Pritchard beckoned toward the compact, bank-vault-type safe that was bolted to the deck beneath the Chairman’s workstation.
Brittany followed his lead and, with the briefcase at her side, knelt down and watched as Pritchard inserted his key into the top lock. She put her key into the lock below and, on his count of three, simultaneously turned the tumbler. It triggered with a loud click, with Pritchard pulling down on the safe’s iron handle.
The interior of the safe was empty, and the briefcase easily fit inside its thick, fireproof walls. Once the case was secure, the door to the safe was shut, and the two keys were once again utilized to lock it inside.
“Let’s hope that’s the last we see of it until we land back at Andrews tomorrow evening,” said Warner, who watched as Brittany draped the chain holding the key around her neck and stood.
Unexpected clear-air turbulence caused the cabin to rattle ominously, and Brittany was forced to reach out and accept the
Chairman’s steadying hand. His palm was cool and clammy, and she let go of it as soon as she regained her balance, all the while listening as Warner’s voice lowered to a bare, conspiratorial whisper.
“Commander Cooper, both you and Colonel Pritchard are now an integral part of the continuity of government protocol.
If anything should happen to permanently incapacitate the President while he’s in the Crimea, and should Satchel Alpha be compromised, Nightwatch is responsible for relaying the need of a transfer of power to the Vice President or his successor via the FEMA central locator system.
“Yet until the next in line is sworn in. Satchel Bravo will be removed and activated. As the senior NCA representative present, I will be in charge of the nuclear release codes and all SIOP implementation. In the unlikely event that such a tragic turn of events should befall us, our nation is depending upon Nightwatch to not only ensure a peaceful transition of government, but to also orchestrate a timely, effective military response to any enemy that might wish to take advantage of a temporary lapse of executive control. Your cooperation is therefore invaluable, and I’m counting on your support should the unthinkable come to pass.”
Another pocket of turbulence shook the fuselage, yet this time Brittany didn’t need any assistance to keep her balance.
Ignoring the coffee cup that crashed to the deck behind her, she found herself fingering the silver key that hung from her neck, well aware of the great secrets it protected.
Chapter 6
Samuel Morrison knew that they were very fortunate to get the motorcade formed and on the road before the rains started. From the backseat of the lead Suburban, the SAIC turned his head to look out the rear window, where the single wiper was doing its best to clear off the copious amounts of rainwater that fell from the stormy heavens. He could just see the headlights belonging to the limousine carrying the President. It was the next vehicle in line, and, in addition to Two Putt, held his National Security Advisor, his Army MIL AIDE the Press Secretary, and Special Agent Moreno.
Moreno had more than earned this ride in the so-called “hot seat.” He had displayed admirable initiative when he climbed behind the wheel of their ambulance and popped the clutch, while members of the C-17’s flight crew pushed the van down the airplane’s rear loading ramp. All of them issued a relieved shout as the engine finally turned over.
Without this emergency vehicle running, there would have been no motorcade. The official rules were strict on this point, and as the President’s backup physician exited Air Force One and climbed into the ambulance to prepare it for the trip to the coast, little did he know how close they had come to having to call in a local tow truck.
Dr. Charles Kromer was the current doctor on duty. The SAIC knew that he was substituting for Jim Patton, who had asked for this time off to attend the wedding of his son Ricky to Kristin Liu.
As a lightning bolt streaked across the cloud-filled Crimean sky, the SAIC found himself thinking about Ricky, Kristin, and another storm, by the name of Hurricane Marti. The so-called “summit at sea” aboard the QE2 seemed to have taken place in another lifetime. Yet in reality, ten months had passed since that tragic crossing, which had cost many a good man his life, and almost precipitated World War
III.
“Checkmate One, this is Checkmate Two. Over.” Special Agent Moreno’s voice broke over Morrison’s two-way.
“Go ahead. Checkmate Two,” said the SAIC into his twoway’s transmitter.
“Sir,” Moreno replied, the sound of muffled voices audible in the background.
“The Press Secretary is having trouble getting a secure line to CONUS.”
“Can’t she wait until we get to Alushta?” Morrison queried.
“That’s a negative, sir,” answered Moreno, a single, agitated voice now dominating the background conversation.
Morrison identified it as belonging to the President, and knowing the most likely reason for his anger, the SAIC shook his head and grinned.
“Checkmate Two, contact the comm van and have them patch the Secretary’s call through Nightwatch.
After all, that’s what our flying telephone booth in the sky is up there for.”
Moreno acknowledged these instructions, and the SAIC lowered his two-way. The rain-soaked outskirts of Simferopol passed in a blur, and Morrison’s seatmate voiced himself in Slavic-accented English.
“Do I perceive troubles inside the Presidential limo. Comrade?” questioned Alexi Kosygin.
“I was expecting this,” Morrison said with a grunt.
“Two Putt is most likely still fuming about that possible press leak to an NPR reporter, and the poor Secretary is trying her best to attempt damage control. I’m afraid, though, that she’s too late. That cock and-bull story they’re trying to pass off on the public will never hold up. There are just too many people in the loop whenever the President travels, and a leak is to be anticipated.”
“Comrade, you never did say how you were going to explain Air Force One’s presence at Simferopol Airport. Even though the aircraft is far away from the main terminal, enough of the local ground personnel have seen it to create a tidal wave of rumors.”
“A story was to be circulated saying that the airplane was carrying the President’s National Security Advisor, with the President supposedly sequestered in Camp David.”
“And the reason for this deception?” Kosygin dared to ask.
“This is just between us, Alexi, but the spin I’m hearing is that Two Putt put this whole thing together so he could surprise the nation with a July Fourth announcement. At that time, he planned to reveal that the Global Zero Nuclear Alert Treaty had been finalized, and after Senate radification, the world would be one step closer to the banning of all nuclear weapons from the face of the planet.”
The Russian shook his head and grinned.
“I must admit that his timing for such an announcement would be perfect. What a wonderful gift for the American people on their day of national celebration — to be finally independent from the threat of an accidental or unwanted nuclear war.”
The Suburban shuddered as it struck a pothole, prompting Morrison to steady himself on the back of the front seat.
“So much for the smooth pavement that Comrade Zinoviev promised,” he said as the vehicle bounced roughly over a deep rut.
The waves of rain momentarily dissipated, allowing him to see the glowing red taillights and huge rear tires of the armored personnel carrier that they were following. The BTR-60 had a 14.5mm machine gun on its roof, with a helmeted soldier manning the turret. The poor fellow was soaked, and Morrison wondered if they could rely on him, or the fourteen-person SWAT team inside, should they run into any unexpected trouble.