State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (11 page)

“Nope.” He moved closer to her, standing inches away as she backed up against the desk. “Tell me what you’re up to.”

She sighed. It was time to fight dirty. “Murray, this is your last chance. We’re friends, but now I’m giving you an order as your superior. You need to leave.”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “Not until I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m doing my job. But if you keep it up and continue to disobey my instructions, I’m going to issue you with a formal warning. That’d be your third, wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t!” He backed away, fury in his eyes. “I’d lose my job! You know that!”

She did know that. She kept her voice sharp. “I do. Now I want you to go home.”

Her heart broke as he looked at the floor. His fists were balled at his sides and he started to say something, then shook his head. He turned and left the room without saying anything further. She sighed and felt the tension drain out of her, but knew that she’d crossed a much more final precipice than the treason she was about to commit. Her friendship with Murray was damaged, perhaps destroyed.

She dug through the paperwork on her desk, picking out the most important pieces. A few tears splashed against the papers as she gathered them together, but she ignored them. She was no expert in the release of information, but she was going to photocopy and scan the heck out of anything she could find that she considered to be a breach of FEMA’s mandate.

If she was successful in distributing the information, she might begin to end the organization’s vice-like grip on the country. If nothing else, she was confident she could have some success locally and make life for the residents of Illinois a bit easier. She picked up the stack of hastily gathered paperwork and moved towards the photocopier. It was all about to change.

***

Richard smiled at the White House staffer as she opened the door leading into the Oval Office. He adjusted his tie absentmindedly and then walked inside. On the other side of the room, President Helen Morris was consumed by paperwork, a feeling he knew all too well. He’d only just reached the bottom of his pile. It surprised him that she had so much to do, considering he was running the country.

She was concentrating and hadn’t noticed him enter. She had her head resting in one hand and a pen in the other. He stopped and coughed quietly. She looked up and her eyes blinked a couple of times, as if he’d pulled her out of a deep trance. She appeared tired and drawn, but a broad smile cracked through the gloom on her face like sun on an overcast day.

“Madam President.” Richard stood as tall as he could. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“Hi Richard.” She held the smile and gestured him toward the sofa. “Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. I was surprised though.” He knew as he sat that he shouldn’t have said it, but couldn’t resist. What had once been a rarity for him – meeting alone with the President – had become common since the state of emergency was declared. He had a mountain of work and no time for this, but he knew that with power came the need to reassure the person who’d given it to him and who, if pushed, could theoretically take it away again.

“Why?” She winced as she sat heavily on the lounge opposite him, obviously in pain from too many hours at a desk. “I want an update on our efforts to stop the attacks.”

Richard caught his sigh before it showed obvious disrespect. He didn’t have time for this. “Did you see the latest report?”

She raised an eyebrow, but he held her gaze. “I don’t want paperwork, Richard. I gave you the responsibility to end this, and I want to hear it from your mouth.”

He wondered why he bothered to have his staff compile enormous reports of FEMA’s operations and successes if she was just going to cast them aside. He had a preferred way of working, a
proven
way of working, and by asking for a verbal update she was shitting all over that. This was one of the reasons he’d grown tired of waiting for a great leader to come along, the reason he’d had to take over. Why couldn’t she recognize that things were under control and just sit back and watch?

Sitting in front of him was a pale caricature of a President. Morris had been a fierce woman. She’d roared through the Washington establishment like a firestorm following the revelations about the Foundation for a New America. No corner of government had been spared the excision of corruption. All had felt her wrath equally and Richard had gained an enormous respect for the woman’s sense of order. That had been the high point.

Now she was a frightened shell. She’d proven to be the same disappointment that most of her predecessors had ended up being. She’d been unable to grapple with the dysfunction, unable to fend off the rent seekers, unable to bend the country to her will and do what was needed to save it. The attacks had overwhelmed her ability to lead, and she’d looked for someone – anyone – to save her. Richard would provide that salvation. It would be his legacy.

“I see.” He kept his voice level. “In short, the number of major terrorist attacks has fallen significantly since the commencement of the special arrangements. We’re not out of the woods yet, but the steps we’ve taken are working.”

Morris looked over her glasses, then sighed and removed them. “Don’t play me for the fool, Richard. Indianapolis. The agitation in the south. Though they were dealt with, all were serious.”

“Different matters.” He shrugged. “Those were the work of traitors and rebellious elements who don’t want to toe the line, not terrorists. They’re reacting to our movements to end the bigger threat.”

“What’s the difference?” Morris looked unconvinced. “An attack is an attack.”

Richard frowned. “I disagree. Terrorism is an attempt to instill chaos. These attacks are quite different – they’re a response to order, a rebellion against the effort we’re making to stabilize our country.”

