Crisis in the Ashes, page 25
“The two assassins we sent . . . both of them were killed last night,” General Maxwell mumbled, looking down at the floor to keep from having to see the expression on Claire’s face.
Claire stared at him in disbelief. “You bastards!” she exclaimed, examining every face in the war room. “To a man, you told me that this James Scott and Frank Brown were the best money could buy. ‘They have assassinated political leaders all over Europe,’ you said.” She stared at Maxwell, her eyes flashing. “You told me they were good!”
“They are ... at least until last night, they were.”
The president’s face flushed a bright crimson. “I authorized the payment of a hundred thousand dollars, in gold, for the two of them to get rid of Ben Raines forever.”
“Yes, Madam President,” Harlan stammered. “You did. We were informed they were killed by some of Ben Raines’s security men.”
“Shit!” Claire exclaimed, dropping into a vacant chair at the table, holding her head in her hands. “First we give this little Jap son of a bitch five million dollars out of our treasury and we still haven’t seen his flea bombs work.” She took a deep breath. “Now you tell me the pair of killers we hired from over in England are dead. You told me they were the very best in the world at laying landmines and using explosives. The big one, I forget his name—”
“James Scott,” Otis Warner told her. “He came to us very highly recommended by the British.”
Claire shook her head. “He must not have been all that good, Otis. Neither was the other son of a bitch. I forget the bastard’s name, or where he was from.”
“Frank Brown, from Nova Scotia,” Captain Broadhurst added in a meek voice. “I knew his training officer. He made very few mistakes. He was with the French Foreign Legion a number of years ago. His personnel files give him very high marks for the handling of explosives.”
“OK,” Claire said, a disgusted tone in her voice. “Any more good news for me tonight?”
Harlan spoke up when no one else was willing to respond. “The bombing raids didn’t go as well as we’d hoped . . .” He hesitated.
“What do you mean?” Claire demanded. “Are you telling me the one thing I ... we, were counting on to give us some leverage with Raines is a complete failure?”
A silence lingered in the war room. Again, it was Harlan Millard who was forced to speak when the others remained silent, staring at the map.
“It failed to achieve our objective, Claire, but it wasn’t a total failure.”
“Failed? ” she screamed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How the hell could it fail?” Claire asked, glaring into Harlan’s eyes. “And what do you mean, not a total failure? Either they dropped the damned bombs, or they didn’t.”
“Something went wrong—”
Claire’s face was beet red now. “I can tell by the tone of your wimpy voice something went wrong, you damn fool! Just what the hell did go wrong?”
Another, longer, silence.
Now General Maxwell spoke up. “I tried to tell you we weren’t ready, that we didn’t have enough planes to get through the heavy air defenses of SUSA. Only four or five of all the planes managed to drop their payloads on SUSA.” He took a deep breath, looking around the room for support, but finding none. No one else had the balls to tell Claire Osterman anything was her fault. “In fact, it even gets worse. Some of the bombers, after being damaged on their runs, dropped their bombs on our own territory to lighten their planes so they could return to base safely.”
Claire’s eyebrows knitted in a deep frown. “The cowardly bastards!” she exclaimed, examining every face in the room. “These so-called soldiers, in order to save their own miserable hides, not only failed in their mission, but they bombed our own citizens?” She directed her anger toward Harlan. “You told me these pilots were good!
“They are . . .” said Maxwell. “At least until last night, they were.”
The president’s spine stiffened. “I want the names of those cowards posted on the airfield bulletin board, and I want them summarily executed. I intend to show our troops that failure is not an option.”
“Yes, Madam President,” Harlan stammered. “I agree. The cowards will be shot at dawn.”
“Shit!” Claire exclaimed venomously, spitting out the word as if she had a mouthful of it. She took a deep breath. That’s just great, General,” she said, staring at Maxwell. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot.
“Perhaps, if we’d waited until we had our full complement of bombers, more of them would have gotten through,” Otis Warner told her. “A day or so more or less wouldn’t have made that much difference.”
Claire arched her eyebrows. “Don’t try to lay the pilots’ failure on me, Otis. They were obviously too concerned with saving their own miserable hides to complete their mission successfully. A thousand planes manned by cowards wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“Madam President,” Captain Broadhurst added in a meek voice. “Not all of the pilots neglected their duty. Bombs were successfully dropped in Arizona, Arkansas, and Texas. If the plague organism is as strong as Ishi said it was, perhaps that will be enough.”
Claire swept a stray lock of hair away from her forehead, then reached for a cigarette.
“We’re all very sorry, Claire,” Harlan said as another bomb thudded into the ground somewhere near Indianapolis, rattling one of the metal drawers in a file cabinet on the far side of the war room.
“Sorry?” she asked with undisguised sarcasm. “General Raines and his goddamn Rebels will be marching through the streets of Indianapolis within a few hours, and all you can think of to say is that ‘we’re all very sorry?’ ”
“We’re doing the best we can, Madam President,” General Maxwell said.
Her eyes rounded with anger when she looked at him. “You say you’re doing the best you can?” she shrieked. “What about these goddamn bombs dropping on top of my bedroom now? How the hell am I supposed to get any sleep?”
