Midnight by Anna Dove (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

This system had only been used once before, by former President Jimmy Carter, when there was reported a nuclear submarine targeting Washington. The Greenbrier Bunker was thought to have been compromised. However, the alarm had been false and the evacuation was quickly reversed in a matter of thirty six hours, and the entire scenario kept from the public eye. Every year, the Department of Defense regularly updated and tested the bunker, keeping it in prime condition and stocked with emergency food and medical supplies.

The train had now departed Washington, having been authorized by the president. He sat in the front car with his wife, whose usually animated face was stone cold. Reed sat with them, motionless and expressionless, staring at the door at the end of their car. No one spoke, as there was nothing to be said; the enormity of the situation loomed before them and silenced their tongues.

In the cars following sat a group of individuals who had been at the White House when the attack hit. There were the West Wing assembly, comprising the Principal Deputy Press Secretary Gordon Tarnes, the Press Secretary Milton Brando, the Communications Director Angelica Martinez, the National Security Advisor Franklin Simons and his deputy Bill Clark, the Executive Assistant to the President Mary Jo Anderson. The Director of the CIA, Danika Limon, had been in the building as well, with two well-known generals: Braddock and Simpson. The Vice President was in Los Angeles, and no one had heard anything from him.

They would be joined later, per the protocol, by many others: the Secretary of Defense Arnold Adams and the directors of the FBI and NSA Hilton and Perkins.The Capitol Police Force would also escort down any members of Congress or Supreme Court Justices that they could find.

As the train sped southward, the company sat with their hands clasped, their knuckles white, their eyes either closed in prayer or darting back and forth in deep thought. No one moved; rather they sat like stone soldiers welded to their seats.

“Fuck,” Gordon Tarnes broke out suddenly, looking apoplectic, “Is no one going to say anything?”

Tarnes was a small, cleanly cut individual. He led his press briefings with vigor and precision, and moved rather like a cat, dashing from one place to the next with a trail of assistants and reporters in his wake. He was a brainy fellow, well-spoken, but physically quite unassuming, especially in comparison to the broad shouldered Braddock and Simpson, who sat across from him with the stars flashing on their crisp uniforms. Braddock and Simpson looked like brothers, both with oversized width and height, giant knobby hands, square jaws and deep set scowling brow. Braddock was slightly larger.

“Take a breath, Tarnes,” said Simpson, in a somber tone with incredible resonance in its depth.

Mary Jo Anderson burst into tears. She was young, perhaps thirty. In a sudden, jerky gesture she moved her hands to her face, her body shaking, then lept from her seat to go stand with her back to the company in the far corner of the car.

“It’s too much,” said Tarnes under his breath, and began to wring his hands and tap his foot on the floor frantically.

“How the hell did you let this happen?” he shouted abruptly, standing and gesturing at Simons, Clark and Limon. Hostility percolated in the air. “You failed to do your job. How the hell did you let this happen?”

Clark rose to his feet and Limon pulled him back down. Clark was a short, squat man with bulging eyes and Limon was an older woman with leathery skin and sleek gray hair. She placed a restraining hand on Clark’s shoulder as the man sat fuming at the accusation.

“Sir, I assure you it was not of our doing or of our failing.”

Mary Jo Anderson had turned from the wall, her tears drying in her surprise at the argumentative turn of events.

“Then explain to me,” seethed Tarnes, spittle flying as he spoke, “What happened? How did the most elaborate and exhaustive attack on the United States occur without you catching an iota of an inkling that it would?”

Clark rose to his feet again and this time Limon could not hold him back. Clark sprang at Tarnes, but before he could reach his target, a massive hand grabbed him by the collar and flung him back onto his seat, where he stared upward in shock. Braddock towered between the two, and Tarnes thought it wise to sit.

Braddock turned around the room, keeping eye contact. He had bright blue eyes that blazed daringly at the company.

“There will be no accusations,” he said calmly, but the tone struck a chill into the hearts of all. “I refuse to let you all take out your fear, anger, and bewilderment on each other. No one in this room was responsible for anything. Get that into your heads. There will be no accusations. Each and every one of you is here because the President trusts you and needs you. You would be fools to forget that. Now shut the hell up.”

Tarnes squirmed but he wisely held his tongue as the general spoke. Mary Jo Anderson also slipped intimidated to her seat, as Braddock glanced her way

The train sped on along the dark tunnel, closer and closer to Chimaugua.

+

The Capitol building is quite impressive, stretching out wide with its Greco-Roman architecture. It lends a certain prestige to those who serve within it; they seem to be elevated to a demigodic level. Their brains are the powerhouses of our laws. They drive society forward (or backward, if you are a skeptical reader) in a fiery fight, pushing and pulling left and right like an eternal game of Tug of War. They negotiate, they postulate, they accuse, they wax eloquent, they fail, they succeed, they lose, they win. Each member possesses a certain quality, a certain charm, a certain belief, that endears