Once Ortega was off the screen and replaced with more talking-heads, Xander sighed deeply and said quietly, “This is going to be a fucking disaster.”
Tiffany looked at him, waiting for more to be said. When he remained silent, she asked, “What do you think will happen next?”
He shrugged. “First of all, we have to accept the fact that the RDC is gone, out of commission for at least six months. In the meantime, crews are going to have to get into the bunkers and start reprogramming all the flight controllers to accept new transponder codes. Then another facility will have to be set up where responses can be coordinated and acted upon, while they round up a couple of thousand qualified pilots and sensor-operators for the job. Oh, and did I mention we’ll all be living in caves and hunting with bows and arrows by then because there won’t be much of society left after the drones get through with us.”
“I thank you for that bright and cheerful dissertation, Mr. Moore,” said Tiffany with a bite in her tone. “But what I meant is what do you think will happen over the next couple days with regards to terrorist attacks.”
“Sorry,” Xander said, feeling embarrassed for his emotional outburst. He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past eight on the west coast, which means the sun will be coming up on the east in about eight hours. I would guess there are already terrorist units in place and ready to strike, just waiting for the outcome of the raid on the RDC. Now they’ll be given the go-ahead. It all starts tomorrow, Ms. Collins. If ever we could place a date and time for the beginning of Armageddon, this would be it.”
“All because one government agency was attacked?” Tiffany wasn’t sold on Xander’s grim view of the future. “I agree we’re going to see an increase in terrorist activities, and the Christmas shopping season may be impacted, but I have to believe we’re tougher than that, and that others will step up to fill the void left by the RDC. We still have all the military, the National Guard, local police, the FBI, CIA, NSA and a whole lot more.”
“I hope you’re right,” Xander said, “but the biggest question mark in this whole affair is what will Ortega do — what can he do — to make a difference? These terrorists know Americans and they know our institutions. It’s no accident that the attack happened when it did, and they couldn’t have picked a better time for their purposes.”
Tiffany got up from the couch and collected the empty teacups. Then she brought out a stack of thick cotton blankets and handed them to Xander.
“I take it I’m on the couch tonight,” he said, trying to act hurt.
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You did a pretty decent job of keeping me alive today, but yes, you get the couch. But seriously, thank you. I’m sure that if you hadn’t literally landed in my lap, I’d be just another name on the casualty list at the RDC.”
Xander grinned. “I couldn’t let that happen, at least not until I learned the name of your perfume.”
“Bella Faito—Beautiful Breath — I know, weird name, but it is pretty awesome, isn’t it.”
“That it is.”
With a seductive smile, Tiffany retreated to the solitary bedroom, and Xander Moore was asleep within minutes of the lights going out.
Chapter 11
After making the brief statement to the nation, President Rene Ortega walked back to the Oval Office with an angry and purposeful stride. His aides had trouble keeping up with him.
Why now? he kept repeating in his head. He was so close to making a clean getaway after a rather lackluster term. With no great accomplishments to offset this tragedy, he was about to be labeled for all eternity as the president who lost the drone wars to the terrorists.
As he entered the iconic circular room — now full of people from cabinet members all the way down to porters — he was determined not to go down alone. That bastard Owen Murphy was due in the Oval Office any moment, and Ortega was going to get that SOB directly involved in every decision his lame-duck administration would make during the crisis. Just let him try to weasel out after that.
He already could hear the conversation:
“I inherited a mess left over from the Ortega Administration, so it’s not my fault that things are so shitty. Blame Ortega!”
“But, Mr. President, weren’t you directly involved in all the decisions made following the attack on the RDC? Didn’t you sign off on the actions taken by the prior administration?”
As he slipped into his large executive leather chair behind the Resolute Desk, Ortega let the fantasy fade away. Even though he would continue to consider politics in every move he made, he still had a major crisis to deal with. He was known for his level-headed decisiveness, yet even this early into the crisis he knew he had to make some drastic moves.
“Everyone not cleared for Level One, get the hell out,” he said in a normal talking voice. He didn’t need to repeat himself. When the President of the United State spoke, people listened. Within seconds only eight people remained.
“Admiral, what’s the latest?”
Ortega was amazed that here, at almost midnight, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Gregory Hagar, was decked out in full dress attire, sporting an almost obscene stack of service ribbons on his left coat pocket and six-inch wide series of gold rings on each sleeve of his navy blue uniform.
“The RDC is a complete loss, which compromises our ability to activate the units in the response bunkers. We’re calling up every capable drone operator we can find within the service ranks and placing them on standby to assist civilian defense assets once an event is initiated.”
“So you also anticipate a surge in terrorist activity?” Ortega asked.
“Yes, sir, without a doubt. The field is clear — at least temporarily. It would be foolish to have taken such action against the RDC and then not act on it.”
“How soon can we have a replacement to the RDC up and running?”
Acting Secretary of Defense Alice Grimes spoke next. She had been Ian Graves’ assistant for only two years, and with him leaving the administration only two weeks before to pursue a consulting job in private industry, she was a placeholder appointment until Murphy replaced her.
“Each branch of the military has a small drone program of their own going, yet after the consolidation debate of four years ago, all major operations were shifted to the RDC.” She looked to Admiral Hagar for moral support. “The most we can expect is about ten percent of the capacity of the RDC for civil defense, and that’s through four specific chains of command.”
“Bullshit! There’s only one chain of command, and it ends right here,” Ortega barked. “Admiral, assign your most competent senior officer to coordinate all military drone activity. All branches, everyone, will answer to him… or her. If you hear any grumblings from anyone, can their asses and get someone in who will follow orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go ahead, Alice. Is there more?”
Just as Grimes was about to continue, the thick entry door to the Oval Office flew open and President-Elect Owen Murphy strode in as if it were his office already. He was followed by no fewer than six aides and advisors. Even though Ortega had invited him to the strategy meeting, his jaw still clenched at the arrogance and disruptive nature of his entrance.