Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1 (29 page)

Joe squeezed his eyes shut and took three deep, long breaths.  Suddenly sweat stood out on his forehead and the back of his neck, making the slight breeze feel clammy against his skin.  After a moment, his breathing and his hands steady, he forced his eyes open, and looked through the scope.  He  refused to allow his emotions to overwhelm him again.  There would be time to deal with those feelings one day, but this was not that day.

Joe took a deep breath and slowly exhaled half of it.  He timed his heartbeats and squeezed the trigger slowly and evenly until the hammer fell once more, and his round was sent down range.  Before the round left the gun, Joe knew it would be a hit.  He stood and collected his things, carefully brushing the dirt from his binoculars before replacing them in the field case that hung from his left shoulder. 

When he reached the target board, there were five holes in the paper target, three of them nearly stacked on top of each other in the dead center.  And all four bottle caps were neatly pierced through the center with a perfectly round hole.  Joe took the bottle caps down, and with shaking fingers he tied them with the others on the leather thong around his neck as the first rays of the sun fell on the river bottom. 

Ch. 60

Deep Shadows

Marcus stood in the break room on the bottom floor of the control tower, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.  The room was large enough to double as the mess hall for the small Tennessee Air National Guard base with extra folding tables stacked against one wall.  Right now, the four small square tables set up in the room were only half full, with the Captain standing off to one side from his men.

All eyes were on Marcus.

"There's only so much we know for sure," Marcus said carefully, "and even less that I'm allowed to actually talk about for security concerns.  What I can tell you is that this was a deliberate attack, not an accidental failure or natural catastrophe."

The men in the room all nodded slowly, some whispering softly to each other until the Captain cleared his throat loudly.  He nodded to Marcus to continue once order was restored.

"We don't know who attacked us," Marcus said, "but there is an active and ongoing response and investigation.  More than that, I can't say."

"Is help coming?" the Captain asked.  "The people around here are getting anxious.  Some of them are still on well water, and a lot of them use wood stoves for heat, but enough are hooked into the utilities that are now down that we're running out of the supplies to help them.  We need things like water, food, blankets, generators....  when can we expect help and relief?"

Marcus took a deep breath and looked into his coffee cup for a moment, trying to compose an effective answer.  His stomach was twisted in knots, and he felt ill.

"We are actively working on that," Marcus said finally, and grimaced even as the words were coming out of his mouth.

The Captain's faced hardened, and his eye narrowed.  "In other words," he said quietly, "you don't know.  We're on our own."

"Captain Withers," Marcus said with a meaningful glance at the dozen or so other uniformed men in the room, "maybe we should talk amongst ourselves? Some of this information is sensitive."

The Captain shook his head flatly.  "I told these men when they agreed to stay that I wouldn't hide anything from them.  Half of the guys on the books at this base never even showed up when the lights went down, and
more
than half of the ones who did took off back to their homes after the first day.  We stayed, all of us.  They deserve to hear it just as much as I do, and this way I don't have to retell it."

Marcus took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He could tell in the Captain's voice and his eyes that he meant every word he'd said.  Finally, Marcus gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and met the Captain's gaze.

"I guess 'need to know' has changed in the past few days," Marcus agreed.  "You're right; we don't know when help is going to come.  But I wasn't lying when I said we're working on it--we  really are-- it's just not number one on the priority list.  For the moment, you need to do your best to maintain order locally and keep people safe.  Try and get the residents who have wells to provide supplementary supplies to the ones that don't."

The Captain's jaws clenched and he looked as if he could have chewed a ten penny nail in half if he'd had one.  Just at that moment, there was a knock at the closed door, and the pilot stuck in his head and gave Marcus a thumbs up signal. 

"Well," Captain Withers growled, "I'm sure glad we could fill up the tanks for you,
Mister
Attledge.  Of course, if we get a call and have to use
our
choppers for a search and recovery op, then we might be 'up the creek,' so to speak.  And so will the person on the other end of the line."

