Captive-in-Chief (15 page)

Joe had walked out of the station and spotted the park ahead, deciding to give Sandy a well-earned and much needed run. A walk down Delaware Avenue through the Lower Senate Park was exactly what they both needed. The sight ahead of the US Capitol Building exuded a power and confidence that made Joe feel invigorated at the task ahead. He was back, he was Joe Francis Kelly, and his promises meant something.

The first sign something was wrong was the sound of metal cracking against metal. Within a second, gunfire had erupted. Panicked gunfire. Joe raced towards the sound. He was a Marine, it was what he did. He ran towards trouble, not away from it. Sandy followed after him, it’s what she did.

They reached Constitution Avenue at the end of Delaware when the explosion happened. Over three hundred yards away and with the Senate wing of the Capitol Building in front of him to soak up the blast, it still sent him hurtling backwards through the air. He rolled and slammed into the curbside, Sandy landing a few feet to his right. She whimpered loudly, crumpled against the concrete. He rushed to her side as rocks and debris rained down all around them. A cloud of dust had reduced visibility dramatically. His back took two hits from what he could only guess were large bricks as he protected himself and Sandy. She was covered by blood, he searched desperately for the source. while Sandy, whimpering loudly, licked wildly at his face. He searched her in the increasingly reducing visibility. He hadn’t even noticed he couldn’t hear a thing. The silence all around as chaos reigned was deafening.

“Stop!” Clay commanded as the Secret Service agents rushed him towards an exit.

When they ignored him, he planted his feet and fought against their forward motion, throwing one of them aside.

“I’m not leaving the White House. Where was the explosion?”

Mike paused, debating what to do next. His job, his
only
job, was to protect the president. “I’m sorry, Sir, the Capitol has been destroyed. Protocol dictates I get you as far away from danger as possible. One and a half miles is not my idea of far away.”

“Mike, let me make this crystal clear, I am not leaving Washington, I don’t care what your protocol dictates, I’m staying here.”

“The least we can do is PEOC,” Mike said to his colleagues.

Clay raised his hand. “I’m going to the Situation Room, I am not going underground!”

Clay brushed the lapel on his suit down and walked calmly and quickly towards the Situation Room. The nation was going to be hurting and they needed somebody in charge.

He walked into the Watch Room located next to the Situation Room. The team of analysts that manned the room 24 hours a day, 365 days of the year, were rushing from desk to desk.

All stopped in their tracks when their Commander-in-Chief entered the room.

“All I know is there has been an explosion at the Capitol,” Clay said. “Whatever this is, we will prevail, we will fight back, and we will come out of this stronger. Now can somebody bring me up to speed?”

The watch commander broke off and led Clay through to the Situation Room. “Mr. President, you should brace yourself,” he advised, switching on the TV.

“Where’s that?” asked Clay, looking at a mountainous pile of rubble. Random mounds of fire were scattered across the debris, and the whole scene was partially obscured by a cloud of dust.

“That, sir, is the Capitol.”

Clay fell into his chair, the entire building had collapsed. He had expected some damage, not complete devastation.

“Oh dear God, did people get out?”

The watch commander shook his head. “No warning and both Houses were sitting, including the vice president, and we believe eighty-one senators and almost four hundred congressmen and women.”

“But how? We’re talking a massive building, what the hell kind of bomb does that?”

“We’re not sure, although definitely not nuclear, we’ve ruled that out already,” said Charles, the National Security Advisor, rushing into the room. The watch commander excused himself.

“Survivors?”

“Teams are on scene now. We’ll update you, although it’s not looking good. We’re estimating, with staffers and employees, the number of casualties will be in the thousands.”

“What about the Supreme Court?” asked Clay. It was only a few hundred yards from the Capitol.

“Some damage to the building. However the justices are all okay.”

“I want them in a secure location asap!”

“We’ve been in touch with the Supreme Court Police and the Secret Service are assisting. It’s happening now.”

“Who?” He slammed the desk, looking at the pile of rubble that had been the symbol of freedom and democracy the world over.

“Initial reports and footage of the occupants suggest Islamic fundamentalists.”

“With a bomb like that?”

“We believe it was a thermobaric bomb, Mr. President,” the director of the CIA said, entering the room.

“How the hell did they get their hands on a thermobaric bomb that size?” asked the NSA.

“The Russians have a bomb called the FOAB, father of all bombs. From initial analysis of footage and the blast radius, we’re confident that’s what caused this.”

