Blacksnow Zero Read online

  Camp David

  Thurmont, Maryland

  President Taylor jogged up the hill, his lungs aching from the effort. He followed the winding dirt trail, his legs almost ready to give out.

  This part of the Presidential retreat was a pristine forest, with tall spruce towering over him. Dense, verdant green vegetation sprouted everywhere.

  In spite of the dreaded exercise, he loved Camp David. He liked the solitude and the utter silence of the place. The only sound was his ragged breath and the occasional call of a bird.

  His wife, in much better shape and a faster runner, was somewhere up ahead on the trail. Behind him were two Secret Service agents, running at an easy pace.

  Taylor slowed his jog, then stopped altogether to catch his breath. He sucked in the fresh scent of the woods, planted his hands on his hips. He had sworn to himself that he would lose weight and had even started using the treadmill in his White House bedroom. The election wasn’t that far away. But he hadn’t realized how out of shape he was until he began to run this morning. Now his heart pounded, his mouth was bone dry, and his legs felt rubbery. His jogging clothes, drenched in sweat, clung to his body.

  “Are you okay, sir?” one of the agents asked from behind him.

  “No problem…Tom,” Taylor replied haltingly, gulping in more air. Then he took a swig from the bottle of Perrier he was carrying.

  After a moment, he began running again and crested the hill a few minutes later. From that vantage point he could make out the clearing below and just beyond that the cluster of rustic wooden buildings of Camp David. He spotted his wife, followed by her own Secret Service agents. She was still sprinting and was almost at the buildings.

  Knowing he’d never make it down there at a fast pace, he took another sip of water and slowed to a walk.

  When he reached the clearing, the agents spread around him and he continued his walk.

  Taylor saw a man in a business suit striding towards them. The president blocked the bright sun with his hand and recognized the man instantly. It was General Corvan.

  “Mr. President,” Corvan said, “we need to talk. In private, sir.”

  “Sure, General.” Taylor turned to the lead agent. “Tom, give us some space.”

  The agents moved away and Taylor turned back Corvan. “Let’s go sit by that tree. I need to get out of this sun.”

  The two men walked over to the large maple and the president sank to the ground, leaning his back against the tree trunk.

  Corvan squatted down, facing him.

  “I didn’t think getting in shape would be this tough, General.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But I keep telling myself it’s worth it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Taylor tipped the bottle to his lips, took a long swallow. Then he said, “What have you got?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you here, sir, but some new info has surfaced.”

  “On BlackSnow?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Taylor leaned forward. “Well?”

  “As you know, we’ve been trying to keep the status of Audrey Cruz quiet for as long as possible.”

  The president nodded his head.

  “Sir, we think a local news outlet has picked up the story. A TV station.”

  “How did it leak out?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Could have been the local cops.”

  “Crap. I wanted to keep her disappearance out of the media a while longer.”

  “Yes, sir. It looks like they’ll go on-the-air with it today.”

  Taylor leaned back against the tree. “Okay. I guess it was inevitable. Write up a press release. Say the White House will assist the FBI with the investigation into her disappearance.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “What else, Corvan?”

  A frown crossed the general’s face and the man hesitated, as if he didn’t want to go on.

  “What is it, damn it?” the president hissed.

  “Sir, it appears that a technical specialist not part of BlackSnow may have cracked an encrypted message about the operation.”

  Taylor scowled. “What the hell?”

  “He’s part of an intelligence unit at the Pentagon. An Air Force NCO.”

  “Air Force? Damn it. Those guys can’t be trusted.”

  “I know sir.”

  Taylor tried to control his rage, took a deep breath. “Go on.”

  “As you ordered, we’ve had NSA taps on personnel at the Pentagon who weren’t part of the operation. To make sure we could contain situations like this.”

  The president waved a hand in the air. “Get on with it, Corvan.”

  “One of the taps picked up a phone conversation of an NCO, an Air Force Master Sergeant. The sergeant mentioned BlackSnow several times and quoted specific, detailed information about the plan.”

  “Christ, all mighty. Okay, let’s not waste time, Corvan. Here’s what I want you to do. Get a hold of Garcia. Explain the situation. Let’s eliminate this problem.”

  “With extreme prejudice?”

  “Is there any other way, General?”

  “No, sir.”

  ***

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Erica Blake pulled the brim of her baseball cap lower as she leaned against the side wall of the duplex. She was waiting for the cab to arrive, staring intently at the car traffic on the street and the pedestrians on the sidewalk. But no one seemed to notice her and she relaxed. Shoving one hand in the side pocket of her cargo pants, she felt the reassuring shape of the .38 revolver.

  A yellow taxi cab slowed in front of the duplex and stopped. Glancing both ways first, she crossed the sidewalk and got in the cab.

  The driver, a swarthy man with longish hair, turned to face her. “You want to go to electronics store?” he asked in a heavy Pakistani accent.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “The closest one.”

  “There’s Best Buy on 14th street.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Five minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the big-box store.

