Still of Night (Dead of Night 3)

Good god.

The protocol is complex and yet frighteningly simple. The leather case contained a secure device that allowed him to input a set of codes. It nominally follows the two-man rule, but the Secretary of Defense can’t really act without those codes from the president. Once they were given, once an agreed protocol was initiated, the machinery would move with terrifying swiftness and efficiency.

“Are you out of your mind?” I demanded, and the Secret Service agents moved to get up in my face. I ignored them. “What are your targets, for Christ’s sake? We aren’t at war with a foreign power.”

“We are at war, Captain. The cities are falling. New York, D.C., Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Los Angeles . . . ” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “All of them are overrun. The only chance we have is to remove those centers of congestion and limit the spread of the infection to the suburbs and rural areas. People are already being told to evacuate.”

“You can’t do this.”

“It’s done,” said the president. “We’re going to take back this great nation. We will make it ours again.”

I knew those words. They were trademarks from his campaign speeches. Make it Ours Again had been his platform.

“You’re going to drop nukes on the major U.S. cities? What about fallout? What about living people trapped in the blast areas?”

“There is always collateral damage in war.”

I don’t know that I have ever heard that phrase used with less humanity or more coldness. The engine whine of the plane was increasing.

“You need to stop this while you can,” I begged. “It’s going to make it worse. You’re killing us all.”

I looked from him to Chang. Her eyes were bright with shock, but she had her Glock in her hand and she stood by the madman with the nuclear football. The other agents had their barrels half-raised and their eyes were hard as flint.

“Captain,” said the president, “someone needs to move the stair car away from the door so we can take off.”

“Make the call, you motherfucker,” I growled, and now the barrels were pointing at my face. Top and Bunny had their guns up, too, but I knew it was too late. The codes had been given, the machinery was running.

“Get off my airplane,” said the president. “That’s an order.”

“There are more of them coming,” yelled the pilot. “We need to clear the runway.”

“Cap’n,” said Top, “this is done.” When I still did not move, he took my arm. “We can take the Black Hawk.”

He pulled me back and I let him.

At the doorway to the office I stopped, though, and pointed a finger at the president. “God damn you to hell.”

His smile was small and sad. “We’re already in hell, Captain.”

I turned and left. At the top of the stairs I jerked to a stop. Torres was crawling up toward us. Her eyes were completely empty and her lips curled back from white teeth. Bunny made a small, heartbroken sound and raised his gun.

“No,” I said and ran down to the dead cop. She snapped at me, but my Kevlar pads were still in place. I pulled her up and drag-carried her into the plane and shoved her into one of the seats reserved for the press. The pilot frowned at me.

“She’ll be fine,” I said. “Spin this thing up. We’ll move the stairs.”

He gave me an uncertain nod and went into the cockpit and closed the door.

Then I whirled and ran, pulled the outer door shut and ran down to where Top and Bunny were positioning themselves at the base of the stair car.

We moved it away, then ran for the Black Hawk, killing whoever and whatever was in our way. We got in, got it started, got it in the air.

Top flew. He opened up with chain guns and cleared the runway, then banked away as Air Force One lifted into the air.

Neither Bunny nor Top asked me why I’d done what I’d done. They understood. Top nodded and Bunny put his hand on my shoulder. The fuel gauge said we had enough gas to go maybe a thousand miles. We’d have to refuel somewhere. Top had family in Georgia. Bunny’s folks were on vacation in St. Thomas. My family was in Maryland, hopefully at my uncle’s old farm in Robinwood, far away from the cities.

When the nukes dropped there would be EMPs, so maybe they would kill our electronics and drop us all down to the ground. Maybe we’d been the timetable. Maybe the generals would mutiny and refuse to follow orders.

Maybe.