Resurrection Day (67 page)

The President entered the situation room at exactly 7.30. He had changed into a dark suit and grey silk tie, his face solemn as he went to take his seat at the head of the table. The fourteen exhausted men and two women in the room — their much-needed sleep shattered forty minutes ago before they were driven at high speed to the White House by their Secret Service protection details — felt a heightened sense of tension as the President gestured for them to be seated.

'Ladies and gentlemen, first of all I'd like to thank you all for getting here so promptly. I know you're all pretty worn out from so little rest, so I'd like to apologise for interrupting your sleep to urgently bring forward this meeting. However ... ' Andrew Booth paused, desperately trying to avoid settling his gaze on the man among them who'd betrayed him. 'There's been another disturbing twist in this crisis, and a very unsettling one at that. But before we get to discussing it I'd like to confirm a number of messages we received through our point man, Mehmet, in Islamabad, from Abu Hasim.' The President nodded to CIA Director Faulks. 'Dick, would you explain?'

'Yes, sir.' Faulks addressed the Council. 'At six-forty-five a.m., Mehmet phoned us the co-ordinates and location of a former Soviet military airfield near Herat, north-west Afghanistan, which is to be the drop-off zone for the prisoners. The airfield is less than three hours' flying time from our holding point in Sevastopol. As soon as we received the call, the order was immediately given for all the prisoners to be put aboard the two aircraft. They took off from Sevastopol twenty-five minutes ago, and are presently en route to the Herat airfield, with an ETA of nine-fifty a.m., Eastern Standard Time.'

'However,' the President interrupted, 'before that communication was received we had a previous message, at six a.m., in which Abu Hasim claims his al-Qaeda sources have confirmed to him sightings of US military aircraft landing at Israeli airfields in the last several hours. In his message, Hasim made it perfectly clear that he will he not accept this move under any circumstances. While it was not my deliberate intention, Hasim obviously thinks I've tried to deceive him. Even though he had made no such specific proviso in his original demands, or raised any prior objection to where we might reposition our troops outside of the Gulf, he now claims such a move to be a breach of faith and demanded my clarification on the matter.

'For that reason, I immediately informed Hasim by a return message that our troops will not remain in Israel, but will be withdrawn at once. In fact, to reassure Hasim, I told him that there had obviously been a mistake on his part, and that the aircraft were there only for the purpose of refuelling. So the bottom line here, ladies and gentlemen, is that shifting some of our Gulf troops on to Israeli soil is now out of the question.'

Katherine Ashmore frowned. 'But how will the Israeli PM react, Mr President? Or have you not told him?'

'Not yet. But as soon as our meeting's over, it's my intention to do so.'

'He's going to be furious, sir. He's going to think you went back on your word.'

'I've no doubt he will. But our hands are tied.'

'You'll stick to that position, Mr President?' Charles Rivermount asked.

'Yes, I will. As of this moment, all US troops have already left Israeli soil.'

'I meant will you stick to that position in the future?' Rivermount clarified. 'When this is over with. Or will they be moved back?'

'No they will not is the answer. But right this minute I'm not sure we'll have a future.' Andrew Booth paused to look gloomily at the faces around him. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I have an admission to make. I want you all to know that I erred seriously in my decision to send US troops to Israel. It was a gamble and it backfired. Those among you who counselled me to caution were right, because I've walked us deeper into trouble. That was made very clear in the last message we received from Abu Hasim fifty minutes ago, when he provided us with the Herat airbase co-ordinates. For along with that message, Hasim altered his terms, and in a way that in my opinion may make it impossible for us to save this city.'

The faces around the table were stunned, and then Rebecca Joyce asked, 'Altered them how, sir?'

'He's reduced the deadline again.' The President's face was very white. 'We now have just over two hours to satisfy all of his demands, or at precisely ten o'clock the device will explode.'

Washington, DC 7.20 a.m.

'Yeah, that's them. That's the pair.' Frankie Tate ground his teeth in contempt, tossed the photographs of Gorev and Karla Sharif aside, and looked up at Collins and Morgan. They were in one of the interview rooms at the Metropolitan Police Second District Station on Idaho Avenue. 'I'm fucking positive it's them. Your buddies showed Ricky the photographs a couple of days back.'

'Why the hell didn't you report it then?'

'Hey, that wasn't up to me,' Tate snarled back at an angry Collins. 'That was Benny's decision.'

'Tell me everything. From the start.'

'And don't leave anything out,' Morgan advised. 'Otherwise, you go down for withholding federal evidence, Frankie.'

'Hey, listen, I want this asshole to pay for what he did to Benny.' Tate's face was scoured by hatred, and when he had explained everything in detail, Collins said, 'Where did Ricky and the others follow the couple to?'

