A Sacred Storm (49 page)

“It could have been longer, but I've shaken off the worst. What about you? Have you managed to get any shuteye?”

“No. I haven't really tried to be honest. I've been too busy thinking about how to approach Christiano. He's in a very delicate state at the moment, and I really don't want to send him over the edge by saying the wrong thing.”

“Well, if anyone can help him it's you.”

Stratton gave a muted laugh. “I'm not so sure, Pat. My mind's all over the place, just like my body. I've tried every technique I know and I just can't quiet my thoughts. I'm suddenly remembering what it's like to be completely human again, and I'm not sure I like it.”

Cronin grabbed a bottle of water from the table and took a drink. “There is one good thing about all this,” he said. “I never thought I'd ever get to fly on Air Force One. It's certainly better than Ryan Air.” He looked at the empty chairs opposite. “What's happened to the others?” he asked.

“They've gone up to the war room to see what's happening around the world.”

“Aren't you interested?”

“Yeah, I am, but there's nothing I can do about it at the moment so I'm concentrating on what I can do.”

Cronin relaxed back in his chair. “Do you really think people are going to stop fighting? Do you think that the Muslims will follow Mackenzie's lead?”

“I hope so,” said Stratton. “For the sake of the world, I hope so.”

The plane banked to the right and far below them the bright lights of Rome came into view for the first time. Stratton fastened his seatbelt and shuffled to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The storm was about to break.

Generals Johnson and Perry were soldiers of the old guard and had over eighty years service between them. They had both fought in Vietnam as junior officers, and had risen through the ranks almost in tandem over the subsequent decades. They had seen administrations come and go, and wars won and lost, but whatever the campaign they had served their country with unimpeachable loyalty and valour. They loved the United States and the values it stood for with a passion bordering on obsession, and they were damn certain that nobody was going to let it be annihilated while they still had life in their respective bodies.

Perry checked the chamber of his ceremonial Colt 45 one last time and tucked it into its holster. Johnson did the same. They nodded silently to each other and walked out into the corridor and headed for the Oval Office.

Secret Service agent Bryn Byers watched casually as the two old Generals came towards him. The President hadn't mentioned they were on their way, but there was nothing suspicious about their presence with all that was happening. He turned to his partner who gave a small shrug.

“Hi, boys,” said Perry, with a friendly smile. “How's it going? I guess it's a bit mad with us old-timers in and out all afternoon.”

Bryn didn't get a chance to answer. The last thing he remembered was a flash of movement, a sharp pain in the side of his neck, and then a deep blackness.

Perry and Johnson opened the door and dragged the two unconscious agents through and out of sight.

“Not bad for a couple of oldies,” said Perry. “These youngsters just don't know their job nowadays.”

After securing and gagging the agents they opened the door of the Oval Office and strode in.

Mackenzie looked up from his desk in surprise. “Good evening, Generals,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Perry and Johnson reached for their weapons and pointed them simultaneously.

“It's more what you can do for us, Mr President. Or, more importantly, what you can do for your country.”

Mackenzie reached down for his panic button.

“Don't even think about it,” said Perry. “Keep your hands up and away from that desk. And don't think your little buddies outside will save you because they're having a little sleep.”

“What the hell is this, Perry?!” barked Mackenzie. “What do you think you're doing barging in here? I'm the goddamn President of the United States, for Christ's sake!”

“Well,” said Perry. “That's a matter of conjecture if you ask me. I don't know how you can call yourself that after what's happened. To me you're just a weak-minded piece of liberal shit who's letting his country down big-time.”

“Listen to me, General,” said Mackenzie. “I've made a decision based on what I know, and what I believe to be right – not just for the United States, but for the whole world. If you've got a problem with that, then talk to me about it. There's no need for all this heavy-handed bullshit.”

“The time for talking has gone,” said Perry. “Now is the time for action. You've made your position very clear, and so have we. The problem is that your position is going to get everyone killed, and we're just not going to allow it.”

“And you think holding me at gunpoint is going to make a difference?”

“That's what we're here to find out. If you play ball with us then nobody gets hurt. If not, then…”

“What exactly do you want?” asked Mackenzie.

“It's quite simple, Mr President – we want your security codes for a nuclear strike.”

“That's out of the question and you know it. There is no way on earth you're ever going to get those out of me. I don't care if you kill me.”

“Listen to me, Mr President. We get no joy out of having to resort to this, but I'm afraid you've left us no option. Unless we take action, within the next couple of hours we are going to be the victims of a large-scale nuclear attack. The Muslims are just watching and waiting to check that we really have stood down. Once they realize we have they're going to come at us like a biblical storm of vengeance. They don't care about peace with us, or sorting things out – they hate us, Mr President, they fucking hate us! The resentment's so deep in them that it can't be removed. As far as they're concerned the only solution is the complete and utter destruction of the West. And that is just not going to happen. Not on my watch.”

“I don't believe they will launch, General. I think the years have made you cynical. The days of warfare are over. This is a time for harmony. A time for peace.”

“Bullshit!” said Perry. “Absolute bullshit. Your not living in the real world anymore. You need to be declared incompetent. But as we don't have time for that, we have to do what we can. This peace you talk of is all in your head. We're at war, and we need to defend ourselves.”

“This is futile,” said Mackenzie. “I've already told you that I'm not going to give you my launch codes.”

“I think you might do with the right persuasion.”

“And what would that be?

“You'll find out soon.”

Perry and Johnson took seats opposite the President and kept their guns trained on him. Mackenzie kept still and wondered how long it would be before one of his other aides came calling.

