Ashes - Enemy In The Ashes Part 30

Jackie nodded. "Yes, now your left ear matches your right, Madame President."

A male voice spoke from the other side of the bed. "Good evening, Claire."

Claire looked over at him. It was Ben Raines.

"Ben, you son of a b.i.t.c.h!" she almost yelled. "You'll pay for this!"

Herb cast his eyes toward the bedside table, where he kept a 9mm automatic pistol.

Ben held out a Beretta. "Are you looking for this, son?"

Herb relaxed back against the headboard.

"What are you doing here and why did you let that crazy woman a.s.sault me?" Claire asked in her most imperious voice.

Ben smiled. "Just a reminder, Sugar Babe," he said, using his pet nickname for Claire.

"A reminder?"

"Yes. A reminder that no matter where you are and no matter how tight your security is, I can get to you any time I want and do to you whatever I want."

"But why are you here?" Claire asked, sitting up in bed.

When she sat up, the sheets covering her fell to her lap, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.Ben looked away. "Cover yourself, Claire," he said.

She jerked the sheets up under her neck and glared at him.

309.

309.

"To answer your question, I'm a little put out with you for giving a madman fifty pounds of plutonium."

Claire looked shocked. "I don't know what you . . ."

"Come off it, Claire," Ben said. "The man you gave it to has given us a full confession, which I've naturally forwarded on to the United Nations."

"But... but .. ."

Ben held up a finger. "This visit is just a little warning, Claire.

People who play with fire often get their fingers burned."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Jean-Francois Chapelle has a.s.sured me that the next time the Oil Allocation Committee of the U.N. meets, they will almost certainly lower the amount of oil allocated to the United States." He grinned. "We'll leave it up to you to explain to the people who elected you just why that happened."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she screamed, stretching out her hands toward him, her fingers curled into claws.

Jackie stepped forward, jammed a hypodermic needle into Claire's left shoulder, and then watched as Claire's eyes shut and she collapsed in the bed.

As Herb's face reddened and his muscles bunched for retaliation, Ben held up a hand. "Easy, son. It's just a tranquilizer to put her out long enough for us to get away."

Herb relaxed back against his pillows and held out his arm, an expression of resignation on his face while Jackie gave him the same shot.

In the helicopter headed back to SUSA headquarters in Louisiana, Jackie asked Ben, "Do you think she learned her lesson this time?"

310.

Ben shook his head. "People like her never learn, Jackie. They just keep on making the same mistakes over and over again."

"Then, why didn't we just take her out permanently?"

"Because the people of the United States elected her, and people usually get the kind of leaders they deserve."

312 For a sneak preview of William W. Johnstone'snew action adventure novel, CODE NAME: QUICKSTRIKE,.

coming in May 2003 from Pinnacle Books, just turn the page 313.

Knoxville, TN: It was half-time in the game between the University of Tennessee and Auburn University, and because both schools have orange as one of their school colors, the stadium was ablaze with the pumpkin hue. The bands had just left the field, and with the score tied at seventeen-all, 92,315 fans were waiting for play to resume.

Although Auburn is known as the "Tigers," for some reason lost in the mists of legend and lore, their loyal supporters often refer to their team as the "War Eagles." Therefore, when a U.S. Air force A-10 approached the field, an Auburn fan pointed to it and shouted the Auburn war cry.

"War Eagle!"

His cry was repeated by thousands of throats and they watched as the airplane banked, then made a low fly-by over the stadium. The Auburn fans stood and cheered. But the Tennessee fans, not willing to concede that the airplane was making a flyby in support of Auburn, stood and cheered as well. After all, this was a visual representation of the United States military, and the U.S. military was an all volunteer force. The Tennessee team is known 314.

as the "Volunteers," thus, the plane could just as easily be representing them.