She seemed to consider his words carefully. “Okay, assuming I accept your proposition, what’re we doing about it?”

He smiled. “The worst of the rebellious activity is being fuelled by the underground media. I’ve countered it.”

“Will it be enough?”

“I think so.” He was counting on it.

“Fine. I’m not thrilled though. I hate seeing us kill civilians and members of the military like in Indianapolis – rebellious or not.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Beyond that, if the attacks have stopped – the real attacks – then we can look to pull the plug on the state of emergency and the executive orders.”

“That would be a mistake, I’m afraid.” He’d seen this coming – she was so predictable. He rattled off his rehearsed lines. “Even though the attacks have stopped, it’s more because of the increased security than anything else. We haven’t yet apprehended any of those responsible for the attacks.”

“Sorry, Richard. You said it yourself, the attacks have slowed. It’s time to end the emergency measures and get things back to normal. The rest will melt away.”

He kept his features even. “I’m not certain that’s true. If we revoke the state of emergency, we’re likely to see more attacks and carnage.”

“More deaths.” She sighed and paused, apparently deep in thought. “So what do you need to smoke out those responsible for the attacks and to defeat this rebellion? I’m of a mind to mobilize the military to end this thing once and for all. Maybe the Joint Chiefs were right all along.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees but with his hands held out. “I can assure you that things are under control, Madam President. FEMA and the State Guard are preventing many attacks, and those that do occur are being contained and cleaned up as best as we can.”

“Okay, and finding those responsible? Dealing with the resistance?”

“I’m in the process of taking care of the resistance and our efforts to find the original attackers continue. Our operations haven’t been perfect, but close to it. My strong advice is to stay the course as planned.” He knew she’d go with it. To revoke his powers and risk reigniting the worst of the attacks seen months ago was a chance she wouldn’t take.

She sat back in the chair with her arms crossed, stared at him for a few long moments, then exhaled deeply. “Look, Richard, I’m going to be blunt. The reason I turned to you is that you’re a lot more effective than the rest of the blowhards. I’m not entirely satisfied, but you’ve made a good start. But I want no more civilian casualties from FEMA operations.”

He nodded, though he had no intention of complying. “I’ll continue to get results.”

Callum hocked and spat over the safety rail. He watched it sail toward the ground and then began the short lap of the guard tower for what felt like the thousandth time. Down below, a few of the inmates in the yard looked up briefly then down again. They tended to stay away from the tower and the fenced off walkways at ground level that let the security staff move through the camp securely. They knew better than to tempt bored guards, even if Callum wasn’t the sort to bust chops just for the fun of it.

Following his meeting with Bainbridge, he’d received a letter posting him to the security detail at a subversive internment camp near Effingham, Illinois. The facility housed around two thousand, with the capacity for more. He was still resentful that he hadn’t received his discharge, but if there was an easier posting in America right now, he wasn’t sure where. The major had been good to his word: Callum had stayed in the State Guard and in return he’d been posted as far away as possible from places where he was likely to be shot at.

Callum approached one of the other guards stationed in the tower, Staff Sergeant Micah Hill, who was busy reading a magazine. “Good to see you working hard.”

The large black man smiled as he looked up from his magazine, something with cars and tits on it. “You’re too stupid for sarcasm, Callum.”

“That’s fair.” Callum laughed. “Doubt we’ll be putting down any riots though. This lot can barely look sideways without pissing their pants.”

Hill’s smile vanished. “Fine by me. I had buddies in Indianapolis. We got the golden ticket right here. Don’t jinx it.”

Callum grunted in response. Dusk was starting to settle and as he looked out over the yard he reflected again on the size of the camp. Twelve pre-fabricated sheds dominated most of the space, though there was also a central recreation area and a well-guarded sub-complex along the western side of the facility which housed the hospital and administration wing. It was all divided by razor wire–topped cyclone fences and walkways for the guards. The prison was testament to how much could be built quickly if you put your mind to it.

“Hey, Micah?” He turned his head to Hill. “Just heading downstairs for a walk around and to make sure they all get to dinner. On the radio if you need.”

“No problem, Cal.” Hill didn’t look up from his titty magazine. “Make sure you leave the rifle behind though.”

Callum nodded and racked his rifle. Leaving it behind was a small price to pay for some freedom from the tower. Besides, he still had his pistol and Taser. He walked to the circular staircase. Lately he’d found himself taking these leisurely walks at least once a day, just to break up the drudgery of guarding people who posed no threat to anyone at all. Hell, most of them still seemed in shock that they were here at all. He appreciated that – they moved, ate and slept when told to, and were unlikely to try to shiv him or steal his weapon.

