The path had started as a gentle draw, but after about 15 minutes of walking it became steeper, and grew into low cliffs that had been invisible from the roadside. In the increasing daylight, Jennifer could see Richard’s decline more clearly. His shirt was covered in dirt and blood. He was sweating heavily and gasping for breath. Dried blood caked his temples. He suddenly looked 75, and she thought his hair had more gray in it now than it had 12 hours earlier.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “Jen, I need to rest. Just for a second. Please, I can’t go another step. Please.” Richard was sounding more pathetic by the minute.
“Richard, they’re behind us, somewhere. They’re coming. Every second you delay is a second closer to death. We need to keep moving.”
“Every second I climb this cliff face is a second closer to death,” he gasped, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.
“OK, Richard. Go back to when you were 20. Go back to basic training. Your original training wasn’t to fly Tomcats, or do housekeeping assignments for the CIA. Your training was for this moment. For right now. Take a deep breath. Reach inside you. The strength is there. It must be there. Tap it. Reach for it. Take another breath. Now let’s go.”
Richard did just that. He reached. And just like in the movies, he went. For another five minutes.
“That’s it, Jen. I’m done. I’m going to sit right here, in this spot. I’ll sit here, and for five minutes, Zak and I will enjoy the view. Or I will follow you, and be dead from a heart attack five minutes from now. Go on if you want to. I’m not moving. Zak and I are now sitting,” he proclaimed to the world, as he sat down on a rocky ledge, holding Zak’s tibia tightly to his chest.
Jennifer sighed. “Alright, Richard. We’ll sit for a second.” She could see that there was no point in trying to push him any farther. He was well beyond the point of rational discourse, and had descended once again into a state of babbling, drugged psychosis. It was noon, local time. Midnight, in Arizona.
46
“I can’t believe this,” said the President. “The arrogant bastards have actually announced which city they’re going to destroy? Before destroying it?”
His new Secretary of Defense nodded. “Yes. That’s what the fifth message says. They’ve named the city. Las Vegas.”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was also with the President and his chief advisors in the Situation Room. “We need to put major assets on the ground and in the air, sir. We can do that. We can create a 50-square-mile no-fly zone around the city. We can mobilize battalions of Marines in there. Say the word, sir, and we’ll move immediately.”
The President looked around the long boardroom at his many advisors. They seemed to be of one mind about this, and the President finally agreed. “Yes. Create the no-fly zone. Put our assets on the ground.”
The Chairman reached for his cell phone and gave some cryptic instructions. He put the phone away and nodded at the President in affirmation.
“I guess we need to consider one other issue,” said the President slowly. “Do we go to Threat Level Red and evacuate the city?”
At this point, Admiral Jackson weighed in. “We need to look at what we have here, starting from the beginning. Our best agent in Afghanistan, Goldberg, told us that a huge terrorist strike was in the making. He got killed before he could tell us anything more specific. We have this Emir character delivering messages, which have been broadcast around the world. He would never make those threats if he couldn’t deliver, we all know that. The loss of face would be too great. But if he promises to attack a specific target, and then does so, that’s big-time power for him. Then we have the aborted telephone call from Jennifer Coe, on Richard Lawrence’s mission. They found the sixth message, and the impact is obviously huge. But they were captured or killed before they could relay its contents. Put together, these things are of huge concern, and certainly justify going to Threat Level Red, at least in the Southwest.”
“I think you’re right,” answered the President. “What do you make of this Semtex thing?”
The Chair of the Joint Chiefs answered. “Maybe this is the Semtex, maybe it’s something else. At this point, I don’t think it matters anymore. Some kind of weapon is apparently now aimed at Las Vegas. Given what the NSA and TTIC are uncovering, I think it’s likely to be nuclear.”
“My opinion is that it’s a dirty bomb,” said the Secretary of Defense. “Somehow, a large volume of radioactive material is going to be combined with the Semtex, and it’s going to be detonated, somehow, somewhere, close to the strip. Could make the city uninhabitable forever.”
“I agree,” said the President. “Four and a half tons of Semtex could topple a building, even a couple of buildings. It can create a lot of mayhem all right, but from what I’ve been told, it can’t destroy an entire city on its own. There is only one way that I know of to do that, and that’s through the use of a nuke or a dirty bomb.”
“A dirty bomb will create a large radioactive area well beyond the range of the blast itself. It would certainly destroy the entire area,” agreed the Chairman.
“What about specific targets?” pushed the President. “Things like nuclear facilities, large chemical plants, that sort of thing. Do we have anything like that in the area, that could be a more specialized target for the attack?”
“Anything like that could create a lot of damage,” said Admiral Jackson. “But to destroy an entire city, he’d almost need a nuke of some kind, wouldn’t he?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said the President. “But our Intelligence Agencies are getting nowhere with that. We do appear to be piling up an incredible amount of material from Internet sources, but nothing concrete.”
The debate went back and forth. The Vice President suggested playing the fifth message once more. One of the technicians present obliged them by doing so. A screen descended from the ceiling, to display the powerful aura of the Emir, giving his message of hate and destruction.
Praise be to Allah and His foot soldiers. Give thanks to the prophet, Mohammed, and His soldiers of the jihad. Mighty are His works, and blessed be His name. After a perilous but courageous voyage, the soldiers are in place, even in the lair of the Great Satan, within the very walls of her house. The weapons of Allah are positioned, and the means of delivery have been secured, praise be His name. Within a day the great terror will strike within the serpent’s house. One of her great cities, a city of vile iniquity, will be destroyed. That city is Las Vegas, an abomination in the eyes of Mohammed, peace be upon Him. This city’s existence is a stain upon the earth, and Las Vegas has to die. All those who remain will perish with it…
“Joe, what’s the state of things on the ground in Vegas right now?” the President asked his FEMA director.
“Not good, sir. I have concerns that riots or looting might break out soon. The TV channels are playing the fifth message nonstop. There’s definitely panic. Look at some of the television feeds we’re getting,” he said, motioning to the plasma screens located on most walls of the Situation Room.
The FEMA director wasn’t exaggerating. Incidents of road rage were breaking out throughout the city, as people rushed to get out. Traffic gridlock had set in. The airport terminal was jammed, as were the bus stations and freeways. Mass chaos and fear reigned, and the social structure of the city seemed to be falling apart.
“Well, that’s that,” said the President, shaking his head. “Impose martial law on the city. Bring in the troops. We need to evacuate. We need to do it now. Get on it, gentlemen,” he said. “Get on it now.”