'Until right before Chesapeake Beach — that's when the assholes lost the trail.'

'Where did he try to pick up the trail again?'

'Down along the coast a couple of miles.'

'Give me details, Frankie. Where exactly did Ricky look?'

'He said they tried all the parking lots in the apartment blocks and privates houses along the beachfront, and the north and south end of the town. One of the guys even went inland a couple of miles. They didn't see them nowhere.' Frankie tapped the photographs on the table. 'You ask me, they couldn't have just fucking vanished. They got to be down along there somewhere, man. Why else the fuck would they drive all the way out to Chesapeake?'

'Have you got any idea where they might have gone?'

'The fuck should I know?'

Collins sighed with frustration. Morgan's cellphone rang and he stepped outside to take the call. Collins turned back to Frankie. 'How much did they pay for the van and stuff?'

'Twenty thousands bucks.'

'Cash?'

'Yeah. The dude even paid Benny the remainder after he shot him, like it was a point of honour. Who the fuck is he?'

'A terrorist.'

Frankie was stunned. 'Jesus. The fuck didn't your guys say that from the start?'

'I want you to think hard, Frankie. Is there anything else you can tell me that might help us find these people?'

'I told you every fucking thing I know.'

The door snapped open again, Morgan beckoned Collins, and they stepped into the hall outside. 'You get much more from Frankie?'

Collins shook his head. 'They've got to be near Chesapeake Beach, Lou. It's even right in the area we figured after the murder.'

'What do you want to do?'

'Drive down, search the area for the white box van. It's a good marker, unless they've got it stashed in a garage out of sight.' Collins checked the time: 7.40. 'We've only got four hours. I'll go grab the car. And we better tell Murphy. We could do with some choppers in the air to look out for the van. What's with the call?'

'That was him. He says it looks like the transmission site's thrown up nothing, apart from some tyre marks and footprints. He's having the guys down at Chesapeake go through the rest of the rental properties in the area that haven't been investigated yet.'

Collins' expression was bleak. 'Any more good news?'

'We haven't got four hours, Jack.'

The White House 7.38 a.m.

The shocked faces around the situation room said it all. First to speak was Rebecca Joyce, hoarse as she addressed Andrew Booth. 'But we can't possibly make it by ten o'clock. Can't we reason with Abu Hasim?'

'He made it clear in his message that he's not open to negotiation. End of story.'

'But why's he doing it, sir?' Katherine Ashmore asked. 'He's going to get what he wants anyway, by midday. What difference will two hours make?'

The President was morose. 'He said it would concentrate our minds, as if for some reason they're not concentrated enough already. Of course, he's making an impossible demand, and the fact that he won't even contemplate a negotiation, especially when he's already so close to achieving his ends, really makes me question if we can trust him to keep his word. That maybe Janet Stern was right all along — that no matter what, Hasim is hell-bent on destroying Washington.'

'But can we make the deadline, sir?' Paul Burton asked.

'So long as there's the slightest chance we can save this city, we have to try.' Booth looked ruefully at the clock on the wall. It read 7.40. 'The prisoners have an ETA of nine-fifty a.m. So far, there hasn't been a delay. But I checked before I got here. There's a possibility that imminent head winds could delay their arrival at Herat.'

'Could the pilots be ordered to increase their speed?' Katherine Ashmore suggested.

'I've had that imperative radioed to the flight crews, that they have to reach Herat before ten a.m. However, of more immediate concern is the withdrawal. General Horton, what's your prognosis? Can we still make it in time?'

Horton looked doubtful as he pondered the question. 'Sir, at six-thirty there were still over five thousand troops to be evacuated. At seven-fifteen, my update was that the withdrawal would be complete by eleven-forty-five — and only by the skin of our teeth. A ten o'clock deadline is completely unrealisable.'

'Isn't there any way we can accelerate things?' A frantic note sounded in Andrew Booth's voice, perspiration beading his upper lip. 'Ferry our men by helicopter out to our Gulf ships, rush in more aircraft, pile more men into each flight, whatever?'

'Every available helicopter we've got in the region is already being used for that purpose. As for piling more troops on board the aircraft, there are weight restrictions for take-off which will limit that. Maybe if personal equipment was left behind — the troops' rucksacks and weapons ditched — we might be able to cram more of them in. But the bottom line is, we'd need extra aircraft already in the Gulf, ready to leave straight away.'

'We haven't got them?'

'The last seven passenger loads were scheduled to take off at eleven-forty-five. Those same aircraft are at present returning from our bases in Germany to take the final batches, and aren't due to land until nine-thirty. There's no way they could load up with men and their equipment and do a turnaround in less than half an hour.'

'We have to do something. General.' Katherine Ashmore sounded panicked.

