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  “Why do you listen to that guy? I could hear him all the way down the hallway. He’s so rude!”

  “Never confuse delivery with content,” he said, muting the feed.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” she said, flopping on top of him.

  Not long ago, he’d have gone stiff the moment she landed on him, but his comfort level was improving. The truth was that he was actually starting to like having her around. And it scared the shit out of him.

  “It means that when someone’s smart and knows what they’re talking about, you shouldn’t worry so much about whether you like them or not.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Mom wants to know if you’re stirring the beef burgy-on like she told you.”

  He let his head loll to the left and contemplated the iron pot hanging over the fire.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re such a liar! And you’re not even good at it. I can always tell.”

  She rolled off him and used a potholder to take the lid off. “When is it going to be time for me to go back to school?”

  “It’s Christmas break,” he said as she used a wooden spoon to stir.

  “Yeah, but Mom says we won’t go to school when there’s no lights. And we’re supposed to go back in a few days. And if we don’t I’m going to miss Tina and my other friends. Plus, I need school. I want to be a vet-a-narian and it’s super hard.”

  “Yeah, I think you actually have to be able to pronounce it.”

  “Shut up!”

  “It won’t be long,” he said, demonstrating that he was better at lying than she thought.

  “Do you think Tina’s all right? She doesn’t live in a big fort like us. She just has, like, a regular house.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure she is.”

  That second lie was a little harder for him to get out. One day would she hold it against him? Because most likely Tina wasn’t going to be okay. And to make things even worse, it was his fault. It was his job to make sure things like this didn’t happen.

  His satphone started to ring and he pulled it from the pocket of his sweatpants. “Why don’t you go tell your mom that I’ve been taking good care of the stew?”

  “Because it’s not true.”

  “What if I were to let you plug in some of those presents you got?” he said, looking down at the screen and seeing that the call was from Irene Kennedy.

  Anna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How long?”

  “A few hours?”

  She nodded thoughtfully and went for the door.

  “Close it, you’re letting the heat out!” he called after her and then picked up. “How are things going?”

  “Badly,” she said, sounding exhausted. “We just got a report of someone shooting into a crowd of protesters in Phoenix. At least five casualties and rumors are circulating that the National Guard was responsible.”

  “Were they?”

  “We don’t know. That kind of information is hard to come by in the current environment. Either way, violence has been on the uptick. So far, it’s been opportunistic and probably carried out by people already predisposed to it. But that won’t last. Pretty soon, we’re going to have suburban mothers gunning people down for a can of food to feed their kids.”

  “What’s TJ saying?”

  “You don’t want to know,” she said. “You really don’t.”

  “Then we need to fix this, Irene. It’s our mess and we need to clean it up. What about the phone I gave you? Was there anything on it we can use?”

  “Basically, what we expected. A list of targets with very detailed information on how to hit each of them most effectively. We’ve confirmed the identity of the body you left in the parking area as Rashad Asfour and we’re trying to track his known associates, but, again, it’s not easy in this environment. The chance that it will lead us to PowerStation is low.”

  “What about his ISIS buddies? Are they still active?”

  “Yes, but they’re moving to less obvious targets. And there are just too many of those for us to cover.”

  “They’ll just keep going until they’re all dead. If you need more manpower, I can go back out with Scott’s guys.”

  “The damage is so extensive that losing a few more minor substations isn’t going to make any difference. And even if we were able to catch one of them, it’s unlikely that they would know any more than Asfour did. Thank you, but I’d rather have you rested and ready to go if I need you.”

  “If you need me. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “We’re drilling down on the people who have the necessary knowledge of our grid to do something like this, but with most computer networks down, it’s a slow process. And even if we do come up with a name, it’s only a start. Phones largely don’t work and a lot of people are leaving their primary homes to help relatives. Someone suddenly disappearing from the radar isn’t necessarily an indicator of guilt anymore.”

  “So, you’re looking for an individual. Not a government.”

  “The more we analyze what’s happened, the more we think PowerStation is unaffiliated,” she said before her voice trailed off.

  “I hear a ‘but’ hanging at the end of that sentence.”

  “Do you remember the transcript of the ISIS chat room discussions?”

  “You’re talking about the one where he mentioned the Russians? It sounded like he’d approached them but couldn’t get traction.”

  “And if that’s the case, the Russians might know who he is.”

  “Thin,” Rapp said.

  “Agreed. But desperate times call for desperate measures. We’re putting our case together and then we’re going present it to the Russian president. Alexander would like you to attend that meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wants it to be crystal clear that we expect full cooperation from Russia. And that anything less than that is unacceptable.”

  CHAPTER 26

  WASHINGTON, DC

  USA

  ELECTRIC can openers!

  Perhaps the culmination of ten thousand years of human stupidity. And she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Thank God for the brilliant nut who’d started a survival radio show that she now listened to obsessively. If it wasn’t for Jed Jones, she’d have opened her can of peas with a butcher knife instead of a spoon. He was probably the reason she still possessed all her fingers.

