Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 16
Five Days, Nineteen Hours, Forty Minutes
Restless, Donovan opened his eyes, giving up the fight to fall asleep, and clicked on the television. He flipped past the hospital channels – he had no interest in knowing about their nationally-recognized physical therapy program, not at a time like this – and he went immediately to CVN, his news channel of choice. He recognized Graves Santellano – long- time CVN commentator – and he had seen enough of the man to know his most serious expressions from his less convincing news face. Something of importance was going on in the world, and Donovan raised the volume so that he could hear more about it.
"... again, let me state for our viewers just tuning in, that we have no confirmation of a terrorist attack either in progress or having occurred within the last hours," Santellano explained, "but our source within the Department of Homeland Security has confirmed that the Red Level Alert will remain in effect until further notice."
What?
When did this happen?
"At present," the commentator continued, "what we do know is the following. First, all commercial air traffic has been grounded. Those flights have been rerouted to land at the nearest possible destination that can facilitate all of those planes. As you can guess, United States air travel is tremendous this time of year, and great effort is being placed into the management of these flights, and our sources within all of the major airlines has confirmed that they are working in coordination with Homeland Security to make sure all of the passengers are afforded the least possible inconvenience due to these circumstances.
"Second, all international flights – those bound for the United States from any and all foreign country – have been cancelled. Those planes in flight are being met by an escort of F-16s, and they are either being turned back or redirected to alternative landing destinations. As we have come to learn, most of the flights are being rerouted to Canada. Those short on fuel supply are being escorted by the F-16s to the nearest military – not commercial here, folks – to the nearest military base for landing and debriefing.
"Third," Santellano pressed onward, "all interstate rail and coach bus travel has been halted until tomorrow morning. As we have been led to understand, the delay will provide officials within Homeland Security to make some preliminary determinations as to whether or not the scheduled departures and arrivals pose any threat to national interests."
A voice was heard off camera. It was female, and she asked, "Graves, do we as of yet have any confirmation – either by the White House, the Department of Homeland Security, or an independent source – as to whether or not a terrorist act has, in fact, occurred?"
"We do not, Gretta," Santellano explained to his colleague as the camera widened to take in the beautiful blonde sitting at the anchor desk next to him. "As I said, at this point, all of us have been left completely in the dark as to what event precipitated the President's order to raise to Terror Alert Status to Red. For weeks, there has been no established threats within the international community ... at least, none that have been addressed in open forum. While the War of Terror does almost daily declassify and release some specifics relating to what constitutes unsubstantiated threats against American interests, CVN is standing firm on our assessment that no threat has been divulged by sources close to the President."
"Any chance for you to speculate as to what's going on here, Graves?"
The commentator glanced at the camera. "Any theory I have would be premature, given the fact that we've heard no word from the President or any of his aides, Gretta, and I think that this is not the time for idle speculation. Rather, this is the time for the cold hard facts behind the President's decision to come out so that it can be properly given to the American public. After all, if our nation has come under some form of terrorist attack – be it conventional, chemical, or biological – the people have to know."
"I don't know about the people," Donovan said, "but I'm going to damn sure find out."
Lowering the volume on the television, he reached to the bedside table and grabbed the telephone. He punched the numbers on the keypad, and he placed the receiver to his ear. After several rings, she answered.
"Chloe Vandemark."
"Chloe? It's Craig."
Immediately, she replied, "Craig ... look ... darling ... sweetheart ... you know how much I love you, honey ... but you're going to have to trust me when I say that, of all possible times in the history that we've known one another, when I tell you that I can't talk right now, I really mean it."
Oh, no, she wasn't.
"What's going on, Chloe?"
"Craig, really, I can't."
"I have to know."
"Craig, listen to me!" she suddenly blurted out in an impassioned whisper. "Dammit, Craig! We've all been sworn to secrecy down here! I'm under an oath. I can't say a word about this. Not a single word! The President is afraid that it'll be leaked to the press, so, please, don't ask me any more questions."
"Chloe," he insisted, sounding sincere, "this is me you're talking to."
"Don't do this, Craig. It isn't fair."
"The hell with fair!" he shot. "You know that there isn't any way in hell I'm going to share any scrap of information you give me – whether it's vital or whether it's trivial – with any member of the press. You know that, and you know me well enough to understand why I can't accept 'no comment' from you."
"Craig, please!"
"Chloe, just give me something."
The woman sighed heavily on the other end of the phone, and Donovan knew he had convinced her that sharing whatever she had – whatever tidbit of data – would be an acceptable risk.
"All right," she replied, "I'm going to tell you what I know, but I swear to you, Craig Donovan, if any of this lands in CVN's hands, I'll be the first to have you pulled up on charges of conspiracy with a foreign power. You and I both know that you have absolutely no involvement with terrorist organizations, but you and I both know that the White House has staff – very competent legal staff – with the skills to make that accusation stick. If you leak this, you'll lose everything. There won't be a government organization you'll ever work for again. The only work you'll be able to find will be flipping burgers at a mom-and-pop greasy spoon joint ... so don't you dare think about crossing me."