He reached the ground and swiped his access card on the reader. The gate unlocked with a clunk and he pushed it open and walked into the yard, protected on either side by the fence. He walked twenty feet before he was among the first inmates. They was a mix of gender, race and age. The only thing they appeared to have in common was loving the wrong person. That wasn’t the official line, of course, but it was whispered enough among the inmates for him to believe. Most or all of them were guilty of no crime.

When he was halfway between the tower and the first pre-fab building, a bell started to blare over the PA system. Dinner time. The inmates around him started to walk toward the dining hall, except for one woman who moved towards him instead. He caressed his pistol, but the fact that she was alone made the threat tolerable. As she drew closer he could see her eyes were puffy and red from too much crying. Despite that, she was very beautiful, with pretty features and nice curves.

“Slow it down, inmate.” He turned to face her straight on and called out. “I need you to think a bit harder about what you’re doing and stay away from the fence.”

“What the
fuck
do you think I’m doing?” She was visibly shaking as she approached. “I’m in jail for having a journalist for a husband. I need to get home to my children.”

He lifted one hand, palm facing outward and trying to calm her down. “This isn’t the way to do it. Don’t come any closer to this fence.”

“What is the way to do it then?” As she walked, she removed the top of her orange prison garb, exposing a tan-colored bra and a flat stomach. “Like what you see?”

Callum struggled to look away as he drew his pistol. “Inmate, stop where you are and put your clothes back on.”

He got one out of two. The woman stopped in her tracks, then started lowering her shapeless orange pants. He mused darkly that this was the issue with having the yard segregated from the paths the guards walked – he couldn’t quickly end this. Once her pants hit the grass, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She didn’t immediately let it fall, however, but held her hands over the front as she took a few more steps forward. He wasn’t going to shoot her, but this mischief had to end.

“Last warning before you find yourself in isolation.” He leaned in to the radio mounted on his shoulder in a deliberate enough warning.

She laughed. “Isolation? What do you call being stuck in prison for doing nothing, away from my family and without knowing a single soul in here?”

He pressed the button down on the radio. “Hey, Micah? Can you send a team down to me, I’ve—”

She raised her hands in mock surrender. The bra fell. “Look, all I want to do is get out of here. I’ll do whatever you and your buddies need doing, if that’s what it takes.”

“Callum, you okay?” The radio crackled. Micah’s voice had a slight hint of concern. “View looks good from here.”

“Not interested.” He looked away from the woman then leaned back in to the radio. “Micah, send someone to collect the naked princess for a day in isolation.”

He turned and kept walking. Once he’d walked a few yards down the path he glanced back to see the half-naked woman slumped on her knees on the lawn. She’d gathered her orange clothing and now hugged it to herself, her sobs audible even over the dinner chime. He shook his head. It wasn’t his job to question the decision to imprison these people. But he did wonder how long it would be until someone
was
trying to shiv him, rather than offering her body in return for freedom. He let out a long, slow sigh.

Being in combat might be dangerous, but Callum understood it a hell of a lot more than here.

***

Richard felt only a slight bump as the helicopter touched down softly on the rooftop, and he wasted no time sliding the door open and climbing out. He was here for one reason – this was one conversation he couldn’t have by phone or email – and the helicopter’s engine would barely have time to cool before he was in the air again. He glanced at the pilot, who stared ahead minding his own business. Good. He crossed the rooftop, entered the stairwell, walked down several flights and then placed his hand on the door handle. He took a deep breath, turned it and walked through.

The floor was vacant and painted a sterile white that wouldn’t have been out of place in a hospital. Plastic sheeting covered the cubicles and other assorted furniture that might one day house federal employees. But for now the entire building was empty, except for one table. She sat there with her back to him, her blond curls flowing down just past her shoulders. It was odd. For someone so deadly, she clearly trusted him not to stick a knife in her back. Or, more likely, her men were close enough to prevent that.

He could sense the anger radiating off her. She’d told him that the distribution center attack would be her last, that her team had taken on enough high profile jobs for him. She’d wanted to bank the enormous amount of money she’d earned and sit on a beach in South America for a few years, while the heat died down. But Richard couldn’t have that. He’d cultivated her for too long to lose her as an asset. He’d twisted her arm to accept one last job, to make one last attack, to help keep Morris convinced of the need for the state of emergency.

She’d attacked Times Square and the attack had gone well, but at a cost.

They’d lost one commando.
Her
 commando.

