Drone Threat (27 page)

48

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

“Assholes! Move!” Mathis shouted, his voice muted by the blaring squad car siren.

Sergeant Vasquez wove skillfully past the slowing cars. She was surprised they'd made it as far as they had on Wilshire, always busy this time of the morning. But the news broadcasts had really thrown a wrench into it. People were losing their damned minds. Helluva training day for Mathis, she thought. Just a week out of the academy. Couldn't be worse than her first week, though, she thought. It was the end of the world, or so it seemed to her that day, thanks to Rodney King.

She wondered for the thousandth time if it was time to retire.

“Should I unlock the shotgun?” Mathis asked. Sweat beaded on his black skin.

“It's a two-eleven in progress, not a riot,” Vasquez said. “No point in escalating the situation.”

“Yes, Sergeant! I mean, no,” Mathis said.

“Take a deep breath. You'll do fine,” she said.

She hoped he would. You never knew with probes.

—

TWO MINUTES LATER
Vasquez slammed the brakes and screeched to a halt at the edge of the intersection. A half-dozen cars and pickup trucks surrounded a red-and-white Coca-Cola delivery truck in the middle of the street. Its rolling doors were flung open and nearly empty.
Civilians were stealing the last cases off the racks and tossing them into their vehicles.

“Let's go!” Vasquez shouted. She leaped out of the driver's side, drew her pistol, and charged toward the pickup nearest her. A young Hispanic male was throwing a case of orange Fanta into the back of his Chevy.

“Stop! Put it down! Now!” she shouted in Spanish.

“FUCK YOU, PIG!” the man shouted back in English, laughing, flipping two birds before leaping into the truck bed.

Adrenaline begged her to pull the trigger but her training kicked in. No telling who was driving the truck. A kid could be riding in the passenger seat. If she missed, the rounds could kill innocent bystanders. Besides, it was just a case of soda. Not worth it. The news this morning had caused this panic. Scared people did stupid things.

The other civilians were already scattering, slamming doors and squealing away in blue clouds of burning rubber.

Vasquez charged around to the other side of the Coca-Cola truck, Mathis hot on her heels. She stopped dead in her tracks. The uniformed delivery driver lay facedown in a pool of blood on the asphalt, his head broken open like a pomegranate.

Mathis puked.

“No time for that shit!” Vasquez shouted.

Mathis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Gunshots rang out from the corner. A 7-Eleven convenience store.

Vasquez turned and ducked into a low crouch, running toward the 7-Eleven. People bolted out of the front door, hauling armfuls of juice boxes, bottled water, energy drinks, and anything else remotely potable.

A Korean clerk emerged a second later, his face streaming with blood, waving a large-caliber revolver, shouting profanities in his native tongue.

“Drop your weapon! Now!” Vasquez shouted, her pistol pointed in his direction.

The Korean turned toward Vasquez, his bleeding face a mask of mindless rage.

Gunfire exploded in her right ear as Mathis ripped off a half dozen .40-caliber rounds. She winced in pain but through her squinting eyes saw three rounds flowering blood in the Korean's white shirt as the plate glass window behind him shattered. He tumbled backward, screaming, arms wide like the Christ. He was dead before he hit the pavement.

“Got you, motherfucker!” Mathis shouted, a half-crazed smile smearing his face.

“You stupid shit! What did you do?” Vasquez shouted. She laid a hand on Mathis's Glock. The barrel was hot. “Holster your weapon, officer.”

Mathis frowned at her, confused. “What?”

“Holster your damn weapon! Now!”

Mathis blinked away his confusion. “Yes, Sergeant.” He holstered the Glock.

A blue helicopter thundered overhead. Vasquez glanced up. White call letters plastered the side. A video camera pointed directly at them.

FoxSky 40 News.

Vasquez swore.

Should've retired yesterday.

49

WASHINGTON, D.C.

All eyes were on Alyssa Abbott, the White House press secretary. She shrugged and shook her head. “I'm sorry. I did everything I could. I played the national security card. Even threatened to pull their press credentials. But the
Times
wouldn't hold off on the story. Frankly, I would've run with it, too, if I were in their shoes.”

Chandler blew out a long breath. “That's terribly unfortunate, Alyssa. It puts us in quite a bind.” He glanced over at the video monitors on the Situation Room wall. They silently displayed several local L.A. news broadcasts showing live images of massive freeway traffic jams, looted stores, panicked mothers with babies in their arms. Los Angeles had gone mad.

Lane shook his head. “It's not her fault, Clay. She's right. There are ten million people in the L.A. basin. It's a huge story for them.” Lane glanced back down into his lap. The
Times
story was on his iPad. “It looks like they only got the water story. That's a break, at least.”

“But the wire services have picked up the scent on the others.” Abbott held up her cell phone. “AP has called me three times already this morning, asking for confirmation about Kan-Tex.”

“Shit,” Garza said. “Pardon my French.”

“There's the mayor,” Peguero said, nodding at the monitor.

