Page 32 of V-Day
The demarcation between grunts and non-grunts couldn’t be more obvious, Daniel reflected. No wonder Doug Mulray looked as though he’d eaten all the bacon. He was standing on the top of the biggest heap.
Collins waved everyone to sit down and cleared his throat. “I need to bring you up to date on current developments. This is rumor control, so you can squash some of the incorrect hysteria floating about the building.” He paused, although he didn’t have to. Everyone watched him with total attention.
“Twelve hours ago, a heavy payload military grade drone was spotted entering US airspace near Galveston. It is leaking gamma radiation, enough to convince experts there is a high possibility the drone is carrying a nuclear payload—a warhead or dirty bomb. Eight hours ago, the leader of the Insurrecto faction in Vistaria sent a message indicating the drone was under his control, and unless we withdrew all military forces from the main island of Vistaria, he would direct the drone to drop its arsenal upon the White House. Of course the drone would be redirected from the no-fly-zone over the White House, but military advisors tell me it can launch a bomb from outside that perimeter that will still reach us here.”
The reaction around the table was about what Daniel had suspected it would be. Shocked expressions, some nods of acknowledgement where suspicions had been confirmed, and a general air of stiffening backs and resolves. These were the cream of America’s public service people. They wouldn’t buckle under at the threat of a dirty bomb.
No one was running for the door, either.
Daniel checked Doug Mulray. The dirty bomb may or may not be news to him.
His smile had gone. He was staring at Collins, his throat working.
Interesting, Daniel decided. Unexpected, too. Cold fingers walked up his back. Something was wrong.
Collins was doing his own assessing. He was a good people person. He could measure reactions, too. He nodded, apparently satisfied at the lack of outcry or panic. “I have not withdrawn our troops, of course, although I have halted their progress toward Lozano Colinas, the capital, while we combat this thuggery.”
A few smiles. Weak ones.
“We cannot shoot down the drone, for it would do the Insurrecto’s job for them.”
“More than that,” the Communications guy on Collin’s left said. “If the wind is right, we could scatter radiation across a greater portion of the DC area—even farther than the bomb could spray it, if it went off at ground level.”
Still no one broke out into hysterical protesting. They watched the President calmly, although Daniel could see pulses throbbing in necks and lots of tendons flexing under pressure. Damn, these people were good.
Collins nodded. “We can’t take back control, because the drone has been recalibrated. It will reach Washington DC airspace in three hours. Its direction has been confirmed by the Air Force, who are monitoring closely.”
Doug Mulray looked as though he was about to throw up. He wasn’t just white. His cheeks and the skin around his mouth had a blue cast. Sweat popped on his temples.
Daniel shifted, turning his shoulder enough to look directly at Rosa. He tilted his head just enough to point in Doug’s direction.
Rosa nodded. She eased her one good hand up and unbuttoned her jacket.
It wasn’t slow enough. Mulray was on the edge of panic, every sense hopped up and hyper-alert. He jerked, his whole body almost leaping out of the chair, as he lifted his head to look at Rosa on the other side of the room.
Collins, who had been about to speak again, hesitated. “You have something to say, Doug?”
Doug swallowed and in that controlled calmness, the sound of his throat working was loud. Everyone studied him, now.
His hand did a skittery dance over the files in front of him, as if he didn’t know what to do with it…or he did but was suppressing the impulse.
All three agents in the room took a half-step forward, their finely honed instincts alerted. Rosa put her hand under her jacket.
“Christ on a pony…” Doug Mulray breathed and lurched to his feet, knocking the chair over.
“Not in here!” Rosa shouted, as people around the table sucked in shocked gasps. She was keeping her head, telling the agents not to fire in a room full of people, including the President.
Mulray bolted, his hand slapping the door open.
Daniel didn’t have a gun to use. Instead, he swore and took off after the man, giving it his all. This wasn’t the jungle or sloping mountainside with soft soil killing his traction. It was high quality, tough commercial carpet, giving his treaded shoes plenty of grip.
Mulray was fast—he was running on a mix of adrenaline and cortisol, every muscle primed and pumping. It meant it took three seconds longer than it should have. Daniel bulleted down the corridor after the fleeing man, as staffers flattened themselves against the wall.
As soon as he was close enough, Daniel threw himself forward. It wasn’t a rugby tackle—he’d never played the sport. He used his body as a projectile, ramming into Doug’s back and taking him off his feet. They flew through three yards of air and landed heavily. Daniel didn’t mind the heavy landing, as Doug was under him and it was his skin which got scraped across the carpet.
Daniel got a knee under himself for leverage and flipped Doug over. He pinned down the man’s right arm and looked around for the other agents, the ones with the guns. This was not his country. He couldn’t arrest the guy or do anything with him other than bring him to a halt.
Rosa ran up to them, waving at everyone standing in the corridor watching. “Go back to your desks!” she shouted at them. “Stay out of the way! Go!”
