That shocked Millen. “So they’re going to agree to the terms? Hand over the government, military, internet, power grid—everything to these terrorists?”
“No. We’re going to fight. The White House is hoping to glean clues about the cure and possibly where it’s being stored. The demonstration is an intelligence-gathering opportunity.”
Another shift supervisor spoke—a slim black woman with graying hair who had worked in the EOC since before Millen joined EIS. “What are other governments doing?”
“The UK, Australia, Canada, Germany, Japan, and Russia have all committed to fight the Citium to the very end. France and Greece have made no comment. We believe both nations have already surrendered.”
The conference room fell silent. Millen felt that the entire situation had changed now. War? On top of the pandemic? It was unthinkable. He wondered what would be left of the human race when this was over. And what kind of world they would inherit.
Stevens took a deep breath. “The US is reaching out to China, India, Indonesia, Brazil, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Roughly half the world’s population lives in those six countries. If India or China join the Citium, or even if a few smaller nations join, the die will be cast. They’ll have overwhelming numbers in a war.”
“We have superior weaponry,” a supervisor said.
“And very soon,” Stevens said, “we’ll have almost no one trained to use it.”
Millen knew where this was going. The other supervisors seemed to sense it too. They waited for Stevens to continue.
“As such, the White House has ordered the CDC and all agencies under the BioShield command to begin preparing for the possibility of a conventional war here on American soil.”
“Preparing how?” Millen asked.
“As we speak, BioShield forces are collecting individuals believed to have a high probability of surviving. Going forward, resources will be allocated only to these individuals.”
Millen couldn’t believe it. “And what about everyone else?”
Stevens stood staring at the shift supervisors. “This is the reality we face. If we can’t field an army, the United States will soon cease to exist. If we accept the cure, the United States will effectively be conquered by the Citium.”
Millen thought about his mother and father in Cleveland. He knew they were inside the cordon there. Neither was in a critical job role.
“What about our families?”
“They’re on the list. Everyone’s immediate family members—spouses and children, parents, siblings, and siblings’ spouses and children—are on the list.”
So they had thought of that too.
“What I just told you was very hard for me to hear an hour ago. I know it’s just as hard for you to hear now—and it will be even harder for you to explain it to the operators working under you. If you don’t think you can do that or carry out the orders that are about to be given to you, I need to know before you leave this room.”
A supervisor next to Millen asked what would happen to their families if they refused.
“If you leave the BioShield command structure, their status will revert to whatever it would have been.”
The supervisors sat in shock.
“I hope our intelligence agencies find where the Citium has stored the cure,” Stevens said. “In the meantime, we all have our orders. Survival sometimes requires us to do things we don’t want to do.”
When the meeting broke, Millen assembled his team of operators and began their pre-shift meeting. He didn’t like what he was about to say, but he also didn’t see any other alternative. He had to remain with BioShield—for his parents’ sake, and for Halima and Tian.
“Okay, I hope everyone got some rest. I’ve got a very important update. There’s been a change in strategic alignment. I can’t tell you the specifics, only that we’re facing a new threat. As of right now, BioShield is shifting its focus to saving high-probability survivors and preparing for an armed conflict.”
Chapter 88
The wind tossed the Red Cross plane like a ship in a hurricane. William lined up with one of the four runways, then changed his vector and approached another. In the passenger compartment, Avery, Desmond, and Peyton buckled up and leaned forward, bracing against the headrests. Peyton was in the aisle seat, the safest place, with Desmond beside her, buffering her body from the plane’s side. Avery was just across the aisle from them.
Peyton felt Desmond’s hand touch her leg. He held it face up in her lap, waiting. She placed her hand in his. He squeezed. It seemed to drain the tension out of her. Touching him in that moment was like an electrical connection long dead and now activated. With it came a flood of emotions and memories.
Peyton stared forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Avery watching them, staring daggers into Peyton’s side.
The plane shook as the wheels hit the runway. On the whole it was a better landing than Avery’s in Shetland.
Ten minutes later, the plane was stopped at the end of the runway, and William stood in the passenger compartment.
“Desmond and I will sweep the tower.”
Avery rose, ready to protest, but he cut her off with a raised hand.
“We’ll need a pilot to leave if we’re unsuccessful.”
Peyton noted his syntax. He didn’t say “killed.” She thought that was for her benefit. She also saw wisdom in his plan: he didn’t trust Avery either. Isolating her on the plane had that advantage. And it gave William a chance to speak with Desmond alone.
The two men suited up, descended the staircase, and disappeared into the night. Peyton stood by the door, watching as they slipped out of view. For several minutes, an awkward silence settled between her and Avery.
Finally, Avery spoke. “Did you know him?”
“What?”
“Before.”
Peyton ignored her.
“You’re the reason, aren’t you?”
“What?”
Avery stepped closer to her, stopped two feet from Peyton’s face. “You’re the reason he joined the Citium. Why he wanted to build the Looking Glass.”