The Olympus Device: Book Three (13 page)

The monitor in the White House Situation Room changed again, this time showing the face of a haggard looking woman holding a rather restless toddler. “I was down at the convenience store,” she said into the microphone. “All of a sudden, the whole building shook like there was no tomorrow. I thought we were being hit by a tornado. Stuff was knocked off the shelves, and everybody just hunkered down like they were about to die.”

The president looked at his chief of staff, shaking his head in disgust. Rhodes started to say something, but the chief executive cut him off, pointing back to the monitor on the wall to indicate he wasn’t finished watching the news.

The young reporter was back. “I’ve talked to various experts, and most agree that either the military experienced some sort of massive ammunition accident, or there was a significant natural gas explosion on the base. We’ve been promised a news conference later this evening and will bring our viewers up to date at that time. Back to you in New York, Frank.”

The main anchor’s face flashed only for a moment, “And now on to St. Louis, where a similar situation unfolded at the Archway Regional Airport early this afternoon. We go to Kelly Pierce, reporting for KLSL in rural Illinois.”

On came a middle-aged female reporter that dominated a similar backdrop of emergency lights, only this time there was a plume of smoke accenting the scene. “Frank, at approximately 11:55 this morning, local residents reported hearing a series of thunderous blasts at the small airport behind me in the distance. As I file this report, non-emergency personnel are being kept away, officials citing potential fuel leaks and secondary explosions as a primary concern for everyone’s safety. I was told off the record that there have been causalities, but the authorities haven’t released any additional details. This is Kelly Pierce, reporting for KLSL Eyewitness News.”

Making a cutting motion across his throat, the president indicated he’d seen enough. After an aide muted the broadcast, the president turned to Rhodes and said, “Do we know for sure what happened in St. Louis? I need facts, not speculation or conjecture.”

The chief of staff nodded toward the end of the table where a cluster of military officers resided.

A 4-star general cleared his throat, obviously hesitating in order to choose his words carefully. “Our people just arrived on-site a few hours ago, Mr. President. The initial word is that the explosion appears to have been caused by cluster munitions. Perhaps more than one.”

“What?” the president snapped, not believing his ears. Before the general could respond, the ramifications were already sinking in. “One of ours?” he added immediately, a sick expression filling his face.

“It’s too early to be sure, sir, but yes, my man on the scene has uncovered evidence that it was one of ours. He’s found at least one unexploded bomblet, most likely from a Tomahawk land-attack cruise missile. I’ve already ordered all commands to conduct an immediate inventory of our munitions. In addition, we should have the serial number tracked down by the manufacturer in the next few hours.”

A shock wave ripped through the room, many of the gathered Washington elite growing pale with the implications of what had just been reported. It was Mr. Rhodes who finally spoke first, uttering only two words, “Hughes and Armstrong.”

“What? What did you say?” asked the president.

“Of the 11-member blue ribbon commission, only nine were attending the negotiations in St. Louis. Admiral Armstrong and Senator Hughes claimed to have scheduling conflicts and were unable to participate with such short notice. We kept security pretty tight, sir. Other than the actual members of the panel, not very many people knew of the meeting’s time or location.”

The president couldn’t seem to grasp what his top advisor was saying. “But… but… that’s ludicrous, Rhodes. Why would they want to kill Weathers? They would have to know we’d catch on. It doesn’t make any sense….”   

“Unless they didn’t care about getting caught, sir,” chimed in the 4-star warrior from the other end of the table. “If they had managed to gain possession of that doomsday weapon, they probably wouldn’t be worried about prosecution or any other ramifications. My guess is that we would have already heard from them by now, most likely via a list of demands.”

A wave of nausea rolled through the chief executive’s gut, his face exposing the pain of fear that suddenly occupied his core as the implications of the general’s statement set in. “A coup? I can’t believe that. I know Hughes is a hardliner, but the man was a U.S. Senator for over 20 years.”

“I’ve known Admiral Armstrong for a long time, sir. There’s no greater patriot. But the last few years, he’s started expressing the occasional extreme position, calling himself a constitutionalist and complaining about politicians. If his retirement papers hadn’t come in, I would have shortened his verbal leash,” the general added.

