The Eighth Day (36 page)

Suddenly, save for the sound of a weeping Tyler, the hollowed out chamber of Alison Industries returned to its austere silence. Hiccock, tenaciously shielding Janice, chanced a peek from his position, just enough to see that the major was gauging the situation.

The major called out, “Give it up, Marine.”

Parnes pushed the dead guard off himself. “There is no need for this! Stop it!”

“He’s right,” Hiccock shouted. “Your cover’s blown and in minutes this place will be swarming with troops and FBI.”

“Please everybody, just calm down!” Parnes said.

The major yelled over the desk he was using for cover. “We got hurt people here. They need medical attention. What do you say we cease-fire and take care of our own? You and I will stand guard, Marine.”

Hiccock tenderly pulled back Tyler’s hair, making eye contact. “Are you okay?”

Janice jerked her head and hugged Hiccock. When she opened her eyes she was looking directly at the MP’s lifeless body, a pool of blood spreading from the back of his head. She started drawing short breaths. Hiccock kissed her head and stroked her hair, waiting for the next seconds to play themselves out. She kept turning her head in the direction of the dead trooper. Hiccock took her face in his hands and stopped her. Some shouts and a few more gunshots caused both of them to wince, but they never broke the connection, intensely holding onto one another with their eyes. All of the issues she had with him evaporated at that instant. After avoiding, intellectualizing, pragmatising, and postponing the issue, she now hoped with everything she had that they survived this madness. As a bullet whizzed by above their heads, they simultaneously, silently mouthed the words “I love you.”

True to the president’s words, no one had been allowed to leave the now superheated room. Everyone in the room avoided looking at the hastily wiped down spot of dried blood where Spence had died. The sound of the intercom ripped through the still air. “Action report, Sir.”

“What?” The president was stunned.

“Quarteback’s unit reports engaging an armed force after gaining entry to an Alison Industries.”

“Where is Alison Industries?”

“His team is requesting Air MedEvac. They have dead and wounded.”

“Dear God. Is Hiccock okay?”

“Unable to confirm that at this time, Sir.”

The president shifted his focus from the squawk box by his side to the people around the room. “Okay, so which one of your departments is contracting through Alison Industries? I want the answer in ten minutes.” Most of the Cabinet members picked up the phones in front of them.

Four-star General Wallace Bradley, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in full military uniform and decorations, covered his phone and sought the president’s attention. “Sir, I am getting something now.” He spoke into the phone. “Repeat and confirm.” His face turned as hard as the metal stars on his shoulder boards. “Mr. President, Quarterback’s group has met armed resistance from U.S. Marines.”

“What in the world? That doesn’t make sense.” The president’s brow was as furrowed as an Iowa cornfield.

The CJCS blurted out something that halted all conversation in the room. “What? That’s crazy! Rescind that order, call them back. Under
my
authority, goddamn it! The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff!”

All heads snapped toward the chairman, who appeared dazed by what he had just heard. He addressed the Commander in Chief. “Sir, an Air Cavalry squadron is en route to the area where Quarterback’s team is. They are poised to attack.”

“You have my authority to abort the attack and, in fact, order them to help with the dead and wounded.”

“Something doesn’t make sense here, Sir,” a confounded Chairman Bradley mumbled.

The intercom interrupted. A communications officer on the other end was obviously repeating raw what he was hearing on another tactical circuit. “Sir, the agency running the black op is … say that again? The oversight agency is Department of Agriculture.”

Every head in the room pivoted in unison to Harold Dawson, the Secretary of Agriculture. Two White House guards immediately flanked him.

“Harold?” the president said. “Why? What ever possessed you?”

Dawson turned to Ray Reynolds like a hunter suddenly surrounded by cannibals. “Mr. President, I assure you I know nothing …”

The president held up his hand. “Everyone else is excused. It’s been a long, hard day. The Secretary of Agriculture, Justice, and my counsel will remain. The rest of you may return to your offices.”

“Mr. President, may I have a word in the anteroom?” Reynolds asked in a tone that the two men knew meant that they needed to do this immediately.

