The Trojan Horse (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Washington DC

USA, Day 47

The President looked badly shaken, as well he might.  Only a few hours had passed since the worst terrorist atrocity to take place on American soil since 9/11 – and one of the aliens had been killed.  No one knew how the Snakes would react to losing one of their people, or what retribution they would demand for humanity’s failure to keep him alive.  The United States had developed the bad attitude of allowing such failures to go unpunished, but the Snakes might take a different attitude.  And they had the power to make all of humanity pay for the crime.

Seated behind the President, Toby kept his face under tight control.  The terrorists – whoever they were – had accidentally pre-empted the plan to assassinate one of the aliens in Iran.  Whatever happened would give the resistance a sneak preview of how the aliens would react, but if it was totally disastrous...there was no way to recall the covert team in Iran.  A second alien was going to die, whatever happened...and Iran would get the blame.  If the aliens were capable of discovering the truth, God alone knew how they’d react.

The Cabinet filed in, one by one.  Security had been tightened ever since the Vice President had been assassinated, with several Cabinet members dispersed to other command posts in case of disaster.  The new Vice President should have been with them, but she’d insisted on remaining in Washington to stay in touch with the aliens – and her followers.  Toby knew that she was going to make political capital out of the disaster – if there was anything left of the United States after the aliens reacted to the event.  He was mildly surprised that they hadn't said anything yet, but reports coming in from the alien bases reported that they had been sealed.  The aliens had recovered the body of their fallen representative.  They knew what had happened.

“I think we can disperse with formalities,” the President said.  His voice was weaker than Toby had expected, suggesting that he was reaching the end of his tether.  Presidents were made or broken by how they reacted to crisis after crisis; they rarely had a chance to shape events for themselves.  “What happened and why?”

All eyes turned to the Director of the FBI.  With an alien involved, the FBI had automatically taken the lead in the investigation, something that Toby suspected relieved the other intelligence and counter-terrorist agencies.  The Washington PD was cooperating, even though police forces tended to resent the feds muscling in on their turf.  This was too important for any turf battles between uniformed politicians.

“The latest figures state that there were fifty-one fatalities at the scene, including one alien and twenty-two children,” the FBI Director said.  He sounded tired; he’d been in New York when the attack had taken place and had had to fly to Washington.  His subordinates would have briefed him extensively, but he wouldn’t have had a chance to see the raw data for himself.  “One hundred and seventy people have moderate to severe injuries requiring hospital treatment.  There may be others who are as yet unidentified.”

He took a breath.  “The attack was filmed live; the entire country saw,” he added.  “The terrorist apparently got through the security cordon at one of the weak points, apparently through the use of false ID.  When he reached the crowd, he drew his gun and opened fire on the alien while using the crowd to shield himself from Secret Service snipers.  A local police officer – the one who was fooled by the fake ID – shot him in the head.  At that point, the bomb he was carrying on his person exploded with terrific force, accounting for many of the injuries and deaths.  The emergency teams responded with commendable speed and doubtless saved a good many lives.  Once they’d recovered their dead body, the aliens provided emergency help for our wounded.  They probably saved lives too.”

“I think we can all be grateful for them,” the President said.  “And that leaves one single question; who did this to us?”

The Director of the FBI hesitated.  “We managed to pick out some traces of the killer’s DNA,” he said.  “It was extremely difficult to be sure that we had the right person.  Eventually, we had to go through the camera footage and run comparisons to be sure that we’d eliminated everyone we knew had been there at the scene – apart from the killer.  The DNA was run through the national database and we found a match.  He was once one of ours.”

Toby knew what he was going to say before he said it.  “His name was Blake Coleman,” the FBI Director said.  “He was once a former Marine.”

Blake Coleman would have said, Toby knew, that there was no such thing as a
former
Marine.  A
retired
Marine, perhaps...but it hardly mattered.  Coleman had been killed during the mission to save General Thomas from the aliens.  No one knew what had happened to the body, until now.  And he’d definitely been dead.  Toby’s father wouldn’t have left a man behind unless he was dead – and he would have been reluctant to leave the body.  What had the aliens done to the body?  Had they reanimated it somehow and sent it out to kill?

“A former Marine,” McGreevy sneered.  “I think we have to realise, right now, that those who resent our willingness to deal with the Galactic Federation have decided to take the offensive.  Those filthy bastards killed
children
!  They might even have embroiled us in war against an alien race of terrifying power.  We need to crack down on them, hard.”

“We’re running through the files now,” the FBI Director said.  “According to covert surveillance, Coleman was a member of several right-wing militia groups scattered through the United States.  He was noted as a training officer for several of the groups, training them in military tactics they could use against the federal government.  His pupils have been linked to reported thefts of military materials from various military bases and facilities.”

And that, Toby knew, was an outright lie.  Blake Coleman hadn't been involved in any militia, unless one counted the Colonel’s survivalist group. And the Colonel had been careful to avoid making waves that would be noticed by the feds.  His paranoia might have saved his ass, even though Coleman’s reputation would be forever blackened by being linked to groups that were, at best, wannabe freedom fighters.  Most of the militias were little more than men drilling aimlessly and talking themselves up as often as possible. 

