White House Situation Room, Washington DC
President Raymond Atherton drew a shaky breath as he stared at the myriad of video monitors mounted to the front wall. The largest one displayed a satellite image of Port of Spain. Not that there was much to see. Smoke, dust clouds and flames blotted out most of the city.
Why would anyone do this? Why?
"Mister President? Mister President?"
He swung his chair around, looking out at the men and women sitting at the long conference table. Three seats away a rotund, balding man looked his way, his eyes flickering between him and the iPad in his hand.
"Yes, Ben?"
Secretary of State Ben Price bit his lower lip before continuing. "I just received the latest casualty estimates from Port of Spain."
Atherton's lanky frame stiffened. "What is it?"
"Right now we're looking in excess of forty thousand dead, and twice as many injured. But because of the destruction of Port of Spain's infrastructure, including hospitals, police and emergency services, the death toll is expected to climb much higher over the next two to three days."
Atherton's stomach twisted. He felt his hair turning even grayer.
"Mister President," Price said. "We have to send aid to Trinidad as soon as possible. Carla -" He referred to Carla Marchetti, the Director of National Intelligence – "tells me that Piarco International Airport was not damaged during the attack. It lies ten kilometers outside Port of Spain. We'll be able to send relief flights there without any problem."
"I wouldn't say any problem, Mister Secretary," said a round man with thinning black hair and glasses dressed in a dark blue Navy uniform. Admiral Doug Garber, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "All the smoke and debris clouds from Titanosaurus' attack are floating over the airport. It could be a day or two before it clears up enough for flight operations to resume."
Frustration grew inside Atherton as he shifted his gaze toward Admiral Garber. "So what are we supposed to do? Wait until then to help the Trinidadians? Let more of them die?"
"We may not have a choice. It will take at least a day or two for us to get enough relief supplies and the necessary personnel loaded onto planes and ships bound for Trinidad."
The corners of Atherton's mouth twisted. Trust the military to rationalize why they couldn't help innocent people when they needed it.
If they can't kill or blow up people, they're useless.
"There's also another matter," Garber continued, much to the President's annoyance. "Titanosaurus retreated into the sea less than twenty minutes ago. We have no idea where he is. He could be headed for open ocean, or he could be swimming off the coast of Trinidad, waiting to attack again. Because of that, I can't declare that area secure for a relief operation."
"Then find him," Atherton snapped.
"Unfortunately, Mister President, we can't. All our assets tasked for the Trinidad and Tobago Theater of Operations were destroyed by Titanosaurus. The closest vessel we have is the USS New Mexico, a Virginia-class fast attack submarine. But it's at least a day-and-a-half's travel away."
Atherton folded his hands together and stared at the polished wood surface. He hated to rely on the military for anything. But if he ordered relief ships to Trinidad and Titanosaurus sank them, the press and Congress would tear him a new one.
"Tell that submarine to head for Trinidad."
"Yes, Mister President," Garber replied. "Also, Sir, I recommend we raise the alert level of all our forces in CONUS." He used the abbreviation for Continental United States. "We need to be prepared in case Titanosaurus comes north and attacks us."
"What do you want, Admiral? Soldiers all over our streets. Fighter planes roaring overhead? No. That's just going to panic everyone, and Americans are scared enough after what happened in Port of Spain."
"Mister President, I'm not recommending any sort of deployment at this time, but we need to have them ready in case the need arises."
Atherton exhaled loudly. He didn't want to give in to Garber and let hundreds of thousands of soldiers across the country grab their guns and jump in their planes with a full testosterone hard-on, itching to kill something. But if he didn't do that, the right-wing loons would scream about him being weak on defense.
Dammit. I hate this shit. He hated having to act the tough guy and pretend to respect those murderers in their fancy uniforms. Life would be so much easier if the military just went away.
Until then, he had to play the game.
"Fine. Raise the alert level, but keep those troops restricted to their bases."
"Yes, Mister President."
"Hell, Titanosaurus probably won't even come here," Atherton couldn't help but add.
