“That monitoring is underway as we speak, Mr. President.”
“Very good.” Standing with an appearance that held all the looseness of a rubber mask, the man clearly draining, he added, “Now is the time to test our mettle as a nation facing adversity. Find… those… people!”
He turned and looked out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, knowing that a hideous challenge awaited him beyond those glass panes. A challenge that would make or break his Presidency, and would likely come to define it.
When the room had cleared, President Carmichael felt a creeping chill crawl up his spine and settle at the base of his neck.
War had come to his front yard.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aasif al-Shazad wasted no time at all. After driving north for fifteen miles, he abandoned the military vehicles for three 18-wheelers fully capable of transporting all of the appropriated hardware. On the map, the road leading to the secured location resembled a hook-like thread, barely visible, which was ideal.
They had traveled for as long as they could under the cover of darkness, long before the White House could initiate satellite and sky-surveillance monitoring. Before dawn broke they had reached their destination, an old wartime bunker with an adjacent 300-foot road that had cracked over time as weeds surfaced through the fissures along the pavement. That strip, however, acted as the perfect lift-off point for the drones.
To disguise the location from overhead surveillance, Shazad had draped camouflaged canopies over three-quarters of the runway’s length, twenty feet above the ground. They could launch the drones from beneath the canopies, where they would accelerate along the hidden strip of pavement, then launch as soon as they cleared the tarps, becoming airborne. From a sky-point view only a marginal piece of visible roadway could be seen, and this would likely be presumed too small for a launch operation, probably disregarded by overhead explorers as a service pad of some kind.
Trees, brush and wild-growing brambles had taken over the terrain surrounding the bunker, with vines creeping along the bunker’s concrete walls that had cracked and chipped over time, but remained sturdy. Channels and warrens branched out from a central room that was heavily laden with dust. Inside, the area was quite Spartan with nothing more than a set of folding tables and chairs, cots, lithium powered lamps, and a battery of wireless PCs, laptops and monitors.
In the center of the floor stood three mobile podiums that were the central operating systems for the drones. They featured LCD monitors and joysticks with which to manage flight patterns. In addition, there were GPS systems capable of pinpointing precise coordinates that could be programmed into the weaponry, allowing them to zero in on their proposed target without manual operation via joystick.
Shazad stood over the center console alongside Naji, who acted as operator. Neither man had slept in thirty hours, yet they appeared fresh and rejuvenated, their veins pumping with adrenaline.
“Are we good to go?” asked Shazad. He looked at his watch. “If we’re going to make a statement, then we need to launch immediately.”
Naji looked over and double-checked the coordinates. The numbers he programmed into the system represented an intercept-position calculated by time, speed and flight trajectory of an incoming craft.
Everything checked out. “We’re good."
Shazad placed a hand on Naji’s shoulder. “Then let’s bring this nation of infidels to its knees.”
The engines of the Reaper drone revved in preparation as the vehicle faced down the camouflaged stretch of pavement. The runway was molded like a tunnel, its exit a bullet-shaped mouth of light, also the point of lift-off.
The autonomous weapon began to move. Slowly at first, it gained speed and momentum until the surrounding walls of camouflage passed by in a blur, the opening getting larger, brighter, and then it was in the open and taking flight, the nose of the vehicle aiming skyward a moment before banking, then rising.
From his control point, Naji enabled stealth mode as the Reaper adopted a southeast trajectory from their position.
America was about to be taken to the ground in defeat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Senator Paul David Houseman had served in the Senate for almost twenty-four years and currently acted as the Senate Majority Leader. A strong supporter and proponent of anti-terrorism campaigns at home and abroad, the man was particularly vociferous when it came to making known his needs and wants to protect the country. Detractors claimed, however, that he was less enthusiastic when it came to actually executing on the plans for which he had requested and received support. In the end it was all about the vote of the constituency. You give the people what they want, even if that amounted to a false sense of security, then sit back and watch the numbers rise at the polls. It had always been a simple formula he had routinely followed, all the way up to the first class seat in the jet hurtling through the sky where he now found himself.
A few hours prior, while in Texas awaiting his scheduled flight, he’d been notified of the JBAB breach. The current reports leaked to the press held that an ammo depot had exploded, killing thirty-six soldiers. But the truth was anything but. According to his sources within White House circles, the JBAB had been compromised by a terrorist faction utilizing unparalleled military sophistication.
Worse, they were of Middle — Eastern origin.
Worse than that, they were trained American soldiers who had gone AWOL.
“How could this happen?” he wondered, looking over documents emailed to him on his laptop. The entire first-class section was cordoned off for him and his staff. “How can a group of people — I don’t care how polished they are as soldiers — just go in and take more than a hundred million dollars worth of taxpayer-funded military assets?” He fell back into his seat. “This country’s been in decline for a while now,” he said. “And I’m just the man to see that this never happens again!” He pounded the armrest to underscore his empty point.
“Senator.”
Houseman turned to his aide. “What is it, Thurman?”
Physically, Howard Thurman was the complete antithesis of Senator Houseman. While the senator was an aged and overweight man with shock-white hair, Houseman was razor thin with a hawk-like nose and eyes set too close together beneath wispy black locks, perhaps what some would call weasel-like in appearance. He tapped keys on his laptop while he addressed his boss.
“Senator, I’m sure you see the value of this development,” he told him.
“Of course I do.”
“Today you’re the Senate Majority Leader… Tomorrow, the president.” Houseman couldn’t help the preamble of a smile that surfaced on his face. Since Carmichael was on his last term as president, this was certainly feasible. He just needed to incite the Senate and the House.
“When we get to Washington,” he started, “I want you and the rest of the—”
Something passed by the aircraft-left window with amazing speed, something that caught both their attention.
A drone.
From its outline and form, Houseman knew it to be a Reaper, or perhaps a Predator? He wasn't sure what the hell they were using these days, but what difference did it make? All of them were deadly beyond measure when facing a commercial jet. Oh, my God!