Christopher Nuttall - The Trojan Horse

His skin was crawling by the time he was pushed into the Oval Office. McGreevy was sitting at the President’s desk, looking down at one of the reports she’d ordered from what remained of the government bureaucracy. She looked terrible, as if she hadn’t been eating or sleeping in several days. Toby wondered just how badly her paranoia was tearing her apart. She hadn’t exactly ordered a food taster to start tasting her meals before she ate, but he had a feeling that it was only a matter of time. A smell from a side table announced the presence of a small buffet, brought up by the staff and left untouched by the President. Toby felt a cold flicker of anger. Out on the streets, ordinary Americans who had never known hunger were starving now, while the President refused food that could have saved their lives. He would have bet good money that the staff hadn’t been allowed to pass the food to their own families, or even people from the streets.

“I am surrounded by traitors,” McGreevy mumbled. Toby wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him, or merely mumbling to herself. “They have lost control over the country.”

She looked up, with disconcerting speed. “The Governor of Kansas has been assassinated,” she said, sharply. “His successor has declared his intention to terminate all links with the federal government and arrest all federal agents within the state. I will not stand for it.”

Toby winced, inwardly. These days, federal agents were even less popular than radical fundamentalists from what was left of the Middle East. Local police forces were refusing to cooperate, while the population took pot-shots at them at every opportunity. The previous Governor of Kansas had been under massive pressure even before someone had popped a cap in his ass; his successor would know better than to cooperate with McGreevy — and the aliens — openly. It probably wouldn’t last — the aliens could take him and his government out with ease — but it would send shockwaves running through the entire country. The ties that bound America together were fraying.

“I have ordered the military to advance into Kansas and place the state under martial law,” McGreevy added. “They will punish anyone who dares resist…”

Toby wondered if she believed that it would actually happen. He doubted that what remained of the military would be willing or capable of invading Kansas, or any other state for that matter. McGreevy simply didn’t control enough to even threaten the state, at least not without the aliens backing her up. He studied her carefully, wondering if she’d finally tipped over into madness. How long would it be before she ordered him killed, merely for having served the previous President?

“They tried to kill me,” McGreevy said. “They tried to assassinate their President. Can you imagine that? How fallen must a man be before he tries to assassinate the President?”

Toby shrugged. McGreevy’s White House was surrounded by armed guards and the surrounding areas of Washington had been evacuated, the population moved to detention camps just to ensure that McGreevy was safe. He allowed himself a slight smirk at the thought of all those lobbyists serving time in a camp, before shivering at her tone. She was definitely heading into madness, and then… the President could do less to make things better than most people believed, but it was easy to make things worse.

“Your safety must be our first priority,” Toby said. He spoke in a smooth voice, one he privately considered his ass-kissing voice. The real President wouldn’t have been fooled, but McGreevy accepted it as her due. Besides, without her, Toby had no position in Washington. She would believe that he would be loyal, if only because he had nowhere else to go. “The White House is no longer safe.”

McGreevy looked up, but she didn’t bother to dispute his claim. “The attacks launched over the past week by the terrorists have all had one thing in common,” Toby continued. “They have all been mounted against humans , not the aliens. The troops deployed by the Galactic Federation” — he had no idea if McGreevy still believed in the Federation — “have not been attacked. Anywhere guarded by their men has been left utterly untouched. You would be safest on one of the bases they guard, at least until the situation is back under control.”

“True,” McGreevy agreed. “But I don’t want to give the impression that I am running away from the terrorists.”

Toby was mildly surprised. He’d expected her to leap at the offer. “We don’t want them to think that they have you buttoned into the White House,” he pointed out. “How about a state visit to Andrews Air Force Base? Once there, you could board Air Force One and remain aloft until the country was secure…”

Air Force One — or at least one of the several aircraft decked out as Air Force One — had been brought down by the aliens, but McGreevy knew that she was worth more to them alive. Or so she hoped, Toby suspected. How far had she gone into madness? There was no way to know.

“An excellent idea,” McGreevy agreed, finally. “I shall depart once I have seen the Cabinet.”

“It will take several hours to set up the security needed for your safety,” Toby pointed out. “I suggest that you go tomorrow, once everything is in place.”

“See to it,” McGreevy ordered.

Toby left the Oval Office, endured the search and headed down to his own office. If everything went according to plan, the resistance would have their shot at the aliens — and McGreevy as well. And if the aliens had managed to crack the codes the resistance was using, or if they’d managed to get a bug into one of the resistance bases, they were doomed.

He shivered. They were staking everything on one throw of the dice.

Washington DC

USA, Day 73

Washington was dark.

Mathew Bracken shivered as the SEALs made their way towards the collaborator base. Not out of the cold, but out of the sense that his country’s capital city — the shining city on a hill — had become a nightmarish parody of itself. Soldiers — not real soldiers, but collaborators — stood on every corner, watching for any signs of trouble. Most of the population had fled during the attacks on the city, or had found themselves herded into detention camps. The SEALs had already stumbled over evidence that the foreign soldiers had been enjoying the chance to rape a handful of American women, leaving them more determined than ever to win the war and extract revenge.

The enemy soldiers, no matter how brutal and unpleasant they were, hadn’t been trained very well. Mathew and his men slipped past them easily enough, using US-designed night vision goggles to navigate without lights. Some of the enemy soldiers had even set up giant spotlights, ruining their own night vision for no real benefit. All they’d done was ensure that the SEALs knew where to avoid. Getting into the city had been easy enough, but then that had definitely been the easy part. The next task would be much harder.

He held up a hand and stopped, watching for signs of enemy guards. Their base was directly ahead of him, a warehouse complex that had been emptied of food and turned into makeshift barracks for the pod people. Mathew was surprised they hadn’t taken over the Marine Barracks that normally provided additional security for the White House, but the Marines had probably taken the opportunity to thoroughly wreck the place before deserting, perhaps leaving a handful of IEDs in the building to make life interesting for the enemy. Mathew hoped that none of them had been turned into pod people, or reluctant collaborators. They were going to kill enough good men in the next few hours, even without counting the collaborators. Pod people didn’t have any choice. Part of him felt guilty, but he knew what was at stake.