The God Complex: A Thriller (9 page)

“They’re back
,” said Steve, the DIS Team Leader into his cell, nodding to his colleague across the lobby.

“Have they got the evidence?”
asked his boss, Mike Yates.

“Yes,
I recognize the files they’re carrying.”

A young woman with a pram walked across the lobby of the hotel and pressed the
‘Up’ button on the elevator as Cash and Rigs approached.

“We can take them out
. What do you want us to do?” asked Steve.

“
Take them, but only if you can do it quietly,” Mike instructed.

Cash watched the numbers descend while Rigs cooed at the pram next to them. He’d always been the same around babies, they seemed to be immune to his awkwardness.

“What’s
your baby’s name?” asked Cash.

“Err
… Lacey,” replied the young mother.

Cash smiled.
“You sure?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, looking down at the bu
ndle of blankets that covered her baby.

Rigs took out a $50
bill. “A little something for her,” he said more to the baby than the mother, his hand moving down towards the bundle.

“No, please don’t touch her
!” the mother said sharply, surprising both Rigs and Cash. Rigs always did the same thing. He didn’t want kids himself but always spoiled them.

“Are you
alright?’ Cash asked. The mother was becoming increasingly agitated, looking around wildly.

“Perhaps we’ll catch another elevator,” offered Rigs
, his head dipping.

“No, it
’s fine,” said the young mother. “Please, I just don’t like anyone touching him.”

“Him?” asked Cash.

“My baby,” replied the woman, sweat pouring from her brow.

Rigs hadn’t missed it either
. “Lacey is a him?”

The young mother
glanced across the lobby at Steve. He winced at her performance and shook his head imperceptibly. The woman took off at a run, leaving behind her baby. Cash and Rigs had a decision to make. Was she a kidnapper or a bomber? What was really in the pram? Cash went for bomb and pushed the pram into the opening elevator. The steel elevator encased by three concrete walls would contain a significant portion of any blast.

Rigs followed it in,
snatching back the blankets to reveal a silenced pistol.

“I think maybe we should find another hotel
,” said Cash.

“I’d vote another town, state
, or country, personally.”

Travis stared at the phone long after Cash had hung up.

“What’s wrong?” asked Vince.

“I’m not sure, something they’re not saying.”

“Your go-
to guys are holding out on you?”

“Maybe,” said Tra
vis, recalling the conversation. Cash’s tone had notably changed from the beginning to the end of the call. “And they’re not my go-to guys.”

“Yeah
. It just so happens that anything you get involved in, your boys turn up?”

Travis ignored him. T
he breaking news story on the NSA’s TV screen had caught his attention.

‘
Presidential assassination attempt failed’
scrolled across the TV screen on the back wall of the office. He hit the volume control.

“…
interrupt for breaking news from California. The attacks in Santa Cruz earlier this morning are being confirmed as a failed attempt to assassinate President Mitchell. President Mitchell, who today has signed the historic disarmament treaty, was due to visit the location of the attack later today…”

“Why are we
just hearing this bullshit now?” asked Travis.

Vince was
already grabbing for his phone, asking himself exactly the same question. He demanded that the press secretary get his ass in gear and into his office in the next five seconds.

“Blindsided us
, sir,” explained the press secretary. “They haven’t even asked us for a comment.”

“I take it you’ve spoken to them now?”

He nodded. “They say they’ve got enough hard evidence to implicate half the Hill. They’ve passed on the details to the authorities.”

V
ince blanched. “Okay, go.” The press secretary fled. “What exactly were your boys doing in Santa Cruz?”

“Don’t even go there,
” Travis said. “They were there to protect the President!”

“Because you were worried about a threat to him?”

“There were faint whispers coming through from our sources about a major hit in California and I thought better be safe than sorry.”

“So the CIA just
happened
to have two of its most accomplished assassins on site?”

Travis nodded.

“CIA assassins who have no place working in the continental United States?”

