Orson Card: Empire

“Which they haven’t done.”

“Which they haven’t done yet.”

Coleman pointed toward the water only a few dozen yards from where they stood. “There’s something under the water—there, there, there, and there. Maybe more farther out, but those four are the ones I can see.”

Reuben couldn’t see a damn thing.

“As a sailor, I’d be wondering if the disturbance in the tidal flow—it’s a rising tide, for any landlubbers present—hid a sandbar. It doesn’t, because all four of them are moving, slowly, with the tide.”

“Inward. Toward the city.”

“That’s the way the tide goes, sir.”

Reuben laughed. “So you’re suggesting that right here, when I happen to be having an unscheduled meeting with my new assistant, is the exact time and place that they’re launching exactly the attack that I planned for them?”

“Is there any reason why your presence here would confer immunity from attack?”

“I still can’t see them.”

“Sir, they’re making decent progress toward the city. I’ve never seen dolphins stay under the water in such perfect formation while making so much disturbance on the surface above them. In case you were thinking it was really big fish.”

Reuben pulled out his cellphone.

The bars kept going up and down, and the “Out of Service Area” message kept coming up, then going away.

Coleman had his cellphone out. It was showing the same thing.

“We’re getting jammed,” said Coleman. And without further warning, he dropped to the ground, fully prone. “Get down, sir!”

Reuben understood what Coleman believed—that someone obviously knew they were there, and might start shooting at any time. “Do five pushups immediately. One-handed,” said Reuben. “Then laugh like it’s a joke.”

Coleman did as he was told, then bounded back up to his feet, laughing. “You think they want us alive,” he said.

“They don’t jam cellphones when they plan to kill the caller,” said Reuben.

“You’re being set up,” said Coleman. “You’re the fall guy.”

“They have a complete set of plans for this terrorist operation, written by me, and I’m right here at this site.”

“Who knew you were coming here?”

“I always come here.” Reuben started walking toward Coleman’s car. “Get your keys out,” said Reuben. “You’re driving.”

“I’ve watched the movies. I know how this plays out. My car is going to get shot up and wrecked and fall into the river, and your car will be fine.”

“My guess is that my car won’t start,” said Reuben.

They kept up the casual walking until they were in the car. “Drive gently for a while,” said Reuben. “How fast were those underwater things going?”

“Slow swimming speed,” said Coleman.

“But this is the area where Fort McNair maintains listening devices.”

Coleman drove around the curve of the point and started back up toward the ranger station.

“A little faster now,” said Reuben. “If they’re following my plan, then they’ll switch on the submersibles and make a lot better speed the rest of the way up into the Tidal Basin.”

“And we’re going to intercept them where?”

“We’re going to the ranger station to make some calls on land lines. And to get some guns and some guys who know how to shoot.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Coleman. “They get out of the water, take off their scuba gear, and run across the Mall and attack the White House from the Ellipse? That area is so blocked off and guarded that they’ll be dead before they get close.”

“They get out of the water, they set up their rocket launchers just above the retaining wall at the inside of the Tidal Basin, past the Independence Avenue bridge.”

“Rocket launchers,” said Coleman, nodding.

“You can’t see the White House from there—the Washington Monument is up on a hill, and the White House is invisible. So for the past couple of weeks, they’ve been practicing how many degrees to aim to the left of the monument in order to hit the White House. And they’ve got the range set to the micron. They probably know how to put one through any window in the White House that they want.”

And they were at the ranger station.

They parked the car illegally and ran inside, ignoring the remonstrances of the park ranger who followed them in, shouting, “Intruders!”

Great. Here there was something approaching vigilance.

Reuben had his ID out and was flashing it to the security guard and then to the receptionist. “I would appreciate your close attention,” he said, almost softly, though with a great deal of intensity. He didn’t want them to be afraid, he wanted them to obey. “There is a possible attack on the White House coming out of the Tidal Basin at any moment. It will be a rocket attack. We need to notify the President to get low and get out. We need troops mobilized and sent to the Independence Avenue bridge at the Tidal Basin. And we need the best rifles you can muster with all the ammo you have at hand.”

“Tell us where to go and we’ll shoot,” said the guard.

“We’re Special Ops,” said Coleman. “We know how to use them.”

There was only a moment of hesitation. Then men began running. The bad news—but fully predictable—was that the receptionist said, “The lines are dead.”

To which Reuben said, “Then somebody get in your ranger jeep and get to a building that still has a phone. The Holocaust Museum. Not the Jefferson Memorial.”

The good news was that they were up-to-date weapons that seemed clean and had plenty of ammo. Reuben and Coleman grabbed them and ran for the car. There was a ticket on the windshield. Coleman turned on the windshield wiper and after a few swipes it blew away as they drove back along Buckeye Drive and then under the 395 overpass. “Who had time to write us a ticket?” said Reuben.

“It was probably an envelope filled with anthrax,” said Coleman. “That’s why I didn’t take it off by hand.”

“No, don’t turn there—we’re not going to try to shoot from the Jefferson Memorial. The Independence Av bridge and the cars on it will block any kind of clean shot.” Reuben directed him up to West Basin Drive as he checked to make sure both weapons had full clips.

“You realize this is Friday the thirteenth,” said Cole.

“Screw you,” said Malich.

They drove among the tourist cars until they came to Independence Avenue itself, which was completely blocked going toward the bridge, and had no traffic coming the other way.

They stopped the car and ran for it. Not that far along the bridge—but too far, if the terrorists had already made it out of the water long enough to have traffic blocked.

When Reuben and Coleman got onto the bridge, they saw two rocket launchers being set up simultaneously, while a guy with a protractor—a simple junior-high protractor!—was standing at a particular fence post and now was indicating where the launchers should be aiming.

Another guy—there were only the four in wet suits, as far as Reuben could see—was standing in the westbound lanes, which passed behind the retaining wall and did not go over the bridge. He was holding a sign.

“There’s more guys than that,” said Coleman. “Somebody cut those phone lines.”

“I wonder what that sign says,” said Reuben.

Whatever it said, it was enough to keep the drivers in place without much honking. And because of the blockage going that direction, traffic was stopped cold the other way, too. It would delay any military vehicles that might attempt to stop them. And delay was all they needed. With these guys, there’d be no escape plan. Though if they did happen to live long enough to get away from the Tidal Basin, they’d no doubt run to the Holocaust Museum and start killing Jews and Jewish sympathizers—which is what they would assume the Holocaust Museum would contain. Oh, yes—and schoolchildren.