A minute later the door opened and the President's wife and daughter walked in, closely followed by Colonel Sam Matthews with a gun at their backs. The young girl had tears in her eyes. Mackenzie was lost for words.

“So then, Mr President, I think you might want to reconsider giving me those codes,” said Perry.

“You wouldn't,” said Mackenzie.

“I would, and I will, unless you give me what I want. The safety of the whole nation's at stake here, not just a few people.”

Mackenzie looked to his family and then back to Perry. “Listen to me, General, there's no need to bring my family into this. They've done nothing wrong have they? So why hurt them?”

“The people of this country have done nothing wrong either, and yet you seem determined to put them in jeopardy.”

Mackenzie sighed. “I can't do it, General. I've made my decision and I will not be bullied into changing it.”

“Then I have no choice either,” said Perry. “Who goes first? You decide.” He moved his gun and aimed it at the girl. “Perhaps your daughter.”

Mackenzie searched Perry's eyes for a weakness; a sign of a bluff. But there was nothing, just cold, hard, determined steel. He had to make a choice. And whichever way he went he was going to lose.

It was nearing midnight and the corridors of the Vatican were cold and silent. Stratton followed Cronin and the two Swiss Guards, with Jennings and Stella close behind, the air thick with fear and uncertainty. Their every footstep clicked like a final countdown. Jennings looked across to Stella and attempted a smile, but it fell apart and his gaze dropped to the floor. He felt her hand gently squeeze his own.

The guards suddenly halted and put their arms out to stop the group from going any further. They raised their weapons. Up ahead the sound of quick and light feet drew closer. A few seconds later the distraught figure of Sophia Zola appeared and ran towards them, sobbing and seeking help.

Cronin pushed in front of the suspicious guards and reached out to comfort her. “Come now,” he said, holding her close. “What's happened, my child?”

“It's Christiano!” she bawled. “He's going crazy! I don't know what to do!”

“Don't worry,” said Cronin. “It'll be alright. We've come to help him.”

It took several minutes, but between them they eventually managed to calm her down and get a full picture. Christiano's state of mind had deteriorated rapidly since Stratton had tried to reason with him at the White House. Unable to cope with the heavy traffic gushing through his brain he had become increasingly irrational and unpredictable.

“He's removed the Pope and taken up residence in his quarters,” said Sophia. “Tomorrow he's going to declare himself the new head of the Church. He says they're all cheats and liars and that they need to be exposed for what they really are.”

“I can't argue with him there,” said Stratton.

“I know,” said Sophia. “But he's started to hurt people. I don't know what he did to the Pope, but he's lost all power of speech. He's almost like a vegetable. And the guards that were protecting him are all lying on the floor. I don't know whether they're dead or alive.”

“We must hurry,” said one of the guards. “We must stop him before he hurts anyone else.” He took the safety off his weapon and made to go.

“There's no point trying to overpower him,” said Stratton. “You'll never be able to do it. Whatever you do, he'll turn it against you.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” said the guard.

“We've got to try and talk to him,” said Stratton. “We've got to somehow try and get him to start reasoning again. He's lost and confused. He needs our help, not our animosity. Just take us to him and we'll do the rest.”

The guard shrugged and led them off towards the Pope's private rooms. In ordinary circumstances he would have paid no attention to the opinion of the interlopers, but not only was he wary of Christiano's power, he was also mindful of the fact that Vittori had given them instructions to do as commanded.

When they reached their destination Christiano was nowhere to be seen. A total of five Swiss Guards were out for the count in various positions, from slumped to spread-eagled. There was relief when their pulses were checked and found, although nothing seemed to be able to wake them. They located the Pope in a small ante-room and although he appeared to be awake they could get no decipherable words from him. He sat on a chair murmuring and repeatedly making the sign of the cross on his chest.

“Will he be okay?” asked Sophia. “Is there nothing you can do for him?”

“I don't know,” said Jennings. “Can we do anything, Stratton?”

“I don't think there's anything I can do at the moment,” said Stratton. “I've got no power flowing at all. I think he'll be okay though. He might just be in shock.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Stella. “Where's Christiano gone?”

One of the guards picked up his radio and made an open call to his remaining team, asking for any sightings of the Messiah. A few seconds later he received a reply. He turned to Cronin with a furrowed brow. “He's in the basilica.”

Grady followed Greg Albany through the door into the waiting room next to the Oval Office. There was no sign of the secretary, but a pair of motionless feet were poking out from behind her desk. Albany peered over to find the two incapacitated Secret Service agents.

“What the fuck is this?” he murmured to himself.

Grady reached down and released the gags and tried to bring the agents round.

“Fuck that,” said Albany. “Let's get next door.”

Grady looked up a him and shook his head. “We don't know what's going on, Greg. It's best to get some information first.”

“We haven't got time for that,” said Albany. “Grab their guns – we're going in.”

Grady shrugged and removed the agents' weapons and handed one to Albany. They approached the Oval Office carefully. There was no way of hearing anything through the thick soundproofed door, so their only option was to storm in blind. Albany closed his palm over the handle and took a breath. He turned to Grady who gave him the nod. In one lightning movement he dropped the handle and thrust through the door.

Grady held back for an instant taking in the scene, and then followed his friend through. Perry and Johnson shot round and levelled their weapons at the intruders.

“Drop them!” commanded Perry.

Grady and Albany raised their guns and held fast.

“No, General,” Albany said flatly. “You drop them.”

“Give it up, Greg,” said Perry. “You're outnumbered three to one. One word from me and Matthews here goes to work.” He nodded towards the Colonel who now had his gun aimed at the President.

“He hasn't got a prayer,” said Albany. “He'll be dead before you hit the ground.”