Tom Clancy's HAWX

Chapter 48

"What time is it?" Troy asked, as he awoke to the slippery, pleasant sensation of the naked body of Jenna Munrough being pressed against his.

"I don't care. It's Saturday," Jenna said, lifting her head slightly. Her tone underscored the fact that she was annoyed at the interruption to her ongoing search for physical gratification.

Outside the window, the blackness of the night had been superseded by the faint, cold, metallic gray light of dawn.

Troy could still detect traces of Jenna's perfume amid the smell of sweat and the savory aromas of their bodily fluids. It had been a wild and passionate night, and Jenna craved that it continue.

It continued. Rather, it resumed after a halfdozen hours of deep and invigorating sleep. It resumed, and it continued as the first rays of daylight pushed the night aside.

"I don't want it to end." Jenna gasped, out of breath, as she rolled off Troy and flopped onto the bed.

But at last, it ended. The desire was willing, but the bodies were exhausted.

For a time, they just lay there, Jenna squeezing Trov's hand.

Finally, she staggered to her feet, visited the bathroom, slipped on her robe, and went into the kitchen.

Troy rolled off the bed as he heard the rattling sounds of Jenna beginning to fuss with the coffeemaker.

"That was good." He smiled as he came into the kitchen.

"That was very good," she said, looking longingly at his tired, naked body. "It was everything that I've been yearning for all these months. Y'all may not always be a nice man, Loensch, but you're good."

Troy thought of saying, "Nice guys finish last," but he didn't want to bring up the finish of Hal Coughlin's life and career. Hal had been a nice guy.

As they sipped their coffee, Jenna idly reached for the television remote and clicked it on.

Neither of them was prepared for what they saw.

A line of armored personnel carriers bearing the logo of Layton Kynelty's Cernavoda Partners were lined up along Constitution Avenue adjacent to the Capitol building. The text at the bottom of the screen read Breaking News.

Jenna looked at Troy. They were both speechless.

The picture changed to a view of the White House as seen from Pennsylvania Avenue. The fact that this block, the famous 1600 block, is closed to traffic had not deterred two M1A4 tanks with the Cernavoda logo on their turrets. Near the north portico of the White House, a group of men in black combat gear were speaking with a uniformed Secret Service man in shirtsleeves.

The picture changed again, this time to an earnest young newscaster doing a field report from Lafayette Square across the street.

"We repeat," she said nen ously. "Raymond Harris of Firehawk and Layton Kynelty of Cernavoda Partners are at the White House and are said to be conferring with the vice president at this moment. We have no confirmation of the location of the president, but there are unsubstantiated rumors that he is at Camp David…. back to you at our Washington studio."

"It's The Transition," Troy said somberly. It was as he had read about it in that blue folder back at Cactus Flat.

The picture changed to a head shot of a familiar cable channel newscaster. The absence of a necktie made him look a trifle unkempt, but all that more earnest.

"For those of you just joining us, we have breaking news here in the nation's capital," he said anxiously. "Washington has awakened to unfolding events of momentous consequence. Just before dawn this morning, senators received an urgent personal call from the vice president, who convened an emergency session of the Senate at seven-ten this morning. The senators arrived to find that all of Capitol Hill had been secured by armored units of Cernavoda Partners."

The picture in the background changed to one of the Cernavoda vehicles surrounding the Capitol. The man took a drink of water and continued.

"The first item of business on the agenda at this emergency session was the reconsideration of the Executive Branch Management Bill, which the Senate had defeated yesterday. When the session was called to order, the eighty-eight senators who were present voted unanimously to pass the bill."

"Those SOBs!" Jenna spat out angrily. "They had a gun to their heads…"

"The Transition," Troy repeated.

"We have received word that in the past few minutes, the House of Representatives has been called into session to pass articles of impeachment against President Fachearon," the talking head continued. "The second item of business in the Senate was to pass a bill ordering him removed from office immediately after the impeachment… pending the trial in the Senate. The Senate took the further, unprecedented step of authorizing duly constituted authorities to use deadly force against the pres… urn… I suppose, soon-to-be former president."

"I told you so," Troy said.

