Blowback, p.35
Blowback, page 35
“Go right ahead.”
“We take Chin Lin back with us, and you and Benjamin Lucas join her, and stay as our guests for as long as you want.”
Liam can’t help himself, and laughs. “That’s something, that’s for sure.”
Han says, “I take it you haven’t kept up with the news the last few hours, have you?”
His mouth suddenly feels dry. “Some news, not all.”
Han nods. “Your president is a madman, and he is taking his nation to war with mine. Not with bombs or missiles, but through cyberspace. The war will start”—he checks his watch—“in less than two hours. In a day or so, most of the world will slip into chaos, with an economic collapse, riots, and other conflicts breaking out, and in days, most cities will start to starve.”
Liam has a cold moment, thinking of what Han is saying, thinking about not being able to contact Director Abrams, not even knowing if the message to save the vice president even has made it to Walter Reed.
He says, “Guess I missed those headlines.”
Han says, “That’s my offer. We take Chin Lin, for obvious reasons, and you and Benjamin will be our guests, for as long as you want.”
“Does that come with or without torture?”
“You’ll be under my personal protection.”
“Even with the death of Chang Wanquan? And the two guards at the gate?”
Han shrugs. “The guards…collateral damage, as we all know. As for Mr. Chang, he worked for me, an arrogant prick who was going to get himself killed, either by the Party or somebody else. Again, Mr. Smith, do consider my offer.”
Liam says, “It’s attractive, but there’s one problem. I made a promise to Chin Lin that she would be protected by me, and not sent home.”
The cheerful grandfather in front of him suddenly disappears and is replaced by a hard intelligence officer who no doubt has blood on his hands, up to his elbows.
“You fool, don’t you understand what I’m saying? A week from now there will be no China, no America. None of us are ever going home, ever again. I have offered you and Benjamin safety during the upcoming chaos. And you would protect some…slut you barely know, to turn down such an offer?”
“Guess so,” Liam says.
“Fine,” Han says, looking at his watch once more. “In fifteen minutes, we are coming in, one way or another.”
Liam says, “You’d better come in heavy or with your hands up. Either way, we’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER 129
CARLTON POPE CANNOT believe his luck, for the stupid bitch sitting just feet away from him is agreeing to get out of her armored Suburban, right out in the open. Five seconds after that, his contract shooter will remove that arrogant head from her shoulders.
That will cause one hell of a news headline and chaos, but at this time tomorrow, it will all be forgotten.
“Wonderful, Madam Director, just step out and—”
“Hold on, I want to show you something,” and her hand comes out, holding a sheet of paper.
Up hidden on the roof of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building—formerly known as the Old Executive Office Building—the assassin called Turner is comfortably holding a .300 Winchester Magnum bolt-action rifle with a Schmidt & Bender telescopic sight, clearly seeing Carlton Pope talking to someone sitting in the rear of the black Chevy Suburban.
No doubt it’s the CIA director, his target. If her vehicle was standard, he might have gambled and let loose two rounds right now, trusting the full metal jacket bullets to cut her down after passing through the thin metal.
But that’s a gamble. Turner hasn’t earned his record through gambling.
He waits.
His vision is such that he has a clear view of Carlton and the Suburban’s left rear window, and—
Okay.
Movement.
His finger is on the trigger, just needing a steady squeeze to kill Hannah Abrams.
He sees her hand.
It’s holding a piece of paper.
Step out, step out, he thinks. Just give me two seconds and I’ll get the job done.
The hand goes back into the Suburban, a blur of action and—
Carlton Pope is slammed against the side of the Suburban.
Handcuffed.
Turner’s not sure what’s going on, only certain that his sweet job with Pope has just been terminated, and it’s time to get moving.
He quickly unloads the rifle and starts breaking it down.
From the corner of Carlton Pope’s right eye there’s sudden movement, and he turns—
What?
Strong hands seize his shoulders and his arms, and he’s slammed against the side of the armored Suburban.
From behind him comes a woman’s voice. “Carlton Pope? Special Agent Paula Brewster, FBI. You’re under arrest.”
“What the hell?” he says, still unable to move. It seems there are two FBI agents holding him down against the cold metal of the vehicle. “Do you know who I am? Lady, you’re in one hell of a mess. Let me go!”
“Mr. Pope,” the voice continues. “You have the right to remain silent.”
He struggles and his wrists are moved together.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
The click and snap of handcuffs tight against his wrists.
“You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand these rights?”
He’s pulled away from the Suburban and turns and sees four FBI agents standing there, the one woman smiling, the three men looking satisfied.
Furious, Carlton says, “I’m special assistant to President Keegan Barrett. Release me now.”
“Sorry, sir,” the FBI agent says. “You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Perhaps I can help,” CIA Director Abrams says.
He turns his head and that bitch’s face is filled with triumph. She has her phone to her ear and says, “Thanks, Deputy Director Hicks. And…oh? Really? Thanks for passing that along. Thank you very much.”
The CIA director lowers her phone. “Pope, you’re under arrest for violation of 18 U.S. Code Section 930: Possession of firearms and dangerous weapons in Federal facilities.”
