Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten Read online

  She nodded but didn’t answer.

  “Have you got everything?” he asked her for the second time.

  She nodded again.

  Ammon shifted in the seat and looked ahead. “The aircraft is waiting for you.”

  Sara followed his eyes. The military jet was blue, white and had no markings other than a small USAF emblem and U.S. flag on the tail. Her personal ride to Raven Rock. A fresh surge of adrenaline rushed through her and she took a deep breath to keep her heart from racing.

  She turned to her sons and whispered so the men in the front seat couldn’t hear. “I had a dream,” she told them.

  They looked at her. Something in her voice told them it was important, and they waited for her to go on.

  “A young man came to me. He was bright and beautiful.”

  Ammon cocked his head, his eyes solemn, his face expectant. “Who was it, Mom?”

  She looked away and thought for a moment before she turned back. Her two sons waited. A reverent feeling filled the car.

  “I don’t know, I don’t remember. It’s right there, so close, sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite remember. If I just had time to think about it . . . .”

  The major turned around again. “This is it,” he announced. The van was slowing down. “They radioed ahead and the flight crew is waiting for you.”

  The vehicle came to a stop and a waiting guard slid the side door open. “Mrs. Brighton,” he said as he extended a hand to help her out.

  She glanced anxiously toward her sons. The door at the rear of the van was opening as well, and another guard was standing there.

  There wasn’t time to think about the dream now. It would have to wait.

  She shrugged, and stepped out of the van and into the light of the bright sun reflecting off of twenty acres of white cement.

  Her sons came around the van to talk to her. There were a lot of men around so Ammon pulled them all aside.

  “You don’t have to do this, Mom,” he said again.

  She patted his arm reassuringly. “I know that, son.”

  “You could come back to the hangar.”

  She cut him off. “I know about my options.” Stepping toward her sons, she pulled them close. “It’s going to be OK,” she said.

  Ammon’s face was hard. He wasn’t certain. Luke’s cheeks were wet with tears. He bent down and held on to his mother—he was six inches taller than she was now—and kept his face buried in her shoulder. Ammon watched his brother’s forehead turning red.

  They held each other until Luke pulled away. A cold wind blew across the empty tarmac and a spatter of dry leaves danced around their feet. Ammon started to say something, hesitated, then glanced at Luke. Luke acknowledged his darting eyes and nodded back. Ammon took a breath as if steeling himself, looked up and down the runway, then turned back to his mother. “Mom, Luke and I’ve been talking.”

  Sara cocked her head. The introduction was familiar. It was common for them to stand together when they had some news to bear.

  Ammon glanced again at Luke. “You’re going, Mom. Sam’s already gone. We feel useless here. Useless and alone. There’s nothing for us here. Fact is, we’ve been pretty much useless since this whole thing started. We’ve been baggage, someone you had to worry about, that’s about all.”

  “No, Ammon, that’s not true.” She shot a terrified look at Luke then turned back to Ammon. “Don’t think that. It’s not true. Think of all the good you’ve done.”

  “We could argue it, Mom, but we don’t have time and we don’t want to anyway. But what I said is true. We haven’t contributed anything; we’re just a couple of young guys who’ve been along for the ride. We feel compelled to do something useful now.”

  “What, what are you saying?”

  The two young men didn’t dare look at her until Luke finally shrugged his shoulders. “Mom, we just want to help.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “You’re leaving. Sam and Azadeh are already gone.” He was repeating himself now. “If we stayed here, we’d just be hanging around and hoping they like us enough to feed us. Everyone is doing something. We think that we can do something useful, too.”

  The wind blew again, gusting a strand of blonde hair in front of Sara’s eyes. She swiped at it quickly, brushing the tears away at the same time.

  Ammon gritted his teeth. “We were talking to one of the sergeants at the security desk. You might have noticed him. Tall, black guy. Young. Anyway, he found out who we are, so he came to talk to us. Seems they’re looking for—”

  The two jet engines on the military aircraft started turning. A low grumble erupted from their cores as the fire within them started, the sound growing instantly louder and more powerful. They were standing fifty or sixty feet in front of the transport aircraft and they had to almost scream to hear each other now. A sergeant in camouflage fatigues ran toward them. “They’re waiting for you, Mrs. Brighton,” he said in Sara’s ear.

  She nodded to him, then lifted a single finger. He acknowledged her request for more time and stepped back, giving the family a final minute to say good-bye.

  “What are you thinking?” Sara demanded again.

  They huddled close together, Luke and Ammon continuing to shoot anxious looks between themselves. What were they going to tell her? How was she going to take it? They didn’t know. “The military is looking for volunteers. Of course, they always are. But it’s different now. Kind of like after 9/11, but way more. They need people to go around and help some of the most devastated regions,” Ammon said. “They’re sending men to Washington—”

  “Back to D.C.?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Is it even safe to go back there?”

  “I guess so, Mom.