Turning to the Secretary of Homeland Security, the president wasted no time in issuing an order. “Have the FBI pick both men up immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” came the response as the nation’s security czar reached for a phone.

“You won’t find them,” warned the general. “Men with that much wealth, power, and experience can vanish into thin air. Besides, they’re several steps ahead of us. They could be anywhere by now.”

The president pushed back from the table, standing abruptly without warning. All present knew the habit, the inner circle having observed the Commander in Chief pace back and forth while in thought.

“Weathers was right,” he finally announced, arms crossed, hand rubbing his chin. “That damned backwoods Texan could see it all along. This is why he’s raised such a fuss… caused us all of these headaches… was so stubborn. He was worried about people abusing his discovery from the very beginning, and we should’ve listened.”

Rhodes disagreed. “I think you’re giving him too much credit, sir. I believe he was merely trying to auction off his invention to the highest bidder.”

The president wasn’t convinced, “No, I disagree. He could’ve sold that technology for more money than any one man could spend in a lifetime, but he didn’t. Instead, he demanded layers of protection for the device, just so something like this wouldn’t happen.”

“So what do we do now, sir?”

“We have a man holding the most powerful device ever created. He’s roaming around in the heartland of our country, and he’s convinced that I just tried to kill him. He’s already struck a blow of reprisal at Fort Knox, which may or may not have satiated his need for revenge. I think our top priority is to convince Mr. Weathers that neither I nor our government, had anything to do with that attack.”

“If I were in his shoes, that would be a tall order, sir,” the general said. “You’d have hell to pay convincing me that some rogue element of the military decided on its own to cut loose with missiles.”

“Perhaps Mr. Weathers isn’t as cynical as you are, General,” Rhodes commented.

“Perhaps,” replied the sage, old warhorse. “Let’s hope he’s not as aggressive either, because if I were in that guy’s shoes, I’d be heading to Washington, DC right about now. I’d be brandishing my sword and searching for the man who tried to kill me.”

Again, the military man’s perspective dawned a new potential to the gathering. “You’re not implying the president is in danger?” Rhodes gasped.

The general shook his head, never understanding the pacifist mentality. “The president would be in grave danger if Weathers thought like most of the Texans I’ve met. That’s a pride based organization down there, Mr. Rhodes, especially in the western part of the state. When I was an airborne brigade commander at Fort Bragg, I ran into more than a few of their ilk. They’re generally not the sort to shy away from a fight, and you can double that sentiment if they feel they’ve been wronged. I’m not a behavioral physiologist, but after the pictures I’ve seen of Fort Knox, I’d say you’re dealing with one pissed off citizen of the Lone Star State, and he’s calling us out. ”

“That’s ridiculous, General, one of the most asinine evaluations I’ve ever heard,” Rhodes countered. “We’re dealing with a mindset more resembling that of a criminal than some primitive tribal concept of honor or face.”

One look from the president silenced the debate, his face making it clear he’d reached a decision. “I’m more inclined to go with the general’s assessment on this matter. I think we need to get out in front of this and let Mr. Weathers and his supporters know we didn’t have anything to do with the attempt on his life. I’m going to go to the press with the truth, and kill two birds with one stone. We’ll have all of America looking for Senator Hughes and Admiral Armstrong – while at the same time sending a message to our angry Texan.”

The room erupted in voices, Rhodes trying to protest his boss’s decision, other attendees initiating sub-conversations in small groups. “Sir! Sir! I’d strongly advise against going public with this,” Rhodes’s voice implored, finally overriding the din. “Our nation is already deeply divided and ripe with conspiracy theory, political mudslinging, and distrust of your administration. Admitting that a rogue military unit might be loose with long-range weapons at their disposal is just going to make the situation worse. People are already frightened of Weathers and his apocalyptic weapon. There’s a possibility you could incite panic in the streets.”

