State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (14 page)

***

“I see. Thanks for letting me know.” Richard frowned, trying to process the information being fed down the phone line. Then he made a decision. “Pick him up. I want a chat.”

He hung up and tossed his cell phone onto the desk, where it found a place among the mountains of paperwork. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. The call had been from his mole in the Secret Service, who’d escorted journalist Jack Emery through the West Wing to meet with the President. His man couldn’t tell him what they’d discussed, only that the meeting had been brief. While Richard doubted anything Emery could say would impact too heavily upon his efforts, to have another bird chirping in Morris’s ear was not something he needed. When that particular bird was Jack Emery, it was all the worse.

Emery’s successes in exposing the corruption in Washington by Michelle Dominique and the Foundation for a New America were legend. Dominique had been an egotistical sociopath who’d caused havoc throughout the world in an attempt to control the political agenda in the United States and stack Congress. She’d also been an idiot, trying to influence events from outside of halls of power, thrashing madly to control those inside and trying to join them as equals. It had brought her unstuck. Richard knew that true power, true influence, was wielded from the inside. Anonymous. Sudden. Final. He’d been glad to see her go.

Jack Emery wasn’t his enemy, or shouldn’t be. He should be a natural ally in bringing peace and stability to America, yet somehow he doubted Emery had met with the President to express faith in the administration. With Emery circling, there was no telling what was coming next. On top of that, there were rumors that a more organized resistance was being established, which made him furious. He’d wanted the dismantling of the journalist network to be the end of it, but they clearly couldn’t take a hint. It was possible that a new, more dangerous beast could rise from the ashes of Guerrilla Radio like a phoenix. He was going to have a chat with Jack Emery.

He let out a long sigh and was about to start back on his pile of paperwork when the phone rang again. He answered. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Administrator, this is Ashley Madigan at the Effingham Detention Center. We’ve had an incident with Mariposa Esposito. You asked to be notified in such a case.”

“Yes.” Richard closed his eyes. “What is it?”

There was a pause on the other end. “She was assaulted by one of our guards. Another detainee was hospitalized.”

“I see.” He reached for a file and flicked through it. It had Mariposa’s photo clipped to a series of copied pages. “Tell me what happened.”

As the news filled his ear, he only partially listened. With the rest of his attention he flicked through Mariposa’s file, trying to answer a question that had plagued his mind for several days. Though she’d betrayed him badly and been detained, she was still one of his people. Where possible, he looked after staff at FEMA. They were his foot soldiers in the war to achieve stability. That’s why he’d been so hurt by her betrayal. The young woman he’d entrusted with FEMA’s Area V command had copied classified documents with the intention of leaking them. She’d been interrogated, out of necessity, but he hoped that she could be rehabilitated once the crisis was over.

He searched through the file, his eyes scanning the pages. He wanted badly to find a reason to let her out of detention, but her crimes were serious. If she was smart, she’d keep her head down and stay out of trouble, despite the issue with the guards. But he was concerned by her apparent lack of remorse. He could free her, under the right circumstances, but he wasn’t able to abide the risk of her spreading more information, telling more secrets, riling up more dissent. There was no telling what she still knew, gleaned from her time spent in his inner sanctum. If she was to ever see the light of day, she had to repent and he had to be convinced that it was safe to release her.

He was about to close the file, his decision deferred for now, when his eyes grew wider. He stared at the sheet for several moments, the voice in his ear becoming so much noise as his mind worked frantically to understand the ramifications. He cursed himself for not looking more closely earlier. Richard pounded the table with his fist. “
Fuck!
”

“Excuse me, Administrator?”

He was surprised that the woman was still on the phone. He ignored her, enraged that he hadn’t put two and two together. For someone in such immense command of his organization, his people and most of America, he’d missed a critical detail. Mariposa Esposito had documents linking FEMA to supplies that had been provided to One and her team. It had all occurred through back channels, of course, but with enough analysis the documents could be used to prove his link to One. A list of documents she’d copied – many damning – had been inside the folder on his desk for days. But he’d delayed looking at it, wanting to find a way to free her. He’d been careless.

