The Olympus Device: Book Three (27 page)

As the miles passed, his mood was buoyed by the passing serenity of the river and air cushion ride of his mount. “They won’t kill him,” he finally determined. “If they have any brains at all, they’ll hold on to their only bargaining chip. Their attempt to overthrow the government didn’t work, and now they’ll want the rail gun to save their hides, or try again.”

A few miles from where Mitch was supposed to meet him, Dusty settled on the only strategy left to save his flesh and blood. “God, please save my son. Take me instead if you need a soul,” he prayed, not knowing what else to do. The solemn words provided some relief.

By the time he reached the marina where his ride should be waiting, Dusty had reached an uneasy peace with his actions. Andy would understand. Maria, however, would never be able to accept his decision and would probably never forgive him.  

“I sure hope Mitch won’t mind going out and fetching some breakfast,” he said, idling along the rows of boats and finger piers. “I need a shower and some sleep. Saving a country is exhausting work.”

Grace was out the hotel door the moment she heard Mitch pull into the parking lot. Despite his appearance, she was in Dusty’s arms as he exited the passenger door.

“What happened?” she asked after verifying he was in one piece.

Dusty recalled his adventure, both Mitch and Grace interrupting with the occasional question or point of clarification.

After he’d finished, a foul look crossed Grace’s face, Mitch and she exchanging worried glances. Finally, Mitch prompted her, “You need to tell him. He’s going to find out eventually.”

Grace blurted it out, reaching for the television remote while explaining to Dusty that the FBI had found where Andy was being held. “They want the rail gun in exchange for your son’s life.”

“Lake Travis?” Dusty barked, staring at the hotel’s television screen as the news channel flashed the story. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Dusty,” Grace pleaded. “You need to rest, eat, and bathe. And what are you going to do once we do get there? Give those thugs the rail gun? We need to think this through.”

Dusty pretended not to hear her, his eyes focused on the newscast, hoping the anchorman would return to the “Crisis in Texas.” The television station didn’t offer more details of the Lone Star angle, the vast majority of their coverage focused on Washington, DC and the carnage that had taken place overnight.

“Dusty?” Grace tried again, moving to his side. “Go take a shower. I’ll have Mitch run out and get some food. The hot water will help you think clearer…. You’ll feel better…. We can talk while you eat.”

The Texan had to admit, she had a point. Merely nodding, he shuffled off to the bathroom, stripping off his filthy rags along the way. Mitch was already heading for the door, “I spotted a diner down the road. I’ll load him up with bacon and eggs. That always puts a smile on my brother’s face.”

Grace set out clean clothes while Dusty washed away the battlefield grit and grime. His attention immediately reverted to the television as he emerged with wet hair and a towel around his waist. “Any more news out of Austin?”

“No. The journalists are all stuck on Washington. How much of that damage was from the rail gun?”

“A lot, but not all.”

Dusty had just finished dressing when Mitch entered the room, bags of wonderful smelling food in his hands. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”

The aroma and an empty stomach squelched the Texan’s urgent need to get on the road. He sat, digging in with a gusto that surprised even Mitch. Between mouthfuls, Dusty explained his plan.

“We’ll drive all day. I figure we can make Austin in about 22 hours, give or take. The cops will be focusing on Washington and hunting down any of the surviving rebels. I’ll sleep in the car while you two share the driving, and then I’ll take care of those assholes who are holding my son.”

“How?” Grace asked, her head tilting to indicate her pessimism.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure that out when I can see the lay of the land,” came the stoic reply. “It’s my son, Grace. I have to be there. I’m the cause of all of this… well, that damned rail gun and me.”

It was clear that Dusty wasn’t going to be swayed. Exhaling with frustration, Grace nodded. “I’ll start packing. Promise me you’ll sleep on the way there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It required significant heavy machinery and almost 10 hours to extract the president and his family from the subterranean levels of the White House compound. Over 40 tons of rubble had to be removed, all of it sifted by hand in hopes of salvaging any of the valuable antiques or art treasures that might be buried within.

When electrical power was finally restored to the elevator, the chief executive emerged into the sunshine, smiling and waving to the hundreds of firefighters, military personnel, White House staffers, and of course, the press corps.

The First Family was immediately rushed off for a medical examination, traveling in a long line of limousines toward Maryland. Practically the entire route was lined with security, police and military uniforms all around.

