America's Trust (39 page)

Another standing ovation and round of applause supported President Junpeng’s speech. A signal from an aide indicated he was needed. He excused himself and walked to his office soaking up the continuing applause.

A call from Roger Young awaited him.

“Roger? Congratulations, your side of the plan has been executed with exceptional precision.”

“Thank you, Mr. President, although I’m afraid I have one update. Apparently Kenneth Lee’s report of success was a little premature.”

“What exactly was premature?” he asked, the danger in his voice palpable to Roger.

“Well firstly, I should let you know that Kenneth has been a casualty of his error. He was shot by President King as he escaped from the White House.”

The line remained silent for some time. Finally, President Junpeng, who had just informed his cabinet and generals that the Americans were leaderless, spoke.

“Give me the Colonel,” he said ominously.

Roger passed the phone to the Colonel, who was also in the command center and.

“You are in control,” President Junpeng said to him. “Do not end up as Roger Young is about to. Do you understand?”

The Colonel withdrew his pistol and placed it against Roger’s quivering forehead. He fired. The shot echoed through the line.

“Excellent, General Petlin. I see we’re on the same page, no time to waste,” concluded President Junpeng. “Find him and kill him!”

“Yes, Mr. President,” replied the Colonel with a smile, realizing he had just been promoted. General Petlin, like his brother Ivan, was Chinese born of Chinese parents on the Northeast Russian-Chinese border, only a river separated the two halves of the town that they had grown up in. For purely economic reasons, their parents had chosen the north side to raise their children but had never forgotten their true homeland. Just as Mikhail had not on Russia’s fall to capitalism. His Russian sounding name was the only part of him not Chinese.

Replacing the handset, his aide indicated there was another call waiting. President Junpeng lifted the line.

“Mr. President?” said Ilya Chernov, the Russian president.

“Mr. President,” replied Junpeng.

“You must be thinking you’re so clever just now,” spat Ilya angrily.

Junpeng smiled; he was feeling far more than clever.

“Other crazy dictators have underestimated us before,” Ilya said menacingly.

“I wouldn’t know what you mean,” replied Junpeng, not willing to admit to everything just yet.

“You won’t be feeling quite so smug shortly!” Ilya said before hanging up.

President Junpeng, now the most powerful man in the world, sat infuriated with the phone in his hand. He walked back into the cabinet office, putting the call from the Russian president down to nothing more than bluster. It was chaos when he walked in.

The heads of the Navy, Army and Air Force were talking furiously on phones while the rest of the cabinet looked on in despair.

“What’s happened?” he asked his prime minister.

“The Liaoning has been sunk.”

Junpeng fell into his seat. Their aircraft carrier, the pride of their Navy, over 3,000 men served on her. She would have been welcomed as a hero of the nation on her return from the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

“But how? The American systems have been disabled. They couldn’t have, none of their armaments will work, no?” He looked to his men for confirmation.

“It was the Russians, one of their subs.”

Junpeng was furious. “You told me that couldn’t happen!” he shouted, losing his cool. “You told me the Russian Navy was a joke and only the Americans posed a real threat to us!”

It was true, the Chinese Navy had grown into the world’s second greatest Navy, dwarfing the ability of the aging and ill-funded Russian Navy. However, their subs were still amongst the quietest in the world and it just needed a little bit of luck, which is all the Russians had to bag the boat that landed them in a war with NATO, which added a whole heap of determination.

Junpeng quickly calmed down. It was a minimal loss for the gains of the day. Losing the Liaoning in exchange for having America in the palm of his hands was not a bad trade. And the Russians knew that.

“I’m afraid there’s more, Mr. President,” ventured the prime minister nervously.

“The Russians didn’t give up on the arctic runway as we anticipated when the Americans attacked them. In fact, they significantly upped their efforts in the area.”

“How many of our transports have we lost?” he sighed.

“More than half. Along with most of their fighter support.”

Junpeng was stunned. “That’s over fifteen thousand men.”

“It gets worse. They took out one of our Tang class submarines that was stationed on the island.”

Junpeng couldn’t believe it. Everything had been going so perfectly. The Tang was their largest submarine, their nuclear missile sub. It had been reconfigured as a fuel station for the transport aircraft that would reinforce the Colonel’s East Coast troops. They had spent weeks building the runway in total secrecy. Its discovery was a setback, but with the Russians being attacked in the West, they believed it was still a viable option. In any event, over one hundred fighter aircraft were to accompany the transports in the event the Russians had left a few fighters in the area. They had obviously left a lot more than his military men had expected. Ilya had been right, he
was
feeling a little less smug. However, with a population of over 1.5 billion, the loss of fifteen to twenty thousand men was nothing. He’d trade a hundred times that and more for the prize that awaited him.

A blast from above told them that their Chinese pursuers were not giving up the chase easily.

Swanson jumped as the explosion reverberated down the shaft, shaking the metal capsule wildly. “What the fuck was that?”

“Mr. President, I really think we should get moving,” Butler advised, realizing just how vulnerable they were in the tunnel. Frank was already pushing Jack ahead of him.

Butler grabbed Swanson and likewise ushered her along the tunnel.

“Why the panic?” she asked, seeing it in Butler’s eyes. “It’ll take them a while to get through the capsule and into the tunnel. It’s a good distance to have to get down.”

“You’re assuming they’ll come after us with guns,” replied Butler, ushering her faster.

