Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

“Relax, Bill. Please sit down.” The president pointed at the spot just vacated by the secretary of defense. “I need some plain talk. I’m into my sixth year with most of these men, and they’re all thinking just as I do. I believe that we have lost some perspective, and I’m hoping you can find that for us.”

“Yes, sir,” McDaniels answered militarily.

“You don’t agree with my Iran policy, do you? Speak plainly. I want your take on the matter.”

“It is not my place to comment on policy. You have others who are much better versed in that.” McDaniels didn’t know whether to take the president at face value, or whether this was a test.

“An excellent West Point response — now, give me an honest one. That, General, is an order.”

“It is a mistake to reduce a country to the point you are hoping. It was done in 1919 with Germany, and that led directly to World War II. There are almost seventy-five million Iranians, and most of them have some degree of national pride. I don’t think we need to completely humiliate them before the world.” Less than two weeks into his term, and already he was having a policy break with the president.

“For what it’s worth, the secretary of state agrees with you.” The president sat down into the couch opposite McDaniels. “The French ambassador has requested a meeting; I believe he wants to serve as a mediator. It’s a little ironic that a representative of the country that manufactured and sold the weapons that started all of this is now interested in resolving it.”

“I don’t think ‘ironic’ is the term I would use, sir.” McDaniels barely knew the president and had no idea where this conversation was going.

“Do you think Moncrief could have been working for the French government?”

“Avanti did have a surprising amount of financial and intelligence support, but I doubt any government could have been involved. Governments are full of bureaucrats, and bureaucrats like to talk.”

“So you would rule out any connection between the government of Iran and these viruses?”

“I wouldn’t rule anything out, especially when it comes to the Iranians, but after spending time with Avanti, I don’t believe that he had outside support beyond the financial. It was important to him that people know what he himself had done.”

“So you think that this may have been just poor timing on their part?” the president asked.

“One possible scenario is that their attack on Ike was initiated without central approval. The Iranians are not a very homogenous group, and it is conceivable that a single base commander, believing that we were preoccupied with issues at home, tried to force his opinion on his reluctant superiors.” McDaniels didn’t believe that the Iranians were stupid, but attacking the Eisenhower battle group was as stupid an act as he had ever seen. The U.S. had more firepower in the region than three Irans, and if the order had indeed come from their president, or Grand Ayatollah, they must have been banking on a lack of U.S. resolve. However, since 1979, when Iranian “students” had held fifty-two Americans for 444 days, the U.S. had shown nothing but resolve towards Iran. The situation didn’t make sense, and McDaniels thought that the president’s approach was only making matters worse.

“I think that you’re probably correct. How much more time before we begin to finish what they started?”

“Six hours, sir.”

“Good. That’s time enough to meet with the French, work out a cease-fire, and announce it to the world. Before we completely lay down our arms, however, I want every nuclear processing facility in that country annihilated. If it has a centrifuge, I want it on fire by day’s end.” The president stood abruptly, and McDaniels jumped to his feet. They shook hands. “Someone will get back to you soon. Welcome aboard, General.”

Amanda spent one more night at the Flynns. Greg had flown with Oliver to New York, Lisa had made a wonderful pasta dish, and the two spent the night not talking about anything of consequence. The unspoken fear was that this was the last night they would share, and neither wanted to ruin those last hours. The presence of Reisch and the urgency of the moment began to grow in Amanda’s mind, and in the early morning hours, she left without saying good-bye. There really wasn’t any need, both ladies had said or left unsaid everything that was needed.

She still had her trusted Jeep, and she drove south along the interstate. Reisch was close, no more than ten miles, and despite the ban on travel, she breezed through the roadblocks without slowing. The soldiers seeing only an ambulance or military vehicle. Normally, she would be more discrete, but the connection with Reisch was so strong that he had to be just as aware of her as she was of him.

At Fort Carson, Amanda turned west onto Highway115. The town itself was small, but large enough to have its own contingent of National Guard troops at the west end of town. Amanda waved as she rolled through the roadblock, and the soldiers waved back. Reisch was very close now, but he made no attempt at escape. A shade of doubt appeared in her mind, and she could imagine the German well dug-in waiting for her frontal assault. She consoled herself by remembering their last meeting. He was unable to seriously harm her, but she had come within moments of killing him.

The trail ended at the Sunset Canyon Motor Lodge. Amanda drove into the gravel parking lot and immediately felt Reisch’s energy pouring out of room 112. There was an old Pontiac Bel Air parked immediately in front of it, and a screen door swung lazily in the early morning breeze. She parked next to the Pontiac and put the Jeep in park. Something was wrong; he had to know that she was here, yet he wasn’t moving. The heat of his malice stung her face, but the power of his mind was directed elsewhere.

Cautiously, she climbed out of her Jeep and approached the door. Her skin began to tingle, but Reisch apparently was so distracted that their proximity hadn’t charged the air like it did yesterday morning in the hospital. She touched the screen door and gently swung it open. The rusty hinges squeaked and Amanda almost jumped at the unexpected sound. The main door was slightly ajar, open enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about a lock, but closed enough that she couldn’t see inside.

Carefully, she pushed open the door. His presence was strong, but it still hadn’t changed in any appreciable way; he was still deeply preoccupied. The door had swung half way through its arc, and she knew something was very wrong. The very real coppery smell of blood rolled out of the cheap hotel room, and she could see a bare foot. It was a child’s foot, and it was covered in blood. Amanda stepped into the doorway and the extent of the carnage overwhelmed her. It had once been a family of five. Three children were arranged on the bed, arms — legs, and heads all severed, but neatly replaced. The mother had been tied to the headboard with electrical cord, stripped to the waist, and disemboweled. Both her eyes were missing, and streaks of dark blood flowed from each socket telling Amanda that they had been removed while she was still alive. The father had a single gunshot wound to the head. He sat at the desk, facing his slaughtered family. A small handgun lay on the floor inches from his dangling right hand. On the desk was a small empty satchel, the kind that would fit two small vials. A small note sat next to the satchel, and Amanda leaned over to read it.

“ Come find me, Amanda. ”

Oliver had never been to New York and was amazed at the literal crush of humanity; there were people everywhere. Chicago, even on its worst day was never this bad. The New York sidewalks were shoulder to shoulder and every storefront or stoop was packed full of people trying to push their way into or out of doors. The pace was dizzying, and he regretted not having the opportunity to step out of the picture and just absorb its energy, or perhaps just step out of the picture and rest. His own energy stores were just about depleted as thousands of minds assailed him every moment, and instead of blocking them, he had to let them flow over him. The negative emotions seemed to cling to him while the positive ones seemed to roll away, and he didn’t know how much longer he could manage. The consequence of failure was the only thing driving him past the point of endurance. He had been given this ability, this power, for a reason. God had not chosen him randomly, and he would not let these people, or his God, down.