"Chloe," he tried, sounding hurt, "you know me better than that."
After a moment, she explained, "I know, Craig. I know. But this ... this is big."
"How big?"
"This goes right to the top."
Raising an eyebrow, Donovan asked, "Do you mean ... has the President been hurt?"
"Not the President himself," she corrected, "but for the first time in the history of terrorism against America, a member of the President's family has been attacked."
"Who?"
She sighed. "It was Trace Hightower."
"What about him?"
"You know Trace," she muttered, sounding disgusted. "In the middle of his father-in-law's presidency, in the middle of the War on Terror, he's insisted on keeping up with usual stunts ... running around the world off on whatever pleasure adventure he can find to keep his senses on the edge. The man thrives on the thrill of the rush, and, this time, it looks like he's gone too far."
Confused, Donovan asked, "What happened?"
"He's dead."
The cold chill crept into his face. Donovan suddenly remembered exactly how he felt when he received the news that Frank Parker – his friend, his confidant – has crashed his Sphere into a jet trying to destroy one of the World Trade Center towers. It was an ache. It was a dull, constant splinter-in-your-finger sensation that wouldn't go away. He knew it was going to amount to far more than just a minor infection. This was big, and things like this only had a tendency of getting bigger.
"I don't believe it, Chloe."
"Craig, we're getting confirmation right now."
"Chloe ... yes, I agree with you. Trace was a risk. He's a risk as any President's son-in-law. The man is a thrill-seeker, yes ... but those thrills have shown us that the man knows how to take care of himself. He's trained with the best physical trainers in the world. He's undergone some combat excursions. Sure, it was in the name of sport, but he still participated with some of the military's best, and he held his ground. I don't believe it. I can't believe that he's dead."
"Craig, I can't go into the specifics."
"You're going to need someone outside of the normal channels to work with you on this," he explained.
"I know you're right, Craig, but now is not the time."
"Now is precisely the time," he argued. "I can do things for you in an unofficial capacity that the Secret Service can't. If Trace has fallen, then you're going to need to circle the wagons, and you're going to need the best intelligence the government payroll can afford. Tell me what you know, and I'll make that happen for you."
"Craig, please ..."
"What happened, Chloe?" Donovan insisted. He forced the cold from his body. Now wasn't the time to get caught up in the emotions of the moment. Now was the time to gather the facts – to determine, on his own, whether or not Hightower's death had any possible link to known terrorist Richard DeMarco being on American soil – and set a plan in place to see this horrible string of events was cut.
"... and I want to know everything."
END of Chapter 16
Five Days, Nineteen Hours, Forty Minutes
Restless, Donovan opened his eyes, giving up the fight to fall asleep, and clicked on the television. He flipped past the hospital channels – he had no interest in knowing about their nationally-recognized physical therapy program, not at a time like this – and he went immediately to CVN, his news channel of choice. He recognized Graves Santellano – long- time CVN commentator – and he had seen enough of the man to know his most serious expressions from his less convincing news face. Something of importance was going on in the world, and Donovan raised the volume so that he could hear more about it.
"... again, let me state for our viewers just tuning in, that we have no confirmation of a terrorist attack either in progress or having occurred within the last hours," Santellano explained, "but our source within the Department of Homeland Security has confirmed that the Red Level Alert will remain in effect until further notice."
What?
When did this happen?
"At present," the commentator continued, "what we do know is the following. First, all commercial air traffic has been grounded. Those flights have been rerouted to land at the nearest possible destination that can facilitate all of those planes. As you can guess, United States air travel is tremendous this time of year, and great effort is being placed into the management of these flights, and our sources within all of the major airlines has confirmed that they are working in coordination with Homeland Security to make sure all of the passengers are afforded the least possible inconvenience due to these circumstances.
"Second, all international flights – those bound for the United States from any and all foreign country – have been cancelled. Those planes in flight are being met by an escort of F-16s, and they are either being turned back or redirected to alternative landing destinations. As we have come to learn, most of the flights are being rerouted to Canada. Those short on fuel supply are being escorted by the F-16s to the nearest military – not commercial here, folks – to the nearest military base for landing and debriefing.
"Third," Santellano pressed onward, "all interstate rail and coach bus travel has been halted until tomorrow morning. As we have been led to understand, the delay will provide officials within Homeland Security to make some preliminary determinations as to whether or not the scheduled departures and arrivals pose any threat to national interests."
A voice was heard off camera. It was female, and she asked, "Graves, do we as of yet have any confirmation – either by the White House, the Department of Homeland Security, or an independent source – as to whether or not a terrorist act has, in fact, occurred?"
"We do not, Gretta," Santellano explained to his colleague as the camera widened to take in the beautiful blonde sitting at the anchor desk next to him. "As I said, at this point, all of us have been left completely in the dark as to what event precipitated the President's order to raise to Terror Alert Status to Red. For weeks, there has been no established threats within the international community ... at least, none that have been addressed in open forum. While the War of Terror does almost daily declassify and release some specifics relating to what constitutes unsubstantiated threats against American interests, CVN is standing firm on our assessment that no threat has been divulged by sources close to the President."