"We can't assume that, Mister President," said Garber. "Especially after the information we received from the Trinidadians about Titanosaurus being under the control of the Venezuelans and the Sim-"
"That's unconfirmed." Atherton leaned forward, his eyes narrowed at the Admiral. "That information came from Shield International, most likely in an attempt to further embarrass me. Anything that comes from them is to be disregarded."
"But when you look at the attacks on-"
"Do I need to repeat myself, Admiral?"
Garber took a slow breath, clearing stewing. He replied in a forced tone, "No, Mister President."
The two continued to stare at one another. Much as he tried to hide it, the disdain in Garber's eyes was evident.
Well, the feeling's mutual.
He looked away from Admiral Garber. "Now, onto more important matters. Ben, I want you to call for an emergency meeting of the Organization of American States. We're going to need help from a lot of other countries to get Trinidad back on its feet."
"I'll get on that right away."
"Good. Meanwhile, I'll put out a plea to the Red Cross, Salvation Army and Doctors Without Borders for relief supplies and volunteers to go to Trin-"
"Excuse me, Mister President." A slender black woman with coiffed hair two seats down lifted one hand, while the other had a cell phone pressed to her ear. "I'm sorry to interrupt."
"What is it, Rebecca?"
Rebecca Foster, the President's Chief of Staff, said, "It's the White House Communications Office. General Moscoso is on the line. He wants to talk with you. He says it's urgent."
Atherton tilted his head. Moscoso? What the hell would Venezuela's president want with . . .
He froze for a moment. He swore he saw a brief smile of satisfaction cross the lips of Admiral Garber.
"Put the General through to the Situation Room."
"Yes, Mister President." Rebecca nodded.
Within seconds the main monitor showed an image of Moscoso in a dark green military dress uniform with rows and rows of colorful ribbons plastered all over his left breast. Beside him stood an unsmiling man with Asian features dressed in a silver jumpsuit.
Atherton tensed, his mind propelling him back thirty-plus years, when he was a freshman in college. He'd seen pictures of those silver-suited men all over the TV and the newspapers.
General Moscoso was with a Simbaaku.
They were right. Briggs and his mercenary thugs were right.
"Mister President," Moscoso said in clipped English.
"General. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I take it you have seen what has happened in Port of Spain."
"Of course I have." Atherton paused. "Are you responsible for that?"
The smile on the Simbaaku's face was all the answer he needed.
"Why? Why would you do that? You've completely destroyed that city. Tens of thousands are dead and dying? What reason could you have for such a heinous act?"
"That is about to become clear," Moscoso said. "First, I ask that you clear the room. What we have to say can only be discussed leader to leader."
Atherton clenched his jaw, then turned to the others in the Situation Room. "Everyone out."
"Mister President," Secretary of State Price blurted.
"That's an order, Ben. Everyone out."
Reluctantly, the National Security Council members got up from their seats and filed out the door. Atherton even ordered his Secret Service guards outside. When he was alone in the room, he turned back to Moscoso and the Simbaaku.
"Before we continue, General, does your ally there have name? I'd like to know who I'm talking with."
"My name is Ulljrex. I am the leader of the Simbaaku contingent on Earth."
"I thought all the Simbaaku were killed thirty years ago."
"Some of us escaped. But with our ship destroyed, we were stranded on this planet. Over time, our views on militarism and conquest changed drastically from the rest of my race. We realized that our war against Earth had been wrong, and that we must seek out human allies if we were to have any hope to survive."
Atherton sat up straighter. He saw an opening toward a path for peace. "Such a monumental change in your beliefs is to be commended, Ulljrex."
A slight tic formed under Ulljrex's left eye. "Thank you, Mister President."
"Surely in those thirty years living among us, you have seen the more admirable qualities of human beings, qualities that should demonstrate we would be better off working together instead of engaging in this senseless slaughter."
"Unfortunately, Mister President, many of the qualities we have found in humans are far from admirable. Especially the humans in your country. Side-by-side with our Venezuelan friends, we have seen your United States force its will on other countries, or outright invade those you disagree with. You have imprisoned and murdered innocent people under the guise of national security. You profit from weapons sold to countries around your world, weapons used to start wars and commit atrocities."
