America's Trust (36 page)

Eventually, an older gentleman marched towards the door. His demeanor was not welcoming. Dressed in full military regalia, he somewhat surprised Swanson.

“Where are we?’ she whispered.

“The NEX,” replied Butler pointing to the sign. Swanson shrugged. “The Navy Exchange.”

“We’re closed, what do you want?” asked the man irritably.

Butler snapped to attention, startling Swanson and barked while saluting. “Sergeant Major Mike Butler, United States Marine Corps, requesting your assistance, sir!”

The old Marine opened the door. “Serial number?”

Butler gave him the number. The Marine closed the door again and locked it. He then walked across to a computer terminal.

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” she asked.

“Just wait, we’ll be fine.”

“He’s dead. Your brother’s dead, right?”

“Technically, he’s MIA. His body was never found.”

Butler watched as his brother’s details came up on the screen, not that he could see it through the glass door. He could just see the old man’s demeanor change. A sense of pride flooded through him. His brother was a genuine hero, a brother he was immensely proud of.

The old man almost ran to open the door for them. “It’s an honor and a privilege, Sergeant Major,” he said, holding open the door.

“Thank you,” said Butler, waving Swanson in before him.

“Your record still says MIA, but it’s you in the picture all right!” he said smiling at them for the first time.

“They promised me they had sorted that out, it’s some sort of default glitch in the system. I can’t tell you the problems it causes me,” Butler bemoaned.

“So how can I help?” he asked.

“Our airline has lost our luggage and we’re going to meet the president tonight.”

“Well you damned well came to the right place and you just caught me. I only popped in to pick up a replacement for the Commander whose wife just burnt his dress whites. Can you believe he lets his wife iron his dress whites?”

“Marine evening dress, Sergeant Major, coming up,” he said, rushing off.

Butler winced, that wasn’t going to help. “It’s more of an afternoon event, I was thinking just blue dress?”

“Hmm, well whatever you say, 34 long and 44 regular?” he asked, sizing Butler up.

“Yes, and can we have the same for the Sergeant?” he asked. The old man paused about to ask for her serial number. “We’re in a massive rush.”

He shrugged and guessed Swanson’s size to the inch, including her cup size.

“That’s impressive,” she said, as he scurried off to find their clothes. “So why am I junior to you?”

Butler simply smiled and infuriatingly didn’t humor her with an answer.

The old man was probably the most experienced tailor in the service. Given that they were in the heart of Washington and it was the busiest NEX for dress uniforms in the forces, that was no great surprise.

Although the uniforms fit like gloves, the old man made a few very quick tweaks. He emphasized they would be temporary and to come back on Monday when he could do a more permanent job. The extra fifteen minutes he took tweaking them was time well spent. The uniforms were exceptional and looked tailor made.

As he struggled to place the cap on Butlers’ head, the old man sighed. “There’s a barber just a few blocks from here that will sort that mess out,” he said, referring to Butler’s expensive haircut.

“No time. But if you’ve got a razor, I’m happy for you to do a high and tight,” replied Butler.

The old man walked across the shop floor and disappeared down one of the aisles, returning with a set of clippers. “Thirty-five bucks okay?” he asked referring to the price of the clippers.

Butler nodded and the old man gave him exactly what he asked for, a ‘high and tight’, shaving him almost to the scalp at the sides and leaving a little more on top.

He smiled as the cap fit neatly on top of Butler’s sheared head. “Perfect,” said the old man. He looked across at Swanson. “You make a lovely couple.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Swanson as they exited the NEX. “Just walk into the White House because we look the part?”

“Not quite. This just gets us near there, it doesn’t get us in,” he replied. “I’ve not quite worked that part out yet.”

“The first wave of missiles struck the air base,” explained the secretary as Jack watched the footage on the television. “It took out four F-22 Raptors that were scrambling. The debris and damage caused effectively shut off the runway to the rest of the squadron.”

The screen cut to the harbor. The footage followed three missiles as they smashed into the side of a cruiser that sat tied to the docks. Its phalanx guns had knocked out two of the missiles as they had sped, barely skimming the water, towards it. The camera panned around. Explosions and fires were everywhere across the harbor. Four boats listed dangerously while another two had simply sunk on the spot, their towers and masts poking through the surface of the water.

The camera panned up towards the sound of jets. They weren’t American jets. “Russian SU-33s we believe,” said the secretary. “At least, that’s what they look like. They’re coated in an advanced stealth material. Our radars couldn’t detect them until it was too late. It’s beyond the best we have.”

“Have we not learned anything?” fumed Jack. “How can this have happened!”

The footage that had been sent to every television network earlier in the day began to play. The Russian aircraft carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov, cruising past the Midway Islands suddenly made sense to every reporter who had received a copy. It explained perfectly how Russian fighter jets had appeared as if from nowhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to repeat what the Japanese had done over seventy years before - bomb Pearl Harbor and start a war.

“What do you want us to do, Mr. President? We have a number of options,” asked the secretary, realizing the time for explanation was over.

“They managed to launch their missiles before we knew they were there?” He couldn’t comprehend how they had managed it. He understood stealth technology well enough but he also knew how good their own systems were.

“They used a commercial flight path and flew directly beneath a 747 inbound to Honolulu. It seems a new system being tried had had some glitches and they thought it was just the 747 with a haze or something.”

