America's Trust (44 page)

“I grabbed the Fort’s commander and we both headed across to Cheyenne Mountain to get to NORAD. It was shut, sealed up tight with a small army surrounding it. A small army that ain’t us!”

Jack was shaking his head in disbelief, praying it wasn’t true.

“We hightailed it back but by this time we had an unwanted escort. We couldn’t call ahead but the commander of Fort Carson told me to get him back there and they’d deal with it.”

“I dropped him off there and rushed back here to get some air support organized. That’s when we discovered just how bad it was. Nothing worked. We heard explosions, so I grabbed some men and went to offer what help we could to Fort Carson. By the time we got there, they had been and gone. All of our tanks, helicopters and Bradleys were just burning hulks. From what we could understand, none of them worked either, not one shot was returned to the enemy from any of them. They swept in with attack helicopters and a few tanks and just tore the base apart. We’ve got a hangar full of wounded and we’re doing what we can. The hospitals are full but they’re out of power, running on generator power, but that’s limited and won’t even run the air conditioning. And I’ve not been able to contact anyone to find out what we should do. I’ve got my technicians stripping down the electronics to see if we can bypass whatever’s wrong but so far, no luck.”

“
Does anything work?” asked Butler, dumbfounded.

“Nothing. Well, except if it has no electronics or can function without them.” He indicated the fairly basic structure of the C130. “In which case, it’s fine. Even the soldiers’ new assault rifles, the M4S’s, don’t work. They can fire one shot, reload and then fire again. Not much use against a tank.”

“They’re not electronic,” said Butler. “Why the hell don’t they work?”

“They’ve got a microchip in their grip, which ensures only the soldier it’s programmed to can use it.”

“What fucking bright spark thought that was a good idea?!” sneered Butler.

“It was to save our soldiers from being killed by our own weaponry,” said Jack, rather weakly. Ultimately, he had okayed everything.

“Wait a minute, you said microchip, right?”

“Yes,” said Jack.

“Microchips are electronics effectively.”

“Not effectively, that is what they are. And?”

“Oh nothing, sorry, I was just making the connection,” lied Butler.

The driver’s head appeared in the doorway. Fortunately, the president’s back was to him.

“All fueled and good to go,” he announced.

“Are you kidding?” said the colonel. “It’s pitch black and I’ve got no electronics and where the hell are we going to go anyway?”

“I don’t care, you just can’t be here,” said the general. He turned to his driver. “Go grab a couple of pairs of night vision goggles and bring them back.”

As the driver’s head disappeared, the general shouted after him. “And bring that Special Forces sergeant and his men.” He turned back to the group. “There are about ten Special Forces guys at the hangar helping with the wounded.”

“Leave them there,” ordered the president. “They’ll have far better medical training than most other soldiers. “We’re fine. You look after the wounded,” he added, much to Frank’s selfish horror, although he wouldn’t begrudge any wounded soldier the best help they could offer them. He just wanted to make sure he kept the president alive.

The general could see there was no room for debate and rushed after his driver to change the order. Two minutes later, the driver returned with two sets of night vision goggles.

“So where to?” asked the colonel.

The president grabbed a map. “How long a runway do you need?”

“With this load, about forty-five hundred feet. Why?” he asked nervously.

“We need an army with weapons that work, right?” asked Jack rhetorically. “Well I know just where to find one!” he said, pointing just to the Southwest of Edgemont, South Dakota. “About three hundred miles from here.”

On approaching the main center complex, it became apparent that the Camp Trust attendees were blissfully unaware of what was happening around them. The mini city center was buzzing and was no place for Bill’s rifle or three camouflaged Rangers. Securing them for a quick exit, they readied themselves for the surreal café style scene that greeted them as they walked along the main concourse, milling with Trust employees who were grabbing a late bite and socializing with their colleagues. More than once, Bill heard some of them say it must have been part of the assessment. If everyone’s cell had stopped working, it had to have been part of the course.
Idiots,
thought Bill, as he walked through. The corporate mentality was one he had never fully understood, had never signed up to and he would never have sold himself for.

Blind trust and loyalty in return for a paycheck that lasted as long as the corporation decided your number on the excel spreadsheet was cost effective.
Idiots
. Their families and friends were in turmoil, the country was in chaos and they just thought it was part of their all-important assessment. Of course, his thinking was somewhat tainted by the plight of his niece at the hands of this corporate entity.

“The main building is just across the concourse, the one with the Trust flag protruding from the entrance,” whispered Mike, trying desperately hard not to give them away.

“Relax,” said one of the Rangers, nudging him. “You’re going to get us noticed.”

Bill looked up. The building stood high above the others. Somebody obviously had a bit of an inferiority complex, he thought to himself.

“Roger Young’s office and apartment are on the top floor. He took a shine to Lauren,” he said, more relaxed and due to her uncle Bill’s presence, who after all was a stone cold killer, he left out the fact that he and Lauren were more than happy to play on her sexuality for their ultimate goal.

They walked past the building once and continued along for another couple of blocks before walking leisurely back, discussing what each of them had seen on the pass. Mike listened with interest as each came up with details that he hadn’t even considered looking for, let alone seen. In summary, they concluded that there were three guards and a receptionist in the lobby. The likelihood was that an alarm would not only bring half the Chinese army running in but would also stop the lifts from working.

“Okay, let’s go,” said one of the Rangers, catching Mike off guard completely. He thought they were still planning. “Bill, the receptionist.”

