The Curse of Medusa

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lea watched through the small porthole of the Gulfstream as the plane banked to the right and began its descent. In the glimpses she got through the cloud cover, the coast of Ireland looked beautiful, but seeing it again made her sad. It would always be home… only she’d wished the next time she came here it would be to introduce Joe Hawke to her family.

Her family.

After her father’s death on the Cliffs of Moher things had gotten a little rocky in the Donovan household. Her mother had started drinking and her brothers had signed up to the Garda. Liam, the oldest, was killed in a bank robbery in Dublin, while Finn ended up in the Special Detective Unit, the Irish equivalent of the British Special Branch or the FBI. The decade between their ages turned out to be an unbridgeable gap and they rarely talked. Even now she didn’t even know his address.

Now, below her she watched as the plane crossed over into Irish airspace for the first time as sunset slowly approached. Below her was County Clare, and there, with the wild waves of the North Atlantic smashing against them in their timeless assault, were the very same Cliffs of Moher. Her father’s life had ended in that violent swell below her — the gunmetal gray of the sea spume and the ragged, savage Moher cliffs at Hag’s Head. At four hundred feet high, she knew it had taken her father several seconds before he’d hit the rocks below.

She looked away, disgust and sorrow gnawing at her mind in equal measure. Someone will pay for that, she thought. There was nowhere in the world anyone could hide from her if she found the person who had killed her beloved Dad.

The pilot announced that they would be landing in around twenty-five minutes, and now they were low enough to make out individual houses and roads. Dry stone walls criss-crossed the moss-colored sheep fields beneath the executive jet, and she strained her eyes as she stared at the northern horizon to catch a glimpse of Connemara, the ancestral home of her family.

As her eyes settled on the clouds above Galway Bay, or Loch Lurgan as her old Nanna used to say, her mind drifted to that damned Englishman once again. The arrogant, cocky, selfish, unreasonable, pig-headed, son-of-a-bitch, gobshite who had turned his back on her in the Egyptian desert. She sighed. The only thing she hated more than that man was how much she loved him, and damn him for it, she thought.

With Joe Hawke on her mind, the rest of Ireland slipped past her unnoticed — the smooth, verdant rises of Tipperary, Offaly, Laois and Kildare. Then, as the pilot announced final approach and the plane turned to line up with Dublin Airport, her mind snapped back into business mode. She had only the vaguest recollections of Sean McNamara from her childhood. He was one of her father’s many friends who had come and gone through the years. Why anyone would want to kill him she couldn’t begin to imagine, but she knew in her heart it was linked to her father’s murder.

And she was going to get to the bottom of it even if it killed her.

President Kimble had asked for some time alone in the Oval Office to consider what had just happened a few moments ago. It seemed like an age ago that the German had approached him with the files and made his business proposal to him. Kiefel had said that his compliance would facilitate a mutually beneficial arrangement, but any other man would have saved the time and called it what was it was — rank blackmail.

But was it so bad? The terms of the ‘arrangement’ were simple enough. Kiefel would use his considerable logistics and muscle to position him in the Oval Office in order that he perform one simple task, and after that he would be free of him forever — free, and the most powerful man in the world. It seemed like a reasonable proposal, and accepting the terms meant those files would go up in flames, and no one would ever need to know about his career-ending extra-curricular business activities.

He ran his hands along the edge of the desk. So this was the seat of power, he thought, looking around the room. As President pro tempore of the senate he had been in here before, naturally, but again it struck him how very different it looked from behind the Resolute Desk. He instantly felt the power at his disposal, but, and unexpectedly so, he was aware of a crushing responsibility bearing down on his shoulders like sacks of lead. All of the world would know everything about him, and every decision he took would go into the history books forever.

This, after all, was the exact same office in which Franklin Roosevelt had signed the declaration of war against Nazi Germany. This was the office where Harry Truman had given the order to drop the atomic bombs on Japan. This was the office where John Kennedy Jr. had played under the desk while his father navigated through the Bay of Pigs.

The very same desk he was sitting behind right now.

A noise startled him from his daydream.

He looked down to see his cell phone vibrating on the President’s desk — on his desk. He stared at it for a few seconds, reluctant to answer it because he knew who was calling.

Then he snatched it up and took the call.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations!” The voice was ice cold and almost mocking in its tone.

Kimble was silent. He started to feel sick.

“Teddy — are you there?”

“Yes…” the voice was barely a whisper.

“Well speak up then Teddy! Or should I say, speak up Mr President?”

Another pause. “Listen, Klaus… I’m not sure this is going to work out.”

“Listen to me, Teddy, and listen very carefully. You can’t back out now, you little shit. I made you President of the United States. You belong to me and don’t you forget it.”

“No… I’m sorry.”

“Better. I had to kill good men to put you in the Oval Office, Teddy. Better men than you. I still have many unspeakable things to do just to keep you there, President Kimble. Don’t you think that has a certain ring to it?”

“Yes… yes, I suppose it does.” He sounded a little more relaxed now.

“Good. Now you remember why I gave you the job, right Teddy?”

“Of course.”

“I want it released immediately.”

“Sure, but…”

“No buts, Teddy.”

“I’m just saying that these things probably take time. They’re not going to release something like that just because I tell them to. If what you say is true we’re talking about a doomsday weapon that makes nukes look like a Sunday School picnic.”

