THEY ENDED UP spending more than three weeks preparing “Operation Oval”.
Ty’s computer skills proved invaluable. He scrounged half-a-dozen monitors from storage or unused offices (as well as routers and cables), claimed an unused room that was large and provided with plentiful sockets and cable, and created a command centre. They’d have cameras attached to both drones and soldiers, so that the President and her immediate staff would be able to follow the course of the attack as it happened.
They flew drones over Washington, studying the resulting data. There were still thousands of zombies mulling aimlessly around the South Lawn. They’d have to clear that mass to move in ground troops.
“No missiles. No rockets or hand grenades,” the President told them at the beginning. “We need to maintain the integrity of the buildings.”
“That’s going to make it harder,” Parker said.
Ty brought up another problem: even if they managed to use aircraft or ground troops to terminate the thousands of infected, what would they do with the bodies? They’d need hundreds of men just for disposal.
“Maybe not . . .” Parker was making a note as he spoke.
The President asked, “What are you thinking, Ames?”
“I may have the best of all possible worlds. Give me a day and I’ll come back with a plan.”
Parker didn’t wait until morning. He called a meeting with the President, Ty and Steele late that night and laid out his plan.
“RCVs.” He looked at them expectantly.
Ty thought for a moment, and then said, excitedly, “Right! Route clearance vehicles!”
Parker nodded.
Steele asked, “What are we talking here?”
“RCVs are special armoured vehicles that were created largely for mine clearance and securing roads in overseas conflicts. They’re designed to withstand driving directly over mines.”
“But,” the President said, “we’re not talking mines here . . .”
“No. But look at this.” Parker turned his tablet screen around to show them a photo of a vehicle that looked like a cross between a bulldozer and a dune buggy. The driver sat up high in a completely enclosed cage, and all sides were heavily plated. Something that looked like a thick version of a bulldozer shovel was attached to the front. “This is the Husky. Again, designed for mine clearance in a combat situation, but—”
Steele got it and looked up at Ames. “—with that front plate, it could clear out zombies, too.”
“Right. The Husky’s fast and manoeuvrable. It could push through waves of the infected pretty well, back them up against something, and a few rounds would finish them off in nice neat piles.”
“Okay,” the President asked, “how many of these things do we have, and where are they?”
“Letterkenny Army Depot up in Pennsylvania was producing them and shipping them off to the Mideast, but they’ve got a dozen on hand. The Depot is still well-guarded and in good shape, and they’ve also got a few Bradley tanks. They’re ready to wade in.”
Ty said, “I saw a train of those Huskys over in Iraq. They move pretty fast.”
Parker nodded. “As soon as we are ready to go, they can probably get a caravan of the RCVs and Bradleys down here in half a day.”
“So,” Steele asked, “what’s the rest of the plan?”
“Clearing the South Lawn below the White House is Phase One. Once we’ve accomplished that – and hopefully we can get right up to the Rose Garden and the Oval Office – we position the vehicles to create our perimeter and get some emergency fencing in place. In Phase Two, we use trucks to bring in ground troops who will clear out the buildings, which obviously won’t be as congested; I’m thinking a dozen in the liquid Kevlar suits can handle it. Phase Three is a final clean-up crew and units stationed around the West Wing to secure all entry points. Phase Four, we set up video crews and we film a bird with the Presidential seal on its side landing on the South Lawn, and then following Madame President as she steps out and moves into the Oval Office.”
“Ames,” the President said, fixing him with an intense look, “be realistic: even if we can re-take the West Wing – and I think we can – how long can we hold it?”
The General shrugged. “I wish I knew. A lot of that depends on Moreby, and he’s still a big question mark. We just don’t know enough about him. I’ve heard him described as everything from ancient sorcerer to charlatan who was once a janitor. Now Gillespie has told us that Moreby may have some sort of mental control over the infected, especially the intelligent ones. We don’t even know if he can be killed in the same way the rest can.”
“That’s a lot of questions,” Steele said.
“Madame President . . .” Parker trailed off, apparently struggling with how to phrase something. “We need answers from New World Pharmaceuticals. If Gillespie can’t or won’t provide us with the intelligence we need . . .”
“It’s time for Landen Jones to provide some real intel.” The President turned to Steele and Ty. “Let’s see if we can’t put a little fear into Landen to loosen him up a bit.”
Steele smiled, anticipating an assignment she’d actually enjoy.
They waited until lunch was served and the mess hall was full of senators and representatives and staffers. Jones was there, chatting up several members of the Senate Committee on Health. Steele entered, accompanied by two of the biggest, baddest soldiers Parker had been able to round up.
“Mr Jones,” Steele said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the room, “I need you to come with me.”
