The Curse of Medusa

Several of the senior military men gave each other worried glances at Kimble’s reference to the President. An army general cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Sir, the Twenty-Fifth Amendment was invoked an hour ago and you were sworn in on the Bible. You have to stop referring to Charles Grant as the President. You are the President, sir. You need to understand that. ”

Kimble stared wide-eyed at the general and acknowledged him politely. He looked tired and on edge. “Of course, General McAlister… of course.” He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to pace nervously up and down the room for a few moments while he processed the nightmare. He wondered what a man like McAlister would do if he found out he was in league with the terrorists. Probably shoot him on the spot, he thought.

Over the next few moments information flooded into the Situation Room via a bank of secure phone lines and internet connections.

General McAlister took control of the situation with ease, his gravitas commanding a deep respect among the other men and women in the room, including Teddy Kimble.

“I want updates, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his deep voice exuding a calm determination.

“The coasts are secure, sir,” said a naval officer.

A USAF man stepped up. “And we have a no-fly zone over all of Washington. Should we extend it to the entire country?”

McAlister looked to Kimble.

The President seemed to be wavering.

It was clear that the Joint Chiefs wanted to respond hard and fast, and Jack Brooke was in agreement. Kimble, on the other hand, seemed strangely reluctant to move forward.

“I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “We can’t be seen to over-react. The world is watching, and after certain foreign policy…errors,” he paused and stared at McAlister, “we can’t just wade into this guns blazing. We need more intelligence if we’re to make an intelligent response. Remember, only DC has come under attack as of right now.”

“With respect, Mr President,” McAlister said loudly, “I strongly disagree. This is the most savage attack on the United States since nine-eleven. You’re right — the world is watching, and what it needs to see is some serious leadership and a brutal smack-down of these maniacs. We need to enforce a national no-fly zone immediately.”

Kimble saw he was facing growing opposition and backed down. “All right… all right. The attacks on DC were by drones so let’s clear the skies except for our guys, of course.”

McAlister looked at the senior USAF man in the room. “Do it!”

Kimble walked to the door. “All right, keep me updated, gentlemen.”

They all snapped to attention as Scott Anderson opened the door and the two men exited.

Brooke looked to Hawke. “We need to get to the Pentagon. That’s my home-ground.” As he spoke his phone rang. “I have to take this.” He walked to a quiet corner and spoke in hushed tones.

Alex moved closer to Hawke.

“This is as insane as it gets,” she said, shaking her head.

Hawke wasn’t so sure. “As insane as Poseidon, Lei Gong and Osiris all being real?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

A few tense moments later, Brooke walked back over to Hawke and Alex. “That was Frank Watkins over at the Smithsonian. He’s an old buddy of mine from way back and he just told me he got a very interesting phone call a few minutes ago from President Kimble.”

Alex looked at the older man. In here, he no longer seemed to be her father, but another man altogether — a man she barely recognized. “A call about what?”

“He’s issued an Executive Order which orders the release of something stored in Archive 7.” Brooke glared at them both. “Neither one of you two has ever heard of Archive 7, got it?”

“Got it,” Hawke said.

“Is that normal?” Alex asked.

Brooke shook his head. “I don’t think so, especially at a time like this. The items stored in Archive 7 all relate to… how shall I put this…?”

“Stuff like Poseidon?” Hawke asked flatly.

Brooke realized the futility of beating around the bush with a man of Hawke’s experience. “Exactly like Poseidon,” he continued. “And a whole lot of other stuff you’d never believe as well. Why he’s ordered the priority release of some kind of archaeological artefact at a time like this worries me a great deal.”

Hawke stepped forward and lowered his voice. “You want me to check it out?”

“You read my mind.”

Brooke turned to Hank Deakin, the head of the President’s personal protection detail who was about to return to the Oval Office. “Hank, we’re heading back to the Pentagon, please inform the President that’s where he can contact me.”

“Yes, sir, Mr Secretary.”

As they headed to the door a man in a gray suit slipped into the room. He approached Deakin.

“Sir — we have a problem.”

Deakin looked at Brooke and Hawke with a look of grave concern on his face.

“What is it, Doyle?” Deakin asked.

“Agent Novak, sir. He’s not here.”

“Is he on shift?”

“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact he’s supposed to be in this room right now.”

“Has he called in?”

“No, sir.”