"Now, Ulljrex." Atherton held up a hand. "Those things you're talking about were all done by my predecessors. I cannot be held responsible for their actions. In fact, I have been working very hard to make up for this country's past mistakes."
Now Moscoso spoke. "All you have done, Mister President, is give pretty speeches about what a more tolerant and humble nation yours is. But they are words with no substance. You talk, but you do not act. Now, we shall force you to act."
"What do you mean by that?"
Moscoso leaned closer to the screen. "At this moment, Titanosaurus is making his way to Miami."
Atherton's stomach turned into a cold ball.
"How many people live in Miami, Mister President? Five million?"
"Please. Please, you can't."
"America has committed many sins. Consider this your punishment."
"I . . . I can't allow this to happen."
Moscoso barked out a laugh. "Do you really think you can stop Titanosaurus? You saw what he did to your carrier groups, the greatest symbols of your nation's power. Even the mighty Godzilla was no match for him. Your country is helpless before Titanosaurus."
"Wait!" Atherton nearly jumped out of his seat. "You can't do this. Killing innocent people isn't necessary. There has to be another way."
Moscoso and Ulljrex exchanged glances, then turned back to the camera. The General grinned. "Actually, Mister President, there is a way to avoid the slaughter of your citizens in Miami."
"How?"
"You agree that your country has interfered far too much in world affairs."
Atherton paused. "The arrogance of previous administrations has caused more harm than good in the world, yes."
"Precisely. Now it is time for that interference to end."
"What do you propose?"
Moscoso drew himself up ramrod straight. "First, your military, your enforcers of American imperialism. All your troops and ships and aircraft deployed throughout the world must return to your country immediately. And to ensure the United States can no longer impose its will on any other nation, all your military forces will demobilize, and all your weapons must be scrapped."
Shock paralyzed Atherton. Moscoso really wanted him to do away with the US military? Sure, he had wished for an end to that group of thugs and killers, but to actually do it?
Isn't that the reason the world hates us? Because of our military. If we didn't have it any more . . .
"Go on." Atherton nodded to Moscoso.
"In addition, all your intelligence agencies, CIA, NSA, NRO," Moscoso referred to the National Reconnaissance Office, which maintained America's spy satellites, "shall be disbanded. American businesses must close all their overseas operations, and American citizens living abroad must return to their country. From now on, no American shall be allowed to travel or reside outside the borders of your country."
"You're imprisoning us?"
"This is your punishment, Mister President, for all the crimes your country has committed throughout its history. But think of it, with the United States no longer a great presence in the world, hatred for your country will diminish. There will be peace."
Atherton sat back, contemplating Moscoso's words. He had wanted that. For the US to stop meddling in the affairs of other countries, for the military and CIA to stop killing and torturing people. But he didn't want someone like Moscoso to have him do it at gunpoint.
Or in this case, monster-point.
But if it saved the lives of everyone in Miami, if it could bring peace to the world . . .
"If I agree to this, Titanosaurus won't destroy Miami, or any other US city?"
"No," Moscoso answered. "You have my word."
"What about Trinidad?"
"We still have some issues to settle with that country, but after today, they will not be your concern."
Atherton nodded. He could accept that. Hell, most Americans couldn't even find Trinidad on a map. What would they care if Venezuela took over that dinky little island?
"And what about me?"
"You may continue to rule your country as you see fit," answered Moscoso. "What you do in America is your business."
"There will be people here who won't go along with this. Lots of Americans have guns. They might rebel."
"Then take away their guns."
"That means I still need to have security forces. Armed security forces."
Moscoso paused. "You are allowed forces for internal security only. But the heaviest weapon they can have is a machine gun. No missiles or tanks or combat aircraft."
Atherton took a few settling breaths. "General Moscoso, Mister Ulljrex. I think this arrangement is acceptable."
TO BE CONTINUED