  She paid the driver in cash, got out, and walked into the large building, scanning the aisles for computers. Seeing the sign, she strode over, began to peruse the wide variety of laptops.

  A young, blond kid wearing a blue polo shirt walked over to her. Flashing a smile, he asked, “Looking for a computer?”

  “No,” she shot back. “I need a new toaster.”

  He looked confused at first, then chuckled. “Yeah. We’ve got this Toshiba on sale.” He pointed to a sleek laptop with a big screen. “It’s a beauty. It has everything you’ll ever need. Multi-media capacity and –”

  She looked at the price tag. “Too much. I just need to browse the web and do e-mail.”

  Erica hadn’t realized how much she depended on the internet until she no longer had computer access.

  His eyes lit up. “Hah. In that case, I have the perfect machine for you.” He pointed to another, smaller laptop. “This Dell netbook. Ten inch screen. Super light-weight.”

  Glancing at the price, she picked up the computer. It was small and light and would fit in her backpack with no problem. “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to turn it on, try the keyboard first?”

  She glared at him. “I said I’ll take it! Is that so hard to understand?”

  The guy took a step back, said, “Sure. No problem.” Taking out a key from his pocket, he unlocked the case below the display and took out a box. “If you follow me, I’ll ring it up for you.”

  Giving him a sweet smile, she said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Ten minutes later she was outside the store, calling the cab company for a ride back. She had decided a few days ago not to get a car, but instead rely on the city’s public transport and cabs. She knew the NSA would probably be monitoring car registrations and tags, and hadn’t wanted to tip them off.

  As soon as she hung up she realized something odd was happe
ning on the street in front of the Best Buy. Traffic was stalled and cars were honking loudly. A large, unruly demonstration was streaming past on the sidewalk. The protesters were yelling and carrying hand-made signs with anti-Chinese slogans. The crowd was so large that it had spilled onto the street and the store’s parking lot. The marchers were heading east, toward downtown, but there were so many of them she couldn’t see where the line of people began. The group of demonstrators must have been blocks long.

  Glancing up, she saw a helicopter circling overhead. It had the local ABC News logo on the side. A chill went down her spine.

  Then a large van with the same logo pulled into the parking lot. A camera crew climbed out, followed by a redhead carrying a microphone. The woman pointed at the crowd, then at the façade of the store, obviously telling them to film the protest and the general location.

  As one of the cameras followed the crowd, a second one began scanning the building.

  Clutching the computer box under one arm, Erica decided to ditch the cab and get away on foot. Sprinting away from the front doors, she went into the alleyway.

  But she had the sick feeling the camera caught her, just before she ducked out of sight.

  ***

  Special Operations

  Marine Corps Detachment

  Training Facility, Building 14

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Bobbie Garcia was in his office watching a ballgame on ESPN when his cell phone buzzed. The Yankees were at bat in the bottom of the 7th inning and he didn’t pick up for a moment. A lifelong fan, he tried to watch the team as much as possible. The batter struck out and he unclipped the phone from his belt and took the call.

  “Bobbie,” he heard his wife Maria say, “it’s me.” Her voice sounded excited but worried also.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Sorry to bother you at work, but we need to talk.”

  He muted the TV. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “Bobbie, I’m pregnant.”

  Stunned, he uttered, “But you’re on the pill.”

  “It’s not perfect, you know that.”

  Shocked, sad, and elated all at the same time, he was speechless.

  “Bobbie, I know the timing’s not right. But I want this baby.” Then she whispered, “I hope you do too.”

  The image of holding a newborn infant in his hands, his own flesh and blood, flashed in his mind and suddenly his future looked brighter. A wave of excitement flooded him. “I love you, Maria. I want this baby too.”

  He heard her yelp, then she began to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just happy. Happy for both of us.”

  Garcia glanced at his watch. “Listen, I don’t have a current assignment. I’ll leave now and come back home for a bit.”

  “I love you, Bobbie.”

  “I love you too.”

  He hung up and was about to turn off the TV when his cell buzzed again.

  Taking the call, he held the phone to his ear.

  “Garcia,” he heard the general say, “we have a new problem. We need your team to take care of it. Immediately.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “I just sent you an encrypted e-mail. It has all the details.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead and Garcia took his laptop off sleep-mode and opened the e-mail. He read it twice, printed it out, and deleted it.

  Getting up, he left the office and went into the cavernous training room. Seeing Sergeant Thomas hunched over a partially disassembled M-60 machine gun, he called him over. Wiping his hands, the sergeant walked up to him.

  “What’s up, Captain?”

  “I’ve got something for you. Let’s talk in my office.” The two men went back to the room and Garcia closed the door behind him.

  He handed Thomas the printed e-mail. “Sergeant, there’s a situation I want you to handle. An Air Force NCO who works at the Pentagon. The details are all there.”

  Thomas quickly read the note and looked up. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Do it when the man’s off-duty. Take as many of the team as you think you’ll need.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re not coming with us?”

