THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO (36 page)

“Still, Mr. President. You have to admit. For the American people to just accept that God would send someone to do all of this is pretty fantastic. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Walker nodded. “In a day and time such as this, where our faith has become so weak, I do agree. But it doesn’t make it any less real. Just because you don’t want it to be true doesn’t make it so. Jesus said, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’ ”

Larson gave a derisive snicker. “With all due respect, Mr. President, you’re not Jesus Christ.”

Walker nodded again. “True, but I know Him. Can you say that, Butch? That you know Him? Because if you did, I doubt we’d even be having this conversation.”

Boz’s eyes went wide.
BOOOM!
First a roundhouse, now a straight dropkick to the solar plexus.
Way to go, Mr. President!

Larson’s face went red again. But this time, it looked like embarrassment. “I hardly think my spiritual preference is the issue here, Mr. President.”

Boz knew Walker wasn’t going to let that just go. And Walker didn’t disappoint.

“It’s exactly what’s at issue here, Butch. Your faith, my faith, the faith of the entire nation is the issue. It’s the exact reason we’re in this mess to begin with. This is what the Prophet was speaking of.”

Larson jumped back in. “Again you bring up this Prophet. Mr. President—Jesus’ words aside—how can you truly expect a broken nation to just trust a man who says he’s sent by God when he won’t even show himself? I may not be the most religious person in the world, but even I know Jesus was talking about Himself in that scripture you referenced. Not some Prophet who would claim to be sent by Him two thousand years later. If you want the American people to believe this Prophet is who you say he is, then how about you bring him in? Why don’t we let
him
tell us? All of us. Not just you and a few select people in your administration.”

Boz started to worry a little. He and Walker had talked about the possibility of Larson challenging Walker this way. And really, they had no answer for him. Quinn Harrington didn’t just live down the street. They couldn’t just go knock on his door and bring him in.

“He doesn’t work that way,” Walker said. “He contacts us when God leads him to.”

Larson seemed to love that. He sat back in his chair with an accusatory look on his face. He folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “Of course he does,” he said. “How convenient.”

Boz let out a frustrated sigh. This is exactly what he knew was going to happen. And there was nothing they could do. Who were they to put God on the spot like that? At this point, all Walker could do was continue to plead with the people, and trust that God would work through that.

Suddenly, Boz saw a man run out from the control room toward the set. He came from the other side of the room. Carnes and the other agents already had their weapons drawn, pointed, and moving, but Boz got there first. He tackled the man in midair. The studio turned into chaos in a split second.

“Get off me!” the man shouted.

Boz had him pinned to the floor. “Who are you? Why were you charging at the president?”

“I wasn’t charging at the president, you idiot! Get off me!”

Larson was out of his chair and coming over to Boz. “Hey! Wait! Don’t hurt him.”

“You know him?” Boz asked, still holding the man down.

“Yes! That’s Martin Lloyd. He’s our producer.”

Boz took his knee out of the man’s back. He grabbed him under the arm and hoisted him to his feet. As he did, he noticed that he was standing a good three feet into the set. All the cameras were trained on him, holding on to Lloyd. Everything that had just happened had been live on television. He felt a tinge of embarrassment.

“I apologize, Mr. Lloyd. I was just doing my job.”

Lloyd jerked his arm away from Boz testily. “Whatever.”

Larson said, “What are you doing, Martin?”

“I was trying to get out here and let you know there’s a phone call for you.”

Larson looked at Lloyd as if he were an idiot. “I’m in the middle of an interview!”

“Oh, you’re going to want to take this call. Trust me. And on the air, too!”

“Why? Who is it?”

“He said he’s the Prophet.”

Boz couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Surely this was someone trying to make a mockery of President Walker—and of the interview. But Larson had already scrambled back to the table, where one of the studio hands had stretched out a phone and set it on the table.

Larson sat back down and pushed a button on the handset. “This is Butch Larson. Caller, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

Boz’s eyes went wide. He recognized the voice. It was, indeed, Quinn Harrington.

“Thank you for calling in, Mr.—”

“You can call me Quinn.”

“Okay, Quinn. And you say you’re this mysterious Prophet that President Walker has been telling the American people he’s in contact with. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

Larson looked to Walker. “Mr. President? Is this the man you recognize as the Prophet?”

Walker leaned in to the speaker. “Hello, Quinn. Good to hear your voice.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

Larson’s eyes went wide. “Quinn, it seems you’ve caused quite a reaction from many people. What do you say—”

Quinn cut Larson off. “Mr. Larson, please be quiet.”

Larson sat back with a look of shock and disbelief. He’d probably never had anyone talk to him that way before. Boz smiled.
Get him, Quinn!

“I have sat and listened to you and your colleagues for the last two days now,” Quinn continued. “I’ve listened to you berate your—our—president, a man that God has ordained to be in this position, with disdain and disrespect. Do you not know that God’s Word says to honor your leaders? That every man who sits in a position of authority does so at the will of God?”

“Mr. Quinn, I hardly think—”

“That’s the problem, Mr. Larson. You hardly think. Do you not know that the Bible says, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test’? And yet this is exactly what you, Governor Nolan, and the rest of your counterparts have been doing. God does not answer to men, Mr. Larson. He commands them.”

Larson just sat there.

“However,” Quinn continued, “because God is a God of mercy and compassion, and because it is His desire to see our nation turn from its ways and back to Him, He has permitted me to address you all.

“In three days, I will stand in the chamber of the House of Representatives and give an
early
State of the Union speech. I will speak God’s decree upon this nation. He has instructed that I do this. He has been patient long enough.”

