The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (14 page)

Atlanta?
 
No way in hell.

"Oh, Reginald, you're going to pay for this…" he muttered to himself.
 
The progress bar on the screen displayed 56% and counting.
 
Come on, come on…

The phone on Jayne's desk rang. His hand instinctively reached to grab the receiver, if nothing more than to silence the damn thing.
 
He stopped, his hand just above the hard plastic handle.
 
Why was he afraid?
 
He was the President of the United States.
 
If someone heard the phone ringing and tried to get into the office, they would find it locked.
 
The Secret Service were loyal to him.
 
No one would give a damn about why he was in the Chief of Staff's office.
 
Hell, he’d already turned over executive power to her in front of the Joint Chiefs.
 
He all but had sex with her in some of those meetings.
 
Why should anybody care that he was in her office?

He was so wrapped up in trying to convince himself to not be afraid that he failed to realize that the phone had stopped ringing.
 
Good
.
 
He checked his watch.
 
Not good.

He looked at the progress bar the computer.
 
70% complete.

His chest began to vibrate.
 
He pulled out the cell phone from his coat pocket and looked at the displayed number.
 
Reginald.
 
Surely that had to be a coincidence…

"Hello?" he asked in a sleepy sounding voice.

"
Just what do you think you're doing, Mr. President?"
cooed Reginald's voice.

"What are you talking about?"
 
The President feigned a stretch.
 
"I'm just waking up—it’s…" He glanced at his watch mid-stretch.
 
"Good Lord, man, it's only 6:15.
 
What the hell do you want?"

"Really, Mr. President?
 
Why are you in Jayne's office trying to copy her files?
 
What possible benefit do you think you can derive from this deception?"

Barron’s blood ran cold.
 
Cameras.
 
He’d forgotten about the cameras in the Vice Presidential Emergency Operations Center.
 
Reginald had seen him react to the destruction of Atlanta.
 
He had watched him find Jayne’s hidden jump drive…

"
I can see by the expression on your face that you are angry with yourself for not thinking of the cameras.
 
Yes, of course I had Jayne's office rigged with surveillance equipment
."
 
Reginald laughed, that infuriatingly polite European laugh.
 
"
It was only prudent.
 
Besides, she is so very easy on the eyes, is she not?"

The President cleared his throat, seeking time to gather his thoughts.

"
Although
," said Reginald, "
I that you were not nearly so easy on her last night, were you?"

The President felt the heat rush into his cheeks.
 
"You had no right—"

"I had every right
," hissed Reginald.
 
"
If nothing else I'm keeping tabs on my investment.
 
Any good banker would do the same.
 
So, I ask you once again, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Research."

"
Research into what?
 
Come now, Mr. President, do you really think Jayne would be stupid enough to leave incriminating documents on her office computer—not 30 paces down the hall from yours?
"
 
Reginald laughed.
 
"
Your government’s computer system is full of holes—it's one of the least-secure operations on the planet.
 
Only a fool would leave something
—"

"What do you want, Reginald?"
 
The President snapped.
 
The file transfer was nearly complete.
 
Just keep him talking…get the files…come on…

"I want you to remember who is in charge here."

The President was surprised to see a new dialog box appear on the screen:
 

!!:>>File transfer canceled:
 

Remote host authorization VXF7A//G14Z3.

Before he could move the mouse, a third dialog box flashed onto the screen.
 

!!>>Format external drive?
 

Barron opened his mouth to speak but the

button clicked of its own volition.

In seconds, all the data on the USB drive that he had copied was gone.
 
Completely erased.
 
The dialog boxes begin to disappear one at a time until he could see the main Breckinridge folder full of all the documents about himself.
 
One by one they began to disappear.
 
Reginald’s voice chuckled over the phone as all the incriminating files were erased before Barron’s eyes.

The deletion picked up speed and in a few seconds, Jayne’s entire jump drive was wiped clean.
 
Then the computer displayed a new dialog box:

!!>>This session has timed out<

Enter password to continue:

Barron’s hands moved to the keyboard and the computer shut off.

"
I told you, I'm in charge
.”
 
Reginald sighed theatrically.
 
“
Now, unfortunately, we have some things to discuss.
 
You may as well leave her office—I know what that perfume does to you.
 
I need your head to be clear."

The President closed his eyes in frustration and clenched his fist on the desktop.
 
So damn close!

"Oh, come now, Mr. President.
 
I’ll not have you pouting.
 
It’s unbecoming for a man of your position, don’t you think?
 
Best we get on.
 
Look, you tried to put your hand in the cookie jar and I caught you.
 
No shame in that.
 
Water under the bridge and all that.
 

“Once you step into the hallway, your senses will clear and you’ll feel right as rain.
 
We'll put all this unpleasantness behind us and move forward with the plan to save your country, shall we?"

The President slowly got to his feet.
 