  “No, I need to head home today. I’ll be back tomorrow. Call me on my cell, if you need anything.”

  Thomas nodded. “No problem.” The man turned to go.

  “And Sergeant, as usual, memorize the note and burn it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Board of Directors Conference room

  ZQM Euro Bank

  Zurich, Switzerland

  Sitting at the head of the sleek conference table, Director Henry Mueller listened to the tall, thin man seated at the other end of the table, trying to restrain himself from interrupting. Felix Hoffman had always been a thorn in his side, but the man was a fellow board member and a very influential German banker, so Mueller tried to be diplomatic.

  Hoffman droned on for another five minutes, covering in detail the results of the bank’s quarterly earnings. This topic had already been reviewed by a bank staffer earlier in the meeting, so the repetition was unnecessary.

  The other eight board members were fidgeting in their seats and glancing at their watches when Mueller held up a hand. “Thank you, Herr Hoffman, for that excellent analysis of our earnings. You should be commended for your attention to detail. However, I’d like to conclude that part of the meeting and move on to another matter.”

  Hoffman frowned, obviously not pleased, but the other members quickly nodded their assent.

  Mueller spread his hands flat on the table. “As you all know, not long ago, we were presented with a very lucrative proposal from our American friends. Seeing the great value of this plan to our bank, as the director of this board I quickly accepted. Pending your approval and the approval of our respective governments of course.”

  Hoffman frowned again. He was the only board member who had objected to the proposal and it took every ounce of persuasion that Mueller could muster to convince him.

  “And, as you know,” Mueller continued, “we all finally agreed that we should pursue it.”

  Hoffman held up a hand. “I still think it is a bad deal, Director. The Americans cannot be trusted. As recent events have proven.”

  Mueller pursed his lips. “I wanted to review the deal, exactly because of those recent events. Many of you have been badgering me about the status of the arrangement, and this is the perfect opportunity to inform you of the progress.”

  The German tapped his Mont Blanc pen loudly on the table. “Please go on, Herr Mueller. This should be entertaining.”

  The director took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to control his anger. “My primary contact with the Americans is Megan Lewis, one of the most powerful senators in the United States.”

  Hoffman leaned forward in his seat. “A stunning-looking woman, something I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hope your relationship with her is strictly business, Herr Mueller.”

  The director’s face flushed red. “Please do not interrupt me again. I’d like to bring the board up-to-date.”

  The German held up his palms. “Of course.”

  “Soon after I informed Lewis that we had approved the proposal, President Wilson was assassinated. He, along with Lewis, were the chief architects of the plan. Since his death, the new president has been noncommittal. However, I have some excellent news to report on that front.”

  The board members leaned forward in their seats and several smiled.

  “Senator Lewis recently met with President Taylor and he was receptive. He is obviously new in his position, and I’m sure wants time to evaluate it, especially in light of the upcoming election in the U.S.” He paused for effect. “But I got the impression from the senator that it appeared he would support it.”

  The members of the board broke out into loud applause, all except for Hoffman. Wh
en the clapping died down, the German banker said, “Are you sure it’s not just wishful thinking on your part? We have a board election coming up soon and your position as Director will be voted on by all of us. As you know, I will be running against you. I may not be the most liked member, but I’m one of the most important. My own bank owns a significant number of shares in this firm, something I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

  “How could we forget, Herr Hoffman? You remind us constantly. Just remember, I have the support of everyone else here.”

  “Almost everyone,” the German retorted. “We’ll see when the election is held.”

  Glancing around the room, Mueller noticed a few of the men lower their eyes, as if trying to avoid his gaze. Not a good sign, he thought.

  He turned back to Hoffman. “It is not wishful thinking on my part. I believe the deal will go through. Each of us will be enriched in ways we could never dream about before.”

  “When will we know for sure?” the German asked.

  Mueller shrugged. “I would say it’s a matter of days.” He paused and smiled. “The Americans are fairly desperate for us to buy their Treasury bonds.”

  “Will you know by our next meeting?”

  The director nodded. “That’s ten days from now. Yes, I’m certain we will know by then.”

  8 Days to Zero Hour

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Erica Blake woke up with a start and for a moment was confused where she was. Sitting up on the narrow bed, she glanced around the cramped bedroom of the duplex apartment. It all came back.

  On the nightstand sat six empty bottles of Budweiser. She vaguely remembered watching TV while sipping beer, then nothing. Looking down, she realized she was still wearing the same shirt and pants from yesterday.

  Rubbing her eyes, she sluggishly rose off the bed, stripped off her clothes, and jumped in the shower. Ten minutes later she was clean and wearing fresh clothes – a gray polo shirt and baggy jeans. Pulling her damp hair into a ponytail, she stuck her omnipresent baseball cap on her head. Stuffing her gun, cash and phone in her pockets, she finally felt ready to go out. It was ten in the morning and her stomach was growling for food.

  There was a knock on the door and she peered through the peephole. Sarah stood there, dressed in her Denny’s uniform.