"Any chance for you to speculate as to what's going on here, Graves?"
The commentator glanced at the camera. "Any theory I have would be premature, given the fact that we've heard no word from the President or any of his aides, Gretta, and I think that this is not the time for idle speculation. Rather, this is the time for the cold hard facts behind the President's decision to come out so that it can be properly given to the American public. After all, if our nation has come under some form of terrorist attack – be it conventional, chemical, or biological – the people have to know."
"I don't know about the people," Donovan said, "but I'm going to damn sure find out."
Lowering the volume on the television, he reached to the bedside table and grabbed the telephone. He punched the numbers on the keypad, and he placed the receiver to his ear. After several rings, she answered.
"Chloe Vandemark."
"Chloe? It's Craig."
Immediately, she replied, "Craig ... look ... darling ... sweetheart ... you know how much I love you, honey ... but you're going to have to trust me when I say that, of all possible times in the history that we've known one another, when I tell you that I can't talk right now, I really mean it."
Oh, no, she wasn't.
"What's going on, Chloe?"
"Craig, really, I can't."
"I have to know."
"Craig, listen to me!" she suddenly blurted out in an impassioned whisper. "Dammit, Craig! We've all been sworn to secrecy down here! I'm under an oath. I can't say a word about this. Not a single word! The President is afraid that it'll be leaked to the press, so, please, don't ask me any more questions."
"Chloe," he insisted, sounding sincere, "this is me you're talking to."
"Don't do this, Craig. It isn't fair."
"The hell with fair!" he shot. "You know that there isn't any way in hell I'm going to share any scrap of information you give me – whether it's vital or whether it's trivial – with any member of the press. You know that, and you know me well enough to understand why I can't accept 'no comment' from you."
"Craig, please!"
"Chloe, just give me something."
The woman sighed heavily on the other end of the phone, and Donovan knew he had convinced her that sharing whatever she had – whatever tidbit of data – would be an acceptable risk.
"All right," she replied, "I'm going to tell you what I know, but I swear to you, Craig Donovan, if any of this lands in CVN's hands, I'll be the first to have you pulled up on charges of conspiracy with a foreign power. You and I both know that you have absolutely no involvement with terrorist organizations, but you and I both know that the White House has staff – very competent legal staff – with the skills to make that accusation stick. If you leak this, you'll lose everything. There won't be a government organization you'll ever work for again. The only work you'll be able to find will be flipping burgers at a mom-and-pop greasy spoon joint ... so don't you dare think about crossing me."
"Chloe," he tried, sounding hurt, "you know me better than that."
After a moment, she explained, "I know, Craig. I know. But this ... this is big."
"How big?"
"This goes right to the top."
Raising an eyebrow, Donovan asked, "Do you mean ... has the President been hurt?"
"Not the President himself," she corrected, "but for the first time in the history of terrorism against America, a member of the President's family has been attacked."
"Who?"
She sighed. "It was Trace Hightower."
"What about him?"
"You know Trace," she muttered, sounding disgusted. "In the middle of his father-in-law's presidency, in the middle of the War on Terror, he's insisted on keeping up with usual stunts ... running around the world off on whatever pleasure adventure he can find to keep his senses on the edge. The man thrives on the thrill of the rush, and, this time, it looks like he's gone too far."
Confused, Donovan asked, "What happened?"
"He's dead."
The cold chill crept into his face. Donovan suddenly remembered exactly how he felt when he received the news that Frank Parker – his friend, his confidant – has crashed his Sphere into a jet trying to destroy one of the World Trade Center towers. It was an ache. It was a dull, constant splinter-in-your-finger sensation that wouldn't go away. He knew it was going to amount to far more than just a minor infection. This was big, and things like this only had a tendency of getting bigger.
"I don't believe it, Chloe."
"Craig, we're getting confirmation right now."
"Chloe ... yes, I agree with you. Trace was a risk. He's a risk as any President's son-in-law. The man is a thrill-seeker, yes ... but those thrills have shown us that the man knows how to take care of himself. He's trained with the best physical trainers in the world. He's undergone some combat excursions. Sure, it was in the name of sport, but he still participated with some of the military's best, and he held his ground. I don't believe it. I can't believe that he's dead."
"Craig, I can't go into the specifics."
"You're going to need someone outside of the normal channels to work with you on this," he explained.
"I know you're right, Craig, but now is not the time."
"Now is precisely the time," he argued. "I can do things for you in an unofficial capacity that the Secret Service can't. If Trace has fallen, then you're going to need to circle the wagons, and you're going to need the best intelligence the government payroll can afford. Tell me what you know, and I'll make that happen for you."
"Craig, please ..."
"What happened, Chloe?" Donovan insisted. He forced the cold from his body. Now wasn't the time to get caught up in the emotions of the moment. Now was the time to gather the facts – to determine, on his own, whether or not Hightower's death had any possible link to known terrorist Richard DeMarco being on American soil – and set a plan in place to see this horrible string of events was cut.
"... and I want to know everything."
END of Chapter 16
