The men filed out of the room and the President stopped Jim Butler. “Jim, is Roger coming in tomorrow?”
“Yes sir. Then he’ll shove off back to the ship.”
“Have him stop by. I’d like to see him once more before this starts. If it does go south, I just want him to know I’m here,” he said.
Butler could see the concern in the President’s eyes. They had become the best of friends and he could see that the thought of something happening to Roger and Patricia was troubling him deeply. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Steve. Roger knows we’re doing everything we can. Right now he’s a part of getting this done. That means everything to him. Besides, I doubt he would go back without stopping by to see us,” he said with a grin.
“I guess not, Jim,” the President said. “You going home tonight?”
Butler shook his head. “I’ll be down in the basement. I took over Roger’s old room, remember?”
The President smiled. Hammond had made his own little apartment in the sub-basement of the White house at the start of the last war. Now Butler stayed there when things were getting a little too sticky. “Well, at least I know where I can come when I need a shoulder to cry on,” he quipped.
Both men laughed. There would be little sleep that night, but at least something was finally happening.
Within an hour, Special Operations Command cut orders to ready a C-17 transport plane to prepare for a mission the following afternoon from Andrews Air Force Base to Boa Vista Air Force Base in Brazil. The orders were classified top secret. The draft of the message had been hand written and one of the communications technicians typed the orders and then sent them back for proofing. Air Force Captain David Ferrell had the watch in the communications center when the message returned and was surprised that the proof was signed by General Richardson herself. It was a fairly detailed message outlining the flight. But of particular interest was it was to carry a 20 man team with equipment, and then return to Andrews without them. There were also direct orders to remain radio silent during the operation except for takeoff and landing.
Ferrell knew exactly what was happening. It was something he had been told to look out for. All his life he had been brought up in a politically active family. They had achieved great wealth through different levels of politics and his grandfather’s influence in the steel industry. When Ferrell had entered the service it was in the hopes that it would further him in a future political career. His father was grooming him to be a future senator. Unfortunately, the wrong man was currently in office and the family was doing everything it could during the current elections to get the opponent in office. It was not so lightly suggested that if he saw anything which might be used against the president, it should be discreetly passed along. Former senator Williamson had personally been grooming the young man and had stressed the importance of what he would be doing for their candidate.
The message was to be sent as an ‘Op Immediate’ priority, so he quickly got it to the message center to be sent out. Afterwards, he left the communications center and walked outside for a breath of air. He walked to the A ring of the Pentagon where the food courts were and walked to a pay phone near the men’s restroom. It was a quick call. By the time he returned with a burger and fries, the message had been sent out. He spent the rest of his watch thinking about how he would enjoy an office in the Senate.
The yelling across the courtyard had gotten everyone’s attention. Obviously the sergeant had become upset with someone. After nearly a half an hour of screaming, the door flew open to the sergeant’s office and two guards escorted a third across the courtyard and into the outer room to the cell the prisoners were in. The barred door was opened and the young man thrown bodily into the cell before it was slammed shut. The remaining guard looked slightly sickened, but stood watching the scene.
Although beaten and bleeding, Patricia immediately recognized the young man as the guard she had befriended. Grabbing a relatively clean rag, she soaked it with water from one of the bottles and rushed to his side. She sat beside him and gently turned him over to examine his injuries. Someone had nearly beaten the young man to death. His eyes were badly bruised and swollen, his lips puffed and split, and there were several gashes along his cheeks and forehead. Worst of all, his nose was obviously broken. She eased his head into her lap and began to gently clean his wounds. The others helped get the rest of his body positioned to be more comfortable and then stood by to help. Glancing back at the guard, Patricia noticed that there was concern on the young man’s face, but he made no move to stop them.
Through the now small slits between the swollen tissues, the young man’s eyes turned to rest on Patricia’s. He started to move, but she shook her head and eased him back down. “You lay still,” she said. “Let me try to help.”
“It might get you in trouble,” he said through swollen lips.
She smiled at him. “Don’t see how. You’re in with us now.”
He glanced around at the concerned faces around him. “What’s your name,” asked Robert Hudson, kneeling next to him. Patricia translated his question.
“Manuel Donado,” the boy said.
“Well, Manuel, don’t worry about us, we’ll help where we can. What made them do this to you,” Hudson asked.
They could all tell the young man was struggling with something inside as he took a couple of deep breaths. “I asked the sergeant not to assign me to any more special details up at the ceremonial grounds,” he said. “I told him what they were doing was wrong.”
The people looked around at each other. “That doesn’t seem unreasonable to me,” said Hudson. “What kinds of things were they doing?”
“I only went to one,” Donado said. “But El Presidente conducts these big religious ceremonies there. I didn’t know what kind till I got there. It was sickening,” he said.
“It must have been pretty bad,” said Roberts.
Patricia nodded. “He was upset about this yesterday when I talked to him, but he wouldn’t say what it was.” She turned to Donado again. “Please tell us why this made you upset.”
“Because they killed a man and offered him to their god,” Donado blurted out.
Several of the mayors gasped, unable to believe what the young man was saying. “One of the natives?” asked Patricia.
He shook his head, “No, it was an older white man with very white hair. I think he was sick. He had to be helped into place.”
Patricia gasped and placed her hand to her mouth. Tears began to form as she translated what he had said for the others.
Now there was an outcry from the others. Everyone knew now that Jim Mitchell had been killed.
“I watched them cut out his heart with a knife. It was horrible,” he said finally, his tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.
Curtis Walker sat back on his legs. “That means we’re all doomed,” he said. “He has no plan to let us go.”
The revelation fell like a fog on the people in the room. It was interrupted by a very strong female voice. “I don’t think so,” said Patricia as she sat up straight. The determined look on her face got everyone’s attention. “We’re going to get out of this, and when we do, I intend to slam the cell door on that man myself.” She turned back to Donado. “Now tell us everything you know about this place we’re in.”
The C-17 climbed steadily into the evening sky. After turning south, the men unfastened their seatbelts and went over their gear one more time. They had been joined by several technicians explaining new equipment they would be carrying. Ricks was amazed to see all the things they would use which he hadn’t dreamed about just a few days earlier. He looked down at what appeared to be a standard IPhone in his hand.