Bill walked in first, followed by the Rangers, and made straight for the receptionist as directed. The three Rangers talked amongst themselves casually, bringing Mike into the conversation. One coughed and the three struck. Exploding from a point equidistant to the three guards, they hit them at full speed and pummeled them to the floor. A few well-aimed punches had the three guards disabled while Bill kept the receptionist calm and away from any alarms.

Within seconds, the three guards were deposited out of sight and the three Rangers, to anyone from the outside world, were now securing the building, complete with ill-fitting jackets.

“Mike, you take the desk,” instructed Bill, directing the receptionist to leave her station and to join the three tied and bound guards in the same closet. Bill returned to the lobby and, catching a pistol from one of the Rangers, boarded the elevator.

Bill hit the button for the penthouse. Nothing happened. A keyhole suggested it wasn’t going to be that simple.

“Mike, are there any keys on the desk?” Bill asked, exiting the elevator.

A set was thrown across to him. The third one he tried did the trick. The doors closed and the elevator began to move. Bill checked the magazine was full and prayed he wasn’t too late. Mike had been subtle in how he said it but from what he had said, it sounded as though the general had taken a real liking to his niece. She was a beautiful girl, just as her mother and grandmother had been. Bill had been in more than one fight protecting his sister when he was younger. He’d never let her down and wasn’t going to let down her daughter. At least not if he could help it.

The elevator opened on to the open-plan office. Other than office furniture, it was empty. Music was playing but Bill couldn’t see the source. He walked towards the desk. The sound got a little louder. Some sort of Chinese instrument was being plucked to death, he thought, but where? He walked a little further towards the noise and nearly fell through the floor. A staircase projected down, but no banister surrounded the open end, it would have spoiled the view. So the stairs just dropped into the floor. Bill walked around to the first set of stairs and tentatively made his way down. The sound of music grew louder with each step. He ducked down to see beyond floor level and into the room below. It was a vast lounge, with a kitchen area off to one side and large double doors on the other. They were slightly open. The music was coming from behind the doors.

Bill crept down the stairs quietly. The last thing he wanted to do was alert them to his presence and have them harm Lauren. A pained scream stopped any further creeping. Bill rushed into the room and witnessed a scene no uncle should ever have to witness. Lauren was tied to the four corners of the bed, naked and at the mercy of an old Chinaman who it seemed was more interested in inflicting pain than having sex. The large metal implement he was walking towards her with would have been more at home in a medieval torture chamber than a bedroom.

Lauren spotted Bill and unfortunately alerted the Chinaman to Bill’s presence. He immediately rushed for the telephone. Despite nearing seventy years of age, Bill found a lease of life he didn’t think still existed and dived a perfect football tackle, taking the Chinaman down in one solid hit. The red mist had descended. He grabbed the bizarre looking implement and forced it into the mouth of the old man, harder and faster than it had ever intended to be inserted in any orifice. The Chinaman’s eyes widened in absolute terror and had his throat not been stuffed beyond capacity would have screamed in agony. Bill kept pushing and only when the fight stopped, did he relent. He hadn’t even had to turn the screw that would have opened the three prongs. The man lay dead.

Bill left him, complete with metal appendage, and quickly covered Lauren and untied her. She hugged her uncle and didn’t want to let go.

“He had only just come in,” she said, telling him he had arrived just in time.

“Okay, but we really need to get going. Where are your clothes?” he asked, turning away as a tear rolled down his cheek.

She pointed to a wardrobe and he retrieved them for her and turned his back as she dressed.

“Anything else?” he asked, grabbing what he assumed was her cell and laptop bag. She looked around avoiding looking at the dead Chinaman.

“Nope, good to go,” she said bravely but with a tremble in her voice.

“So that was Roger Young?” asked Bill as they walked quietly towards the lift.

Lauren shook her head. “No, I think he’s dead, or at least that’s what the general said.”

“So that was the general?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s Russian, I think. That was some guy that arrived today. He kept saying something about his nephew being killed and his brother was going to make America pay. Junpeng, you know, like the Chinese president’s name. That was it, they called him Mr. Junpeng.”

Bill hit the ‘Down’ button. Arriving on the ground floor, he didn’t pause, rushing Lauren through the lobby, “We need to get the fuck out of here and quick!”

Even with the night vision goggles, attempting to land was suicide. The charts indicated that the runway was almost five thousand feet in length, but it was nowhere to be seen and it had been years since it had been used and was almost entirely subsumed back into the elements.

“Mr. President, are you sure it was there?”

“Definitely. Off to the right of those buildings, just there,” he said, borrowing the co-pilot’s goggles.

“I don’t see anything other than dirt sir.”

In all honesty, nor did Jack, but it had been a runway and one benefit of the C130s was their ability to land on anything that was relatively flat.

“Okay, I can see it, so I’ll talk you in,” said Jack.

He proceeded to give directions that had them landing almost as badly as before with a far worse taxi. But they were down and still alive.

Frank and Butler opened the door and checked that the area in the middle of nowhere was secure. Lights burned off to their right. A sign of electricity, something none of them had noted on the journey. As far as they were aware, the country was still powerless.

Jack did not wait for the all-clear, he just walked down the steps and onto the old runway.

“Halt! Who goes there?” came a shout at the same time as a number of men appearing from behind the ruined buildings that once were hangars.

Frank and Butler spun towards them, their guns at the ready but they were outmanned and outgunned. A number of spotlights lit up the area and a flag was visible flying over the ruins, a flag of the United States with two crossed muskets prominently displayed across the stripes.