There was nothing in any of the data they’d been able to glean from the creatures so far that would even remotely suggest the course of their current state of mutation. Or was it more correct to say, de-mutation?
It shouldn’t be happening, but it was. Right in front of her eyes.
Both casings were locked in the containment chamber again, behind steel doors, and thick, impenetrable Plexiglas. Even though it appeared as if the two creatures were returning to normal — at least physically, apart from the unexplained brain masses — there were no guarantees of what would actually emerge when the casings cracked open.
Would it be just a normal field rat?
A normal Sergeant Wilson?
She didn’t know what to expect, but she doubted it.
It was now just a simple waiting game.
Waiting to see what they’d become.
CHAPTER 70
Jessie gripped the edge of the small conference table in the president’s airborne situation room as Air Force One dove from its cruising altitude, its four huge turbofan engines screaming like enraged beasts, yearning to tear free from their wing pylons and bolt ahead of the rest of the aircraft.
General Metzger sat in one of the cabin’s large, padded chairs, staring at the president, who at that moment was slumped at the head of the conference table, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, oblivious to what was happening around him. Sleeping.
“How long until he’s functional again?” he asked.
“An hour, maybe two. It’s hard to tell.” In reality, Jessie had absolutely no idea how long it would take. Andrew was proving to be stronger than any of the other men she’d conquered, and it had taken a much larger amount of the drug to force him to succumb to her will. As she looked at him, she was afraid he might never be fully functional again. She was definitely in unfamiliar territory with this man. The situation was unpredictable. For a few seconds, he’d thrown off the chains she’d wrapped around his mind and had been the Andrew Smith, aware of what was happening to him, and knowing he had to alert his vice president. Deep down, she admired his strength of will. But she also knew she couldn’t afford to have the real Andrew Smith come to the surface again.
Not now.
Not when their moment was finally at hand.
If it happened again, she would kill him.
“We need him awake,” Metzger said. “Without him, this is going to be difficult. When they start calling to speak to him — and if you’ve done your job, they should be calling soon — he’s got to be ready. There can’t be any mistakes.”
Jessie’s eyes blazed defiantly. “I did my job. The Russians, the Chinese, the British, even the peace-loving French are in the process of making moves right now that should inflame the entire situation.” She smiled as she thought about how the process would eventually unfold, due in large part to her meticulous efforts laying the groundwork for the chaos that would surely ensue. “Their leaders will go ape once they learn we’ve nuked our own country to try to kill these things. From that point on, everything should start happening quite rapidly. Our people abroad have done their jobs, too. We’ve all waited for a moment like this to arise, and they were ready for it, just as you and I were.”
Metzger lit another cigarette. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
“Oh, I’m right, General. I’m right.” Jessie shot a glance out a cabin window, gripping the table to keep her balance. She could see the horizon tilted at a crazy angle, the massive jet diving to a lower altitude to duck under the radar, and hopefully, to safety.
The pilot’s voice came from the overhead speaker. “General, this is Colonel Jepperson. We’ve been in contact with Pasture. They’re ready to receive.”
“Very well. How long until we land?”
“Approximately thirty minutes, sir.”
“Copy. Keep us informed.”
When the president divulged the details of the duress phrase to Jessie — after she’d administered a dangerously large dose of the drug — Metzger immediately ordered Air Force One to head toward a supersecret government relocation facility located just outside of Louisville, Kentucky, code-named Pasture, an underground compound with all the command and control equipment needed to guide the nation during a time of crisis.
Metzger was old friends with the Kentucky adjutant general — the state’s top National Guard officer — and had explained their need to land immediately at Louisville International Airport, home of the Kentucky Air National Guard.
He’d assumed — correctly — that the orders issued by the vice president hadn’t made their way through National Guard channels yet, so he wasn’t forced to persuade the adjutant general to disregard any previous orders. It would’ve been troublesome, but he could’ve done it. The adjutant general wasn’t one of them—a soldier of the cause — but he had a weakness to please his superiors. A weakness that could be exploited.
Metzger knew he wouldn’t be so fortunate when it came to dealing with active duty forces, though. They’d surely received their orders—lawful orders — and were hunting down Air Force One at this very moment, under the direction of the vice president.
He and the national security advisor had certainly been branded rogue elements by this point. Dangerous people who’d somehow managed to co-opt the president’s decision making. Dangerous people who had control over the country’s fearsome arsenal of nuclear weapons and had used them against three American cities.
If he were in the vice president’s shoes, he’d have immediately ordered fighters to intercept Air Force One and force it to land. And if it didn’t land — with a president under duress dropping nukes on American soil — he wouldn’t hesitate to blow the aircraft out of the sky. Eliminate the threat.
The vice president was a Coastie, but he wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating her again.
They had to get on the ground. Fast.
Given a hurried description of the vice president’s coup attempt — spiced with just the right amount of fatalistic urgency — his old friend had offered up the entire resources of the Kentucky National Guard to protect Air Force One, and, of course, the president. A call to the governor would have to wait. After all, national security was at stake.
As far as the adjutant general was concerned, he’d just been officially federalized and would answer to no one other than his commander in chief, the lawfully elected president of the United States.
The huge jumbo jet groaned and shook under the stress as it leveled off its decent, g-forces pushing Metzger deeper into the chair cushion as the plane pulled out of its dive. Outside the cabin windows, the landscape screamed by as Air Force One hurtled across the green Kentucky farmland a little over one hundred feet above the ground.
Under the radar and toward safety.
CHAPTER 71
“Admiral, we have three confirmed nuclear detonations. High yield.”
“Mother of God.”
Admiral Grierson stared in disbelief at the three circles glowing on his status board, pulsating blood-red orbs overlaid on a map of the United States.
Minneapolis-St. Paul.
Oklahoma City.
Little Rock.
Gone.
Destroyed.
His command center was absolutely quiet. The people serving with him were dealing with what they were seeing in their own way. Silently.
He’d always figured the day would come when he would see a nuclear detonation of some sort on American soil. Once the Soviet Union imploded, and Moscow’s iron-clad control over its nuclear arsenal rusted away, it was only a matter of time before one — or more — of the weapons fell into the wrong hands and made its way to American soil.