Laura 02 The God Code (12 page)

“Yes?”

“Mr President, we have a situation. We need you in the Situation Room.”

“Okay, I will be there in 10 minutes.”

Slowly, President Abraham replaces the handset. He knows that a situation requiring his presence in the Situation Room means that immediate decisions and actions are required, never a good thing. While standing up, he presses the intercom button next to the phone on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. President, how can I help you?” Dora’s voice is cheerful as ever, bringing a smile to Abraham’s face. No matter how bad things are, she always manages to cheer him up.

“Dora, please hold all my calls and cancel all meetings until further notice. I will be in the Situation Room.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Abraham pushes the intercom button again, deactivating it, then takes his jacket from the rack next to his desk and walks to a side door of his office.

For security, his office is directly linked with a secure passage to a secret entrance to the White House Situation Room. At the door, he places his right palm on a palm scanner and leans forward to enable the retina scanner to read his eye pattern. The palm scanner changes from blue to a light-green glow under his palm, and a small screen next to it activates, showing a phrase he needs to speak. He has fifteen seconds to speak the phrase, else alarms will sound and the room will be sealed. The phrase is randomly generated by the computer, sometimes hilarious phrases. The security is so that no one can capture his voice in public and make up a known phrase.

“The sky is blue, Alfa Delta Two.”

“Access granted, welcome Mr. President.” The voice coming from the computer reminds him of his GPS navigation system. Suddenly the door opens by itself, sliding sideways into the wall. Although the door looks like a normal wooden door, it is only painted on, being a solid four inches thick metal door, the same metal used on the outside of tanks for armor. As soon as he steps through the door, two guards on either side of the door come to attention and salute.

“Good afternoon Mr. President”, both men speak at the same time.

Abraham nods, deep in thought. Maybe it is the latest conflict in the Middle East that needs his attention. Abraham puts his jacket on as he walks down the brightly lit hallway, tiled with white marble tiles, leading to the West Wing of the White House.

There are no paintings on the white walls, how boring. After 200 feet, the passage ends at another door, also guarded by two men. They have been watching him approach them since he stepped through the first door.

“Good afternoon Mr. President.” Again, a trained unison of speech, with a salute.

“Good afternoon.” The door has the same security as in his office, yet only the four guards assigned to guard the hallway can open the doors from the inside, preventing someone from overpowering the President in his office and gaining access to the Situation Room. One of the guards turns around and proceeds to perform the security checks. As soon as he utters the correct phrase, the door slides into the wall. Abraham nods to the two men and then steps into an elevator, leading to the basement that houses the Situation Room, already alive with action.

The room is a 5,000 square foot room used for conference and intelligence management. It is used to deal with crises at home and abroad, and is normally run by the National Security Council staff, the President, and his advisors. The room has a long wooden desk in the center, with black leather chairs on either side. The walls are lined with multiple monitors and in some places computers where technicians can bring up information to any monitor or send commands to any of the defense forces, no matter where they are deployed.

Jack Freeman, Secretary of Homeland Security, and Matthew Dixon, White House Chief of Staff are staring at a large monitor at the end of the room.

Everyone greets the President as he walks over to the two men, counting the people in the room, 20 in total, not a full complement. In crisis situations, around 30 senior officers from various intelligence and military originations will be present in the room. Thus, the situation is not yet a crisis for America.

“What do we have Jack?”

“Good day Mr. President.” Jack touches the side of the screen as he speaks, causing the view to zoom out, enlarging the map.

“Good day Sir.”

“Good day Matthew.” Abraham nods to Matthew then turns his attention back to the monitor.

“Sir, we are seeing alarming movement from the troops we have been monitoring over the past two weeks assembling in Columbia. It seems that they are gearing up for action. We are also seeing heat signatures here sir, indicating explosions. Jack touches the screen and drags an area into view, and then taps on the zoom-in button until the airport comes into full view. The satellite image is as clear as day, showing the burning airplanes and dead men on the ground outside the building, including Jose’s men patrolling the outside.