“Whatever went down today, it had nothing to do with the President and everything to do wit
h Hubble 2,” Travis said. “Let’s not forget what we lost today.”

“
I
won’t, but it’s not
me
that’s going to be running the investigation, nor me having to explain the presence of two illegal hitmen and a pile of dead bodies.”

“You
’re making it sound way worse than it is.”

“Yet nowhere near as bad as it’s going to look out there.” Vince pointed towards the
corridors of the White House.

“I need to speak to the President, this is bullshit
.”

“I agree,” said Vince
. “Something smells very bad...”

A knock on
the door interrupted him.

Paula Suarez
was back, although this time not alone.

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind standing
up and stepping away from the desk please.”

Both looked at her with some surprise
. Travis spoke first. “Sorry?”

“Agents,” said Paula
, looking at the six burly men who had accompanied her. They moved forward quickly and had both men detained in handcuffs with little effort.

“
What
?” Travis roared. “What’s this for? Sexual harassment?”

“No
. Treason!” she said with disgust.

“T
-Treason?” choked Vince. “I am the National Security Adviser. Are you fucking joking?!”

Cash paced outside Sophie’s room
. He didn’t know how he was going to tell her he was leaving. Their five rooms lay at one end of the eighth floor. Rigs was holding the service elevator at the far end, urging him to hurry.

Cash knocked
on the door and waited. The door swung open. Sophie wordlessly turned and walked back into the main body of the room and stared at the TV screen.

“I came to say
…err…well… to say that, err…” he tried explaining but then stopped dead in his tracks when he glanced at the television.

A
photo of his boss, CIA Director Travis Davies, appeared on the screen and underneath the caption read ‘
Charged With Treason’.
Another photo scrolled onto the screen, that of the Vice President of the United States and the caption remained unchanged. Photo after photo scrolled across the screen and the caption stayed in place. The Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the National Security Adviser, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the photos continued to scroll.

“Rigs!”
Cash shouted.

Rigs rushed
in, sweeping the room with his P90. Cash pointed at the TV set. Rigs remained speechless until the last two photos scrolled onto the screen.

The caption
did change, however only one of the words changed. ‘Charged’ became ‘Wanted’ as Cash and Rigs’ photos appeared on the screen.

President Mitchell stared sullenly across the White House
lawn. Darkness was setting on a day that should have changed the world for the better. For 99.99% of the population of the world that was true. For Dave Mitchell, the current President of the United States, it couldn’t have been darker. Yes, he had signed the historic agreement that would rid the world of its greatest threat, but on the same day he discovered that many men and women he would have entrusted with his life had plotted to kill him.

“It’s been a shocking day,”
said Lynne Bertram, his Attorney General, the chief law enforcement officer in the United States. , taking her seat on the sofa next to Paula Suarez.

President Mitchell turned and faced the
room. He was back in the Oval Office after spending the better part of the day locked in his Emergency Operations Center for his own security. The evidence linking the attacks in Santa Cruz to a presidential assassination plot had been delivered during his flight back from New York. His return to Washington had not been with the fanfare he had anticipated. Instead, he was rushed to the bunker under a shroud of bodies and held captive for his own protection.

The White House was still in lockdown
. Treble the number of Secret Service Agents were on duty with a small army in reserve at a moment’s notice. Nobody was taking any chances.

“Have
any of them explained why?” he asked, still perplexed. Many of those implicated with irrefutable evidence were lifelong friends.

“Because of you signing the disarmament treaty,” replied Paula
who, along with the Attorney General, was leading the investigation. They were in fact two of the very few people allowed to meet with the President. Even those not implicated were being security checked before they were given access to the President.

“I know what the evidence says
, but nobody knew it was going to happen,” protested the President.

“You knew,” said Lynne candidly.

“Yes but—”

“And other world leaders knew,” added Paula.

“In fact, was it not just a very well organized and superbly executed plan to force Russia and China to sign an agreement that nobody thought possible?” asked Lynne accusingly.