The airplane pulled up at the end of its pa.s.s, then made a long, lazy, one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and started back. The cheering was loud and boisterous. In this time of war against terrorism, the fans of both Tennessee and Auburn were united by a spirit of patriotism, and they waved school pennants and national colors as the A-10 tilted down toward the stadium.

Suddenly a ring of fire appeared on the nose of the fighter-bomber. For just an instant the crowed thought it was some sort of salute. A portion of the crowd realized very soon, however, that it wasn't a salute, for explosive cannon sh.e.l.ls and machine-gun bullets made of depleted uranium slammed into the stands at the Auburn end zone.

When the A-10 pulled up after its first pa.s.s, there were some in the crowd who were still cheering, not yet aware that the plane had just launched an attack against them. Turning sharply, the plane came back for a second pa.s.s, once again firing cannon and machine guns at the crowd. But by now word was spreading quickly throughout the stadium thatthis was a deadly attack. The crowd panicked and tried to get out of the way. The machine-gun bullets and cannon sh.e.l.ls caused terrible carnage, but the panicked crowd did even more. Hundreds of spectators were crushed in the mad rush as the crowd stampeded toward the exits.

Although the airplane belonged to the U.S. Air Force, the pilot, Abdullah Afif Akil, was a lieutenant in the Sitrarkistan Air Force, in the U.S. as part of a military exchange program. No one on the ground yet knew this, but Akil didn't mind. Soon, the entire world would know of his martyrdom. "Allah Akbar," he said, as he continued his strafing runs, delivering a deadly cargo with grim 315.

efficiency. Finally, with the last round expended, the pilot turned away from the stadium.

Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

Andy Garrison, the a.s.sistant director of Homeland Security, was watching the Illinois-Ohio State game when suddenly the picture on the screen switched to the game in Tennessee.

"Come on," Garrison grumbled. "What's the use of paying for the sports package if I can't watch the game I want?"

Suddenly, on the screen, he saw explosions ripple through the stands.

Confused, he leaned forward. "What is this, a movie?" he asked. But, even as he asked the question, he knew he wasn't watching a movie. There was something about the texture of the picture that told him what he was watching was real.

"We don't any more about this than you do, ladies and gentlemen," the sportscaster was saying in a breathless voice. "You are seeing it happen, just as we are. What? What?" the sportscaster asked, just off mike, though loudly enough for his question to be picked up. Then he cleared his throat. "All right, I'm being told now that we have a nation wide feed. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Charley Keith. Normally I would be bringing you the play-by-play commentary of the Tennessee-Auburn football game but all that seems terribly insignificant now. To update those of you who are just tuning in, moments ago a United States Air Force plane began strafing Ney-land Stadium. We don't know why, nor do we know yet, how many casualties have been sustained, but we can report that there are many injured, and probably killed. Wait 316.

a minute folks, we thought the plane had left, but here it comes again!"

Andy Garrison called his liaison in the FBI. "Peter, turn on the TV," he said.

"I'm watching it," Peter Simmons said.

"Has POTUS been informed?"

"The President of the United States has been informed," Peter answered.

"Are we doing anything?""The Air Force is scrambling fighter jets," Peter replied. Thought that's a little like shutting the barn door after the horse is gone."

"Yes, well, we can't undo what has been done. But maybe we can shoot this b.a.s.t.a.r.d down, whoever the h.e.l.l he is," Andy said.

"Wait, are you watching this? He's coming back," Peter said in alarm.

On screen, the A-10 was heading straight for the camera.

"He doesn't seem to be shooting this time," Charley Keith, the sports-caster was saying. "Hopefully, he's run out of ammunition."

"Charley, he's coming straight for us," the color commentator said.

"Bobby's right, folks," Charley said. "He's coming right at us. We should be able to get a really good look this time."

"My G.o.d, Charley! He's not turning away!" Bobby shouted.

On screen the airplane got bigger and bigger until it filled the screen.

Then there was nothing but a few lines across the screen, followed by snow, then black. Almost 317.

