President Conrad sat back in his seat, physically and emotionally drained and exhausted. This would be the first time since the Consortium attacks that the nation had been back on “Extreme,” something that he had dearly hoped to avoid. The Homeland Security Threat Assessment Team, composed of the Attorney General, the President’s Homeland Security Adviser, the Director of National Intelligence, and the commander of U.S. Northern Command, were in charge of setting the Homeland Security Threat Advisory level and determined the recommended “Protective Measure” response, which varied by agency and state depending on the location, severity, and gravity of the threat. It was not required by law, but before publicly announcing their decision, the Threat Assessment Team always made a courtesy call to the White House to advise the President of their recommended response.
“Sergeant Major, I think the American people are exhausted,” the President said, “and if we raise the threat level to ‘red’ again, they’re not going to react at all when we really need them to do so. Is the Threat Assessment Team absolutely sure that this incident rises to the level of a terrorist action against the United States? In my mind, it does not. It could have been an accident.”
“We’re suspicious about the tasking of those Mexican Air Force jets, sir,” Air Force General Gordon Joelson, commander of U.S. Northern Command, the unified military command in charge of the defense of the continental United States, interjected. “We’re trying to precisely nail down the timeline, but it appears that those jets launched from their base near Mexico City moments after the battle with Task Force TALON farther north.”
“I’m in the dark,” the President said. He looked perturbedly at Jefferson. “What battle? TALON was in a battle?”
“Yes, sir, about ninety minutes ago,” Jefferson said. “FBI Director DeLaine’s joint task force group, sent out to track down the survivor of the first terrorist attack near Blythe, had a shootout with terrorists, one of whom was identified by Major Richter as Yegor Zakharov.”
“Oh, shit…!”
“Zakharov had several heavy weapons with him and was obviously expecting an encounter with the CID robots,” Jefferson went on. “He escaped, after killing several civilians, injuring a Border Patrol agent, and…and capturing the CID unit and Major Richter.”
“He what?” the President shouted. The room exploded in sheer pandemonium. “Zakharov has Richter and one of the robots?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Jefferson said. “We’re tracking Zakharov down as we speak. TALON’s reconnaissance airship detected several encrypted satellite phone transmissions from the area, which we believe Zakharov made himself—they could not unscramble the message, but the transmissions came from a vehicle that turned out to be stolen, heading for the Mexico border at high speed. Minutes after the first few calls, the jets launched.”
“That could be a coincidence.”
“It would have been, sir, if the jets went on a normal patrol or went to a practice area,” Joelson said. “But we tracked the planes using OTH-B radar almost from liftoff, and it does not appear to have been a normal flight profile at all.” OTH-B, or over-the-horizon-backscatter, was an ultralong-range radar system that bounced radar energy off the ionosphere, allowing radar operators to detect and track aircraft as far as five thousand miles away. The system, based in Maine and originally designed to detect attacking Soviet bombers from the north, had been steered to look south to detect drug smugglers flying from South America. “Those F-5s made a beeline toward El Centro, even flying supersonic for a short period of time. My guess is that they were summoned to respond to the area that Zakharov was going to use for his escape route.”
“You actually think Yegor Zakharov or the Consortium has allies so deep and so high up in the Mexican government that he can order fighter jets to launch on a moment’s notice like that?” the President asked, although he didn’t dare believe it was so crazy as to totally discount it.
“I don’t know, sir,” Joelson said. “It doesn’t seem likely—the Mexican government is corrupt, but they’d be stone-cold insane to make any kind of deal with Yegor Zakharov so soon after the Consortium attacks against the United States. But there’s no doubt in my mind that those jets headed directly for the exact location where Zakharov was heading. I believe they were dispatched.”
“What about those helicopters?” the President asked. “Where did they come from, and where did they go?”
“OTH-B can’t see close to the U.S. border, and civil or military radars didn’t pick up anything until the incident was over because they flew so low, but we think the three helicopters involved in the incident came from Rodolfo Sanchez Taboada Airport near Mexicali, which also has air force and Ministry of Internal Affairs aircraft based there as well,” Joelson said. “Based on the range of those helicopters, they could have flown as far south as Hermosillo. The jets didn’t fly all the way back to Mexico City, so they probably landed and refueled nearby, possibly at Hermosillo as well.”
“My God, they got away with kidnapping and murder—and now Zakharov has a robot,” the President muttered. “Jesus, Jefferson, this is a massive screw-up.”
“The CID unit has several telemetry and tracking systems on-board,” Jefferson said. “If Zakharov tried to activate it, we’ll have it pinpointed in seconds. We’ll get it back. Zakharov will never get a chance to use it. But we need Mexico’s cooperation to track down Zakharov and get Richter and the robot back.”
“Maravilloso will never cooperate,” the President said. “Zakharov will either bribe or threaten her enough to convince her to stonewall us until he has a chance to figure out how to use the robot. What in hell are we supposed to do?”
“Mr. President, our path is clear,” Ray Jefferson said. “By executive order, Task Force TALON has the authority to pursue Yegor Zakharov and the Consortium anywhere on the planet—and that includes Mexico. We should reactivate them immediately.”
“I strongly disagree with the sergeant major, sir,” Kinsly said. “My opinion at this moment is that this incident was horrendous and ill-timed but an unfortunate accident.”
“Hold it, everyone, just hold it,” the President said. “I’m not going to send anyone until I find out what happened from Maravilloso herself.” He picked up the phone by his right elbow and waited until after the familiar “Yes, Mr. President?” query from the operator. “Get me the president of Mexico, immediately,” Conrad ordered. “Tell her it’s urgent.”
PALACIAO NACIONAL, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
THAT SAME TIME
“Where in hell is Díaz?” United Mexican States President Carmen Maravilloso shouted. “I called for him almost an hour ago!”
“He is on his way, Madam President,” her assistant said. “He phoned and said his helicopter was damaged, so he must travel by car. He may not be here for another thirty minutes at best.”
“¡Hideputa!” Maravilloso swore. “The President of the United States is going to call me any minute now, and the only explanation I have is this sorry-assed fairy tale! I want to talk with Díaz on a secure line, and I want it now!”
“Madam President, this is an absolute outrage,” Minister of Defense Alberto Rojas said hotly. “I never authorized those jets to fly near the border! Never! We have very specific rules about military flights near the border, and they all require…”
“I heard you the first time, General, I heard you,” Maravilloso said. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Pedro!” At that moment her assistant walked in. “Get Díaz in here in the next two minutes or I’ll…!”