The president could see the nervous rustling of his guests, as all were anxious to get to back to work rather than spend time in a strategy meeting. As the leader of the nation, Ortega was ready to act.
“Jack, do what you have to. In light of these recent attacks, as well as those that are coming, I’m declaring martial law throughout the Union. Admiral Hagar, coordinate with whomever you need to and then deploy your troops. We have to get a substitute to the RDC up and running as soon as possible. The military — other than the RDC — must have talented operators and drones of their own capable of stepping in, don’t you?”
“The best of the best were siphoned off over the years to the RDC, Mr. President,” Admiral Hagar reported. “And then budget constraints have kept us from continuing with any extensive drone program within the main military branches, at least as far as domestic operations are concerned. Frankly, sir, the problem is not capacity, it’s coordination. The thing that made the RDC so effective was their ability to provide a uniform response to drone attacks. Right now we have literally thousands of drones being used as private security. In addition, each branch of the military still retains a skeleton drone program. And then there’s the estimated seventeen-thousand combat drones currently sitting idle and disconnected from command authority in the RDC bunkers.”
“Did you say seventeen-thousand?”
“Yes, sir. All slaved to RDC command. So you see, Mr. President, America does have the resources necessary to repel the attacks we’re experiencing — what we don’t have is a unified command structure capable of coordinating all the responses or a way to gain control of the RDC drones.”
“And adding to that, Mr. President,” Alice Grimes said, “nearly all the pilots at the RDC have been killed or targeted for assassination based on the Internet information disclosed. Even if the Center was operational, they wouldn’t have the personnel to mount an adequate defense.”
Ortega looked to his now stunned-into-silence replacement. He cast Murphy a pleading look, one that asked, in essence: Do you really want to take my place? If so… then, buddy, it’s all yours.
“Admiral, last night I asked you to assign one person to coordinate the response. I know it’s only been a few hours, but how’s that coming?”
“I have identified the individual and he’s beginning to form his staff.”
“Greg, I need action, not more bureaucracy.”
“I understand that, sir, and so does he.”
“And how do we get access to the RDC drones — all seventeen-thousand of them?”
“We have crews combing through the wreckage of the RDC at this moment, trying to piece together the comm links necessary to upload new codes. Once this is done, my guy will have to set up a new command center and bring in every combat drone pilot he can find. Even then, it could be several days before we’re making an impact.”
“I don’t think we have several days, Admiral. This thing is spiraling out of control, not only domestically but around the world. We need to shut this down, and I mean now!”
At ten forty-five that Tuesday morning, President Rene Ortega went on the air to announce the implementation of martial law throughout the country. He tried to assure a terrified population that this was strictly a temporary action and aimed at the foreign entities operating within the borders, and not against any citizens of the country per se. Courts would still function and local police would be available as they have always been. However, now the military would be deployed to protect vital national interests and guard against strikes on venues attracting large masses of people, such as shopping malls and sporting events.
In reality, mass gatherings of Americans were already becoming a thing of the past by the time the president spoke. The National Football and Hockey Leagues had already cancelled all games until further notice, while high schools and colleges did the same. With drones buzzing the skies of New York City, all plays on Broadway were shut down pending a resolution to the national crisis.
Within minutes of his announcement, the American Civil Liberties Union filed a lawsuit against the United States Government, claiming that a declaration of martial law was in fact unconstitutional in this instance.
Other civil libertarians began to organize protests against the declaration, with counter-protesters adding to an already tense situation.
A nine p.m. curfew was announced in Washington, D.C., as well as in other major population centers across the country.
It soon became the common purpose of the nation to limit the death toll from these ongoing attacks by simply not allowing any sizeable civilian gatherings to take place. Still, that left plenty of static targets to strike, and as if anticipating a lack of live targets, bridges, dams, overpasses and national symbols began to attract the attention of the killer drones.
Civilian militias began to form to protect homes, businesses, and landmarks. And as was expected, with police and military assets spread so thin — and with thousands of stores sitting vacant and vulnerable — the looters came out in force. By early that afternoon, seventeen of them had been killed by either police or military units, as the first troops began to take up positions to protect lives and property. In some cases, clashes erupted between militia groups and the authorities, which resulted in even more dead lying on the street. This only enraged an already angry population, and by early evening on the East Coast, full-scale riots were taking place in every major metropolitan city. Casualties stopped being counted and reported as the raw numbers soared past ten thousand.
The nation was in a total meltdown, and without the full brunt of the terrorists’ follow-up attacks having even taken place… at least not yet.
Chapter 15
Xander Moore and Tiffany Collins sat in silent shock as they listened to the frantic news reports on the radio of the Chevy Suburban. They had plenty of time to grasp the full impact of the disaster taking place across the nation, as it took five hours to make a drive that would normally have only taken two. It wasn’t the traffic that slowed the journey, even though there was a fair amount of it moving away from the cities and up into the mountains. In order to avoid detection, Xander had navigated country roads and surface streets from the city of Hemet, through Temecula, and over the hills into San Diego County.
It was approaching two in the afternoon on the West Coast when they made the transition from I-15 to Highway 78 in Escondido, heading west. By then the news from back east and across the nation was so grim that they turned off the radio and drove in silence along what was by now a nearly-deserted freeway. Xander worried a little about this, since the Suburban would now stand out. Yet being the typical government-type transport, most people would take the huge SUV for an official vehicle of some kind.
Everyone except the killers out looking for them…
Xander left Highway 78 at the South Rancho Santa Fe Road exit and crossed back over the freeway. Fifteen minutes later they were winding through the quiet streets of an area of San Diego County known as The Ranch.