“Jesus,” said the man at the other end. “Did you show him the math? Did he see the projection numbers if this thing breaks the Q-zone?”
“I did, but for all intents and purposes that broadcast from the school cut his balls off. He’s almost afraid to act.”
There was a pause. “Which means what?”
“I gave him an alternative suggestion.”
“Which is?”
“You, Sam,” said Blair. “I told him I wanted to send you in.”
There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. “Go in and do what?”
“Find out exactly what’s happening in Stebbins. You and a small team. I want to know how bad things are there. However, you are not to report to General Zetter. He and everyone here in Washington is acting like the Super Bowl is over and we’re all doing postgame chatter.”
“How’s that make sense? Surely they read the same report you forwarded to me. This pathogen isn’t a suitcase nuke. You can’t defuse it and sit back for a victory cigar.”
“Preaching to the choir, Sam.”
“So … what the hell’s happening? Why the shift from ‘move heaven and earth to win this’ to whatever the heck you’d call this shit? Is it that broadcast?”
“Mostly. That was like being hit by a cruise missile. It cut everyone’s balls off. There are people here who think that the attack on the school could be used to do more than bring down the president. They’re afraid it’s done permanent harm to the structure of government as we know it.”
“I watched the president on TV. He did a pretty solid job of pissing on that video. Don’t know if you watched the commentary afterward, but CNN, FOX, and even MSNBC are edging away from belief that Trout’s video was the real deal.”
“I know, but once the storm’s over and the press actually gets into Stebbins, some of what Trout said is going to be verified. The school looks like it was fired on by machine guns. We can’t change that.”
“Unless you blow it up.”
“Hiding the body after a murder isn’t the same as removing doubt about the crime.” Blair blew out is cheeks. “No, Sam, this is doing political damage, there’s no doubt about it.”
“But…?”
“But who the fuck cares?” growled Blair. “How did we ever allow ourselves to get to the point where careers and political agendas matter this much? We are facing a doomsday scenario and they’re acting like it’s the midterm elections. Doomsday, Sam. It’s not even an abstract concept. It’s right there, and we’re handling it all wrong.”
“And you want me to go in and—what? Take photos of the Gates of Hell to prove they’re opening?”
“Pretty much.”
“Jesus.”
“I need irrefutable proof that we’re not on top of this so I can force the president to respond the way we should have responded from the jump. Can you do that?”
“I can try.
“Sam…”
“I’ll do it,” Sam amended.
“How soon can you be on the ground there?”
“Almost right away. I have some assets I can put into play. I … well, I kind of figured this was coming and I tapped some friends who were in the area.”
“You’re already there?”
“Not inside
the Q-zone, but close,” said Sam. “We’re at a motel just outside. Me and four people I can trust.”