Bella's little family of three still hadn't gone home. After a quick discussion, the two of them joined the crowd and ran north, planning to cross the Potomac and get out of Washington, D.C. first.
Five miles away, on the lawn in front of the White House, a frenzied battle was underway.
The Korean radicals hadn't just gotten hold of a C-130; they'd also sent in a ground force for a suicide assault.
Two garbage trucks blocked the two main arteries to the north and south, and then over a hundred radicals, hefting all manner of automatic weapons, began storming the White House.
They moved fast, their weapons were first-rate, their numbers large, and they'd long since drawn up a whole series of battle plans; every last one of them fought without fear of death. In under three minutes they'd suppressed the White House guard, and seven minutes later, they broke inside.
They brought heavy machine guns and rocket launchers to bear, and Secret Service agents and guards fell in swaths, collapsing into pools of blood.
"Attack! Attack!" they shouted in Korean, faces covered.
At the same moment, the escort detail that had come in with the Korean Prime Minister turned on their hosts. The White House bunker, forty feet underground, was cut off from the outside world, and the Korean PM, Benjamin Asher, and several senior US officials all fell into enemy hands.
The sky grew darker. In under thirteen minutes, the fighting was over. The attackers wiped out all resistance and announced to the world that they held the White House completely.
The tall marble columns out front were pocked with bullet holes; the bodies of agents and guards lay scattered along the roadside, their blood pooling into a long river. The flag on the White House roof had been shot through in several places, and a few masked attackers pulled it down and tossed it off the building. In the glow of the setting sun, that flag looked especially tattered.
The American people... the American people were holding up reasonably well, all things considered. It wasn't the first time, after all! First time's a shock, second time's routine. That rundown house—blow it up if you like, we really couldn't care less.
All they cared about was whether the government would raise taxes again now that the White House had been trashed. Three years ago, President Sawyer had levied a round of taxes to repair the place, and been cursed roundly for it.
Now it was Benjamin Asher's turn.
Bella and Natasha, holding the baby, looked at each other.
"I see some of the Bureau's agents up ahead—I'll go take a look. You stay with the baby?"
"I think I see someone I know over there—I'll go check. You stay with the baby?"
They spoke at exactly the same time, and once the words were out, both froze for a good two seconds. They both looked eager to get involved—but the thought of their precious daughter gave them pause, and each of them reined it in.
Little Elsa watched them warily, looking left, looking right. Even her beloved bottle had lost its appeal. Wait—was she being cast aside here?
The importance of their darling daughter clearly outweighed Natasha's craving for a thrill and Bella's innate habit of sticking her nose in other people's business.
The two kept running with their daughter, but a phone call reached them on the way, and soon after they were picked up and brought to the Pentagon.
The White House and the Pentagon were actually quite close. Though the White House sat in Washington, D.C. and the Pentagon in Virginia, only the Potomac River lay between them—the Pentagon to the northeast, the White House to the southwest, a straight-line distance of just over four miles. Ten-odd minutes by car.
Charlie was waiting for them there.
"Are you hurt? Is Elsa hurt anywhere? Thank God! As long as you're all safe." Seeing his two daughters and granddaughter appear, Charlie finally felt the knot in his chest loosen. Whatever happened to anyone else, his family being unharmed was a blessing. Washington was in chaos now, and Charlie, no fool, had rushed to the Pentagon the instant the unrest began.
If nothing else, it was at least safe here.
If the White House were occupied and the Pentagon fell right after it, then this country truly had no reason to exist! Everyone might as well pack it in and go home.
Calling it a gathering of heavy forces wouldn't be an exaggeration. Plenty of lawmakers who'd been in Washington for meetings came pouring into the Pentagon too, wives and children in tow, looking for protection.
Ten minutes later, confirmed word came from inside the White House: President Benjamin Asher, several senior officials, and the Korean Prime Minister had all fallen into the attackers' hands, and the Korean PM who'd traveled all that way was shot in the head, live on camera.
The Pentagon hurriedly activated its emergency plan, summoning the relevant personnel for consultation.
"Miss Bella, long time no see." Old Willy, in suit and tie, walked with a brisk, springy step, not at all like a man pushing ninety. As Vice President, he had to chair the meeting at a time like this, and before going in he even stopped to chat amiably with Bella for a moment.
They were on different sides, but there was no personal grievance between them, and with their prior acquaintance besides, Bella made polite small talk with the old man.
Charlie stood at Bella's side, and she herself owned a luxury-goods company worth over a hundred million—not a nobody. Even with the Pentagon's generals frantic, no one jumped in to cut off their pleasantries.
After a few words, the impression Old Willy left on Bella was that he was a bit "stiff," a little too aware of his own standing—not as natural as Old Joe had been.
Old Willy seemed used to the way everyone kept a respectful distance from him these days, and he ended the conversation calmly.
Charlie was a senator; there was no need for him to sit in on a crisis-management meeting. Lawmakers could meddle in anything, true, but there was a time and place, and at a critical moment like this the military generally didn't drag lawmakers into its meetings.
Everyone knew what these lawmakers were worth. Haul Congressman Smith into the room now and Congressman Jones would object on the spot; bring in Jones and Congressman Brown would gripe; drag every last one in and there'd be no point holding the meeting at all! By the time they finished arguing and settled on an actual plan, it'd be time to start preparing Benjamin Asher's state funeral.
Charlie didn't want any part of it, but a general from the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Director Jacobs of the Secret Service wanted him at this meeting too.
He thought it over, and didn't refuse.
There was no opening speech; they went straight into an analysis of the current intelligence.
Not that there was much to analyze. It was pitch dark and the enemy wore masks; you couldn't make out a thing.
Enemy numbers unknown, intentions unknown, leader unknown. For now all they could do was study the C-130 wreckage: the enemy had commandeered or hijacked one of their own military transports, and there was a strong chance they came from the Asia-Pacific region.
Charlie was no stranger to meetings like this. To his mind, it wasn't so different from an LAPD case review—except that LA's crooks kidnapped ordinary people, while this lot had gone straight for the President of the United States.
He deliberately kept a low profile, listening rather than speaking, quietly taking in every report and analyzing the whole affair—how it had come about and how to handle it—in his head, drawing on his own experience. The generals were reasonably satisfied with his showing. They couldn't gauge his practical ability, but he'd earned the label of "steady."