Pedestals of Ash (31 page)

That fucking hallway is
hell itself
,
and I
’m not going
back. One visit was enough for me
– that was bullshit
,
he thought.
Bishop’s hands were shaking
,
and his skin was covered with drying sweat and blood. His shirt, pants and boots were covered with small flecks of flesh and who knew what else.
A few seconds went by
,
and Bishop began to
recover
a bit
,
when another salvo of shots erupted.
He knew t
he
assassins
were
back,
reengaging
at
the barricaded doorway. The cries of men and the roar of
battle
filled the halls for several seconds. Bishop was having trouble
,
commanding
his legs to move back
toward
that meat grinder.
What the fuck am I doing here
, he kept thinking,
I’ve got no dog in this fight
.

He was standing there
, gulping air and trying to muster
enough courage to go back in
,
when suddenly, it all stopped. Bishop, thinking the assailants had finally overwhelmed the defending agents, move
d back to the
corner
. No one
shot at him.
Taking
a
deep breath, he forced himself
forward
and began stepping
around the causalities that were
strewn
everywhere
.
Small rivers of blood
flowed
,
and the
air was thick with cordite smoke and the
stench
of
urine, feces
and cop
per
.
Bishop
quietly
looked into
the conference room and saw two men standing at the far end. One was the president with his hands in the air
,
and the other man held a pistol at arm’s length. Bishop raised his rifle and shot the man with the pistol.

There were still sounds of gunfire in the distance
,
and Bishop could hear commands being screamed from several different directions. He turned to the president and yelled, “Come on sir, we
have
to get out of here. Everyone in the hall is dead or dying
,
and we have to move now!”

The older man seemed in shock at the entire episode and wouldn’t move. Bishop gra
bbed his arm and commandeered
him toward the door. The stunned executive followed without protest
,
as if in a trance. After kicking some of the blockage out of the way, Bishop cleared the hallway
,
and began guiding the presid
ent through the
gruesome
maze
.
They made it to the first corner when Bishop heard
sporadic
gunfire and the sound of boots running in their direction. More to avoid the converging men than any knowledge of the building’s layout, Bishop pulled the president with him in the opposite direction
,
and the two
wound
their way toward the back of the building.

A minute later, Bishop quietly pressed the fire escape bar on a heavy steel door and poked his head outside. They had navigated to a small loading dock area
,
serviced by an
alleyway that ran along the rear
of the building. The alley was empty. The president was recovering from the shock of it all and becoming more lucent. Bishop pointed to the building o
n the opposite side of the lane
and said, “Give me just a second to see if it’s clear.” Bishop bounded across the alley and up three concrete steps, landing a well-timed kick against a wooden door. The door exploded inward
, and Bishop encountered
what appeared to be an empty office of some kind. The inner door to the room was locked
,
and the layer of dust covering the floor made it appear as if no one had occupied the space in years.

Bishop waved for
the chief executive
t
o join him and covered the path
as the slower man crossed. Both of them leaned against the wall
,
catching their breath
,
as the sound of voices,
gunshots
and racing engines grew louder in the distance. “We can’t stay here
,
sir. The first problem is
not knowing
who is on your side and who is trying to kill you. The bigger problem is that I might be mistaken for either side if we try and find some help. No offense sir, but I don’t work for the
Secret Service
,
and I’m not taking a bullet for you.”

The president nodded. “No offense taken.”

Bishop wanted to see what was through the door leading to the interior of the building, but before he could look, something motorized came roaring down the alleyway they had just crossed. The vehicle sounded as though it stopped right outside their door
,
and Bishop raise
d his rifle preparing for a brea
ch
. Despite his previous declaration
, he placed himself between the doorway and the president. The
two men
could hear voices outside
,
and when it became apparent that no one was going to kick in the door and shoot at them, Bishop took a chance and peeked at the alley. There was a military police
Humvee
parked outside, complete with flash
ing lights on the roof and the
MP
logo on the door. Bishop could see a
single soldier standing in close proximity. The
army cop
was scanning both ends of the alley.
After closing the door, Bishop
leaned
back and pondered what to do. He had to get clear of this base and bring his guest along. He really couldn’t think of any other option
,
since it was impossible to tell who was friend and who was foe. From the sound of the gunfire around the base, other people were having the same problem of identification.

Bishop pulled a bundle of para-cord out of his pack and cut off about a
four-foot
length. He cracked the door open again
and observed
the young soldier pacing back and forth outside. The
Humvee
was still there, motor idling. When the patrolling private had his back turned, Bishop opened th
e door a little wider to get a better look
up and down the alley. There wasn’t anyone else around. He scanned the rooftops, remembering the men positioned up there, but couldn’t see anyone.

