Naval Observatory, Washington D.C.
Andrew Russell had not slept for two nights. The Senator, his brother, the Secret Service agent and even the Secretary of Defense had vanished off the face of the earth. The attack by the CIA team at Sam Baker’s house had been a debacle, all eight men dead and the targets vanishing into thin air. The President was asking questions as to the whereabouts of his Secretary of Defense and even more worryingly, the press had cottoned onto the fact that nothing had been heard of Senator Charles Baker for days. Up until his failed assassination, he was giving sound bites twice, three times a day. His office could offer them nothing more than they had not heard from him either, itself a cause for concern as to why nobody was doing anything.
It was all a total and utter disaster. He should never have agreed to it in the first place but the Horsemen had been insistent, adamant that Senator Charles Baker had to be taken out of the race. They were due to arrive shortly and he was in no state to see them. Unshaven and disheveled, he was far from presidential. He had to pull himself together or the old fuckers would be looking to replace him.
His phone rang and he looked at it with no intention of answering unless it was of national importance. He didn’t want another update from the imbeciles trying to track down the targets. He recognized the number or at least the international code, 972, Israel. It must be Ben. Ben had been avoiding his calls.
“Ben?”
“Andrew, my dear boy,” replied Ben.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” said Russell almost breathlessly. His stress levels were off the chart.
“Sorry but to say I’m busy at the moment would be a monumental understatement.”
“Of course,” Russell was fully aware of the timeline Ben was operating to. “Did you have any luck with that little job we discussed?”
“Hmmm, yes, that little job. I’m afraid our priorities clashed at a crucial moment.”
Russell was in no mood for BS. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, the agent who had tracked your target was in a position to carry out her orders when all hell broke loose and a very dear friend of mine and of Israel’s became a potential victim.”
“Shit, the house in Georgetown?”
“Yes!”
“I can assure you, no harm would have come to James. I know he’s crucial to our plans and Ararat.”
“Nevertheless, I could not take that risk. We’re at a very crucial time for Israel. Your loyalties are split. These horsemen as you call them are a risk to our nation.”
“Without them, I will not become President and Ararat may be at risk.”
“Baker will not interfere with Ararat.”
“But the democrats will. If any of what has happened comes to light, our party will be destroyed in the polls. You can’t take that risk.”
Ben remained silent. He knew Russell was right. For Ararat to work, he needed a stable government in the US. The last thing he needed was a change of politics. It was imperative that Russell, or at the very least Baker, win to keep the quid pro quo.
“Shit!”
Russell could sense a breakthrough.
“Do you know where they are?” he asked.
“Yes, but I promised my operative she would be safe.”
“Give her new orders then.”
“She would not accept them. She has spent two days with the Secretary and Baker and knows they’re friends of Israel. She knows nothing of our plans and will not kill any non terrorists without very good cause.”
“Well give me the location then.”
“That, I’m afraid, is something I can’t do either.”
“I promise we won’t harm her or the Secretary.”
“Were you going to do it yourself, that may be a promise I would accept. However, you’re not and so I can’t take the risk. Your fellow Americans are well known for sledgehammers being used to crack nuts. The operative is my goddaughter and I will not risk somebody sending a cruise missile towards her.”
“But…”
“No buts Andrew, I will sort out your mess.”
Ben hung up. He had a call to make.
As Andrew replaced the silent handset, a knock on his bedroom door signaled company. His valet announced the arrival of four gentlemen.
Andrew asked him to direct them to the library while he quickly shaved and brushed his hair.
“Gentlemen,” announced Andrew as he entered the library, closing the door behind him.
Three of the men looked at Walter Koch, waiting for him to respond on their behalf.
“We,” the others nodded their consent. “Are very concerned of where we are.”
“Gentlemen.” Andrew poured himself a Scotch. He was feeling buoyed by Ben’s call. If the Israelis wanted you dead, you died. Simple. “Everything is under control.”
“Exactly how is everything under control?” asked James Lawson, his temper simmering. He was worried. His man had disappeared over three days earlier at a point when he was allegedly about to deal with the problem.
“I have just spoken to a contact and they’re sending a team to deal with it now.”
“Sending them where?”
Andrew had absolutely no idea. Ben hadn’t trusted him with that information but ever the politician. “That, gentlemen, will all become clear very shortly. Now please, let’s not dwell on issues that are resolved. I believe there were other issues you wanted to discuss.”
Walter looked at Lawson and received an imperceptible nod. Leave it and move on.
“We have two issues. The first is the nuclear weapon that is supposedly on its way here and the second is transport.”
“As for the nuclear device, there are no updates as yet but it seems this is well covered and our borders will pick up the device the second it comes anywhere near us.”
“Just like Texas?” asked Lawrence Harkness, sarcastically.
“Maybe. How much did you make out of that again?” asked Lawson. They all knew that Harkness had doubled his wealth following the atrocity in Texas but it didn’t stop Harkness complaining about it. He owned many of the military suppliers who had benefitted from the United States’ reaction to the nuclear detonation.
“It won’t happen again!” Andrew responded firmly and with conviction.
“Best cancel that new yacht you were going to buy!” joked Lawson to Harkness.
“Gentlemen, please,” asked Walter looking at the two billionaires who were constantly at each other’s throats. Walter knew that Lawson had made just as much out of the atrocity as Harkness and probably even more. Lawson’s stock in military supply organizations had shot through the roof.
“What’s even more troubling at the moment is this solar flare nonsense.”
“Sorry?” Andrew was taken totally by surprise. The solar flare had been the subject of a few briefings over the last couple of days but with other things on his mind, he’d avoided them like the plague. Another was scheduled for later that day and included the President so he’d have to attend.
“Jesus, have you not been watching the news?” asked William Hathway who until then had sat quietly.
“Honestly, no. I’ve not had time.”
“They’re suggesting that in about a week from now there will be a massive solar flare. I think it’s like an explosion within the sun which will cause some sort of geomagnetic storm,” informed Hathaway.
Andrew just stared at the four like they were speaking Greek. He had absolutely no idea what all of it meant.
“Basically, they’re talking about grounding every aircraft in the world for between three and five days!” explained Hathaway, the biggest landowner and farmer in America. To ensure top dollar, his produce was flown around the world. Grounded aircraft for three to five days would cost him tens of millions in lost revenue.
“Why the hell would they do that?” asked Andrew, stunned by the revelation and how he had missed the enormity of the problem.
“Some rubbish about magnetic field and proton storms being a risk to engines on a plane. The worry is when, and if, it hits, planes will fall out of the sky as their engines are knocked out.”
“I’m sorry. This is the first I’ve heard of this. What do you want me to do?”
“Stop it!”
“Explosions on the sun?!” asked Andrew incredulously.
“Grounding the planes!” shouted Hathaway angrily before getting up and leading his three horsemen out of the library and the house.
Andrew Russell just stared at the four empty seats. What next, he wondered.
His phone rang. The President wanted him in the Oval Office ten minutes ago.