“What?”
Abrams holds up a previously folded piece of paper. A surveillance photo of some sort is in the center. Showing…
Him.
Running along the grounds of the National Ground Intelligence Center in Virginia, right after bailing out of the Town Car when Noa Himel and her crew arrived earlier than planned to take out the Iranian Quds force.
Pistol clearly in hand.
Carlton says, “It’s a bullshit charge.”
Abrams keeps on smiling. “Bullshit or not, it gets you out of the picture for the rest of the day. Thank God for that.”
CHAPTER 130
GENERAL TUCKER WYMAN, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, returns to the National Military Command Center after his failed attempt to contact his counterpart in Beijing, to see not much has changed since he left. Lots of phones ringing, keyboards being tapped, and display screens being updated.
But it seems there’s a cold spot in the center of the room, where Vice Chairman Marine General Wade Thompson is standing at his post, with Deputy Defense Director Clark Kim standing next to him, having come down from his office in the E Wing of the Pentagon.
From the looks on their faces, he knows the news is bad.
“What is it?” he asks.
The Marine general says, “We know what’s behind the Chinese response. It’s us.”
“How in the world can that be possible?”
General Thompson says, “President Barrett had a meeting this morning with General Peterson, Cybercommand. He authorized a full-scale cyberattack against China, commencing in”—he glances up at one of the digital clocks hanging from the ceiling—“in just over an hour. At twelve hundred hours our time.”
General Wyman says, “How extensive?”
“He’s throwing everything at them, including the kitchen sink. Attack profile is called Case Shanghai. Starting at the top with their military command and control, infrastructure, banking and finance systems, all the way down to their Ministry of Tourism and Culture.”
For a brief moment General Wyman is speechless. The vice chairman says, “I just got off the phone with General Peterson. He says POTUS had the necessary launch codes to start Case Shanghai.”
Wyman explodes. “Of course he has the goddamn codes! He also has the launch codes to send nukes to take out Acapulco if he wanted to. Didn’t Peterson find the situation unusual, something to make him stop and goddamn think?”
The vice chairman says, “Peterson says the president told him that he had buy-off from the National Security Council, congressional leadership, the secretary of defense, and you as well, General. Peterson felt all of the necessary notifications had been made.”
Wyman rubs at his forehead. “And everything the president told him was a lie.”
Deputy Defense Director Clark Kim speaks up, voice high-pitched and squeaky. “But…General Wyman, can’t you order the Cybercommand to stand down? To halt their planned attack?”
It feels like a ton of lead is now nestling in his chest. “No,” he says softly. “Cybercommand has received lawful orders from the commander in chief. I can’t countermand that. Like it or not, the president is in control. The only way this attack is halted is by another valid order from the commander in chief.”
He looks up against the display boards. He thinks about all the training, scenarios, and classes he’s gone through over the years, playing all types of scenarios from all kinds of attack.
But never has he faced a situation like this, a rogue president going out on his own to start a war.
And Wyman is under no illusions. Beijing is in the process of conducting a preemptive attack, to hit the United States before the full cyberattack begins, and he has to start issuing orders to get the conventional and nuclear forces prepared.
Escalation following escalation following escalation.
Until the spark, the mistake, the oversight, starts the war.
A war like none other, with cities going dark, fuel deliveries stopping, communications going silent, most of this entirely interconnected world being sent back to the nineteenth century.
He looks to his assistant. “Get me the White House Communications Office. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few seconds pass.
“Here, sir.” A phone receiver is passed to him. “It’s Major Jewel.”
“This is General Wyman, JCS,” he says. “Major, I need to talk to the president. Now.”
“Er, yes sir, straightaway. Hold on, sir.”
He waits.
Looking again at the little symbols up on the status screens, each bit of light marking scores or hundreds of crew members, millions of dollars or yuans invested in submarines, surface ships, missile silos, and aircraft, all coming together.
“Sir?”
“Yes, go on.”
Major Jewel sounds like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry, sir. The president is unavailable. He won’t answer his secure line, the White House switchboard can’t reach him, and I’ve sent a runner to the Oval Office. He refuses to answer the door. He…he’s out of touch.”
“Keep on trying,” he says, then slams the receiver down.
Both the vice chairman and the deputy defense director look at him, like young boys, hoping Daddy can do something miraculous.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” he says. “Our president has let loose the dogs of war, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.”
CHAPTER 131
LIAM GREY STEPS into the farmhouse, locks the door behind him, and checks the time. About thirteen unlucky minutes left.
Lin and Benjamin are staring at him. He says, “Benjamin, you up for a walk?”
Confused, Benjamin says, “Depends how lengthy.”
He quickly strides past them both, heading to the small bathroom. “Long enough to get you and Lin out of here before the shooting starts.”
Lin says, “What did Han have to say?”
“Nothing good,” Liam says. “He wants you, and he’s coming to get you in just over ten minutes. He also offered Benjamin and me asylum, and I hope you don’t mind, Benjamin, I declined.”
