Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

The sharp-eyed cameraman then had zoomed in instantly to catch a long, black-and-white-striped missile rise majestically from the frothing ocean. There was a puff of smoke and the missile rose on a column of smoke and fire. It headed straight up at first, then arched back to the northwest over the beach.

The camera panned down to witness people on the beach pause in their frolicking and late summer sunbathing to shield eyes and stare up at the missile that was soaring high overhead. When the camera went back to the mysterious rocket, it was already shrinking to a mere point of light on a long finger of smoke, racing toward some unknown destination.

Harold put a hand to his face and rubbed away the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. His secure phone chirped in his pocket. He recognized the tune. It was Reginald.

He ripped the phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. “What the fuck did you do?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

There was a long silence before the neutral-accented, supremely confident voice of Reginald came on the line. “We did what had to be done for the plan to succeed. You are quite welcome, by the way.”

“Don’t you dare tell me that, you son of a bitch, you murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent Americans!”

There was a polite chuckle. “Mr. Vice President, I did no such thing. Not even my countrymen did this deed. No, if any one person is responsible for this deed, it is you.”

“Me? Screw you—”

“If calling me names will make you feel better, then by all means, curse away, Mr. Vice President. But remember, it was the codes that you gave me—”

“That was for getting your people inside the country, so you could release your damn flu. The flu, Reginald! I never agreed to…to…Jesus,” the Vice President said, watching the mushroom cloud spread over Atlanta again.

“On the contrary, you did precisely that. We used the codes you gave us to…ah…gain entry, so to speak, to certain number of your defense institutions. It wasn’t as big a window as we would have liked, but it will suffice. A few messages here, a few instructions there. When your own submarine went rogue and launched a nuclear missile—”

“What are you talking about? Nobody went rogue. That missile couldn’t have come from an American sub.” His mind raced with possibilities. Had a sub captain been turned by Reginald, too? “It’s impossible,” he said again, less convinced than ever.

“Well, I certainly did not launch it. Did you receive warning that a foreign submarine had entered your territorial waters? I hear you have quite the state-of-the-art fleet protecting your shores these days. The reports I’m seeing on the news seem to indicate it was an American Trident-class missile, so the experts say…”

An American sub launched a missile that destroyed Atlanta? How the hell could that have happened? There was no way a sub captain would willingly destroy an American city like that. It couldn’t possibly happen. Reginald had to have tricked the sub into launching…but he would need—the codes.

Oh my God. If they can do that…

“Remember, Mr. Vice President, this was necessary for the good of—”

“What? You think destroying an American city and killing half a million innocent people—” The room started spinning. When would the next missile fly? Who would be the target? Did he just start World War Three? The room started to spin around him faster.

“Oh my God,” he said in a shaky voice. He quietly threw up all over the carpet.

“Mr. Vice President?” asked Reginald’s voice from the discarded cell phone on the carpet next to the weeping Vice President. “Remember, this is the only way for you to achieve your goals, for you to save your country. Half a million died today, a million will die tomorrow, ten million next week. It doesn’t matter, because nearly 250 million will survive to see the future. Because of you. You knew this was the cost—the cost for saving your country.”

The Vice President moaned softly, his mind reeling. Oh God…250 million people? That’s only half the country’s population!

“Too high,” he muttered, blindly groping for the phone. He lay on his back, eyes closed, and put the phone to his head again. “I can’t do this…” he whispered, hands shaking.

Reginald laughed, a hollow, soulless sound that sent chills down the Vice President’s spine. “My dear man, you are in too deep now to be getting cold feet. There is no turning back. Remember, you are saving your country this day. Saving it.” There was a pregnant pause. “Do not make me regret my choice in you, Mr. Vice President. You are not the only one with a lot on the line.” The thinly veiled threat pierced the Vice President’s melancholy like a lightning bolt splitting a dark night. “I would hate to see your children suffer…”

Harold Barron opened his red eyes and stared at the ceiling, seeing his little girl’s face before him. “What have I done?” he asked the empty room.