“Whose men are they Jack?”

“Sir, we believe they are from the regular army, run by General Conzales. As far as the latest intelligence we have, it seems that Hernandez’s son has taken over the drug trade and is responsible for the large assembly of troops here.”

Jack drags his finger over the touch screen, causing the view to change to the old farm house, where Marcos and his men are.

“They have tanks!” Abraham is shocked to see five tanks and a multiple number of jeeps and other armored personnel carriers. Red triangles flash over each vehicle, indicating a heat signature, meaning that the vehicle is running or was running a short time ago.

“What are they up to Jack?”

“Sir, from the intelligence we have been able to gather, it seems that Marcos is intent on taking over the country and becoming President.”

“A drug dealer and women trafficker as President? That will be a disaster for Columbia and us.”

Abraham steps back from the monitor, then reaches out to a water pitcher and glass on the table and pours himself a glass of water. After taking a few sips he continues. “Jack, when are they planning to invade the capital?”

“Sir, we do not currently have that information, but from the activity of the troops and vehicles, including the attack on the airport, I guess they will be moving out within a few hours.”

“How long do you estimate for them to reach the capital?”

“With that amount of gear, my guess is tomorrow sometime sir.”

“Does the local government know?”

“We do not believe at this moment that they do Sir, and even if they do, they have very few trained men and ordinance. It will be a massacre.”

“What are our options Jack?” Abraham starts to walk to his chair at the head of the table as he speaks. As he takes his seat, the other people in the room follow him and take their seats.

“Sir, we do not have enough time to deploy troops to the city to help fend off an attack, and without direct authorization from the leaders of Columbia asking for help we cannot engage with missiles or bombers. There is not much we can do sir.”

“This is bullshit Jack. We cannot just sit here doing nothing, knowing that innocent lives will be lost, and that we could have prevented it.” Abraham slams his fist on the table, frustration on his face.

Suddenly Jack’s cell phone rings. With a shocked expression on his face, he takes the phone from his pocket. Very few people know the number of his phone. Looking at the screen to see who it is, all he reads is, “Unknown Number”.

“Who is this?” Jack snaps his fingers in the air as he answers the call. A technician immediately starts tracing the call, understanding that it is a breach of security, and an unauthorized call to the number. The call can also not be a wrong number, as the phone number is part of a special list of numbers that contains one extra digit than normal cell phone numbers.

“Put your boss on the phone.”

“Which boss?” Jack is stalling, giving the operator a chance to complete the trace. In the back of his mind, something tells him he knows the voice, he has heard it before.

“The President, Jack, put him on the phone, he is not answering his.”

“Who is this and how did you come by this number?”

“Quit stalling, I know you are tracing the call. You can still do that while I speak to the President.”

“Do you know who you are speaking to?”

“An asshole.”

“I am the Secretary of Homeland Security.”

“As I said, an asshole, now put your boss on the line.”

Jack is about to reply when the technician doing the trace snaps his fingers in the air, indicating that he has completed the trace. Immediately he punches some keys on his computer and the main monitor the President looked at earlier, displays the location that the call is originating from. Jack’s jaw drops.

“You are in Columbia, at the airport. What is going on there? Who are you?”

“Name’s Victor, Jack. Remember me?”

A cold chill runs down Jack’s back. He wished Victor to be dead by now.

“Victor, I thought-” Jack’s words get drowned out by the sound of a siren unexpectedly activating in the room, emitting a sharp high-pitched sound. All the monitors’ backgrounds in the room immediately turn from a soft green to red. On the main monitor, big lettering in black flashes “Warning”.

“What the hell is going on! Turn off that noise!” President Abraham covers his ears as he screams. A technician deactivates the alarm, causing the President to give a sigh of relief.

“Do I have your attention now Jack?”

