The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) (4 page)

Cruz knew what Gordon said was true; it was the reason he sent his family back to Cheyenne Mountain. “Then who is it?” Cruz asked.

Gordon leaned back. “I don’t know, yet.”

Cruz strutted over and stopped just shy of the table. He looked down on Gordon and said, “A bomb has just exploded in a church, killing dozens. Give me the number of this source so I can speak to them.”

“The number leads nowhere. I’ve done my own investigating; I’ve called the number, no answer,” Gordon said.

“We have more resources than you. Give me the number,” Cruz insisted.

“And what do I get?” Gordon asked.

“Someone murders fifty people and I need to buy this information?”

“Yes, I’m here to buy my people’s freedom and the price is information.”

“You’re playing games,” Cruz barked.

“This isn’t a game. What happened today is tragic, and more is coming, but I won’t just give you something this valuable without something in return,” Gordon fired back.

Cruz bit his lip and looked away. He was fuming at Gordon’s wheeling and dealing.

“Do we have a deal?” Gordon asked.

“Why are they trying to kill me?”

“Because you’re the president of the United States.”

“But why me? Why would they want me dead? I’m not Conner; in fact I’m the opposite of him. It can’t be the resistance; from what I hear, they’re warming up to me.”

“I believe it is the resistance, probably some radical wing who believes the only way to get a fresh start is to be free of the old regime, and you, my friend, still represent that.”

“What do they want?” Cruz asked.

“You gone.”

“No, not that, what do they want? Do they want us to collapse? Do they want us to pull back and hide behind the concertina wire, Jersey walls and barricades of Cheyenne?” Cruz lamented. He plopped back in his chair and gazed off.

“Maybe it’s more personal,” Gordon said.

Cruz let that sink in. Who would want him dead? Who hated him, personally?

“Here’s everything I know. I’ve spoken with this person, a man, six times. I don’t have a name but he knows your movements and must have known you’d be in that church.”

“Anyone would know that, I go there every Sunday,” Cruz said.

“That’s your first mistake right there; you need to change up your routine,” Gordon suggested then continued to speak about his source, 
“Whoever I’m speaking with has resources, but they must be limited because they now have asked for my support.”

“And why not give it to them? We’re at war.”

“Like I said, you’re a reasonable man. I’ve seen what you’ve done or, better yet, not done. You could have bombed McCall back to the stone ages but you’ve shown great restraint. You’re looking for a diplomatic solution to this. If I were to attack you like that bombing, that would only force your hand. You want to find a peaceful solution and so do I. And I don’t murder innocent women and children. I’ve been called a terrorist and rebel by some of the hardliners in Cheyenne, but I’m not that. I’m a soldier, a warrior, and I still believe in honor.”

Cruz looked up in deep thought.

“This war needs to end. Let us go in peace so we can repair our damaged infrastructure, so our people can live without fear they’ll be bombed or see a tank rolling down their street. If you attack us, if you bomb us, it will only harden our resolve. We will never stop and vice versa.”

Cruz didn’t reply. He was lost in reflection on everything Gordon was saying and what had just occurred in Cheyenne.

“We’re opponents, not enemies, Andrew. Let me help you. Let me find out who is behind that bombing.”

“This is so convenient. You call a meeting, tell me an attack will take place, it does, and I’m now supposed to just surrender three states to you. It just seems all too neat and clean,” Cruz argued.

“I would probably feel the same way, but all I can tell you is I didn’t do it. My people had no part in it. You have people close to you in Cheyenne who want you dead and want your administration gone. The thing is, I don’t want you dead, Andrew, and I don’t want the United States destroyed. I just want this to end and for Cascadia to be an independent state. Like I said, I can work with you. If the US ceases to exist, what fills that void? I can’t take that chance. You’re the devil I know, so to speak.”

“Let’s role-play this. If I agree, you will provide me more intel on future attacks?”

“If I’m privy to them, but the only real way of knowing when an attack will come, and more importantly who is behind this, is to have a team, led by me, join their ranks.”

“You want me to have you and a small team of yours sneak into Cheyenne, get into the green zone?” Cruz asked.

“Yes, I’ll be able to then and only then link up with whoever this is. He has to know I’m serious, so I need you to make a clear path so I can do it,” Gordon replied then gave more details of what he’d need to ensure a smooth operation.

“You want me to do this without informing my staff, my cabinet?”

“You don’t know who you can trust; this has to be done secretly.”

“And if I’m wrong about you and I get caught, I’ll be tried for treason myself.”

“You won’t be tried for treason.”

“You sound so confident. How do you know?”

“Because I’ll lead this team and we won’t get caught,” Gordon insisted.

Cruz’s phone rang.

“Go ahead,” Gordon said, urging him to answer.

Cruz put the phone to his ear and answered. “What?” Cruz exclaimed and stood up.

Gordon could see the alarm in his body language and tone.

Cruz leered at Gordon and asked, “What kind of trickery is this?”

“What are you talking about?” Gordon asked.

Gordon’s phone rang; he answered it, “Gordon here.”

“Get out of there now!”
John said with urgency.

The distinct thumping sounds of helicopter blades suddenly could be heard overhead.

Both men ran out of the building only to be stopped as a Black Hawk helicopter landed in the road.

Gordon looked overhead and saw two more smaller Little Bird choppers.

“Fuck.”

“What is this?” Cruz asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Gordon answered, shocked by what he was seeing.

When the door of the Black Hawk opened, several armed men spilled out and ran at them. “Arms up, arms up!”

