Shelter from the Storm
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a/n Zoe is 4 [this chapter is out of order, it should have gone before "In the Event of an Emergency", I ll move it later on...]
Enjoy! and thanks for all the nice reviews and PMs!
Chapter 10 ~ Earthquake
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White House Situation Room August 23, 2xxx.
[Ranger]
My personal cell phone vibrates. We are here at the White House; the president is not. This is simply the end game of a long day. We don't really need the president here anyway. The chain of command, the unfurling of events, ensures a certain protocol whether he sits here beside us or is bike-riding up on the Vineyard.
I look at my phone and tell General XXX, "I should take this."
He nods.
I walk out into the hall. "Hey, babe."
"Hey, Ranger.''
"Is...[everything okay]...?"
Steph interrupts. "I'm here with Zoë..."
"Daddydaddydaddy! We had an earthquake! I was having lunch! The whole kitchen twirled around and Ella said Madre de dios! And it kept happening and she was gonna make us run down the stairs but Uncle Tank called and said it was all okay and no worries! And then me and mommy wrote about it on our Facebook page!"
"I know, baby, I saw it."
''You saw the earthquake!''
Yeah.
"No, I mean I saw your Facebook page," I tell her.
Stephanie had come up with the brilliant idea of using Facebook as a simple way for us to keep in touch when we maybe can't call or text. We leave updates and comments, some coded,usually with fake names/false IDs, on their "wall". I was glad to show Zoë that Facebook had a function other than a forum for overly hormonal teenage girls to pursue the current boy-crush in their life, be it a boy band singer or the kid in the next seat in French class.
Zoë was still talking. "We called Aunt Olivia to see if a Sue Nanny was coming but she looked out her window and said everyone on the beach at Monomoy was just lying there getting lobster red. No big wave or anything scary, she said. So that's okay, right?"
"Yeah."
Muffled talking. Then Stephanie came on. "So, Ranger. The news people say this is the strongest earthquake in over a hundred years."
"And?"
"And well, you know...?"
"Sorry, babe. It's classified."
"That's what I thought."
"Love you.''
''Love you too.''
''I love you daddy!'' screams Zoë in the background. And we disconnect.
... ... ...
earlier this morning, Washington DC...
We returned from our recent 'stan job via Andrews Air Force Base outside DC. That job had involved operatives from diverse agencies and AAFB was neutral territory. As the rest our group dispersed, I looked around for a Rangeman black SUV. Instead I saw Colonel Williams, our general's aide and general lackey. His presence did not bode well.
"Geez, like I hoped to at least get a shower and some breakfast before something else went sideways in the world," groused Anthony. We stood shoulder to shoulder on the tarmac and let the colonel come to us.
"We have a situation."
Of course you do.
"The general wants you people at the White House ASAP."
Of course he does.
Silently we got into Williams' cheap government sedan. A couple miles went by in silence . Then I asked, ''Care to share?''
''The general will brief you when you're on site.''
I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
Fifteen minutes late we pulled up at the White House's back door, were waved through by guys in black Navy SEAL SWAT outfits.
I said, ''Isn't the president on vacation?''
''Yes, but..." answered Williams uselessly.
Inside we were ushered not to the bunker-like Situation Room but to the Oval Office. General XXX detached himself from the worried group inside and gave us a solemn nod. "Let's talk out here a second," he said.
?
Silence then the general heaved a huge sigh. "Remember it was the president's birthday a few weeks ago?"
We shrug, not too interested.
''Okay so you guys know what a dorm refrigerator is? Like a hotel mini fridge?''
We nod. Anthony's sister Jilly has them in everyone's bedroom at the beach house, probably to keep guests from wandering into her pristine kitchen at midnight—but a nice touch.
''So the president has been drinking a lot of health supplement things and for his birthday the First Lady gave him his own mini fridge for the Oval Office. It was installed this week while they're away..."
We nod again.
''And today when the White House steward opened it up to put the drinks inside—well, come. Let me show you."
We followed him into the room full of silently desperate men. They stood aside and the general carefully opened the door of the little stainless steel box. We stared.
"Okay so there's a bomb in there, dude." Anthony finally stated the obvious. "And like it's a basketball thing like a neutron-type bomb, the old kind used by the Soviets...in which case, probably you should close the door so we don't all get radiation poisoning.''
''Right now it is not engaged and the lead liner added to the fridge seems to be stopping any leaking of radiation," the general told us.
"What idiot installed the fridge without checking the inside?"
"Some carpenter. His, uh, credentials weren't checked as well as perhaps they could have been."
"Stupid mistakes like that will get us all killed, sir."
"Let's move on, Colonel. We have a bomb! Here and now."
"So?" I asked.
"We heard from this jihadist terrorist group. They say they have remotely programmed the bomb to go off. They say at 1200 hours today, the bomb will start, uh, ticking? And it will detonate about an hour later."
