Barrett leaned forward in the computer chair, spying the numbers in the upper right-hand corner of the laptop screen: 2:53 a.m. He drummed his fingers against the desk and double checked that he had everything prepared for the conference call. Despite the early hour, he felt sharp and alert—ready for the attack. His habits had changed: he had become nocturnal, a creature of the night now. He didn’t trust that idiot Tyrell enough to leave him in charge overnight. He’d likely sleep on the job, leaving Barrett susceptible to some night attack. The JPD could break down that flimsy front door and kill him at any time …
But pretty soon he’d reach safety. Just this call and then he’d be free again. He could almost taste it. Where should he go first? Miami? Or Los Angeles? Nah, better stick with somewhere overseas. Things here in the U.S. had become too volatile for his liking.
One minute left. He double-checked his 4tress Security dashboard. Good: everything’s running smoothly. Ha! Let Starkley and company do their best to figure out his IP address! They’d never break through his enterprise software’s protective measures and learn his hidden location in this dump of a house in Maine.
The computer chimed; the conference call had begun. Barrett sat up straight in his chair, his face already smug with the knowledge he’d get to impart.
Starkley appeared on the screen. She seemed to sit in a black room with only the monitor’s light illuminating her face. It cast an unnatural glow on her, her skin a freakish ghostly white and her eyes blazing with intensity.
Yet her voice sounded calm and ever so collected. “Good morning, Barrett.”
“Morning, Madam President.”
“I see you’re enjoying your tropical paradise.”
What the … oh. He had put a fake background behind him. Starkley mocked him; she knew he was nowhere near paradise.
“You know this is hell.”
“Then it suits you. Kind of like Milton’s famous line, no? Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.”
“Are you insinuating that I’d rather be here than working for you again?”
“You and I both know you’d rather have it all: being your own boss but with all the benefits and glory that working for me again could give you. That’s why we’re speaking now. You have a proposition for me, I assume?”
Barrett snickered. “It’s more than a modest proposal.”
“It would have to be; your life is on the line, need I remind you.”
“It’s your life that’s on the line.”
Starkley flicked an eyebrow and perched her gold, oval glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “That’s nothing new. It’s always survival of the fittest here.”
“What I’m about to tell you is something of a completely different caliber.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Bartering time. “I’ve uncovered a plot on an enormous level. I’ve got information that will save your administration—and your life. How much is your life worth to you?”
“You’re the one in need, not me. I can end this conference call right now if I want to do so and I’d lose nothing. As for you? It’s your life, Barrett, that hangs in the balance. So don’t dare ask the price I’m willing to pay when you come groveling to me. You better sell your secret more masterfully than this. I’m not enticed.”
He began to grind his teeth. Keep your head on straight. Don’t let her push your buttons. You can play this game too. So he shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. Though I can promise you that, unless you hear what I have to say, you and your whole administration will be dead before anyone can even find me. And I alone am privy to the information I found. I’m the only one who can save your life. I have an email right here that reveals the whole plan.”
“If this is true, why hasn’t my security team uncovered this so-called plot?”
“Because those dingbats can’t penetrate the enemy’s information like my software can. They’re always on defense. I’m on offense. By the time they get wind of this, it’ll be too late to stop it. You have enemies and they’re coming to get you.”
Starkley laughed with scorn. “Religious zealots? They can’t do anything to me.”
“Of course not: they play by the rules. No, this is a stealthier enemy because you don’t realize he’s an enemy at all.”
“If you’re suggesting that the Justice and Protection Division—”
“I’m not giving anymore intel until you give me something first.”
“What’s your price?”
“Freedom.”
Starkley pursed her lips. “That’s something I can give you?”
“You’re the one who took it from me. I want all my bank accounts restored, with ten percent additional funds for the inconvenience this has cost me. I want my name cleared: you need to blast my name and company all over the media as the one who uncovered this plot and saved the NCP. Finally, I want a permanent position in your cabinet: Barrett Ramsey, Secretary of Cybersecurity.”
“What you have to offer justifies the steepness of the price?”
“I wouldn’t bother asking if it didn’t. Let me make this clear: millions of lives are at risk—especially yours.”
She fell silent for a moment. “You speak of such enormity. What group could launch an attack on that scale? Not the opposition. The JPD is loyal so there remains only one suspect. I don’t need your assistance any further. You’ve helped me sufficiently. I can handle a military coup from here forward, thank you.”
