Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(58)

Amid widespread looting and violence that made the president sick to his stomach to think about, armed citizens banded into local militias to protect their communities from roving gangs. Parts of the country with preexisting militia groups or strong NRA organizations had reacted quickly to establish local order, but these tended to be rural areas where gangs were less of a problem to begin with. And the militias were likely to present their own problems as the central government tried to reassert control over those areas. But even the militias had resorted to looting in order to procure additional firearms, ammunition, food, and supplies.

An alliance of Indian tribes from across the country had announced a new federation, issuing a declaration of independence and closing tribal borders. It was just one more thing that would have to be dealt with, but right now it was far down the president’s priority list. So many things needed to be done, but he had to focus, to prioritize.

Washington, DC, was calm, with armored vehicles deployed throughout the city, its streets patrolled by soldiers with orders to shoot looters or curfew violators on sight. All media outlets had been pressed into service, broadcasting the orders for citizens to remain off the streets until order had been reestablished.

Other military units had moved to secure power plants, information centers, port facilities, distribution centers, transportation hubs, and other key assets deemed critical to the future effort to restore regional food and fuel distribution, establishing a network of protected green zones from which the US government could continue to operate.

In the areas outside the green zones, life was going to get very hard, very quickly. Without the heavy military protection of the critical port of New Orleans and the associated barge traffic along the Mississippi River, the nation’s factories would have shut down within a week. Even so, with the exception of large, guarded convoys, the national trucking system had suffered significant disruption. That meant shortages of fuel, produce, and other merchandise.

The national panic had spread like a wind-driven grass fire and President Jackson couldn’t blame anyone for that reaction. In truth, he’d been so clenched up he hadn’t taken a dump in three days. It stunned him to think how quickly public order had disintegrated, as if national stability had been nothing more than an illusion, looking for an excuse to come tumbling down.

The president shifted his attention back to the group around the table, his gaze settling on the army chief of staff. “General Jones, do you agree with General McKittrick’s assessment?”

“Yes, Mr. President, I do.”

“Admiral Falan?”

“Yes, sir.”

President Jackson continued around the table, finding no voices of dissent, something highly unusual given the competitive mix of army, navy, air force, marines, special ops, and intelligence people. In fact, the president couldn’t remember ever having heard them all agree on anything.

“OK then. We agree on where we’re at. I understand there’s no such agreement on our plan going forward. Admiral Falan, would you care to state your objections?”

“Mr. President, as you know, I argued against the widespread imposition of martial law from the beginning. Now, as I predicted, we’ve alienated large segments of the population by our overly heavy-handed approach. A number of congressmen, including several from your own party, are calling for impeachment hearings, undercutting your moral authority to act.”

“And what would you propose we do differently?”

“For one thing, we need to stop shooting our fellow Americans. The rules of engagement you’ve authorized are more aggressive than any we’ve used in our recent wars. We can’t win this thing by killing our countrymen.”

General Jones pounded a large fist on the table. “Nonsense. What Americans are counting on us to do is to restore order so they can go about their daily lives with some sense of safety and security. If that means shooting the gangs of thugs that are doing their best to take that away from them, then by God, that’s what we have to do.”

President Jackson, feeling his irritation bubble up, held up his hand for quiet. “We’ve been through all of this before I made my decision. That decision stands. Gentlemen, these are desperate times, the like of which our world has never seen. I intend to lead America through this. To do that we have to ensure a strong central government continues to function. We have to secure critical infrastructure. Then we must extend the zones under our control and protection until they encompass the entire nation. It’s not going to be easy and there are those who will question the path I’ve chosen. I’ll let history judge me. But first we have to act to ensure there’s a future where that judgment can occur.”

The president’s eyes locked with Admiral Falan’s. “Bill, can you set your reservations aside and support me on this, or do I need to make a change?”

The navy chief of staff paused, and then slowly nodded. “Mr. President, I’ve given you my best counsel. But you’re my president. I’ll do what has to be done.”

The president rose to his feet. “Good, because we’ve got plenty to do. Let’s get to work.”





Despite the slightly lowered windows, the white Chevy Impala was getting hot. Freddy considered lowering them all the way, but then he would run the chance of someone noticing him sitting there in the car. Leaving it running with the AC on was a similar risk, especially with all the military and police patrols roving the Los Alamos area. Sweat and the lingering smell of the pastrami on rye he’d consumed twenty minutes earlier weren’t adding a whole lot to the ambiance either.