He closed the door, looked expectantly at me.
A few beats go by. I didn't bother to ask why? Jihadis do whatever the hell they want, for no good reason. Finally I said, "What? Call the bomb squad, sir. Call the bomb agency, what's it called, NEST?"
"Too late. And anyway, they—they're NEST guys," he waved a hand at the white-faced people in the room. "They have no clue what to do."
We stood there thinking.
"It's gonna start, like ticking in about three hours,'' Anthony told me helpfully.
''And?''
We were interrupted. "General, sir, we have the president on the video screen.''
We turned and looked at the big screen which was broadcasting live from Martha's Vineyard. The president was wearing pink golf pants and golf gloves. He leaned on his 5-iron and said, "Any ideas, Carlos? Mr. Stewart?"
Anthony looked him over then said, "I'd go with a seven iron on the back green at Edgartown, sir. The wind off the ocean, you know..."
"The bomb, guys, the bomb?"
I had no clue and wished I was far far away like he was.
Anthony though was busy thinking, not just about golf, either, thank god.
He told the president, "A bomb that size will level about four square miles here in DC and the fallout will render the entire southeastern US uninhabitable for hundreds of years."
''Yes, we know that,'' griped the image of the president.
''Okay so, like, what we need to do is contain the motherfucker.''
''Excuse me?''
''Uh, sorry, Mr. President. So I think we should put it on your heli and fly it out to Virginia. In the mountains near, uh, Mineral? there's an old deep underground Cold War bunker dug into the bedrock there. From NORAD days. [NORAD was a missile defense system in the 50s & 60s]
The general said, ''How do you know that? That was so top-secret, it isn't even a red file.''
Anthony, top-secret hacker extraordinaire shrugged. ''I came across it when I was a kid, General. I saw everything, man. You guys have no secrets, not from me, anyways." He grinned happily. Everyone else scowled.
The president told him, "Go on."
"We'll fly the bomb inside, slam the double bombproof doors and Bam! It only wrecks an old unused, antiquated government white elephant. Easy-peasy. Saves you the demolition costs of that bunker too; it's a hazard for hikers, man.''
''Won't it—do anything?''
''Like what, sir?''
''Like shake the ground or something?''
Anthony shrugged. ''Sure, yeah, people may feel it."
Now I weighed in, ''It's a good solution, sir.''
''And the blast? When people feel that?''
''Uh. You tell everyone it was an earthquake, like,'' said Anthony
The president considered. ''Okay. That may work. My press staff can sell an earthquake. Good thinking. You know, in another life, Mr. Stewart, you would have made a excellent politician.''
''Yes, and you an excellent golfer, sir.''
The president tried to decide if he'd been insulted then moved on. ''General? Is it a go for you?''
''Sounds like a plan, sir.''
''Your country thanks you both,'' the president said to me and Anthony.
Anthony nodded, ''Just like, bring me a jar of Vineyard Blue Clover Honey, man. It's the best. That's all the thanks I need."
The president shut down the feed.
... ... ...
Fifteen minutes later Anthony is happily flying the Marine One heli towards the bunker in Virginia. He tells me, ''Dude! I always wanted to fly this baby!''
''But not with a bomb in back, bro."
"It's just so cool."
"There's plenty of marine pilots could have flown this down there, you know," I point out. I'm not sure a jar of honey is sufficient payment for risking our lives and the possibility that our future children might have two heads or something. "Not to mention you reminded them of your hacker skills."
Anthony looks at me, "You've never complained about my methods before.''
"I'm not complaining."
"You're not? What do you call this? "
I never complain! How am I complaining? When do I ever complain about you playing Halo2, of all things, at three in the morning when we're on a covert job? Or your endless electronics mess, your general lack of hygiene—geez you track sand everywhere!—or the fact that you steal my clothes?
I don't say anything out loud. He catches my thoughts and grins. You're jealous cos Steph thought I looked hot in your RMPMC fatigues.
Whatever.
We're goofing on each other because we don't want to focus on the bomb we have back in the cargo bay aka the president's cushy cabin. Now we lapse into silence as we approach the NORAD site. We land smoothly, the marines in back run the fridge inside, we slam the many bombproof doors and haul ass into the sky. Just as we land back at the White House awhile later, we feel the ground rumble underfoot.
This time we head to the Situation Room where we assure everyone all is well again in their, our, world. My phone rings and I take the call from Steph and Zoe.
... ... ...
Later, Binky is waiting in my Cayenne on Pennsylvania Avenue.
We get in and he says, "Whoa, you guys feel that earlier? Earthquake. Whoever heard of earthquakes here on the east coast?"
We look at him and shrug. I say "Let's go home."
the end of the story, the earthquake was real, series tbc
a/n my knowledge about bombs and so on is zero; sorry if it is glaringly wrong! The idea of the bomb in the bunker has been in a number of recent thrillers...