  Voronova squinted as she turned into the sun, avoiding a glittering patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of her. Just before dawn, she’d climbed a drainpipe onto her neighbor’s roof and then down the other side to the street. The government had finally imposed an official curfew from dusk until dawn, but that wasn’t why she’d been reluctant to go out after dark. The opposite, really. Based on what sound filtered down to her basement flat and what she could piece together from radio reports, the curfew was yet another complete fail.

  Of course, there was the lack of enforcement manpower, but that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the main problem was that as the nationwide blackout moved into its second week, many people wanted to get caught. They figured they’d be thrown into a detention center where they’d be fed, protected, and provided medical care. And she could sympathize one hundred percent, despite being in a far better position than most Americans.

  For now, the natural gas was still flowing. Her gas fireplace was keeping her comfortable and providing enough light to pass the endless hours of solitude reading. Also, the water in DC was still on while there were reports of it starting to falter in other major cities. And, of course, she’d had an opportunity to lay in some food before the lights went out.

  Likely nowhere near enough, though. And, in light of that, she’d cut her food consumption to twelve hundred calories per day. Based on her calculations, that would get her through two months. According to Jed, she could cut back even further and survive for more than double that. A full-on starvation diet was something she’d have to ease into, though. If things were looking
as bad in two weeks as they were now, she’d pull the trigger. Six hundred calories per day.

  Today, though, the nagging hunger she was trying to become accustomed to was gone. She’d doubled her rations for this expedition and, in addition to returning some of her strength, it had significantly improved her mood. It was just the carbohydrates talking, though. Outside of her sugar buzz, hope was hard to come by. Government-controlled radio—TV, the cellular network, and the Internet had died days ago—kept repeating the same nonsense about staying calm, staying warm, and standing by. They weren’t even calling out the locations of aid stations anymore because they found they were being immediately overrun.

  Three men appeared on the sidewalk in front of her and she forced herself to maintain a relaxed gait as her hand moved closer to the Beretta hidden beneath her jacket. They didn’t look particularly threatening—probably a father in his early fifties and two sons in their twenties. But it would be stupid to take chances. Desperation did things to people. Even fundamentally good ones. It was the reason she’d worked so hard to make herself as unappealing a target as possible. A ten-year-old coat, jeans, and a pair of waterproof boots splashed with mud. No backpack or bag that might contain something useful. No fancy technical clothing that might fit a sister or wife.

  She held her breath as they passed, but none so much as looked at her. Still, she didn’t let her hand drop to her side until their footsteps had completely faded.

  Voronova turned off the residential street in favor of one of DC’s critical thoroughfares. Or at least what used to be one of its critical thoroughfares. Now it was utterly impassible, clogged with cars abandoned by people who had run out of gas trying to flee the city. She couldn’t help but stop and gaze out over it all. Another reminder of how delicate the threads holding together modern society were.

  Having said that, it might also have been part of the government’s haphazard plan. She suspected that they wanted to keep people corralled and because of that they’d done virtually nothing to keep roads clear. Now, if you were going to get out, it would have to be on foot. Maybe a motorcycle, but you’d need gas for that and would risk the possibility of being attacked by someone who wanted out of the city just as much as you did.

  Eight days. That’s all it had taken. What would happen in ten? Twenty? God forbid one hundred?

  It was that precise question that had forced her from her improvised basement stronghold. For the first few days, she’d told herself that there was nothing to be done. That it was too late. But it was just her cowardice talking. That geeky little asshole John Alton was out there somewhere and he had a laptop that outlined everything he’d done in gory detail. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

  There was no way that information wouldn’t be helpful to the people trying to fix this thing. And even if it wasn’t, at least he could be slapped in chains and thrown in a hole somewhere for what he had done.

  She pulled the collar of her jacket closed against the cold as she began weaving through the cars. At least the FBI’s headquarters wasn’t far from where she lived. Getting there probably wouldn’t be too bad. It was what she was going to do when she got there that she wasn’t so sure about.

  The conspiracy theorists were all over the airwaves going full guns against the government. They said it was all a plot to get rid of democracy and replace it with a dictatorship. That the suicide of this year’s lead presidential candidate had been faked by the Deep State, that lizard people had taken over Congress, and so on.

  The first thing she’d have to do is establish that she wasn’t one of them. And after that she’d have to hit them with the Russian mole thing. On her side, she actually did speak the language and had a few classified tidbits bouncing around in her head. Unfortunately, few and tidbits were the operative words here. She wasn’t an active agent and sleepers just didn’t need to know that much until they were called upon.

  It didn’t matter, though. She was going to make this happen. She was going to make it right. She had to.

