak in a
dying world. It’s a national suicide. Project Hideaway is the last hope our
country has to survive. We need to exercise the utmost in caution in deciding how
to use it."

Baldwin swallowed hard.

"I want Faulken brought
back."

"Sir, land vehicles and
troops have been detected in this vector."

Ford didn't react. His
expression was still.

"They haven’t discovered
our position yet, but they are out patrolling areas approximately four hundred
miles from the outermost safety point here at the Administration Dome. We are
still cloaked, but they are zeroing in. They haven’t shown signs that they’ve
discovered us, but they will know we are here soon.

“It’s one of the reasons Faulken
left,” Baldwin’s voice became darker. “As a participant and leader within this
underground, he had to protect himself."

The President turned his head.

"Sheer luck has been a
great factor in the J.G.U’s military success thus far, Mr. President. We need
to be ready. We’ve scouted their patrols. We haven’t sensed a direct focus on
our location, but they’re heading in this direction. Soon they will be here. We
can’t think otherwise.”

"I don't think it’s luck
that has contributed to their military success,” President Ford breathed out
slowly. “We're reaping the price for the sins we have done."

With that, Baldwin stood. The
President also rose from behind his desk.

"Regardless of what it is,
Mr. President," Baldwin said reaching down into a small leather bag
sitting next to his feet on the floor. When he pulled his hand out, he held two
Sunzyk hand weapons and two leather holsters. "I brought you these. These
are necessary now."

President Ford reached across
the desk to take the side arms and their leather protective pouches. He looked
at them for a moment and turned one of them over reflectively in his hands.

He raised his head to look at
Baldwin.

"Has it come to this
already, Mr. Baldwin?"

"I'm afraid sir, it has.
The J.G.U. are pouring into the country. They, unlike us, do not seem to notice
that they are running out of men. And as this scenario plays out, our own
people will turn. The stories of what is happening on the outside soon are all
about to be told."

"Does this mean you fear we
will be conquered? That the whole country will be overrun?"

"My fears are many, Mr.
President. You must be prepared. The J.G.U. have already taken over Science
Dome 15. Other science domes are also soon to fall. Project Hideaway is the
last bit of anything that will keep this country from vanishing from the face
of the Earth."

"Not quite what was
designed by the ‘powers that be’?"

"No, sir. It is not."

"When will we have word
from the reconnaissance team you've dispatched to SD15 to investigate the
status of the Hideaway Project?"

"Choppers just took them
in. We expect contact within the next eight hours."

"Those two men in space
have the most precious cargo ever known to this Earth. With it, we may be able
negotiate a truce with the J.G.U. and convince them to stand down.

“I want to be informed as soon
as you hear anything. Any and all status reports of the Hideaway Project are to
come directly to this office, and this office only. And to hell with your
‘powers that be’. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Baldwin
gathered his things from the desk and began walking towards the door.

"And, Dan."

"Yes, Mr. President."
Baldwin turned back around.

"I want him found."

"Sir..."

The President held his hand in
the air to cut him off.

"Find someone. Anyone. I
want him located and taken into custody. He will be tried for treason
immediately…and executed.

“He will be my message to your
‘powers that be’. I am still the fucking President. I still have regular armed
forces and the administrative behind me. Faulken’s trial and execution will
demonstrate that point.

"Sir, what you’re saying…”
Baldwin’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Your participation may also be
considered if what I order now does not soon come to be,” the President warned
icily. “Many will ultimately stand with him for what has been wrought upon this
country. I will not take it upon my shoulders alone.

"Faulken will die a
traitor’s death as a warning to your underground ‘powers that be’. A warning
that unless they want to follow in his footsteps, they are to remain
underground. For fucking forever.”

"Yes, Mr. President."

"When this whole thing
finally ends, and I’m being dragged away in chains, I will have the comfort
knowing that I didn't pay this price alone."

"I understand, Frank."

"I want that passed
along."

"It will be," Baldwin
said quietly. And with that he left the room.

* * *

The President walked back to the
center of the room and threw the holsters and Sunszk side arms across his desk.
Their clatter rang loudly through the empty presidential chamber. With a
resonant thump, he dropped his body back into his seat.