“You may be absolutely right,” the president responded, feeling more confident in his newly conceived strategy. “But I don’t think honesty is going to cause nearly as much social unrest as what would occur if Weathers strikes again. Worse yet, if the facts about St. Louis or Knox leak out on their own, then the American people will have two threats to deal with – their own government…
and
the Olympus Device. If we remain silent, it makes us look guilty. If we attempt some half-assed misinformation campaign or try to bullshit the press, then we indeed look guilty as hell.”

“Sir, I agree that we must talk to the press, but I was hoping to buy some time… release the facts gradually so as not to provoke social unrest or pour gasoline on any conspiracy fires.”

The president shook his head, “In my judgment that would probably result in an even more damning response from the general public. But it’s not the people I’m most worried about – it’s our friend from Texas. We have to address that issue first, ladies and gentlemen. Weathers has to be our highest priority.”

“I don’t see how going public is going to convince that guy that we had nothing to do with the attempt on his life,” someone remarked.

The president’s face grew cold, his glazed-over eyes indicative of having mentally drifted to an uncomfortable, lonely place. “I’m counting on our friend with the superweapon being a reasonable, logical individual and taking what we say publically into consideration.”

The man once touted as the most powerful in the world, was now having second thoughts about that label. Continuing in a metered voice, he responded, “I have no choice but to make that assumption. Because if that Texan has already gone completely rogue, then nothing we do or say will make any difference anyway.”

A disheartening hush fell over the room, the best and brightest minds in the country well aware of what the boss had just stated. Some worried about their own futures, others considering the lives of family and friends. A few of the more creative individuals wondered about Weathers’ next target. Was it going to be a nuclear reactor? A New York skyscraper? The Pentagon? The very building where they were seated? There was no shortage of strategic objectives.

The farsighted thinkers knew the Texan wouldn’t have to strike more than a selective few landmarks or key points of infrastructure. There would be a momentum of panic; the public’s confidence in their government’s capability to protect and enforce rule of law would quickly erode. Some camps would declare for Weathers, crying at the top of their lungs that it was time for another revolution. Other segments of the population would take matters into their own hands, barricading communities and sliding down into the chasm of martial law.

The president cut the fantasy session short, turning to the press secretary. “Call a news conference. I need to talk to the American people.”

Mitch returned a few hours later, pulling to the front curb and honking their new chariot’s horn like an excited teenager coming home to show off his new wheels.

Dusty and Grace responded in kind, strolling out the front door like the proud parents eager to see what their son had acquired.

Producing a small bag of groceries and toiletries, the younger Weathers seemed happy with his effort. “I talked that grizzled, old car salesman down another $500. She runs pretty well, and yes, the air conditioning works just fine.”

Dusty circled the black SUV, noting the temporary paper tags and checking the rubber. “Looks pretty good,” he noted, moving to open the hood.

“And the best news yet,” Mitch added with glee, “Is that I didn’t have to show the lot’s owner my driver’s license. This car is registered to Fane Land Development, the same company that is building this subdivision. I showed the old coot a business card I picked up inside, and he never asked me for any additional identification. It will be difficult for the authorities to trace this car.”

“Wow,” Grace replied. “Is that legal?”

Dusty grunted, “Showing a used car dealer a wad of cash bypasses a lot of hassle. I bet the folks at Fane will be surprised when they receive the new title in the mail.”

“Brother, there’s something else I saw. The president is on television. I watched his news conference while I was waiting on granddad to fill out the bill of sale. He’s claiming the government had nothing to do with the attack at St. Louis.”

Dusty digested his sibling’s report for a bit, a scowl slowly developing. “Well, of course. What else would he say? He can’t just exactly go in front of the American people and admit he’s a two-faced, lying, treacherous bastard, can he?”

“I don’t know, Dusty. He seemed pretty sincere to me,” Mitch replied. “He looked directly into the camera and made a plea for you to contact the White House. Said he would meet with you personally, anytime, anywhere.”

“Oh, we’re going to meet,” Dusty pledged, his voice laced with icy anger. “I can promise you we’re going to have a little powwow… but there won’t be a whole lot of talking going on.”

Grace pushed aside the bravado, focusing on Mitch. “Who did he say launched the attack?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch said. “Either I didn’t see that part, or he didn’t say.”