The president acceded and they headed toward the small quarters off the Sitch Room, both unconsciously stepping over the spot where Naomi had died, the marble floor still streaked from the quick mop-up of her blood. Reynolds closed the door and sat for a second. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop the Air Cav from attacking.”

“Slow up, Ray. Why would we do something as insane as that?”

PARNES, TYLER, KRONOS, and the major walked down the corridor as the dead and wounded were carried out of the main entry area. A communications trooper approached Hiccock with a com-sat phone. Hiccock shook the phone. The line would not engage.

“Is there another way that you can connect me to the White House? This isn’t working.”

“Please send my regards to Ray Reynolds,” Parnes said casually.

“You know the chief of staff?” Hiccock’s sixth sense started tingling.

“I know you are going to be amazed when you see what we have achieved with ALISON.”

The childlike enthusiasm of Parnes’s delivery stopped Hiccock, and he spun him around. “Goddamn you! What part of mass murder, treason, and terrorism don’t you understand, Parnes?”

“Again, I emphatically state, I do not know anything about that. However, I am sure your people will discover neither this place nor anybody working here to be responsible for any of your alleged accusations.”

The president leaned across a small desk as he proceeded to interrogate Reynolds. “This is unbelievable. Go on.”

“Sir, the rest you may not want to know.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you in congressional inquiries, possible impeachment, or even criminal charges …”

“Ray, I appreciate your loyalty to me. I know that your heart is in the politically expedient place, even though your head is up your ass right now.”

Reluctantly Reynolds continued recounting a story that would be retold in history books from this point forward. “Well, after this Parnes fellow came to us during the campaign, we assured him that, if we got in, he’d get a major government contract to replace the work he had been doing for Defense.”

“So we are dirty in this all the way?”

“In reality, no. But we sent Parnes to Agriculture so, in appearance, yes.”

The president sat back. He suddenly punched down on the chair’s arm, splintering a $250,000 antique.

A radioman, spooling out wire from an old World War II vintage field phone, caught up to Hiccock as he, Parnes, and the major made their way down the corridor. “Ultra traffic, Sir. Scrambled from the White House.”

Hiccock grabbed the handset. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Bill, are you okay?”

“Yes, but we have lost some brave MPs, Sir.”

“How badly has your operational ability been damaged?”

“Still have my three team members, Sir.”

“What about your detachment?”

“The major tells me ten dead, ten wounded, and twenty remain from his platoon, Sir.”

On the other end of the phone, Ray sat across from the president. Having put all the cards on the table and his butt on the line, he now watched, trying to discern which way his boss would go. He couldn’t read anything from the president’s implacable face, even though he spent years with this man and probably knew him better than anyone else in government. Mitchell could let the renegade Air Cav boys clean up this mess, extinguish Hiccock, Parnes, and everyone involved—and along with them any connection to the administration. Reynolds would not have considered this murder. He reasoned it was
passive compliance with events already initiated outside his purview
, mentally rehearsing for the congressional hearings. Since thousands of people had already died in scores of terrorist attacks, what was a handful more, especially if it meant ensuring this administration another term? All Mitchell had to do was instruct Hiccock that the Air Cav troop was coming to help, not to kill them.

“Bill, in a few minutes a heavily armed attack force of Apache helicopters will be on top of you.”

“Great, Sir, we’ll need the support.”

Reynolds imperceptibly tensed. The president gave him one last look. “Bill, we didn’t send them. They are on an attack mission.” Reynolds sighed. As in so many other instances, the president had just made a decision that was now the policy of the United States of America. With Mitchell electing to put personal jeopardy aside for the both of them, Reynolds was duty bound to embrace it.

Hiccock’s voice cut through the heavy mood. “Don’t want to tell you your job, but may I respectfully request that you consider calling them the fuck off, Sir?”

“They are not responding to any retreat orders.”

“Well, get somebody you can order over here to protect us. We are within minutes of shutting down the entire operation and ending this nightmare.”

“Unfortunately, these would have been the guys, Bill. No one else is close. As impossible and unfair as it seems, you and your men will have to hold them off ’til reinforcements arrive.”

“Yes, Sir, I understand. I don’t know how, but we’ll think of something.”

