Читать книгу Death Card - Nick L. Sacco - Страница 9

Chapter 3

Some of the reporters walked to the podium, carefully picking up the red books like they were poisonous snakes. Some wept, some whispered among themselves; but most just stood in shocked disbelief.

Charlie briefly left Maggie’s side and snatched two of the books from the stage. Putting his arm around her, he guided her out of the tent entrance and into the night. It seemed that the number of security and military people had tripled during the press conference.

After parking Maggie’s car in a nearby fast food restaurant parking lot, Maggie and Charlie silently drove away from the Capitol in Charlie’s vehicle, the sights and smells of the press conference execution repeating in their minds like a clip from a horror movie. With a white-knuckled fist, Charlie squeezed the steering wheel of his older, black Saab, his right hand clenched on the gearshift between the seats.

At one point Maggie turned on the car radio, but all the stations simply played a loop of the same three Bee Gees songs. No DJ to be found, no jingles, no commercials. Some stations, off the air, simply played static. She tried her cell phone, but there was no signal. When she tried to call the service carrier, an automated voice instructed her to try again later due to unexpected high call volume.

Tossing her useless cell phone into her purse, Maggie finally broke the silence. “What the fuck is going on? They just murdered someone in the middle of a press conference, Charlie. Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

Charlie drove another block without responding. He guided his car onto a side street and stopped. He rubbed his temples, eyes closed, pulling his thoughts together. “A government has to control the press, Maggie, to control the people. Whatever this new government plan is, they want to make sure the public hears only what President Barakat wants them to hear, and nothing else.”

“I’m not a big history person, Charlie,” Maggie said, turning in her seat to face him, “I never have been. You, however, are quite the historian. What do you think is happening? Because, frankly, I’m scared shitless.”

He turned and reached across the seat for Maggie’s hand. “I had a social science teacher in high school named Mr. Renkin. He said, ‘Never trust a government that is critical of, or wants to control, the press.’”

He paused to look out the driver’s window. “What we witnessed tonight, Maggie,” he said, pounding the steering wheel with his fist, “screams of Stalinism. We just saw a news reporter, a human being, get his head blown off simply because he questioned a government official.”

“But they can’t do this, Charlie,” Maggie pleaded. “It’s a crime. We just had front row seats to a murder. The American public isn’t going to sit back and allow this.”

Checking his mirrors, Charlie began to pull back onto the street. He glanced at Maggie as he shifted gears. “The American public will never hear about what we saw tonight,” Charlie said sternly. “Phillip Elliott will simply vanish. This press meeting tonight with that bitch Koontz, will never be revealed to anyone. It will be as if this never happened.”

“We can tell people,” Maggie answered, sitting up straight in her seat. “We should go to the nearest police station right now and report what we saw.”

Charlie jerked his right hand up as quickly as a snake striking and pointed his finger sternly at Maggie. “If you say anything about tonight to anyone, even the police, Maggie, you’ll wind up just like Phillip Elliot,” Charlie warned. “They wasted Phil and he was a big name in the media. You think they’ll hesitate to make a third-string reporter or an Internet blogger disappear?”

“No offense,” he added, patting Maggie on her leg.

“None taken,” she replied, crossing her arms and looking out the window into the dark.

We should go by my office,” Maggie said suddenly looking at Charlie. “Maybe someone there has more information on what’s happening.”

For a moment Charlie drove without speaking. A large white fire truck, lights flashing and siren wailing, passed them going the other direction. “Good idea, Maggie,” he said, flashing a subdued smile.

As Charlie steered his car toward the office of the Washington Post, Maggie suddenly remembered the booklet that Press Secretary Donna Koontz had ordered them to take and read. She reached into the back seat and retrieved one, looking at the front cover title for the first time.

PRESS PROTOCOL AND PROCEDURES

Maggie went directly to the table of contents and began to read.

1. Prohibited and Illegal Media Reporting Acts

2. News Story Structure and Guidelines

3. Live Television and Field Reporting Directions and Regulations

4. Interview Questions and Techniques

5. Violations, Penalties and Punishments

6. Banned Content

“We’re almost to your office,” Charlie said, bringing Maggie’s attention back to the present.

Maggie tossed the publication into the back seat as if it were an old catalog. “There’s some really scary stuff in there, Charlie,” she said quietly, “and I’m just talking about the table of contents.”

“You think that’s scary, Maggie,” Charlie said, nodding out the front window, “look up ahead.”

Maggie turned to face forward and felt her heart flutter. The multi-floor office of the Washington Post was as dark as night. The normally busy and bustling 24/7 news building was black and empty. The only lights she could see inside were red EXIT signs.

Even worse, there were huge concrete blocks set up on the sidewalk, like the ones used on highway construction projects, that formed a barricade around the building. Bright lights, usually seen at an emergency or accident scene, lit up the street. Maggie counted at least twenty heavily armed soldiers, their rifles held at the ready, standing around the building. They looked serious and eyed Charlie’s car suspiciously as he drove by.

