On the way out of the shop, Sam’s newly acquired phone rang. He answered. “Hello?”
The distorted voice spoke again. “Don’t bother — they don’t know anything. And even if you did find the guy, he wouldn’t talk. He doesn’t know what’s going on, anyway. All he knows is that he won’t get paid if he tells anyone about the job.”
Sam said, “You mentioned something about playing a game?”
“That’s right. Think of it as a treasure hunt with a nice fat payoff at the end. Only you’ll have to hurry. Because if you don’t find that nuclear bomb in the next twenty-four hours, it’s going to detonate. Then that will be the end of Washington, D.C.”
The voice paused, giving Sam far too much time for his mind to conjure up Hiroshima-like images of American’s capital.
“No one crosses the Beltway from here on out but you, Sam Reilly,” the scrambled voice commanded. “No one in, and no one out. Once you’re across the Beltway, I’ll text you with your next set of instructions. You are not allowed to contact anyone. You are not free to accept anyone’s help. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Then get started. Because you can’t win if you don’t play — and the lives of roughly a million people are at stake. You’d better hurry.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was all over the news. Terrorist attack on Washington, D.C. The lockdown that the Secretary of Defense had implemented was expanded to cover additional territory, and was tightened even further. Now, even the military, police, and emergency transportation were shut down.
Sam was going to need some kind of assistance to get from Manhattan to D.C., no matter what the bad guy said. Walking the entire way was not an option. He needed transport.
Sam took the return military flight from JFK Airport to the Ronald Reagan airport just outside the Beltway, then he attempted to hire a Cessna 152 to fly himself into D.C.
The pilot stared at him wide-eyed. “You can’t fly into D.C. It’s on lockdown. Don’t you know about the terrorist attack? Anyone who goes in or out of the area will trigger a nuclear bomb.”
Sam started to explain, but didn’t get very far before he was interrupted by the man’s phone ringing.
“Hold on, I have to get this. It’s my wife — ”
When he answered the phone, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He turned toward Sam and his jaw dropped.
“Yes, sir,” he said, all the color leaving his face. “Yes, sir.”
He ended the call, automatically shoving the phone back into the pocket of his overalls. “That was the terrorist, Mr. Reilly,” he said breathlessly, “calling on my wife’s phone! I have to fly you anywhere you want to go or he’ll hurt my wife!”
“Calm down. Your wife will be okay,” Sam said, gripping the agitated man by the shoulder. “What else did he say?”
“You have his permission to fly directly into D.C.,” he said, his voice calming. “I’m supposed to take you. And Mr. Reilly? He says I’m to land on the National Mall!”
Chapter Twenty
The small aircraft was barely off the ground, before the pilot dipped its nose, leveling its climb angle to straight and level. It was going to be one hell of a short flight. The single engine changed its pitch, and the pilot commenced their descent.
The long, grassy National Mall is home to the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. At the eastern end is the domed U.S. Capitol. The White House is to the north. It's also flanked by Smithsonian museums.
Usually, the National Mall’s lawns and pathways are crowded with school groups, softball teams, and joggers. Sam doubted anyone would be out enjoying their soon-to-be landing strip today.
The Cessna 152 flew over the Potomac, where it combined with the Anacostia.
Sam ran his eyes across the landscape below. Armed men — soldier, mercenaries, and terrorists — lined the river, and urban perimeter of the city. Rubble and the smoldering remains to the north outlined where a series of bombs went off along K street NW, 11th Street NW, and Rhode Island Avenue NW, effectively cutting the capital in two. On the outer side of the perimeter, a large convoy of battle tanks, armored personnel carriers, and ground troops took their respective positions along bridges and street blocks in preparation for storming the capital.
America’s capital.
The sight took his breath away. His eyes turned to the domed Capitol building, across to the camouflaged mercenaries who now occupied it. His response was visceral. A beacon of democracy being ravaged by war and terrorism.
The engine went nearly silent, as the pilot reduced its RPM right back in preparation for landing. “I’m starting our descent.”
Sam withdrew from his emotional response, instead focusing on the task at hand. “Understood.”
Air traffic control must have been contacted by the terrorist as worried voices directed the Cessna’s pilot to the Capitol. Directly over the Capitol Building they began their final descent, passing low and slowly flying mere feet over the cars jamming the streets.
They came down directly on the grass strip in the center of the mall. The back of the plane fishtailed as they came down and started sliding over the wet grass. Behind them they had left a long streak in the grass, with dark patches where the sod had been torn free.
Once the plane came to a stop, the pilot turned off the engine. “I’m not ashamed to say that I’m shaking like a leaf,” he said.
Sam’s phone buzzed, the signal that he’d just received a text message. The message led to the “Space Race” exhibit in the National Air and Space Museum.
Which was just past the cherry trees to his left.
It was clear to Sam that the mastermind behind this “game” had planned everything down to the inch. With a sigh, he climbed out of the plane.
“Hey, wait,” the pilot called.
“Yes?”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
Sam gave him Tom Bower’s number. “Call this number and tell Tom that you need a place to ride out the storm in D.C.”
“Thanks.”
Sam’s phone buzzed again. This time the text said, Don’t try to get clever. I’m watching you.
“Watch away,” Sam muttered under his breath.
Once inside the Air and Space Museum, Sam took a look around. The museum was more or less abandoned, for now at least. If people were trapped in D.C. for long enough, they'd probably flood the place looking for something to do — or a place to spend the night. The hotels inside the Beltway were expensive and jam-packed at the best of times. No doubt they were already jacking up their prices for the night.
Now what?
No doubt his game-playing extremist had arranged his next step.
Sam was met at the doors of the museum by a pair of guards and escorted inside. Approaching him at a moderate walk was a wizened, white-haired man in a black suit with a striped tie and a mischievous smile. He was followed by a middle-aged woman in a brown pantsuit with a kind, round face. A cheerful golden scarf was tied around her neck, in contrast to her dark brunette hair.
The man's handshake was firm and emphatic. "Roger Nelson, Director of the National Air and Space Museum. This is Marge Toben, my assistant."
"Sam Reilly."
His assistant gave Sam a faint, uncertain smile but said nothing as she shook his hand more gently.
The main hall was scattered with exhibits both on the floor and overhead. The Spirit of St. Louis, flown by Charles Lindbergh, hung near the orange "Glamorous Glennis" Bell X-1, the first aircraft to break the sound barrier. The rest of the exhibits in the room were hardly less impressive. Overhead, the bright blue sky seemed to call the aircraft to come out and play.