“Jack, what the hell is going on and who are you talking to?” Abraham is now standing, scanning the room, trying to make out what tripped the security alarms.

“It is Victor, Sir. He wants to talk to you. He is in Columbia, at the airport that got attacked.” Jack holds out the phone to Abraham as he speaks.

Just as Abraham takes the phone, head security technician Matthew speaks. “Sir, all our nuclear missiles just went active! We have lost total control of all our nuclear missiles! We are locked out!” Matthew’s face is white from shock.

“What? You must be mistaken!” Abraham puts the phone to his ear then continues. “Victor, I hear you are in Columbia. I know about the army, but I cannot help you, you are a wanted man, and we have a problem of our own.”

“I know. You lost control of your nukes. Quite a large bunch, much more than you should have, you know.”

“What, how the hell do you know this, are you involved in this?”

“Actually, I am the one controlling your nukes now. Remember the myth of a program that can remotely control all your nukes? Well, it is no myth. I have it, wanna trade?”

Abraham slowly sits down in his chair before answering. “Are you insane, launching nukes? You know we do not make deals with terrorists.”

“Good thing I am not a terrorist, else I would not have saved your life last time we met. This is a business deal, a trade.”

“What do you want Victor?”

“There are a number of young women held prisoner as sex slaves in America. I want you to send the Seals and rescue them. They have only hours before they are killed.”

“You threaten me with a nuclear holocaust to go rescue some women? You could have asked normally. I would have done it for you.”

“The women I believe are held in Sector X.”

Victor waits for the gravity of the situation to sink in, before continuing. “These are women from some of the men in Columbia. Marcos has taken them and sent them to America with the promise that they will have good jobs. However, he lied and intends to put them in the sex market underground.”

“Marcos who has amassed an army and is now getting ready to take over Columbia?”

“Yes Sir, the same one. Now you understand why I need a little more persuasion than a simple please.”

“Victor, I am grateful for you saving my life. However, Sector X is totally controlled by the drug traffickers. I will need to send in air support and tanks just to get in. Then searching for the women in 20 city blocks, you know how long that will take? They will kill the women before we get to them.”

“They will not kill them unless Marcos instructs them to.”

“The moment we attack they will call him for instructions.”

“Not if he is dead.”

Abraham is about to reply when suddenly Matthew yells, “We have a launch! We have a missile launch!” Everyone in the room looks in panic at the main monitor that shows a map of the United States of America. All over the map are red dots, indicating active nuclear missiles. One dot is flickering, indicating a launch.

“Victor, what the hell are you doing?”

“Making a statement, and solving a problem at the same time. Are you going to rescue the women?”

“We have no way of knowing where they are Victor.”

“Trace all calls coming from America to this number in Columbia, 555-9834. It is Marcos’s personal cell and the men who have the women called him.”

A technician enters the phone number in the system and within seconds a phone number is displayed on his monitor. Quickly he activates a trace and within 10 seconds he has a lock.

“I have a lock on the number Sir. They are in an old abandoned factory.”

“Victor, you cannot nuke someone just to make a point. Think of all the innocent people and the radiation.”

“You are very ill-informed about your arsenal, and they are not innocent people.”

“Jack, where is that nuke headed?” Abraham is clearly frustrated.

“Sir, the coordinates given to the missile are the exact coordinates in Columbia where the rebel army is currently at. And Sir, it is not a nuke. It is a tactical neutron bomb. It leaves no radiation fallout, and will not destroy equipment, only the men Sir.” Jack stands up and walks to the technician who traced the cell phone’s location as he speaks.

“How long before impact?”

“Sir, that is a new mark10-5 missile. It will reach its target in under half an hour.”

“Jack, get me back control of my nukes.” Abraham takes a deep breath and then puts the cell phone back to his ear before continuing. “Victor, stop this, you cannot kill all those people.”

“Actually, it is you. You declared war on drugs and women traffickers. You are just making a statement to the world.”