File Zero. Джек Марс

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СКАЧАТЬ not Cartwright. Zero… two years ago, Cartwright was the one that sent me and Morris after you on the bridge.”

      “What?” A shiver ran up Zero’s spine.

      “Yes. He didn’t send the Division. He didn’t send any killer asset. The order came down the chain for your assassination and Cartwright didn’t argue it. He sent us.”

      A wave of fury rose like heat in his chest. Shawn Cartwright had pretended to be a friend, an ally, and had even warned Zero against trusting others like Riker.

      The pounding of the chopper’s rotors roared overhead as it hovered over Meadow Field. Alan leaned in and said in his ear, “Goodbye, Zero.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder and strode away to meet the helicopter as it descended to the tall grass.

      Zero hurried over to his waiting girls and hugged them both tightly once more. “I love you both,” he said in their ears. “Be good and take care of each other.”

      “Love you too,” Sara told him with a squeeze.

      “We will,” Maya promised as she wiped her eyes.

      “Now go.” He let them go, and they hurried over to the black helicopter. They both glanced back at him once more before climbing into the cabin with Alan’s help. Then the door slid closed, and the chopper lifted off again. Zero stood there for a long moment, watching it as it got smaller and smaller in the sky. His head was still spinning from the knowledge that Alan Reidigger was somehow alive, but knowing that his daughters were in Alan’s hands gave him hope—and all the more determination to survive this.

      Finally he tore his gaze from what was now a mere speck on the horizon and headed back to the car. For a few brief moments he sat there behind the wheel, wondering if that was the last time he would ever see his daughters. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was deafening.

      He reached over and turned on the radio just for some noise. A male broadcaster’s voice immediately filled the cab.

      “Our top story today continues to be the unfolding situation in the Persian Gulf,” the host said somberly. “Only hours ago an Iranian battleship fired rockets at the USS Constitution, an American destroyer on patrol with the Navy’s Fifth Fleet. In response, the Constitution returned fire, destroying the Iranian vessel and claiming the lives of all seventy-six crew members aboard.”

      They’re moving fast. A pit formed in Zero’s stomach. He hadn’t expected this to unfold so quickly. That just means I have to move faster.

      “The Iranian government has already issued a public statement,” the broadcaster continued, “in which they expressed their outrage over the destruction of their ship and proclaimed, and I quote, that ‘this event has been a clear and blatant act of war.’ Though there has not been a formal declaration, it appears that Iran is intent on igniting a new conflict with the US. White House Press Secretary Christine Cleary issued a very brief statement in response, stating only that President Pierson is fully aware of the situation and his cabinet is working quickly to convene the joint chiefs. He is expected to address the nation this evening.”

      So that was their next play. The Brotherhood’s attack on American soil would stir the people into a state of xenophobia against Iranians, and the “attack” on the USS Constitution was a timely follow-up to incite a war. The president would meet with his advisors, and they would convince him that a renewed conflict in the Middle East was their only course of action.

      Unless, he thought suddenly, he had a new advisor.

      He pulled a card out of his pocket and dialed the number on it.

      “Sanders,” answered the female aide who had approached him on the White House lawn.

      “This is Agent Kent Steele,” he told her. “We met earlier today—”

      “I recall,” she said abruptly. There was a tension in her voice, undoubtedly due to the recent events. “What can I do for you, Agent?”

      “I need to speak with President Pierson.”

      “I’m afraid he’s in a meeting,” said Sanders. “I’m sure you’re aware of what’s happening—”

      “I am.” This time Zero cut her off. “And that’s why I’m calling. This is matter of national security, Ms. Sanders. So you can either get me a meeting with President Pierson, or you can explain to him later that you stood between him and everything that’s about to happen.”

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      Less than a half hour later, Zero found himself once again in the White House, being ushered down a hall toward the Oval Office. He tried to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt, though it hardly mattered under the circumstances.

      He was admitted to the president’s inner sanctum, where he was surprised to find Pierson alone. Zero had expected a flurry of activity, a coterie of aides and cabinet members making calls, setting up laptop networks and communicating with a dozen different agencies and foreign powers.

      Yet there was none. President Pierson rose from his desk when Zero entered, looking as if he’d aged a decade since only a few hours earlier. His tie was loosened around his neck and the top two buttons of his pressed white shirt were undone.

      “Agent Steele.” Pierson stuck out his right hand, and then scoffed at himself and shook Zero’s left. “Sorry. Forgot about the hand. Jesus, this is a mess.”

      “I’ve heard.” Zero glanced about the office. “I have to admit, I was expecting more of a reception.”

      “The joint chiefs are gathering currently in the Situation Room.” Pierson sighed and leaned against his desk with both hands. “I’m expected there any minute. While I’m glad you’re here, Zero, I’m afraid this meeting is going to have to be postponed.”

      “Mr. President,” Zero pressed, “I have information.” The fingers of his left hand lingered near his pocket, inside of which was the USB stick. “Before you convene with the joint chiefs, there’s really something I need you to—”

      “Sir.” The door to the Oval Office opened just a few inches, and the face of Emilia Sanders peered in. Her gaze flitted from the president to Zero and back. “They’re ready for you.”

      “Thank you, Emilia.” Pierson tightened his tie to his throat and ran his palms down the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry, Zero, but my attention is required elsewhere.”

      “Sir.” He took a step forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. He had to throw a Hail Mary; there was no way he could let Pierson enter the Situation Room uninformed. “I have very strong reason to believe that you cannot trust the men that are advising you.”

      The president’s brow furrowed. “What reason? What do you know?”

      “I have…” Zero started, but he threw a glance over his shoulder to find a Secret Service agent standing in the doorway to the Oval Office, waiting to escort the president to the Situation Room. “I can’t explain it right now. All I need is five minutes. Alone.”

      Pierson rubbed his chin. He looked tired. “Come with me.”

      “Sir?”

      “Sit in on this meeting. Afterwards, I’ll give you your five minutes.” СКАЧАТЬ