Turning to Dusty, Grace said, “Maybe I should call the White House and listen to what they have to say?”

Dusty shook his head, “No. The minute you put that battery back in that cell phone, they’ll know exactly where we are. You said yourself that they would try to shuck the blame for their skullduggery. The president is a politician, a professional liar and con man. He’s just attempting to protect his own hide.”

“Maybe,” retorted the lawyer. “Maybe not. You’re right, I did expect him to blame you and the rail gun for the destruction at the airport, but he didn’t. All along, we’ve been saying that attack didn’t make any sense, and it still doesn’t. There’s a chance, albeit a small one, that the government didn’t have anything to do with the attack. Uncle Sam’s military isn’t the only one that has missiles. The feds are not the only folks who are interested in procuring this technology at any cost.”

The Texan wasn’t buying it. Waving his hand through the air, Dusty pushed back. “No other nation would know the when and where of the meeting’s time and place. No other country would dare launch missiles at a target on U.S. soil. We’d wipe them out in a heartbeat. Washington did it, Grace. They failed, got caught with their hand in the missile jar, and now they’re just trying to confuse the issue and deflect attention.”

Grace could sense that continuing the debate was a wasted effort. She didn’t blame Dusty for his entrenched position. The government had been arresting his friends, attempted to kill him on more than one occasion, and had basically ruined the man’s life. She had felt the sting of abuse, jailed for several days on trumped up charges and false pretenses.

“I noticed a television inside,” she replied, changing the subject. “I’m going to head in and watch the news. At minimum, I think we need to keep an eye on what’s going on. It can’t hurt to have a little knowledge coming our way.”

Dusty shrugged, “Suit yourself. Mitch and I have to get rid of this plane. The neighborhood association is going to start complaining if we leave it parked here much longer.”

After watching Grace return to the house, Dusty turned to Mitch and said, “When we flew over, I spied a boat ramp leading down to the lake. Most of those are pretty shallow, so we need to figure out how to get the plane into deeper water before it sinks. It won’t do us a bit of good to have a partially submerged tail section sticking up in the air. That would probably draw more attention than the aircraft just sitting in the street.”

Rubbing his chin, Mitch said, “I understand the problem. Let’s go take a look see.”

The two men proceeded walking through the desolate subdivision, casually speculating on why the development had never taken off. “Fane properties sank a lot of money into this land,” Mitch observed. “Nice, wide streets, underground utilities, raised and leveled lots. Really makes you wonder about the economy when you see something like this floundering.”

Eventually, they came to the boat ramp, which was nothing more than a lane of pavement gradually declining to the lakeside where it widened into a large turnaround and parking area. Given the weeds growing in the concrete’s expansion cracks, both men assumed the facility didn’t see a lot of traffic.

They continued down to the shore, staring at the spot where the roadway’s surface disappeared into the murky waters. “I remember the first time I saw a ramp like this,” Dusty began. “I must have been six, maybe seven years old. I asked dad if we could drive down and see the underwater city.”

Mitch chuckled, “And what did the old man tell you?”

“He said, ‘Sure son, be my guest. Go ahead and walk on in, and let me know what you see,’ and I think he would’ve let me,” Dusty smirked.

Nodding his agreement, Mitch added, “Sounds like dad. He was all about letting us learn our own lessons, that’s for sure.”

A sad expression came over Dusty’s face. “And yet, here we are… fugitives who have just attacked our own government. I bet dad’s rolling around in his grave, shaking a fist at both of us.”

Mitch didn’t agree. “I think you’re wrong about that, brother. I think dad, above all other people, would have understood and supported what we’re doing.”

Dusty glanced at his younger brother, a questioning look replacing the melancholy appearance. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I’m not blowing hot air up your skirt. The one thing dad tried to hammer into both of us was to stick up for what we felt was right. That’s all we’re doing here, Dusty. I still think we’re on the high ground, and I’m not going to hang my head for one second.”

“Even if it makes a widow out of your wife? Even if your young ones have to grow up without their father?”

“Yes. Soldiers face the same dilemma. They’re willing to die for something they believe in.”