“You have done all we asked. You have done all that was required of you. And now, you need to focus on running your country.”

“What are you talking about? I’m in my bunker.” He looked around, nearly delirious with guilt. The plush carpet, the paintings, the books with gilded edges, the alcohol. People were going to start dying. People had already died. His people.

“The President is still in charge. I’m just—”

“The President will be dead by Monday.”

Harold sat up, for the first time smelling the vomit that smeared his shirt. “That wasn’t supposed to—”

“I know. It’s shocking. The virus strain that was released has proven to be a bit more…aggressive…than even my employers expected. Believe you me, it put a crimp in our plans, too. But, that is to be expected in situations such as this, is it not? Sadly our friend the President chose to continue his campaign stops in California this week and has come down with the flu. Quite tragic.”

“Oh my God,” breathed Harold. “How do you know?”

Reginald chuckled. “I have my sources. The President is only a matter of minutes from being admitted to a hospital in Los Angeles.”

“But, surely they’d fly him to Andrews or some other base—”

“Sadly, the President’s condition is too critical for transport. His inner circle is trying to get him stabilized first. I believe he will not leave that hospital. As I said the last time we spoke, the President has set himself up quite nicely. So! Our timeline is stepped forward. This time next week, you will likely be the President of the United States. Your economy will begin to collapse and my friends at the United Nations will invite themselves to your country to stabilize the global financial network. You must be ready to welcome them with open arms in the cause of peace.”

“I…this can’t be happening…no…”

“Relax, my friend. There is nothing to worry about. We just discovered some information that may complicate things, but it will be handled.”

“What? Complicated? How much more fucking complicated can this all get?” asked the Vice President, fear suddenly making his heart hammer in his chest. What city was next? New York? How many millions more would die because of him?

“I should not tell you this…” Reginald paused. “But you are nervous and rattled, and I am sympathetic. Perhaps I am too friendly with you. Some of my colleagues tell me, ‘Reginald, you care too much.’ But that is me. All heart.”

The Vice President frowned but held his tongue. He nearly broke the phone in a death grip. The arrogance of this little—

“This information will hopefully renew your somewhat shaken confidence as you come to understand the depth of our reach. A mid-level scientist at the now-defunct CDC may have figured out what we are about. He contacted a certain man that, thanks to the codes you provided, we have determined to be a part of your elite special forces. I believe you call them SEALs. Such a silly name, for a highly overrated military force,” Reginald chuckled.

“This SEAL and his comrades will be dealt with, as will your president. Do not worry. Whatever he knows will die with him. And as for your president…my employers will handle him if the flu doesn’t.”

“If someone knows about this…if they find out I had anything…oh my God…” The world was closing in on him. A sudden tightening in his chest was restricting his breathing. “What…what are you going to do?

“Mr. Vice President. Calm yourself,” Reginald crooned smoothly. “The situation will be handled. By the time you go to bed tomorrow, you will be the President of the United States. I want you to relax, Mr. Vice President—I can still hear your breathing. My colleagues covered their tracks. No one will ever be able to trace the codes used to bring such ruin on your country back to you. I assure you, the only people who know the truth are my employers and yourself. Now, I know just what you need. Go and clean yourself up—”

The Vice President looked around in a panic. How did Reginald know he had thrown up? There had to be a camera in here. How damn far did Reginald’s influence go? He got up, not listening to the man who controlled his destiny anymore. He pulled some books off a bookshelf and tossed them on the floor, searching.

“When you have finished wasting your time looking for a camera, I think you will be pleasantly surprised by what you actually find…”

“What?” he asked. The Vice President noticed a faint but achingly familiar scent was circulating within the recycled air of his bunker under the Naval Observatory. The phone forgotten, he inhaled deeply, soaking up the fragrance.

Jayne.