“I want Durham Weathers’ head on a pike,” the president stated once away from prying eyes and ears. “I want his thick skull adorning the lawn… or what’s left of the north lawn.”

“But, sir, Weathers didn’t attack the White House. The preliminary reports we’re receiving indicates that he actually fought off Admiral Armstrong’s forces.”

“I know that,” responded the irate chief executive. “But his fucking invention was the catalyst, and I’m sick and tired of dealing with every nut job, ambitious psychopath, and egotistical government on the planet. They’re all trying to gain control of that weapon, and until that son of a bitch is dead, they won’t stop. If we don’t end this right now, someone is going to snag the Olympus Device, and then we’re really going to be in trouble.”

The convoy continued to motor on, the president’s closest advisor letting his commander steam in silence.  

Noah Rhodes hadn’t anticipated his boss having such a strong reaction, nor did he predict the seething rage against the Texan. From his assessment of the situation, the entire country owed Mr. Weathers a debt of gratitude. The fact that the POTUS didn’t see it in the same light was troubling.

Noah had mentally prepared the president’s agenda for the next few days, but the anger and resentment resonating off the chief executive didn’t fit the plan.
He doesn’t realize what the rest of the country is experiencing
, Rhodes thought.
He’s caught up in the bubble that always seems to isolate the Oval Office. 

“Sir, there are a few items that we need to address as soon as you’re feeling up to it. When we get to Bethesda, we need to meet….”

The president flashed an irate look, stopping the conversation cold. “There’s only one task on my agenda, Noah. Bring in Durham Weathers, dead or alive, and capture that rail gun. Other than that, I don’t give a shit about anything else.”

Upon arrival, the president was rushed inside, immediately taken to the private floor reserved for the Commander in Chief and his always-present entourage.

A few hours later the president’s personal doctor exited the private suite, nodding to Rhodes as he entered the hall. “He's all right,” the sawbones announced to the anxious aide. “He needs to catch up on his sleep and chill out a little, but physically he’s in good shape.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Noah responded. “Can I see him now?”

“Sure,” nodded the physician. “But I’ve got to warn you, he’s pretty grumpy… about the worst I’ve encountered in the 21 years I’ve known the man.”

Rhodes nodded, “I hear you, sir. And I’m afraid I’m about to dump more rain on his parade.”

Noah turned to two men sitting patiently nearby, “Ready?”

Both nodded, standing to follow the chief of staff into the president’s room.

The president actually smiled when Noah entered, sitting at a small table and drinking a glass of orange juice. That friendly reaction was soon overtaken by a look of puzzlement when the two strangers entered the room.

“Mr. President, these two citizens are here representing a group of our leading corporations. May I introduce Mr. Tomkins and Miss Kingsley? I felt it urgent that we have a conversation with them as soon as possible.”

Despite his polite smile and nod at the guests, Noah could tell his boss was simmering mad and near exploding.
He’s not seen the half of it yet
, Rhodes thought.

“How can I help you?” the president asked, managing a neutral tone.

“Sir, we represent a consortium of 48 of the Forbes top 50 companies in America. We have a letter for you, signed by all of our chief executive officers or chairmen.”

Tomkins reached inside his jacket, producing the two-page document, and handed it to the clearly annoyed president.

“Folks, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but can’t this wait?” the Commander in Chief asked without looking at the document.

Tomkins stepped forward and replied bluntly. “No, Mr. President, it can’t wait. Please read the letter, sir.”

Noah thought for a moment his boss was going to toss the two lobbyists out on their ears, or at least try to. He was greatly relieved when the president reached for his reading glasses.

The letter was a single paragraph, the remaining paper occupied by dozens of signatures. As expected, the politician flushed cherry-red halfway through the text.

When the most powerful man in the world slams a document down on a tabletop, most people jump, or at least become apprehensive. Neither of the president’s visitors flinched.

“This is preposterous!” the president shouted. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen in my entire political career!”

Standing abruptly, the chief executive pointed a finger at the two visitors and continued his rant. “You can go back and tell your illustrious superiors that the office of the president of the United States cannot be bought, bribed, threatened, or blackmailed.”

Again, neither of the two lobbyists reacted, not so much as a blink. “You’re wrong, sir,” Tomkins responded calmly. “Your office can be bought in the next election. If you want your party to ever raise another nickel of campaign contributions, you’ll hear us out. If you want Congress to cooperate in the slightest, you’ll listen to what we have to say.”