Lane tapped a remote. The sound came up. Ronald Hillman, the mayor of Los Angeles, had just begun his speech. His tailored sky-blue suit perfectly complimented his mane of thick silver hair and permanent suntan. A news ticker identified the other public officials flanking
the mayor at his podium, including the general manager of the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California.

“I've been assured by federal, state, and local public health and security officials as well as by the head of the MWDSC that our water system is perfectly safe, that it has not been compromised in any way, and that every effort is being taken to ensure that our water remains safe, clean, and available to everyone in Southern California. I urge everyone to return to work or to their homes. There is no need to leave the area or to panic. Your water is safe.” The mayor was handed a glass of water. “This was drawn just thirty seconds ago from the break room here in the building. It came from the tap in the kitchen. This is public water.” The mayor took a long drink, draining the glass. He set it down empty and smiled a mouthful of blazing white teeth.

“I condemn in the strongest terms possible the irresponsible and sensationalist reporting by the
Los Angeles Times
. Hiding behind the First Amendment and in the name of public safety, they have created an artificial crisis that has led to the injury and death of an untold number of persons and the destruction of millions of dollars in property, all for the sake of selling a few newspapers. I'll take your questions now.”

Lane shut the audio back off. “Has the mayor been fully apprised of the situation?”

Eaton nodded. “Yes. I thought it best to level with him. I didn't want him to be caught by surprise by your speech tonight and made to look the fool. I explained the national security dimension. He's promised to play dumb until we give him the green light.”

“God bless Ronnie,” Chandler said. “He always was a team player.”

Lane turned to his director of national intelligence. “How did the brief with Gaby and Bren go?” The secretaries of state and defense were both in Beijing, making final preparations for the summit. Lane asked Pia to update them and solicit their advice.

“They're both up to speed. SecDef will contact Chairman Onstot later today for further details. Secretary Wheeler has already been in touch with her EU counterparts.”

“And President Sun?”

“Secretary Wheeler assured me he's in your corner.”

“Good news, finally,” Lane said.

Abbott nodded at the business channel on the monitor. “The New York Stock Exchange is down four hundred fifty points,” Abbott said. “It's not clear if that's a reaction to the L.A. situation or the rumor that the Fed is going to raise interest rates again.”

“Wonder what it will be after my speech,” Lane said.

“I think the market will rally,” Chandler said.

“Nothing like a war to drive up profits,” Garza said under his breath.

“The drive-time talk shows are all abuzz this morning, too, as well as the TV news. People are on edge.”

“Maybe you should hold off on the speech,” Peguero said. “No point in dropping a match into a gas can.”

“The networks are expecting a live broadcast from the Oval Office at nine p.m. Eastern Standard Time. If we back off now, we'll only feed the rumor mill,” Abbott said.

“My dad always said the best way to tackle a problem is head-on,” Lane said. “I'm giving the speech. But I'm not waiting until tonight.”

“Sir?” Abbott asked.

“This thing is spinning out of control. I need to get ahead of it. I want to be live and on air at noon.”

Abbott's face blanched. “I don't know if I can pull that off.”

“You'll figure it out. Better get to it.”

Abbott opened her mouth to protest, then checked herself. “Yes, sir. I'll make the arrangements right away.” She sped out of the room.

Lane turned toward the others. “You've all read the speech. Any last-minute suggestions?”

Heads shook around the table. No suggestions. Chandler and Grafton smiled enthusiastically. Peguero appeared resigned. Pearce was grim.

“This will be the most important speech of your administration,” Garza finally said. He grinned. “Don't fuck it up.”

Lane burst out laughing. He could always count on his salty security advisor to say the most inappropriate thing at exactly the right time. The tension in the room dropped. The room laughed with him.

Except for Pearce.

“Something wrong, Troy?” the president asked, still smiling.

“Just did the math.”

“What math?” Chandler said, still chuckling.

“Tomorrow is the fifth day. The day the letter promised we'd be destroyed in unquenchable fire.”

The room quieted like a tomb.

Nobody was laughing anymore.

50

THE OVAL OFFICE

President Lane's boyish good looks played well on national television, especially in hi-def. Abbott made sure all of the production details were right, especially the lighting. Unfortunately, the average American was focused more on optics than substance these days. The wrong tie, too much makeup, or a speck of lint on his lapel would garner more attention in the Twittersphere than the speech itself and detract from his message. She sometimes wondered if her feckless fellow Americans deserved the right to a self-governing republic at all.

All the broadcast and cable networks agreed to the last-minute changes, especially after Abbott stressed the significance of the speech and the accelerated schedule. She insisted on Lane delivering an “Oval” because the office of the president, especially the weighty desk—carved from the timbers of the HMS
Resolute
and first used by JFK—conveyed the gravitas of both the man and the moment. The utilitarian James S. Brady Press Briefing Room just wouldn't cut it.

Abbott stood on one side of the camera and the floor manager on the other. Abbott whispered a prayer as the manager counted down with her fingers.

Three, two, one . . .

