The next forty-five minutes passed without incident and Tom used the time as an opportunity to take a breather. He wheeled the room service trolley out into the corridor and then picked up the phone to place the order for his evening meal. A big bowl of pasta and garlic pizza bread would give him the energy he needed for his trip to the hotel gym the next morning.
He might even ask his boss for a day off, however small the chance of getting that signed off might be. If he made a success of the rest of the day, he thought it might be a possibility. After all, it’s not every day that you have the President killed, test a biological weapon that will be distributed to the whole population and bring a jumbo jet down in the Mediterranean.
The time in Switzerland hit 19:00 and the ‘DMS’ reminder popped up on Tom’s screen again. He hit snooze once more to get rid of it for another six hours, hoping that his day’s activities would be over by then.
Tom’s phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognise but it brought a message to him that would put more than just a holiday request in jeopardy.
‘Who’s this?’ Tom answered.
‘Sir, my name is Major General Burke from McGuire Air Force Base.’
‘What can I do for you, Major General?’
‘Sir, something has been brought to my attention that you need to know about.’
Go on ... Tom’s silence said.
‘One of my pilots was despatched on a domestic mission less than an hour ago. The order came directly from a member of the first family. It wasn’t until he returned that I fully understood the significance of the target.’
‘What are you telling me, Major General?’
‘Camp Alpha has been razed to the ground.’
Tom felt nauseous. With no camp, there was no containment test. With no containment test, there was no containment licence and with no containment licence, there would probably be no tomorrow for Tom Miller.
‘Are you aware of the readiness exercise that is taking place today, Major General?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, now you are. Your plane bombed my camp so you’re going to clean up the mess.’
You stuck up little bastard. If I didn’t think you could have me suicided I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, Major General Burke’s silence said.
‘Contact General Grant at West Point,’ Tom continued. ‘He is the officer coordinating the troops for the ground test. Tell him what you told me and come up with a work-around. I don’t care if we have to pitch tents in the next field, we have to have a solution in place before the truck gets there tonight.’
‘What time?’
‘Eight, your time. That gives you just under seven hours.’
Tom hung up and immediately began repositioning a surveillance satellite to keep an eye on activities at Camp Alpha.
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