TORMENT (6 page)

Mia’s nervousness grew with each second they stood in front of the dining room doors. She’d only known about the possibility of meeting the president for a short time, not even a full week, but the intensity of worry and anxiety over the impending encounter consumed all her thoughts.

Mark twisted his fingers into a W. “West Coast!”

Mia cleared her throat. “Can
we
...” She motioned to the door, afraid her quivering voice might reveal her tension.

A quick jerk of the door handle was Chang’s reply, as her smile disappeared.
“Of course.”
She entered the room and stood next to a long oval table that reflected the sunlight streaming in through two large windows surrounded by golden drapes. Likewise, the walls of the room shone bright yellow. The whole scene gave the impression of being inside an egg yolk, which was strangely fitting given the steaming plates of eggs Benedict being set on the table by a hurried wait staff.

Mia entered the room last and saw the president standing at the other side of the table. His wide eyes and wider smile seemed genuine, but the president was known for being a charmer.

Chang introduced them one by one to Collins. Mark shook his hand and said, “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”

Paul saluted and the president followed suit. The president shook his hand with both hands, two peas in a pod.

“Great to finally meet you, Paul,” Collins said. “I’m really looking forward to today.”

Paul nodded.
“Likewise, sir.”

Mia’s stomach twisted. Would Paul really back her up in the face of his Commander-in-Chief? Or would he be a good soldier and keep his mouth shut, obey orders and all that?

Collins knelt down in front of Elizabeth. “And you must be our essayist?”

“I can probably write better than you,” Elizabeth said with her eyebrows and chin raised high. Then she smiled. “But I really want to be an astronaut.”

Collins laughed. “Well, if you apply yourself and study hard, I’m sure you’ll be whatever you want to be.”

“Can I go to the moon?”

“By the time you’re ready, we’ll be going to Mars.”

Elizabeth’s eyes opened like blooming flowers. Collins smiled and stood, moving to Mia. He held out his hand.

Mia took it and shook. “Mr. President.”

Mia nearly threw up on the man. She felt positive she couldn’t eat anything, let alone make it through brunch without passing out from anxiety, so she decided to get things over with fast. He wouldn’t be rude to someone he’d just met, would he? She put on her reporter face and opened her mouth.

“Later,” Collins said.

Mia blinked. “What?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said in a whisper. “No need to talk about...your issues...in front of all these people. We’ll talk later, in private. I promise.”

Mia couldn’t believe it. She just stood there shaking his hand. He’d cleared the air, just like that, diffusing her tension like an emotional bomb squad. He knew who she was and seemed unfazed by it. Could it really be that easy? She glanced at Paul. He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight shrug as though to say, “why not?”

“Okay,” she said.

Collins headed back to the head of the table and motioned everyone to sit down. During the next hour of small talk, eggs, bacon, home fries and gobs of hollandaise sauce, Mia felt herself relaxing. She couldn’t think of a reason the president should react badly to her presence. She just wanted to know where her fiancé was and what they were doing to get him back. The only possible conflict might come if they were, in fact, doing nothing. But if that proved true, Collins would realize it and wouldn’t want to talk to her at all.

Unless that’s why he asked for a private meeting?
So no one would hear her shouting. Or maybe he’d suddenly be whisked away, avoiding any sort of meeting at all? Mia’s nervousness began to claw its way back to the surface. Then Paul came to her rescue, playing devil’s advocate.

“Sir, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the man accused of being an assassin...”

Mia could only guess that Paul had avoided using Matt’s name for Elizabeth’s sake. The man had tact to spare.

Collins glanced at Mia, then back to Paul, clearly trying to find a connection between the two. “Yes?”

“It’s obviously not true, and I understand the need for a media blackout. There’s no need to indulge a Russian ruse, but I can’t help wondering about the soldier. Is anything being done to bring him home? I’m sure his family must be worried sick.”

Collins put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. During those few seconds, the room fell silent. All eyes turned to Collins.

“I’m sure you understand,” Collins said, “that this is a delicate matter.”

Paul nodded.
“Absolutely.”

“We can’t simply send in a rescue team, breaching their borders, after they’ve already accused us of committing an act of war.” Collins looked at Mia. “At this time, there isn’t much we can do.”

Mia was about to speak, but Paul slightly lifted his fingers off the table, motioning her to stay calm.

“Sir,” Paul said, his voice still calm and utterly respectful, “Do you think something can be done when all this blows over?”

Collins sighed. Mia thought for a moment he would lose his composure, but after twitching his lips one way and then the other, he said, “From what I understand, Mr. Brenton was a fine soldier. He served his country well. But in the end, he—”

A tall, balding man that screamed, “Secret Service” entered the room quickly, followed by a jittery, shaggy haired man that Mia didn’t recognize. The man bent down, whispered into the president’s ear and then left in a hurry.

