“Ex-wife. She’s here to figure out how you went nuts.”
“Nuts? Bill, we are on the verge of changing everything!”
Hiccock took a deep breath. “And I suppose plotting to destroy the United States is some kind of warm-up to the main event?”
Edmonds now had a terrified look on his face.
“Weather, Bill! We are a meteorological research facility. I don’t know what makes you think we are …”
“Weather? You mean you are running an ultra top-secret, multimillion dollar off-budget black op to determine if the rain is going to hurt the rhubarb?”
“Well, when the Department of Defense dropped us, I had to get my team and myself another high-paying, satisfying research scenario. Breaking down the complexities of weather dynamics is a task only the largest computer ever made could attempt to unravel. Again, why is the former Mrs. Hiccock here?”
A guard safetied his gun as an MP pointed his weapon to the ground and released the bolt. There were only two men left with weapons. One of Hiccock’s MPs and Edmonds.
Tyler decided to speak up. “If what you are saying is true about your mission here, then you or somebody on your team is a serial-homicidal maniac. I intend to conduct a full psychiatric investigation to determine who the culprit might be.”
“After we shut you down,” Hiccock added.
The last MP stood down.
Edmonds swallowed hard. His eyelids were perceptibly fluttering now.
And then a spider crawled out of the uniform and up the neck of the MP standing next to Tyler. The soldier, sensing something just above his collar, reacted with a start, swatting the arachnid from his five o’clock shadow with a slight grunt. A blood-red dot appeared on his forehead as the sound of a shot echoed through the halls of Alison Industries. The back of his head exploded in a puff of red, white, and gray.
Before the soldier’s limp body crumbled to the floor, Edmonds pivoted, quickly acquiring his next target. Bang. An MP, instinctively raising his gun in response to the sound of the shot, was knocked down by the impact of the second gunshot.
“No!” Gold yelled.
The major raised his gun and fired, rippling Edmonds’s chest with bullet holes. He then kicked over a desk and dropped down for cover. Everyone else scrambled. Tyler instinctively reached out for the downed MP. Hiccock jumped across the ten feet between them and immediately covered her and pulled her down behind a desk. Parnes was hustled to the ground by one of his guards who took a bullet in the back for his trouble. The confusion over who was shooting at whom increased. Bullets ripped into everything. Guards and MPs were spun around and blasted back by rounds from the weapons of their adversaries.
Suddenly, save for the sound of a weeping Tyler, the hollowed out chamber of Alison Industries returned to its austere silence. Hiccock, tenaciously shielding Janice, chanced a peek from his position, just enough to see that the major was gauging the situation.
The major called out, “Give it up, Marine.”
Parnes pushed the dead guard off himself. “There is no need for this! Stop it!”
“He’s right,” Hiccock shouted. “Your cover’s blown and in minutes this place will be swarming with troops and FBI.”
“Please everybody, just calm down!” Parnes said.
The major yelled over the desk he was using for cover. “We got hurt people here. They need medical attention. What do you say we cease-fire and take care of our own? You and I will stand guard, Marine.”
Hiccock tenderly pulled back Tyler’s hair, making eye contact. “Are you okay?”
Janice jerked her head and hugged Hiccock. When she opened her eyes she was looking directly at the MP’s lifeless body, a pool of blood spreading from the back of his head. She started drawing short breaths. Hiccock kissed her head and stroked her hair, waiting for the next seconds to play themselves out. She kept turning her head in the direction of the dead trooper. Hiccock took her face in his hands and stopped her. Some shouts and a few more gunshots caused both of them to wince, but they never broke the connection, intensely holding onto one another with their eyes. All of the issues she had with him evaporated at that instant. After avoiding, intellectualizing, pragmatising, and postponing the issue, she now hoped with everything she had that they survived this madness. As a bullet whizzed by above their heads, they simultaneously, silently mouthed the words “I love you.”
True to the president’s words, no one had been allowed to leave the now superheated room. Everyone in the room avoided looking at the hastily wiped down spot of dried blood where Spence had died. The sound of the intercom ripped through the still air. “Action report, Sir.”
“What?” The president was stunned.
“Quarteback’s unit reports engaging an armed force after gaining entry to an Alison Industries.”
“Where is Alison Industries?”
“His team is requesting Air MedEvac. They have dead and wounded.”
“Dear God. Is Hiccock okay?”
“Unable to confirm that at this time, Sir.”
The president shifted his focus from the squawk box by his side to the people around the room. “Okay, so which one of your departments is contracting through Alison Industries? I want the answer in ten minutes.” Most of the Cabinet members picked up the phones in front of them.
Four-star General Wallace Bradley, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in full military uniform and decorations, covered his phone and sought the president’s attention. “Sir, I am getting something now.” He spoke into the phone. “Repeat and confirm.” His face turned as hard as the metal stars on his shoulder boards. “Mr. President, Quarterback’s group has met armed resistance from U.S. Marines.”
“What in the world? That doesn’t make sense.” The president’s brow was as furrowed as an Iowa cornfield.
The CJCS blurted out something that halted all conversation in the room. “What? That’s crazy! Rescind that order, call them back. Under my authority, goddamn it! The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff!”
All heads snapped toward the chairman, who appeared dazed by what he had just heard. He addressed the Commander in Chief. “Sir, an Air Cavalry squadron is en route to the area where Quarterback’s team is. They are poised to attack.”
“You have my authority to abort the attack and, in fact, order them to help with the dead and wounded.”
“Something doesn’t make sense here, Sir,” a confounded Chairman Bradley mumbled.
The intercom interrupted. A communications officer on the other end was obviously repeating raw what he was hearing on another tactical circuit. “Sir, the agency running the black op is … say that again? The oversight agency is Department of Agriculture.”
Every head in the room pivoted in unison to Harold Dawson, the Secretary of Agriculture. Two White House guards immediately flanked him.
“Harold?” the president said. “Why? What ever possessed you?”
Dawson turned to Ray Reynolds like a hunter suddenly surrounded by cannibals. “Mr. President, I assure you I know nothing …”
The president held up his hand. “Everyone else is excused. It’s been a long, hard day. The Secretary of Agriculture, Justice, and my counsel will remain. The rest of you may return to your offices.”
“Mr. President, may I have a word in the anteroom?” Reynolds asked in a tone that the two men knew meant that they needed to do this immediately.
The president acceded and they headed toward the small quarters off the Sitch Room, both unconsciously stepping over the spot where Naomi had died, the marble floor still streaked from the quick mop-up of her blood. Reynolds closed the door and sat for a second. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop the Air Cav from attacking.”