317.

instantly thereafter, the picture returned to the studio where, normally, a sports news reporter would be updating the nation on the latest scores of all college games in progress. But now the reporter was sitting behind the familiar curved desk in front of a large board filled with team names and scores, holding his finger to his earpiece. He nodded, then looked at the camera. As the camera moved in, the patina of sweat that covered his face was clearly visible. He licked his lips.

"Uh, ladies and gentlemen there has obviously been some sort of major malfunction in our feed from Knoxville. We'll get that taken care of as quickly as we can. In the meantime, we're," he halted in mid-sentence, obviously listening to instructions in his earphone, then he nodded.

"Yes, we're going to our news central desk."

Langley AFB, Virginia: As the F-15 Colonel Bob Jackson was flying, roared into the sky on twin pillars of fire, he felt his weight increase many times by the effects of acceleration. Working hard to overcome the G forces, Jackson lifted his hand to the radio-control panel and changed frequencies from tower to command.

"Charley-Charley, this is Gunslinger One with flight of two, requesting a vector and clearance."

Because of the readiness plan that had been put into effect after the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001, there were jet fighters on standby at various bases all across the country. This Sat.u.r.day afternoon Colonel Jackson and his wingman, Captain Hugh Taylor had drawn the alert duty, and it was they who were scrambled in response to the attack in Knoxville.318 "Gunslinger One, take a heading of two-six-zero. You are cleared at any alt.i.tude, proceed at maximum possible speed. Squawk your parrot and scramble, please, sir."

"Roger, squawking," Colonel Jackson replied. He "squawked his parrot" by pus.h.i.+ng a b.u.t.ton on his IFF that would emit a coded signal, thus identifying him as friendly. He also turned a switch on his radio that would make it impossible for anyone listening in to understand what was being said. "Scrambled," he reported.

The voice of Charley-Charley came over the headset once more.

"Gunslinger One, my authenticator is mad dog. I say again, my authenticator is mad dog. Respond, please."

"Sea Biscuit," Colonel Jackson replied, responding with the correct code to authorize the reception of top-secret information.

"You are cleared to engage."

"Roger," Jackson replied.

"Colonel, I can see smoke ahead," Captain Taylor said after several minutes.

"Light up the afterburner, Captain," Jackson replied. "If that son of a b.i.t.c.h is anywhere in the area, I don't intend to let him get away."

"Roger, lighting the burner."

The afterburners of both F-15s kicked in with a boom, increasing the speed so dramatically that, once again, the pilots could feel themselves bring pressed back into then-seats. A three-minute burn took them to the site of the billowing smoke; then both aircraft throttled down as they orbited the stadium to check out the scene.

"Charley-Charley, this is Gunslinger One. We're on station," Colonel Jackson called.

"Your target is an A-10," Sector Control replied.

319.

319.

"Negative, there is no target," Jackson said as he banked sharply around the burning press box.

"Has the target departed the area?"

"I think he crashed into the press box."

"Please confirm."

"Roger."

Colonel Jackson and Captain Taylor made a very low fly-by to examine the press box. A large percentage of the crowd were still in the stands, and not understanding that the two fighters had been sent to help them, theydived under the seats to avoid them.

"Did you see anything definite, Captain?" Colonel Jackson asked, as they pulled up from their first pa.s.s.

"Negative."

"Give me a covering orbit. I'm going back for another look," Colonel Jackson said.

"I have you covered, sir."

Captain Taylor flew a wide orbit, high above the stadium, while Colonel Jackson dropped gear and flaps and made another low pa.s.s, this time coming down even below the top level of the bleachers. There were some in the crowd who thought he was actually going to land on the football field, but in truth, he had just made his airplane "dirty" so he could perform the very low, and very slow, fly-by.

Although the activities of the two F-15s were cause for concern and curiosity in the stands, there was no reaction at from the press box.

That was because Charley Keith, Bobby Sawyer, and every other occupant of the press box lay dead in the twisted and burning wreckage.