Collins looked startled, but then looked back to the Secret Service man and smiled. “That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think, Tom?”

Mia placed the name. This was the pit bull, Tom Austin. But what were they talking about?

Austin shook his head. “Not me, sir. It’s real.”

The president just stared straight ahead, like he’d been lobotomized by the man’s words. It felt like watching a flashback of George W. sitting in front of the classroom of kids after being told about the attack on the World Trade Center. He just sat...staring...

“Sir,” Paul said. “What’s happened?”

Collins craned his head slowly toward Paul. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the ceremony today. Russia just declared war.”

7

Earth Orbit

Several times each year, a group of satellites launched into space by the Russian satellite communications company, MTI, cross over the airspace of the United States and Europe at the exact same time. The complex dance began in the late nineties, when the first of the now fifty-seven satellites was placed in earth orbit. The last of the bunch joined the group in early 2007. Four times since June 2007, they have formed a perfectly dispersed web of satellites over the western world, just for a few minutes each time.

A few minutes
was
all they needed.

All fifty seven satellites activated simultaneously. Hatch doors opened noiselessly in space, their payloads exposed to the endless vacuum. This moment represented fifteen years of planning, painstaking calculations, absolute secrecy and a hidden budget that drained resources from the struggling Russian economy. But the long-term plan would return the mother country to superpower status, wipe out all opposition and leave them to reign in a new world order.

The gambit was dangerous, no doubt, but living in the shadow of an overpowering enemy is not a life worth living. The potential benefits outweighed the risks, which had been minimized through detailed planning and now, perfect execution.

The satellites began their countdown when the Russian president publicly declared war. The announcement was designed to confuse the enemy. The Americans would respond with incredulous accusations about the assassination attempt and the unlikely odds that Russia could ever win a war. But the other reason for the announcement was to get the Americans’ eyes turned toward Russia. Why shoot the enemy in the back when you can get them to turn around and see it coming. Let them realize they’ve been throwing a party in front of a lion’s den. Then destroy them.

3...

2...

1...

Fifty-seven fifteen-megaton nuclear warheads detonated as one. Their bright plumes of light, seen from the ground, brought gasps of awe, comments of beauty and then—absolute fear.

No traces of radiation reached the earth. Not a degree of heat. Not a wave of pressure.

What struck was invisible and totally undetectable, until the electromagnetic pulse reached out and disabled every electronic device in the western world.

8

Washington D.C.

A panel in the dining room wall slid up to reveal a flat-screen television. Austin turned it on and stood back as the screen lit up, revealing the stern eyes and grim face of the Russian president. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen read, “Russia declares war on the United States.” For a moment Mia felt strange and out of place to be receiving the grave news not only at the same time as the president of the United States, but in his presence. She expected him to jump up at any moment and run to some war room or something. But he stayed rooted in his seat at the head of the table, hovering over his scraps of bacon and eggs. She realized then that this was going down in real time. Even moving to another room would mean catching up on what was being broadcast.

“Turn it up,” Collins said.

Austin pushed the volume button on the TV several times,
then
stood back as Misha Alexandrov’s voice filled the room. His voice boomed loud and angry, speaking in heavily accented English. “Today the Americans and their allies will learn what it means to mock the great Russia. We will no longer tolerate the insults, economic posturing or flagrant spread of their Christian religion in our great Soviet state! Today, we return to the communism that made this country great! Today, we return to the pinnacle of the world’s attention. Today, our enemies will taste defeat.”

Alexandrov turned toward the camera, peering into the eyes of billions of transfixed viewers and said.
“Today.”

Realization slammed into Mia’s mind.
“Oh God.
He wouldn’t.” She turned to the president. “He wouldn’t, right?”

The president looked at Chang, who’d been whispering on the phone.
“The VP?”

“En route to a secure location,” Chang said, nearly in tears.

Collins nodded,
then
stood. He looked at the group. “I’m sure this is all posturing...but... Stephanie, make arrangements for them to be taken out of the city.”

Chang nodded.

The president headed for the door with Austin in tow. “He turned back to the group as he opened the door. “Don’t
worry,
I’m sure everything will—”

The TV blinked out. The lights died. The sounds of the city, which had been penetrating the White House walls as a distant yet constant hum, went silent.

Austin clasped the president’s arm, fearing danger. Two more Secret Service men and one woman burst into the room, eyes sharp and wary. As the group stood in silence, waiting for some sign of life to return, Chang gasped. She held up her cell phone. The screen was black.