Pedestals of Ash (35 page)

The pool table in the basement of Senator Moreland’s West Virginia home was the center of attention. Both the military and civilian managers were gathered around
, examining
the s
tatus of Operation Delta. A one-
star general had just finished briefing the movement’s brain trust and stood waiting
for
questions. There were none.

Senator Moreland broke the silence, addressing no one in particular. “What is
the president
doing? Why wait now? Is he stalling for a reason? Some sort of trap?”

A senior admiral, recently a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, responded. “Sir, from a military perspective there is no reason for them to delay. As a matter of fact, there is every reason for them to proceed with offensive operations against us.”

Another man spoke up, “Senator, perhaps our operation at Fort Bliss is the
cause
. We still aren’t one hundred percent sure we failed. Nearly losing his life may have incapacitated the president.”

Senator Moreland digested that last suggestion.
More death and skullduggery
, he thought,
I regret agreeing with that move
. The justification that killing the opposing leadership would save thousands of lives had probably been used to justify who knew how many assignation attempts.
I wonder if I would feel differently if we had succeeded.

The honorable gentleman from West Virginia was through with the low road. There was a line, and in
desperation,
he had crossed it. It wasn’t so much the attempted coup that concerned him, but the other recent briefing he had received.

The Independents now controlled a dozen small nuclear weapons and the capability to deliver them.
His
military
advisors
had briefed him that these devices could be used for both tactical and political advantage. A potential ta
rget list had even been compiled
.

Moreland had practically become unglued at the suggestion. The use of such weapons against an enemy nation was horrific enough, let alone deploying them on the soil of the United States of America. He had dismissed the concept immediately and left the briefing. The officers in the room were a little surprised by his reaction, but noted he had not ordered the weapons returned or disabled.
 

Humvee
One drove for another hour before Bishop pulled over and stopped. He knew the ammunition in the back would be welcomed at the compound, but he didn’t want to carry the extra weight through a hostile Alpha. Bishop decided to stash their ride in one of the airport
hangar
s and proceeded to drive into the same structure where David had found the functional plane a few days before.

The shot-up trucks were still sitting on the airport grounds, but the bodies had been removed. Bishop got a funny feeling in hi
s gut as he approached
Bones
for a closer look
. The
bullet-riddled
dune buggy was stil
l sitting where he and David
left it just a few days ago. He could tell someone had rummaged through the interior
,
and the battery was gone from the engine compartment. Bisho
p noticed lots
of
empty brass, scattered on the floor from the firefight David and he survived against
the pursuing
g
houlish, and that made him smile.

Th
e president exited the Humvee and advanced to inspect
one of the abandoned
g
houli
sh relics. As Bishop joined him, the statesman met his gaze, saying,
“Looks like somebody shot the hell out of this truck. I see
bloodstains
all over the place. Why would someone do that?”

Bishop replied, “I have no idea
,
sir. We have another few miles to
hike
,
and I suggest we get going.”

“After you
,
my good fellow.”

Bishop paused, “Oh, sir, I almost forgot. It’s going to get cool as soon as the sun goes down. Do you need your jacket from the
Humvee
?”

A strange look crossed over the
p
resident’s face. “My Jack….my jacket…Oh
,
my god! My jacket! I forgot all about it. There is some sort of transmitter in there. They told me about it a long time ago. Some type of GPS type transmitter. I was told to always
keep it on because it’s bullet
proof
,
and they can find me with that jacket on.”

Bishop immediately scanned the sky all around,
half-expecting
fighter jets, attack
helicopters,
or even stealth bombers to be vectoring in on his head. After verifying no threat was in sight, he launched into one of his prolonged session
s
of foul language. He was so mad he started splitting words in order to insert profanities. Finally, after the harangue began to falter, he looked at the stunned chief executive and simply uttered, “Let’s get the fuck out of here…SIR!” The president had to hurry to catch up.

General Westfield held out the phone to Agent Powell and mouthed the words, “It’s for you.”

“This is Agent Powell, United States Department of Treasury, Secret
Service, whom am I speaking to
?”

A thin, weak voice on the other end
of the call nervously stammered
, “Th…th
…
this is Airman Moore.” Agent Powell looked at the general sitting behind his desk and rolled his eyes. After covering the phone with his hand, he said, “Is this kid, what? Twelve years old?”

“It’s the fucking Air Force…what do you expect?”