THE MAJOR, GOLD, MACK, Parnes, Hiccock, Tyler, and Kronos were all hunched over a layout of the mountain.

“What about the airborne troops that were coming in a few minutes?” Gold asked.

“I lied,” the major said. “They’re eight hours away.”

“That’s great! Well, the battle scenario is simple because the only way in or out is through the main door that your men disabled. Wide open, unfortunately. My sixteen men and your twenty should be able to hold them off at a choke point right here.” Gold indicated a place on the layout.

“My twelve guys are ready,” Mack said.

The major looked up and smiled. “You’ve done your share, Sir.”

“You know, retirement ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. What can we expect them to throw at us?”

“Air Cav Black Hawks in support. Probably 150 to 200, company strength.”

“And they’ll be loaded for bear,” Gold said. “But we’ve only got to hold them off for eight hours.”

“There is also the chance that not all of the men have been programmed. We might be able to reason with the men who haven’t,” Tyler said.

“With all due respect, Ma’am, those boys are trained. They will follow their commanding officer into hell. They won’t be coming here to talk.” Gold tapped the layout. “I figure we put machine guns here … and here … and here.”

As the two military commanders planned, Hiccock took Mack aside. “Is this going to work?”

“You want the truth?”

“I think I do.”

“Slim chance that these men down here can hold off a full-strength infantry company with attack helicopters for eight minutes, much less eight hours.”

The news caused Hiccock to run through some out-of-the-box models in his head. “What if, instead of trying to fight them, we were to deny them access?”

Mack smiled. He liked the idea.

“You are going to what?” the president said. He and the CJCS were listening on the president’s auxiliary communications console while Hiccock outlined his plan.

“My UDT guys say they can do it, Sir. The facility has enough food and water for three days. By then, you can have somebody dig us out. I hope.”

“What UDT guys?”

“We got a little help from the Navy here, Sir.”

“Only you could rustle up underwater demolition men in the middle of the desert, Bill.” The president faced the chairman. “Well, what do you think of their plan?”

“It’s probably better odds than a firefight, Sir. I’ll go along with it.”

“Okay, Hiccock, you do it. And find the bastard responsible, because in less than half an hour, all hell’s going to break loose across the country.”

The president nodded to the chairman, who exited, leaving Mitchell and Reynolds alone in the little anteroom.

“Sir, is there something about Robert Parnes that I should know?” Hiccock said.

The president checked with Ray Reynolds who shook his head. “Why are you asking?”

“Sir, something disturbing has come up. It seems there’s a Parnes-Reynolds connection.”

“If I told you it had nothing to do with the current situation, would that suffice?”

“With all due respect, Sir, how do I know the chief of staff, or you for that matter, isn’t undermining my mission and our lives?”

“Fair enough. I’m going to have Ray tell you what he told me five minutes ago.”

Reynolds looked at the president with apprehension in his eyes, but Mitchell remained resolute and nodded for him to proceed. “Bill, Ray here. During the campaign, Parnes approached me when we were stumping at MIT. He had an idea that he wanted to try, a new way to use the Internet.”

“Did he say what that was?” Hiccock asked.

“Something to do with advertising. I figured it was a million-to-one chance, so I didn’t ask for many details. I never gave it much thought or credit for our win. Our web site hits were in the low thousands. Not even close to the margin of win.”

“Go on, Ray, tell him everything.”

Reynolds addressed Hiccock again. “If we got elected, our part of the deal was to get Parnes and the members of his team a big science research project. When Dawson from Agriculture proposed their weather forecasting initiative, I thought it was the perfect, quiet, out-of-the-way spot for Parnes’s payback—which by the way I didn’t feel he had earned, but a deal’s a deal.”

“So you see, other than being connected to Parnes, it has nothing to do with the current situation,” the president said.

Hiccock stopped Mitchell cold. “Except that what Parnes did wasn’t just advertising. It was subliminal advertising and those same subliminal techniques became the basis for how all the terrorists were programmed. Your campaign served as the beta test for the process. Your election proved beyond a doubt that it could work. In fact, nobody I’ve spoken to in the whole country thinks they voted for you. That’s why the exit polls were so wrong on Election Day. Having people forget that they pulled the lever for you was the post-suggestion. After confirming that the subjects would not remember their programming, the next step was easy. And the number of hits was low, Ray, because Parnes didn’t use your web site, he used the entire Internet. No matter where someone was surfing or what site they were on, they got programmed.”