Bested by a voice on a phone.
 
Without those files on Jayne’s hidden drive, he was back to square one.
 
He opened the door to Jayne's office and felt the waft of fresh air from the hallway brush off the aftereffects of her perfume.
 
James, his ever watchful keeper, snapped to attention beside the door.

“Are you okay, sir?”

The President rubbed his head and tried to get past the bitter taste of failure in his mouth.
 
His head ached.
 
His body felt like he’d just finished a marathon.
 
His undershirt stuck to his chest with sweat.
 
He felt clammy all over.

"I don't feel so good…" he said.
 
He turned and glanced at the darkened computer screen.
 
He’d been so close.
 

“Should I get the doctor?” asked James.
 
His wrist was already moving toward his mouth.

“Ah, no…no, thank you, James,” said the President.
 
His voice wavered, but held.
 
“I think it’s just a touch of light-headedness.
 
Must’ve got up from the chair to fast.”

“You look like you could use some more sleep, sir,” said James.
 
“My mom used to say a good night’s sleep can cure a lot of things.”

The President smiled.
 
“Sound advice.”
 
He realized he held a phone in his hand.
 
“Oh, excuse me,” he said as he raised the phone to his ear.
 
James nodded and fell into step behind him.

"
There, that's better
," Reginald's voice said sweetly into his ear.
 

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" the President said with a politician’s instinctive ability to cover up the fact that he had been paying absolutely no attention at all to whoever had been talking.

"Of course, Mr. President.
 
I was merely suggesting to you that our next course of action needs to increase the pressure on President Harris."

Anger flared in the President's belly.
 
Time to get back on the bandwagon and let Reginald think he’s won again.
 
"Harris.
 
That snake in the grass.
 
Up the pressure?
 
He needs to be destroyed.
 
We need to do it fast too, before we lose the rest of the Armed Forces."
 
His stomach clenched.
 
He’d slipped into that so easy—like a bad habit.
 
He was even more determined than ever to break Reginald.

“My thoughts exactly.
 
I think you need to bring in an attack dog to oversee the agency security forces.
 
It’s time we take this game to the next level.”

“What do you mean?” asked the President as he strolled the hallways of the underground bunker.
 
“I don’t think the military will fire on—”

“If we’re going to have a civil war, Mr. President, we may as well start with the civilians…”

The President paused.
 
James stopped just behind him, out of earshot but close enough to reach him in a heartbeat.
 
“What do you mean?”

Reginald laughed.
 
“
Are you feeling all right, Mr. President?
 
You sound quite the parrot.
”

“I mean, what did you have in mind?
 
I know damn well the military—no matter which side they support—will not open fire on American citizens.
 
They just won’t.
 
We’ve already done the studies to back that up.”

“No, no, no, Mr. President.
 
You need to think of the bigger picture.”

“The agency security forces?
 
They’re still coalescing.
 
I doubt they—”

“Use patriotic, loyal citizens to your advantage.
 
Forget anyone acting under color of authority of the law.
 
Think of the Average Joe.
 
Start a—I believe the term I’m looking for is ‘snitch program’.”

“A what?”

“Remember after 9-11?
 
‘See something, say something’?
 
Just offer rewards…food, water, weapons…anything to tempt people.
 
If they think their neighbors aren’t loyal to you, if they suspect someone—anyone—of supporting Harris…set up a snitch-line they can call and rat out their neighbors.”

The President stood in the middle of the hallway and watched as a staffer politely moved around him, arms full of papers.
 
“We’ll gain followers and root out the people loyal to Harris at the same time. That’s genius.”

“Yes, yes it is.”

C
HAPTER
8

Lumford, South Carolina.

C
APTAIN
A
LSTON
SETTLED
HIMSELF
behind a moss-covered oak, listening to reports from his men that had surrounded the Russian-controlled airfield.
 
So far, he team’s earlier reconnaissance mission had paid off.
 
No one had reported injuries or casualties, all of his Rangers and Marines were accounted for, and as far as they knew, the Russians were still unaware of the extent of their presence.

He peered around the craggy trunk and used his night vision goggles to examine the Lumford Municipal Airport.
 
The guards had been tripled—which was not completely unexpected.
 
Given the size of Garza’s diversion, Alston was actually surprised the entire Russian contingent hadn't turned out.
 
Instead, it appeared they had already settled back into their routines, albeit with extra patrols.

Gunny Morin had confirmed that the wire fence had been repaired at each entry point.
 
Hopefully the Russians would not realize that two different holes had been cut into their fence right around the time of the fuel depot ‘accident’.

Alston grabbed his radio and keyed the Osprey frequency one more time.
 
"Condor, Hammer 2-1 Actual.”
 
He waited a moment but nothing came back.
 
“Condor, Hammer 2-1 Actual. Hammer 2-1 Actual calling Condor, how copy?
 
Condor, come in!"