A flash of panic seized Barrett. The hound couldn’t flush the prey without his prize first! He gripped the sides of the laptop, staring into the screen. “You haven’t got a single clue what they’re planning, when, or where. It’s imminent and they could already be starting as we speak. You could fire all the heads of the branches and the attack would still happen. You need to see the plan … the plan I have right here, saved as a file, a communication between two members of the military. It has everything you need to intercept and stop the attack.”
“You could have created a false document.”
“I can share my screen with you. I’ll launch 4tress Security right now and penetrate the military files. I’ll show you where I found it. It’s probably still there—they have no way of knowing I’ve accessed it.” Seeing her pause, he continued, “But I require some assurance on your end before we get going. I want to watch you transfer the money into my accounts. I want to see you send a message to your Cabinet announcing my promotion. And I want you to send something to your communications office telling them that you have an urgent announcement that they should schedule for release later today.”
“I am not a puppet in your hands. Your hubris makes you forget that you’re the beggar here. If we are going to proceed, the burden of proof lies in your hands. You show me the document. If I deem it worthy enough, I will reward you.”
He bristled and swore under his breath. I wish her dead. “I’m not here to barter. I have something invaluable to offer, and you’re lucky I’ve given you the first selection. But if you are too stupid not to take it, the first thing I’ll do is go to the military and let them know what I’ve learned. I’m sure they can reward me with the price I deserve.”
They stared at each other.
Silently, Starkley picked up her phone.
“Put it on speaker,” Barrett growled. “I want to hear every word.”
She didn’t look at him but did as he demanded. As the phone rang, Barrett observed the way her face sagged, exhausted.
“Can I help you, Madam President?” a polite voice on the phone inquired.
“Yes. I’m sure you recall how I ordered you to freeze the bank accounts belonging to Mr. Barrett Ramsey?”
“Yes.”
“Restore them all immediately, along with an additional ten percent of the sum we removed.”
“Ten percent?”
“Don’t question me.”
Starkley hung up. Barrett logged into his accounts, waiting to see the deposits, while Starkley made her other two calls. By the time she finished his net worth had been restored, over and above its former glory, and he already felt like a liberated man.
“Show me what you’ve found,” Starkley hissed. “Everything I’ve just done is entirely reversible. If I don’t find your offer worthy enough, you’ve lost everything and the JPD will hunt you down.”
“They’ve been hunting me for months. Still haven’t found me yet. But no need to worry, Madam President. I won’t disappoint you.”
Sharing his screen, he followed the paper trail through the Army’s offices, easily locating the memo between Colonel Hicks and Captain Davis.
Starkley’s eyes passed left to right as she read, the frown on her face deepening.
“It’s nuclear warfare.” Barrett reclined in his chair, clasping his hands across the chest. He had done his work. What happened to everyone else now didn’t matter. Even in the worst-case scenario, if the nuclear plant exploded, the radiation wouldn’t reach him here—at least not immediately. And he’d clear out of here by the morning. He smiled smugly at Starkley. “Worth my price and more, wouldn’t you say?”
“If you didn’t have anything you wanted from me, would you have still told me about this?” She had dropped her lawyer persona; with the edge out of her voice, her words carried a slight, trembling note of vulnerability.
“What do you mean? Would I have told you out of … out of—”
“Friendship.”
He did a double take and peered at her. If he wasn’t so shocked he’d have laughed his head off. “I find that doubtful. That’s not how I operate.”
“That’s not how anyone operates anymore, is it? Everyone has to have something in it for themselves.”
Barrett shrugged. “It’s survival of the fittest, alright.”
“I have made it to the top. I’ve survived while many have died. No one is more powerful than me in the whole world.” Starkley seemed to be speaking to herself. “But how long can someone fly that close to the sun?”
“Now you’ve got the classified information. The JPD will put down the military coup. NYC won’t be buried in radioactive fallout, and you’ll live to see another day.”
“Goodbye, Barrett.”
“I look forward to seeing my name in all the headline news reports today.”
“That’s assuming your news is the headline.”
“What can top a foiled nuclear attack? Of course I’ll be the headline.”
She stared at him for a moment and then ended the call without another word.
“Tyrell!” He stood up, closing the laptop. “Get up here and pack my bags. We’re clearing out of here! I’m a free man!!”
* * *
The sun still hadn’t risen yet, but Chiara and Joe had to leave. Amanda and her dad stood there with them, lingering for a final few moments beside the side entrance—the closest one to the next-door laundromat. Some opposition members had unloaded the delivery truck, bringing in boxes of food. Now all that remained was to say goodbye.