Agent Powell went back to the phone. “Airman Moore, do you have access to the president’s GPS locator, designated POTUS 1.6?”

“I do, sir, but I need authorization to provide those coordinates.”

The stress bled through in Agent Powell’s response, “And who the hell can authorize
that
,
Airman Moore?”

“Sir, General Wilson or any of the joint chiefs have authority. I can also accept the authority of the Secretary of Homeland Security,
t
he Director of the FBI
,
or the V
ice President of the United States…sir.”

Agent Powell took a deep breath to calm down. The volcano of anger that was about to erupt wasn’t going to do him any good with a scared shitless young man several hundred miles away. Calmly, he asked, “Airman, who is the base commander at Peterson?”

“Sir, that would be General Coleman.”

“And is General Coleman available
,
young man?”

“Sir, I wouldn’t know, but I can transfer you to his office
,
if you wish.”

Agent Powell’s voice changed to the most sickening
ly,
sweet tone he could muster, “Please, if you will
,
A
irman. I wish to speak to the base commander.”

After a few moments, A
irman Moore announced that the g
eneral’s aid
e
was on the line. An older voice said, “General
Coleman
’s office, Major Hollingsworth speaking.”

“Major, this is Senor Agent Powell, United States Treasury Department, Secret Service division. I am in charge of the president’s security detail and need access to his GPS locator unit designated POTUS 1.6.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for several moments. Powell started to relax just a little bit, thinking he was finally getting somewhere.

The USAF Major responded, “Ummm…sure you do
,
buddy. We give out the president’s location to just any old Tom,
Dick,
or Harry that calls in. I suppose you’ll want the launch codes as well. Richards
,
is that you? If this is another one of your goddamn pranks, I’ll have you busted down to recruit
,
you sick bastard. This ain’t funny.”

It took all of A
gent Powell’s restraint to keep from exploding. He could feel the veins were popping out on his forehead
,
and the blood rushing through his ears sounded like a freight train. After several deep breaths and a super human effort at self-control, the agent’s calm voice answered. “No,
M
ajor
, this is not a joke. The president is at Fort Bliss
,
and there has been a coup attempt. We believe he is still alive, perhaps in hiding. Now, how do I go about getting access to his location?”

Again, there was a long period of silence on the other end. When he
finally answered, at least the m
ajor’s tone was serious. “Sir, my apologies if this is legit. You have to admit – this is a very unusual request. Just to make sure I understand, you claim to be in charge of the president’s security detail
,
and you have lost the president? Do I have that right?”

The m
ajor started to reiterate the persons with access to the system, but Powel
l interrupted him. “Major, the vi
ce
p
resident is dead. He was killed in the Washington riots. General Wilson is dead as well – he died in the attempted coup. I don’t have any idea how to
contact any of the JCS or the S
ecretarie
s. There has to be another way
,
M
ajor
;
and time is critical.”

“Hold on,” was the response.

Powell looked up to see General Westfield smirking at him with
an
“
I told you so
” grin. Ignoring the inter-service rivalry, the agent asked, “Do you know this General Coleman?”

“Negative.”

The phone clicked twice in Powell’s ear
,
and another voice came online. “This is General Coleman. Sir, I cannot provide access to that system without some verification of who you are. That system has a security requirement as high as it gets.”

Something clicked in Pow
ell’s mind, something that the m
ajor
had said. Powell turned to the g
eneral and asked if he could summon the football to the office. The general’s eyebrows arched
, and he mouthed the words “
G
ood idea
.”

The “football” was slang for the nuclear missile launch system, or more
accurately,
the device used to communicate with the National Com
mand Authority. Since the world-
destroying weapons
could only be launched by the p
resident, the briefcase-
like device followed the man wherever he went. The football was carried around, secured to an officer of O-4 rank or higher. The current man assigned to the du
ty happened to be an Air Force o
fficer. Powell thought he might get lucky
,
and the two men might know each other. In a few minutes, one of the general’s aid
e
s knocked on the door
, and
Air Force Lt. Colonel
Prichard
was shown in.

Powell wasted no time, “Colonel, do you happen to know General Coleman, the base commander at Peterson?”

The puzzled officer thought for a moment and then answered, “Yes sir, I do.”

Powell handed the c
olonel the phone and said, “The good general is on the line. Would you please verify for him who I am, where we are
,
and what the situation is?”