Jones had flashed his trademark smile, glancing at his companions as if to say, “Okay, who put her up to this?” When the senators didn’t respond, Jones turned to face Steele. “What’s this about?”
“I’m here at the request of the President.”
Jones looked at her for a moment before nonchalantly turning away. “You’ve got no authority over me, Steele. If she wants to see me, she can set up an appointment time like everyone else—”
Steele flashed a look to the two soldiers with her, and they took a half-step forward, to where they loomed over Jones. Although he didn’t react, Steele was secretly amused to see the senators all inch away from him. “All right, sir – we need to talk about possible conspiracy and obstruction charges.”
“Am I being arrested?”
“Not yet. But I should warn you: proving uncooperative won’t look good if this goes to trial, Mr Jones.”
Steele had bluffed. She and the President had cooked up this plan to embarrass Jones in front of his cronies and get him into an interrogation, but they hadn’t gone into an extensive Plan B, in case Jones refused to come. “Conspiracy and obstruction charges” had popped into Steele’s head out of nowhere, but they proved effective – Jones rose to his feet.
“I really don’t have time for this, but if you insist—”
“I’m sure it won’t take long.” She stepped aside and motioned towards the exit. Parker’s soldiers positioned themselves on either side of Jones and walked him out. As Steele followed, she was pleased by the absolute silence she left behind.
They walked Jones to an office she and Ty Ward had set up just for today. They’d cleared all furniture but a simple, battered metal desk and two chairs; the room had been stripped bare of decoration and comfort. They wanted it to look as much like an interrogation room as possible.
Ty was waiting as they entered. The two soldiers deposited Landen in the folding chair behind the desk, and then Steele nodded to them. “We’ll be just outside,” one of them said as they exited.
The door closed behind them, and Steele leaned up against a wall facing Jones, her arms crossed.
“Well, this is comfy,” he said, the way he shifted in the hard metal chair indicating that it clearly was not. “Now, can we finish up here quickly so I can get back to something that matters?”
Steele shot a look at Ty, who smiled slightly. They’d discussed this in advance and Steele had opted for the role of tough interrogator, while Ty played silent partner. He sat in the other folding chair opposite Jones and pretended to take notes on his tablet.
“Landen,” Steele said, “we think you know more about Thomas Moreby than what you’ve told us so far.”
“Is that right? Well, I’m flattered that you find me so all-knowing.”
Steele uncrossed her arms and walked up to lean on the desk. “Cut the shit, Landen. I don’t like you, and don’t care who knows it at this point. You can play best friend to all of those senators and representatives, and they might be dumb enough to fall for it, but I’m not. I know your bosses at New World had Moreby until something happened. I want to know exactly what they did with him, what they learned about him, and how they lost him. I’m not prone to hyperbole, so you better believe me when I tell you that any future the United States has might rest on your answers.”
Jones at least dropped the near-perpetual smirk, but Steele didn’t like the look of hooded anger that replaced it. “So, what, Sandra, is this where you bring in the thugs from the hallway and torture me if you don’t like my answers? Maybe a little waterboarding for old times’ sake?”
“I don’t believe in torture, Landen. Besides, I abide by the Geneva Convention.”
“Great. How noble of you. Then my last question is – and forgive me if I’m not clear on the protocol in our current circumstances – do you have the power to arrest me?”
“I do . . . but I’m not going to.”
Jones started to rise. “Then we’re done here—”
Steele blocked his movement with her own body as she called past him, “Ty, what was the number of that bill again?”
Ty glanced at his tablet. “HR 203.”
“Right.” She turned to Jones, who had stopped moving halfway out of his chair. “HR 203. Remind me again what that bill is, Landen.”
Jones dropped into his chair, and Steele almost wanted to clap her hands in glee as an honest expression – of fear – finally crossed his features. “You know goddamn well what that bill is, Steele. And I shouldn’t have to tell you how important it is that it gets passed. New World’s close to developing a vaccine. They need all the resources they can get right now.”
“They need more than our military forces? The people who are keeping us safe?”
Jones fixed Steele with an intense glare. “You don’t want to fuck with this, Steele. I’m better at this than you are.”
Lowering herself down until she was just inches from his face, Steele said, with soft power, “Do you really want to test that, Landen? Do you really want me to pull each of those reps aside in a hallway and have a little private chat just like this one with them? I can make them very afraid. Hell, I don’t even have to get to all of them to make sure that bill fails.”
Steele heard breath huff from between Landen’s teeth, and she pressed her point. “Or you can do the right thing and tell me everything you know about Moreby right now.”
Jones looked from Ty to Steele and then said, “I want your assurance that you’ll not only let 203 pass, but you’ll even give it a little push.”
“The waterboarding’s sounding pretty good about now. No assurances, Landen. Just do the right thing.”
After a moment, he began: “It’s really not much more than what you already know . . .”