“Doesn’t matter. We’re packing up everything we can from the archives and heading to a safe house. Orders from high up. The brass thinks Ashwood is too hot right now. I have to say, I agree.” He pauses. When he starts talking again, he’s a little quieter. “We haven’t heard from Walker, but now that the Mogs know we’re here, we can’t sit around waiting for another attack. Don’t worry. We’re, uh, trying to take the guard birds with us. Where are you? Are you safe?”
I glance around at the sterile bathroom walls. Steam from the shower is starting to fill the room. I’m suddenly feeling claustrophobic
“You know,” I say quietly, “I have no idea.”
CHAPTER NINE
SOMEONE KNOCKS LOUDLY ON THE DOOR, WAKING me up. I stumble out of bed, where I’d fallen asleep in all my clothes, on top of the blankets. My mind is hazy, and a glance at my watch tells me I’ve only been in the room for a couple of hours.
Richards is on the other side of the door. He gives me a once-over.
“You’ve got five minutes to pull yourself together,” he says. “You’ve been summoned to the war room.”
“Summoned?” I ask, trying to focus and make sense of this. I look at my rumpled clothes. I’m not sure when the last time I showered was. If anyone’s going to take me seriously, I might need to make myself a little more presentable.
“Five minutes,” he repeats.
I close the door and find a white button-down shirt in the closet that’s a little too big and tuck it into my pants, then brush my teeth, clean my glasses, and try to pat down my hair, which is springing out in every direction. I’m just getting my shoes on when there’s another knock at the door. Gamera buzzes in the air beside me, but I shake my head, holding a hand up to him. He’s saved my life already, and I don’t want to risk him being exposed in front of whoever it is I’m meeting. Eventually someone’s sure to notice that I’ve always got a bug crawling on me.
In the hallway, Richards hands me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
“It’s black,” he says.
“That’s how I take it.”
“Good man.”
He turns on his heel and starts down the hall.
“You’re sure you can trust the people you’ve gathered here? MogPro—the aliens’ human supporters—ran deep. The vice president, the—”
“The administration went through widespread upheaval yesterday when everything went to hell. A veritable FBI hit squad ordered by your friend Agent Walker took care of most of what you referred to as ‘MogPro.’ They’re in custody now. Those who escaped are in hiding. The men and women here have either been vetted or, in some cases, brought out of retirement to serve. Still, we’re keeping a close eye on everyone.”
My room is definitely bugged.
“Is that part of why we’re so isolated? Do the other people here not know where we are either?”
“Let us decide who we can and can’t trust,” he says as we pass by a series of doors that cause me to wonder how many people, exactly, are down here. “Remember that you’ve been brought here as a special adviser but that your advice should only be given when solicited. Whatever decisions are made here are final and for the greater good of the country—and above all else, they’re classified. Sharing any information you hear with unauthorized persons will be considered an act of treason.”
“Sure,” I say, wondering if it would’ve been smarter to have stayed in Ashwood after all.
Richards stops in front of two thick double doors guarded by four armed men in military fatigues.
“The fate of America and quite possibly the world is being decided here. There’s a chair for you against the back wall. Stay quiet until you’re spoken to.”
He pushes open one of the doors and ushers me through.
It’s dimly lit inside, most of the light coming from the huge monitors that cover the walls, showing news feeds from around the world. At least two of them are showing the footage from Sarah’s video about John and the Garde. Another shows shaky cam footage of a destroyed building in Manhattan.
Is Sam safe?
The room itself is almost entirely filled by a giant rectangular table of lacquered mahogany where a dozen men and women sit. They range from my age to people well into their sixties, maybe even a little older. I recognize a few of them as cabinet members. A handful of younger-looking aides flit around in the background, taking notes, tapping on electronic devices, occasionally whispering into the ear of someone seated at the table.
Voices fill the air, overlapping one another, all vying for attention.
“. . . the National Guard in Brooklyn. Troops are being mobilized in Georgia but the fastest we could get them there . . .”
“. . . obviously it would be a last resort, but we do have untested prototype weapons that could prove to be effective . . .”
“. . . saw what happened in China. The warships are protected by some kind of force field. We might as well be bombing our own civilians if we launch missiles at them. . . .”
“. . . suggests a full-scale evacuation of major American cities might save millions of lives, but the cost and logistics would . . .”