File Zero. Джек Марс

in his ears was deafening.

      He reached over and turned on the radio just for some noise. A male broadcaster’s voice immediately filled the cab.

      “Our top story today continues to be the unfolding situation in the Persian Gulf,” the host said somberly. “Only hours ago an Iranian battleship fired rockets at the USS Constitution, an American destroyer on patrol with the Navy’s Fifth Fleet. In response, the Constitution returned fire, destroying the Iranian vessel and claiming the lives of all seventy-six crew members aboard.”

      They’re moving fast. A pit formed in Zero’s stomach. He hadn’t expected this to unfold so quickly. That just means I have to move faster.

      “The Iranian government has already issued a public statement,” the broadcaster continued, “in which they expressed their outrage over the destruction of their ship and proclaimed, and I quote, that ‘this event has been a clear and blatant act of war.’ Though there has not been a formal declaration, it appears that Iran is intent on igniting a new conflict with the US. White House Press Secretary Christine Cleary issued a very brief statement in response, stating only that President Pierson is fully aware of the situation and his cabinet is working quickly to convene the joint chiefs. He is expected to address the nation this evening.”

      So that was their next play. The Brotherhood’s attack on American soil would stir the people into a state of xenophobia against Iranians, and the “attack” on the USS Constitution was a timely follow-up to incite a war. The president would meet with his advisors, and they would convince him that a renewed conflict in the Middle East was their only course of action.

      Unless, he thought suddenly, he had a new advisor.

      He pulled a card out of his pocket and dialed the number on it.

      “Sanders,” answered the female aide who had approached him on the White House lawn.

      “This is Agent Kent Steele,” he told her. “We met earlier today—”

      “I recall,” she said abruptly. There was a tension in her voice, undoubtedly due to the recent events. “What can I do for you, Agent?”

      “I need to speak with President Pierson.”

      “I’m afraid he’s in a meeting,” said Sanders. “I’m sure you’re aware of what’s happening—”

      “I am.” This time Zero cut her off. “And that’s why I’m calling. This is matter of national security, Ms. Sanders. So you can either get me a meeting with President Pierson, or you can explain to him later that you stood between him and everything that’s about to happen.”

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      Less than a half hour later, Zero found himself once again in the White House, being ushered down a hall toward the Oval Office. He tried to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt, though it hardly mattered under the circumstances.

      He was admitted to the president’s inner sanctum, where he was surprised to find Pierson alone. Zero had expected a flurry of activity, a coterie of aides and cabinet members making calls, setting up laptop networks and communicating with a dozen different agencies and foreign powers.

      Yet there was none. President Pierson rose from his desk when Zero entered, looking as if he’d aged a decade since only a few hours earlier. His tie was loosened around his neck and the top two buttons of his pressed white shirt were undone.

      “Agent Steele.” Pierson stuck out his right hand, and then scoffed at himself and shook Zero’s left. “Sorry. Forgot about the hand. Jesus, this is a mess.”

      “I’ve heard.” Zero glanced about the office. “I have to admit, I was expecting more of a reception.”

      “The joint chiefs are gathering currently in the Situation Room.” Pierson sighed and leaned against his desk with both hands. “I’m expected there any minute. While I’m glad you’re here, Zero, I’m afraid this meeting is going to have to be postponed.”

      “Mr. President,” Zero pressed, “I have information.” The fingers of his left hand lingered near his pocket, inside of which was the USB stick. “Before you convene with the joint chiefs, there’s really something I need you to—”

      “Sir.” The door to the Oval Office opened just a few inches, and the face of Emilia Sanders peered in. Her gaze flitted from the president to Zero and back. “They’re ready for you.”

      “Thank you, Emilia.” Pierson tightened his tie to his throat and ran his palms down the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry, Zero, but my attention is required elsewhere.”

      “Sir.” He took a step forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. He had to throw a Hail Mary; there was no way he could let Pierson enter the Situation Room uninformed. “I have very strong reason to believe that you cannot trust the men that are advising you.”

      The president’s brow furrowed. “What reason? What do you know?”

      “I have…” Zero started, but he threw a glance over his shoulder to find a Secret Service agent standing in the doorway to the Oval Office, waiting to escort the president to the Situation Room. “I can’t explain it right now. All I need is five minutes. Alone.”

      Pierson rubbed his chin. He looked tired. “Come with me.”

      “Sir?”

      “Sit in on this meeting. Afterwards, I’ll give you your five minutes.” Pierson started toward the door, and Zero followed. It was all he could; he couldn’t dissuade the president from attending a meeting regarding a crisis of national security. And if it would get him five minutes alone with Pierson, then he would follow him into the lion’s den.

*

      The John F. Kennedy Conference Room, located in the West Wing basement and known to most as the Situation Room, was the intelligence management center of the White House, more than five thousand square feet of communications equipment that allowed some of the most powerful men in the world to maintain security from a single place.

      And Zero, it seemed, had just been awarded earned a seat at the table.

      President Pierson swept into the room on the heels of two Secret Service members, who immediately positioned themselves on either side of the double doors that granted them access. Zero followed behind him. Now this was the flurry of activity that he had expected upon arrival; there were fourteen people occupying the long rectangular table that ran the length of the room, and every one of them stood when the president entered.

      Zero glanced around quickly, scanning the faces. He recognized nearly all of them; the National Security Advisor was present, the Homeland Security Advisor, the White House Chief of Staff, Secretary of Defense Quentin Rigby, DNI John Hillis, and Press Secretary Christine Cleary, among others. He couldn’t help but note wryly that besides himself, Pierson, and Cleary, every other person in the room was a man over fifty-five.

      He was mildly relieved to see that the CIA did not have a presence there. He’d half-expected to find Director Mullen or possibly even Deputy Director Riker rearing their heads. But this was a matter for heads of state, and the CIA was represented by DNI Hillis, who would be the one to relay any orders to Mullen.

      “Please, take your seats.” Pierson lowered himself into the black chair at the head of the table, closest to the doors. He gestured toward the empty seat to his right and Zero took it.

      Several pairs of eyes were on him as he did, but only the Secretary of Defense spoke up. Retired four-star general Quentin Rigby carried a stiffness in his neck and shoulders and wore deep worry lines in his face that suggested he had seen the worst sides of humanity, and though discerning, he was not afraid to speak his mind.

      “Mr. President.” Rigby remained standing as he addressed Pierson. “I don’t think I need to remind you that what we’re about to discuss is highly discretionary—”

      “Noted, General Rigby, thank you.” Pierson cut off the general with a wave of his hand. “Agent Steele is here acting as a security advisor. He’s been vetted