“What is that stuff?” Alex asked.
“They’re not saying,” Hawk said. “I assume because it’s the kind of gas that shouldn’t be there in the first place.”
As the anchor continued giving out details, the scene on the streets worsened. People returned with guns, demanding access. When they were denied, some of those shut out started forcing their way inside. Every few seconds, an entire household would empty outside before falling to their knees in the streets and gasping for air. Sometimes the people would just pass out, while others would cover their mouths with their shirt, stagger to their feet, and get moving again.
“What the hell,” Black said before his mouth fell agape. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”
Hawk shook his head. “Yeah, we have. You ought to know a chemical attack when you see one.”
“Sure,” Black said, “but I’ve never seen one live on television carried out on civilians.”
Alex turned up the volume on the television.
“Officials are urging all residents to remain in their homes for the next couple of hours until the gas weakens,” the anchor said. “While most homes won’t be able to keep out the toxic gas, there are a few homes that are prepared for such a catastrophe.”
The overhead camera flew over to the adjacent street, where the scene was much different. Instead of people freaking out, the people were sitting by the window patiently. People in the streets couldn’t even get into the yards.
“Meanwhile, a development of Freedom Homes appears to be weathering the gas leak just fine,” the anchor said. “We actually have one of the residents on the line now and will discuss with her what it’s like to be there. Miss Johnson, this is Carly Vanover. Would you mind telling us what things are like for you there?”
“Well, it’s not like what’s happening in the houses behind us,” Johnson said. “These Freedom Homes are built so tight that a mosquito couldn’t even squeeze inside. All our air is filtered, and we even have greenhouses where we grow our food. I feel so blessed to be living in a place like this.”
Hawk sighed. “Is it me or is this obvious what’s going on right now?”
“Oh, it’s obvious … if you’re awake,” Alex said.
Black nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, most people aren’t. Your average viewer will want to know where they can buy one of these homes rather than questioning the source of the leak, much less what kind of gas is actually killing people in the streets.”
Alex pointed the remote at the television. “I’ve had enough of this.”
She turned the channel to another station where a desk full of pundits were talking about President Young’s new Secretary of Defense, Clive Blackwood.
“When the hell did that happen?” Hawk asked.
Alex sighed and turned her attention to her computer. After a couple minutes, she turned off the television.
“Guys, I just received all the information from Mia that they got while hacking into the CIA’s database.”
“Well, tell us all about it on the way,” Hawk said. “I just received a message from Big Earv detailing all the schematics of the holding facility where Blunt is. And we need to move now.”
“On it,” Alex said before pausing. “By the way, has anyone heard from Sterling lately?”
Hawk stopped and thought for a moment. “I don’t believe I have.”
“Me either,” Black said.
Alex shook her head. “Something’s not right.”
CHAPTER 30
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT YOUNG MARCHED toward his office with John Pembroke and Clive Blackwood. While Young felt good about how the press conference went in terms of how presidential he appeared, he couldn’t help but wonder if the public saw the lack of substance and ideas. Navigating the country through tumultuous times was never an easy task, but his situation was more akin to someone standing in a ravine while an avalanche rushed at down both sides of the mountain.
When Young reached his office, he stopped and turned toward Pembroke. “John, can this wait? I really need to get Clive here caught up to speed on what’s going on in the Middle East.”
Pembroke frowned. “Well, sir, it’s just that—”
“Good,” Young said, ushering Blackwood inside. “I’m glad you agree. Just give me a few minutes alone with Clive, and then we’ll chat. Sound good?”
Before Pembroke answered, Young shut the door on his Homeland Security deputy, leaving him in the hallway.
“That was quite the performance out there,” Blackwood said. “I almost believe that you want me in this position.”
Young ambled over to the bar and poured himself a drink, neglecting to offer one to his new Secretary of Defense.
“One thing I’ve learned about this job,” Young began, “is that you might be the President of the United States, but you don’t always get to call the shots.”
“Maybe you do if you don’t let someone hold something over your head,” Blackwood said with a wry smile.
“I can only assume that you’re here for the exact opposite reason,” Young said. “Because you obviously know I didn’t select you on merit.”
Blackwood shrugged. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. I’m not going to judge you either way. What I do know that is that I’m going to do my best to serve you and this country.”
Young took another long pull on his drink. “Well, you can start by helping me figure out how to shovel our way out of this mess with Iran.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Blackwood said, “but I think it’s something we can get through with a thoughtful plan.”
“As long as we don’t have to start a war,” Young said.
Blackwood sighed. “I’m afraid we’re past that point, that is if you want to retain the White House in November. Cowering to the Iranians and not responding with force is not going to play well in your debates with Radcliffe.”
“And if I start something, Radcliffe will seize on that, blaming me for pushing America into another quagmire in the
