America's Trust (43 page)

“The fastest one you’ve got.”

“Sergeant!” he yelled to a soldier near the door. “Get the admiral to the airfield!” He turned back to Keeler, a question on his lips but simply said. “It will be ready and waiting, sir.

During the flight, supersonic almost the entire way, a helicopter was arranged to take the admiral to Downing Street, where a sleepless and bewildered British prime minister awaited the admiral as requested.

The helicopter landed on Horse Guards parade just behind the prime minister’s residence on Downing Street, central London. A short walk had him entering the rear of the property just as 5 a.m. struck. It was just 12 hours since hostilities had broken out with the Russians.

“Admiral Keeler,” welcomed the prime minister.

“Prime Minister,” he replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

The prime minister led the admiral through to his conference room where his war cabinet had been assembled.

“Prime Minister, what I have to discuss with you cannot be shared.”

The prime minister looked at him uneasily. He trusted the men in the room with his life. He trusted them with his country. However, he saw the concern etched on the Admiral’s face and waved everybody out.

“Okay, Admiral, talk to me,” he said very quickly, wishing he hadn’t.

A rapid and excited knock at the door preceded the Chief of the UK Defense Forces barging into the meeting just as it was coming to a close, breathlessly waving a sheet of paper for the prime minister.

The prime minister looked knowingly at Admiral Keeler and got up to relieve his chief of the paper. He looked at it briefly before walking across to a shredder and depositing it in the slot for shredding.

“But, Prime Minister…”

He raised his hand to stop his chief and turned to Admiral Keeler.

“Admiral, it seems I need to have that talk sooner rather than later. Whatever you need, just let me know.” He shook the admiral’s hand and wished him luck. Luck was the last thing on the admiral’s mind. He just thanked God he had gone to the prime minister’s office before the US ambassador’s. Otherwise, he didn’t even want to consider what that would have meant.

The captain had sent three of his Rangers off in the opposite direction. Their job was to lay down the easiest trail to follow, hopefully buying them time to get to the main complex and the student hostages unhindered. The two students were being carefully guided in order to ensure that the path the main Ranger force laid was untraceable. Bill needed no such help. He had done this for real before. Going undetected was what he did.

With the voices trailing off in the opposite direction, they picked up the pace.

“Will they be okay?” asked Bill, concerned for the three rangers they’d effectively left behind.

The captain nodded confidently. “They’re the best at what they do. Trust me, they’ll spin them a trail and then just disappear. And before we know it, they’ll be back with us.”

He raised his hand and the group stopped. The wooded area was coming to an end. They could just make out some lights from the buildings ahead through the gaps in the trees. Darkness was closing in.

“Where are they, son?” asked Bill, looking at one of the students. The view ahead was unexpected, a small city, bustling with activity.

“In that building,” said the student, pointing to a building far off to the right. A large open expanse of ground sat between them.

“What is it?” squinted Bill, trying to make out what the building was.

“A gymnasium, just a huge sports hall filled with bunk beds.”

The one good point was that the building sat amongst a number of low-rise buildings skirting the larger mini skyscrapers that made up the majority of the Trust’s complex.

They ducked back into the tree line and followed it around as near to the gymnasium as possible.

“What’s that there?” asked Bill, pointing to the warehouse structure beyond the gym.

“The transport depot,” the boy replied. “It’s where they drove the buses we’d boarded only to tell us to get off two minutes later and herding us through a side door into the gymnasium.”

“We’re back,” came a voice from behind.

The captain put his thumb in the air and winked at Bill. They were once again a full platoon.

The captain pointed at four of his men and they scurried off as directed. They would scout out as much information as possible and report back.

Within ten minutes the rangers were back. It looked fairly simple. The civilian complex was only lightly guarded. People seemed to be moving around as if little had happened.

The gymnasium was on the outskirts of the complex and therefore very accessible.

“Unless you can see any reason not to, I say we sneak up, take out the guards silently, grab some buses and get these kids the hell out of here,” suggested the captain.

Bill had to agree he could see little reason to think it wasn’t a perfectly viable plan. Silence was the key however. The attack choppers that could still be heard off in the distance would make mincemeat of a bus.

“No time like the present then,” the captain said, grouping his men together and telling them how he wanted to do it.

The squad split into three groups. One squad would stay back to provide cover while the other two would spread out and approach the gymnasium at a wide angle, using the darkness to hide their approach. The first two guards, who stood chatting outside, didn’t feel their presence until two knives slotted through their rib cages, slicing their hearts in two.

Before moving into the gymnasium, four Rangers removed their camouflage and equipment, dressing down to their fatigue trousers and white t-shirts. The four slipped in and made their way towards the four guards they had spotted through the windows. They blended perfectly with the rest of the students and as they nodded to each other that they were within striking distance, they took the guards out all at once in a coordinated kill that startled the students far more than the already dying guards. A few of the students began to scream but fortunately the others realized what was happening and stopped them before the noise became audible beyond the building.

When Bill and the main body of Rangers moved in, a low cheer went through the building. Bill looked around desperately for Lauren. He couldn’t see her.

“Bill!” It was a male voice.

“Mike,” Bill said to Lauren’s boyfriend, “where’s Lauren?” He looked around wildly.

“They took her away ten minutes ago,” Mike replied, a tear welling in his eye.

Bill hugged him. “Who took her?”

“A Chinese General, General Petlin, I think his name was?”

The captain looked at Bill and Mike and the two hundred and forty-eight other students in the room. His message was clear. He had these students’ lives to save or put at risk.