  * * *

  The yelling became audible when Voronova was a little more than five blocks from the J. Edgar Hoover Building. She tried to detour around it, but no matter what she did, the infuriated shouts of what sounded like hundreds of people followed.

  One of the reasons she’d left at the crack of dawn was to avoid this. A high-pressure system had moved in overnight, bringing blue skies and still air that would coax people into the streets. But it was barely eight fifteen in the morning and still well below freezing. Who rioted in that? Why not wait until afternoon, when it was supposed to climb into the forties?

  With no better option, she set herself on the shortest route to the FBI’s headquarters and crossed her fingers.

  What she found when she arrived was well beyond anything her imagination could have devised. It wasn’t an informal gathering of a hundred scared, frustrated people in danger of losing hope. It was a near riot consisting of what must have been a thousand people, all targeting their rage directly at the FBI. Her pace slowed and she finally came to a halt in the middle of the road. The building appeared to be completely surrounded. Barricades had been erected and men in riot gear stood just behind them, absorbing the screamed insults and occasional projectile thrown by the crowd. Some protesters had crafted handmade signs talking about freedom, America, and the Constitution. A good half were armed—many with assault rifles. A bottle glinted in the sun as it arced through the air and shattered against a Plexiglas shield.

  She’d never had any illusion that she was the only person listening to the conspiracy theorists on the radio, but she’d never dreamed that their influence could spread so quickly. Or so powerfully.

  Eight days. That number kept swirling around in her head. The time it took to get something from a particularly slow mail order catalog. Or to secure a dentist’s appointment. Or to abandon her latest New Year’s resolution.

  She took a hesitant step forward, but then stopped again. Even if she had an official SVR badge and a letter of introduction signed by Boris Utkin himself, it wouldn’t matter. The chance of her fighting her way to the barricades were pretty much zero. And the chance of her then embarking on a detailed explanation of her identity and suspicions was even less.

  She would have laughed if she weren’t about to break into tears. The FBI was desperate for information and she was standing outside their headquarters with just the intel they needed. But there was no way to get it to them.

  And that begged the question, what now?

  She couldn’t climb the drainpipe to get back into her courtyard until it was too dark to be seen. Another nine hours at least. What about a pay phone? Were those even a thing anymore? And if they were, was 911 still operational? The FBI undoubtedly had a phone number, but how would she find it? She hadn’t laid eyes on a phone book in years.

  This time, she actually did manage a laugh. A strained and bitter outburst that made her feel even worse. She’d been a sci-fi fan her whole life and one of her favorite themes was the machines taking over. The Matrix. The Terminator. What she hadn’t realized until that moment was that they’d already succeeded. Millions of people were going to die. Why? Because without 4G, she couldn’t look up a phone number.

  CHAPTER 27

  NEAR SENECA ROCKS

  WEST VIRGINIA

  USA

  RAPP pulled through the blast doors and stopped in front of the Marine who seemed to be in charge of the cavernous parking area. The power outage was in its eleventh day now and the space was wedged to capacity with civilian and military vehicles. She motioned for him to roll down his window.

  “We’re fitting them in like puzzle pieces, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll take it from here. When you want it back, we’ll need a few minutes’ notice and a license number.”

  He nodded and stepped out. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you gas it up for me?”

  It was intended as a joke and she started to grin, but it faded when she saw the color of the ba
dge hanging around his neck. “I’ll take care of it personally, sir.”

  He handed her the keys and watched her drive away. A pleasant surprise. He was having to pull diesel intended for his backup generators to fuel his pickup. Claudia’s Tesla was currently sidelined, but the sun was out so he was hoping to get the battery charged over the next couple of days. Until then, if the government wanted to help him out, he wasn’t going to argue.

  The elevator on the north side of the parking area took him down a few hundred more feet to the main bunker. The quiet hum of the electric motor was the only sound as he descended, making the turmoil when the doors opened that much more disorienting. In the time since his last visit, the already considerable level of activity had multiplied by at least a factor of three. The smell of hundreds of unwashed bodies was familiar but overwhelming as he stepped out and dodged a hydraulic lift carrying pallets of MREs. From what little he could see through the crush of people, the walls were now lined with cots, most unmade and piled with their occupants’ personal possessions. A significant number of civilians had been added to the mix, including children. Some of the kids were being herded in groups, but others were free range, wandering around and trying not to get stepped on or run over.

  There was no one there to meet him, which wasn’t surprising given the situation, so he just headed in the direction he’d gone last time. It was a little like trying to fight your way to the stage of a rock concert, but he managed to make steady progress.

  He spotted a boy a little older than Anna sitting on a stack of boxes, calmly taking it all in. He looked like he had a good head on his shoulders and clearly wasn’t busy, so Rapp angled toward him.

  “Hey, kid. I don’t suppose you know what the director of the CIA looks like.”

  He pondered the question for a moment and then just shook his head.

  “How about the president?”

  That got a nod.

  “You know where he is?”