The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

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Chapter 65

 

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Frank arrived from the Paris Climate Accord on schedule, with Air Force One landing at Andrews Joint Installation. The benefit of landing at night was that the press would be almost absent, allowing him some degree of anonymity. From the flight line, he got into a limousine—one of several—and leaving through the south gate headed to the White House. There was something about that night that brought back memories of his time with Betsy. Maybe it was the smell of the night air or the season, but whatever it was, her memory would not leave. This, however, was quickly replaced by the image of her lifeless body covered up to the neck in a DC morgue. He was still angry at the people who had taken her life, and was reminded again of his true feelings for her. As the limousine entered the beltway, Frank decided that, as an act of revenge, he would give not one penny to the group that got him into the presidency. After all, they were also responsible for Betsy’s assassination, so why should he give them anything?

After reviewing his notes from the climate accord, Frank turned in, sleeping in a room down the hall from the Lincoln Bedroom. He had heard the stories of Lincoln’s ghost wandering the halls in the quiet night air but had never seen or heard so much as a whisper of anything supernatural. The next morning he rose early knowing there was much to do and would be spending the majority of the day in the cabinet room briefing his colleagues on the details of the climate accord. This wasn’t just an average meeting. The Paris Climate Accord was generally

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held every year to assess how the world was combating global warming. Frank never took it seriously, believing that global warming was caused by human activity and that eventually, when the planet was devoid of human life, the damage previously caused would reverse itself. Life would go on without the audacity and egomania of the species formerly known as human beings.

He showered, shaved, and dressed in his usual suit, fastening a small pin of the American flag to the lapel of his jacket. Checking himself in the mirror, he reminded himself of the position he held and the goal he had in mind to drain the country for his own purposes. After the cabinet meeting, Frank planned on speaking with each member in the privacy of the Oval Office. The conversation would be brief, and after he told them what he intended to do, he promised them a modest kickback, making each a multibillionaire. Naturally, he was lying, but in order for it to work, he needed them to write the executive order. Entering the cabinet room, he found everyone accounted for, including the Vice President. It was mandatory that she, like others before her, participate as a member of the cabinet, and once everyone had been comfortably seated, the security guard closed the door. Normally, it was left unlocked, but the guard was a member of the underground team and sworn to carry out his part of the plan. Quietly, he locked the door and walked outside through the front entrance. It was rare for anyone to be seen alone outside the diplomatic reception room, but according to the plan, it was the best place for the signal to be given. With the man at the fence aiming his camera,

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the guard lit a cigarette, took a puff, and tossed it down to the marble steps below. Still aiming the camera, the man who, appearing as any other tourist, depressed the button but instead of triggering the shutter sent a signal to the circuit taped to the underside of the cabinet table. The resulting explosion sent wood shards in every direction, killing everyone in the room. Frank, no longer president by virtue of his sudden demise, had been sitting near the center of the table and thus received the most serious wounds, with a heavy shard of varnished wood penetrating deeply into his chest. Upon autopsy, it had been discovered that the shard had found its way into the right side of his heart. The medical examiner’s report concluded that the injury was ‘not survivable’ and due to a dark-colored stain on the skin, the report also mentioned the strong possibility of an explosive. This was consistent with the report generated by the FBI’s forensics unit. It also put forth the likelihood that a military explosive had been used, but further testing was needed.

The press swarmed the west wing like flies on a carcass, but between the Marine guards and security they were successfully kept at bay while the bodies of the dead were removed and laid out in the corridor for identification. Some were identified more easily than others, and while there were no survivors, those sitting closest to the blast had limbs dismembered and connective tissues ripped from internal organs. This was also seen on autopsy in the form of large pools of blood that had gathered in the chest and abdominal cavities. With a few, it was brain trauma. The blast was powerful enough that the shock wave

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had destroyed brain tissue, causing irreparable damage to every part of the brain, spilling blood within the skull.

 

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