“I want her dealt with.” He pressed the button to terminate the call.

He hadn’t wanted to keep her detained, but by trying to find a way to free her he’d exposed himself. No more. She’d be dead within twenty-four hours.

Jack felt his stomach rise to somewhere near his throat as the helicopter started to descend. He mumbled a curse under his breath and gripped the overhead rail so tightly that his knuckles went white. It was irrational, given he was seated and strapped in, but the last time he’d been aboard a helicopter he’d thought safe it had crashed into the South China Sea. His heart was pounding when the helicopter touched down with a light bump. He waited. When there was no hint of fiery explosion, he opened his eyes. He realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled slowly. It had taken a lot of convincing and coercion to get him aboard. He’d never make the mistake again. He was done with helicopters.

“Mr Emery? You can let go of the rail now, sir. We don’t want you to damage it.” The pilot’s mocking in Jack’s headset was made worse by his southern drawl. “We’re here.”

Jack looked up. The pilot and co-pilot both had their necks craned to watch him, doing their best to conceal their smiles. He gave them a thumbs-up and removed the headset as one of the ground staff slid the door open and gestured for him to exit. He unbuckled and climbed out, keeping his head ducked low as he walked to the waiting convoy of vehicles. Or golf carts, anyway.

He approached a crowd of men and women surrounding one older man, who appeared to be sipping iced tea. This man was the whole reason he’d ventured onto the helicopter – despite his better judgment – and agreed to be flown right to the tee of the third hole at the East Potomac Golf Course. He was hardly able to refuse the invitation of FEMA in the current climate.

After his meeting with the President he’d checked in to a Washington hotel, given it had been too late to fly. He’d slept soundly and woken early, only to find Hall’s people waiting for him the minute he reached the lobby. They’d obviously known about his meeting with the President. They’d asked him to join them for a helicopter flight to meet with Richard Hall. He’d hardly had a choice.

As he reached Hall and his entourage, he lifted a hand in a lazy greeting. “Good morning for it.”

Richard Hall took one last sip of his iced tea, handed the glass to an assistant then pushed himself off the golf cart he’d been leaning on. “Good to meet you, Jack.”

“Likewise.” Jack kept his expression neutral, but was unable to resist the chance for a jab. “Didn’t think a man of your stature would have to work so hard to make friends, though.”

Hall’s lips thinned in what Jack gathered was a smile. “You’ve become a person of interest. I wanted to meet before you disappeared down your hole again.”

Jack doubted Hall would have any trouble finding him down any hole and suspected the timing of their meeting had been calculated for maximum impact. Though Hall might know he’d been involved in Guerrilla Radio and that he’d met with the President, Jack felt for sure that Hall was trying to work him out and intimidate him. Jack nearly laughed at the thought. Hall may have a lot of power, but he was an elderly career bureaucrat. He was hardly tough as nails.  

Hall reached out and placed a hand on Jack’s back, directing him gently toward the tee. “Walk with me, Jack. I need to have a discussion with you.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to understand the bind I’m in.” Hall looked pained as he reached the tee. “Against every fiber of my being, I’ve given you a degree of special treatment already.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I have.” Hall sighed and selected a driver from the bag of clubs that was waiting next to the tee. “What’s your handicap, Jack?”

“My swing.” Jack gave a small laugh. “I’m not much of a golfer, Administrator. I tend to whack and pray.”

Hall smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I respect a man who appreciates his own limitations enough to make light of them.”

Jack watched as Hall reached down and placed the ball on the tee then stood up straight. He seemed transfixed on the ball. He lined his shot up, drew the club back high and gave it his full swing. It was an exceptional shot. Hall held the club still as he watched the ball sail straight and true down the fairway. Jack doubted he could do better in a hundred tries. Hell, even a thousand tries.

“As I mentioned, I’ve given you a degree of special favor already.” Hall turned back to him, his face a picture of seriousness. “My bind, Jack, is that I know your agenda.”

Jack showed no emotion, though he did inch closer towards the golf bag. If this was an ambush it might help to have some iron in his hands. “I have no agenda, Administrator.”