Amanda’s throat swelled. She pressed her lips together, watching Joe swing his bag over his shoulder. She glanced at Chiara who asked Joe a question. Amanda saw her sister before her … and as a ten-year-old saddling Boots in their backyard paddock … and as a five-year-old, grasping Amanda’s hand the day of their mom’s funeral, her young, innocent mind not understanding … and as a newborn in the hospital, their beaming mom placing Chiara in Amanda’s arms—swaddled, slumbering peacefully, a face of innocence and purity. Amanda thought of so many memories shared together: riding their bikes together down the dirt roads, Chiara’s pride on Amanda’s graduation morning, Chiara’s firm grasp as they sped through downtown Boston with the JPD on their heels.
This is goodbye. I’ll never see her again. Amanda’s eyes stung, and she took a deep breath. Don’t think about that. Think about Chiara: safe, happy, healed … think of her free. Think of her and Joe together on their wedding day.
But I should be there too. I should be her Maid of Honor. But I’ll never be there because I’m going to die. Today we part forever.
“Okay.” Her dad squeezed her shoulder. “You better say goodbye. I’m taking Chiara and Joe to the truck.”
Amanda walked over to Joe on wooden legs. Joe extended a closed fist. Instead of a fist bump though, Amanda wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened for a moment in surprise and then relaxed, embracing her.
So many words flooded to the tip of her tongue: Thank you for the laughter. You are a good man. I’ll miss you, Joe. Take care of Chiara … I know you will. I wouldn’t want her with anyone else.
But she knew these words would destroy her, crumble her into a puddle of sobbing tears. She had to hold it together—just a few more minutes more. Then she could run back to her hotel room and cry freely … her empty hotel room. Tonight she would sleep alone, Chiara somewhere far away.
Far away in safety. Be happy for her. Be grateful she will survive this.
She and Joe parted.
“I won’t let anything happen to Chiara,” Joe told her, his face solemn. “Don’t worry about her.”
She nodded. She needed one of Joe’s jokes right now, but even he couldn’t manage that.
She turned to Chiara, whose mouth twisted with emotion, her lips trembling.
She doesn’t know I’m going to die. I can pretend for a few minutes. I can let her leave with a happy, final memory of me.
Amanda locked her jaw, determined to hold it together for Chiara’s sake.
But Chiara reached for her, her voice shaking as she said, “I love you, Amanda.”
I don’t want to leave her. How can I say the words? How can I do this? God, help me! Give me strength!
Then suddenly she felt someone beside her, the touch of a firm grasp taking her hand. Ethan stood next to her. He looked at Chiara. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here. I wanted to say goodbye too.”
Chiara shook her head. “I–I–don’t mind …” Tears flowed down her cheeks.
Ethan squeezed Amanda’s hand, a small gesture no one could see or feel but her. “Actually, I’m not saying goodbye. All we’re saying is, ‘See you again soon.’” He glanced at Amanda and then Chiara with a tight smile. “Hey, if we can survive detention centers, mountain lions, JPD car chases, and my father, we can absolutely survive this.”
Chiara nodded and Amanda tried to smile, but her lips felt as heavy as concrete.
“Guys, I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go.” Their dad looked out the door, his brow wrinkled.
Amanda gave Chiara a hug, trying to focus on anything but the massive reality staring her down …
A second later, her dad held the door open while Joe and Chiara walked out of the hotel.
“I love you!” Amanda sputtered, her voice cracking with tears of pain.
The door shut and Chiara turned back with a final wave.
Amanda saw no more, her vision completely blinded. She wept freely now … but not alone. Hard, heavy sobs shook her body as Ethan held her, pressing her face toward his chest, smoothing her hair, whispering words of comfort she could barely hear over her crying.
She seemed to detect her dad’s voice from far away, his own words loaded with pain. “They’re gone. The truck just left.”
“That’s good. They’re out of danger,” Ethan said.
“One daughter taken care of.”
“I’m here to take care of the other one.” Ethan gripped her a little harder.
“And for that, I am very grateful.” Her dad sighed. “Tell Amanda she can come to my room later. I’ve got to take a minute.”
“I’ll let her know.”
Her cries began to lessen as the time passed. She felt wounded, like someone had just severed a piece of her.
“Can I get you something?” Ethan murmured. “Do you want to sit down or maybe you’d like some water?”
