Milwaukee Deep

Time remaining…29:10:59…

“Sir, the President has been secured in the master bedroom. I have two men posted outside his door. No one suspects anything, Sir; the President did as he was told.”

“Good, Harry, arrange for Marine One to pick us and the President up within the hour – we’ll spend the rest of the time waiting for the inevitable at Camp David,” replied Crane.

“Certainly, Sir, I’ll get right on it - by the way, Sir, Tom Harding is waiting outside to see you, shall I send him in?”

“Yes, send him in.”

Bell left the Oval Office and within seconds of his leaving, Harding entered the room.

“Tom, good of you to come, please take a seat,” offered Crane.

Harding didn’t reply, but instead sat down on the couch in the middle of the room.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked Harding

“No thank you, Sir,” was the reply.

Crane walked over to the window behind the desk and looked out over the White House grounds.

“So tell me, Tom, how did it all go? Did Burton see you coming or was his death short and sweet?”

“I’d say short and sweet, Sir. We ambushed him – he didn’t know what hit him,” Harding replied.

“And what about the man who was with him – the FBI agent, did he know anything?”

Harding took a moment to respond.

“Well that’s the thing, Sir, that’s why I need to get back to New York and finish my investigation – I need to be certain that we’ve tied up all loose ends.”

“Forget it, that’s not an option any more – you’re far too important to lose now,” Crane said

“Lose, Sir? What do you mean?”

Crane took a moment. He stared at Harding, his mind ticking over with conflicting thoughts.

“I trust you, Tom, you do know that don’t you?” asked Crane.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“I mean you fixed Mcafee’s screw up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you dealt with Willow when I asked you to.”

Crane walked over to the liquor cabinet in the far corner of the room. He poured some single malt whisky into a glass and took a sip.

“How do you think our war on terror is working out, Tom?” he asked.

“I am not at liberty to say, Sir. It’s not my area of focus.”

“We’re losing, I can guarantee you that,” Crane offered, “terror has a new feel, Tom, every moment we’re watching our back, afraid of what’s to come next – it’s not the way our forefathers planned for us to live our lives.”

Harding didn’t reply; his mind was elsewhere, thinking of Burton and the ramifications of his lie.

“But I can fix things, Tom. I can make it so that things in this world, things that we don’t like, will be gone forever. One act will change the course of our history.”

Harding focused back in on the conversation – the last comment caught his attention.

“I’m sorry, Sir?” he replied

Crane drew a deep breath.

“What I am about to tell you is highly classified, Tom. I am granting you level eight clearance by telling you this, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Crane took another sip of his drink.

Harding moved in his seat to face his superior.

“In just under thirty hours this nation will face another attack - an attack that I am sad to say will cost the lives of many Americans. In less than thirty hours, New York City will bear the brunt of a nuclear explosion.”

“What are you saying?” asked Harding, his mind leading him back to Bryant Park.

“I am saying that New York City will succumb to another terrorist attack. An attack that unfortunately we cannot stop.”

“But how can that be?”

“It’s inevitable, Tom. For us to win the war you have to sometimes lose the battle.”

“I don’t understand, Sir, if we know when and where, why aren’t we trying to stop this?”

“It’s too late, Tom. We can’t stop it.”

“You mean you won’t stop it,” Harding said

“Excuse me?”

“It’s pretty obvious isn’t it? You want this to happen don’t you?”

“Watch your tone, Tom. Remember who you’re speaking to.”

Harding took a moment - he couldn’t stop now….

“What the fuck’s going on, Sir? Burton’s dead, so why continue down this path – what possible reasons would you have for destroying New York City?!”

“How DARE you!”

“No, Sir, how dare YOU! What gives you the right to make such a decision to ignore this threat – to ignore saving millions of American lives?!”

“Because I’m the one making the threat, you FUCKING idiot!”

Harding just stood and stared at Crane.

“That’s right! This country needs someone like me to make a stand against terrorism and this is the only way.”

“But your plan was about wiping out the threat from the virus - that threat’s now gone!”

“Burton was the catalyst, Tom, he was the one that got the ball rolling – I’ve come too far now, the window of opportunity is open and God damn it, I’m going to take it!”

“This is madness,” Harding said.

“You’re starting to sound like Stoker,” replied Crane

“The President is not with you on this?” asked Harding

Crane went silent.

Harding looked up at Crane, both men’s eyes on each other.

A moment passed until finally Harding stood up off the couch.

“I’m sorry, but this ends now.”

Harding pulled out his weapon and pointed it directly at Crane.

“I swore I wasn’t ready to kill you yet, but now you leave me no choice.”

Crane took a step back, stumbled and almost fell.

“Now just hold on, son. Put the gun down.”

“I’m not your fucking, son, you son of a bitch. Now tell me how the hell do we stop this!?”

Crane stood there staring, his face a mix of hostility and despair. He didn’t respond to Harding’s question.

“ANSWER ME!”

Crane looked up at Harding. He took a deep breath and composed himself.

“Don’t fool yourself, Tom, you’re not going to kill me,” he replied

“Oh, really and why’s that?”

“Because if you kill me now, you know very well that the moment that weapon goes off there’ll be a swarm of my men rushing through that door.”

“Regardless,” replied Harding, “you’ll still be dead.”

“Ah yes, that’s true, Tom, but so will you.”

“I’m not afraid of death, Sir.”

“No, Tom, you’re not, that I know, but what about New York? You know that if I die right here, right now, New York dies with me. That is unless you were smart enough to bring with you a silencer when you checked your weapon this morning.”

Tom ground down on his teeth. Crane was right – if he killed him, he wouldn’t live long enough to get the message out.

“Where’s the weapon, Crane?” Harding asked, “Where did you put it?”

“I don’t know, Tom. I didn’t plant it. I don’t do things myself - I’m not that stupid.”

“So who was stupid enough to obey your orders?”

Crane took another sip of his drink.

“Well given that you can’t kill me - fuck you. This is one secret I won’t tell.”

Harding looked back hard at Crane

“I’m going to ask the question only once more, do you understand me? Now - who planted the weapon in New York City?”

“You know what? You and that fucking idiot Stoker are exactly alike – you have absolutely no vision, no forward thinking. Do you even know the benefits of such an attack? Do you even know what that will mean for the rest of the nation once we act?”

“I’m not asking the question again, Sir. You have three seconds.”

“Kill me, Tom, and watch what will happen.”

“One.”

“This country needs more men like me, men who are willing to sacrifice for the greater good.”

“Two.”

“You and Stoker make me sick. Afraid of making calculated decisions that will forever remain in the history of our great nation.”

“Three!”

There was silence.

Harding had his arm extended. His weapon aimed at the head of Alexander Crane.

Crane face broke into a smile. Harding saw it as a smirk. It really pissed him off.

“I knew you couldn’t kill me, Tom.”

Harding closed his eyes for an instant…

“Fuck it.”

He spun around grabbing a cushion from the couch behind him. Rushing over with his weapon in one hand and the cushion in the other, Harding pushed Crane down hard onto the ground.

With the cushion now covering the face of his victim, Harding pushed his weapon down hard into it, his pistol now completely covered by the striped fabric.

Crane screamed from behind the pillow. His calls for help muffled perfectly by Harding’s makeshift silencer.

With the pressure exact and his brute strength holding his captive in place, Harding squeezed the trigger.

The scuffling stopped.

Crane’s cries ended with one shot.