Swanson realized the urgency. They could drop explosives down the shaft and destroy the tunnel instantly. She sped up. Butler was soon being pulled by Swanson rather than having to push her.

“But where would they get them?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t an option.

Butler pointed ahead to Frank racing the president forward. “I’d guess from Frank’s reaction, the Service had some somewhere in the White House, probably blasting explosives in case the president became trapped. Just keep running!”

As they neared the exit ladder, they began to ease back slightly. Even if the Chinese did drop explosives down the shaft, at that distance, it was unlikely to bury them alive, which had been their worst fear.

Frank went up first and, checking the apartment was clear, ushered up the president to join him. Swanson followed, with Butler bringing up the rear.

Butler unceremoniously grabbed the president’s very expensive hairpiece and handed him his shades. The least they could do was cover his appearance. He suggested Swanson remove her Marine dress jacket, as he had, before venturing out onto the streets. They had to keep as low a profile as possible until they knew what the real situation was. With the others moving out into the corridor, Butler moved back into the apartment, returning a couple of seconds later looking rather pleased with himself.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking the pistol from Swanson and leading the way from the building and out on to the Washington streets with Frank covering the rear.

With a wall of people facing him, he almost turned back. However, the explosion from the apartment above dictated his course.

“What the hell was that?” asked Frank, pushing Jack away from the explosion behind them.

Butler smiled. “I may have accidently left the gas on. And a match attached to the trap door. We’d better get going in case it doesn’t stop them.”

“
Wait,” said Jack, pausing before they left the building. “Call me Jake if you need to address me,” he said, referring to the name his mother used for him. They all nodded awkwardly; they were conditioned that his name was Mr. President, and anything else just didn’t feel right.

Butler pushed out into the crowd and created a gap for the rest to follow.

Jack was nervous as they made their way through the mass of people. Being spotted would not do the already panicking crowd’s confidence any good. Fortunately, his balding head, complete with bloodied wound and shades were doing the trick. He was being bounced around by the swell, just like everyone else. Frank’s face was a picture as he tried desperately to keep the president safe while not alerting anyone to his presence.

“
We’re just a block away from a better view,” said Butler, holding Swanson’s hand and pulling her with him.

The view was not better, certainly not to Butler. The White House was surrounded by a wall of armor and heavily armed soldiers in full riot gear.

On seeing the military force, Jack pushed forward. His view was different. He’d take the troops and take back the White House.

“Mr. P… err, Jake,” said Butler, grabbing at Jack, desperately trying to stop him rushing ahead. “They’re wearing riot gear to hide they’re Chinese.”

The shaded visors were perfect. You couldn’t see their facial features.

“But those are our tanks,” he said, before realizing they were just painted with US motifs. “Sneaky little fuckers!” he said under his breath. They were the very latest Chinese main battle tanks, similar in construction to the newest of the Abrams, and with the Trust being Chinese, almost certainly as good if not better than its American version.

“They’re the tanks we saw at Camp Trust. There were hundreds of them,” said Butler quietly, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

“You said there’d be thousands of troops; seems you were right,” replied Swanson dejectedly.

They kept out of sight amongst the crowd and walked around the perimeter that had been established with what must have been amazing coordination. It was an impenetrable wall of force, certainly for four people with three handguns.

Jack noticed the police force was creating an additional barrier in front of the soldiers, further enhancing the ring of steel.

“What the fuck are they doing!” said Jack in frustration as the Washington police unwittingly supported the Chinese.

Butler tried to approach a policeman who was inundated with questions from the rest of the crowd. He pushed through, unceremoniously pushing many others aside. A few tried to retaliate to his maneuver but well placed punches ensured they moved silently out of his way.

“What’s happening?” he asked, almost in the officer’s face.

“You have to move back!” the officer answered; the same answer he’d given to everyone else.

Butler leaned in more menacingly, grasping the officer’s hand as he attempted to move towards his pistol. From a distance, it looked as though Butler was just leaning in to hear what was being said. Up close, the officer’s hand was being crushed and he was struggling to maintain his composure.

“I asked what’s happening, officer?”

“We don’t know. Everything’s down. Radios, phones, TVs, power, everything.” He struggled under the pain. Butler relaxed his grip slightly when the cop began to answer. “We saw the military move in and thought we’d better help.”

“Who’s in charge?” asked Butler.

“Chaos I think,” he replied honestly. “We don’t know what to do, so we’re doing this.”

“And what about the rest of the country?”

“Pal, outside of what I can see on this street, I have no idea. Didn’t you hear me? Everything’s out power, phones, radios, everything!”

Butler removed his grip from the policeman’s wrist and slipped back into the crowd. It wasn’t until Butler was out of his sight that the policeman even realized Butler had taken his pistol.

Butler updated the rest and suggested they try and move somewhere a little quieter to plan their next move. The numbers were swelling by the second as people flooded towards the White House to try to gain some understanding of what was happening.

“Get me to the Pentagon,” said Jack, despondent at what he had seen and heard. He wanted to strike back and quickly.

Pushing against the tide of bodies surging forward proved difficult for the first block but as the numbers began to lessen, it became easier. Traffic was at a standstill. Cars full of people were trying to leave the city but there were no traffic lights. Washington was in gridlock.

“Metro?” suggested Frank.

“No power,” Butler reminded him.