“Right, we’re working that now. We understand that as our number one priority right now.”
“Meredith, anything you want to add?” Dave Palmer said.
“It’s an interesting look at what kind of country we’ve become,” Meredith said, backing up the vice president’s reasoning. “It’s pretty sad that we have such a short memory as a nation.”
“I think we’re better than that, Meredith. Maybe the message after Nine-eleven shouldn’t have been ‘It’s okay, go shopping,’ but by the same token, if we change the whole of our existence because of these attacks, we lose.” Davis paused, and when no one else countered, he continued. “Our message, then, is three-fold. First, we’ve got crisis response teams at all of the attack sites treating wounded and accounting for casualties. Second, we’ve got an interagency task force led by the Department of Defense analyzing the threats and going after both the head of the operation and the distributed cells. To back that up, we’ve attacked and seized the terrorist headquarters in Canada and believe it’s only a matter of time before we capture the elusive Mr. Ballantine. And third, I call on all Americans to come together in defense against this vile enemy.”
Meredith watched Hellerman’s eyes narrow. He was focused, perhaps thinking about his Rebuild America plan. She understood everything Hellerman had been talking to her about over the last few months. He had schooled her on his views of the downward spiral on which he believed the country to be sliding. Over 50 percent of the voting-age population did not care enough to vote, he had pointed out. Hellerman told her that, when he was serving in the first Persian Gulf War as an intelligence officer processing enemy prisoners of war, he had taken the time to reread Walt Rostow’s book The Economic Stages of Growth. He explained Rostow’s idea of the final stage beyond “High Mass Consumption” as being that of secular spiritual stagnation. In other words, nobody cares about anything but themselves. The apathy then leads to the divergence of rich and poor, and coupled with the professional, volunteer military, to a nation out of touch with its moorings. The Rebuild America Program was borne out of Hellerman’s drive to unify the country.
“Of course we’ll need to add some beef to it,” Davis said, turning over his shoulder toward his speechwriter. “Until then, let’s get after this thing. I want an update ten minutes prior to my press conference.” The plasma screen went blank.
Meredith scooped up her notebook and darted back to her office. She could feel Hellerman hot on her heels. She spun around to see him closing the door behind her.
“See what I’ve been saying? Could I have been any more right?” Hellerman said.
“No, Trip, there’s nothing right about all these people dying.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. The familiar feeling sent electrical shocks along her spine, but she recoiled.
“Get away! What are you doing?” She pushed him back.
“I know. I couldn’t help myself,” he said, straightening his tie. “We have to think about what’s happening now and what’s going to happen over the next few days.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, crossing her arms. “I mean, people are dying. Our project was supposed to bring the country back together through programs and policy.”
“That is what our program is going to do. I have no idea why all these attacks are happening, but the opportunity is unbelievable. This was made for what we’re trying to do. We’ve got to be strong, Meredith. If we play this right, we’ve really got a chance to reunify this country. This is what Rostow was talking about.”
“There’s no opportunity in tragedy, Trip.” An edge of anger tinged Meredith’s voice.
“On the contrary. Never waste a crisis. People died in the Revolution, they died in the Civil War, and they died in the two world wars. People die every day. I would rather seize this tragedy as an opportunity than be a cold, timid soul that is too scared to act. James Madison said, ‘The tree of liberty must be on occasion nourished with the blood of the free.’ This was unavoidable.” The vice president looked at her and then departed, his eyes wild with adrenaline.
Meredith walked to her window, suddenly fearful of what she believed the future would hold. The uncertainty was eating away at her. Where is Matt when I need him?
Probably the same place she was when he needed her.
CHAPTER 35
“Hello,” Ronnie Wood said into the small Kyocera phone powered by a Qualcomm CDMA chip and protected by U.S. encryption technology.
“This is Ballantine,” the voice said, distant but clear.
Wood sat up in his bed. “Good. Do you have an update?”
Ballantine’s voice was distorted over the secure phone. “I have been compromised, but I escaped. All other operations are set. I have one enemy captive. I am moving to my alternate command post and will wait for transmission of the signal.”
“Tell me more about this compromise. We have seen the news,” Wood said.
“They sent a special operations commando after me and my crew. I captured their agent and questioned him. A second team arrived and tried to rescue him. I am wounded but am healing and will be fine for tomorrow’s operation.”
Ballantine looked over his shoulder at the bound and gagged Zachary Garrett. He had hog-tied Garrett and stuffed him in the cargo compartment behind the pilot and copilot seats.
“What kind of condition is your captive in?” Wood asked.
“He will live. I shot him in the upper back. Flesh wound only. Bleeding has stopped.” Ballantine spoke in deliberately concise sentences to minimize airtime on the phone, despite the secure connection. He knew the technology existed to intercept the traffic and decipher the coded signals. He had also just lied. The pool of blood gathering on the floor of the airplane provided an indication of Zachary Garrett’s dire condition.
“What about your television appearance? Do you have the facilities for that, or do we need to execute the backup plan?” Wood asked.
“My facilities were captured. The backup plan is a go,” Ballantine said.
“Are you certain you can execute?”
Ballantine seethed for just a second at his contact, letting the fuse burn, and then affirmed, “Absolutely.”
“Your picture is on every television station in the world. The news media are providing the public with your aliases and your Muslim name. Without your secure facility, how do you intend to make an international statement without the risk of getting compromised?”
“I have a plan,” he repeated, this time with less patience.
“Don’t screw it up.”
“I won’t.”
Ballantine pushed the end button on the satellite phone, removed the battery and stuffed both components in his pocket. He then banked the airplane toward a small set of lights to his south. He was glad that he had at least accomplished that task. He had considered not calling the contact, but he was concerned that the news programs might cause delay or even postponement, which he could not afford. While most of the Phase Two operations seem to have been completed with a success rate of about 80 percent, these next missions provided the most hope for achieving victory to his personal satisfaction.
Ballantine replayed the scene in his mind: the two commandos in his sights, moving along the woods toward the cabins. His first shot struck the lead man in the chest; the second shot narrowly missed the wingman. He fired successive shots, but the team to his rear was being overrun, diverting his attention long enough for him to lose sight of the other operative. Then, very quickly it seemed there was enemy fire coming from the small set of trees next to the pier. Hit once, he labored to hide in the woods until he could recover.