—

“
MY FELLOW AMERICANS
,” Lane began, “I come to you today with both hard news and a clear path. Three days ago, my office received a letter threatening a series of escalating terror attacks unless I agreed to
fly the black flag of ISIS over the White House. Since then, a series of attacks were made against the American aviation industry, the American trucking industry, and just yesterday, a threat was made to the Los Angeles public water system. In regard to the Los Angeles water attack, I want to assure all of you, and in particular, the residents of Southern California, that your drinking water is perfectly safe. There's no evidence whatsoever that the water has been contaminated in any way and we continue to monitor water quality by the minute in California and throughout the nation. The airline and trucking attacks resulted in minimal property damage, but unfortunately, there are several deaths directly or indirectly associated with the trucking attack. We grieve with their families today.

“Though we continue to pursue the perpetrators of these attacks with all of our resources, we now face a hard but clear choice in the days ahead.”

Lane paused for effect. “The first option is to raise the ISIS flag over the White House. Some in my cabinet have argued that it's just a piece of material, nothing more, and that raising that flag might satisfy the terrorist demands. I respectfully disagree with this position. The ISIS flag represents the face of evil in the modern world. It holds a great deal of meaning and significance for those who follow it—and for those who have suffered under it. For that reason alone I could never fly it. More important, the American flag is a flag worth fighting and dying for because of what it represents. I refuse to lower a great flag to honor a lesser one. Too many have sacrificed too much to protect our flag. I won't dishonor their sacrifice in the vain hope of preventing further attacks. Our long history with terrorists shows us that appeasing them only leads to more violence.

“The second option is to do nothing and hope the danger goes away. As some of my other advisors have suggested, while the nature of the terror attacks points to potential catastrophe, in reality almost nothing has been done. The terrorists claim they are restraining themselves out of some misguided sense of mercy. But some of my advisors speculate that the limited scope of the attacks is proof the attackers can't follow
through because of their limited resources. In other words, these attacks have been designed to make us believe they are more powerful than they actually are. In my judgment, the attacks have proved to be sophisticated, well designed, and strategic, and the threat of potential catastrophe is all too real. I take them at their word that they are murderous thugs intent on doing us great harm and I refuse to cede the initiative to those who would destroy us.

“The final option is the clear path I believe we must take. It will be a difficult and perilous road, but it's the right one. ISIS has declared war on the United States and the West. Without question this is a war between civilizations. This war didn't begin three days ago or even on September eleventh, 2001. It began in the seventh century, when an army of Islamic zealots began spreading the doctrines of the Koran by the power of the sword. ISIS claims to be a direct descendant of those same zealots, and now they have brought their swords to this country. I do not intend merely to stop the attacks against our homeland. I intend to destroy ISIS in Iraq and Syria, root and branch.

“I have also made the decision that the United States will fight this war without a coalition. We have strong alliance partners in Europe and the region, but we don't have the time to assemble a coalition or manage it. Our goal is simple and measurable. Destroy the ISIS Caliphate. Nothing more, nothing less. And the time to do it is now.

“I have consulted with the House and Senate leadership and have formally requested they pass an unlimited Authorization to Use Military Force against ISIS and their so-called Caliphate with its capital in Raqqa, Syria. I am under no illusion that destroying ISIS will end our struggle with Islamic terror. ISIS is merely one of a thousand hydra heads now biting at our throats, but that is the head I intend to cut off. My prayer is that the destruction of ISIS will be so total and definitive that it will deter other radical Islamic groups from waging jihad against the West.

“Ten minutes ago four U.S. aircraft began dropping emergency leaflets in Raqqa, warning the civilians to evacuate within twenty-four hours, after which a bombing campaign will begin and the city will be
leveled. Any civilian still within the city limits after twenty-four hours will be considered an enemy combatant, even if ISIS thugs prevent them from evacuating. Any civilian deaths will be on the heads of ISIS, not the United States government.

“There will be no negotiations with ISIS. There will be no compromises with ISIS. There will be no mercy for ISIS. We will cut off the head of the snake, then kill the snake. Abu Waleed al-Mahdi, the leader of ISIS and the caliph of the ISIS Caliphate, will either be captured or killed, as will each member of his ruling council. The region now identified as the ISIS Caliphate will be occupied and pacified until the territory can be turned over to the legitimate governments from which it was stolen.

“I want you all to be assured that the departments of Justice, Homeland Security, and all other national security and law enforcement agencies have been working around the clock to find and stop the perpetrators. I'm confident that they will do so in the near future. Until then, you can help. ‘See something, say something' means you can actively assist us in the search. This is not an excuse to persecute or discriminate, but don't let political correctness keep you from picking up the phone if you suspect anyone who poses a legitimate threat. If you see suspicious activity, do not take matters into your own hands but contact your local law enforcement agency or the FBI immediately.

“Finally, I want to remind each of you that our country has faced many crises in our past, some far worse than this one. We have always prevailed, and we will do so again with courage, determination, and faith. God bless every one of you, God bless all peace-loving people everywhere, and especially, God bless the United States of America.”