  “Mrs. Brighton,” the sergeant cried, taking a step toward them. She tried to brush him off again but he was pulling on her arm now. The aircraft was starting to slide forward, closing the space between them. Ammon took a step toward his mother and she pulled out of the sergeant’s grasp. “Don’t worry about us, OK, Mom?” he said. “Luke and I will stay together. We’re going to be all right. But we want to do something—we need to do something to help. We know where to find you. We’ll let you know that we’re OK.”

  The sergeant was becoming agitated now. “Mrs. Brighton, we really have to go!”

  “Go, Mom. Be careful. Don’t worry about us. This is what we’re supposed to do—this is our time to help now, our calling,” Ammon smiled at her proudly. “We’ll be all right. And we’ll be back.”

  The sergeant tugged on Sara’s arm again, almost dragging her away. She went with him for a step or two, then pulled away and ran back. Grabbing her sons, she drew them close and held them tight. All of them were crying now, but they were no longer tears of fear. The Spirit settled on them. “I love you both so much,” she said. “I love you more than anything. I’m so proud of you. So proud. There’s never been a mother more grateful for her sons.”

  She pulled away and looked at them, her eyes opening wide now in surprise. “My dream! It just came to me! I remember it all so clearly now. The messenger who came to me, I remember every word he said.”

  “What is it, Mom? What did he tell you?”

  She brought her hand up to her mouth and leaned toward them, her face peaceful and full of light. She closed her eyes and smiled. “He said he wanted to remind me that the power that binds families is real. It’s real here on earth and it’s real in heaven, too.”

  TWO

  Raven Rock (Site R), Underground Military Complex, Southern Pennsylvania

  The tunnel was narrow, with a slippery cement floor and gray cinder-block walls. It sloped gently downward, leading toward the access door. There were at least six other entries into Raven Rock, most of them hidden inside various administration buildings scattered around the surface complex. There were also two deep tunnels that ran for many miles to the presidential compound at Camp David.

  The main acc
ess door into Raven Rock was hidden by the trees and protected by more guards, cement barriers, and bunkers than the gold at Fort Knox. Large enough to drive a truck through, the main access was not far from the main road. Its huge metal doors braced on massive hydraulic pistons had not been opened since the senior surviving leaders of the government had fled to Raven Rock after the EMP attack.

  In addition to the main entrance, there were other access doors, and the underground complex was not completely sealed. Some of the other entrances were used for supplies and service; some of them, like the one she waited near now, were secret entrances used exclusively for the exchange of personnel.

  She stood in line with forty or fifty other people. None of them were friendly and no one spoke to her. All shared the same concerns: their families left above ground, how they were going to find food and shelter, their government, the future, the whole mess of a thing. Looking at them, Sara could see the same cold desperation in all their eyes. Almost all were in military uniform, but there were a few civilians in casual attire and business suits. All of them wore coded, picture identification passes on colored lanyards around their necks: blue, red, yellow, green—the color of the lanyards obviously meant something, but what it was, Sara didn’t know. She glanced down nervously at her own identification. She had rehearsed her name, story and her reason for entering Raven Rock so many times she could have explained it in her sleep, but still she was nervous, her hands shaking, her mouth so dry she could hardly talk. If anyone stopped or questioned her she would probably just throw up on their shoes. She swallowed, trying to keep the bile down, but her stomach kept on fluttering like the wingtips of a bird.

  Turning, she looked back up the sloping tunnel. She had already passed through two security access points, the first on the military bus that drove them through the main gate into the surface compound, and the second at the door of the nondescript warehouse building that housed the entry tunnel into Raven Rock. The final, and most secure of the three security checkpoints, was still ahead.

  She checked her watch for the umpteenth time, then glanced down the line of waiting people. The line began to move and her heart lurched into her throat.

  One by one they stepped up to the final checkpoint. Three armed and very unfriendly military police checked their identifications, asked a few questions, and scanned their pupils with a portable iris scanner, passing the red beam in front of their eyes. The computer checked the electronic scans of their irises for a positive identification, then compared the scans against the database of personnel approved for entry into the compound.

  This was the most critical of the checkpoints. This was where it could all break down. This was where they would know if Brucius Marino’s people were any good. Had they been able to plant Sara into the access system? They had assured her that they had, but the truth was, they didn’t know. No one could know until she got there. She thought of James Davies, her mind racing with worry. Surely that had not gone according to their plan. Would she be another failure?

  They were about to find out.

  Moving forward, she wiped her sweating palms and took a calming breath. No big deal, no big deal, she gently reassured herself.

  She was next. She waited like the others behind a red line on the floor, an obedient member of the flock, then stepped forward when the first guard ordered her to advance.

  He lifted her identification card hanging from the red lanyard around her neck. “Sara Brighton,” he called to the second guard behind him while scanning the coded information on the back of the identification card. Sara waited, trying her best to appear uninterested.

  The second guard stared at his computer screen, which Sara couldn’t see, then motioned to a black keyboard mounted on the bulletproof glass wall that separated them. “Enter your access code,” he told her. Sara stepped forward. The keypad was covered with a curving black plastic cover, making it impossible for anyone to see what she was typing. She typed the access code they had given her, a code that changed every six hours.

  “Again,” the second guard told her.