He was starting to see how the alien plan was designed.  By creating a terrorist incident that could not fail to shock the nation, they would provide a ready-made excuse for clamping down on militias and any other groups that might pose a threat to the aliens.  Their assets – their pod people – in high places could be relied upon to deal with the militias with extreme violence, sparking off conflict that would only weaken the United States.  It was a pattern familiar throughout human history.  The invaders disarmed a population and then started cracking the whip.  Hitler had done it.  So, more recently, had the Taliban.

And, worst of all, no one would know the truth.  Blake Coleman’s remains had definitely been found at the scene.  His altered computer records would link him to militia groups he wouldn't have lowered himself to visit, let alone train.  And they would protest their innocence in vain.  They’d be crushed...and anyone who could be linked to them, even on the most spurious of links, would be destroyed.  The Mainstream Media would howl and demand new laws against militia groups...and the aliens, watching from high overhead, would wait until the chaos had subsided before revealing their hand.

“So we go after them,” McGreevy said, firmly.  She wanted to be President.  Right now, she seemed to believe that she
was
the President.  Or maybe she was honestly shocked.  She’d been the one to raise the issue of right-wing groups, after all.  Maybe the aliens hadn't told her what they’d had in mind.  Even McGreevy, surely, would hesitate at murdering children for political aims.  And
American
children at that.  No political career would survive even a hint of association with such a crime.  “We take the bastards out, once and for all.  We round up every member of every militia and put them behind bars...”

The FBI Director coughed.  “There is such a thing as due process,” he said, flatly.  “We will certainly be speaking to the militias as a matter of urgency, but we cannot imprison people just for shooting their mouths off...”

“God damn it,” McGreevy snapped.  “I’m not talking about people who are shooting their mouths off – I’m talking about people who shot at innocent
kids
!  And who killed one of the aliens!  Do you have any idea just how badly that could reflect on us?  We
need
the Galactics to help us, not cower in their ships for fear that some illiterate barbarian is going to take a pot-shot at them every time they show themselves.  We have to crack down on this hard!”

She glared at the President.  “The aliens are already offering assistance in hunting the bastards down,” she said.  “I need not remind you that that assistance may not be optional, at least for us.  Refusal could have the most severe consequences for us.”

The FBI Director leaned forward.  “We could round up every known militia member,” he said.  “The Department of Homeland Security has been tracking them for years.  But I am telling you that any halfwit of a lawyer will be able to file charges of false imprisonment on their behalf.  And then there will be a legal nightmare.  Many of them could only be busted on relatively minor charges, if that.”

His eyes narrowed.  “And it would certainly cause a major political upheaval,” he added.  “We had enough problems after 9/11.  This would be far worse.  We would be breaking into the homes of ordinary Americans and taking them away to secret prisons.  Some of these groups are not too tightly wired in the first place.  Give them a cause and blood will be shed – and then we will have chaos as well as everything else.”

“We have chaos already,” McGreevy said.  “One of these militia groups you seem inclined to coddle assassinated one of the aliens.  Do you have any idea what that could mean?”

Toby frowned, inwardly.  The aliens had put one of their own people in the firing line, sacrificing him to make the assassination look good.  It suggested a cold calculating mentality, unless the alien had somehow survived the gunshot.  Who knew?  The body had been removed to the alien shuttle after the blast and the cameras hadn't been able to give any idea of just how badly the alien had been wounded.  By accident or design, the alien recovery workers had sanitized the ground.  There was no trace of alien DNA. 

He stared at the President’s back, thinking hard.  What if there had
never
been an alien at the site?  What if they’d sent a robot?  No human could have spotted such a deception, if only because the aliens were inhuman and rarely made small talk with humans.  It struck him as chancy, but it might just have worked...and even if it hadn’t been a robot, the alien might have survived.  There would be no way of proving it, one way or the other.

“I insist, and I believe that most of Congress and the Senate would agree with me, that we take the strongest possible measures against the militias,” McGreevy said.  “They are in violation of a number of federal laws even without any involvement in the assassination.  And we have to convince the Galactics that we are doing something.  If they think that we’re not following up these leads to the terrorist groups behind the attack, they may take action on their own.  And I don't have to remind you that any action they take would almost certainly be utterly disastrous.  They have the power to destroy our nation.  They could smash us flat!”

Toby doubted it.  The aliens seemed interested in America's tech base – and that of the other First World nations – and wouldn’t want to destroy it, even though he had problems thinking of any logical reason why they would want something that had to be primitive to them.  Any alien retaliation against America would be limited, although ‘limited’ might mean losing a city or two.  Millions of lives were at risk.  And McGreevy had brought them face to face with the reality that if they didn't crack down hard, the aliens might take action on their own.  And then the shit would
really
hit the fan.

The President could have opposed her, but he didn't have the strength.  One by one, the Cabinet members consented.  McGreevy would get her way.  The militias – and anyone remotely connected to them – would be targeted.  Toby had no doubt that the media would work hard to ensure that the public largely supported enhanced security measures, even at the cost of a little freedom.  The aliens would get a weak and disarmed population. 

Bastards
, Toby thought.  He had to talk to his father, despite the risks.  They had to find a way of hitting back – because, he had the nasty feeling, time had just run out.

***