"I know you did," Jenna replied. "I guess I never imagined that it would come to this….."

"We just have word in to our studio that President Fachearon will be making a statement from Camp David… momentarily… Please stand by while we try to bring this to you."

There was some fluttering of video images and Fachearon appeared on the screen. He look tired but composed. He wore a jacket and tie, presenting the same image as he had for other televised speeches during his troubled term.

"My fellow Americans, I come to you at a perilous moment in our nation's history," Fachearon began. "What has been happening in the nation's capital this morning is nothing short of a coup d'etat, an attempt by malevolent parties to overthrow the legally constituted government of the United States. Yesterday, the Senate voted to deny attempts by the PMCs Cernavoda and Firehawk to take control of the executive branch through legislation. Today, under threat from tanks and armed thugs, the Senate was compelled to reverse a decision that had been freely arrived at. No decision of this kind, reached under such duress, should be allowed to stand. I am speaking to you today to assure you that I will resist these actions with all of the power that I still have at my disposal. I call on all Americans to join me in resisting and defeating this grave threat against our liberty. May God bless the United States of America."

The screen went fuzzy momentarily and the cable newscaster was back.

"That was the president… um… Mr. Fachearon, speaking from Camp David….. We understand that Raymond Harris will be speaking from the White House."

The next face they saw on the screen was the familiar visage of Raymond Harris. He exuded firm self-assurance, but he looked tired. Maybe it was just the way the wide-screen television stretched things, but it looked as though he had gained weight.

"My fellow Americans," Harris said confidently. "Our nation has reached a crossroads in its history. Of that, there can be no doubt. It is a time for action, it is a time for strength. Until about seven o'clock Eastern Time this morning, our country was an oligarchy. Our nation was in the hands of a man whose approval rating had languished below six percent for more than a year. More than ninety percent of the American people were being ruled by an elite cadre of six percent. This morning, the Senate, like the House of Representatives yesterday, bravely acted to pull the plug on the oligarchy."

Harris smiled a "getting to the good part" smile and continued.

"Congress, your Congress, your representatives, have handed Mr. Kynelty and myself a tremendous responsibility. It is a responsibility that we shoulder as a sacred trust. We will not let you down. With that responsibility comes many challenges. The first and foremost challenge that we face is to remove the outlaw who claims authority that he does not have, who exercises power despite the will of Congress. We have word that Mr. Fachearon and his supporters have barricaded themselves at the Camp David compound and intend to resist all attempts to dislodge them. This is, my fellow Americans, not an insignificant nuisance, but a major threat to the security of the United States… Fachearon has his finger on the trigger of America's nuclear arsenal."

"This is gonna be bad," Jenna said, glancing at Troy. "This could be real bad." Troy nodded.

"Fear not, my fellow Americans;" Harris continued. "We shall not shrink from our newly bestowed mantle of responsibility. I shall not shrink from this newly bestowed mantle of responsibility. I intend to personally ensure that Mr. Fachearon and his six percent will not stand in the way of our nation's future."

With that, the screen faded and chattering talking heads appeared.

"What did he mean by that?" Troy asked.

In the other room, Jenna's cell phone was chirping. "This is Jenna," she said. "Hi, Lucy… yeah… I saw it….. Yeah… lot to digest for sure… Harris is like that….. For sure… he'd be an oligarch himself if he had half a chance….. Yeah… I guess he does have half a chance now….. Well, he said he was going to do it personally….. No, Lucy… I won't tell….. Y'all are kidding me… no shit?… You can't be serious….. Where?… When?… Can you stop him?… Can y'all slow him down?… I'll think of something….. I dunno, Lucy… I'll think of something. Just slow him down."

Jenna tossed the cell phone on the counter and gave Troy a bewildered glance.

"What the hell was that about?" Troy asked, having heard only Jenna's side of the conversation.

"Harris," Jenna said, beginning to pace. "That was Lucy… she's in special projects. She was with Harris this morning as this whole thing was going down."

"Wild. What's going on?"

"Harris… It's Harris. The son of a bitch has got a tactical nuke loaded on the Raven aircraft… he's gonna fucking nuke Fachearon."