“Tut tut, Teddy — I am surprised at you questioning my integrity like this. Of course what I say is true! And yes, we’re speaking of something very dangerous indeed — but you’re still talking like a common senator, the President pro tempore of the United States Senate, but you’re not that man anymore, Teddy.”

“No, I guess not…”

“Good guess. This morning I kidnapped Charles Grant and had the Vice President and Speaker of the House assassinated. For this reason, Teddy, and courtesy of the current order of the American presidential line of succession, you are now the President of the United States and the most powerful man on the planet, after me, naturally.”

“I understand.” As he spoke, he watched a young woman on the housekeeping staff gently place a tray of coffee and cookies on the table in the center of the room. Her name badge read Veronica Fisher. She glanced at him and smiled as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Kiefel continued. “Good. And that is why when you order Archive 7 to release the item in question, they will do as they are commanded.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t forget the catalog number, Teddy.”

Kimble noticed his hand was trembling. “How could I forget?”

“Repeat after me, Mr President: X422387-0.”

“Listen…”

“Say it!” Kiefel barked.

Kimble swallowed hard. “X422387-0.”

“There’s a good president…”

The line went dead.

Teddy Kimble was starting to wish he could turn back time.

Frank Watkins took the call at his desk. He was still in shock at the news of what was unfolding all around in him in his home city, and he lowered the volume on the TV set in the corner of his office as he picked up the receiver.

“What is it, Mandy?”

“It’s a call from the President, sir.”

Watkins looked confused for a few seconds. “The president of what,” he said annoyed. “The Ford Motor Company?”

“The President of the United States, sir.”

“What?”

“His office is on the line, sir, and they say it’s urgent that the President speak with you right now.”

Watkins widened his eyes and scratched his head. On CNN they were showing pictures of the Jefferson Memorial. It was on fire and looked like it had been bombed. The same thing had happened to the Washington Monument. Now, Watkins was struggling with the issue of evacuating essential staff from the museum when this happens. What the hell would the President of the United States want to talk to the Director of the National Museum of Natural History for?

“Sure…, I mean, of course — put him through at once, Mandy — and then go home and be with your family.”

“Yes, sir… thanks.”

He listened as there was a change of ring-tones and then another woman’s voice came on the line.

He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Dr Watkins, this is the Executive Secretary to the President speaking.”

“Hello.”

“I’m going to put you through to the President now.”

“Thank you, and…”

The line clicked before he could finish his sentence.

“Frank, is that you?”

“This is Frank Watkins, sir, yes.”

“This is President Kimble, Frank. I’m calling you from the Oval Office.”

President Kimble? It had to be Teddy Kimble from the Senate. Things were moving fast, he thought. He wondered if they knew what had happened to President Grant — was he still alive or had the terrorists already done the unthinkable?

“I won’t say congratulations, Mr President. I know this is a terrible time for you to be charged with all this responsibility. This is a truly dreadful crisis.”

Kimble ignored the sentiment. “Frank, listen — I have to ask you something.”

“Anything, Mr President.”

“This is sensitive, Frank, but we need to talk about Archive 7.”

Watkins narrowed his eyes. “Archive 7, sir?”

“Level 7 in the archives under the National Mall, Frank.”

“I know what you’re referring to, sir, it’s just that…”

“Good, I need something released from the archive, Frank, and I need it done in a hurry.”

Watkins’s brow furrowed when he heard the new President’s tone. He sounded desperate and anxious, not qualities he wanted to hear in the voice of his Commander-in-Chief, and it made him suspicious. While the existence of Archive 7 was a long-running rumor on popular conspiracy theory websites, it had never been formally confirmed. More than that, the authorities had initiated a long-running disinformation campaign via agents posing as posters on the internet to rubbish any claims of its existence.

Watkins appreciated that he was one of a small handful of men who knew the top secret storage facility existed, and the others consisted of the Federal Government’s shiniest Top Brass — the President, naturally, being at the center of the inner circle.

But what he couldn’t understand was why Kimble was ordering the release of something from the archive within what could only be minutes of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment being invoked. It all seemed terribly odd to Frank Watkins. He sighed quietly and put his doubts aside. In the final assessment, he was talking to the President of the United States, and one generally did not say ‘no’ to the Commander-in-Chief.

“What do you need, sir?”

Kimble replied without hesitation. “The item in question is X422387-0.”

Watkins made a note of the serial number. There were countless thousands of items stored in Archive 7. It was impossible to know what they all were by serial number without looking them up. All he knew was if it was in Archive 7 then it meant trouble.

He tapped the number into his computer and was surprised to see he did not have the required clearance to see what it was. It simply said TOP SECRET/CODE WORD.

“This can only be released on Executive Order, sir.”

“And I signed that order a few moments ago. EO 15325, Frank — it formally orders the release of Item X422387-0.”

Another pause from Watkins as he contemplated the situation. There were very few things down in the archive that he was denied knowledge of, but this was obviously one of them. Again, he set his suspicions aside and gave Kimble the benefit of the doubt — whatever he was ordering out of the archive was obviously critical to the defense of the nation at this terrible time.

Reluctantly, Frank Watkins spoke into the telephone. “Yes, sir… the item in question will be released as requested.”

“Excellent. My men will be over immediately.”

Kimble ended the call and for a few moments Watkins simply stared into the buzzing receiver. He did not feel good about this at all.