Hall sighed. “Can we be honest? I know of your involvement in Guerrilla Radio. I know you were helping to stir up events in Indianapolis. I know you met with the President. I also know you’re not the kind of man to be easily dissuaded, but I need to try anyway. I owe you that much, out of respect for your achievements.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, as his mind struggled to find Hall’s angle. Then, it hit him like a brick. He nearly laughed. “My achievement against the Foundation? That was a long time ago. And you’d be surprised by the number of times I heard that right before people tell me something I don’t want to hear.”

“I’d like to hear your side of it first.” Hall placed his club back in the bag and faced Jack front on. “Then I’ll give you mine.”

Jack shrugged. He had nothing to lose. “Look, cards on the table, I don’t agree with the executive orders and I have huge concerns about what you and FEMA are doing. It stinks.”

Hall frowned. “You seem to deny me the respect I’m affording you. I think I’m being incredibly reasonable here, Jack. The President has made a number of decisions in the interests of protecting the country and I’m responsible for implementing those decisions. I’m doing my job. Surely you can respect that.”

“You’ve got a job to do, sure.” Jack wasn’t buying the tortured bureaucrat act. Hall knew what he was doing and the impact of his actions. Jack chose his words carefully, being sure not to mention Celeste. “But the same justification has been used by tyrants for centuries. I’m struggling to see the difference.”

“Sorry, I—”

Jack held up his hand, feeling the anger well up inside of him. “I was in Indianapolis. You’ve locked innocent people up. You’ve killed civilians. You may have a job to do, but I don’t think I like where things are heading or where it all ends. So forgive me if I don’t buy the shit you’re selling, Administrator.”

Hall’s eyes narrowed, his face flushed red and his mouth opened and closed a few times, in a way that reminded Jack of a floundering fish. Jack wondered if he’d pushed the administrator too far. He’d definitely lost his cool, if nothing else. He wondered if he’d soon be joining Celeste in one of the camps. He took another step closer to the golf bag, now just a few feet away. A nine-iron might just hit the smug off Hall.

Finally, Hall began to speak. “Very well. I was hoping I’d be able to convince you to keep your head down while the trouble passes, but you’ve made your position clear. I won’t waste your time or my breath. You’re a hero, Jack, and I regret that it’s come to this, but your special treatment is at an end. You’ve been warned.”

“I understand.” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper and he was surprised by the menace in his voice.

Hall gave a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t think you do. The next time you slip up, the next time you pop up on my radar, your precious Celeste will begin to feel pain.”

Jack flared. He took a single, final step towards the golf bag and grabbed a club. He flicked it up into his hand and held it, with both hands, ready to strike Hall. “Do not threaten her!”

Jack heard a commotion and shouts from behind him, but he kept his eyes locked on the administrator. Hall, surprisingly, didn’t move. He stared at Jack as he might a stray cat that had strolled into his yard. Jack gripped the club tighter, wanting to swing it and cave in Hall’s head, decapitating FEMA at the same time. But he knew that doing so would sign Celeste’s death warrant.

“Freeze!” A voice behind Jack shouted with authority. “Drop the club or we shoot.”

Jack flicked a glance behind him. Several suited men were pointing pistols at him. Every fiber in his being wanted to take the shot, to swing the thing at Hall’s head, to end this.

Hall coughed. “Done? If you were going to swing that thing, you’d have done it by now.”

Jack closed his eyes as his grip on the club slackened. He knew that the only way forward was organized resistance. He lowered the club and tossed it on the ground. “Fuck you.”

Hall gave the same laugh. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jack, or your girlfriend. As I said, I respect you. You achieved a great deal for our country. My reaction will be directly proportional to your action. There’s no simpler way for me to say it and you’ll need to decide what comes next.”

Jack seethed. “I’d like to go back now.”

Hall’s features lightened and he cracked a smile. “Sure you wouldn’t like to join us for a game? The sixth is a killer.”

Jack balled his fists by his side. “I’d like to go back.”

Hall shrugged. “Okay, it was nice to meet you and I hope that you’ll consider my words. My helicopter will take you back.”