President Mitchell nodded
; it had been an ingenious plan to rid the world of the weapons everyone knew could and probably would, one day, destroy the planet. Whether at the hands of a legitimate government or, more likely, at the hands of terrorists who had managed to steal them, the weapons had no place in the modern world. Antoine Noble was one of the world’s most coveted philanthropists and when he had floated the idea, President Mitchell had jumped at it. It was to be his crowning glory. Deep into his second term, President Mitchell had led an unremarkable presidency. The economy was slowly rebuilding after the economic crash, wars were winding down, and the number of unemployed was gradually falling. His epitaph in history was going to be unremarkable until that day, whereupon his signature had changed the face of the world for the better. Now, however, the same day that he would go down in history was the day his own people tried to assassinate him. The British had had Guy Fawkes who, over four hundred years earlier, had plotted against his government and who, over four hundred years later, was still commemorated for having done so. The US now had its own treasonous plot to commemorate. His unremarkable presidency was now about to live on into immortality. What he’d give to have remained unremarkable.

He
took another swig of Scotch and offered his guests another as he refilled his glass for a third time. Neither of his companions had touched theirs.

“So none of them are talking?”

“Other than to plead their innocence, no,” said Lynne.

“You know what I don’t get?” he asked rhetorically while taking another swig
. “The people you have in custody…I mean… they’re amongst the most powerful men in the world, with access to resources and men to complete any mission. Men and women I entrust to carry out missions to protect our nation. Missions they successfully complete day in and day out to keep us safe. Missions in which we seldom leave a trace of our involvement…”

Both
Lynne and Paula hung on the President’s pause; a pause that drifted on and on, past the point of comfort and reason.

“And…
?” prompted Lynne, breaking first.

“How could they have so royally fucked it up?” he said
, draining his glass again.

Paula looked surprise.
“You sound almost disappointed.”

“
Not at all. It’s the one thing that gives me hope that this is all bullshit,” he said, pointing drunkenly. “You see, if the men and women you have under lock and key really wanted me dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise
, sir.”

“Your evidence perhaps
, but my evidence is a life in the making. I know those people and I know what they’re capable of. Killing someone, God yes. Getting caught killing someone? Not a fucking chance!” He waved his index finger for emphasis, swaying gently under the influence of the alcohol.

“The evidence is irrefutable
, sir. Bank transfers, emails, photos, surveillance videos…”

“Yes
, but where did it come from? Who pulled the evidence together?” he asked. “And… and they attacked on the wrong day! You expect me to believe they would have attacked on the wrong day?!”

“Actually
,” said Lynne, “that anomaly has been resolved.”

President Mitchell turned to her, his
enthusiasm fading.

“
There was a flight plan filed for Air Force One in error for yesterday and not today. It was quickly fixed but we believe it set the wheels in motion.”

The President fell back onto the sofa opposite Lynne and Paula. He stared at them
, waiting for them to tell him it was a mistake, some sort of joke.

“But why destroy the telescope?”

“We don’t know yet. Best guess is a special interest group with something to hide,” said Paula.

“In deepest, darkest space?” President Mitchell
scoffed.

“Well
, no. But let’s not forget it could look
down
as well as
up
, if not better,” said Lynne.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” said the President
, standing up unsteadily. “Is the First Lady back yet?”

Paula shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked
at Lynne Bertram. She cleared her throat nervously. “Sir, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but Mrs. Mitchell…”

“God
, is she alright?” He collapsed onto the sofa, this time unintentionally.

“She’s fine
, sir. She’s not come to any harm.”

President Mitchell inclined his head as he studied their faces
. “NO!” he screamed, reading what neither had the balls to tell him, resulting in a number of Secret Service agents rushing into the room, their guns drawn.

“I’m afraid, she has been implicated
, sir,” confirmed Lynne Bertram sadly, ordering the agents back out of the room.