“Stop staring, Maggie,” Charlie ordered, focusing his attention out the front window.

Maggie suddenly felt a knot building in her stomach.

“Does this mean I’m out of a job, Charlie?” Maggie asked, turning to look out the rear window.

“It might,” he replied, glancing quickly at Maggie. “I’m purely speculating, but after what we’ve seen tonight I’ll bet money that when President Barakat addresses the nation tomorrow, he’s going to impose martial law. Why else would half the US military be out in the streets?”

“He can’t do that, can he?” Maggie asked, fishing in her purse for a hair tie. She began to put her long red hair into a ponytail. “Doesn’t he have to get approval from the Senate or Congress or friggin’ someone?” she asked, looking at Charlie for answers.

“Maggie, the only thing that stands between a free country and a dictatorship is a leader with a conscious. We both know President Barakat has been under attack from the Democrats and the GOP for a long time. And lately, it seems he hasn’t been afraid to show his anger when questioned about his failure in his domestic and foreign policies.”

Charlie pulled the car to a halt.

As Maggie looked up, she saw they were parked outside their favorite neighborhood bar. “Oh good, you must have read my mind. I really need a drink,” said Maggie. Charlie and Maggie had been frequent customers of Brothers, an Irish-themed pub, for about four years. It was the perfect little place, surrounded by step-up apartment buildings, and was home to some of Washington’s professional elite. Charlie helped Maggie out of the car and they began walking down the tree-lined sidewalk toward the entrance.

Near the door, Charlie pulled Maggie into the shadow of the building and whispered quietly to her. “Don’t mention anything about what happened tonight, Maggie,” he said. “Now is the time to be cool and calm and simply keep our ears open. Understand?” Charlie asked in a deadly serious tone. She nodded silently.

Outside the entrance, two men in suits stared at their smart phones, grumbling loudly to one another. “They should find these hackers and cut their nuts off,” said one, a short, chubby man with a terrible comb-over. His friend grunted in approval, held his cell phone over his head and began turning in a wobbling circle, seeking better reception.

Maggie could smell an attorney a mile away, and both these guys reeked of legal briefs and out-of-court settlements.

As was usual for a Friday evening, the pub was noisy and full of customers. The clinking of glasses and silverware added to the drone of voices and conversation. A young waitress with a long black ponytail draped over one shoulder immediately recognized them. Smiling and waving a pair of menus over her head, she motioned them to follow. They navigated through the front area of the restaurant, eventually passing pool tables and people playing darts.

Two drunks at the bar were causing a scene. One hefty man wearing a hockey jersey was berating a short, stocky waitress who stood, arms crossed, staring at him with a look of disdain on her face.

“This isn’t tonight’s game,” he slurred, pointing a buffalo wing at the big screen televisions mounted on the wall behind the bar. “I’m telling you, that’s last week’s game.”

Puffing out her chest, the waitress stepped closer until she was nose-to-nose with the drunk. “I know it’s not tonight’s fucking game,” she half screamed. “I heard you the first fifty times. There’s something screwed up with the satellite signal and WE. . . CAN’T . . . FIX . . . IT.” She turned on one heel and, with a huff, stormed away.

The drunk watched her walk away with glassy eyes. “It’s not tonight’s game,” he mumbled at her retiring figure, pointing his beer bottle toward the television as if it were a remote control.

Charlie and Maggie were led to a booth in a dark corner of the restaurant where the walls were adorned with sports memorabilia. Sliding into the booth, Maggie realized everyone seemed relaxed and normal. People laughed and drank. A younger man pointed a french fry at his giggling date, emphasizing something important and witty.

“What’s going on, Sally?” Charlie asked the waitress as she flipped open her ticket book and poised her pen. “My phone and TV are both acting weird,” Charlie lied, fishing for information. “Don’t think I’m behind on a bill or anything.”

“Don’t have a clue,” Sally replied. “About an hour ago, the Lakers game is on, then the satellite just goes off. When it comes back on, last week’s game is playing.”

“What about the other channels?” Maggie interrupted, purposely fishing for more information.

“What other channels?” Sally replied with an innocent giggle. “Most of the channels are off the air. I’ll bring you some water. Do you guys need some more time to decide?”

“Yeah, Sally, give us a few more minutes.” As the waitress turned and headed toward another table, a customer at a neighboring table leaned over to Charlie and Maggie.

“Sorry to eavesdrop on your conversation,” the older, well-dressed gentleman said, peeling off some dollar bills and laying them on the table. “I spoke with a cop at the intersection outside when I was parking my car. He said the word going around is that hackers have crashed everything. He said it was causing a huge mess,” the man said, opening his hands out wide for emphasis. “Probably the Chinese. Whoever it is, I just hope they fix it quick. I get grumpy when I miss my reality shows,” he said, letting out a laugh and heading toward the door.

Maggie reached across the table and tugged on Charlie’s wrist. “Finish what you started to say in the car about the president.”

Charlie began to fidget with a salt shaker, switching it from hand to hand. Raising his dark blue eyes to meet hers, Charlie began to speak in a hushed tone.