The man took the phone and spoke, “General Coleman? This is Mark Prichard. How’s Carol and the kids?...Great!...Have you fixed that hook yet?...Oh, yes
,
sir, last time I spoke with her, Mindy was doing well, thank you for asking, sir.”

Agent Powell looked at General Westfield and whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” General Westfield responded with his usual “It’s the fucking Air Force – what do you expect?”

After the pleasantries had be
en exchanged, the c
olonel got down to business. “General, the man you were just speaking with is the head of the president’s security detail. I can personally vouch for that. In addition si
r, there was an attempt on the p
resident’s life just a short time ago.”

Within 10 minutes, Agent Powell h
ad the GPS coordinates for the p
resident’s jacket. He and General Westfield looked on a large wall map mounted on the wall. “
Alpha, Texas
,” said the general.
“Never been there. I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.”

Powell was ready for action, “It looks like they are at the airport. Get those birds wound up
,
general. I want the best men you have with me.”

After a quick call, the tarmac at Biggs field was bustling with activity. Four Blackhawk copters were winding up their massive blades while 20 of the base’s best infantry prepared their kit. I
n
addition to the heavily
armed infantry, the base’s best
field medic
s
were going along – just in case. The United States Army was going on a rescue mission.

Terri wa
nted a mulligan
. As she sat in the cab of the lead pickup heading toward Alpha, she stared out the window
,
wishing she could start the last few days over. The
sparse,
arid landscape didn’t
offer
much of a distraction
for
her
racing
mind as they approached the troubled town. She wasn’t frightened, no, more so the opposite – she was eager. When she admitted that she was actua
lly a little excited by what was
ahead, the realization caused her to grunt out loud. Nick was driving and looked across at his passenger, “You doing okay over there
,
Terri?”

She smiled at him and replied, “Oh, I’m fine Nick. I was just sitting here thinking about Bishop, and how he always seems to end up in the middle of something dangerous. You don’t know how many times I’ve wondered why he allows himself to get drawn into these things. Now, I think I know.”

Nick pondered her statement for a bit, “Okay. You’re going to have
to explain that to me. I’ve had
my share of risky endeavors, but mostly I was following orders. Lately, it’s been to protect my family more than anything else. How Bishop lets himself get involved in all this shit beats the hell out of me.”

Terri’s voice became academic, “I don’t think there’s any one single reason.
Just sitting here, w
hat I’m feeling is a combination of purpose and good old
-
fashion
ed m
aternal nesting. I feel this strong urge to contribute, to right a wrong…make things better.” Terri’s gaze drifted off into the distance for a while
,
and then she looked at Nick. “Part of what I’m feeling is a strong urge to get all of this cleaned up before the baby comes. I know I’m not far enough along to actually be nesting, but my child’s future is always on my mind. Meraton is a miracle in a bottle.
Wouldn’t it be better for my child
if we had two such places close by? At what point does everyone start thinking of the greater good and not just simply
individual
survival? I feel a strong need to be one of the leaders of that effort. I want to pioneer the building of things, not be involved in destroying them.”

The depth of Terri’s inner perspective took Nick aback. This wasn’t the
type of conversation he was accustomed to
having when facing a fight. The Special Forces types he worked with wouldn’t be caught dead having a conversation like this before heading into trouble. After he replayed Terri’s words a few times, he had to admit her feelings weren’t far from his own. He just didn’t want to talk about it.

“When Kevin and I decided to pack up and go find you guys, we both envisioned a camper out in the middle of Bumfuck
,
Egypt. We pictured you
two hiding out in a damp cave
, eating lizard casserole – or worse. Our biggest concern with coming out here was boredom. We were hoping you guys had a deck of cards or
a
worn out Monopoly game or something to pass the time.
I confess that
Meraton surprised me
,
too. After what we’ve been living through, I would’ve bet Bishop’s ranch that no such
community
existed. But despite that wonderful surprise, why not hunker down and keep to yourselves until things get back to normal? I mean reall
y, who needs all the excitement?
”

Terri saw right though his cover. She decided Nick was a lot like Bishop
,
in that
he believed
exposing any feelings about conflict might make him appear weak or hesitant. She pressed, “Oh, come on now
,
Nick. How many times have I heard you say you were worried about Kevin’s future? Just today
,
you were thrilled when he wanted to go talk to some girl in the
market
place. Isn’t that the same thing I’m talking about? Isn’t that worth some risk?”