'There are three more civilian cargo aircraft we leased to fly out some of our military equipment that are scheduled to land at nine a.m. If we ditch the cargo and cram the aircraft with troops, we might make it in time, but I can't offer any guarantees. For all we know, any one of the aircraft might encounter an unexpected technical problem, and then where are we? A last option is that we ask the Saudis for their help. Tell them we need a half-dozen military transporters right away.'

'You think they'd do it?'

'No questions asked? I doubt it. They'd want an explanation.' Horton looked at Booth. 'You haven't spoken to the Saudi royals yet and told them the real truth of our predicament, have you, sir?'

'No, I haven't, but they're expecting my call by noon.' The President took a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his face. 'Ditch whatever equipment you have to, just so long as we can get our troops the hell out of there.'

'But what about the extra aircraft we may need?' Horton asked.

'Use your influence with the Saudis, but on a personal level the army and air force people you know, who can make it happen. Try and arrange for the aircraft to be on stand-by, in case they're needed in a hurry. If the Saudis press you for an explanation, tell them I'll provide them with one, but after we've got our men out. Radio our air-crews — make them aware that every minute counts and have them push hard for an earlier ETA. You've got my permission to do whatever you have to accelerate this, General. Any problems, let me know immediately.'

'Yes, sir.' Horton stood at once. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll get on it right away.'

As Horton left in a hurry, the President consulted the wall clock and stood abruptly, cutting the meeting short with a final address. 'Because of the grave danger the changed deadline poses, instead of your removal at ten a.m., I'm now ordering you to leave Washington at once. With the exception of General Horton, the chiefs of staff, Doug Stevens and myself, you will be taken to your homes by your Secret Service teams, where you will gather your families together and leave the capital immediately for your secure destination. Ladies and gentlemen, there's really nothing more I can add, except to humbly thank you for your help, your advice, your friendship and your courage in this agonising crisis that we've had to face together.' At that moment, Booth was overcome. 'May God protect us all.'

In a shaded corner of the Rose Garden, Andrew Booth sat alone at one of the white-painted wrought-iron tables. It was cold, the sun risen, an icy feel to the morning, but he needed the fresh air in his lungs, even though it did nothing to invigorate him, his mood more dispirited than ever. As he sat there dabbing his brow with his handkerchief, trying to calm his jangling nerves, one of the West Wing French doors opened and Doug Stevens came out. 'My apologies for disturbing you, sir, but there's something I need to ... ' He was suddenly aware of the sickly gloss of perspiration on Booth's face. 'Are you all right, Mr President?'

'No, I'm not, Doug.' Booth looked tortured. 'It makes me feel ashamed that I had to mislead the Council about the deployment to Israel. That's the first time I've ever lied to them. And look where it's led. I've put this city in even worse jeopardy.'

'When will you tell them the truth, sir?'

Booth had a pained expression. 'Right this minute, there isn't much point.' He put away his handkerchief. 'I've been advised that for safety reasons I'm being moved to the bunker room at a quarter before ten. There'll be a place reserved for you, Doug. I'd like you to join me as a precaution, in case this thing goes haywire.'

'Yes, sir.'

'What did you want to see me about?'

'I got word my men finished searching the Chesapeake site.'

Andrew Booth got to his feet. 'And?'

'It's just a remote dirt road near the beach, miles from anywhere.'

'They found nothing}'

'Some car tyre tracks and footprints that may have been left by whoever sent the message, but that's about all. They probably knew they'd put themselves at risk if we picked up their signal, so they got the hell out of there. We've stepped up the search in the Chesapeake Bay area, rechecking rental properties and hotels. My gut feeling is they may be somewhere in the vicinity of the site.'

The President was despondent. 'We're clutching at straws here, aren't we, Doug? There can't be much hope of finding our quarry within two hours.'

'The only slim chance we have is if our source calls his contact again, and we can get a fix on wherever he's phoning. But to be honest, maybe it's too late even to hope for that.' Stevens consulted his watch. 'We've been digging as deep as we can into his background, turning over every stone we can find. The report should be with me shortly, but that's not going to do us much good, apart from maybe helping us get a better grip on his motives.'

'So there's not a damned thing we can do?'

Stevens thought. 'If it was up to me, I'd confront the traitor. Face to face, just the two of you. Let him know his treacherous game is up and that he's not being evacuated from Washington with the others but will have to face the consequences of his treachery.'

'And?'

'Then appeal for his help. Tell him it's not to late to redeem himself, by giving us every assistance he can to try and find the cell and the chemical. He may be desperate enough to want to save his own neck, but I've no way of knowing. Of course, the question is, will he even have a clue where they're hidden? We could be wasting our time asking.'

'But you think it might be worth a try?'

'We've only two hours. What have we got to lose?'

Chesapeake 7.35 a.m.