woman in a position to take over running the country. He was so depleted of energy that he didn’t question why his national security director was so interested in removing the vice president from the Atlanta impasse.
“Well, all right, but I really think…”
“No, and that’s the end of it. I need your attention concentrated on security for the whole country, not just one little segment of it. Don’t you understand yet how violent and unpredictable the blacks are? The ones still alive, that is. Besides, Santes as much as hinted that the CDC security director might be able to come up with a solution that will quiet that damned Church of Blacks down. I sure don’t want to spoil her chances if that’s true. If we can stop their agitation, we can use the army to better purposes elsewhere.
Now let’s get back on track here. I have to go on the hookup to the U.N. in an hour.”
“Yes, sir,” Tomlin responded, trying desperately to sound matter-of-fact while inwardly he roiled with fear of being found out.
“Good. Now go over your border security again. I don’t want some damn Arab sneaking in here and popping me just because the Jews are killing them all. Why haven’t we been able to close our borders?”
Tomlin knew the president was asking him to fix a problem that had been ignored or given short shrift by congress for the last hundred years. There was no fix, not until the draft expanded the army by orders of magnitude and that couldn’t be done overnight. “Mr. President, it’s a better bet to increase your security rather than try to keep the borders sealed. We still can’t do it. And to keep Arabs out, we’d just about have to shut down airline travel completely. Half the security staff at the airports were black and half our southern border guards were Hispanic. We’ve lost a lot of them to the virus and some more from them simply quitting their jobs. Fortunately, air travel is down drastically, but that doesn’t cover it all. I’m sorry sir, but you know we’ve never been able to stop illegal immigrants crossing from Mexico and Canada.”
“Damn wimpy congress wanting Hispanic votes too damn much,” General Newman added. “By the way, the army has temporarily lost contact with the brigade commander in Atlanta. Something about a crucial trip he had to make. You know anything about that?”
“No,” Tomlin said. Crucial trip? Now what?
“Vice President Santes gave him the authority. I wonder where he’s off to?”
“He didn’t say. He simply informed his deputy that he was going after information vital to national security and would return within a day or so. I’m going to have his ass if I find out he’s lying.”
“Forget that,” Marshall commanded. He focused his next question on Lurline. “What’s the state of our transportation now? Is there anything else I need to do? Any executive orders?”
“Actually, since Atlanta calmed down yesterday, the violence has tapered off elsewhere and road and rail traffic is moving well enough. It’s like everyone is waiting to see what Qualluf Taylor has to say. All he’s done so far is issue a statement urging calm “for the time being” and promised a major announcement soon.”
“Fine, fine.” The president laughed briefly. “Maybe we need to bring those folks who did the negotiating into government. They seem to know what they’re doing, and they got it done fast. General, how about you?”
“We have some problems with the media on a few of the martial law edicts, but nothing serious yet. It could become an issue for them, though. Damn jackals.”
Marshall ignored the comment about the press, and he knew which issues were causing trouble. He disliked reporters but knew they were as necessary in modern-day politics as campaign funds. “Lurline, is there a spot open where I could have a brief press conference? I’ll try calming their jitters. And General, maybe you could instruct the other chiefs to pass the word down from the top that I’m displeased with the use of so much force.”
The general nodded. Lurline said “I’ll make some time, sir. They’ll want to talk to you after your U.N.
speech in any case and we can take care of both at the same time.” Lurline had to admit that President Marshall was performing better under pressure than she ever expected—but she still would much rather have seen Marlene Santes sitting behind the desk in the oval office. Marshall scared her the way he depended so much on General Newman, and delegated so much power to the man.
All Colonel Christian had to go on was a name and city, Shane Stevenson and Charleston. The internet had quickly tracked down the only two persons with that name, assuming that the city referred to was Charleston, South Carolina.
The first had proven to be a dud, a mild mannered retired postman who seemed overawed at the gang of military men and women swarming around his home, mixed with a medley of blacks dressed in everything from suits to jeans. He was entirely cooperative and friendly once he got over being scared. Christian couldn’t know for certain the man was innocent, but he gave him a presumptive pass. Just to be safe, he left one of his sergeants to stay with him while the other suspect was checked out.
The helicopter lifted off from the street in front of the first address and headed toward the outskirts of Charleston, where the other Shane Stevenson lived. As soon as it settled in to a landing, the colonel’s troops began the drill, spreading out to surround the old frame home with the red brick chimney. It was located in a shabby neighborhood and isolated from its neighbors by an abandoned two story structure of brick on one side and an overgrown vacant lot on the other. Colonel Christian let his men perform their tasks with a minimum of supervision, as befitted a good commander, while he followed with his aide and the representatives from the Church of Blacks.
His men were still outside the front door when he noticed the incongruity. Smoke shouldn’t be coming from a chimney on a day this hot!
“Take the house! Now!” he yelled and began running. He saw the door being kicked in before he got there, sick at the thought they might be too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Doug gritted his teeth and did his best to bear the pain without complaining and with a minimum of pain killers. Even in the cool atmosphere of the operating room, he was sweating heavily by the time his wounds had been cleaned up, sutured, re-bandaged and his broken left arm immobilized in a solid cast with an opening that could be lifted to examine the wound then latched back closed.
The doctor stripped off his gloves and tossed them aside. “Mr. Craddock, that should do you. Check in every day for my nurse to change the dressing and check your wounds. The nurse will give you some pills for pain. And you be sure you take all of the antibiotics I gave you. Don’t stop until they’re gone.
Understand?”
“Got it doc. Thanks.”
“That’s all right. I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”
Doug forced a grin. “I asked for it. Where’s June?”
“Your wife? With the Director, I believe.”
“Amelia’s awake?” Doug felt his pulse leap in his chest.
“Yes. She’s doing fine. Still a little groggy at last report. It’s a good thing you got her over here when you did. She had a ruptured spleen that was bleeding into her abdominal cavity. Her surgeon had to remove it.”
“Thanks again.”
“Thank you again for getting her back for us. She’s doing a fine job.” The doctor strode out, peeling off his gown as he went, headed to yet another room and another patient.
The medical people are the real heroes, he thought, watching the doctor leave. They had risked their lives to help defend their patients, then gone right back to work.
“Slide over here Mr. Craddock,” the nurse said, easing the familiar gurney next to the operating room table.
“Where am I going now?”
“Just outside the door to a wheelchair. Then you’re on your own.”
“I can walk, I think.”
“Maybe you can, but you aren’t. Not after all the trouble I went through to find you that wheelchair.”
“I don’t like it,” Tomlin said to the person on the other end of the line. “What’s he up to?”