Gordon now regretted not bringing a weapon to the meeting or at least stashing one. With no real chance of fighting back, he lifted his arms.

Cruz did the same thing and raised his arms in surrender.

“Come with us,” one of the unknown soldiers ordered as he jabbed the barrel of his M16 into Gordon’s back.

“Who are you?” Gordon asked.

“Get on the chopper,” the soldier ordered.

Cruz and Gordon did as he said and stepped on.

When the last soldier sat down, the chopper lifted off.

Gordon looked down to see John and Cruz’s men racing towards the post office from opposite directions.

The two smaller helicopters split up, with each engaging the vehicles.

The Black Hawk banked hard to the right, giving Gordon a better view. To the east several Humvees that were coming to assist Cruz were hit; thick black smoke poured out of them. When he looked west he saw John had been hit too. The Humvee was sitting motionless and smoldering in the middle of the highway.

Anger brewed up in Gordon.

A soldier motioned with his hands for Cruz and Gordon to put on headsets.

They did as he said.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” a familiar voice said.

Gordon looked into the cockpit and got a glimpse of the man speaking but he couldn’t tell who it was.

“I have to say how pleasantly shocked I was when I heard about this little secret meeting. I just couldn’t believe that two powerful men were meeting and without any real protection, so I had to take advantage of this.”

Gordon recognized the raspy voice. “Jacques?”

“Yes, Gordon, it’s Jacques, and again thank you for setting up this meeting.”

Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

General Baxter slowly walked through the rubble, debris and shattered bodies that lay strewn around the church. It was horrifying to see what one single bomb could do. In an instant these parishioners were dead or severely wounded. One second they were praying and celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ, the next they were gone.

EMS darted all around, running past him, frantically looking for survivors.

No one could find Cruz, and the last any had heard was he was scheduled to attend mass here. Thoughts of how they’d transfer power swiftly came to mind. With no vice president yet chosen, the responsibility of the presidency would fall on Edward Williams, the secretary of state. He'd replaced Wilbur upon her death, and Cruz felt it necessary to keep everyone in place who had been there before. He liked Williams and thought he could work with him as long as he remained the calm and deliberate man he’d gotten to know over the past few months. Williams wasn’t brash or opinionated like Wilbur and seemed laid back, to put it simply. He also found him easily persuadable, something he liked most of all.

The moans and cries of the wounded echoed off the charred and crumbling walls.

It pained him to see the carnage, but the scenes were becoming all too familiar now. The attacks at first targeted military; now it appeared they had struck at the heart of the government.

Baxter exited out the front and looked at the mad dash of first responders; no one seemed to notice him. He quite enjoyed being invisible.

A young officer, his aide, raced up to him and said, “Sir, we’ve just received word that Secretary Williams and Secretary Allen are dead. They were inside the church this morning; their remains were just identified at the base coroner’s office.”

Shock swept over Baxter.

“Sir, you don’t look well,” the officer said.

“I’m fine; I just can’t believe it. This is such a tragedy. We must gather what remains of the cabinet and meet in the executive offices.”

Several members of Baxter’s protection team approached. The detail leader, a young man named Ferguson, said, “Sir, you have to leave now.”

“I’m coming,” Baxter said, following them towards his vehicle.

Ferguson strode beside Baxter and admonished him, “Sir, you can’t abandon your protection team, especially in light of what just happened.”

They arrived at their vehicle and Baxter took Ferguson by the arm. “I appreciate your concern but never, ever tell me what to do. Do you understand me?”

Ferguson looked Baxter in the eye and replied, “But, sir—”

Baxter lifted his hand and motioned for him to be quiet. “Do you understand me?”

“But, sir—”

“Silence. The response I’m looking for from you is ‘sir, yes, sir.’”

Ferguson could see he wasn’t going to win the battle so he relented, “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Good, we understand each other,” Baxter said and got into the vehicle.

***

Back at the executive offices, people were beginning to show up, and the hum of activity was accelerating.

Baxter went to his office immediately; he opened the door to find a face he hadn’t seen in months. Eli Bennett was relaxing in his thick leather desk chair, his arms casually lying on his lap. Eli had been Annaliese’s driver from the hospital to Sandy, Utah, when she escaped. He had stayed in Utah, living a life of exile. When word of the bombing at President Conner’s speech and the subsequent death of Wilbur reached him, he thought it was time for him to return. However, he couldn’t return as Eli Bennett. Fortunately the refugee crisis made it easy for him to enter Cheyenne without documentation as he infiltrated the refugee population and walked right in. Over the past few months he’d managed to find a way to link back up with the resistance.

“Congratulations, Mr. President.” Eli chuckled.

Baxter looked behind him to see if anyone had heard the man’s comment and quickly shut the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been back for months. With all the confusion I was able to slip inside and make my way here.”

Baxter walked over to the desk and barked, “Get out of my chair. In fact get out of my office. I should have you arrested.”

“I heard the news, how exciting for you,” Eli smirked.

“You think I had something to do with that?” Baxter asked.

Eli rocked back and forth and said, “Of course we did it, but some eyes will be looking at you.”

“What do you want?” Baxter barked.

“You did have a motive,” Eli teased, knowing his jabs irked Baxter.

“I did not.”

“I say you did, and many people will be able to connect the dots.”

Baxter turned and grabbed the door handle but paused when Eli cautioned him.

“I wouldn’t do what I think you’re about to do. If I don’t return, several people will spill the beans on you. General Baxter, you, Wilbur and Pat were spearheading the resistance until you chickened out.”