“Or fucking something? What the hell are we doing trialing stuff when we’re almost at war!” shouted Jack, causing Frank to rush into the room. He caught sight of the screen and radioed for back up.

Jack waved him away. “What system?’

“A new system from…” the secretary paused as he was informed at the other end.

“A Trust company?” asked Jack before he could answer.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Beware the Trust
.

“So what should we do, Mr. President?” prompted the Secretary of Defense.

“Strike back ten times harder! Tell Admiral Keeler to teach them a lesson in power. Meanwhile, put some options together for surgical air strikes. I’ll be in the Situation Room in five minutes.”

Kenneth rushed in as the president gave his orders. On hearing their conversation, he hit ‘Send’ on a message he had pre-typed on his cell.

“Mr. President, Pearl Harbor, the Russians…” he puffed breathlessly. Jack nodded, stopping him.

Frank looked at Kenneth. He had noticed him in the hallway waiting outside the door. Frank knew he had heard everything that had just happened, yet put on a show for the president. He walked slightly closer to the president. Something didn’t sit right.

Jack’s cell rang. U
nknown Number.
It was Ilya.

“It wasn’t us, Jack!” Ilya screamed desperately. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Ilya, we’ve got all the evidence--” Jack was interrupted as his door burst open and two Secret Service agents struggled to pin down a young Navy officer on the ground before him.

“I must speak to the president!” screamed the officer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President, he just rushed past us,” apologized one of the agents.

Jack didn’t know what to deal with first, the Russian president who had just declared war on the United States, or the Navy officer, who he recognized as one of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs’ young aides fighting for his life with the Secret Service at his feet.

Before he could decide, ten students appeared at the door to his Yellow Oval Room, a room in which he had always felt most relaxed.

Jack looked at the group and didn’t recognize anyone. “Where’s Lauren Swann?” he asked, surprised Joan had sent the wrong group. Why that was his first thought, he didn’t know.

“What is it, son?” He looked down at the naval officer.

“It’s bullshit, sir! It’s all bullshit!” he gasped, trying desperately to get his breath back.

A young woman stepped forward from the group. “I’m Lauren,” she announced.

“What’s bullshit?” he asked of the Navy officer. He turned to the girl he most certainly didn’t recognize. “Lauren Swann?” he asked.

Meanwhile Ilya was pleading in his ear. “Please, Jack! Don’t do anything stupid, it wasn’t us, we can prove--”

“The Kuznetsov, it wasn’t where they said it was, it can’t have been. It’s at its home base, Severomorsk. Nearly seven thousand miles from Pearl Harbor. They’ve shrouded it in secrecy because it can’t even sail, we only just received the report and images from intelligence,” blurted the naval officer.

With everything else going on, Kenneth stepped forward and handed Jack another cell.

He looked at the cell and with his mind racing, he took it, while the girl was saying yes she was Lauren Swann. But she couldn’t be. She wasn’t American. She wasn’t the girl from the videoconference.

Jack expected it to be the Secretary of Defense, or someone in the cabinet.

“Mr. President,” said a familiar voice.

“Mr. President, could you just give me a second,” Jack said to Ilya, not sure why Kenneth would think a call of support or condolence from an ally would be appropriate with everything else that was going on at that precise moment.

Before he could think, another naval officer rushed into the room. He was one of the watch commanders who Jack recognized.

“Mr. President, we have detected multiple missile launches, over four hundred--”

“Nuclear?” Jack asked urgently.

“But, sir! It’s not Russia! It’s the--” the new officer was interrupted by the officer on the floor.

“The Kuznetsov has an identical sister ship, it’s the Liaoning and it’s--”

Jack didn’t need to hear any more, it all made perfect sense.

He returned to the cell Kenneth had handed him. “Mr. President,” he said, all warmth drained from his voice.

“Chinese!” said both Naval officers and the president of Russia who was still on Jack’s cell. Lauren Swann was also Chinese, just like the rest of her group, the point Joan had tried to make in a politically correct manner earlier.

“Good bye, Mr. President,” announced President Junpeng of China.

After passing their fourth policeman very carefully, it became apparent that they were not on high alert for a man and a woman.

“
They’re not looking for us anymore,” announced Butler.

“They must think we died,” replied Swanson.

“No, it’s far worse than that,” replied Butler doubling his speed. “They don’t care. The Trust knows we didn’t die, it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

Swanson stopped. “So if they think there’s nothing we can do, why are we going to get ourselves killed?”

“Because we can’t give up, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged. He was right, she’d never forgive herself for not trying to do something, no matter how futile.

The nearer they got to the White House, the more the murmur grew until a few screams began to cry out amongst the crowd that was gathering. A news van had a screen displaying its station’s broadcast.
‘Pearl harbor attacked’
scrolled across the screen beneath the footage of the attack.

Jack broke into a sprint. Swanson was once again struggling to keep up. He raced past the road to the White House and towards the Dana Center where they had first met.

“I thought that was useless?” she called after him.

“Perhaps, but the White House will be in lockdown. There’s absolutely no way we’ll get in any other way.”

On reaching the Dana Center, he hit every buzzer available until someone buzzed him in, which gave Swanson time to catch up. She grabbed the doorframe and gasped for air.

Butler was off and running as soon as the door opened and hit the stairs to the first floor, much to Swanson’s surprise.