K
eene stood there, motionless. Megan had just kissed him. He had hoped—no, prayed—the whole way here that when he told her his feelings for her, she would say she felt the same way. But he
definitely
did not expect this. Finally, he realized he was staring at her.

“Um…okay.” He sat back down.

Megan laughed a little. “Okay? That’s
it?
Just okay?”

Keene blinked a few times. He had to clear his head. Right now it was swimming.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean no, that’s not
it
. There’s more. At least I thought there was.” He started laughing again. “I completely forget what I was going to say.” He threw his hands up. “See there? You ruined it!”

Megan began laughing harder, which gave way to a small coughing fit. “Ouch…I can’t laugh…it hurts,” she said in between coughs.

“Megan, I know we only spent a short time together…you know, before I…before Chin took me. And I know that relationships built on the premise of stressful situations—and let’s be honest, I can’t think of a more stressful situation than what we went through—I know they usually don’t work out. But I haven’t felt like this since…”

“Since you met your wife?”

He lowered his head. “Yes. I know that’s probably not the right thing to say….”

“It’s okay. I know how much you must have loved her.”

“Please don’t think that I’m comparing you to her. It’s different.”

“Jon, it’s all right. You don’t have to explain. The important thing is, I feel the same way. And as far as
stress
goes, we haven’t seen each other for months. If the way I feel about you was going to change, there was plenty enough time for it to happen. But it didn’t. I only missed you more. So I think we’re safe to pursue a relationship.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then.”

Keene wanted more than anything right now to just enjoy this moment. But he couldn’t. “I need you to tell me what happened in Raleigh.”

She recounted everything from finding Peterson to coming face-to-face with Sokolov in Hayes’s house. Keene could feel his anger rising up. With every word she said, he wanted to stop Sokolov.

He was about to ask her more about the underground room at Pemberton’s when he felt the sat-phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the number. “This is Jennings. He probably wants to know what you told me.”

He hit the button. “I’m in the middle of asking her right now, Kevin.”

“Jon, it’s Ramirez.”

Keene knew that tone. Immediately, the blood drained from his face. “What happened?”

“It’s bad, Jon. You need to get back here. Now.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What’s happened?” Megan asked.

“I have to go. But I’ll be back. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

He ran out the door and down the hall. On the way, he saw two marines. He stopped midrun and grabbed one by the arm. “Do you know who I am, Marine?”

The marine looked at him. “You look familiar, sir.”

“Jon Keene. You know me now?”

Both marines snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! General Keene, sir!”

Sykes had field commissioned him a general five months ago, during the attack. And every time he’d heard someone call him that he’d hated it. But right now he needed it. “Room 131. I want you two on it, armed and at attention. You don’t leave until you hear from me personally. Anyone other than the doctor tries to go in that room, you shoot him dead. That’s a direct order. You got it?”

“Room 131. Yes, sir.”

“Move it, marines! Now!”

The two marines took off at a dead run. Keene did the same.

Farid watched as the car rolled through the stop sign. It went past Jennings’s house. He breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short lived. After a few driveways, the car pulled over to the side of the road. A man got out and began walking back toward Jennings’s house. As he approached the drive, Farid saw the man was holding a gun.

Alex was in trouble.

He rolled his window down to try and strain to hear. Suddenly, he saw flashes of light inside Jennings’s window, accompanied by a series of pops.

Gunshots.

He quickly started the engine. He didn’t know if he should run, or if he should drive straight into Jennings’s yard and crash the house. Suddenly, he saw someone running out the back.

Alex!

She ran out from behind the house and jumped a small row of hedges lining the neighbor’s yard. She whipped her arm behind her as she ran and fired three shots. Farid saw the man from a moment ago run out after her and begin returning fire. He had to do something.

He pulled the gear lever and mashed the accelerator. He punched the button on the door to lower the passenger window. He swerved into the other lane and took a wide arc as he turned left, blowing through the stop sign. Alex was about twenty yards ahead of him. The man was gaining on her. Farid hit the gas again as he cleared the turn. As he passed the man chasing Alex, he pulled the Ruger up and fired out the passenger’s-side window. The man dove into the grass. Farid saw Alex turn around and start firing at the man, just as he caught up to her. He slammed on the brakes and she dove in the open window. “GO! GO! GO!”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. The tires squealed as he jammed on the pedal.

A
s Keene passed through the Y in the road, he could see the strobe of emergency vehicle lights bouncing off the trees ahead. When he got to the stop sign, he saw the ambulance in the drive. Ramirez was outside with four other men, the rest of Ramirez’s team. He barely got the SUV in park before he was out the door and running through the lawn.

“What happened? Where’s Jennings?”

Ramirez turned and had his hands up to cut him off. “Whoa, Jon. Stop. Jennings is alive. He’s inside.”

“Sykes?”

Ramirez shook his head.

“What happened?”

Ramirez started to explain, but Keene pushed past him and started into the house. Ramirez grabbed him by the arm. “Jon, don’t go in there. It’s a mess. And they’re looking at Jennings.”

Keene stopped. “I thought you said Jennings was okay.”

“I said he’s alive. But he was shot.”

Keene pushed past him and went in.

As he stepped in, he saw glass all over the floor. Lamps had been shattered. The TV was shot out. The two windows in the living room were gone. And the back door leading from the kitchen was standing open. Sykes’s body lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. His throat had been slashed. And in the hall, leading to the master bedroom, two EMTs were putting Jennings on a gurney.