“Go,” said Bill. “Get them out of here.”

“I’m staying,” said Mike adamantly.

The three Rangers who had laid the false trail stood forward. “Sir?” they asked. The captain nodded.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself some help, Sniper. Boys, you take care of that old man,” said the captain to his three men he was leaving with Bill.

With Butler explaining his actions, the colonel, in the pilot’s seat, had relaxed enough for Butler to remove the pistol from him. He had also heard more than enough to understand exactly why he and the president’s Secret Service agent had done what they had done. The president had to be kept alive, despite his desperation to fight back. The colonel instructed Butler to head back to a better seat and promised him that he’d get them to Cheyenne. When Butler exited the cockpit, the door had been locked behind him.

“So where is the nearest base?” asked Jack when Butler rejoined them.

“Mr. President, we’re going to Cheyenne. We need to secure you,” said Frank, saving Butler.

“Like hell we are! That’s fifteen hundred miles from the White House!” Jack rose from his seat and strode to the cockpit door.

“It’s also the safest place in America, Mr. President,” said Frank.

“I don’t care about safe! I want to be leading the fight-back!” replied Jack angrily, struggling to open the door.

“The colonel has locked it, Mr. President. He understands the gravity of the situation,” said Butler, backing up Frank.

Jack looked at Swanson. She nodded agreement with a pitying smile.

The rest of the crew stared intently at their dead instrument boards.

Jack kicked the cockpit door. It was metal. He walked back to his seat and sat down, looking at the country below. It was twilight. They were chasing the sun but not one light shone below. A few headlights raced across the distant landscape but otherwise, nothing. America was going into darkness, a darkness he vowed he would pull her out of.

“I suggest we grab some shut-eye. There’s little else we can do,” said Butler.

Butler checked his watch when he woke up. It was nearing 11:00 p.m. It still wasn’t completely dark but it wasn’t far off. The ground below was black. No lights. He suddenly panicked. Without power, there would be no landing lights.

He rushed to the cockpit and announced himself through the door. The colonel opened it; it wasn’t locked anymore.

“The president was up here a couple of hours ago. He wanted to thank me,” he said, a proud smile across his tired face.

“He’s a good man,” said Butler.

“A great man!”

“See that black line ahead, the really black one?” he said, pointing down to the blackness below.

“If my calculations are correct,” he pointed to the maps and compass behind him, “that’s Peterson Air Force Base.”

“What are those fires over there?” asked Butler, pointing a few miles over to the left from Peterson, at the base of the looming mountains ahead.

“That is Fort Carson! Just next to Cheyenne and NORAD.”

“Shit!”

“Peterson looks okay though, although, like the rest of the city, powerless.”

“Should we divert?”

“Only if you want to crash,” he said, pointing to the fuel gauges, all empty.

Butler walked back through to the main cabin where the rest of them were beginning to wake up. The president had remained awake. He sat silently looking down towards the Fort Carson fires.

“We’re coming in to land,” said Butler.

“What do you think?” asked Jack, knowing he must have seen the fires at Carson.

“No way to tell until we land, Mr. President, but it may be worth donning the disguise.”

Jack nodded and once again removed the hairpiece and replaced the shades, despite the darkness, over his eyes.

The colonel elected not to announce their landing and landed without lights. Killing every light in the cockpit helped him see as best as he could in the almost nonexistent twilight. The battered landing was a sign that he hadn’t fully seen the runway as the last wisps of sunlight faded into the black sky.

“Sorry about that,” he called through the intercom, fully aware of just how uncomfortable it must have been, particularly given the loud expletives that had accompanied their touchdown.

Jack appeared at his side as they taxied towards the terminal. “Colonel, that’s the ballsiest landing I’ve ever witnessed. You can pilot me anywhere, anytime!” He clapped him on the back.

A jeep raced towards them and met them as they approached a refueling point. Frank escorted the president towards the rear of the plane out of view as they waited to see who was greeting them.

The sight of a USAF uniform was warmly welcomed. The general, commander of Peterson Air Force Base, waited for them to open the door.

“What in the fuck do you think you were doing, landing on my airfield without lights?” he screamed, incandescent with rage. As the steps dropped down, he raced up to tear the pilot a new one. “If you’d crashed we’d have been out of action for days maybe weeks!”

Jack took the hairpiece out of his pocket and replaced it before stepping forward and removing his shades.

“Welcome aboard Air Force One, General,” said the Colonel, stepping out of the cockpit and seeing the president step forward.

“Holy fuck!” said the general losing control. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, please forgive me,” he said, regaining some composure.

President King shook his hand. “Sorry to turn up unannounced. It seems we don’t have any radios.”

The general shook his head. “Mr. President, we’re delighted to welcome you but you really can’t stay here.” He looked over his shoulder and down towards his driver who had not seen the president. “Get a refueling truck out here now!” he yelled down to him.

He walked further into the body of the aircraft, gathering the group around him.

“Mr. President, at 10 a.m. local time, just after the news of the Russians’ attack on Pearl Harbor, we lost everything. And I really do mean everything. Power, communications everything. Every one of our planes has lost all electronics. Transports like these are fine. We can fly with maps and compasses. The fighters, however,” he shook his head, “nothing. All electronics are dead and with them, all ability to fly. And even if we could, the weapons are all controlled electronically. I tried for a while to contact anyone but even my cell died, just like everyone else’s. I jumped in my jeep and headed across to Fort Carson. They were the same. Everything’s down, power, communications and just like us, all their electronics are dead.”