In the small bathroom, it’s crowded. Liam kneels down, looks behind the toilet with its pipes, brings out a plunger. There’s a porcelain sink and a stand-up shower, and two wooden shelves with folded and dusty yellow towels.
Lin says, “I’m staying here to help. I don’t want to see Benjamin hurt.”
“Gee, thanks,” Liam says, tearing off the rubber end of the plunger. “But you’re staying with Benjamin, and both of you are getting out of here.”
At the end of the wooden stick is a small metal hook. Liam goes to the shower, pulls aside the mildewy curtain.
“And once you get out of here, Lin, you try your guy at Walter Reed, make sure he got your message.” Liam gives his cell phone to Benjamin. “And you, pal, call the station chief, anybody at the station, or even the ambassador to rescue you and your girlfriend.”
Checks his watch.
Ten minutes left.
He takes the plunger stick and metal hook, fastens the hook in the shower drain. He gives it a good tug and the floor of the shower comes out, revealing a wooden ladder going into the darkness. He reaches down, feels around, and throws a switch. Small lightbulbs flip on, illuminating smooth concrete.
Liam says, “Escape tunnel. Goes out a couple of hundred yards, emerges at a dry streambed. Go quick but be careful. Lord knows what snakes or scorpions have taken up residence there.”
“But what about you?” Benjamin asks, face drawn, holding hands with Lin.
“Me? I’m going to play Beau Geste. I’m going to take your weapons and keep up the shooting from every possible window, door, or opening.”
“Liam.”
“Jesus, stop wasting time, all right? Look, Han told me that President Barrett is on his way to launch a cyberattack on China. You’re both smart enough to realize what’s going to happen…and when the computers are all fried and the cities empty out, they’ll kick it up to traditional weapons. You’ve got to get out, and you’ve got to make sure the information about the vice president gets to the right people. The president needs to be stopped. Move.”
Benjamin offers a hand. He gives it a brisk shake, and then helps him down the ladder. Lin follows, offers a hand, and he gives it a good shake as well.
“Take care of each other,” he says. “And if this is still some kind of honey trap or intelligence op, my ghost will come back to haunt you.”
Her eyes moisten, and there’s a quick kiss to his cheek. “No trap. Just Benjamin and me. That’s all.”
“Good. Now get the hell out.”
He waits until he can’t see the top of her head anymore, replaces the shower bottom, tosses the plunger and hook behind the toilet.
Goes to the kitchen. Peers out the window.
Nothing yet.
He moves quickly, setting up an M4 with three spare magazines on the table.
Heads to the supply closet, retrieves more gear, and checks the time.
Two minutes.
He grabs a gas mask.
Liam goes to the front door, surprised at how calm he feels.
This is his territory, his turf, what he’s trained for. As much as he loves intelligence work, being in open combat with no compromises, no falsity, just direct action, suits him.
He grabs the doorknob, opens the door a couple of inches. He quickly makes a barricade of a wooden coffee table and two chairs. He lays down, pulls up the M4 with its telescopic sight, sees the armed men out there are now moving toward the farmhouse.
Liam checks his watch.
“Han, you son of a bitch, you’re a minute early.”
He pulls the trigger of the M4 and starts shooting.
CHAPTER 132
WHEN THE SUBURBAN stops near the entrance to the West Wing, CIA Director Hannah Abrams gives a thick envelope to Ralph, her security officer. “Take this,” she says. “If I don’t come back in an hour, or you hear I’ve been arrested, or had a vase fall on my head, get this as quick as you can to the majority leader, Senator Hogan.”
Ralph frowns, gives the envelope to Alec, the driver. “He’ll take care of it. I’m coming in with you, Director.”
She’s struck at the flow of emotion that just rushes through her, knowing Ralph is doing this out of pure duty, even though death or the end of his career is likely before the day is out.
“Thank you,” she says. “Jean, come along.”
She gets out of the Suburban, gives the other battered Suburban a quick look, thinking, Jesus, the paperwork that’s going to have to be filled out on that. A door opens at the West Wing and onto a Marine in full dress blues. Walking past him is Quinn Lawrence, President Barrett’s chief of staff. His gray suit is wrinkled and flaps around him like it’s two sizes too large, and he says, “Director Abrams, I’m still not sure the president will see you. He’s…he’s in a mood. Won’t see anybody, won’t take any phone calls.”
Hannah says, “Quinn, I know you’re having a rough day in a series of rough days. The chief of staff’s job is to protect the president at all costs, and right now, if you want to protect him, you’re going to let me in, along with my deputy director and my security officer.”
The chief of staff’s face is red and mottled. Hannah says, “A conflict is about to break out between China and the United States. I’m sure you’ve heard that their embassy and their consulates are burning their papers. That’s one hell of a signal that war is near. Quinn, please, do the right thing.”
He looks like he’s about to sob, and then shrugs. “Fine. Come in.”
Yes, Hannah thinks, we just might make it.
Might.
She follows him as they pass the Marine guard, who holds the door open. “Is he in his private office or the Oval Office?” she asks.