The president was immobilized by the preponderance of complicity that was now laid at his feet. “I’ll bring this to the floor of Congress and put myself in their hands.”

Ray hit the mute button. “That’s absurd! You
are
the president. Your agenda and the advances you have made will help this country. You can’t throw away all the good you’re doing.”

“All the good is tainted. I am not going to fall into the trap that a small wrong now will allow me to do great good in the future. That is the mantra of dictators and every crooked politician since Tammany Hall.”

Reynolds stared at the president with disbelief in his eyes.

The president released the mute button. “Anything else, Bill?”

Hiccock continued, “Sir, it’s possible that many of the ‘Homegrowns’ first programmed act, way before they blew something up, was to vote for you and then forget that they did.”

“Well, that just about effectively ends my brief shining career as president. Bill, just make sure this monster is also terminated.”

The president hung up.

Convened once more around a blueprint of the mountain-fortress layout, Mack explained the plan. “We’ll place charges here in the elevator machine room and here in the access tunnel and one here where the rock meets the concrete slab.”

“Only three?” Hiccock asked.

“First off, that’s all we have left. How much of this stuff do you think I had in my locker at work?”

Harry, the decorated UDT guy turned master blaster, turned retired consultant to a construction company, spoke up. “I figure we’ll bring down about 300 cubic tons of rock and dirt into the hole. That’d be about ten stories high in this twenty-story dual elevator shaft.”

“That’s the good news,” the major said.

“Okay, what’s the bad?”

Mack delivered it. “Harry’s got a good plan here, and I agree with his numbers, but these have to be timed shots. They have to go off in sequence to shake the rock out of its place. Otherwise, we’ll just make a lot of smoke and noise.”

“So?” Hiccock said, not grasping the bad part.

Gold explained, “Someone has to stay up there, because any wires running down the shaft would be severed by the first blast at the bottom.”

“We’ll make them home runs to three detonators in this upper utility area here,” Mack said. “But the blaster gets exposed to the un-friendlies.”

“I’ll ask for volunteers,” the major said.

“It really should be one of us. If anything goes wrong …” Mack’s raised eyebrows finished the sentence.

Hiccock couldn’t listen to this. “We can’t ask anyone to sacrifice himself.”

The soldiers, current and retired, all slowly turned to him in unison.

“That’s what soldiers have been doing since the beginning of time,” the major said.

“Look, I’ll do it,” Mack said. “I already got banged up and maybe they’ll treat me as wounded.”

“What if we just blow it now instead of waiting for them? Then you’d have time to get away.”

The major checked his watch, “White House estimates the bad guys are eleven minutes out. We’ll be lucky if the charges are set by then.”

“Chief, your bad shoulder could muck this up, old friend,” Harry said. “You might need to improvise. I’m the man for the job.”

“Chief?” the major said to Mack. “You were their commanding officer?”

“Not me. The Admiral’s husband, Jack Parks. I’m the highest surviving rank of our unit.”

“Well, Chief, you know he’s right.”

“Yeah, I know. But let’s give him two guns and enough ammo to rock and roll.”

A self-conscious Hiccock stood squarely before the Navy frogman. “Your country owes you a debt it can never repay.”

“Ah, hell, they’ve owed me that since Korea. Let’s go blow this hole!”

With that, the battle-hardened vets left for one last action.

Kronos entered as the room emptied. “I checked up like you asked. According to the routing server, no recent traffic moved on the system to the web.”

Hiccock was stumped. “That’s impossible. These helicopters couldn’t have been ordered in before we breached the perimeter.”

“I have been trying to tell you,” Parnes said. “This is the wrong place. All of my people are good Americans.”

“Well, then it’s a grand day for fuck-ups because there is a whole company of death and destruction heading for this ‘wrong place’ as well! We’re ready for our VIP tour.”

Hiccock grabbed Parnes by the good arm and muscled him toward the door.