Dusty hadn’t looked at it that way. After rolling his sibling’s words around for a moment, he finally smiled and said, “Thanks, Mitch. You’ve given me something to think about.”

Mitch walked to the edge of the pavement, picking up a fallen tree branch just a little longer than he was tall. He returned to the water’s edge and began prodding the bottom. After a few pokes, he reported, “Simply pushing the plane into the water isn’t going to work. The downward slope is too gradual.”

Dusty nodded his agreement. “Plan B?”

“What about up there?” Mitch responded, pointing to a nearby bluff. “That little cliff looks to be about 30 feet high. What if we pushed the plane off the edge?”

Studying the formation, Dusty shook his head. “Looks like the water is pretty shallow at the edge. We’d end up with the tail sticking up like a big beacon to the searchers.”

“What if we let the plane kind of fly over the cliff? That would get it into deeper water.”

Dusty considered his brother’s idea, running through visions of a brick on the gas pedal of the car, just like in the movies. He’d pulled a similar trick in Laredo just a few weeks before. Better still, planes didn’t have gas pedals. “We might be able to pull that off,” he responded. “But we’ve only got one shot.”

They returned to the plane, Dusty skipping the pre-flight checklist and immediately starting the engine. Before long, they were rolling toward the bluff.

He steered the craft onto lot #14, its nose facing directly toward the precipice. “Go ahead and hop out, Mitch. I’m going to give her some juice and then release the brake. With any luck, she’ll sail over the edge and arch into deeper water. Hell, we might even manage an explosion on impact.”

The younger Weathers did as instructed, staying out of the way, but ready to run forward so he could see the show. Mitch was apparently excited by the pending destruction. “We’ve not had this much fun since we rigged all those firecrackers to Lucy Miller’s bicycle,” he reminded.

Dusty paused for a minute, having forgotten all about the childhood incident. Smiling, he added, “Yeah… and her older brother didn’t appreciate our little joke, as I recall. I think he was actually going to kill you.”

Rubbing a spot on his jaw, Mitch agreed. “He did have one heck of a right hook. Good thing you convinced him I wasn’t worth the effort. By the way, what took you so long to rescue me? Sure seemed like you took your time.”

Dusty grunted, “I wanted him to expend all his energies on you before I got involved. As I recall, that Miller boy was a stout son of a bitch, and I wanted to make sure he was good and tired from beating you before I took him on.”

Mitch laughed, not believing his brother. He remembered the thrashing Dusty had issued to the local bully, as well as the fact that none of the Miller brothers ever bothered him again. 

Standing off at a safe distance, Mitch watched his brother adjust the cockpit controls. The engine increased its roar to a medium pitch, the flaps moving up and down until Dusty had them where he thought was the correct position.

The pilot then stepped out of the plane, leaning in through the open door and releasing the brake. Dusty quickly rolled away, trying to escape entanglement from the now moving wheels and wings.

The Cessna began rolling, increasing speed as it bumped and bounced across the empty lot. Both men scurried along behind the unpiloted aircraft, their expressions filled with the anticipation of seeing what was sure to be an unusual sight. The fact that there was going to be a destructive impact and destroyed equipment helped.

For a moment, Mitch was sure the plane wasn’t traveling fast enough. Jogging behind, the professor watched as the front wheels reached the edge of the drop-off, and then the plane tipped forward, the tail section slamming into the earth as it disappeared from view.

The two men reached the bluff and stood motionless as the Cessna sailed downward, slamming into the water less than 20 feet from shore. It was anti-climactic. No explosion. No sheared or ripped metal. It didn’t even make much noise.

“Keep your finger crossed,” a disappointed Dusty said. “It didn’t go as far as I thought.”

They stood silently, watching the bubbling water slowly surround the nose-down craft. It seemed like it was taking forever for the damned thing to sink.

Gradually, the aircraft slipped downward, disappearing into the brown water bit by bit. Both men exhaled when the last of the tail finally slid beneath the surface. “Damn… that was close,” Mitch commented.

“No shit,” Dusty replied. “But we did it. They’ll have a hell of a time finding that bird now.”