“We know our satellites are picking up aircraft transponder signals correctly, Comrade Chairman,” the colonel responded, still standing at attention. “We have destroyed three aircraft and their pilots in Europe. There was one terminated in Australia early this morning. The other two reports are far out in the western desert and our termination squads are preparing for desert travel. There can only be one of two reasons why we are not picking up transponders in the United States. Either they have run out of fuel and have no way of refueling their aircraft, or they have turned their transponders off.”

“Why would they do that?” the chairman asked.

“All military aircraft use their transponders over friendly territory and turn them off during battle conditions, or over foreign soil if needed. All small propeller-driven aircraft can do the same. It is part of their pre-flight checks and mandatory internationally to have their transponders transmitting, Comrade Chairman.”

“Why would they suddenly go to battle conditions, Colonel?”

“If they aren’t transmitting for that reason, and we have no evidence to suggest that, it could be that they have realized that an attack might be imminent, or they have found out about our plans and termination squads,” the colonel responded.

“Impossible,” replied the chairman, snarling at the man. “My plans are 30 years in the making and our termination squads will die before they surrender any information, of which they have little. There is no way the Americans can know who is behind this ‘situation.’ It was made to look like a natural disaster—to them anyway—and with no communications, nobody should be able to organize anything. They should all be running around like chickens with no heads.”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman,” the colonel responded. The chairman ordered someone to fetch Comrade Wang. Several minutes later Lee Wang’s old boss appeared, looking tired.

“You wanted to see me, Comrade Chairman?” he asked.

“What is the latest information from our people in America?” the chairman asked.

“The ten squads on the East Coast are currently moving south and should be in a position to check out the airfield in North Carolina within 24 hours. There has been much more movement on the East Coast than on the West Coast. We really thought that the warmer weather would produce more work for our men, but may I suggest that we transfer the West Coast teams to the eastern seaboard, Comrade Chairman? We are going to be there two weeks earlier than on the West Coast, and this move will make our teams more successful at eliminating trouble and help the food ships arrive. Once everything is under our power, they will have two weeks to return to the West Coast and organize the food ships there.”

“I also have a feeling that something is wrong on the East Coast,” the chairman agreed. “Something is not right. Send all the squads in the continental United States in the direction of Washington, D.C. They will take at least three days to get there. Make sure they travel on different roads and in convoys of no more than five or ten vehicles. Travel during the day only, and do not terminate anybody in the farming regions. We are going to need those American farmers to produce food for our new country. I want a complete report as soon as the squads have terminated everybody at this airfield, or whatever it is. It could even be empty of people at this point. Why would anybody stay if there is no fuel to fly anything? Destroy it anyway. Tell the squads to go in fast and terminate everything they see, and then repot back immediately. Understand, Comrade Wang?”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman,” and Mo Wang left, noticing that the old man was getting tired and irritable. He needed to come back with good news.

*****

The president was waiting, as patient as a man could be with his country in the middle of a meltdown. It was with a sense of satisfaction that they finally heard the rotors of the Huey coming to get them. “About time,” he grumbled to the ambassador as they got up to leave. The president had a small overnight bag packed, and his wife and kids came downstairs to say goodbye. He gave them all a big hug and headed out to the garden.

“I don’t think you should be leaving the White House, Mr. President,” his chief bodyguard commented, worried about losing his control of the protection of the president.

“I understand your concern and I take full responsibility for my actions. I have a letter on my desk relieving you of your responsibility to me, but I want you to protect my wife and children in my place. I will be back here as soon as possible and then you are back in control, understand?” The man nodded. A direct order from the president was an order he couldn’t refuse.

General Allen came out to meet him and guided the president and the Colombian ambassador to the stairs the Marines had placed next to the door of the Huey. It wasn’t a perfect set of stairs, but it did its job. Buck rose vertically, turned the helicopter around and slowly climbed out of the White House garden as gently as possible. “It’s pretty neat in here,” the president remarked at the Huey’s interior.

“Thank Preston Strong when you get in tonight, Mr. President,” laughed the general. “Has Philippe been driving you crazy?”

“Not really. It’s been better to have someone around to help me keep what little sanity I have left. What’s the game plan, Pete?”

“I have your new bird ready and refueled at Andrews as we speak. We are changing planes and heading straight to North Carolina in about an hour. I’m leaving the helicopter at Andrews for your return flight. We should arrive in North Carolina just before dark. It’s time to introduce you to what we have, and then I have arranged for the best room at the Officers’ Mess at Seymour Johnson for you to sleep tonight. Unfortunately, we are anticipating some trouble in North Carolina tomorrow and do not want you there when or if it happens. I want to have you back at the White House by mid-day.”

The arriving storm was getting fiercer, and Buck had to concentrate to put Baby Huey and its valuable cargo down close to the gunship. The president and group departed and a dozen Air Force personnel grabbed everything out of the Huey—chairs and carpet, small fridge, and snacks— and moved them into the rear area of the AC-130, turning it into a more cozy area while the president had a hot cup of coffee in the Officers’ Mess.

A half hour later, they all strapped themselves into the uncomfortable side-seats for take-off, as it was going to be bumpy until they reached cruising altitude. Once the ride smoothed out, however, the three older men moved out into the more comfortable chairs.

*****

Preston was about to leave RDU. They had had a busy afternoon. As soon as the three C-130s left, he had organized Joe and David to take both armored cars and a jeep over to the airport for the guard unit to use for patrols.

He flew in with the FedEx Cargomaster and did a sweep of the entire area, including flying over the two burnt-out vehicles from the day before. They hadn’t moved, but when he saw three vehicles driving around to the east of the airport on the 540 beltline he flew low to inspect. What he saw was potential trouble-makers—several men aiming their rifles at him as he flew over at 500 feet. He radioed the information to Joe and warned him. Joe and David returned that they were spoiling for a fight but that currently it was all quiet and they were just getting onto the beltline.

Preston flew in to land, and after disembarking, he inspected the gate they had used for their entrances. It was still locked. He listened to see if he could hear any aircraft engines and all he heard was the odd rifle shot here and there. The wind was picking up, and he smelled a storm on the way. Preston waited a couple of minutes and then heard engines from different directions at the same time. A C-130 cruised overhead, and he radioed Jennifer to come in from the east. He hadn’t heard the aircraft in advance because of the noisy armored car engine that arrived with the tractor trailer, and he unlocked the gate.