MacArthur's Freehold

Chapter 52

Chapter 52 -- VVZGVEMWRGREPOEYRTORFJCAV

General Mark Anthony grunted irritably as the phone buzzed. The only phone he kept by his bed was the presidential phone. It was the phone he didn't want to hear ring. If the president was calling him something was wrong.

Actually something had been wrong for some time, and he knew he should never have accepted the appointment. But the two generals ahead of him had retired when the current chairman had begun to indicate he was about to go, and Anthony waited too long. If he didn't want the job he would have to decline the appointment, instead of just not being there. He had cursed himself numerous time over the past seven months.

"Mr. President" he said, and waited. Normally the calls came from a member of the inner circle, and he wondered who had the unpleasant duty of being with the president tonight. The man was little better than an idiot, like the one before. A puppet, his every word and action was fed to him by someone in the inner circle who ran the country. At least he was not yet senile.

"General Anthony. Here's the president." It was Jane Whittaker, the chief of staff. He despised her, but then most of the staff did as well. He wondered how she got there - someone, or more than one someone in the inner circle would have selected her. She wasn't especially bright, and not even up to par with the office politics.

"Anthony. Hello. Sorry to disturb you." There was a pause, probably waiting for his next words. He pictured someone whispering them to him. Who? Come on you old fool, he thought.

"Anthony, I'm going to put Harry on, this is important."

Harry Springfield was the Secretary of Defense. It figured. Some kind of threat, or actual incident.

"General, we have a..." again a pause. What was he waiting for? He looked at his watch. 0336. "General, sorry, but there's no sense in trying to even start this on the phone. Get here as quickly as you can."

"Situation room?" he asked.

"Yes, please hurry."

'Please'? he thought.There was panic, Anthony thought. "Randy!" he called. Master Sergeant Randall Bowie was his batman. The aide quickly entered from the adjoining room where he slept, an old Colt .45 auto in his hand. He quickly scanned the room for a possible threat before lowering the gun.

"White House" he said. "Urgent. Give me a couple of minutes." He disappeared into the bathroom while Bowie began laying out a fresh uniform. A quick run of his electric razor and a rinse with mouthwash, followed by several rinses with water - he didn't want the smell to advertise that he had delayed for even a few minutes - and he was getting into the uniform. His aide helped him get make the necessary adjustments and they headed downstairs.

This must be big, he thought. Everyone he saw on the way to the situation room looked tense, some even frightened. Inside, most of the staff and a number of administration officials were already at the long conference table that faced a wall of television screens. A quick glance as he approached showed a number of news broadcasts underway.

"Mark." It was Springfield, motioning to a seat beside the president. The head of Homeland Security sat in the next chair. He sat down.

"Mark, this looks serious" Springfield said, not waiting for the president to say anything. Not that he would have anything useful to say anyway, Anthony thought. If a decision had to be made they would make it and then tell him what to say. Or load it on the teleprompter if there was time.

Springfield took the seat next to him and pointed towards the television screens.

"Mark, tonight around seven forty five we got a report of a shooting involving a member of congress. That would be alarming any time, but less that five minutes later we got another call. We thought at first it was the same one, but it wasn't. From that point on it was a stream of calls from all over the city, one after another, congressmen and senators being shot at various places, most of them leaving restaurants or other places."