America's Trust (19 page)

“It only came to our attention a couple of months ago and to be frank, it was not particularly relevant. The old tyrant was well out of the picture by then.”

“So where does that leave us?” asked Kenneth nervously.

“On the brink,” said Jack, looking out across the lawn and towards D.C. “On the brink,” he repeated ominously.

The Kremlin, Moscow

Thursday July 2
^nd

4:30 a.m. Local Time

Ilya looked at his watch and considered staying the night. It was a thirty-minute ride home to his wife in the suburbs of Moscow at their official residence in Novo-Ogaryovo. His apartment in the Kremlin was ready and waiting. The bed he sorely needed was just steps away. He checked his watch again. He needed to get home. After the day he had had, he needed to see her. He was sure she had heard nothing of the incident with the prime minister and the prostitutes but if she had, he wanted to face the music sooner rather than later. All in all, it had probably been the worst day of both his presidency
and
his life. A lonely bed was the last place he wanted to be.

“Gregor, the car please?” he instructed his personal bodyguard.

“Yes, Mr. President,” snapped Gregor, relaying the request into his mouthpiece.

Ilya looked at the door leading to his private apartment and reconsidered. He would get an extra hour’s sleep there. With everything that was going on and the situation facing his country, could he really afford to take the luxury of going home to his wife? He signaled to Gregor.

The generals have left the building

He checked the message as the cell pinged its arrival. He was good to go. He checked the view 50,000 feet below. The target was lit up as promised. He flicked the switch and the bomb bay doors opened beneath him. The rotary system spun around as the GBU-28 bunker buster laser guided bomb readied itself for deployment.

Major Lee Marr paused for a second, reconsidering his actions. He was still traumatized by the killing of his co-pilot, a friend over the last five years. Dead by his hand. He would have dearly loved to have used his pistol but it had been made very clear that there could be no risks. A bullet could blow clean through the body or head and the aircraft’s fuselage. It had meant that Major Marr had had to slit his friend’s throat. He had tried his best to make it clean and quick but when it came to knives, there really wasn’t a quick or clean way. The final minute of his friend’s life had seemed like hours to Marr. The sound of the blood gurgling in his friend’s throat was a sound that would live with him until his dying day. The look of sheer horror was burned into his retinas.

He pressed the ‘release’ button and a 5,000lb bomb dropped effortlessly beneath him. Compared to what he had done to his friend, that had been easy, although the repercussions were far, far greater.

The bomb bay doors closed beneath him, and Major Marr turned the flying wing and headed back West. Nobody could see him; his radar signal was so weak that even his own forces couldn’t keep track of him, never mind the far less advanced Russians. He prepared himself for the next phase of his mission. It wasn’t every day you had to crash a $2.1 billion dollar piece of kit. The US Air Force was about to lose its second B2 Spirit bomber.

President Jack King had had enough for the day and headed back to his private residence. He kicked off his shoes, grabbed a beer and slumped into the sofa in his study. He stared at the column. Was it really only twenty-four hours ago that he had ventured out? Twenty-four hours that had taken the nation from peace to the brink of war.
Twenty-four hours
. How was that possible? How could the world change so dramatically in such a short period? He had little doubt the Russian president was being honest. Chernov had little to gain from a war with America. However, the military in Russia and the old KGB guard were an entirely different breed. They had their own agendas. It was the first time in the day he had had a chance to think things through; it really had been one thing after another.

A knock at his door resulted in an impromptu and unwelcome visit from Kenneth Lee.

“Mr. President, I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

“What is it, Kenneth?” replied Jack, struggling even to attempt to hide his frustration.

“Mr. Young has been on again with regard to The Future Leaders’ program.”

Did Kenneth really think that after everything that had happened that day Jack would give a shit about a few students getting a tour? The look on his face had obviously conveyed just that as Kenneth quickly added, “I really do apologize, but he is being annoyingly persistent.”

“When is it scheduled for?” asked Jack exasperatedly. He really didn’t care.

“It’s always the first Saturday in July.”

“That’s the fourth isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Jack considered the request. He was a huge fan of the program and was due to give the opening speech by videoconference the following day. He had also been reminded that this was the highlight of the program. The Future Leaders spent the day in conference with the Trust’s senior executives at the Trust’s training camp before touring behind the scenes at various government buildings. They were given unrestricted access to areas that members of the public never got to see.

“Where do they go again?”

“Here, the Capitol, the Pentagon.” Kenneth began to list the various tour locations. “Mount Weather…” he paused, watching Jack nod.

“Fine, fine. The last thing I need to be bothered about is Roger Young kicking off with everything else that’s happening.”

“
I’ll let him know,” said Kenneth, hiding his relief. He hadn’t had to list Raven Rock or Cheyenne, two areas he knew the president would have baulked at, given the current military standing.

“If that’s all, I really would like some time alone. Please send in Frank as you leave.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Kenneth, quickly heading out of the apartment before Jack changed his mind. It was only as he neared the end of the corridor, 20 yards beyond Frank, that he remembered Jack’s request.

Kenneth called back to the Secret Service Agent guarding the president’s rooms. “Frank, he wants to see you!”