  “Did I mess it up?” she blurted before she even had time to think.

  “Again!” the guard answered tartly.

  Her heart lurched again. The bile rose, her stomach fluttering. Time to throw up on the floor? She took a quick breath and put her fingers on the keypad, typing the eight-character code again. This time she moved her fingers more carefully and looked down, making certain of every key.

  He waited. The guard studied her, then motioned to the other. “She’s new in the system. Give her a FOX session,” he said.

  FOX session. She almost froze. She knew from her husband that a FOX session was Intel jargon for “Ask a few tough questions, maybe rough her up a bit.”

  The guard stepped toward her, his M-16 hanging loosely at his side. Sara turned toward him and almost fainted. He grabbed her identification card again. “Sara Brighton? Is that right?”

  “Yes, yes, Sara Brighton.”

  “And what is your reason for being granted access into the complex?” He looked down at her identification card again.

  After much argument, they had decided back at Offutt to go with something close to reality rather than invent a story out of whole cloth. “I’m a private consultant with the Department of Defense,” Sara started. “My husband was Neil Brighton. He used to work for the president. I’ve consulted with Family Support Services for a couple of years. We’re working on an emergency program to ensure support, pay and benefits to military families during a time of crisis, especially for those whose spouses are away.”

  The young enlisted man didn’t look impressed. “Who invited you here?” he asked.

  This was where it all could break down. If they checked it out, their plan was over.

  “General Cantera. He heads up Family Support Services.” She held her breath. They had timed it so Cantera would be in his afternoon briefing when she tried to get into the compound, making it more difficult to reach him if anyone tried to call to confirm her explanation.

  The soldier once again glanced back to the others.

  They had told her to stay with the story and not say more. They had told her to be silent and not to improvise. “Don’t screw it up!” they had warned her. “Silence is much better than handing them the rope to hang yourself. You’re not good enough, you haven’t been trained enough, to fake your way through.” But they hadn’t predicted that she’d be subjected to a FOX session, and she knew she had to say something now. Her instincts kicked into gear, and her instincts were good.

  “Look, maybe you don’t know how bad it is up there right now,” she said quickly. “Maybe to you it’s no big deal, all safe and sound down here. But if you’re a soldier with a family, a wife and kids, and you’re not able to be home to help take care of them, then yeah, it’s a big deal. We’ve got to figure out a way to help those who can’t be there for their kids. Military members and their families are one of our highest priorities right now. We have to ensure your families are taken care of. If they’re up there starving on the streets, none of our troops are going to stay at their stations. Our desertion rates will skyrocket. We’ve got to figure out a way to make sure the supplies of food and water are getting to the right people, and right now military dependents are one of the highest priorities we have.” She did her best to glare at the soldier. “I’m sure you agree. You want your family taken care of. That’s why I’m here. If we don’t do that, our military members will do what they have to do to help their families. If that means leaving their posts to feed their children—well, I think we both know what a mess that could be.”

  The soldier lifted his face and looked at her, his eyes now sad. “I’ve got two kids,” he said.

  Sara didn’t answer. Time to shut up now. Anything else she said would be redundant, and she needed to let him figure out for himself the importance of what she had said.

  He glanced behind him, then leaned toward her. “How bad is it out ther
e?” he whispered. “They won’t let us leave the compound—”

  She cut him off. “It’s bad. But we’re trying.”

  He watched her, then stepped back and lifted his portable iris scanner. She felt a slight sting as the iris scanner scanned her right eye.

  They waited. Sara tried to breathe. Had they been able to plant her identity into one of the most sensitive military databases the Pentagon had ever maintained?

  Ten seconds passed. The soldier glanced at her. She heard a soft beep.

  He stepped aside. “Step through the X-ray and metal detector. Take any electronics out of your briefcase,” he said.

  She almost cried with relief but caught herself. Exhaling visibly, she stepped toward the X-ray and metal detector.

  Four minutes later, she was in.

  THREE

  Raven Rock (Site R), Underground Military Complex, Southern Pennsylvania

  Everything about her said leave me alone.

  Sara sat in the corner of the main cafeteria, a sheaf of papers spread out before her, pen in hand, a laptop pushed to the side of the table. She looked busy and she kept her head down, not talking to anyone. The mess hall was always busy: day, night, it didn’t matter, the staff at Raven Rock worked around the clock and the cafeteria remained open around the clock. Although she appeared consumed with her work, shuffling her papers, scrawling notes in the margins, tapping on the computer, she kept her eyes moving, always looking for him.

  Twenty minutes later, Sara glanced at her watch. Almost 11 p.m. She’d been inside Raven Rock for more than seven hours. Still no sight of him.

  It had taken her a while to find the Supreme Court annex to the underground complex, a row of small but finely furnished apartments with tiny offices lining a narrow corridor with the Supreme Court chamber at the end. All of the offices had been empty. She didn’t know which office Jefferson had claimed, for he had his choice of nine, but not a justice, secretary, clerk, or lawyer could be found. She had waited near the hallway for a couple of hours, trying not to look conspicuous, but after being approached by a security guard, she’d moved on.