"Look, I get it," Marcus said.  "You're pissed.  But all I did was tell you the truth.  Would you rather have that or an answer that you wanted to hear?"

Captain Withers was silent for a long moment, but he finally shrugged his shoulders slightly.  "The truth," he said, "but you're right, I
am
pissed.  We need real help out here, and you're basically telling me to take a number.  Is this what it's like everywhere?"

"No," Marcus said simply, "most places; it's worse; a lot worse.  All I can do, Captain Withers, is give you my word that I will do whatever I can to get you and your men help and relief.  Beyond that, I can't make any promises."

Captain Withers looked Marcus deep in the eyes for a long time and finally nodded his head once.  "Okay, Mr.  Attledge," the Captain said, extending his hand again, "I'll take you at your word."

Marcus breathed a deep sigh of relief and shook the Captain's hand.

For a brief moment, the Captain's grip tightened.  "And I'll hold you to it, too," the Captain said.

Marcus swallowed hard and drained his cup of cool coffee in one long gulp to cover his discomfort.  He thanked the Captain for his hospitality, and the two men walked back outside, leaving the rest of the soldiers to talk in tight, hushed conversations among themselves.  Outside, the sky was light enough for it to be morning already, but the sun was nowhere to be seen.

"The sun is up already," Captain Withers said, following Marcus's eyes upward, "but we're in deep shadows here in the valley.  Sunrise for us comes a few hours later than the rest of the world."

"Stay in the shadows," Marcus said as the pilot fired up the Blackhawk's engines behind him.  "I wasn't lying when I said it's worse out there.  I didn't want your men to hear this, but we had to bypass Knoxville and Memphis.  They're both burning bad, and we couldn't get anyone to return our calls.  You guys were our last stop before we had to set the chopper down to avoid a crash."

"I understand," the Captain said, leaning close so Marcus could hear him.  "I didn't mean to take it out on you.  I know you didn't do this.  You're just the one who showed up; that's all."

Marcus nodded.  "One last thing, Captain," he said, shouting now over the roar of the engines, "I gave you the truth, even though you didn't want to hear it.  Be very wary of people who come and give you promises."

Before Captain Withers could ask what he meant, Marcus ducked and ran over to the open door on the Blackhawk's cockpit.  He climbed in next to the pilot and slid the door closed.  The engines throttled up, and the chopper slowly climbed into the air.  The pilot stayed low, barely over the trees, and as they banked away, Marcus looked back.  Framed in the lit doorway of the control tower, Captain James Withers snapped to attention and gave a salute.  Then, the trees passed between them and Marcus lost sight of the 5th Mountain Rescue Wing of the Tennessee Air National Guard, and their commander.

As the pilot navigated the valley, Marcus closed his eyes and said a short silent prayer asking God to protect all those waking up in deep shadows.

Ch. 61

A Working Relationship

Terry Price sat at his desk, his fingers arched in a steeple on his chest.  The silence in the office stretched, and Terry could hear the second hand on his watch ticking away.  His guest took a deep, deliberately loud breath slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

Terry waited.

"
Mister
Price," Jefferson grated, "are you going to answer my question?"

Terry gave the Chief Administrator of FEMA a wry half smile and said, "You know, I don't think I will.  I once heard someone say that it's never the question that's indiscreet, it's only the answer.  It kind of stuck with me."

Jefferson's jaw clenched slightly and one of his eyebrows crept up just a hint.  For any other man, Terry would have said that was nothing, but Jefferson was a practiced and schooled press conference politician straight through his core.  He could fake a smile with the best of them, and to see that façade slip even a hair was worth noting. 

"You said the system would be up and running shortly," Jefferson said, his voice tight.  "That was more than a day and a half ago, and we still don't have access.  What is wrong with the system, Price?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong with it," Terry said with a slight shrug.  "The unscheduled maintenance was completed without any problems."

"Then why can't I access my system?" Jefferson grated through clenched teeth.