“Sitting down sounds good.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and, with her back to the wall, slid to the floor.
Ethan sat beside her.
She sighed. “That was hard.”
“It seems like it.”
She looked at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to see you yesterday. It’s just—”
“No. Don’t apologize. You needed to be with Chiara. I get it.” He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Well, I can try to get it. The truth is that I don’t have any family member I love enough where it would hurt that much to say goodbye.”
“Yeah.” She chewed her lower lip. “I guess I should focus on that instead: being grateful I had a sister all this time.”
“Chiara’s going to be okay. You’ll still have a sister.”
“I didn’t mean that. I’ll never see Chiara again because … because I’m going to die.”
Ethan stared at her. “I refuse to believe that.”
“Why? Don’t you realize the danger of our position?”
“I don’t believe your god would do that. I mean, look at everything you’ve gone through. You could’ve died so many other times, but God brought you through all those dangers. Why end your life now when He just gave you that sign with your painting? Why end things with us when we are finally at the place we’re meant to be?”
Now it was her turn to stare, her mouth agape. “You talk about God as though you think He exists.”
“I don’t know your god. He’s a stranger to me. But … for the first time in my life … I’m willing to entertain the possibility of His existence.”
“Why? Because you know that will make me happy?”
“No. Though,” he gave a half-smile, “that’s a nice corollary. No, it’s just that I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. And what I’ve realized is that everything I’m doing makes no sense according to my previous philosophy. If life is all about this world and climbing the proverbial social, monetary, and academic ladders of success, then sitting here with you in this hotel is complete folly. Everything having to do with you from the moment that I met you is illogical. I risked my life to protect yours, someone who should—by all standards—be my enemy. I shun safety to enter greater peril. Why? It’s not in my best self-interest. I’ve defied my own ideology. Yet I’d do it again if I had a second chance. Why?”
“Because there is something greater in this world than survival of the fittest.”
“Exactly. There has to be, otherwise I’d be sitting in a bar with some blonde in Antwerp at this moment. But instead, I’m sitting in a hotel surrounded by enemies because I want to be with you. So, whether you call that a deity or some supernatural, ambiguous, loving force, I don’t know. But as to the reality of its existence? I’m open to believing it now.” He clasped her hand tighter. “So that’s why you can’t tell me you’re convinced you’re going to die. Why would your god do that? He can’t.”
She gazed at the floor. “Who are we to say what God can or can’t do? And you’re right: you’ve put your life at risk because of me. It was selfish of me not to make you leave. You should’ve gone with Joe and Chiara just now. This isn’t your fight.”
Ethan scowled. “You’re my fight! I’m fighting myself, to be a better version of myself, for you! I can’t win that battle if I desert when the going gets tough. If you’re walking through the fire, then let me walk beside you.”
She gazed at his ardent face, his chin raised defiantly, and she loved him so much for it. She sighed. “Well, I’m glad because I couldn’t do this without you.”
He kissed the top of her head as she leaned against him.
And suddenly she realized it: that’s why God brought Ethan here. Ethan’s love would be the strength she needed to face death.
* * *
Davis strode through the turbine hall, the length of which rivaled that of a football field. The four turbine generators—color-coded blue, red, green, and purple—worked endlessly and noisily, producing the energy that helped power New York City.
He had already inspected the nuclear side of the building and spoken with the staff there. According to all outward appearances, this shaped up to be just another day. Aside from a handful of workers, the approximately two thousand military staff operating Indian Point Power Plant all didn’t know otherwise. This factory for making electricity would make death … and through death, freedom—freedom from the NCP, which, if not stopped, would destroy the whole nation.
Davis stood in the frame of the large body scanner at the exit. A moment later a green sign lit up: CLEAN. Not able to detect any radioactive particles on him, he was cleared to leave this zone. Davis moved into unit zero, past mechanical maintenance and supplies, through the main entryway (where he removed his safety glasses, hard hat, gloves, and hearing protection), and finally upstairs to where everything would begin in just under an hour.
He swiped his card and entered the operations control room. Only certified staff were permitted here: some of the brightest people he had met. Huge panels populated with buttons, switches, gauges, and monitors filled the space, also color-coded to match the accompanying reactor and generator.
It had taken them extensive time to find a way around the power plant’s safety systems. The plant wasn’t designed to blow, and fast-acting shutdown systems could close down the whole unit in two seconds flat. To accomplish their work, military programmers, scientists, and engineers had to reprogram it, enabling them to override those automatic shutdowns. Now they were ready and the time had almost come. He favored a blind, unsuspecting attack above all others—especially when it wiped the enemy out.