“So this is the Russians?” Clay spat.

“Not necessarily,” Charles countered. “If you remember back a few months ago, the Russians alerted us to a theft from one of their munitions storage facilities. They asked for our help and we’ve been assisting them in the investigation. If the reports of the occupants being dressed as fundamentalists are true, there is every reason to believe it was Islamists, Mr. President. It is a group affiliated with ISIL that was believed to have stolen the bomb.”

Over the next few minutes the room filled up with the most powerful men and women in America rushing in to support and protect their president.

“Mr. President,” said the attorney general, “we are in unprecedented times, the legislative branch of the United States has effectively been destroyed. Without Congress and the Senate, we’re left with serious legal issues. I suggest we enact Directive 51 with immediate effect, which will ensure we can maintain an effective and legitimate—”

“I’m not rushing into any such action. We don’t know what the situation is at the Capitol, it may be that there are large areas buried in rubble and the structure is sound underneath.”

Clay’s phone buzzed with a message:
Listen to your AG!

Clay’s head snapped up. Nobody was using a phone. They were listening in to what was happening in the Situation Room. Why he was surprised he didn’t know. After what had taken place over the previous two days, their reach was beyond extraordinary.

The watch commander entered and passed a note to him:
Vice president found dead, no survivors expected from the Senate chamber.

Clay relayed the news; eighty-one senators and the VP dead.

With confirmation of the deaths, the enormity of the situation began to take hold. What if it wasn’t Islamic fundamentalists who had driven the bomb into the Capitol? Why would he even think it was? He chastised himself for being so gullible. He was kidding himself if he believed it was Islamic fundamentalists. Obviously it was the conspirators. He couldn’t keep it up, thousands were dead, his country was being plunged into chaos, and all because he was selfishly protecting his family.

Clay excused himself. He needed time to think, time to consider his next move. He wasn’t going to lead a country being controlled by an outside party.

He took a seat in his private study and picked up the phone. “Ramona, find the secretary of state for me, please.”

Two minutes later his phone buzzed.

“Mr. President.”

“Ken, thank God you’re okay. Where are you?”

“Brussels. I’m heading back now, Sir, we’ll be wheels up in two minutes. The Secret Service is insisting I come back as a matter of urgency.”

“Line of succession, Ken. You’re next in line now.”

The line went quiet for some time. “That bad, Mr. President?” asked Ken, realizing how many people had to have been killed for
him
to be next in line.

“The VP, speaker, and president pro tempore, all gone,” Clay confirmed. “Are you secure at that end?”

Clay could hear him asking people to leave the room.

“We are now, Mr. President.”

“Come to me when you land. Don’t talk to anyone else, come directly to me.”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

Ken was a widower with no children. They would struggle to control Ken the way they had controlled him.

Clay would resign. It was risky, but once he had resigned, there’d be no benefit in killing Clara or anyone else. Staying in power wasn’t helping anyone, it was ripping his country apart.

It would take around eight hours for Ken to arrive back from Brussels. The second he was in the White House, Clay would announce the handover with immediate effect. He didn’t care what the people thought or said, he had to do what he thought best. With a renewed sense of purpose, he strode back into the Situation Room. It didn’t take long for his purpose to wane. In every instance, the worst case scenario was playing out. Survivors from the Capitol were few and far between. The list of casualties of tourists and bystanders alone was running into hundreds.

“Mr. President,” said his chairman of the Joint Chiefs, attracting his attention.

“Yes?”

“I believe we should move to DEFCON 2.”

“Do we believe we’re expecting an imminent attack?”

“Sir, all I know is that we weren’t expecting the Capitol to be blown up by a Russian bomb.”

“The Russians haven’t done this,” interrupted Charles. “However, I do agree moving to DEFCON 2 is the right thing to do.”

“Anyone disagree?”

Nobody disagreed.

“Take us to DEFCON 2, Mr. Chairman.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. We also have a list of targets that you wanted us to prepare for hitting the cartels.”

“Yes, although I wanted congress’ approval for that,” he said wistfully.

“Directive 51, Mr. President,” said the AG forcefully. Directive 51 effectively gave the president extraordinary emergency powers that would in effect allow him to control every aspect of the US both economically and militarily without recourse.

“Do we know anything about the Islamic fundamentalist group?” asked Clay, ignoring his AG. That was a step he wasn’t prepared to take.