More silence, until the general spoke.
“Somehow, Ben Raines is getting information as to where our anti-aircraft gun emplacements are located. He strikes them first, and then we must endure his air bombardment.”
“How in the hell is he getting this information?” Claire wanted to know, inhaling deeply on her cigarette. “How does he know where they are?”
Maxwell looked at Captain Broadhurst before he answered the president’s question. “I’m afraid we have an informant in our midst,” he said gravely.
“An informant?”
Broadhurst nodded.
“Who the hell could it be?”
Once more, the captain hesitated. “It has to be someone at a very high level, Madam President.”
She scowled. “Then find the son of a bitch and have him executed.”
“It may not be that easy.”
“And why not?”
“We aren’t quite sure where the classified information is coming from.”
Claire sucked on her cigarette again. “What the hell am I paying you for, if you can’t find out something as simple as this?”
“I have my security staff checking on it now.”
Claire turned to General Maxwell. Then she got up from her chair, addressing him. “That damn sure isn’t good enough for me, General.”
“What do you mean by that, Madam President?” Maxwell asked in a thin, hollow voice.
“Stand up!” Claire said to Maxwell. “Get out of that chair right now!”
Maxwell did as he was told, although it was apparent by the look on his face he was totally bewildered by her request.
“First you set up an assassination attempt which fails. Then your fucking pilots fail to deliver the bombs that might have won the war for us. Draw your pistol,” Claire said evenly.
“But why?” Maxwell asked, yet he unfastened the snap over his holster and took out his forty-five automatic, just as he’d been instructed.
Claire rested her hands on the table, and for a time all was silence. She stared at General Maxwell intently, until she’d made up her mind.
“Aim your gun at Captain Broadhurst,” she said.
“Do what?” he asked, his cheeks paling.
“Aim it at him, and then kill him.”
“You can’t be serious—”
“I’m completely serious, Max. Point your pistol at him and shoot him in the head. He’s an enemy of the state. He has betrayed the USA.”
“I don’t . . . think . . . I can do that, Claire.” he stammered as a tremor reached his fingertips.
“Do it!” Claire screamed. “Do it now, or I’ll have you before a firing squad at dawn.”
Very slowly, deliberately, General Maxwell turned to the chair Captain Broadhurst was occupying. He raised his forty-five with even more reluctance.
“Kill him!” Claire hissed.
“This is murder, Claire,” Harlan whispered. “Cold-blooded murder.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what it is,” she growled, her chin jutting.
“But you can’t simply order Broadhurst’s execution for treason without some sort of proof.”
“I don’t need proof, Harlan, so shut your damn mouth. I say Captain Broadhurst is an enemy of the USA, and I want him shot right now. As commander in chief, I have just given General Maxwell a direct order. This is a question of his loyalty, not Broadhurst’s.”
“Jesus, Claire,” Harlan sighed. “What makes You think Bob Broadhurst is an enemy of the state?”
Claire ignored Harlan, meeting General Maxwell’s eyes with a steely look. “Kill him, Max,” she said.
“But what if he isn’t our traitor? What if I kill the wrong man?”
“Then we’ll find out who the real Judas is, and he will be killed,” Claire responded. She tapped out her cigarette impatiently. “I’m waiting—”
Captain Broadhurst stood up. He was unarmed. He spread his palms and looked at General Maxwell before he spoke. “Go ahead, Max. Shoot me.”
“Dear God,” Maxwell whispered. He ignored Claire for the moment, reading the look on Bob Broadhurst’s face. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s your duty,” Broadhurst replied. “We are both military men. An order is an order.”
Tears streamed down General Maxwell’s cheeks. The room was quiet.
“Kill him, Max,” Claire said. “That’s a direct order.”
“No,” he gasped, tossing his pistol on the tabletop. I won’t do it. Someone else will have to do this dirty deed for you, Claire.”
Maxwell turned on his heel and started for the door leading to the stairway out of the war room.
Claire picked up Maxwell’s forty-five, jacked a load into the firing chamber, and aimed for the general’s back. “Stop, or I’ll kill you!” she snarled.
Maxwell reached for the doorknob. Claire’s fury took control of her and she pulled the trigger, filling the war room with the sound of exploding gunpowder.
General Leland Maxwell was driven into the concrete wall by the force of impact as the bullet severed his spine. He let out a soft groan as blood sprayed from an exit wound in his chest.
He sank to the floor on his knees. Then he toppled over on his face into a puddle of crimson, sucking his last breath into a torn lung.
Claire turned the pistol toward Captain Broadhurst, her eyes glittering with hatred. “I won’t have a man in my command who lacks nerve,” he said.
Broadhurst nodded once, a serene look on his face as if he’d known all along what was coming.
Harlan and Otis backed away from the table.
“I am prepared to die for my country,” Captain Broadhurst said, bowing his head, looking at the floor.
Another thundering gunshot filled the room.
Thirty-seven
Otis Warner walked down the underground corridor to his office, his head hanging and his eyes on the concrete floor.