Hall picked up the club Jack had tossed and replaced it in the bag. Without looking at Jack, he turned and started off down the fairway. Jack fumed, fists clenched, for several long moments as the other man walked away. He tried to calm down, but was struggling. He’d expected Hall to be a tyrant, a maniac. He’d expected threats of violence and bribes to get Jack to stop doing what he was doing.

Instead, Jack had met a normal man, a bureaucrat who believed in what he was doing and would squeeze Jack – and Celeste – as hard as needed to get the desired result. To Hall, this wasn’t personal. It was just another problem faced by a man who was used to dealing with them. His position was crystal clear: back off, or Celeste will start to become mightily uncomfortable in FEMA custody.

Jack was more committed than ever to ending him.

***

Callum closed his eyes for the first time in sixteen hours. It wasn’t quite as good as having his head on a pillow, but a comfortable chair and his feet on the desk was the best he could manage for the moment. He was on duty for another half-hour and for once there was nothing happening that required his attention. He hoped his luck would hold. He’d been on desk duty for the past few days, as part of a rotating shift involving all of the guards. Everyone took a turn on the towers, in the yard and in the administration. The latter was the most boring slot on the duty roster. It also had the longest shifts.

He hated himself for thinking it, but he wondered whether it would be a better idea to return to active duty. He hated the politics of the camp: management to guard, guard to guard, guard to prisoner, prisoner to prisoner. With the politics came the issues: maintenance, overcrowding, complaints. The thought of being back in a unit of soldiers, all working toward the same goal, suddenly seemed very appealing, if not for the carnage and violence it risked. He couldn’t deal with that. Not yet.

There was a soft knock on the door. His eyes shot open and he nearly fell off the chair, but he managed to grab the desk before he made a fool of himself. “Come in.”

The door opened and one of the few civilian staff in the detention center entered. Callum couldn’t remember her name, but she flashed him a shy smile. “Hi, sorry to bother you.”

“No problem.” He waved her inside. She walked towards his desk and placed a single sheet of paper on it. He looked at it, then up at her. “What’s that? Can’t wait until next shift?”

“I don’t think so, Sergeant. It’s a, um—”

“It’s okay.” He smiled at her and held up a hand. “I’ll take a look.”

Relief spread like a rash across her face. Whatever the document was, it was something she was uncomfortable with. She nodded and backed toward the door. He shook his head, amazed that they’d recruited such a wilting flower to work in a place like this. He glanced at the sheet of paper, hoping he’d be able to palm it off on the next person to warm the chair, then sighed. It had the FEMA and State Guard logos side by side at the top. That made it important. He removed his feet from the desk and started to read the document.

He had to read it through four times before he processed and believed what was on the piece of paper. It was astonishing, to the point where he suspected fraud or some sort of practical joke. Except that this was no laughing matter. He flipped through the papers on his desk until he found a post-it with the number he was looking for. He picked up the phone, but paused before dialing. He looked once more at the newly arrived sheet of paper then dialed with a shake of his head.

The call was picked up quickly. “Operations, Nancy speaking.”

“Hi Nancy, it’s Callum Watkins out at Effingham.”

“Hi Callum, how can I help?”

Callum leaned in to look at the sheet. “Can you confirm that correspondence Alpha-Hotel-Four-One-Five is legitimate?”

“Just give me a minute.” He heard the sound of fast typing in the background. “Looks like it’s legit. It has all the requisite approvals.”

Callum’s eyes widened as she spoke. “Okay. Thanks.”

He hung up the phone and stared at the sheet for a few long moments. A detainee was to be executed for treason. The order was clear. Now it was confirmed as well. There was nothing else to do but act. He climbed to his feet and grabbed his shotgun from the rack on the wall. He checked the load and made sure the safety was on. If he was to detain a woman for execution, it meant separation from the other detainees. It could mean trouble.

He’d nearly reached the door when Micah Hill appeared on the other side. Callum winced, then regretted it – the other man had seen. He’d tried to avoid Micah since the incident in the shower block with the female detainees. Callum would prefer not to be associated with Hill’s lack of professionalism and borderline criminal behavior, if he could, but they worked so closely together that it was hard to avoid the other man entirely.