He stopped five yards from her. If she was feeling violent, a little distance wouldn’t hurt. Not that he could do anything to stop her anyway. He was a bureaucrat. A skilled one, with a great deal of power, but still a bureaucrat. His power was in bringing the sledgehammer of government to bear. She wielded a more surgical type of power. Both were vital to his plans. She hadn’t been behind all of the attacks, but she’d been behind many. She’d helped whip the country into such hysteria about terorrism that Morris had declared a state of emergency and put Richard in charge.

Now he had to soothe her. “I’m sorry about M—”

“Names.” The fury rolled off her in waves and her voice was barbed.

“Oh, don’t be so paranoid. The building is safe.”

“Remember who you’re talking to.” Her voice had pure menace as she stood and turned. “I told you I wanted to take a break. I told you Times Square was too hot.”

“It was.” Richard started to say more, bit his tongue, then continued. “I’m sorry.”

“I lost a man.”

“I know, and—”

“I don’t care.” Her hands were balled into fists. “I’d worked with him for a long time.”

“I know.” Richard was growing tired of this, but he needed to humour her.

“This is it. I’m out. I don’t work for you any more and neither does my team.”

He laughed, despite the fact that he was slightly afraid of her. One was not a woman to be mocked lightly. Even if her team wasn’t present, of which there could be no guarantee, she could kill him with her bare hands. On the other hand, the whole reason he knew her, and the whole reason she was willing to work for him, was the past they shared. Richard had saved One from a terrible situation. They didn’t talk about it anymore, but they both knew about it. He held the whip hand and, despite her bravado, she knew it.

“You don’t get that choice.” He kept his voice even. “You’re out when I say you are.”

She snarled and her eyes narrowed. “I’ve repaid my debt.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” Richard smiled. “But you have earned a break.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

He brushed some imaginary lint off his suit jacket. “I don’t believe it will be necessary to stage any further attacks. You’ve done enough.”

Richard smiled at her look of surprise. While it was true that more attacks would make it easier to keep the pressure on Morris and keep the state of emergency in place, he’d known this moment would come sooner or later. At some point, FEMA’s control would inevitably reach its zenith. At that point, it was imperative that the attacks began to slow. While this might be occuring a little earlier than he’d hoped, the risk of having One pissed off was too great. The attacks to date would have to be enough.

She nodded. He knew that his words had been accepted. She probably didn’t trust him to keep his word, but she didn’t have a choice. If push came to shove, he had the leverage to get her to do whatever needed doing. In the meantime, she’d be quiet and away from the eyes of authorities, and he could start making the case that he had brought peace to America. Or at least the start of it. He knew this might be the last time he saw her, or needed her.

But probably not.

***

Jack pulled the baseball cap a bit lower, to hide as much of his face as possible from the State Guard troopers walking on the other side of the street. He stared straight ahead as he walked, but kept the patrol in his peripheral vision. He had no reason to think they were after him, but he didn’t know what to expect from FEMA and their minions since Celeste and the others had been taken. Yet this lot didn’t even look at him, too busy talking among themselves and strolling along.

Once he was out of their sight, he leaned against the side of a building and composed himself. New York had been saturated with uniforms for the past few days as FEMA, the State Guard and the NYPD made noise about the detention of terrorists, supporters and sympathizers. Now the point had been made and with their targets in custody, he hoped that the tide would start to recede. Only then could they count the cost.

Since Celeste had been taken he’d kept a low profile, trying to decipher where she was, who else had been taken, and what was left of his support network. It was bleak. None of his old sources in New York had been any help: most had vanished, others claimed to know nothing and some refused to talk. Only Peter remained free. As for Guerrilla Radio, he’d had no word from Elena and he had to assume the resistance was stillborn.

Best he could figure, Celeste must have been sent to one of the camps that FEMA had erected, though he had no way of finding out which one. Worse still, the detentions had everyone on the edge of a razorblade. Nobody knew if they’d be arrested and detained for talking to the wrong person, or even who those people were. It meant people kept their mouths shut and their ears closed. It was exactly what FEMA wanted.

He took a left off 51st Street and onto 8th Avenue. He had to find something to eat and get back to Celeste’s house by curfew. He had no idea what to do or where to go, so he focused on nothing but living. He kicked at a loose piece of pavement, then watched it skid down the street and nearly hit a woman who was standing against a stop sign in a trench and boots. He squinted, then his eyes widened in realization. Elena.

He balled his fists by his side and huffed as he walked closer, ready to confront her, but he never got the chance. As he drew closer, she pushed herself off the pole. She’d clearly been waiting for him and there were tears in her eyes. While he’d lost Celeste, he hadn’t yet discovered what Elena had lost. She probably knew dozens of others scooped up in the raids. His anger subsided just a bit, but he still wanted answers.