Terry sat for a moment, meeting Jefferson's gaze calmly and evenly.  The silence between them stretched again, and Jefferson's irritation began to show at the corners of his eyes and his mouth.  He was losing his patience, albeit slowly. 

"What you need to know," Terry said after another few moments, "is that I
do
have access to the system.  And right now,
only
I have access to the system."

Jefferson's eyes narrowed.  For a moment, he didn't speak or show any other reaction.  Finally, he smirked slightly and shook his head.  "I don't believe you."

Terry shrugged.  "That's fine by me, you don't have to."

Jefferson's eyes narrowed again, and the carefully crafted smirk evaporated.

"I can't effectively do my job without full and unfettered access to the information and control systems," Jefferson said carefully.  "I'd hate to have to arrest you to force your cooperation, but I do have the authority to do so."

Terry smiled slowly, and said, "What kind of person wants to be Chief Administrator of FEMA?"

Jefferson blinked and sat back in his chair for a moment, taken aback.  He frowned and opened his mouth, then frowned again before answering.

"I was approached and asked to serve," Jefferson said, "and I accepted the request by the President."

"Really?"  Terry asked, "because that's not what I saw on C-Span.  You were asked in your confirmation how you first got offered the job.  You admitted that you asked the President for consideration for the appointment in return for what you called 'advice and assistance' in his campaign.  You were one of the President's best fund raisers, and by most accounts, one of his most trusted advisers.  He didn't make a move without first running it by you.  In return for that kind of guidance, you could have had any spot in the administration you wanted, and you
chose
FEMA.  I just can't figure it out."

Jefferson's face darkened.  Terry had come far too close to truths that Jefferson had thought were well hidden.  The only way he could have found some of that information out would have been to read some very private communications, which of course meant that he did have complete access to the system as he claimed.  Jefferson opened his mouth with an angry retort, but Terry spoke right over top of him.

"In any case," Terry said, "you're wrong about your authority at this facility.  The funding for this whole system was somewhat controversial, so the Department of Defense agreed to pay for half out of its own bloated and conveniently classified budget.  In return the DOD retained control over the first site to come online.  This site, in fact.  That means that this site and the people who run it.  I and my fellow contractors alike, all fall under DOD chain of command, not yours.  So your legal authority stops when you enter our air space."

Jefferson regained control of himself, and the only visible sign of his irritation now was the fact that his lips were pressed into a thin, white line.  After a long moment of silence, his eyes rose and took in the two security officers, one at each of Terry's shoulders.  It was the first time Jefferson had acknowledged their existence, but he still didn't comment on them.

"When I tell the President about this," Jefferson said, "and explain why I'm not able to do the job he hired me to do, I'll be sure to tell him it was all because you didn't feel like acknowledging a little interagency courtesy.  I can only imagine what his reaction will be."

Terry snorted. "You get the President in this room with the two of us, and I'll answer any question he has for me with the truth, as long as you swear to do the same.  You and I both know you won't do that though."

"And why is that?" Jefferson asked.

"Because you have a lot to hide," Terry said carefully.  "I don't.  I told you the first time you came here, I detected a threat to the system and I took action to defend it.  That's my job; it's why I'm here.  When I took that action, the other sites linked into this system initiated their own action simultaneously.  It's a security measure to make sure all of the backup systems are locked out and protected any time there is a threat on one of them.  Beyond that, I can't say."

Suddenly, Jefferson stood, and the two security officers shifted their position slightly in response.  Jefferson eyed them again, but this time with clear annoyance.  Terry remained in his seat, reclining slightly, with his fingers steepled on his chest.  He hadn't moved the entire time.

"I had hoped we would be able to develop a working relationship," Jefferson said stiffly.  "I'm sorry that won't be the case, Mr. Price."

Terry nodded.  "I'm sure you are," he said.  "I will be in contact when we have finished our investigation into the breach of system security.  I'm sure you'll want to know what we find out."