Frank waved a hand in acknowledgment, then lightly knocked and opened Jack’s door. “You wanted to see me, Mr. President?” he asked, gingerly walking through the bedroom and into Jack’s study.

“Yes, I just wanted to say that I don’t want to be disturbed for the next few hours. I need some sleep. So unless war actually does break out, nobody disturbs me.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The door closed behind Frank, and Jack finally relaxed. Frank would die rather than let his president down. With a direct order not to be disturbed, a war was exactly what would have to happen before Frank would let a living soul through the door.

The column, Tom Butler and the Trust all flooded into Jack’s mind at once.

Beware the Trust.

The Trust. America’s Trust.
America’s savior, America’s future
. At least that was their strapline on every ad they ran, and they ran lots of ads. It was hard to argue with. What they had achieved in less than three years was staggering. The power grid was networked nationwide, as well as the nation’s water supply. Construction of a new ultra-high-speed train network was underway that would revolutionize travel in the USA. America, for the first time, boasted the world’s best communications, with average household broadband speeds in the hundreds of mb/s. Agricultural produce was booming, as the Trust invested heavily in new farming equipment and research.

Militarily, the US, which was already head and shoulders above its rivals, had just completed the most ever comprehensive upgrade to its equipment. Every piece of equipment had been overhauled and computer systems and guidance systems upgraded to enhance and improve every area of measurable performance. Ships, planes and automobiles were faster and more fuel efficient, while weapons became even more accurate. Even the basic assault rifle had been overhauled. The M4 was out and the all new HK416-based M4S was in. Microchip technology ensured only the soldier who was programmed to use it could fire the gun.

Personally, Jack thought the personalized weapon programming was a little too far. However, reports had proved that over the course of the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts, over five hundred US troops had died by US assault rifles. The new system would mean those troops would still be alive. It was a hard argument to fight. Who wouldn’t want those men back alive? Although he couldn’t help thinking they’d have probably died at the hands of an AK-47 anyway.

Whatever the case, he was Commander in Chief of the most powerful force ever conceived. The fact that his predecessors could have boasted the same was irrelevant, he’d been told. The power of his forces far outweighed those of even three years earlier. After trillions of dollars of investment, he could now command his forces to do what they needed to do with a 5.63% greater efficiency. It had been a rather underwhelming statistic. However, the far more meaningful one for him, and it seemed less of a headline for the bean counters, was that this in turn led to a 15% reduction in killed or wounded US personnel.

With the largest mobilization of troops in modern history underway, this was a welcome but still sobering thought. Western Europe was about to become a militarized zone. Jets full of young soldiers were flying non-stop across the Atlantic. Boatloads of equipment were being prepped and disembarking to shore up the already overwhelming US forces. He hoped and prayed it would all be for nothing. Common sense said that itself; the Russians were in no position to go to war with the Americans.

Jack took a swig of his beer and surveyed the column. How had he made it work? He thought back to the previous evening with a clear mind. Trying to work this out the previous evening while still intoxicated had not proved particularly useful. He stood and walked to where he had been when it had appeared, three feet in front of the column. Nothing. He had been doing some stretches, he remembered, because his back had been bothering him. He placed his feet apart and stretched forward and down, touching the floor between his legs. Nothing happened. He stood up, his feet moving slightly. An almost indiscernible click happened beneath them. Nothing else happened. He racked his brain, what had he done the previous night? He had lost his balance and fallen forward.

He fell forward and stopped his fall with both hands in front of him pushing against the column. The column gave slightly as he pushed himself back upright. It was a slightly awkward move but had it not been, it wouldn’t have been a secret. The column spun slowly around and revealed the small escape capsule to the real world outside. Before he moved, he took note of exactly where his feet were. The release mechanism was obviously very precise. His two feet had to be at a specific location before the column was released and only with a push could he reveal the capsule.

All he needed to work out now was how to get rid of it. He looked inside, all that was visible was a small wheel, the one he had turned to hoist himself back up the previous night, and a lever. The lever, he remembered, was the reason he had descended. He had pushed it down and the capsule had spun back around taken him down to the tunnel.
That’s right,
he thought,
I didn’t have to use the wheel to go down and it was very little effort to wind me back up.
The whole system must have worked on some type of weights and pulley system. The lever locked the mechanism and stopped the capsule from going back down, albeit smoothly and slowly. Excellent, he had it all worked out. At least in theory; he just needed to check it in practice. He climbed into the capsule and tentatively grasped the lever. It was probably nearly seventy years old and Jack wasn’t the lightest president there had ever been. He certainly was a damned sight bigger than Harry S. Truman.

The first sign of trouble for Frank was the vision of Kenneth Lee almost tripping over himself barreling towards him.

“I need to see the president!” he exclaimed as he neared Frank with no intention of stopping.

Frank stepped forward, towering over Kenneth.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, nobody is allowed to disturb him.”

Kenneth screeched to a halt and just managed to avoid a collision with Frank that would have been equivalent to a mini truck hitting a semi.

“Seriously, Frank, I don’t have time for this! We have a major problem.” He tried to step around Frank but he wasn’t moving.

“Are we at war?”

“Come again?” asked Kenneth.

“That’s the only way you’re getting in there, president’s orders.”