He drew his pistol and when the sentry was in the right position, Bishop quietly
passed
through the door and approached the unsuspecting MP. The cold barrel against the man’s skull, right behind the ear, had the desired reaction. Bishop said, “Don’t give me any trouble
,
and you’ll be fine. Turn around and walk back with me.”

After the frightened man had been securely tied with para-cord and relieved of his helmet and weapons, Bishop again verified no one was in the alley
. The two men
quickly exited their hiding spot and jumped in the
running
vehicle. Bishop looked over at his passenger and said, “Fasten your seatbelt please
,
sir – you can never be too careful these days
,
and I don’t want a ticket
.” The president didn’t get the joke and just stared for a brief moment. Bishop put their new ride in gear and sped off down
the alley, telling the stunned statesman
to
put on the helmet,
duck low and keep out of sight.

Bishop didn’t head for the front gate, but guided the
Humvee
to the north and away from the primary complex of buildings. Thirty minutes later, they were going
cross-country
over rough desert terrain and officially crossed the base’s boundary shortly after that.

Bishop looked over at his traveling partner and asked if he should officially change the designation of their ride to
Humvee
One. The president rolled his eyes, seemingly finding no humor in the remark. Finally, the passenger spoke, “Where are you taking me?”

“Well, sir,” Bishop started, “I’m not sure. First of all, I will take you anywhere you want to go. I’m not kidnap
p
ing you. Is there someplace you’d like to go?”

The
C
ommander
in
C
hief thought about the question for a moment and then replied, “No, no I can’t think of anywhere safe. On the other hand, I do have a country to run.”

Bishop, without thinking, added, “At least half a country anyway,” and then immediately regretted the remark. Trying to recover, he quickly added, “I don’t know of anywhere safe either. If we have enough gas, I can get us back to some friends, but I would hardly call that safe. Maybe we’ll think of something along the way.”

As they drove through the desert, Bishop couldn’t help but keep an eye skyward. He was worried about helicopters being used to search for them. He looked over at his passenger and said, “Mr. President, please keep a lookout for aircraft of any kind. The people back at the
base will find the MP I restrained
and realize we are mobile. If I were them, I would spin up a helicopter and search for us from the air.”

There was no way of knowing how deeply the Independents had penetrated the units at Fort Bliss, or how well organized they were. Someone looking for them from
the
air could be from either side. He decided that th
ere was one sure way to tell – t
he Independents would automatically fi
re without question, while the L
oyalist
s
would seek to rescue the man beside him.
Bishop was rooting for the Loyalists.

As they drove through the barren terrain, the discussion centered on how long it would be before both sides would start searching. Bishop was gambling it would take quite a while for things to get sorted out back at the base. Bliss was an enormous facility with hundreds of buildings capable of hiding the
Humvee
. They would have to search there first. One side couldn’t be sure the other didn’t a
lready have the president. The L
oyalist
s would assume
he had been kidnapped
, rather than murdered
. The Independents might believe their target had been stashed away for
safekeeping
, an attempt to bait them out into the open. The bottom line was that every minute that passed gave them distance
,
and that improved their odds.

After an hour of bumping, jolting travel, Bishop saw a good place to take a break. The
Humvee
wasn’t known for its smooth ride and would never be favorably compared to a
luxury-touring
sedan. The lack of suspension was aggravated by Bishop
’s aggressively
driving a little faster tha
n normal to maximize their head
start.

He parked under a large outcropping of r
ock that had separated and slid off
a cliff face thousands of years ago. From the air, it would be difficult to spot their transportation since it was painted in desert camouflage and actually blended in quite well
with their environment
. Both men climbed out of the oversized jeep and began stretching stiff legs and sore joints. After a quick scan of their surroundings, Bishop decided to inventory the contents of
Humvee
One’s rear storage area. He was surprised to find quite the arsenal and cache of supplies. There were two M4 carbines, a can of 5.56 ammo, and a pump shotgun. There was a full carton of MREs and two cases of bottled water. A large, well-stocked medical kit rounded out the contents. In the backseat, Bishop found a freshly laundered set of fatigues and spare pair of boots. He held up the clothing
and looked over at the politician
standing nearby. “Mr.
President, I’m not a fashion expert
, but I think you would be more comfortable if these duds fit you. We may have to set out on foot
, and you definitel
y don’t look dressed for cross country hiking.”

The pants were a little too short and the boots half a size to
o
big, but the
C
ommander
in
C
hief looked reasonably comfortable
,
dressed
in the garb of
a sergeant in the United States Army. In reality, Bishop thought
the man looked
timeworn
and
weary
.
Bisho
p decided to press his luck, pulling
out one of the M4 rifles. “Mr. President, have you ever fired one of these?”