He stared at the weapons for a
long time while running through the reasons why not to just put one to his
head. To not pull the trigger and end the nightmare his world and life had
become. To find peace once again.

From a locked bottom drawer, he
pulled out a second bottle and replenished what was in his glass.

Taking it again in his hand and
emptying its contents into the back of his throat, he contemplated the events
of that afternoon many long months ago.

Ice cubes from the bottom of the
glass clinked against his closed teeth.

During the day, the visions
tormented him constantly. The haunting nightmares came for him during his
mostly sleepless nights.

And now after his conversation
with Baldwin, the visions and reasons behind them became even more disturbing.
Everything about his life after that point in time had just been transformed.

His mind wandered back to that
particular date. When the sheer act of life for him became dulled and a dreary
icy cold.

The unexplainable act of
violence, something completely unprecedented in any past dome events, became
frightfully more clear. His head pounded as he fought to control his thoughts.
And tried to grapple with what he had finally come to know.

He remembered well the day of
the execution. The colors of the day were etched forever in his head. All
variations of dark gray and black.

It was the day he personally
witnessed the ending of the two lives of the men accused of firing on their
vehicle caravan. He clung to the memory with a cold bitter hate and took
satisfaction in reliving it over and over again in his head.

Surrounded by Secret Service,
armed military guards, and local dome police, they had been driving through the
center of the Administration Dome. With smiles across their faces, they all
waved to the crowds through the unprotected open air. It was a joyous and grand
historic time.

He could still see the bodies of
his wife, daughter and son grotesquely flail beneath the barrage of weapons
fire. He had thought the attack was directed solely at him. He could still feel
the crushing weight of the three bodyguards sprawled across his back. The ones
who had unexplainably detached themselves from his family and surrounded only
him when he got out to address the excited crowd.

To this day he couldn’t remember
why they decided to leave the vehicle or recall the purpose of the grand
celebration. No matter how clear it almost always seemed, the vision was always
incomplete.

The one thing he did remember
entirely was the blinding hate and the emptiness of death. The dark colors that
surrounded them. And the loss of his soul.

He could still taste the
pavement and feel the pain in his teeth. He could smell the exhaust from the
executive transport chugging quietly just over his head in the street.

At the sound of the first shots,
the bodyguards tackled him and threw him beneath his own car leaving the rest
of his family unprotected and exposed. They were gunned down before they could
run back to the vehicle. Their happy waves and warm smiles had turned quickly
to surprise, fear and pain while the President was held to the ground and
watched helplessly.

He recalled the pain when he
tried to get up. The broken bone in his left arm and the blood running down his
face. He remembered the bystanders running away in panicked herds, and the
physicians and armed guards jumping from cars further up in the parade.

He remembered the blackness of
the dome.

Each time he relived it, the
scene seemed to take forever to play out. The confusion and pain of the day.
The instant crushing blow of agonizing loss. His crying heart and stinging
tears.

And then the faces of the two
men suddenly brought before him when he was finally allowed to stand.

Still sipping his drink, Ford
could only recollect the hate.

All during the quick trial,
there were denials and accusations. Neither of the men ever confessed to a part
in the assassination attempt. No weapons were found. A motive was never
offered. Not once did he even care. He wanted someone dead. He wanted those two
men dead. And dead he vowed they were going to be.

Ford remembered how he looked
forward to that day. The day of the execution. He remembered getting dressed
that morning and driving himself to the penitentiary chambers. He stood with
the guards when they took the men from their cells. And walked with them when
they were moved to the execution chamber.

Ford stood between them when
they were strapped to the tables and stared into their faces when they were
raised upright.

Ford remembered the look in
their eyes. And could still almost feel the sense of their fright.

Every bit of every day since, he
relished in their fear.

He recalled the rush he felt
when the executioner offered him one of the positions at the activation device.
When the order was given, he and two other men pressed buttons on the medical
apparatus that released the dose of liquid radiation into the tubes jutting
from their skin. Two of the switches were dummies. Only one of them was live.
Ford had asked to press them all.

And the President remembered
that all of it just didn't seem to be enough. He wanted to administer the
radiation with an injector himself. He wanted to twist its jagged needle around
in their arms. He had wanted to force them to feel more pain. To make them feel
more like himself.