“All the rights we enjoy as American citizens can be taken away in a second, Maggie. President Barakat doesn’t need a national emergency to impose an executive order to suspend the Constitution. However, if something does happen or an incident is created, then he looks less evil. You know, the incident sort of justifies his actions.”

“Why does this sound familiar? Refresh my memory, Mister History Wizard.”

For a moment, Charlie stared at Maggie with a look of stunned silence, his mouth hanging open. Then, placing the tip of two fingers under his chin, he deliberately, and in a very animated manner, began to push his mouth closed.

“Did you have mono and miss history class as a child?” Charlie asked sarcastically.

“History wasn’t one of my strong subjects or interests,” Maggie said, pointing a fork threateningly in Charlie’s direction. “That’s why I went to journalism school. I keep you around to tell me what famous dead people did in the past.”

Charlie looked around, taking an inventory of the people near them, before speaking. “In 1933, Adolph Hitler employed the Enabling Act, which immediately gave him dictatorial powers. It would be the same if the commander in chief were to act on an executive order. It is basically the same thing. On paper, activating the executive order makes the president a dictator by eliminating our democratic process and putting the kibosh on the Constitution.”

Charlie paused for a moment to give Maggie a chance to think about what he had just said.

Maggie took a drink of water, the glass shaking in her hand. “You are right, Charlie. Now I really am scared to death. I mean, look at what’s happened. That Koontz woman gave us our new Bible, ordered the public execution of a well-known journalist, and now Washington is beginning to look like an armed camp.”

Charlie’s intensive gaze on Maggie was suddenly drawn past her to the sound of loud voices inside the front door, where a small crowd had gathered.

“Stay here,” Charlie ordered. He walked to stand at the edge of the small crowd. One man seemed to be the center of attention, waving his arms and speaking loudly.

As Maggie watched Charlie stand, his hands folded, she felt some degree of safety. Charlie wasn’t just some desk jockey like other guys she knew who spent their days on the phone and in front of a computer. Charlie belonged to the 1 percent of Americans who had served in the US military. He had been an Army Ranger before being wounded in Somalia several years before. Maggie met him when he was a war correspondent embedded with an infantry unit in Iraq. It was during the invasion and then occupation of the war-torn country.

Charlie, camera running, never hesitated to follow a squad of battle-hardened soldiers as they raced from a burned-out car to the alleyway of a building. Charlie would turn the camera on himself and give a cool account of the action, a wall pockmarked by bullet holes as his backdrop.

Charlie had been home preparing for a new assignment in Afghanistan when a horrible life-changing event happened in Charlie’s life. His young wife, Kathy, a nurse in the neonatal unit of a pediatric hospital, was tragically killed by a drunk driver. She was driving home after an evening shift at the hospital when the other driver, who had more DUI convictions than most people had socks, blasted through a red light. Kathy had barely held onto life, sinking into a coma on the way to the hospital. The drunk, however, had stumbled from the wreckage of his piece-of-shit pickup truck with a broken nose. His blood alcohol content was four times higher then the legal limit, and the floor of his rig was scattered with beer cans and empty whiskey bottles.

Kathy had lingered in the ICU on a breathing machine for weeks. Maggie had sat quietly with Charlie at the hospital until the fateful day Charlie made the decision to turn off the life support. He had sat alone in her room long after the doctor and nurses had gone. Maggie waited outside the hospital for Charlie for hours but finally left, deciding Charles wasn’t going to leave the hospital anytime soon.

Maggie was waiting in the wings when Charlie decided some months later to step out of the shadow of his wife’s death and return to his life and career.

Charlie was still standing on the fringe of the circle of people as the man continued to rant and rage. Several people in the crowd, including Charlie, asked questions. Finally, Charlie began walking back toward Maggie, a look of deadly seriousness on his face. As Charlie threw some money on the table, he motioned to Maggie that it was time to go. Grabbing her purse, Maggie joined him as they elbowed their way back through the crowd and onto the sidewalk.

“That guy is a limo driver, and he just came from picking up some big shot at Dulles. Says they’re shutting down the airport. No flights in and no flights out. He also said the airport is surrounded by armed troops.”

“What? Why would the armed forces surround the airport?”

“I have no idea. But it’s not just the army, Maggie. Homeland Security is on the streets as well. And who are those guys with the National Security Force? I have never heard of that agency before.”

“I hadn’t heard of them either until I ran across those NSF agents at the checkpoint,” Maggie said.

“So what now, Charlie? What’s the plan?” she asked, clutching her purse close.

“I think it would be safest if you stay at my place tonight. Then tomorrow we can listen to the president’s speech, just like that crazy woman Koontz told us to do. The president’s speech will hopefully clear this whole mess up. I just hope it doesn’t confuse things even more. In any event, we will know where we stand.”

As they walked through the dark toward Charlie’s car, a police helicopter hovered just a couple of blocks away. Its bright spotlight flickered back and forth illuminating the street below. A voice blared over its loudspeaker warning people to remain in their homes.