“Initial reports are suggesting the four terrorists are members of prominent Saudi families. Documents and files extracted from their student home at Georgetown are suggesting an affiliation to ISIL, or fragments of what are left of them,” the deputy FBI director reported.

Clay drummed his fingers on the desk. ISIL was a group that had tried to create a caliphate in the Middle East. He had crushed them on election into office, with the help of the Russians and Chinese. His predecessor had skirted around the edges, playing it safe. Clay had taken off the gloves and shown the world the true might of the modern US military. The Russians and Chinese had played little part in the end game but witnessed how devastating and efficient the US military was. It had been an overwhelming success, both by destroying ISIL and putting the Russians and Chinese back in their boxes.

“Do you have locations for these remnants?”

“Yes, sir, although some are in Saudi Arabia, radicalized mosques preaching hatred.”

“Were these guys on any watch lists?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Clay’s phone buzzed.
Detain all on no fly list, deal with cartels, and destroy ISIL targets in Saudi.

They were listening in on his meeting!

Clay had no intention of taking any action for the next few hours. Somebody not under any outside influence would make the decisions that needed to be made.

The watch commander entered, his face conveying more bad news was about to be divulged. He slipped a note in front of the president, not wanting to interrupt the person speaking:
Secretary of state’s aircraft crashed during takeoff in Brussels, no survivors expected.

The room began to spin, Clay was losing it. Ken dead, another good friend taken, and his last get out. The secretary of the treasury was next in the line of succession. While he may have been a genius economist, he was definitely not a man to lead a country, never mind a country in turmoil.

Clay stood and issued his instructions to gasps from the majority in the room.

The more Joe tried to stop her moving the more Sandy squirmed beneath him, desperately licking at his head. Her rear end was soaked in blood. He couldn’t find the source. He desperately wanted to stem the flow, she couldn’t afford to lose that much blood.

A paramedic appeared by his side, Joe pushed him away when the paramedic tried to separate him from Sandy.

“You need to fix her!” he shouted, pointing to Sandy. The painkillers were wearing off, his headache was coming back with a vengeance and affecting his balance once again.

Though the paramedic was speaking, Joe heard nothing. His ears were ringing from the explosion, and there was every chance both eardrums were burst, or at least temporarily damaged.

Finally the paramedic realized Joe couldn’t hear him, he indicated to his own head and drew a line down it.

Joe had no idea what he meant. He looked down at Sandy, who looked up at him forlornly, still desperately trying to lick at him.

The paramedic called help over, pushing Joe back. He tried to fight back but all the fight was out of him. He had barely any energy. Sandy sat up. He looked at her, she seemed more worried about him than she was of herself.

The paramedic, much to his frustration, ignored Sandy and pushed a gauze pad towards him. He removed it after one touch, Joe could see it was soaked. Fresh pads, one after another, were placed and replaced. It was his blood that had soaked Sandy, she had been trying to save him, while he had been worrying about her.

The paramedic taped the wound as best as he could. The cut ran from his neck to above his ear. Fortunately for Joe’s future looks it ran behind his ear and not across his face. A clean piece of gauze was taped across the makeshift repair and an instruction to get to an ER ASAP given to Joe by the paramedic. The paramedic rushed off without so much as a goodbye, Joe didn’t even have the chance to thank him for saving his life. Of that he had no doubt, the amount of blood on Sandy and around them was more than most could afford to lose.

Joe looked around, the hazy dustiness and lack of awareness due to his loss of blood and more than a few major knocks to his head and body could not hide the devastation. Where the Capitol dome had proudly stood, only sky remained. The entire building, the powerful and imposing figure of the US legislature, lay in ruins. A pile of crushed, smoldering rubble.

Joe stood up, his legs barely able to support his weight. The blood loss taking its toll. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk. The sound of sirens invaded his head as his ears once again recognized sounds. He looked around; people and debris littered the street. People in varying states of distress surrounded him. Sheets were being laid over the less fortunate. Some sheets covered body parts rather than full bodies. It was without question the most gruesome scene he had ever witnessed. The body of a young child was covered less than ten yards from him, the inconsolable mother by their side. He needed to help, he needed to do something. His legs shook beneath him but they worked. The area was flooded with medics of all descriptions, doctors, nurses, paramedics, there was little he could do there. More importantly, his president needed him. Joe was sure that time was now more than ever. Sandy tugged at him to sit back down. Joe pushed on, he had to get to the White House and Clay.