“Hold my calls,” he said to his secretary, who was staring at his blood-covered clothes with a horrified expression.
“Mr. Warner, what . . . what happened?” she asked, a quake in her voice as if she thought enemy troops might be massing in the building.
He waved a hand at her as he entered his office. “Don’t even ask,” he mumbled.
He shut the door and went into his sleeping quarters. All of Osterman’s staff now stayed in the headquarters bunker, since the bombing raids had destroyed the other housing on the base.
Putting his hands on the sink in his bathroom, he leaned close to the mirror, staring at Maxwell’s and Broadhurst’s blood, which speckled his face and upper body. They’d been good men. There was no reason for Claire’s actions, he thought. Perhaps she is ... insane.
He stripped his clothes off and took a quick shower, turning the water as hot as it would go, as if that would somehow wash away his complicity in the murder of two loyal officers, and friends.
When he was dressed in clean clothes he sat behind his desk and began to look over intel reports on the course of the war. They were losing, and losing heavily if the reports could be believed.
How in the world have we allowed ourselves to get to this point? he wondered. We’ve gone from the premier nation in the world to one not much better than a third world country.
Jesus, he thought, remembering the almost gleeful look in Claire’s eyes as she brutally murdered Max and Broadhurst, maybe she has gone round the bend.
A light knock at the door broke his reverie. “Yes, come in,” he called, welcoming any interruption that would give him an excuse to stop looking at the Intel reports and their clear evidence the USA was going down the tubes.
His secretary peeked through the door. “I have a call on line one, Mr. Warner.”
“Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t give his name.”
“What do you mean, wouldn’t give his name? Did he say what it was about?”
“No, sir. He just said he had vital information about the war, and that he needed to talk to you.”
“OK, Sally. I’ll take it.”
As she closed the door behind her he picked up the phone, wondering who would be calling him with information about the war.
“This is Otis Warner,” he said.
“This is Ben Raines,” the voice said, as if Otis received calls from the opposing general every day.
“Raines? What can I do for you, General?” Otis asked, wondering if this was some bizarre plot by Claire to test his loyalty. Sweat broke out on his forehead, as he remembered the way Maxwell’s body was blown apart by the .45 slug from his own gun.
“I have it on good authority that you are the only one of Claire Osterman’s advisers who has consistently opposed her war effort.”
“It’s true, General, that I was initially against us going to war with you, but I’ve since come to realize—”
He heard a deep chuckle. “No need to pussyfoot around with me, Otis. I’m not going to tell Claire we talked, so you don’t need to try to cover your ass.”
“Get to the point, General. Why have you called me?”
“I have some information that I think you need to know, information I gave to Claire a few days ago and she evidently ignored.”
“And what would that be, General?”
“I called to tell you the vaccine you got from Dr. Ishi is worthless. He gave us the real vaccine.”
Otis felt his heart jump up into his throat, and for a moment he had trouble speaking. Could this be the truth, or was Ben Raines just bluffing?
“What . . . what do you mean?”
“I mean that you and your citizens are not protected from the plague bombs that Claire ordered dropped in the recent raids on my country. You should realize, Otis, that when the plague starts to spread, as it is sure to do no matter how hard we try to contain it, you people in the US are going to pay a terrible price for Claire’s ambition.”
“And you informed President Osterman of this?”
“Yes. I offered her the chance to end the war, with no reprisals from us, and she either didn’t believe me, or chose to carry on for her own personal reasons.”
Otis’s mind was working frantically, wondering if what the general said was true, and why Claire hadn’t informed her cabinet of advisers of the offer, and the information about the vaccine.
“Why on earth would she do that?”
“You know her better than I do, Otis. Personally, I think the lady is insane.”
“Assuming what you say is true, why are you telling me, and what do you expect me to do about it?”
“First of all, you should check with your medical experts about the vaccine. By now, they should be realizing the vaccine is worthless.”
“And if I find it is as you say?”
He could almost see the man on the other end of the line shrug. “What you do with the information is up to you, Otis. But you should know, in spite of the fact we are winning the war and you will be completely destroyed in a matter of months, we at SUSA are not monsters. We have no wish to wipe out the United States. We merely wish to be left alone, for each of our countries to go their own ways.”
“Are you making an offer of peace?”
“Yes. We are prepared to stand down our attacks, withdraw our troops from your country, and to share the vaccine and whatever medical assistance you need if you call off the war.”
“What about reparations?”
“There will be none. The boundaries of our countries will remain the same as they were at the beginning of the war. The UN may insist upon Claire and General Maxwell standing trial as war criminals for their use of biological weapons, but we will not press the issue, so it will probably not come to much.”
“The question is moot as concerns Maxwell,” Otis said. “Claire shot him today.”
“What?” Ben asked. Evidently, his spies hadn’t had time to tell him of the executions.
“Yes. She shot them to death.”
“It’s worse than I thought. The lady is mad.”
Taking a big chance, hoping his phone wasn’t tapped, Otis agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
“Is there any way you can . . . gain control of the government? Do you and the other advisers have enough power to do that?”