Davis nodded at Fitzpatrick, the lead manager of the control room. “Morning. All systems go?”
Fitzpatrick squared his shoulders. “Ready, Captain. System override will begin in sixty minutes and counting.”
Davis forced himself to breathe deeply. The anticipation of the day’s events began to build within him. Cooler heads prevail. He slowed his pace, walking leisurely around the room. They had finished all the hard work. He had communicated with Hicks to coordinate the unfurling of the attack. He had also meticulously weeded through the assignees here at the plant, ensuring the conviction of each man to destroy the NCP. Just a handful of ignorant soldiers remained—these they would leave behind, a necessary sacrifice. They wouldn’t realize it until it was too late, but anyone could easily replace them. Furthermore, he had briefed the teams and arranged transportation. As soon as they were confident that the overrides were silenced, they would clear out to safety—and to victory.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!
A red light began flashing on the wall nearby.
Fitzpatrick frowned and glanced at Davis. “That’s security.”
A soldier picked up the mounted wall phone, speaking rapidly while his eyes grew ever larger. The soldier dropped the phone.
“What is it?” Davis barked.
“We’re being attacked, sir.”
Every military maneuver has friction. Ours is no exception. Davis strode across the room in a few strides and pushed the soldier aside, picking up the phone himself. “This is Captain Davis speaking. What’s the report?”
From the other end of the line came the chaotic sound of shouts, gunfire, crashes, and screams.
He stared for a split second at the phone and then threw it to the floor. He turned to the thirty or so soldiers present in the control room. “Secure the doors. I want three men at both entrances, guns ready to fire. You two over there—” He pointed at a couple of burly men. “Begin to barricade.” Davis marched over to Fitzpatrick. “Start the process! Get the safety override going!”
Fitzpatrick hesitated.
“Did you hear me? I said start the process—now!”
Davis’ trained ears could now detect the distant sound of gunfire, growing steadily louder. Damn it. Downstairs security didn’t stop them. The enemy’s got to be a significant number to plow through that.
Davis grabbed Fitzpatrick by the collar. “Do you dare disobey me? Start the process!”
“Sir, we can’t. It’s been programmed. We can’t change the timing—”
“Don’t tell me you can’t. Do it. Hell, shoot the control panels if you must, I don’t care. Just get these explosions going!”
An ear-splitting boom sounded in the hallway, shaking the floor and ceiling above them. Ping! Ping-ping! Now bullets began landing against the locked door.
They’ll get in here. It’s just a matter of minutes.
Fitzpatrick ran to the men at the control panels, who were yelling and typing wildly at a keyboard.
Davis pulled out his gun. They’d almost broken down the door. Any minute they’d begin to exchange gunfire. He glanced out the window. Dozens of armored vehicles snaked up the road.
Someone leaked. They know what we’ve planned and they’re here to stop us. His gaze shifted to the hotel across the street, seemingly forlorn and abandoned. Were they the ones who betrayed us? Well, screw them—if the coup fails, they’ll be the next to die.
With a gargantuan crash, the enemy forced the door open. Bullets began to fly across the room, digging into the wall or the flesh of one victim or another. Davis crouched behind a chair, aiming and firing as the enemy troops kept piling in, quickly overwhelming the small contingent around him.
What about the nuclear explosion? Davis spared a second to look at the control panel. Fitzpatrick lay collapsed over the keyboard, blood oozing from his head, his hand hanging limply at his side.
Davis reloaded and fired again … and again … and again. He was going to die, but he’d kill as many of those bastards as he could until the final breath escaped his lips.
* * *
Amanda suddenly stiffened in Ethan’s arms. “Do you hear that?”
“Yeah.” He stood up and walked toward the glass doorway. The rumble of tires sounded on the street outside.
Amanda joined Ethan and frowned. “Armored vehicles? And military tanks? They’re all going up to the power plant.”
“Davis never said anything about those.”
“Amanda! Ethan!”
They turned around. Nasir came dashing down the hallway, breathing heavily. “Come quickly. Everyone to the basement.”
“What’s wrong?” Amanda ran behind Nasir, Ethan beside her—through a doorway to the staircase and down the flight of stairs.
“It’s President Starkley. She was flying this morning in Air Force One. Someone shot the plane and it crashed. Starkley’s dead.”